#i am so done with this shit at this point i cannot even

[brynn-lear]

for those who are looking which of these games have yandere endings, allow me to kindly add them in a read more :D

Cupid Parasite: Gill Lovecraft

The most consistent yandere-vibes from Lock's recommendations. Gill's I would say leans so much on pathetic sad dog yandere and irl stalker that the otome game community is very divided on him (and a majority of us are yandere/trash husbando fans lol).

You'll spend most of his routes looking at how much he's a loser (/aff) who simps for his former roommate. I mean, he's trying to get over you but the heavens might quite literally be playing with him— cause how can he move on when you're his matchmaker???????

Cupid Parasite is so silly and so fun, highly recommend for those who love romcoms.

Piofiore: Nicola (Bad End)

Note: don't search his name on google images cause one of the first things you'll see is his CG for the bad end. Do not spool yourself lol.

Oooh how I love this man. Him and Dante are my faves [and Roberto. Lord. I love Roberto so much why isn't he a love interest?!?!?]

I won't spoil much, but his bad ending is 🥰. Plus Piofiore is such a good game anyways, it's worth trying out. If you like mafia men that are trash and would definitely kill you in other routes (sometimes their own too aHEM MISTER CHINESE KEBAB)— this game is for you.

Olympia Soiree: Kuroba (Bad End)

Ngl I remember the yandere end for this one being relatively short, but Kuroba along with Byakuya are my faves so I didn't really mind. If you like your fics with some sort of "chosen one" flair to it, OS is for you <3.

Don't get it twisted though, the game makes it a point to show time and time again how much their color system destroys the people [definitely feels like a metaphor for racism-]

Even if Tempest: Crius Castlerock (Bad End)

TW: childhood abuse/neglect, cannibalism, straight up every route has murder since this is literally a Phoenix Wright fantasy otome game, blood, unending angst you can't escape from if you want to see a single good ending, etc. For the amount of girlbossing and (justifyable?) crimes the heroine had done [and lord she's such a pretty androgynous girlie], the game is very refreshing.

LOOK AT MY BABIIIIESSS 😭😭😭😭😭😭

If you love suffering, I highly recommend this game because the plot is amazing. It does not hold back as much. It's not like Black Wolves Saga's level of "dead dove: do not eat" but man will it surprise you.

Crius definitely feels overprotective even in routes outside his. As an older brother figure-esque, he has this tendency to help you out without question [this fact will hurt you later.] His bad end? I'm a simp. And I like the hurt it gives. 10/10. Also him in the fandisk is 🤌🤌🤌🤌. Everyone in that game is so loveable.

I play a whole lot of localized switch otome games and let me just say, he's gotta be part of my top 5— and some people on that list are there for nostalgia's sake (Hi Tokimeki Memorial). Crius is great. Much love.

Bonus route: Steam Prison - Fin Euclase

I shit you not, bro is a yandere in every route but his. I am not joking. The amount of Love Interests that had fallen from his hands— meanwhile in his route he's a struggling wholesome puppy just trying to survibe the underworld. I love him but I cannot be with him simply because I'm not content with just seeing him happy, I wanna see that broken side again /silly

I forgot to mention: I wouldn't say CxM has a yandere route [I say that as someone whose faves are Okazaki and Shiraishi, who keeps being typed as yanderes when they're deranged at best /j]

... Buuut there is a bad end where it feels like Hoshino/the MC is a yandere for our poster boy :)

lock's otome game recs

i received some asks indicating an interest in a compilation of my favorite otome games, so i decided to go for it!! i've played about fourteen otome games, but of those fourteen, only these six left a lasting impression on me. there are still some that i intend to check out, so the rankings may update in the future. i'll give a very general overview of each game and how i'd score the categories that i find the most important in an otome game — the heroine, story, art, enjoyability, along with the characters i liked the most.

number 6 - piofiore fated memories.

heroine: 6/10 story: 6.5/10 characters: 7/10 art: 10/10 enjoyability: 8/10 favorite characters: dante (ishikawa kaito), nicola (kimura ryouhei) and yang (okamoto nobuhiko)

this game centers around the heroine, with the default name liliana adornato, who finds herself entangled in the politics of the region's three most prominent crime organizations. the game has an italian backdrop and iirc, takes place in the 1930s.

the overarching narrative, while it has its fair share of intrigue, isn't the game's strongest point. it's the interactions with the characters themselves that made the game feel worthwhile. each love interest has more to them than what meets the eye, so it's satisfying to watch the relationship between them and the heroine develop.

the heroine takes a passive role throughout much of the game, events sorta just happen to her. still, she has a kind disposition that makes her likable and doesn't make stupid decisions that has you wanting to fling your console across the room. her characterization changes slightly depending on the route. for instance, without getting into spoilers, she's more assertive throughout yang's route. the resulting dynamic made yang's route the most memorable, even if he's my third favorite character from the bunch.

what feels unique to this game is the effort put into the bad endings. in most visual novels, bad endings can feel like gimmicks. you make one or two wrong decisions and you're rewarded with a few paragraphs. the downward spiral of the characters in the bad endings are decently fleshed out and you can see how they arrived at this 'worst' version of themselves. they're suitably dark and it shouldn't come as a surprise that i enjoyed them because of that 😭

then there's the art. it's stunning, the details in each CG are mindboggling. the heroine gets to wear a variety of pretty outfits which is something i like to see. even in the story's weaker moments, a stunning CG would pop up that had me forgiving everything. i still glance through the gallery to this day.

number five - cupid parasite.

heroine: 9.5/10 story: 7/10 characters: 7/10 art: 9/10 enjoyability: 9/10 favorite characters: ryuki keisaiin (junya enoki) & gill lovecraft (kimura ryouhei)

iconic. showstopping. a little bit camp.

cupid parasite stars one of my favorite heroines, lynette. she works as a bridal advisor whose ambition is to ensure everyone finds their soulmate. in actuality, she's the goddess cupid, who left her post in celestia to better understand humanity and create lasting pairs. she's a delight to play as.

this game's presentation and overall aesthetic is the most distinct from any otome game i've played. aside from the presentation, the story itself is unlike any of the others on this list. when it comes to romance, i typically prefer them to be dark and mature. this game opts for a more lighthearted approach. it vacillates between being a romcom and dipping into the absurdist genre. there were times i was literally left speechless (glances at gill's route)... but it makes for an entertaining experience. the game's plenty funny as well.

personally, i enjoyed the more grounded moments when the mythological elements remained in the background. because of this, the true ending doesn't do it for me as much as they do in other games. as with anything, this is a personal preference though. i liked all of the routes and found the game handles the development of each love interest well. we're introduced to these men at their most pathetic and get to help them become a little more well-adjusted. lowering the cringe meter, if you will. it makes their growth all the most satisfying as the narrative progresses.

number four - even if tempest.

heroine: 9/10 story: 8.5/10 characters: 8/10 art: 6/10 enjoyability: 9/10 favorite characters: the heroine herself, tyril i lister (noriaki sugiyama), crius castlerock (makoto furukawa) and lucien neuschburn (kaito ishikawa)

right from the get-go, this game's premise had me hooked. it features the heroine, anastasia (<3!), who leads an incredibly tragic life. she's bestowed the ability to reverse time following each of her deaths and uses this to unravel a mess of mysteries the world's setting is tangled in.

this game is absolutely anastasia's story. without spoiling anything, i loved the approach they took with the time rewinding ability. how it's incorporated is unique to an otome game, which they take full advantage of to amplify the tragic romances. on that note, the romance itself occasionally takes a backseat to the narrative as a whole. personally, i didn't mind this in the moment, since i found the story so interesting. in retrospect, i do wish that we got more moments between the heroine and each love interest, especially in the true ending.

there are more gameplay elements here as well. you have to conduct investigations, gather evidence, and apply what you've learned during these trial segments. when i first read about this, i thought it'd be a gimmick, but i liked playing through them. it incentivizes you to pay extra close attention to the world.

while i liked the narrative as a whole, i do wish we got more worldbuilding. there are hints of political subterfuge and religious oligarchy that, while touched upon, could've been leaned into more to give the setting a distinct feeling.

number three - olympia soiree

heroine: 8/10 story: 8/10 characters: 8/10 art: 10/10 enjoyability: 10/10 favorite characters: akaza (yoshitsugu matsuoka), himuka (shun horie), and yosuga (yuma uchida)

in olympia soirée, the eponymous heroine, olympia, lives in a society divided into castes based on colors. she is the last surviving member of a clan that can perform rituals to keep the sun aglow. this game is a lengthier title, i believe i clocked in around 25 ish hours (i don't use auto-play so that sheds some time). the story benefits from this, as olympia has rich worldbuilding and lore that's revealed throughout the route's progression.

we get to see the consequences of this caste system and olympia's growth as she becomes determined to realize a better future for the islands. this makes the heroine someone that you want to root for. personally, i'm a sucker for stories that center around a sheltered individual being forced to face the harsh realities of the world and maturing in their own way. this, paired with the struggles specific to this setting, make for a gripping backdrop for the character's routes. all the love interests have problems of their own that they need to address.

this is certainly a mature title, there's plenty of steamy scenes featuring gorgeous artwork. seriously... all the pretty CGs are absolute eye candy. i enjoyed the balance between the main narrative and the development of the romantic relationships, i don't remember ever feeling bored.

