#i hope to write it one day!!!!!

[merakiui]

after writing angst for azul, i feel much more confident to write angst pieces for jade and floyd. >:D

the idea for floyd is that he was your closest and only friend in childhood, but you disappeared one day and so he spends the entirety of his life searching for you because the two of you had such a special, unbreakable bond. floyd is determined to find you and he ignores all of the doubtful people who tell him you're long gone. but it's been years since his childhood and he's well into adulthood now. still, he refuses to give up (even though there are days where he really contemplates whether you're still out there). floyd just wants to bring his shrimpy home. :( where did his shrimpy go?

for jade, it's a story in which a rain god (jade) washes up on the shore and realizes he's lost the ability to cry. this is bad news for villagers because without jade's tears/sadness rain cannot fall and thus a horrible drought plagues your little seaside village, rendering the land dry and cracked and producing very scant harvests. you find jade and decide to nurse him back to health while also attempting to get the rain god to finally cry. only, jade doesn't know what makes him sad anymore... but he learns a lot about what it means to be human when he spends so much time with you. there's always been something strangely sad about humans, but jade doesn't mingle with them and so he's never known just what this something is. but he learns. he learns, even if he doesn't want to, about what makes a human life beautifully tragic.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

HOW DEEP IS YOUR DEVOTION? ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; you’re his knight, and he’s your prince. if only it were that simple.

word count; 6.6k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, royalty au (..but no effort put into making it historically accurate in any way oops), knight!reader x prince!toru!!, childhood friends, mutual pining, fluffy overall, some hurt/comfort too, vague allusions to abuse (reader is punished by one of the castle maids as a child but it’s only really hinted at), knight!reader is horrendously devoted but prince!gojo is arguably worse, he would burn the world down if u asked nicely <3

a/n; big big BIG thank you to @/teddybeartoji for having the biggest brain in the galaxy and infecting me with this concept <33 if u pay attention while reading you can tell the exact moment i started slowly spiraling into insanity

you are five years old when you meet the prince.

five years old, a mere child, and too young to be blinded by such brilliance. too young to be where you are; curled up in a dark alley, back against a grimy brick wall, covered in bruises. like a beaten dog — scrawny and afraid. waiting for a strike that never comes.

the boy in front of you is also five years old, but you don’t know that. something in him looks older, somehow, something in the way he carries himself. like he doesn’t have anything to be afraid of. like he’s never even felt fear. he parts his lips and speaks like he has the right to, like he’s comfortable in his own skin, a radiance so blinding you could mistake him for the sun. too much for you to bear.

”does it hurt?”

the words fall on deaf ears. but you flinch, your body reacts, a tremble down your tiny spine. you hear the sound but not the words. too mesmerized, too paralyzed, unable to look away from the blue of his eyes, painted with rich watercolour hues. seeping into the world around you like ink on paper, cobalt and aquamarine and something else, something you’ve never seen before —

a blue so jarring it makes you shiver.

the boy has an innocent face. almost girlish, plump cheeks and long lashes, clean clothes and smooth skin. a little too pretty to be out here, you think, in this part of town — too pure to be anywhere near someone like you. he’s above you, that much you can tell. a pretty, innocent face, untouched by dirt or ache; the face of royalty. an entirely different species.

there’s something keen in his eyes, a contrast to his childlike features. a sharp gaze, something that sees through you, something that won’t look away. something mildly frightening. enough to have you cowering in fear, hugging your knees closer to your chest.

but then he smiles. and it’s sincere. sweet, vibrant, all honey and milk and a world you cannot reach.

a smile so captivating you take his outstretched hand, and let him drag you away to god-knows-where.

(that's how it begins. the dynamic that’ll follow you into your adult lives; satoru takes the lead, and you follow. no matter where he’s going.)

satoru gojo, as you soon come to learn, is the prince of the nation you reside in. the only child of the royal family, born with talent and prestige, fame and fortune, set to become king. a different species, indeed.

but he brings you home with him, to a castle so grand you feel as if your very presence is an insult to the architects who designed it, and convinces his parents to let you stay. it’s surprising, but you don’t protest; following him like a puppy at his trail. and he’s stubborn, insistent, demanding that he get to keep said puppy. 

the king and queen don’t care one way or another. they glance at you with apathy, and tell satoru to do what he wants — but convincing the scary and displeased castle maids takes some work. 

satoru doesn’t waver, though. he holds your hand in his, and demands that you be treated with respect.

and he wins. he always wins.

that’s how you become the prince’s playmate. raised alongside him, allowed to stay close, eat from the same food. he won’t settle for anything less. defending your honour, always, before you even know what honour means. before you care.

time passes slowly. joyously. every day is a new adventure, as you attempt to get used to the miracle that is your new life — sweet and silky, apricot blossoms and fresh peaches, duvet pillows and a bubbly laughter you didn’t know you still had. he coaxes it out of you, with every secret midnight outing, every bout of mischief he drags you both into. 

satoru has nice hands, uncalloused palms, fingers that grasp yours and don’t let go. he takes you outside, to see the stars, to catch fireflies in the dark of night on top of the hill that oversees the castle. to take a dip in the river just below it, gleaming a silver hue under the blue shade of the moon. you worry about getting in trouble, but he reassures you — the prince can do what he wants.

that might be true, but you are no prince. not even close. satoru may safeguard you, but all you’ll ever be in the eyes of the world is a stray he got to keep.

and one time, only one time, you do face the repercussions of your midnight outings. you, and you alone. a bad influence — seething words, buzzing in your ears. an angry castle maid, and a stinging pain in your cheek. blurry tears. 

but that’s an incident no one in the castle dares to speak of.

(you’ll never forget that look in his eyes.)

satoru is an odd boy. he keeps you close, always, clinging to you like he needs you to breathe. you don’t understand why, but you’ve learned not to question him. the castle guards all know you as the prince’s best friend, and some part of you knows that’s all you’ll ever amount to. but you don’t mind.

because you love him. at five years old, six years old, seven and beyond, you love him. satoru gojo, the kindest boy in the stratosphere. 

a boy who keeps finding you, no matter where you are, who tugs you along as naturally as the rise of the sun. who raids kitchen cabinets with you and always makes you laugh, little giggles and chuckles that have him beaming proudly. a boy who cleans your wounds with a serious expression, and tells you that he’ll protect you forever. 

(you tell yourself the same. that you’ll protect him forever and ever, until you run out of air to breathe. a boy so sweet you’d die for him.)

a pledge is made. you make it before you know what a pledge is. pledging to protect him, to become his sword, because even as a child you understand that his life will be difficult. you see it in the dullness that sometimes comes over his eyes, the apathy of his so-called parents, the hours he spends locked up with nothing but a pile of dusty books to keep him company. 

so you decide to become his knight. his, and his alone. 

it’s challenging. but you push through; training with another aspiring knight, miles better than you, black hair tousled by the breeze as he knocks you off your feet for the thirtieth consecutive time. wincing as the girl who sometimes watches your sparring patches you up, soft hands cleaning your wounds so tenderly that you almost choke up.

and eventually, as the apricot blossoms of the castle orchard wilt and bloom over and over in a flurry of pure white, your dream comes true. 

there’s something playful in satoru’s eyes, when he places his blade on the curve of your shoulder. something sweet and fond, and just a little bit ironic — as if you’re still seven years old, and playing house. 

you want to tell him that it isn’t a joke. that you’re serious, about this, that you’d tear your stomach open to keep him safe. but you know he’d just laugh. so you let the words clog up your throat, honey-sweet devotion sticking to the walls of your esophagus. breathing in through your nose, as he speaks. as the words you’ve waited to hear flow from his glossy lips.

when all is said and done, satoru smiles. he calls you his little knight, and you can tell that he’s teasing you. indulging you, as if he’s in on some joke that you aren’t. but you’ll take what you can get.

you call him my prince, expecting him to laugh it off, but his smile begins to fall. and a pang of ache rushes through your soul, instantaneous, guilty, although you don’t understand why.

so you keep calling him satoru. even though it’s more than a little unprofessional, and you become painfully accustomed to receiving a few judgemental looks here and there. a knight and a prince shouldn’t be so very close, they think, and you don’t disagree. but there’s nothing they can do about it, anyhow.

the prince and his knight can do what they want.

not much changes. you’re his knight, but he treats you the same as before. he’s playful, a little goofy, and you indulge him. as always. attached at the hip, bickering and bantering, bouncing off each other effortlessly. and satoru never bothers to hide your history, the soft spot he has for you; it’s in every fleeting glance, soft tilt of his head, teasing call of ah, there’s my favorite knight. 

(you’re no stranger to jealous looks. sometimes a pout on the lips of a pretty girl, a crease between the brows of one of your fellow knights. and sometimes a glare, from his fiancée — a woman he was engaged to before he was old enough to speak.

but you don’t mind. you’ve never cared what anyone but satoru thinks of you.)

satoru never loses his smile, that effortless air of confidence. the charm that makes people want to follow him, a charisma you know well. one you fell victim to at five years of age. he’s still just a prince, far from being a king, but he receives the same respect.

and that keen, sharp glimmer in his eyes never quite goes away; the hardened shell around his heart unbroken. you see it in fleeting glances, during meetings, ones he allows you to attend despite your status. when he speaks to a room of people with more power than you can imagine, his voice unwavering. back straight. elegant, serious, the presence of royalty — enough to receive respect without even trying. 

but he still shoots you a smile, easygoing, when your eyes meet. one only you can see.

as for you, the step into knighthood is a clumsy one. but you take your duties seriously, and adjust properly. a deep devotion runs through your veins, from your beating heart down to the tips of your fingers, where a sword lies clutched. you keep it close, always, ready to serve. to obey. to protect. 

all of it for one person.

all you do is for him. duels in his honour, beasts slain for his peace of mind, and he’s always there to welcome you back. wiping the blood from your cheek, tenderly, smearing his untainted skin with red; all while he looks at you softly, a coo or word of praise waltzing on the tip of his tongue. 

that’s only for when you remain unscathed, though, when the blood on your cheek isn’t your own. when you get hurt, it’s different — something begins to brew inside his eyes, and you can’t tell what it is. but he insists on bandaging you himself, paying no mind to your meek protests.

sometimes, you’re more reckless than usual. your injuries worse. sometimes he looks upset, angry with you, and doesn’t speak. you don’t, either.

a strange look comes over his eyes, every now and then. when you get down on one knee, to kiss his hand, the metal of the ring on his finger — and if you look up, you’ll see it. simmering inside those blue depths, something just as fond as it is sad. troubled, you think.

(something tells you he’d kneel, too, if only you’d let him.)

the bond between you remains intact. even as you begin to shoulder more responsibilities, more duties, even though you don’t have as much freedom as you used to. even though you seem to get less time to spend with each other every single day. but you stay together, even so; just like when you were children, running around and causing trouble, more than you could get away with now. 

despite everything, satoru has grown up into a fine man. and you couldn't be prouder.

“do you think i look good in black? be honest.”

you throw him a glance. curious, somewhat perplexed, eyeing him up and down.

satoru is wearing a white blouse, puffy sleeves and a low neckline, showing off the skin of his bare chest. no black colours to be seen. you think back to that banquet he attended last month, forced into an expensively tailored black coat. a corset around his waist. and then you hum.

“sure you do.”

”suguru said it makes me look like a try-hard,” he scoffs, crossing his arms. tilting his head in your direction. ”do you think he’s jealous?”

”definitely.”

a moment passes. 

satoru narrow his eyes, and gives you a dubious look. clicking his tongue. ”… something tells me you aren’t taking this seriously.”

”i am,” you assure him, a lazy smile at your lips. meeting his gaze, that displeased little pout. still smoothing a brush down the mane of your horse, the smell of hay soothing your muddled senses. ”just tired. you look good in anything. you know that.”

he hums. silent, the sound of a spring breeze filling in the gaps.

it’s late. outside the stables, the world is engulfed by a dark sky, almost too murky to see anything. hazy stars glimmer in the distance, and a sense of fatigue gnaws at your bones. it’s been a long day, and yet you’re here — doing even more work. just a little more.

and satoru’s right there with you. even though he’s just sitting there, on the floor, not lifting a finger to help. not that he has to. insistent on spending some quality time with you, keeping you company. just talking and munching on the food he snuck in, bread and cheese and an expensive bottle of wine, that he leaves completely untouched. he tries to leave some of everything else for you, though. keyword being tries.

a sense of peace simmers in the air. palpable, almost enough to taste, as midnight air streams in from the opened doors, chilly and pleasant on your skin. ruffling the thin fabric of your clothing.

and it’s nice, you think, just to have satoru there — talking about this and that, complaining about all the annoying people he had to meet yesterday, yawning every now and then. nostalgic. like this, it almost feels like you're still kids. back when you spent every single hour of the day by each other’s side.

it’s been a long time since you got the chance to speak like this. satoru’s been busy, and so have you. more so than usual.

”are they running you ragged?” he suddenly asks, and you don’t realize you’ve spent the last minute staring into space. resuming your brushing, with steady hands, but turning your head to meet his gaze.

”need me to…” he makes a slicing motion with his hand, right over his throat. a glint of mischief in his eyes. ”handle it?”

and you scoff. amused, but answering him seriously; unsure if his question is all-together humorous, if it doesn’t carry a hint of something genuine too. ”of course not.”

there’s a weariness in the way you blink. the way you pet the animal in front of you, having finished getting the dirt and blood clots out of her mane. she lays down in her stall, and you smile. turning around to rest your back against the wooden border between you, a respite for your aching bones.

it gets just a little bit tiring, sometimes. fighting, patrolling, helping townsfolk. protecting the castle, making sure everything is in order. killing whatever needs to be killed. cleaning the stained silver of your sword.

but…

”it’s my duty,” you answer, seriously, and it comes out sounding like a vow. because it is. 

you avoid his gaze, but you can feel it, as you pick up the wine bottle by your feet and pop the cork. soft moonlight flits in from the windows, illuminating the green glass. a chartreuse glow that reminds you of fireflies, shimmering in your grasp, and for some reason it soothes your heart.

satoru only hums, far from approving. popping a piece of cheese into his mouth. 

after a brief pause, he continues. ”you don’t have to be so serious all the time, you know.” his voice comes out a little raspy. it’s got a certain tilt to it, one that means he wants you to take him seriously. ”not around me.”

you take a sip of the wine. expensive, blood red. it’s too sweet for your taste, heavy on your tongue.

”… i’m less serious with you than i am with others.”

satoru sits up a little straighter.

”yeah?” he grins, a kind of satisfaction blooming in his eyes. cerulean and sweet. almost smug, you think, like the cat that got the cream. ”that’s good. you really should loosen up, though.”

a glance. fleeting, just to see him — but he isn’t looking at you. he’s looking outside, through the opened window, at the sway of the apricot trees. white petals flitting in, landing by his feet. in his hair.

when his eyes meet yours, they’re smoothed over by that something you can never put your finger on. a blend between longing and fondness. crinkled at the edges.

”you’ve got a pretty smile,” he exhales. ”be a shame not to show it off.”

when you look at him, really look at him, you see it. that fatigue. it slips out when he talks to you, a sincere way of speaking that never quite allows him to hide his emotions. you hear the hint of a yawn, can practically feel the weight on his shoulders. the weight of an entire nation. a weight he was always bound to carry.

(you could never bring yourself to be even remotely alright with it.)

“have you been doing okay?” you ask, and satoru blinks. there’s a soft look in your eyes, as they trail over the contours of his face, his lashes catching the light of the stars. an innocent, pretty face. but he looks tired. frail. like he hasn’t been sleeping properly.

something rotten bubbles up inside your throat.

”they’re running you ragged, too,” you say, hand settling on your hip. where your sword usually is. unconsciously, on instinct — or maybe just to make him laugh. ”need me to step in?”

satoru chuckles. husky, mellow. dripping with soft amusement.

”settle down, little knight.”

a moment passes. silent. his eyes flutter shut, for a second, and a breath slips from his lips. almost a sigh. in the distance, you hear the quiet coo of an owl. 

”of course,” he eventually answers, opening his eyes. and you think he looks a little resigned. but smiling. self-deprecating, you think, although he’d like you to assume otherwise. ”all of it is just preparation, anyhow.” 

a flimsy smile, as he looks into your knowing eyes. ”it’s what i was born for, wasn’t it?”

you purse your lips.

“… i don’t think so.”

another chuckle. a little delighted, this time. 

“yeah,” he cranes his neck, emitting a low groan. “me neither.” something sweet blossoms in his eyes, sweet like the crunch of the apple he bites into, juice dribbling down his chin. ”but it is what it is.”

a beat. you part your lips, trying to find the right words. ”tell me if there's anything i can do,” you settle on. the same words you always choose. ”anything at all.”

satoru smiles. “right.” his voice carries a teasing tilt; almost a purr. ”there’s nothing you wouldn't do for me, hm?” 

“— there isn’t.” you smile. “nothing at all.”

he blinks. a little dazed, for a second, and you watch as his ears redden. slight, enough for you to notice, but gone before you can bring it up. a contemplation smooths over his features. and a pleasant breeze flits in, ruffling his hair, apricot petals kissing up his skin. he looks at the apple in his hands.

then he sighs. placing his palms on his knees, and rising to his feet. his arms twitch, muscular beneath the flimsy blouse, and you gulp. although you aren’t sure why.