ironically enough, i think this is the darkest game from the bunch listed here, surpassing the game with actual horror elements. there's a whole litany of trigger warnings to be mindful of when going through the game's bad ends. they are, as the term suggests, Bad. not light or humorous in the slightest. the poor heroine goes through it. please be mindful of these more touchy subjects.

number two - 9 r.i.p

heroine: 8/10 story: 8/10 characters: 9/10 art: 10/10 enjoyability: 10/10 favorite characters: minami (nobuhiko okamoto), hibiki (shunichi toki), kureha (toshiki masuda), and koyo (ryota suzuki)

i was looking forward to the english localization of this game before it was even announced ... i'd been wanting an otome game with this vibe for ages. and it didn't disappoint! there are four different overarching story sections, with two characters each having their routes fall under them. this makes it difficult to give a summary since each route has a vastly different feel. some routes lean heavy into supernatural horror (such as hibiki and kureha), whereas others are just... supernatural (like with yukimaro and koharu).

the basic premise is that the main character, misa, is a high school girl burdened with her career survey. she's uncertain what she wants for the future and is being pressured by his mother to pursue a career in medicine. in one way or another, depending on the story section, she comes into contact with the afterlife and those who inhabit it.

i loved this game, i couldn't put it down. the routes that leaned heavy into horror were my favorites, which shouldn't be a surprise lol. i do feel some love interests were given preferential treatment of others, i wanted more from sena's storyline in particular, since he's voiced by one of my favorite VAs (tetsuya kakihara, the voice of scaramouche) 😭... apparently this game is receiving a fandisc, so hopefully they'll remedy that in the future.

minami stole the show for me. from what i've gauged online, he's a divisive character, you either find him grating or love him (like i do). i'm biased but i do think he has the most interesting and well-written story out of the love interests, i've played through it three times already. i just adored the dynamic between him and the heroine. he's petulant, selfish, and a bit immature, yet he goes to extremes for her as he realizes his unhinged feelings.

hibiki is a close second. the most yandere-coded of the bunch, he's soft-spoken and polite, but that exterior hides a creepy personality. like all of the characters in this game, there's a tragic element to him. i was worried about the role the heroine would play in helping him 'overcome' this, but i think they handled it well. it doesn't feel like the heroine's fixing him so much as she's helping him have a different perspective on certain events.

yeah i'm not normal about this game, i cannot recommend it enough. it would've taken the top slot if some of the routes were a bit more polished. i didn't care for yukimaro's at all, for example. routes like minami's, hibiki's, and koyo's more than make up for it though.

number one - collar x malice

heroine: 10/10 story: 10/10 characters: 10/10 art: 10/10 enjoyability: 10/10 favorite characters: takeru sasazuka (daisuke namikawa), kei okazaki (yuki kaji), and aiji yanagi (masakazu morita)

the holy grail. the otome games that died for our sins. this isn't just a good otome game, it's an excellent story, with a very human cast, commentary on issues like the nature of crime, and you're left wanting to solve the various mysterious as much as the heroine does. speaking of the heroine, miss hoshino ichika is my all-time favorite heroine. she's clever, resolute, compassionate, and you can't help but fall in love with her a little yourself 😭😭

i'm not sure if this makes sense, but the world feels very... full? you get this sense that ichika exists outside just interacting with the love interests. she has her career, friends, and her younger brother that act as more than passing NPCs. the writers ensured all the characters with portraits are given some level of depth. i left caring about more characters than the heroine and love interests.

each route is dedicated to working through a certain case, which keeps the story intriguing as you progress. finally, all of the little hints that have been littered throughout coalesce into the 'true' route, where questions you've had since the first chapter are given satisfactory conclusions. at the same time, you're left wondering about a few things, such as the complete philosophy of the main antagonist.

ichika's relationship with each of the love interests develops alongside the case they're investigating, which almost always have connections or parallels to the LI's past. this helped ground them in reality and flesh them out into dynamic characters. you come to care deeply about them alongside ichika. the romance feels earned and doesn't come on too fast, which some otome games suffer from.

if you like otome games and haven't played collar x malice yet, i fully recommend it!!!!!!!! it's the strongest title from what i've played so far.

[emjee]

Okay I’ve done enough sitting and staring at walls processing Wicked to say things about it now. Behold, the bullet points:

- I have now seen enough of Jon Chu’s work to expect the cutting to closeups during dance numbers when all I want is a wide shot of people all doing the same footwork, and because I was expecting it it annoyed me less.

- The poor lighting balance with some of the backlighting did bug me though; even if it was intentional I found it annoying

- That said!! These are minor quibbles! ESPECIALLY considering how much movie musicals have the potential to really suck. Do you know what absolute shitshows I have wasted three hours of my life on? This is not one of those.

- I simply cannot believe how good Ariana Grande was in this role. I was so fucking skeptical. I take it all back; I was unfamiliar with her game. Holy shit. And she and Cynthia Erivo have fantastic chemistry.

- Actually I’d say there’s not a weak point in the case (if there is it’s maaaaaaaaybe Jeff Goldblum, but that’s partially because I’ve never been a fan of his schtick).

- I’m having a phase in my life where I just want to look at Jonathan Bailey’s face a lot so this was great for that and he’s as incredible as he always is. Watching him dance is just an utter delight. I hope this movie makes him so much money that he can spend the rest of his career doing literally whatever projects he wants. I will watch all of them.

- also Glen Weldon described him on Pop Culture Happy Hour as “insultingly handsome” and yeah. Glen coming through with the phrasing as always.

- As much as I wore out my cast recording as a youth, I actually think Wicked’s biggest strength has always been its script so I am thrilled that Winnie Holzman was the screenwriter because it made the additions seamless and they kept all my favorite lines.

- I’ll say it again: if the show is very dear to you this movie really does feel like it loves its source material just like you do, so I’d recommend you go see it.

- I also second everyone who said “gayer than the stage production.” It’s great.

[shu-of-the-wind]

gonna fuckin fight some children again so here we go:

people older than 20 get to be in fandom. people older than 25 get to be in fandom. people older than 30 get to be in fandom. you know who writes those 100k+ magical fanfics that you consume, for free?? adults. you know who has protected, shepherded, and guided fandom for DECADES, starting in the days of zines that were sent secretly in snail mail because we didn't have online communities? ADULTS. you know what KIND of adults in particular were pioneers of fandom?? ADULT FUCKING WOMEN. women in their thirties. women in their forties. women in their fifties, sixties, and seventies.

it's one thing if someone is being predatory towards young people online and they are an adult. it is a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT THING if a grown-ass person is just sitting and having fun in fandom and children come into our inboxes and tell us we shouldn't be here. child, YOU would not be here if not for us. I as a thirty year old genderqueer would not be here if not for MY fandom elders guiding me and keeping me safe through my DECADES on this godforsaken fucking website and in fandom generally. you know who protected me and helped me learn how to be a positive influence in my fandom spaces??? ADULTS IN FANDOM.

so sit your asses down and learn something.

[agayconcept]

.

[sealeneee]

siiiiiiigh

[moderatetoaboveaverage]

.

[kalashtars]

.

[genderfluid-druid]

Hmm.

[imwritesometimes]

I am once again completely losing any interest or motivation to actually write anything 🙃🙃🙃

[depresseddepot]

I hate the US grading system !!!

[silverislander]

i know logically in my brain that i have a disorder that makes it hard for me to focus and do work, the symptoms of which are not gonna go away bc other people need/want me to do stuff, and still like. i'm behind on a bunch of shit for school rn and i'm kind of spiralling over it bc WHY IS IT HARD. this is stuff i like doing and that i want to do. and i can't for the life of me fucking do it and the deadlines are coming up and i NEED TO FUCKING GRADUATE so it has to get done

[racew1nn3rs]

─ 𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘦 𝘪. (𝘪'𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘸𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦) 🧶

⤷ summary: the world meets the newest mclaren team member, and they are loving it! it's poor oscars first day and shit's already hitting the fan sorry dude ): LMAO. lando just experienced love at first sight, while y/n is ready to fist fight

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liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, and 32,890 others

mclaren oscar's first day of kindergarten, done. pre-season testing, done. (we'll be even faster soon 🙏🏼 don't worry guys)

2,568 comments

user2 HELLO??? WHO HACKED THE MCLAREN ACCOUNT

user6 we'll be racing past redbull in no time

mclaren a girl can dream

user7 lando is this you??? 😭

user8 budget dropped so low they had to hire the drivers for social media

user3 this is haas money behavior

mclaren excuse you i am NOT LANDO

user8 oscar????

mclaren no sir, i'm the owner of this house 🫵

user9 idk if this is a new admin but this is so unserious

mclaren new year new me babe

user9 give her a raise mclaren 🙏🏼

mclaren REPOST REPOST REPOST

landonorris first day on the job and already asking for more money?

mclaren i'm so sorry lord lando, you forget that us lowly peasants aren't on an athelete salary 🙄

user10 HUMBLE HIM, WE LOVE TO SEE IT

user11 mclaren admin beefing with lando was NOT on my 2023 bingo card

user12 she really said, "ik we're slow but LET US COOK"

mclaren TRUUUSTTT THAT COMEBACK IS COMING (im manifesting)

oscarpiastri KINDERGARTEN??? i'm nearly 22 mate

mclaren teensy weensy baby basically

oscarpiastri your fired /:

mclaren HAHA YOU CAN'T DO THAT 🏃🏻‍♀️

user13 petition for all the f1 team accounts to be run by young admins, this is tooooo good

mclaren screenshotting this for my boss so they don't see these comments and fire me

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user14 she. looked. up. his. salary. 💀 ICON

user15 hiring her was such a rare mclaren W

user16 MCLAREN ADMIN HEAR OUR PRAYERS AND MAKE TIKTOKS 🙏🏼

user17 OMG CAN U IMAGINE

user18 HOW MUCH MONEY DO I HAVE TO PAY MS. MCLAREN FOR THIS OMG

user19 will our team win? probably not BUT AT LEAST WE'LL BE GETTING CONTENT 😘

user20 AYYYYEEEE

user21 LANDO MAY NEVER WIN, BUT THE FANS NEVER LOSE 🤞🏾

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liked by mclaren, maxfewtrell, and 60,050 others

landonorris don't mind me, just living my lord life on my athlete's salary. bahrain here we come!