“alright, then.” his eyes flicker in the dim light, sharp and decisive. he crosses over to you with long strides. “there is something you can do.”

when he’s close enough, satoru reaches out his hand; opening his palm. a silent beckoning. you look at him, not saying a word. his expression is unreadable. 

then you intertwine your fingers with his. unquestioningly, even in the midst of your confusion.

(it reminds you of that day. when he pulled you up to your feet, held your hand in his and refused to let go. leading you to the promise of something better.)

no matter where he goes, you follow.

and satoru grins. it’s sweet, just like back then, a smile so vibrant you wish you could tuck it into your sleeve and keep it there forever. he curls his fingers around yours, gentle, fondness bubbling up inside his eyes. for a second, you think you see the sun.

“come with me.”

at first, you truly aren’t sure where he’s going to take you. hand in hand, you begin to walk, feeling the midnight breeze nip at your skin. beyond the castle walls, away from the hustle and bustle of the nearby town. satoru holds your hand and smiles, tousled tufts of white hair swaying with the wind, leading you to a place you know well. a place where the air tastes like freedom.

it’s the river you used to play by as children.

gleaming a solemn silver under the evanescent moon, framed by bushes of lilacs, blooming indigo and violet and pure white. butterflies flutter about, almost glittering, blue wings settling down on the leaves. the scent of nectar hangs heavy in the air. on top of the hill just above you, you think you can spot tiny little glowing dots; green and yellow, buzzing around. dancing merrily, now that there aren’t any troublemaker children left to trap them.

satoru lets go of your hand, to roll up his sleeves. the hems of his pants. then he’s taking a step forward, dangerously close to the edge of the river, and you can tell what he’s thinking.

“ah — wait —“ you stumble forward, to grab hold of his arm. a worried crease forms between your brows. “that's dangerous, satoru. you could slip and fall.”

he turns to face you, a teasing mirth in his eyes. smirking lightly. “oh? is that so?” he hums, a slight tilt of his head. then he’s stepping closer, so close you feel his warm breath on your skin, but you will yourself not to step back. “wanna know what i think?”

he leans forward, just a little further, warm air brushing against the shell of your ear. flushing beneath it. his voice comes out low, a sleepy lilt, dangerously raspy. hand ghosting over your waist.

”i think you’re too scared to get in.”

you blink.

”… really?” you deadpan, stepping back a tad. satoru looks pleased with himself.

“really,” he purrs. “you were always like that. could barely dip your toes in without shivering.” he reaches out to pinch your cheek, a coo on the tip of his tongue. ”scaredy-cat.”

you raise an unimpressed brow. satoru steps back, inching closer to the river, until a quiet splash tells you that he’s standing in the water. lapping up his bare legs, not enough to even reach his knees — it felt a lot scarier when you were smaller. he’s still holding your hand, very loosely, fingertips ghosting your own. 

“c’mon,” he coaxes. soft, encouraging, a playful glimmer in his eyes. teeth catching the light of the moon. “or is it too much for my brave knight to handle?”

satoru laughs, when that makes you furrow your brows, attempting to hide the flush of your cheeks. a warmth spreads through your chest at the term of endearment, and you bite your lip. melting a little. 

his knight. his favourite knight.

“... fine,” you tangle your fingers in his own. sighing deeply, taking a tentative step forward. “just be careful, okay? i don't want to deal with your whining if you hit your head.”

“ah, but you’d kiss it better, no? if i asked?” he flashes you a honeyed grin, eyes rich with amusement. you hope the darkness of the night is enough to hide the red of your ears.

a grumble buzzes in your throat, locked behind your pursed lips. something in your jaw goes tight.

the man in front of you softens. parting his glossy lips. he says your name; slowly, thoughtfully, as if savouring every syllable. dragging them out, speaking with a lilt that tells you he’s being sincere.

“— loosen up. it’s just you and me.”

so you do.

and it’s odd. how easy it is to get lost in him, the watercolour of his eyes, the brightness of his grin. how pliantly you let him whisk you away. before you know it, you’re playing in the water — because satoru splashed you, laughing at the shock on your face and the shiver of your spine, and you had no choice but to retaliate. 

the sound of his laughter fills the air, sweet and bubbly. deep and giddy. strands of hair stick to his wet skin, droplets running down his neck, but his grin never falters. bright and toothy, boyish. he looks younger than you ever remember him being. like there’s no weight on his shoulders, none at all, only soaked fabric weighing him down. a flimsy, see-through blouse.

you think it’s ridiculous. two grown adults, splashing each other like children. but his melodic giggles are contagious, and before you know it, you’re laughing too — and satoru looks at you like you hung all the stars in the sky. through dewy eyelashes, with cerulean eyes that melt into the pale blue of the moon and the silver of the river. filled with wonder.

a particularly ruthless splash knocks him off balance, and he has the instinct to reach for your arm; stumbling, slipping, dragging you down with him. you land on his chest, cheek against his neck, his pulse against your skin. erratic, joyous. fluttering happily. his chest is heaving, lifting you up and down, a little, rhythmic and comforting. 

a sudden yelp slips past your lips, as you get snapped back into reality, into the realization that you basically just pushed your own prince into a river and used his unfairly soft chest as a cushion. a mumbled string of apologies escapes you, as you attempt to get up, scrambling to find footing.

but satoru wraps his arms around you. tucking you under his chin, keeping you flush against his chest. nice and still. 

and then he sighs. a blissful little breath, fatigue seeping out of him. into the air. 

“stay like this, for a bit,” he rasps. ”it’s okay.”

his heartbeat resounds in your ear. warm and rapid, like claps of thunder, coaxing you into closing your eyes. satoru has always felt so very safe. the water of the river is cold, seeping through the fabric of your clothing and sticking to your skin, but…

(he’s warm.)

silence. and then, a whisper; frail, slipping past his lips, gently slicing the silence in half. softer than you've ever heard him speak.

“i missed this.”

…

nuzzling into his neck, you breathe him in. he smells like sandalwood and dried roses, buzzing with warmth, heavy arms around your waist. solid. when did he get so big? you used to be taller. 

then again — that was a long time ago, wasn’t it?

“… me too.”

“missed you,” he continues, his jaw on top of your head. it’s a sincere confession; childlike in its innocence. “missed hearing you laugh like that. feels like it’s been so long.” 

you stay silent. unsure of what to say. satoru continues, and you let his husky voice carry you away, the tremor of his chest running through your entire body. soothing like a lullaby. 

”we haven't had much time together, lately. i’ve been worried,” he admits, and something about it strikes you as rather sheepish. a little ashamed. ”it bothers me that i can't be there to watch over you. make sure you're treated with respect, you know.”

a sleepy chuckle. muffled into his shoulder, almost a scoff — slightly exasperated. little droplets cling to his skin, sticking to your lips.

”relax, your majesty,” you tease. ”i promise the other knights aren’t bullying me.” 

satoru pouts. you can hear it, when he speaks. ”i’m serious,” he huffs, squeezing you lightly. ”and it’s not them i’m worried about. suguru’s there.”

another scoff threatens to escape your throat. you want to tell him the only knight that should be suspected of bullying you is suguru himself, but before you can even think to part your lips satoru’s beaten you to it.

”they all treat you so carelessly.” there’s something cold to his voice, an irritation tugging at his teeth. oddly seething. ”like you exist to serve them. like you’re disposable.” 

a moment passes, heavy with a silence so thick you don’t dare break it. when he speaks again, it’s an order. a demand. 

”i want you to tell me if they go too far.”

silence. again. you can do nothing but gnaw at the flesh of your bottom lip. 

(he isn’t wrong. but that’s simply what it means to be a knight — half-human, half-weapon. an unattainable ideal, stuffed inside a suit of armor.

when a weapon breaks under the force of a slash, the only choice is to throw it away. that much you know.)

”it’s fine. i’m not that fragile,” you weakly protest, but it’s not enough. satoru huffs.

”you’re a human being,” he reminds you. strangely stern, for once. chastising. ”you deserve to be treated with respect. knight or not. fragile or not.”

a deep inhale. he breathes in, and the rise of his chest carries you with it. his voice buzzes with something, a slumbering kind of fury. one you haven’t heard in years. 

“if anyone gives you trouble — if anyone hurts you… if anyone makes you feel unsafe,” he almost spits the words, like they’re venomous, sacrilegious. ”tell me. i’ll destroy them.”

silence. and then, a chuckle.

that’s all you can manage; that one meek little breath. resisting the urge to cower, at the love that clings to every word he speaks. angered affection. a promise, dangerously genuine, like a growing wildfire. ”i can take care of myself, satoru,” you remind him. hoping it’ll soothe him. ”you know that.”

but his grip around you only tightens. gentle, even still. as if you’re made of glass, a firefly cupped in his palms. he lets the silence linger, for a moment.

and then; 

“i’d do it, you know.”

“… do what?” you ask, though some part of you already knows. 

satoru’s reply is instantaneous. an arrow hitting its target, cold and concise, decisive. frighteningly honest. almost a growl, flattened, a hint of teeth behind his soft lips. ”destroy them. anyone.”

”i’d tear this nation apart if you asked me to.”

…

(ah. that look in his eyes — one you remember well. strung together with blurred memories, the sting of a palm on your cheek, a castle maid you never saw again.)

you search for the words. biting back a gulp, hesitant. “… i wouldn’t.”

“i know.” satoru yawns, breathing you in, voice shifting back into the softness you’re so used to. your shoulders relax. “but i would. if that’s what you wanted.”

and it’s a little scary, the depths of his devotion. but you’re almost certain you’d do the same for him. maybe you're both a little sick in the head, a little too eager to serve your hearts on a silver platter.

“it bothers me, you know.” satoru breaks you out of your thoughts. gentle, a soft lull of his tongue. ”when you get hurt. when you fight for me.”

“i know,” you murmur. you’ve seen it in his eyes, a worry he’s not as good at hiding as he thinks. ”i want to, though.”

“and i want you to be safe.” a chuckle bubbles up in his throat, just a little bit rueful. “you never listen, do you? so stubborn, i swear. always worrying me.”

you bite down on your lip. he sounds… a little sad.

“… sorry.”

a moment’s pause. then he shakes his head; cradling you close. “it’s fine. i’m here. always,” his palm runs down the small of your back. ”in case anything happens.”

he inhales. ”and when i become king —” a beat. he swallows thickly. ”you’ll never have to worry again. no one will be able to touch you.”

”satoru,” you crack a small smile. amused. raising a single eyebrow. ”i’m not worried. i can protect myself.”

”i know. but i’m saying you don’t have to.”

and then he’s pulling back. just a little bit, just enough to see you. cheek smushed against his chest, comfortable and soft, more unguarded than he’s seen you these past few months. it’s enough to get his heart racing. enough to have him reaching out, fingertips ghosting over your hand, tangling your fingers together. bringing it to his glossy lips. a chaste kiss, brimming with unspoken murmurs of love.

”— i’ll protect you forever,” he vows. ”remember?”

there’s devotion in his eyes. heavy, a vow he’ll never quite be able to voice in full. something that makes the blue of his eyes glow even brighter, cerulean, aquamarine, a blue so jarring it makes your heart beat faster than it should.

you blink. starstruck, caught in a daze, lost within that sea of blue. distracted by his warm breath on your cold skin, the soft whisper voiced against your knuckle. something shy blossoms in your chest, enough to have you averting your gaze. 

“... you really don’t care about the dynamic here, do you?” is all you can reply. a meek scoff, a weak attempt at hiding how flustered you are. “i’m the knight. i’m your protector.”

“oh, i know.” a smile sticks to his lips, playful, the back of his hand caressing your cheek. a coo on his tongue. “my little hero. what would i ever do without you?”

a roll of your eyes. satoru chuckles. in the distance, you hear crickets chirping, a breeze rustling the lilac bushes all around you. he’s still cradling your cheek, smoothing over your wet skin, brushing a drop of water away with his thumb. clinging to your bottom eyelash.

“i don't get it, though.”

you blink. when you meet his eyes, satoru looks a little perplexed. muttering under his breath, absently rubbing circles over your cheekbone. you resist the urge to close your eyes again, biting back a blissful sigh.

”a prince shouldn’t care for his knight…” he repeats, like he’s heard the string of words a million times before. ”the idea of that. i don’t understand it. never have.”

the smile that blossoms on his lips is soft, indescribably so, as if he’s looking at the most precious thing in his life. rich and warm, like wine in your veins, nectar on your tongue, a chest pressed against your own. dripping with fondness.

satoru tilts his head, as if in confusion — but he’s smiling. “what’s so strange about wanting to protect the one dearest to my heart?” 

…

his hand slips from your skin, a warmth leaving your cheek. only to search for your hand, again, cradling it in his larger palm. placing it right over his chest, against the soaked material of his blouse. ”feel that?”

you do. a rhythmic rise and fall, a soft flutter from the depths of his ribcage. as if it’s itching to break out, out of the cage that binds it, the hardened shell around it. a heart too big for his body.

”it’s you,” satoru whispers. ”all for you.”

a moment passes.

silently, you lean forward; tucking yourself into his neck. into that comforting warmth, wet skin beginning to dry, the steady thrum of his heart right by your ear. you listen. not saying a word, afraid of what might leave the confines of your strangled throat. it feels as if your heart has begun to crawl upwards, sweet honey blocking your airways, and all you can do it feel it pulse. 

all while satoru gazes at you, fondly. placing a big palm on the back of your head.

fireflies dance in the distance. butterflies flutter about. strings of lilacs bloom under the glow of the moon. and satoru’s heartbeat never changes, never falls out of tune, a sound you would recognize even if the sky were to shatter, if the world were to end. the sound that saved you, the boy who dragged you out of hell. into his light. 

satoru gojo is everything. he’s the beat of your heart, the silver of your sword, the reason you believe in goodness. he’s your prince, your favorite person, and you’ll protect him until your very last breath. until the world runs out of oxygen.

a boy so sweet you’d die for him.

(a boy so sweet he wouldn’t want you to.)

a shiver runs down his spine — sudden, a shudder of his bones, and a quiet little sniffle. you feel it, hear it, and don’t attempt to bite back the fond smile that slips into the curve of your lips.

”c’mon,” you beckon, almost a coo, placing your palms on his chest to hoist yourself up. ”let’s go home.”

but satoru shakes his head. and then he traps you again, strong arms around your waist, pressing you against him. you could escape — you’re almost certain you’re stronger — but you don’t quite have the heart to. ”it’s fine,” he huffs. almost a whine. ”stay.”

”you’ll get sick.”

”i never get sick.”

a deep exhale. tumbling from your lips, just a little bit humorous. mostly exasperated. ”that can change,” you mumble, fingertips dancing along his exposed skin. absentmindedly.

a smile. one you can’t see, but you hear it clear as day. he sounds content, like he’s got everything he needs right in front of him. ”some things never change,” he informs you. pleased. ”just look at us.”

and he’s right. so you don’t say anything else. 

but your heartbeat quickens, only for a beat or two, and you’re almost certain he feels it. if he does, he opts not to tease you for once, and you’re grateful. and so the silence lingers. as if time has begun to freeze, into an eternal dusk, a string of silent seconds. broken only by low melodic chirping from faraway fields, his soft breaths in your ear. 

until satoru suddenly chuckles.

“hey,” he hums, shifting a little, the river swaying around you. pulling back to meet your gaze, eyes crinkled and voice raspy. “wanna know a secret?”

you raise your head. a dubious look on your face, one that has him breathing out an amused puff of air, like you’re getting ready to hear a bad joke. “... what is it?”

before the words have fully left your throat, he’s resting his forehead against yours — breath fanning over your lips. a pleasant shiver trails down your spine, at the close proximity, goosebumps spreading across your chilled skin. only exacerbated by the whisper that follows, so quiet you almost don’t know if you heard him correctly. childlike in its sincerity. a sunlaced smile woven in between the vowels.

“i think i was born to meet you.”

(a sentiment so sweet you barely even feel the warmth of his lips meeting yours.)

[alistair-blackwood]

images saved under folder titled "actual 22-year-old who should have been at the club 😭"

I know there's this idea in fandom that Kabru is already in a place where he's able to easily shoulder others' burdens, or that maybe taking care of someone else would teach him how to better take of himself. I'm sure a huge part of that comes from his fairly utilitarian role in the main story (he doesn't really get the chance to be vulnerable or break down outside of maybe ch 76), but I just don't subscribe to that. If anything, I think it would be excessively easy for him to continue neglecting his own needs if it's for the sake of other people, especially for someone he cares about 👇

I think it's important that, in the end, Kabru isn't the right person to say what Mithrun needs to hear here. The only desires Kabru offers up to Mithrun are Kabru's own desires to help others with their needs; "I want you to live a life that isn't driven by revenge", "I want to help my friend by eating my fill" (as beautifully illustrated by @yuri-puppies here). Mithrun says, "I wanted to die and part of me still does", and Kabru thinks that this is an acceptable thing to feel so long as Mithrun is able to keep his promise and be useful to others. It takes Senshi offering the idea that scraps are useful no matter what that Mithrun is able to finally feel relief. Just look at the difference between,

versus

which I think is a message Mithrun needed to hear as much as Kabru does. All this to say, I hope Kabru is able to get to the point one day where he feels safe and secure enough to put his own wants and needs first, even when it helps no one but himself

[bluerosefox]

Good Doggos Give Hope!

Cujo was, is a good boy both in life and in death.

He knows this. Everyone knows this.