10,750 comments

user22 WHERES THE MCLAREN ADMIN

user23 lando nowins flexing on us poor people

user24 someone come get this man's phone

user25 oh i KNOW pr is mad 💀💀💀

user26 daniel ricciardo leaves and mclaren loses it's mind

user27 daniel leaves and all of us lose our minds 🥲

oscarpiastri jesus christ mate, log out

mclaren i'm not sure he knows how, he might need to pay someone to /:

user28 CRAZZZYYYY

user29 THE GIRLS ARE FIGHTING

user30 "f1 is a serious sport." the serious sport in question:

user31 the papaya hat 🫵

user32 HE'S SO FINE IM GNAWING AT THE BARS

user33 BARK BARK WOOF WOOF

mclaren phones. on the table. NEOWWW

user33 holy shit this is actually so embarrassing

mclaren at least ur self aware!

user34 she clocked ur asses 😭😭😭

maxfewtrell lord lando flying economy

landonorris I AM NOT

user35 bro took that personally

user36 me thinks the man doth protest too much

danielricciardo i leave you alone for a few months and this is what you're doing

landonorris i learned from the best

danielricciardo DONT BLAME ME FOR THIS

maxverstappen1 ... that's my plane???

landonorris SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP

maxverstappen1 you can't just take credit for my private jet. its mine.

mclaren this just in, little lando norris is a little LIAR

mclaren when he steals a plane and wears bucket hats 🫵🤣 everyone point and laugh

landonorris I QUITE LIKE BUCKET HATS

mclaren i quite like bucket hats 🇬🇧☕️🤓

maxverstappen1 🫵🤣

danielricciardo 🫵🤣

charles_leclerc 🫵🤣

carlossainz55 🫵🤣

maxfewtrell 🫵🤣

oscarpiastri 🫵🤣

landonorris OSCAR????

oscarpiastri 🫵🤣 🫵🤣 🫵🤣

mclaren damn he got you there

user37 this cannot be real

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There were quite a few things Lando expected to be on his agenda when he arrived in Bahrain after him and Max went seperate ways to their own teams. He figured he would meet with his engineers, spend some time getting adjusted to working with Oscar (especially given he hadn't had very much time to meet or bond with the rookie over the break or during pre-season testing), and doing some press interviews as per usual. However no where on his list was an impromptu meeting with Zak Brown. Oscar seemed clueless as to what was going on as well, and Lydia, Lando's personal assistant of two years, was just as clueless.

Lando and Oscar filed into the board room, bottles of water in hand, only to be met face to face with their team manager. Nothing seemed suspicious which Lando hoped was a good thing, but after their underwhelming performance in pre-season testing he knew anything was a possibility.

"Have a seat guys, it's good to see you both. I hope you've been well-rested since testing," Zak greeted with his usual cheerful attitude. Lando and Oscar looked at each other warily but nodded at their boss nonetheless. Zak was usually more of a 'get to the point' kind of man, so this change of pace was unnerving to say the least. Normally it scared Lando a little bit, but truthfully, right now, Lando wanted to be done with this meeting and to get to race preparations.

"That's good, you need all the rest you can get if we're going to try and put up a fight this weekend. In all honesty, I think within the next two years we have a chance to become real competition here. I think we can give Red Bull and Ferrari a run for their money and earn plenty of points this year. Hell," the older man chuckled, "maybe we can win it all."

Lando didn't want to seem skeptical, but he was definitely skeptical. He did not think the car he was given in testing could win the championship, but he would sure as hell be trying.

"But no matter how hard the engineers work the car, and no matter how many sims we do, the one thing we're lacking in is presence. McLaren is notable, we have a famous team and a long roster of famous, successful drivers, including the two of you, but we don't have the same dominating media presence that Mercedes or Ferrari do. And that's what gets us sponsors, and celebrity visits, and fans, and funding. We may not be struggling for money, but if you guys like your multi-million dollar salaries and you want your car to keep being better, we need more media presence. Which is why we decided we wanted to go a bit of a different route this year, with media and all of that."

Oh god. Lando knew where this was going. This was about the new social media admin that had been ruthlessly harrasing him- albeit teasingly- for days now. Only employed for less than two weeks and already stirring up the pot across platforms. Lando looked at Oscar, noting that his teammate was clearly following as well now.

"I know you both have come to realize this already, but there is a new social media manager who runs all of the McLaren accounts. We wanted someone young, someone trendy, someone who knew what the internet is looking for, and who can help us connect and start getting more eyes on McLaren. We want her to meet with you guys today to share a couple of ideas so you can be on the same page for what we'll be doing online. The new manager is just outside. Let me get her so you can speak with her."

Lando nodded dumbly. Right, ok, he could do that. Lando was young, he was online, he was trendy. Plus, most of if not all of the F1 drivers had some kind of media presence already. Lando streamed, he had instagram accounts and twitter, and he even had Quadrant. Lando steeled himself. This would be just fine. An adjustment, but fine.

Zak greeted someone outside of the door and a small bit of shuffling sounds were heard. Before Lando had a chance to stand, Zak was turning and nodding a quick goodbye. Leaving the office room, as a smaller body replaced the space he had been in.

Lando felt like the air had been knocked from his lungs and hoped he hadn't made a noise out loud. He stared, he couldn't help it. He was sure he was slack-jawed, mouth agape and flies coming in. Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered that he should be professional and behave like a normal human being. But the other part of his brain, the dominant part of his brain, was in awe.

Lando looked at the girl in front of him up and down, probably far too obviously, and was stunned. He saw jean shorts, a faded and a mid-washed denim. A colorful-tighter cropped shirt and some layered gold jewelery. Rings on her fingers. Sunglasses in her hair, making her look way to cool to ever speak to him. She rocked on the balls of her sneaker-clad feet- sneakers that matched her clothes perfectly much to Lando's delight- and quickly moved to set her laptop down of the table. She left her small colorful handbag on the table alongside a cup of iced coffee that was already melting in the Bahrain heat. She looked as if she had jumped straight from a Vogue cover (or one of his favorite dreams) and landed right in front of him.

Was it the heat that was making it so hot? Because Lando was becoming suddenly aware of the heat beneath his shirt collar. A stifled cough from Oscar drew Lando from his observation- or rather his creepy, stalker staring- and Lando realized this was not the social etiquette that the situation called for.

Before Lando could even take a step, the girl smirked.

"Nice to finally meet you guys. Hello Oscar," the girl leaned over and shook the taller man's hand. "And Lord Lando, is it? It's nice to finally meet you. I'm Y/N L/N, i'm the new social media manager for the season."

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Y/N could now officially say she is not a fan of Lando Norris. The online feud she had cleverly created to generate some conversation about McLaren before the season started had been banter. She had taken no offense to Lando's jokes at all, but now that she was in front of the man and could feel his judgement, her opionions had changed.

From the second she walked in Lando had begun unabashedly staring at her. Looking her up and down, from the shoes she had recently bought to the hair clipped back on her head, and was not sparing a single detail. She felt vaguely like a mannequin on display and it unnerved her.

Oscar smiled at her politely as she set her things down, and she felt thankful for the reprieve from the judgement and critcism she had been recieving since she arrived and was now experiencing again from Lando in full force.

Y/N was aware that her outfit wasn't uniform or professional, but those were not the qualities she was hired for. Y/N had been confident coming in here, feeling like she would likely connect better with people her own age, but was thoroughly dissapointed to find this was not the case.

Oscar ultimately cleared his throat awkwardly, and it appeared as though this finally snapped Lando out of his judgemental stupor, so Y/N decided to finally make her introductions.

"Nice to finally meet you guys, hello Oscar," she leaned over and shook the taller man's hand. "And Lord Lando, is it? It's nice to finally meet you. I'm Y/N L/N, i'm the new social media manager for the season."

Lando groaned loudly and Oscar laughed.

"Lando I don't think you'll ever live this one down," and Y/N forced a laugh and nodded in agreeance.

"No, probably not. But that's good, that's what I was hoping for." Y/N stated bluntly.

"You were hoping to torture me?" Lando stuttered out and Y/N rolled her eyes, "You'll live I promise." Oscar laughed before pointing out, "at least your not a kindergartener."

Lando stifled a laugh but agreed.

"What purpose did Oscar's baby jokes serve?" Lando asked, and Y/N forced herself not to punch the man at his judgemental tone. He clearly didn't believe in her ability to do her job.