So when Cujo notices his favorite half boy seemed more hurt than normal when he goes to see him, notices how stressed and on the verge of tears, notices the strain in his voice as he pretends to be okay as he pets Cujo's head. Cujo knows his favorite boy needs help.

Cujo is a good boy, and as he listens to his favorite boy and his friends talk about the GIW getting more deadly, how his parents inventions are becoming to much, how Vlad circling around his favorite boy even more often, how he's failing more classes again. Cujo decides his favorite boy needs helps.

But first Cujo needs to figure out how.

He needs help.

He needs... hope.

Hope to find help for his favorite boy.

'Everything will be okay!' A voice spoke to him, Cujo spooked yelped and flew higher than he already was and he boofed when he realized he was no longer alone... or on earth anymore, turns out he started floating up and away from earth when he started thinking of how to help his favorite boy.

Cujo, floating from both him being a ghost and from space, turned around to see... Oh! A fellow dog! Who glows blue! It has been a while since played with another dog!

He barked, tail wagging in greeting at the idea of meeting a new and fellow floating friend.

'You new friend. Need hope? I help!' The other dog voice echoed out as their tail wagged as well 'We play soon but first hope! I knows many who can help!'

Cujo barked back in excitement, yes, hope for his favorite boy is here!

[i-like-forcefem]

When browsing through the wares of a newly opened magic shop you passed by an item that caught your interest, a massive mirror

You peaked inside expecting to see yourself, but instead you saw, a girl? About your height, quite pretty, good taste in fashion… Maybe your mom when she was younger?

It feels weird, in a good way, to see this girl follow all your movements, you couldn’t help but smile, and her smile is radiant

You felt an odd sense of relief… until you looked down to see that, you’re you, of course you are

Why do you feel so sad?

…

“Quite the item isn’t it?”, the Witch tending the shop noticed your interest and started talking to you “a magic mirror that shows you what you’d look like if you were born the opposite sex”

You stare into it

Why do you feel this deep dread?

“But that’s not all it does!” The witch continues “want to see a magic trick?” The witch asks laying a hand on your back

You’re curious to see where this is going, so you nod your head

In one swoop the witch pushes you against the mirror and as you brace yourself to slam into it, stumbling on your feet across the floor, you find yourself slamming into the witch face first

She laughs “I probably didn’t need to push that hard”

As you lay on the ground you feel different, you look as you prepare to push yourself up from the ground you notice your hands… are they smaller?

As you get it up and oriented yourself you glance at the mirror, still the same showing girl you, but how did you get turned around did… did you get

“Sorry” the witch says as her laughter days down “that’s the first time I’ve pushed someone through a mirror, should’ve seen that coming”

You look down and see the dress you’re wearing

“Now cutie” the witch claps her hands, and jumps up! She has a grin you don’t trust “I hoped you enjoyed the trick! If you ever want to become a guy again And I hope you have some savings! Gender-bending magic is quite expensive!”

You stumble back, you can’t turn back? The mirror is showing yo- Girl You, not the real Guy You, so… that’s a no go? You’re way to poor for anything

“But don’t worry cutie, we pay quite well here and just so happen have an opening for a maid and I can assure you, you’ll look just adorable in the uniform”

[dennisboobs]

:) i certainly have no issue dressing in drag :)

^guy who has no issue dressing in drag btw

glenn said that dennis' drag name is victoria von hemen btw

(Source)

[hungharrington]

okay steve definitely wouldn’t care about body hair, but i just know that man goes feral over your freshly shaved, smoooooth legs

i took this to make him a sillay boyfriend 🫶 sorry if u wanted HAWTNESS this is just silly LUV…. forgive me

The sheets feel cool against your bare legs.

You can feel the scratch of your hair tucked against your neck but you’re too content, all but sinking into the mattress, to be bothered to move it. Your legs are tucked up, your arms splayed wide across the bed. You’ve just done the hard job of an everything-shower and lying down is your well-earned reward.

Across the room, Steve pulls the curtains to cover the window. Shadow falls across the room, banished after a moment when Steve pads to the bed, turning on the lamp. Amber coats the ceiling.

It’s balmy tonight. You feel warm without even being under the covers. Dozing off sounds like a pretty amazing idea right now.

“Not falling asleep with me, are ya?”

You smile at the sound of Steve’s voice, lifting your heavy eyelids to gaze at him.

He looks scruffy the same way he always does at the end of the day. His hair has lost some of its magnificent volume and he’s wearing a ratty old t-shirt from high school. You can see the beginnings of his five o’clock shadow on his jawline. He’s gorgeous.

And you’re the only one who gets to see him like this. The thought makes you smile wider.

“Mm,” you hum, definitely giving away your sleepiness. “Nope.”

A warm hand touches your knee, Steve’s hand reaching out and rubbing it tenderly. He tsks playfully. “You’re not fooling anyone, baby.”

You huff a quiet laugh and let your eyes fall back closed. Steve’s touch has always had a magnetic property, drawn to you whenever he’s near. It has a similar effect on your heart, which always feels like it’s surging forward in your chest to reach him.

The touch shifts, skimming down your shinbone. You expect him to maybe begin a half-hearted massage on your calves— he’s prone to giving them to you— but then, unexpectedly there’s another touch added to your legs.

You lift your head, peering down at him with squinted eyes. He’s crouched down beside the bed and he’s rubbing his cheek against the smooth skin of your legs.

When he knows he’s been spotted, he only grins, shifting his cheek again. “You’re so… smooooth.”

There’s definitely awe in his voice. You laugh, a real laugh this time, and shake your head. You should really stop being surprised when Steve’s a dork — he’s proven to be one time and time again. If you didn’t know different, you might assume this was his first ever relationship.

“Mhmm,” You hum. “That’s part of the appeal, handsome.”

Something glitters in Steve’s eyes at your pet name for him and his grin melts into something softer. His hand on your shin moves again, stroking softly up your calf. His face shows his bewilderment at your supremely smooth skin— and then betrays the look of mischief that crosses his face.

Your brows furrow instinctively. “Steve—” You warn.

He does it anyway, turning and licking one big stroke up your knee. You squeal, surprised at the sensation, and jerk your leg away from him.

“Steve!”

“What!” He mimics your tone, finally getting up onto the bed and crawling up to meet you. He’s smirking, looking terribly proud of himself. He plops himself down, half of his weight pressing into your shoulder as he nuzzles himself into your neck.

“S’just wanna a little taste, that a crime?”

His breath is hot and almost tickles against your neck. It’s impossible not to dissolve into quiet giggles, leaning into him. He snakes an arm around your waist, pulling the two of you closer.

“You’re a dork.”

You can feel the little puff of air he lets out in a laugh as well as the smile that spreads on his mouth. He pokes his tongue out, a minuscule touch against your neck that has you shrieking again— except this time, Steve’s holding you too tight to squirm away.

“Mmhm,” He says. “Your dork.”

You grin, turning to nose against his temple and make a noise of agreement. “Absolutely.”

[silver-studios]

How Shang Qinghua Ends Up Conning a Sect

AU where everything happens as it does in canon right up until the Mobei-Jun mission.

Shang Qinghua's system warns him earlier than it does in canon to be prepared, and he connects the dots, at which point he freaks out because he does not want to become a canon fodder spy. So SQH starts to protest being assigned to the mission, doing his best to get out of going by grovelling before his shixiong. Unfortunately, the Peak Lord happens to be passing by as this is happening and expresses disapproval at SQH trying to shirk his duties, forcing him to go and also ending up in him being saddled with even more chores while he’s at it much to his fellow disciples’ smug pleasure.

Not that the smugness lasts for long since they all end up dead. SQH does what he does best and just plays dead instead of pledging allegiance and then runs away once MBJ passes out (no moshang in this AU rip). He makes his way to the Sect alone because he isn’t even sure if they’ll send someone for him and makes it there just as the search party is leaving, bursting into tears from exhaustion and relief and admitting that everyone else is dead because of a demon attack.

He’s mostly numb and in denial in the aftermath because what do you mean he’s just subverted his major death flag?? Does he just live normally now until Luo Binghe swings by to massacre them?

He’s debating this when SQQ swoops in suspiciously to question how Shang-shidi alone managed to survive and crawl his way back to the Sect, to which SQH freaks out and kind of implies (or outright states) that he can see the future. SQQ is immediately disbelieving and YQY intervenes because SQH looks close to having a stroke, and SQH figures that since he has already stuck his foot in his mouth, he may as well buckle down and run with his technically-not-a-lie. So, he tells them that he knows their whole lore, even name dropping Xuan Su, the Qiu mansion and Wu Yanzi because he's pretty much obligated to commit to the bit at this point.