"It's funny, that was it's purpose," she stated, gesturing to the table for the boys to sit as she opened up her laptop. She turned to face toward them, lifting herself slightly so was seated criss-crossed in the chair. She never had liked sitting normally. The boys across from her stared at her expectantly.

"So you create jokes the make people look at us more?" Oscar asked.

"In a way yes. My job is to manage the accounts, but I've also been hired to help get you guys more fans. Fans love to be interacted with, they love seeing you guys joke around, they like feeling like they have content to consume," Y/N explained.

"By playing into these desires, you get more fans, because they feel they 'know you" in a way they don't know the other drivers." The boys nodded their head in understanding.

"So the plan is for me to keep interacting with fans through the McLaren accounts, playing up jokes with you too, and for us to give the fans new content in a way they don't usually get it. Livestreams, youtube vlogs, inside internet jokes, TikToks, the works." Y/N stated.

"Essentially," she said dragging the word out, "I'm going to make you guys the internet's little papaya stars," Lando laughed but nodded. Y/N, despite her first impressions and her developing dislike for the driver, found herself smiling. She could see the vision. Both Oscar and Lando would be awkward and loveable and humorous. The perfect mix for internet support.

"So where do we start?" Oscar asked.

"I'm glad you asked," Y/N smirked. "Have you heard the clip of 'Cuffing Season' by SZA? There's a TikTok trend I think will be perfect for you to do."

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user38 can we talk about how gorgeous admin is?!?!? LIKE OH MY GOD

user10 only hot people go to mclaren

user40 that check better be huge for her

user41 oscar was so mf stiff 💀💀 free my boy

user42 who had a gun to oscars head, he was so scared

user43 lando thirst trapping ICB 😭 I NEED A BIG BOYYY

user44 god admin is so sexy and smart, that was art

user45 CAN WE DISCUSS HOW LANDO LOOKS AT HER

user46 ikr 💀 get off the floor lando your drooling

user47 i want a man to be that down bad for me

user48 lando loverboy era unlocked

user49 meanwhile admin didn't look him in the face

user50 f1 2023 is going to be a WILD RIDE for us mclaren fans if this is before the first race even starts

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hope you all enjoyed! please let me know your thoughts and feel free to leave a request for me to write something for your fav <3

-

𝙩𝙖𝙜 𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

@lemon-lav @slutforpopculture @m4rt10ne

[the-impossible-bird]

this last week has been the absolute Worst for me mentally and also made me feel like I'm despicable as a person and don't deserve anything nice and I'm not even that glad it's over for multiple reasons

[allofuswantgwinam]

so like it should probably make me sad but i think it’s really funny that my ex wants me to believe he is in love with me and obsessed with me when he literally is on the same bs all the time 🤣🤧 like I finally have had it with this months ago after 6 years and have not come back to you the way i normally would and you’re STILL doin this shit? and you expect me to keep holding on when you’re already letting me down when i expected nothing at this point?!!?!?!!? dumb. like it’s really so dumb and it makes no sense to me

[wifeyoozi]

Svt with a high maintenance girlfriend, thank you <3

Ot13 seventeen : high maintenance girlfriend

Ceecee note - I literally don't know a lot about high maintenance girlies because I literally am too lazy to get stuff done even though I love doing it all and being a girlie lol so forgive me.

seungcheol : literally doesn't expect you to be any other way. if you weren't high maintenance before, he'll spoil you enough to be so eventually we all know it

jeonghan : he's equally high maintenance so the both of you better be rich or he be stealing cheol's money for you both

joshua : he is a man from LA with a J name I think he can really afford a high maintenance girlfriend. Secretly actually prefers that. Just because mindful that he's still The Bitch in the relationship you cannot take his spot.

Junhui : lowkey finds you tiring but simultaneously loves spoiling you. "Oh you want to get your nails done? AGAIN?? you just got them done! No problem tho I wired you $300 enjoy babe 😘😘"

Soonyoung : loves spoiling you in a way where he comes to all of your expensive appointments and shopping and likes yo personally pick your nail and hair and dresses

Wonwoo : I think he doesn't even notice you are high maintenance until his friends point that out. He's like "oh don't all girls like to get their things done like that?"

Woozi : on the outside he shows that he doesnt care as much about spending money on your maintenance but it secretly turns him on. To flex his money on your beauty. His black card has its first home in your wallet not his.

Minghao : this man is dressed up in Gucci and Versace all day long so I think he'd be really proud of a girlfriend who's the same. An equally high maintained couple going to get their nails and hair done together all the time that's you.

Mingyu : highkey intrigued by everything you do. He's that typa man. Would randomly show up at your saloon one day just to see how you get your manicures and pedicure and body spas done. Loves how you always get so happy after you've got it all done.

Seokmin : what's the use of him earning as much as he does if he can't spend it on you? Feels so entitled when you are by his side because of how strong your aura is with your luxurious looks.

Seungkwan : complains and pouts about you spending more time in the saloon than you do in his arms. Starts insisting you book home appointments just so he could cuddle by your side as you get all of your shit done and successfully make the aesthetician uncomfortable with the strong couple energy.

Vernon : I think he secretly knows a lot about manicures and pedicures and nails and hair and spas because of how close he seems with his sister so he just loves spoiling you like that and see you be all fresh and happy afterwards.

Dino : I feel you're gonna have to explain him why you need to get so many things done and why you gotta buy so many skincare and then he has that invisible question mark on his head everytime you go on and on talking about why you need it and all the other beauty details and why you love it ykwim

[hitlikehammers]

ignis obscura (dragon-sacrifice!Steve falls for random-man-in-the-woods(?)!Eddie before Steve goes to get eaten) (???)

feat. lots of love-at-first-sight, soul-deep devotion sorta shit

When a dragon arrives within telling-distance, the town nearest the lair it claims must send the sacrifice; their most valued possession. Everyone knows this.

It was just that no one in Hawkins had ever imagined—never really believed—that of all the villages, a dragon would come to them.

Steve had imagined it, though. As a boy, he’d thought it an adventure. As a teenager, he’d fancied it something of an escape.

Now, when it happens? As a young man, Steve Harrington mostly just thinks of course it goes like this.

Because he’s the disappointing-but-only son of the mayor, in a town where mayoral wealth rivals the coffers of the crown, and if the dragon wants value? Steve’s the gateway to whatever riches have been hoarded, whatever small power may be marshaled to command more, to rule, to gather up virgins if Steve himself proved insufficient to that fabled task—though he was renowned as the most comely of his people, having just dipped his toe into his prime while keeping the rosy flush to his cheeks alongside the strength in his arms: perfect timing, really. It helped pad the argument for him as the tribute.

As if maybe the dragon had waited, had watched. Had known what it wanted, and swooped in with intent.

Steve couldn’t give two rats’ asses what the dragon did or didn’t do, as he made his way through the woods and up the mountain. The stories of sacrifice always paired with the same end: no matter how you pleased the dragon, the tribute did not live to descend to their home again.

So really, at this point, it was merely a question of how Steve would meet his end. At the dragon’s mercy, of course, but: more like details.

Steve distracts himself with arguments for whether it’s wiser, or more efficient, to carve human flesh with claws or teeth, and it’s a job done so well that he not only finds himself wholly turned around on this trek, far too close to nightfall, and not nearly as near to the cave he’s aiming for as he need be, but more than that:

He fails to notice he’s no longer alone.

“Are you lost?”

There is a honey-smooth quality to the voice that rings out but…deeper. Darker even, though it doesn’t strike warning between Steve’s lungs. It’s…caramelized, and slow slip of thick…almost comfort. Steve fights to keep a clear head: not all dangers are apparent. Enchantment and faerie mischief, even, could have found him in his mindless wandering.

“Lost?” Steve tries to scoff at the right tone of haughty; “I’ve lived here my entire life—“

“In these deserted woods?” the voice, and now there’s a figure that draws nearer, closer in the growing claim of the moon for light but still more silhouette than anything as it—he, the voice is male, Steve is near-certain—turns and assesses their immediate surroundings before tutting thrice:

“Strange choice of domicile.”

And it’s mocking, of course it is: but the honey-caramel of the voice is a molten thing. It warms Steve deep and he cannot even be cross.

“I,” he starts, but sees not point to finishing before he sighs and admits, to himself as much as to the stranger:

“Yes, I am lost.”

“But you’ve lived here your whole life!” the stranger slaps a palm to his own cheek, mouth dropped in faux-horror but he looks so…earnest. And maybe adorable with it, so much so that Steve can’t help but chuckle a little helplessly for it all.

“Hush,” he chides, half-heartedly at best. “I was supposed to get to the caves by nightfall.”

“Ooo,” the stranger leans in, as if to prepare for a secret; Steve didn’t realize he was so close; “scintillating dinner date?”

Steve can’t help it but to snort.

“By a measure,” Steve deadpans, before clearing his throat; “I need to present myself to the dragon.” When the strange man stares at him unblinking Steve deflates a little.

“You know, hot, fire,” he gestures broadly; everyone knows what comes at the end of a sacrifice: “dinner…”

“Why are you looking for a dragon?” the other man asks, his lips pulling down a bit in just-shy-of-a-frown. Steve doesn’t like the look on him, so he tries to put on a bit of a show, match the stranger’s teasing energy from before as best he can in the given circumstances:

“I just so happen to be the village sacrifice,” Steve announces, chest puffed a bit, but he fails to do anything but deepen the frown he’d been aiming to wipe clean from the other man’s face; now Steve’s frowning, too, as he deflates a little, but hardens a little too, crossing his arms and leaning back where the other man’s not even bothered to stop leaning in, despite his apparently displeasure.

“What?” Steve challenges, but it’s brittle, he knows it. “It’s a,” he vacillates, unsure how exactly to describe the…ritual of it. The way it’s cast as a, as a…

“It is a high,” Steve’s voice wavers a bit, like finally saying it aloud makes it all the less believable: “honor.”

The other man eyes him silently until Steve feels it in his very skin, before finally he speaks:

“Hmm,” he tips his head, considering just a little before he seems less to come to a conclusion, and more to a conclusion on how to best voice the things he wanted to say already, at that:

“Well, I know these woods very well, better than any hailing from the village I suspect you’re speaking of,” his gaze flicks Steve top to toes, something warm in it, no, something hot in it, that simmers through Steve’s veins: “and so I can get you to the caves, at the very least for shelter before moonrise-full,” he glances skyward, seeming to doublecheck his words before he nods decisively and reaches out a hand:

“Think you can trust someone you only just stumbled upon in the forest to steer you straight?”

And Steve doesn’t know for sure what he’d have done, what his answer and actions may have been if death-by-some-draconic-means weren’t imminent. But it is, and so he takes the hand offered, and grasps more than shakes, holds more than strikes accord and lets himself notice and relish how smooth and warm it feels against his skin:

“Lead the way.”

He doesn’t know what he’d do in lesser circumstances.

But for the grin on the man’s face, the way it shines brighter than moonlight, than sunrays even, he suspects: for the way it makes of the man a star on his own somehow?

Steve wants very much to believe he’d trust the man anyway, regardless of sense, just for the breadth of that smile.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Looks like the dragon’s out for the night.”

Steve makes an extra survey of the den nestled a good bit into the cave when his mysterious guide comments on the undeniable silence of their surroundings, the telling echo of their footsteps in the empty space.

“Curses,” Steve huffs, both frustrated and dismayed because: “I’ll have angered him, what if he doesn’t think I’m enough for—“

“One,” Steve’s beguiling guide ticks the point off with a finger raised on a strangely elegant hand; “you think dragons to be too irritable.” Steve rolls his eyes to himself—this Man who knows so much of the temperaments of dragons, the ego to presume—

“They can be quite pleasant so long as they have sufficient treasure. And they’re long-lived, so they’re patient,” the man continues on, which: it seems his ego’s well-reasoned out at the very least, Steve supposes.

“Which brings us to point number two,” and of course there’s a number two, a pair of fingers now waving almost accusingly to the side of Steve’s face:

“You’re more than enough to be worth waiting for.”

Steve blushes furiously and thanks the sparse cracks of nearly enchanted—quite possibly enchanted, actually—light for very little chance to be seen for it.

His companion grins with a glimmer of that sparse glow catching his eyes, glittering in it like enchantment themselves, and Steve thinks both that yes, he’s likely been seen and caught so that likewise yes, he needs to move out of the shaft of light that betrays him and with haste, because to think such a thing about this strange and beguiling man—beguiling, good gods—says far to much about what Steve feels about him, and far too soon, even by his standards.

Which are lightning quick already on a day in which he knows restraint.

“Sparse for a horde,” Steve surprises himself for how steady his voice is, given how obvious his bid to change the subject lands, not matter his tone.

His companion is gracious enough to allow the shift without comment:

“You think mortal eyes can see such things without a dragon’s explicit permission?”

But not gracious enough to abandon that ego.

“How do you know so much of dragons?” Steve finally just asks; subtlety’s never been his strongest characteristic, and in honesty, it’s past time to have asked it.

The other man smirks, scoffs a little.

“This may be your village’s first encounter with them,” and it’s said not quite in censure, and not unkindly, but Steve is cowed a bit nonetheless—the man had never named but has more than once referenced where he thinks Steve’s from, and Steve suspects if his vestments and the crests embroidered to them weren’t enough, his lack of knowledge would be—his people have been blessed in many ways, and live privileged lives on the whole, most especially his family, in comparison to their neighbors.

“But here is the only perch for the span of tens of villages,” the man points out; “and they’ve not been left untouched for so long.”

Right. Of course.

“You’re from a neighboring town?”

“One word for it,” the man shrugs, in such a way now that it shivers through his unruly curls; “and you’re from Hawkins, I gather.”

Right. Unsubtle to the bone it seems, indeed.

“For the whole of my life I can say I know only one thing about your home,” the man takes Steve grimace as the confirmation that it is; “and it’s how they share notoriously little to know.”

Steve chews at his lip, knows the failings his family’s rule has had for the people without and without their borders. Has tried to find ways to help without power of his own in the order of things.

“I always wished to see other lands, even the nearest of them,” Steve finally lands on something to say; “I tried to convince my parents, but—”

“Parents?”

It might be the first time his new…friend? Looks properly halted.

“Son and heir,” Steve points to himself with a weary sort of smirk, the whole thing laughable, really; “the tribute has to be valuable, right? I thought upon seeing so little here, I could offer from our own troves before the end, as appeasement but,” Steve sighs, suddenly drained, only now realizing, now that the option eludes him, just how heavily he was counting on the option of at least trying to bargain with the dragon, appealing to its intellect and far more, its love of treasure.

“But if it’s as you say, I may have much less by way of offering at all.”

There’s an instant sort of chill that fills him as he starts to acclimate to the reality that he’s going to die, and soon, and there truly is not hope for an escape. He—

“Let me assure you,” the man’s hand startles Steve, battles and swiftly overcomes the chill in him as it wraps tight around Steve’s wrist, his voice following Steve’s own almost without break, a cutting finality to it, definitiveness in his tone and his eyes alike once Steve meets them—and once Steve meets them, the not-quite-stranger doesn’t let him look away.

Magnetic.

“Based on what I have seen?” and the words could be casual, but the low rumble they’re spoken with is anything but:

“You could walk here wholly empty handed, and no dragon worth their flame would turn you away as unworthy.”

Steve feels less his cheeks, and more his whole body, inside and out, flush bright and there’s no light to hide from, save from the one shimmering in the gaze locked into his own.

And Steve, for all his postures of pride: this time?

He has no desire to hide the way he flushes, never mind the way he shivers, if it means trying to evade those eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~

Incidentally, it’s too late for the other man to turn back, though he clearly knows these woods so well. Steve insists that he stays.

Not for any ulterior motives, of course.

The man argues, if almost for show alone, but agrees on one condition: they neither of them have bedding. The other man apparently hadn’t planned to be out past the hour for rest, is only stuck because of Steve and Steve—

Steve has a pack but he…he presumed he’d either be dead and his offerings deemed fitting, or the dragon would keep him as the dragon desired, bedding or clothing or neither, until the dragon was satisfied.

And then, again: he’d be dead.

It is unthinkable to take the meager blankets Steve can see in a corner, not without permission; not from a dragon, so. The other man is asking to…lie close.

And Steve is not opposed. The man is almost…surreally exquisite, especially in the passing moonlight. His angles are…particular. Alluring. They steal the breath in Steve’s chest a little, long before they’ve earned the right.

“It feels more than overdue now to ask your name,” Steve whispers, not that it’s necessary. Not that there’s anyone to hear.

“Eddie,” the man whispers back, his voice so warm and almost enveloping, like an embrace in itself and Steve feels less absurd for speaking so soft, so privately.

Nearly intimate.

Good gods, now Steve is being absurd and should feel it to his bones. He deserves to suffer the uncomfortable twist of embarrassment it leaves in stomach, at this rate.

“Steve,” he manages to say low enough that his mortification isn’t audible.

But then:

“That is a beautiful name, sweetheart,” Eddie breathes, and he’s shimmied closer somehow while Steve was stuck in his shame-spiral for being the too quick to show his cards, even to himself in his own head.

“Nothing special to it,” Steve mutters, demurs a little but in a coquettish way, doesn’t even mean to. Just…there’s an energy between them now, and Steve’s primed to match it.

“Isn’t there?” Eddie asks, heated and near in a way that dances up Steve’s spine:

“I would hesitate to be so sure.”

Again, Steve doesn’t mean to, or plan to, when he rolls further into Eddie’s frame where they’re laid together, already so close, now nearly in each other’s arms.

He doesn’t mean to, and yet: his arms are gathered close against the chest of a man he doesn’t know, and yet feels…more comfortable next to than any body he’s pressed against in his life.

And there have been fair few.

“You’re so warm,” Steve mouths more than anything, lips dragging on this half-stranger’s neck by accident, because it could be nothing save an accident that Steve now knows that Eddie’s skin tastes of salt and smoked cinnamon sticks and the air in the forrest at night: elemental, somehow. Necessary.

Only by accident would Steve torture himself this way.

“I’d keep you warm always,” Steve hears as the world blurs soft to black, the phantom sensation of arms curling around him, welcoming him to sleep—the whole of it odd in every way because he hadn’t spoken loud enough to be heard, really, even so close, and to read his words from the drag of his mouth to flesh was of course impossible.

“To the end of the Age and beyond if I could,” the words drift blissful, wistful like an invitation into sleep: “if you’d let me.”