YQY pales and SQQ immediately goes on the defensive, telling him to keep his mouth shut, to which SQH protests because he’s known this whole time and hasn’t said a word. He really just wants to lay low and mind his business, guys, he swears. This is YOUR toxic doomed yaoi, not OUR toxic doomed yaoi.

YQY tells him that SQH clearly has a gift and they should inform the Peak Lords. SQH protests because obviously there’s no gift to speak of, and his ass does not need to risk being exposed like this. SQQ— still clearly on the fence about the whole seeing the future thing— agrees and practically drags SQH to face judgement for his crime of bullshitting.

Surprisingly, the An Ding Peak Lord actually appears to consider this farce because he remembers how badly SQH didn’t want to go on this mission. Appearing horrified, he asks, “Is this why you didn’t want to go? Because you knew what awaited you?” SQH just goes with it, nodding along and looking extra pathetic. “Well, why didn’t you tell me?”

Because he’d look like a crazy person??? “This disciple is aware that his…foresight is hard to believe in.” Great, now his Shizun thinks he has a tragic backstory like Cassandra or something. Good. Feel bad. You sent SQH into the jaws of death after all. Some guilt is exactly what you should be feeling.

The Sect Leader who is also present is less quick to trust in SQH’s claims since he isn’t angsting over the death of a bunch of disciples, and he proposes that they test SQH’s abilities somehow. Shit, SQH should have written this guy to be stupider; now he’s about to be executed or something for lying. He wracks his brains desperately for the plot he only really half-recalls, and manages to give out the location of some super mystical artefact to convince them. Just to be safe, he also says he knows the courtesy names of the entire Qing generation to come, though he refrains from telling them exactly which pupil will inherit the names. It takes a few days to confirm both his ‘predictions’ but soon enough SQH has been dubbed a certified Seer.

He ends up having to spend some time with Qian Cao and the divination/feng shui Peak Lords so they can make sure he’s physically and spiritually alright while they try to work out the extent of his powers so he isn’t hurting himself somehow. Since there are no powers to speak of, SQH knows it’s all useless but just lets them do whatever. The divination/feng shui Peak Lord is a little puzzled because usually divination involves seeking visions out through ritual, sacrifice or calculation. Seemingly random visions that are involuntary and inherent are exceedingly rare. They can’t sense anything inhuman or demonic off him either so it’s 100% all him, which is a trait of an extremely rare form of shamanism. SQH is mildly hysterical listening to them puzzle over his bullshit but needs must.

”Shang-shizi must have encountered some powerful god or spirit as a baby or in a past life.”

Sure, yeah, let's go with that. Why ever the fuck not.

They inform him that evil spirits and demons are often attracted to people like him for their qi, so he needs to learn how to defend himself. Caught in a lie of his own making, SQH can only curse in his heart and agree.

The An Ding Peak Lord offers to let him transfer to the feng shui peak (still wanting to compensate SQH somehow) but System immediately starts threatening SQH who bursts into tears from how stressful this ordeal has been and begs on his knees to be allowed to stay on An Ding. His Shizun is deeply touched, mistaking his desperation as love for this peak, and of course allows him to stay, remarking over how he had no idea “Hua-er was such a good, filial child” and that “this master is so lucky to have such a devoted disciple.” The misunderstandings between them continue to grow.

Since he’s stuck spending inordinate amounts of time learning various chants, prayers and rituals to protect himself, he has to do some serious bootlicking if he ever wants to be promoted to Inner Disciple. Thus, SQH doubles down on sabotaging his seniors and currying favour with Shizun in every spare moment he has. At least the others are discouraged from giving him too many chores because of his tighter schedule and Shizun's guilt. Shamelessly, SQH employs some of the tricks he’s learning (like talisman-making and minor spells) to his advantage so that he’s positively hovering around his Shizun like a very dedicated housefly over an attractive pile of garbage.

His shizun is none the wiser and is convinced his little disciple is a dutiful angel. Soon enough, SQH bags his promotion and subverts System-given punishment.

Rumours about his “power” spread, and people want to prod and see for themselves if it’s legit. Most of the time, he has to turn them away because fuck you he’s not a fortune cookie and he has no powers to speak of anyways, but sometimes someone will ask him something that he actually does know. For example, A Qian Cao disciple needs to know where to find this super niche herb, or SQH knows how to cure this obscure predicament, or Qing Jing needs to know about some culture or beast, or Wan Jian wants to find a super rare ore. Shizun is struggling with a contract, but SQH recognises that name as wife #465’s backstory and spills the tea, allowing them to be “talked into” better terms. Sometimes, he just makes educated guesses about the economic scene based on modern trends and statistics, and people hail him as a prophet. As a gift, his Shizun gives him a journal they recovered from a former shaman. SQH is horrified by the fact that he now essentially possesses a grimoire.

Then one day, he receives a request from his juniors to investigate a shed they swear is haunted. It is haunted, but SQH manages to banish the ghost and it’s fine. No biggie. Why are they looking at him with stars in their eyes? He also realises atp that the more he learns to use the spiritual arts, the more he’s able to interact with spirits (very double-edged sword) and great now that’s one more dumb fucking way he could die. He decides to say fuck it to xianxia social norms and tattoos himself with protective seals because hell nah. There may or may not be a small fan club growing in the background but that's not important (it is to me I want him to be appreciated).

Inevitably, he’s assigned to a mission. Unfortunately, he’s stuck with SQQ, who specifically requested to work with him much to Shizun’s delight (his Hua-er is making connections!) and SQH’s dismay. They’re supposed to appraise some rare book or whatever and negotiate a trade because Qing Jing’s Peak Lord really wants this one fucking book. SQH spends the entire trip to the collector’s home sweating while SQQ glares at him. It just gets worse because once they get there, the place is closed which pisses SQQ off even more who acts like it’s SQH’s fault.

Before SQH can apologise for daring to exist, a woman peeks out at them from inside the shop and appears to be greatly relieved to see a pair of cultivators. She tells them her husband has been acting super fucking weird but the doctors’ haven’t been able to help, claiming that he’s just gone insane, but maybe the cultivators can take a look and make sure it’s not some demon. SQH wants to protest because this is so far above his pay grade but SQQ silences him with one look and asks to be taken to the husband since “My shidi here is particularly gifted with the spirit arts.” Shen-shixiong, please this one is sorry, have mercy!

Anyways, SQH takes one look at the guy and is like “No yeah he’s definitely possessed lol.” He has to perform some ritual to determine just what is possessing the husband though and learns that it’s a ghost that will have to be forcibly ejected out of the dude’s body. SQQ is dubious about his skills but goes along with it begrudgingly, helping SQH gather supplies for the exorcism since they’re stuck seeing this through now because of him. He’s being prissy, and Qinghua is already nervous about an impromptu exorcism when he’s never done one by himself so he ends up snapping at him about “I’m not out to get you! I didn’t mean to learn your tragic backstory, but I’ve known all along and could literally not give less of a fuck, so can you stop being even more of an asshole than usual and just find me some fucking flowers so we can be done with this and go home!” And SQQ is so startled by the uncharacteristic outburst that he goes along with it.

The exorcism is…fine. The ritual is ok, but SQH wasn’t expecting quite that much resistance, so he has to have SQQ distract the ghost while he works on banishing it back to whatever hole it crawled out of. It’s tiring work, especially for his first solo exorcism, and he pretty much passes out as soon as it’s over. He wakes up in one of the collector’s guest bedrooms and awkwardly apologises for fainting and also for screaming at SQQ earlier. SQQ looks at him and sniffs, graciously forgiving him. SQH earnestly reiterates that he’ll keep his mouth shut about the stuff he knows. SQQ doesn’t respond to that but tells him that the collector is giving them the book for free as thanks so they can fuck off as soon as SQH is well enough.

They give the book to QJ Peak Lord but before SQH can fuck off, SQQ corners him again. “Earlier, you mentioned something about Xuan Su that Yue-shixiong clearly wanted to keep secret. What is it?” SQH tries to dither “ah, it’s really not my place…” Then he sees the look on SQQ’s face, remembers that he actually values his life and promptly rats YQY out before scurrying off to safety while SQQ immediately flies over to Qiong Ding to rip YQY a new one for keeping such a huge secret from him.

SQH is tasked to tidy Shizun’s office before some guests arrive and ends up rearranging the furniture because the feng shui in there sucked ass tbh and his Shizun is so pleased by the gesture that he decides to start grooming him for head disciple duties. Not that SQH really realises what’s happening. He just knows he suddenly has even more grunt work to do and is silently cursing his Shizun out over it.

He’s on Qiong Ding for inventory when YQY corners him much to his horror because YQY is wearing his super creepy empty smile as he brings up how SQH snitched on him. SQH is already halfway through apologising for breathing when YQY cuts him off to thank him for the intervention, assuring him that if SQH needs help or a favour, YQY will have his back. Great. Thanks I guess???

Anyways so thanks to his connections, his Shizun is even more impressed and officially makes him Head Disciple. First order of business is actually a mission with Liu Qingge since SQQ is going with YQY. Their mission is to investigate a haunted mirror that causes hallucinations and basically tricks its victims into violent self-destruction. Before they can even enter, SQH is making LQG promise that he won’t try to attack or provoke the mirror because if LQG goes crazy and tries to kill SQH, he might actually die. LQG scoffs, mutters something about weak cultivation, begrudgingly promises, and then promptly gets impatient halfway through SQH extensive diagnosis and packaging process and tries to stab the mirror because it reeks of evil and should clearly be destroyed.

Luckily, SQH’s idiot system actually has its uses and it doesn’t allow any other sentient being to influence him meaning he’s pretty possession proof. Unluckily, LQG does not have this built in immunity and starts trying to kill SQH who is suddenly stuck fighting for his life against the soon-to-be War God of Bai Zhan. He runs and screams the whole time and kind of blacks out in his blind panic, but next thing he knows, he’s slapped LQG with a temporary qi disrupting talisman and locked him in a room. It won’t hold him for long, but at least he’s bought himself some time with this. SQH then has to go about exorcising the fucking mirror. Halfway through his chanting, LQG escapes his enclosure and bursts in, so now SQH is hysterically fighting him off while simultaneously finishing his chant because if he stops, he’ll have to start over and it might legitimately kill him. He manages and then chucks some stray debris to shatter it for good measure just as LQG tackles him. The spell breaks and LQG just kind of freezes, supremely disoriented and trying to figure out what is happening when SQH just fucking decks him, punting him through the already damaged wall and yelling, “I asked you not to do one thing, and what do you do?! You do the thing! The thing I specifically asked you not to do!! You fucking clown, Liu-shidi! You’re lucky you’re so pretty because, right now, it’s the only thing keeping me from ripping your face off and beating you to death with it” before promptly bursting into tears.

It’s a really awkward flight back home because SQH is straight up refusing to even acknowledge LQG’s existence (partly out of anger because what an idiot and partly because he just threatened someone who could definitely eviscerate him???), and LQG is unusually contrite in the wake of the mission that he almost botched and his usually timid shixiong’s fury. When they make it back to the sect, he goes to apologise (because SQH is a really fast flier and LQG could barely catch up to him the whole trip, let alone speak), but SQH cuts him off and orders him to go to Qian Cao and have them do a post-possession check up while he goes to give his Shizun a report on why they destroyed the mirror they were actually supposed to bring back for storage. LQG sulks harder but actually does as asked because SQH still looks to be in no mood for arguments.

Once things have calmed, SQH is mortified and determined to just avoid LQG because it’s super likely the guy will just forget about his existence so long as he stays out of sight. LQG does not forget. LQG keeps trying to seek him out and leaving monster carcasses for him to find, which SQH assumes with horror is meant to be a threat to his life and just avoids his shidi even harder. He’s not above fainting to get out of confrontations too! LQG has no idea what he’s dealing with.

A very frustrated and determined LQG finally manages to corner SQH after a Peak Lord meeting that the Head Disciples got to sit in on to learn since their shizuns are going to ascend soon. SQH decides that SQQ is actually the lesser of two evils and shamelessly dives behind him for cover which instantly pisses LQG off because “You’re willing to use him to avoid me?”

SQQ: Ex-cuse me? What is that supposed to mean?

SQH: Yeah! I love hanging out with Shen-shixong!

[collective disbelief]

YQY: (fake smiling and subtly hiding SQH behind him) Did you need something from Shang-shidi, Liu-shidi?

LQG: …wanted to thank him. and apologise.

SQH: Wait why????

LQG: for the mission. I screwed up and you had to complete the mission on your own when it was my job to protect you and provide backup. You could have left me since I was a hinderance to our objective and went against your orders but you didn’t. Thank you.

SQH: Well, it’s fine now, isn’t it?

LQG: (insistent) You saved my life

SQH: We’re martial siblings, haha, no biggie

SQQ: (immediately catching on and suddenly very smug) So you owe Shang-shidi a debt

SQH: He does????

LQG: I do

SQH: You do????

LQG wants to know how to repay the debt but SQH just waves him off, saying he’ll let him know if he thinks of something, mostly just to be rid of him because he’s really intense and it’s not good for SQH’s heart. LQG just thinks that SQH is dismissing him because he probably thinks LQG is unreliable after the disaster mission. Well, LQG will just have to prove him otherwise. And so begin the misunderstandings between these two as well.

Meanwhile, SQH’s Shizun watching with fond eyes: Ah, my Hua-er is making so many friends. He’s so popular. I’m so proud.

Qian Cao’s peak lord: Actually, I think he’s having a heart attack right now. Someone should probably get him.

The battle against TLJ takes place and most of the martial siblings have to go help the effort, though SQH is not one of them because the sect does have to keep running while everyone's gone. He’s helping SQQ double check that the Qing Jing supplies are up to par and he can tell SQQ is nervous because he's even more snappy and irritable than usual. Finally, SQH turns to him and says with certainty, “It will be fine, shixiong. You will be fine, Yue-shixiong will be fine, Liu-shidi will downright thrive.”

SQQ: Who’s worried about that meathead?

SQH: I’m just saying.

SQQ: …You’ve had a vision

SQH: Sure

SQQ asks for details and SQH admits YQY will have to unsheathe his blade but he will survive and his newly earned renown will really boost the sect’s own reputation once he becomes Sect Leader. Suspicious about the way SQH says that, SQQ prods about casualties. SQH admits that they will be ascending as Peak Lords very soon though he doesn’t elaborate on who it is specifically because “Knowledge of the future is a heavy weight to bear, shixiong.”

SQQ: What, you think I’m too weak to know?

SQH: I didn’t say that. I know exactly how strong you are and I admire you, but…I wouldn’t wish this burden upon anyone else, shixiong. Not truly. It’s dangerous and disheartening. People shouldn’t be privy to their fate. It’s unnatural.

SQQ lets it go because SQH looks abnormally intense as he talks about how he views his gift, but it does leave him thoughtful about just what kind of futures SQH foresees.

Anyways, the Sect Leader gets fatally injured in the battle, and the Peak Lords ascend hastily before he can actually die so that they can all pass on together. SQH finally succeeds in his longstanding mission, but he can’t say he’s thrilled about the promotion considering he has to really hit the ground running. An Ding can’t afford transition phases as things stand. So, he spends a month categorising which systems to keep, which to overhaul and how he’d overhaul them. All the staff is ruthlessly vetted, and he’s basically functioning as a one-man army just trying to keep on top of all the requests being sent his way too.

Needless to say, when he stumbles into the first official mandatory Peak Lords meeting, he looks like death itself. He’s straight up dissociating through most of it, only listening with half an ear when he’s directly addressed. He doesn’t even remember what he said when it was his turn to speak because he’s so out of it. At some point, he lifts his tea, misses his mouth and just pours it in his lap without blinking. SQQ watches him with equal parts clinical curiosity and disgust. The agenda is finished and it’s open floor for anyone who has anything extra to mention. Someone requests something from him and he nods along without really hearing it because if it’s not on paper, it’s not important right now.

Someone starts an argument and Qi Qingqi is being extra loud to be heard; they still haven’t been dismissed even though all of this is unnecessary and SQH has a killer migraine. He turns to god and prays for patience. SQQ, sitting next to him and listening, corrects him because he’s using the wrong phrase. “You mean strength,” he says.

SQH snorts and mutters under his breath, “If the gods gave me strength, Qi-shimei would be dead.”

In a room of Peak Lords, whispering is pointless. There is silence as everyone stares at an unusually vindictive SQH. QQQ looks baffled, affronted, and impressed simultaneously.

Then, LQG mutters, “I thought I was the only one he threatened like that.” He manages to sound both relieved and put out.

SQQ, like a shark smelling blood, turns to stare at him judgmentally and, in a condescendingly sweet manner, asks, “Is shidi upset about not getting special treatment anymore?” The provocation works, of course, and a new argument errupts.

SQH watches blankly, hands twitching to his sleeves where he keeps talismans, tired and unhinged enough to actually contemplate literally cursing his martial siblings when a pointed “Shang-shidi” draws his attention to YQY who smiles emptily and says, “No.”

”But, shixiong—”

”No.”

Then, one day, YQY, SQQ, SQH, QQQ and LQG are on their way back from some formal sect event or the other when they come across a growing mass of supernatural resentment flying right towards them. Naturally, as the ‘psychic’ SQH is looked upon to figure out what is going on. He’s reluctant to really get close and is kind of mumbling while he places diagnostic arrays, “Man it’d be convenient if you could just straight up tell me so we’d all save time.” The mass kind of pauses for a moment and then clears just enough for SQH’s more supernaturally attuned eyes to see.