So of course: it must have been a dream.

~~~~~~~~~~

Daybreak finds them entangled.

Steve…freezes, as if he didn’t feel snug and perfectly warm wrapped up so close. He weighs the merits of bolting, and making apologies after the fact, against trying to extricate himself without rousing his companion, versus—

“Good morning, sweetness.”

Steve stills somehow further, feels his face heat yet again and yet this time, despite the dark of the cave, he’s…crushed ever so pleasantly against the bare smooth planes of a chest that…shouldn’t be bare, should it, because they moved together close for heat against the chill and for certain it is past dawn but it is still nowhere near warm enough for—

“Did you sleep well?”

Steve groans, which only leads him to burrowing further into the unavoidably welcoming give of Eddie’s chest, lean but strong, Steve can tell, much like he can feel as much as hear the rumbling laughter that cascades through that chest: so much like an invitation to sink into the chest and the sound alike, to never be singular, to never be cold.

What a ridiculous notion.

But then lips are unmistakably pressed to the crown of Steve’s head, not even in passing, no: they linger. They…feel right.

Steve wants for them to be right until the day he dies—

Well. That might actually be possible, or close enough for what he’s earned in this world.

The irony.

Eddie takes to the hunt—the reason he was in the woods to find Steve in the first place, apparently; he says his bow and knives are just down toward the ravine, which Steve vaguely knows but not well, too close to the borders of other lands.

“Don’t fret, though,” and this time the lips press to the low half of Steve’s cheek, affection that does not press its advantage but makes it desires clear, too close to Steve mouth to be anything less.

Steve…is unsure what to make of that. Because he cannot make what he thinks of first; he cannot possibly follow that thread in his own mind—increasingly in his own chest.

“I’ll find you, if you get lost again.”

As if Steve will wander, would risk missing his dragon captor’s return, to even consider one misstep to unintentionally enrage his looming executioner, to even consider missing a single instant in the meantime with this man—

But the glinting smile that man shoots Steve’s way as he strides out the yawning opening in the rocks, its glinting like stardust and warm radiance that fills Steve’s veins then spills over and seeps into his marrow:

Steve doesn’t think that man actually meant getting lost that way.

And what on earth is he supposed to make of that, save everything that he can’t have; that cannot be?

Though, in fairness: it would be on brand. Steven Harrington of Hawkins.

Falling hard and fast and more real than ever before, mere hours before he leaves the mortal coil.

~~~~~~~~~~

“You’re anxious.”

Steve knows now that his dreams were realty, last night. The words, the arms.

He is awake in them now after they eat what Eddie’s secured for them, cooked over a fire perfectly pitched outside the mouth of the cave, its warmth not insufficient as they’d eaten in pleasant company together.

Not insufficient at all. Just not this chest; these arms.

And now they are both of them bare to the waist, knowingly and happily curled into one another, and Steve feels on one hand boneless, weightless, inexplicably held and kept beyond the physical in the embrace of a man he barely knows and yet feels…close to. Something-he-cannot-bring-himself-to-say-at-first sight, like in the fairy stories.

But that man’s palm is splayed across Steve’s chest; can feel the birds’ wings of his heartbeat at first stroke.

For the first time in Steve’s life, it doesn’t feel like a weakness he’s caught out on; with Eddie nuzzling at his hair, Steve doesn’t hesitate to speak his fear with a heavy sigh:

“You said you’ve dealt with dragons.”

“Time to time,” Eddie hums, presses his lips to Steve’s scalp like reassurance.

“How will it happen?” Steve whispers shakily, but for the first time in his entire life, he shakes into someone who seems to care, against all reason; who holds tighter to him for needing rather than casting him away.

“I mean, I know,” Steve licks his lips; “I know what will happen, just,” and he can’t quite finish, chokes around his words. Eddie moves closer against him, under the weight of Steve’s frame, maneuvers them so that he can tilt his head just so to kiss down Steve’s jaw while still holding him close; ever closer.

“Well,” Eddie pecks against the peak of Steve’s cheekbone before moving down, all the while massaging circles against Steve’s chest; “a town sends their most valued,” and he sucks a little the, against Steve’s jawline; “but some towns have less to pick from,” and then he finds Steve’s pulse point and suckles there with real feeling until Steve may be terrified, but he’s simultaneously soft clay in a beautiful man’s hands, under a beautiful man’s mouth.

“A dragon is not a mindless beast,” Eddie adds after Steve can feel he’s been well and thoroughly bruised.

“I’ve always heard they’re very smart,” Steve breathes, maybe nods, mostly just savors Eddie’s heat, his nearness, how he touches Steve like he has value; like Steve has value to him, and what a thing to feel, to want, to possibly hold, even for these stolen moments; “it’s how they tell if you send them less than they’re owed.”

Because of course Steve knows the stories. Steve can remember countless tales of horrific ends for villages, towns, whole kingdoms even, razed for being so haughty and foolish as to try and swindle a dragon—perhaps embellished to encourage children’s behavior, but. The bones of the narrative fit the oft-smoldering evidence often enough, so far as Steve could tell in the proper histories.

“Not owed,” Eddie corrects, firmly but somehow also gently, his capacity for dynamism an oddly comforting thing, so human and forgiving of overstepping boundaries so freely as to maybe not even draw any to begin with, at complete odds with Steve’s entire life; “not how most people think, at least.”

Eddie flip Steve over gently, firmly again, settles them chest to chest, one atop the other as Steve looks down at him, feels his heartbeat crash against Eddie’s own closer than ought to be felt, like their ribs clear way for the two of them, for whatever they could be, and Steve wonders if part of why his heart is racing so is for the loss of the possibility that rushes through him, that swells between them in every moment—something that grows in every moment, every look and touch and blink, that expands effervescent and filled with so much without any knowledge that there is not space to hold it, that what time they have is borrowed at best.

Steve thinks maybe; his sick heart for it could be railing where the rest of him is fixated on etching every one of those looks and blinks and touches into his bones so that they may be among the last parts of him to leave the earth.

“A dragon, above most things, has a particularly keen sense to know precisely where value lies,” Eddie’s explaining again, his hand now still, pressed against Steve’s heart akin to a shield, or a safe-hold. “And how.”

Steve ponder that for a moment before he meets Eddie’s eyes, having felt them heavy and molten upon him with new fire before taking them in for all that they are: brilliance.

Blinding.

Steve leans as Eddie arches and they meet in between to press their lips together after what feels an eternity and an instant of living in a world where they didn’t taste one another in such a way as to drink their fill. As to breathe each other’s breath.

So as to tease and cherish deep, to tongue against the very heart.

And there Steve makes certain, before he loses himself wholly to sensation:

Looks. Touches. Blinks. Carved into his bones, but first.

First he’ll gild them in every single kiss.

~~~~~~~~~~

They transition fully into lovers in a seamless fashion, insatiable like Steve’s never known it. Eddie never keeps him wanting, gives selflessly and Steve does all that he can to reciprocate and more, because Eddie is everything, of that Steve is certain, and therefore he deserves no less.

He also seems dead set on making sure that they are posed as equals. That to lavish one another with affections as much as to ravish each other endless never unbalances one way or the other. Wherever Steve seeks to give more where Eddie should have it, Eddie turns the tables to takes Steve apart so that all he knows is tingly euphoria. A happiness he’s never felt, didn’t quite believe could exist.

Yet here he is. Here they are.

Steve smiles more than he remembers, playful and ravenous and overflowing with feeling, and Eddie doesn’t rise to meet his enthusiasm: he’s already there, matched with him and ecstatic to entwine. It’s a heady thing, addictive and overwhelming and a gift, Steve thinks: maybe the universe forgive him for doing less to stop harm and deprivation in his home, for wishing to help more and acting where he could even if it wasn’t enough. Maybe he gets this sliver of heaven out of pity for what’s to come.

He will take it with open arms. He will welcome it. He will make himself of it until there is not Steve that exists outside of it.

But it cannot overcome the inevitable, in its impending, suffocating weight.

Come the sixth day like this—the sixth night like this—something in Steve gives way. Existing on the precipice of life and death with no telling of when the hammer with strike finally takes too much of a toll, and his nerves betray him.

“Likely they are hunting, it can take many days, weeks even I’m told,” Eddie tries to console him as he shakes, can’t even sob, like his body can’t coordinate even that much to work properly, too distraught are pieces of him he’s flooded with pleasure but finally could no longer be denied, fed on his wonderment and picked until it cracked enough for his fears to bleed through. “But if you are still so anxious we could, or, I could try and look for some clue as to where it’s gone?” Eddie offers carefully, holding Steve together as he does his utmost to shudder out of his skin. “And you can stay here, in case it returns?”

The only thing Steve can do then is shake his head until it hurts, until he’s dizzy with his own vehement denial: it’s the first things that’s properly matched, body to feeling.

It’s fitting that way.

“I,” Steve starts, just voice barely a scratch as Eddie reaches, tips his chin upward and cups his face so delicate:

“What, angel?”

Steve blinks at him—takes him in, presses down to pain as he draws it, brands it onto his skeleton to be remembered, all the tangled but powerfulfeelings he has for this man so fast, so strong.

For this man, for all he feels: Steve makes himself speak what’s heavy and true and real in his galloping heart:

“I have no intention of reneging my duties,” he rasps, holds on to Eddie as tightly as he can, as if maybe their bones could brand one’s another and fuse into one.

“But until no choice is left, I,” Steve chokes, and his eyes burn as he holds Eddie’s gaze, lifts Eddie’s hand away from his cheek and over to his lips to press all his hopeless hopes against Eddie’s palms:

“I don’t want to be out of your sight, nor you taken from mine.”

The tear that escapes him then is caught by Eddie’s thumb. Adoringly.

Each that follows is lost between Eddie’s lips; might belong to them both.

Steve thinks he can believe that much—in these fleeting, sacred moment—to be true.

~~~~~~~~~~

The dragon has still not appeared, and Steve has since collected himself for the most part, with Eddie ready to brace him steady when he starts to falter. It’s a wild novel thing, to be supported this way. To be cared for.

With such care, comes perception. For better or worse.

“What troubles you, beloved?” Eddie eyes him knowingly, a level of sight straight through to Steve’s soul that should not be fathomable in a lifetime, let alone a week’s time.

“My own mind,” Steve admits freely, unwilling any longer—if he ever had been—to hide from Eddie, unsure what the point would be even if he desired to: “it is cowardly, and selfish.”

“I doubt that,” Eddie catches Steve’s jawbone with a single finger, playful, endearing: but clear in its pointed redirection of Steve’s gaze, and his disparagement of his own thoughts:

“I would doubt that quite strongly, in fact.”

Steve lets Eddie touch prompt him to a kiss, as if he needs coaxing before he leans into the crook of Eddie’s neck and breathes him in: the best savours of the ground and sky.

“I would not run from my fate, here,” Steve says, not wholly to remind himself but, not without that purpose at hand; “save that it feels like my fate is…”

And he slides his hand to Eddie’s chest, hopes it speaks for him where he doesn’t know words for the depth and breadth and weight of these feelings; Eddie’s hand covers his, automatic, and he knows he’s understood.

“I wish not to be parted from you, now that I’ve found you,” Steve whispers, swallows hard, then looks Eddie in the eyes, speaks straight to the soul in them so that he is not misread, or underestimated in the weight of his own words, now:

“I think that I may be in love with you.”

And he’s never been before. He’s believed it may be love, but: no. No, it was never love before.

If ever it was love: it is this.

“Oh my precious one,” Eddie pets his hair and kisses after his own touch: “I don’t think that I’m in love with you,” and Steve stiffens only for the instant Eddie leaves between those words, and dipping down to Steve’s ear to exhale with feeling:

“I know it.”

How it is possible to die brokenhearted and happier than he’d ever dreamed, Steve doesn’t know.

But he’s about to serve as object lesson, in just days.

Maybe less.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Know that when,” Steve is speaking to the cracks in the rock that peek at the night sky as he speaks, Eddie on his chest like a blanket, save so much better; “when it happens,mwhen it devours me whole or takes me in pieces,” and his voice catches, but he remains resolute; “it will know you in every inch of me,” and he cups Eddie closer to him then, holds him against the thunderous roar of his pulse.

“My heart is full of you, and it will taste only of devotion,” Steve near-hisses for the fervor in him. “You’ll be the last bit of me known to the world.”

“Never.”

The growl that comes from the body that curls around him, protective, possessive, beloved in a way and to a magnitude Steve didn’t know he could feel before now: the venom in it makes it clear that it’s not a refutation of Steve’s declaration for the sentiment.

It’s a refutation to the cosmos itself.

“I would never allow it,” Eddie bites out, pressing closer to Steve, to his heart: “you will not be forfeit to some dragon,” and oh, but this man Steve loves is wild with his passion, foolhardy and yet all the more lovable for it.

“I would fight with all that I am to protect you,” he vows, presses his lips to Steve’s chest and speaks there like he means well and truly to means to tell Steve to the heart of him this sole, unshakeable truth: “and should somehow I lose the battle, it could only be because there is nothing of me left to fight.”

And for the first time, in all his life: Steve clings to something, someone, he’d happily rip his beating heart out to protect.

And that—he realizes in a single world-rewriting instant—he fears the loss of more than any other thing.

Any. Other. Thing.

~~~~~~~~~~

They don’t speak of it, or of a choice to be made when the time does come: Steve thinks maybe that’s the only way they manage at all, really, is to simply hold it between them in those last days. Known. Seen.

Loved.

And feared.

But always together. Always so close, in every way.

Until the stasis breaks.

“Steve,” Eddie breathes into the afternoon, innocuous. Steve’s stopped counting how many days they’ve stolen together.

“I must leave, my darling.”

Steve narrows his eyes, trying to understand him. He watches as Eddie hurries to gather both of Steve’s hands, to bring them to his lips.

“Only for a short while,” he murmurs between Steve’s fingers, kisses at his knuckles with apology, and with heartsickness thick between his breaths: “barely a moment,” and his breath is short, thin, like the thought of leaving hurts.

And Steve…Steve has been in love for the first time, with the perfect match to his very soul. Unthinkable, but undeniable.

But it hasn’t made him wholly blind.

He means to press, to see if the slight little inklings he’s had every so often hold any weight, point in any direction of significance, means to ask just a simple thing, but then Eddie’s expression breaks open, a miasma of emotion spilling forth as his breath catches, monumental on a sob and he takes the hands at his lips and instead uses them to bury his face.

“Oh, my Steve,” he breathes, and all Steve can really see are the heaving lifts of his shoulders, and the way his curls fall a little like a monsoon.

“I am sorry,” Eddie whispers into Steve hands and Steve feels dampness there, and oh. No.

Not from Eddie. Not for whatever this is. Steve can think of nothing, save Eddie leaving for good before the end, that he should be moved to apologize for. And even that Steve would forgive.

Because Steve loves him.

“Why?” Steve asks, incredulous, his own half-formed ideas to seek to know gone at the sight of his beloved in distress. “What reason on earth do you have to be sorry, you said,” and Steve halts, wonders if that’s the catch, and tries not to falter without reason, tries to stand tall: “only a moment,” and that is what Eddie said, he said only a—

“I lied.”

Steve does to falter.

He starts to fracture and fall entirely. Because what, what all was a lie, was it all a lie, he—

He doesn’t know if he can breathe. He’s never lost his heart before. But he imagines that if death is still waiting for him, and he’ll face it alone: it’s what he’d planed for. What he’s prepared for from the start.

He knows how to be alone. It has to hurt less, than losing his heart now.

It will have to hurt less, at the very end, if it comes to him without a heart in his breast.

“It was worth every second, no matter that it must end, in joy or heartbreak,” Steve finds himself saying, and if his tone rings hollow, it’s only because his heart’s already leaking from him, already half-gone: he means it with every bit he has left, nonetheless.

“You are the moon, pulling me close,” he turns his hands so his palms line to Eddie’s; “the sun wrapping me in warmth,” and he folds their fingers together, clutches tight one last time, greedy as anything:

“You have been the greatest gift at the end of all I’ll ever know.” And that is the truth, that is the last words and final rites written on his bones. ��Because of you, I will die fulfilled in ways I didn’t realize I was lacking.”

And then there’s just one thing, because Steve, Steve needs to say this part, he doesn’t think he’s said this part yet:

“Thank you.”

He means it.

But Eddie only holds onto him harder, painfully but it’s perfection; only shakes his head over and over before he finally rasps, barely audible:

“You misunderstand.”

Steve leans closer to hear him, to feel him, to know his warmth in the lat moments that might be left. He wants to understand. He doesn’t want the end to be anything but clear.

Even if it hurts.

“I have lied,” Eddie swallows hard; “but you misunderstand for what.”

Steve…still misunderstands.

“You have been my moon,” Eddie nearly moans, his head nuzzling into Steve’s hands, his hold, with nothing short of desperation:“you have been the sun since the first revelation when I was taught as barely a hatchling that my kind were born of suns, made from fire.”

And that. It’s been those small things: some dragon. Not owed. No dragon would find him unworthy.

The ego to presume.

This is no longer a small thing, spoken now.

“You stole my heart straight away, and I gave it freely but,” Eddie hiccups the slightest bit; “I only grow in relishing that of all the souls in all the worlds, yours has welcomed mine,” and he sniffles, by every god and power in all the worlds—

“You are a privilege.”

And oh, oh, but by every god and power: Steve loves him.

“And you have a dragon’s heart now, no matter how you choose to use it, to keep or reject it,” foolish words Eddie speaks so messy, so rushed and ragged, so ripped out from him visceral and slick with feeling: “and your end will be my end,” and his lips brush Steve’s hands, kiss the pulse on both his wrists:

“And either that will be unmeasurable ages hence,” and his breath catches, and Steve only wants for him to look up, just look up, because he’s said it without saying now, hasn’t he, muddled and frantic and so human, to say he’s anything but as he admits to the thing he thinks he needs to offer apology for.

“Or,” he trips over the next words, but they’re so sodden with candor, the blood in his veins:

“Or my heart may turn ash if you leave but,” and he brings the heels of both Steve’s hands to his mouth and kisses, speaks into them worshipfully:

“Your life will go on as a mortal’s, once I’ve—”

“You’ve given your heart?”

Because Steve had suspicions. Of why Eddie said certain things, certain ways. How warm he was. How strong and even and…ancient the beating of his heart resonated beneath Steve’s ear, his touch, like it radiated heat as a sun in itself.

“Of course,” Eddie’s head snaps up, like he’s offended at any suggestion to the contrary; “almost immediately.”

He blinks; he forgets himself. There’s a lid to his starburst eyes that closes unlike Steve’s, the opposite direction, almost invisible.

But Steve’s watching. Steve doesn’t blink once, cannot miss this.

Cannot pause what he writes into his bones because even if he plans for nothing less than ages unmeasurable, now, he wants this written on the bones that come in the end.

Whenever the end stretches out to.

“And if it’s ill received,” Steve asks slowly, his brows pinching as he picks through the implications of this part: “you—”

“Wither, slowly,” Eddie says, far too matter-of-fact for Steve’s liking, or willingness to stand: “but the end comes, yes.”

“Eddie,” Steve scolds, and Eddie flinches, thinks he’s been caught, been known and revealed now and in so being is anything but wanted with all of Steve’s being.

There is a tiny part of Steve that’s grateful for his foolishness: it makes Steve feel less alone, to be swept so by a love this vast.

“You are the dearest treasure I’ve ever known,” Eddie whispers, but it’s a pleading thing, something even Steve can tell doesn’t feel as if it had a hope to grasp; “if you let me keep you I would hold you closer than all things. To give a dragon’s heart means to place whatever holds it closer than the heart itself ever learned to rest on its own,” and Eddie gathers Steve’s hands again to his chest, stacks them, presses so very hard.

The life in him is a sobering thing. The idea that Steve holds this power somehow in his hands, literally and otherwise, is…staggering.

No less then amazing.

“You are my single desire, but more,” Eddie breathes; “you are my single care, my sole concern,” “my only.”

“Why do you leave, then?”

And Eddie stills. Pulls back only so much as to weigh what he sees in Steve’s face, Steve’s eyes—what Steve sees in his is clear: Eddie didn’t think he’d get to this part. He thought Steve would balk at learning his lover was something more than mere human.

Specifics aside, Steve could have told anyone that from the night that they met.

And so Eddie, bowled over by the shock of the fact that Steve still holds to him, does not waver, seems to speak unvarnished when he answers:

“The things you have shared,” and Steve knows without expansion what Eddie means: tales of home, of his family, of his parents, of how he came to be here, pledged as sacrifice for the good of his town, whispered in the dark as they watched the stars move slow; “I can bear it no longer, my darling.”

And Eddie straightens further then, and Steve sees what he dismissed as the play of the light: the glow in Eddie’s eyes unmistakable as something other, something from within.

“I demand the most valued,” Eddie’s words come out in a hiss, shape even as he hesitates, leaves every moment for Steve to pull away should his touch be unwanted as he reaches to brush Steve’s hair from his face.

“You are that and more to me and yet,” and he shakes his head, and it’s so strange still to be marveled at this way: unbridled and unashamed.

“You said it yourself, valuable,” Eddie nearly spits the word, like a poison he seeks to eke out; “and yet I believe that I said something different.”

Steve frowns, tries to put together the pieces but then his face is framed in long fingers that span the whole of him, fittingly so, as Eddie looks deed in his eyes and says with force and feeling:

“Valued,” he emphasizes with a kiss; “beloved,” and another, and Steve cannot help but smile into it just the slightest bit, his heart soaring as the other pieces—borrowed time and impending ends and forevers in view all at once rearranging into what he thinks might be an always with this man who’s more than a man when he speaks against Steve’s mouth:

“Precious beyond all else and others.”

He pulls back, and marvels more, then narrows his eyes in a way Steve’s never seen, pupils contracting inward from the sides into slits.

“You are mine,” Eddie growls; “but the demands we make are not idle, and they did not value you as you deserved,” Eddie scowls, and Steve sees it now, where he’s going, what he’s doing:

“And they thought it acceptable to send you to me as their most valued, believing they sent you to your death?” Eddie seethes:

“It cannot go unpunished.”

Steve…sees it. Understands, now.

It does not hurt, the idea of losing people who were family only in name, especially not to the man before him, who is all that family should mean, could mean, will mean.

Always, now.

“The villagers are innocents, please,” Steve whispers, and Eddie cups his cheek, so lovingly it aches.

“Fret not,” he says with that warmth that Steve’s melted in from the very start; “I know who deserves my ire.” His expression sours, hardens:

“And they will know their hard-earned consequences.”

Eddie kisses Steve with a kind of devotion bigger than the sky somehow, and it’s only because Steve’s reeling to get his footing back that he trails behind Eddie and not at his side as he makes to depart.

“Please do not follow me, beloved,” he calls over his shoulder, not breaking his pace; “I do not wish you to see-“

“I will stay,” Steve answers, like the words were waiting on this tongue of this very moment: “if.”

Eddie stills; turns.

“If?”

“You promise to return with all haste,” Steve reaches him quick and is the one who kisses with all that he knows, all that he can imagine, all that he holds inside of himself and shares already with Eddie uninhibited; “I will be cold without you.”

And that makes Eddie soften; smile as he promises:

“Done.”

“And,” Steve adds, pulling away from Eddie’s lips to look him straight on as Eddie’s brow quirks in question:

“And?”

“Change for me.”

And Eddie, for once, is wholly dumbfounded. Speechless.

It’s quite a feat to behold.

“You,” he stammers; “you wish to see,” he shakes his head, disbelieving; “beloved, it is not, I am,” and oh, oh: Steve did not expect this part: “we are cast as fearsome creatures for good reason.”

He is wary. He is cautious. He thinks himself the monster. He wants to hide this part from Steve.

But Steve will have nothing hidden between them, least of all this: the whole of who his love is.

“I do not fear you, I could not,” Steve pledges in truth; “and any creature with your heart, who has captured my soul,” Steve grabs Eddie’s shoulders and draws him in, bows those foreheads into one another:

“You could never be anything short of exquisite. Breathtakingly so.”

Eddies breathing is hitched, stuttering. Steve wants to cry for the way he is surprised. Wants to mourn for whatever hurt him to make him this cautious, this stunned by Steve’s love: unconditional.

Undying, now that it’s possible to give as such, and in truth.

And Steve waits, watches him, stares patient until Eddie sighs deeply, steps back far and then closes his eyes and…becomes.

Larger, of course. The wings are a feat. The talons are less a surprise from his spindly fingers.

He’s, he is…

“You are,” Steve reaches, waits until Eddie comes to him, welcomes his touch this way and to feel him, smooth scale not so unlike the chest bare against him in the night—warmth and safety and all that is right:

“Magnificent. And I would know you,” Steve tells him, seeks his gaze as he speaks from the very core of his being: “even if I hadn’t seen it for myself.”

He steps closer, waits for Eddie to be curious enough to bow his head low so Steve can mimic how they’d stood, forehead pressed just moments before.

“These unfathomable eyes,” he whispers between them, and smiles at how those eyes fall closed in something like relief, like comfort after laying down a heavy burden as Steve reaches for the soft underbelly in lighter scales against the charcoal of the rest of his beloved’s form:

“The might of this heart,” and he presses, and yes, exactly as he knew he’d find: thunderous. Could part seas, reshape the globe, stir the stars.

And it’s Steve’s. So he doesn’t hesitate to press his lips above the breathing and breathe out:

“Unmistakable, my darling.”

When he pulls back those eyes truly are just the same: they wonder. They marvel.

At Steve. Just Steve.

It’s intoxicating.

“Do what must be done,” Steve nuzzles at the side of Eddie’s face, pulls his snout to his shoulder so he can kiss at what he supposes is something of a cheek, and then he pulls back, lets go.

But only their bodies. Nothing more. Never anything more. Not ever again.

“Then come home to me.”

Steve could be wrong, or just wishful, but he thinks Eddie glows from within through the whole of himself, and not just his eyes, as he takes flight and shoots like the star Steve always saw inside him, up into the night.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s not long. It’s just as Eddie promised.

After everything, Steve hadn’t worried at all that it would be anything else.

“It was painless,” is what Eddie says as he walks back into the cave, a man again; “and it was for the sake of justice overdue,” as if he must explain. Or seek forgiveness.

Steve pulls him in and kisses him until he’s breathless as an answer for both concerns.

“What now?” he can’t help but ask. He is still more in love than he can breathe through. Will live and die exactly that way for time innumerable.

“You wish to be here, with me?” Eddie asks, almost hesitant; seeking.“You do not feel indebted, or, or coerced? Or tricked or held by force or—”

Steve grins at the babbling, the nervous rambles. To think they’re because of him.

It might just give him an absolutely unbearable ego of his own if it’s to be the norm forevermore.

“Love,” Steve presses a single raised finger to the missile of Eddie’s lips, watches as he adorable crosses his eyes to follow its trajectory.

“You are all that I have imagined and never thought to find.” And it really is as simple and as unthinkable as that, in the end. Or the beginning. “The only way I would be anywhere but your side is to be torn from it, or sent away.”

Eddie growls at the first suggestion, and huffs in pure offense at the suggestion of the second as he reaches and pulls Steve flush to his body: warm, warm, warm.

Steve’s heart flutters against him, reminding him that he owns it wholly.

Eddie’s drums in protective answer, welcoming as much as seeking to leap into Steve’s chest on the same promise, the same pledge as he murmurs into Steve’s lips:

“You still misestimate what it means to be loved by a dragon,” and drags his mouth against Steve’s bottom lips, a little wanton even as his words carry the weight of the universe entire:

“This,” and he clutches Steve’s closer still, so as to not be mistaken; “is for as much of eternity as is for us to grasp.”

It is not sacrifice at all to kiss the man, to love the dragon, in front of him, now.

And for the rest of time ahead.

For @a-little-unsteddie, who requested the quote 'Magic' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST

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