”Su Xiyan?!!”

Su Xiyan the Bog Monster is clearly trying to tell him something but he’s not psychic enough for actual ghostly communication so it takes him a second to make out through the garbled moaning and pained shrieking that she says baby at some point. “Oh, Luo Binghe?” he says, happy just to have caught something. The Bog Monster projects surprise. The Peak Lords watch with dispassionate confusion.

“Yeah I know the whole story. Sorry about what happened to you by the way. I couldn’t really do anything to stop it unfortunately. Something about fixed points in fate that can’t be changed? Not that that’s like fair. To you, I mean.” Great now he feels guilty and SQQ has the creepy contemplative look in his eyes again. “So, how can I help you?”

More convoluted bog monster charades ensues. Finally, he guesses she wants him to go find LBH and take care of him because he’s just been orphaned. Again.

So, SQH turns to his fellow Peak Lords, shrugs at them, offers no other explanation and accepts that he’s about to change the fate of the world as he knew it. In the end, it’s maddeningly simple really. LBH is a tiny thing, all of seven years old, big eyes in a precious face framed by adorable curly hair. SQH tells him he’s an immortal master who knew his birth mother and LBH, after some explaining that his mom actually loved him and was forced to abandon him because she was dying, agrees to go with him. So, SQH is officially a dad now. Su Xiyan, satisfied that her baby is ok for good, lets go of her resentments and moves on to the afterlife.

SQH has the dubious honour of explaining to his martial siblings that he has adopted a half-demon child because his ghost mom asked him to, admitting to the full story of what actually happened between Su Xiyan and TLJ. Understandably, they’re shocked. There’s initially some questions about why SQH didn’t say anything sooner when an innocent Su Xiyan was imprisoned. SQH says that he couldn’t. SQQ deduces that his gift of foresight actually comes at a cost.

There’s no gift so there’s no real cost, but SQH isn’t above lying. He just openly says that if he tries to change certain things he knows of, it would cost him his life. He didn’t even want to come to Cang Qiong initially, but every time he even thought of changing his fate, he knew he’d die. He knew about YQY’s qi deviation before YQY had even become an inner disciple but again he couldn’t stop it. He hadn’t even thought of intervening in LBH’s fate because he’d assumed he couldn’t. He doesn’t know why he’s being allowed now.

SQQ catches onto the implication that LBH is important to fate somehow then, and SQH haltingly admits that, as far as he knew, LBH would have the power to end the world if he so wanted. If Cang Qiong looks after him and supports him though, they’d have all that power devoted to them. In the end it doesn’t take much convincing to be honest. LBH does have that white sheep protagonist halo thing going for him after all.

SQH ends up freeing TLJ, claiming that he’s just diverting the potential end of the world. TLJ is revived and told the full truth of what happened. He meets LBH who is very confused and very shy, but not averse. At least until he realises he might have to go away with TLJ at which he point he bursts into tears because he doesn’t want to leave SQH. Since TLJ is now stuck co-parenting, he agrees to a secret alliance with Cang Qiong and goes to make sure the demon realm hasn’t forgotten who’s boss.

LBH grows up in both realms, learning under LQG and his dad and fully coming into his own as a supremely powerful cultivator and heir to the demon throne. SQQ asks if SQH ever foresaw his own death and SQH admits that he did. He saw all of their deaths. SQQ asks if fate really can be changed to which SQH is happy to report that yeah, not everything is set in stone.

”And what do you see now?”

”Nothing actually. I haven’t had a vision in years.” Or ever.

”Doesn’t that make you nervous?”

”Everything makes me nervous, shixiong.” Pause. “But, this once, it’s not too bad. Not knowing what the future holds means that anything is possible.”

Fate will be what they make of it now, and this is just the beginning.

[otome-dissection]

Idk man I just think that mizu/ena5 and its progression was really beautiful actually. I just think that the release of the ena5 song was also really beautiful and kind of the nail in the coffin for me and I haven't been able to get the event(s) out of my head all week and that I kind of want to talk about it, actually.

It's about being hurt so deeply and continuously that any kindness that could be offered to you manages to feel like a sin, that it makes you crumble and shatter but for all the wrong reasons, not because of the newfound safety, not out of relief, but something worse and more deeply ingrained in you than kindness ever was. It's about carefully measuring the distance at which you keep others away from yourself, to ensure that it never happens again ("To save yourself the trouble", if that makes it easier).

It's about realizing that the people you've been spending all this time with are drifting closer, that they just might bump up against the unsightly parts of yourself that you've tried to keep locked away, it's about turning around and sprinting at full speed and slamming the door shut and holding onto the handle behind you to stop it from turning, because you're as frightened of the possibility of another wound being inflicted on you as you are of the possibility that kinder, gentler hands will reach out and smooth over the exposed scar. It's about hating eyes that judge and silently condemn you as much as you hate eyes that simply see you and take all of you in without scrutiny, because no matter what they're looking and they're looking at you and they know that your hand's on that door handle and they know that you're hiding something because, as much as you try to keep it shut, they've seen through the crack that you foolishly left open.

(The prominence of eyes in Bake no Hana, specifically eyes looking and searching, and finally landing on you, the viewer, Mizuki, is so fucking. Visceral in my opinion. Every character in the MV stares at the viewer in a deadpan, almost judging way. Even though Mizuki knows deep down that niigo won't really hate them, won't judge them, she just can't stand their kindness either; any gaze directed at her is a loss, another prick in their skin. It screams "don't look at me" while making sure that you know, with horrific certainty, that they're looking for you, that you're being watched. You can't go outside, can't leave your room, because they're searching for you, and while that should be reassuring, to you it's anything but).

It's about not wanting to be dissected, whether it's with hands that want to pull your organs apart or stitch them back together because no matter what they're there, and they're getting frighteningly close to your heart. It's about blinding yourself and covering your eyes to it all because seeing means exposure and exposure means they're taking something from you and you can't do anything about it, much less take it all back, much less have a say in the matter. Everyone's just taking and taking and taking and you wish you could just be alone. You wish everyone would just disappear and you could live in a world all to yourself, for only yourself (but is that really what you want?).

It's about the way that, near the beginning of the Yoka ni Mitoreta MV, Mizuki and her loneliness is represented as a dark, splotchy stain in the shadows. No colors, no patterns, no way to clean it or wash it all away, just raw ugliness marring a blank canvas. It's about the way that Ena reaches out to it anyway, the way she startles when the glass shatters just when she finally starts reaching forward, the way that the rest of the MV/song represents her searching for and reaching only further out to Mizuki, even if the broken shards of glass will only cut her fingers, potentially leaving scars.

It's about how, in every way, subtly, directly, consciously, and subconsciously, Ena shows that she fucking cares.

It's about the way that Ena lets Mizuki have autonomy, despite the situation being so horribly out of their control. And it's such a delicate thing: If she really wants to, Mizuki can take the opportunity to just run away, keep running forever, repeat the cycle over and over, and maybe she'll just destroy herself with it again, but it can't be denied that it's something important to them, something she can't quite live without just yet, their means of survival. Mizuki's autonomy is their identity, it's her tailoring her own clothes and choosing her own ribbons and styling her own hair the way she does. Ena letting them have that is as much about trust as it is about understanding that Mizuki of all people should have this right, when control was something stripped from her throughout so much of her life. She couldn't control how she was born, how people look at her or why, can't control what they think of her; lacking control has only left Mizuki vulnerable to the cruelties of others, has only caused them to suffer, which is why it's so important that it's given to them now.

She had the control to make the choice to see niigo's welcoming love and run away instead of staying, and she has the control to make the choice now whether she wants to keep things the way they are or take a step forward to be at their side again. She has every right to have it, and I think the fact that Ena realizes and respects that, even if it's subconsciously, is really beautiful (there is an entire fucking Verse about this in the new song and just. God Look at this. It's so caring, unconditional, and for fucking What. I think there is something to be said about how much Ena is willing to put aside for Mizuki, and maybe deep down it isn't healthy, but for now I'm just kind of in awe)

It's about how insanely patient Ena has been this whole time. Mizuki says that she basically lied to Ena's face about telling her their secret, even after Ena said with such conviction that she would wait for Mizuki as long as it takes, and Ena is just kept waiting and waiting and worrying like this seemingly indefinitely. It's about how Mizuki danced around it, avoided it, kept the distance, straight up ran when she was finally pushed, but Ena still chased anyway when she saw that she couldn't wait anymore, kept chasing just enough to intervene and get a straight answer out of Mizuki when she really needed to, but still leaving her enough space to leave if that was truly what she wanted. It's about how relieved Ena is the moment that Mizuki finally says outright how much they want to be with her and niigo, how much she wants to try, how much more light Ena's voice sounds when she grabs her hand, relieved, the way that the relief she feels can be felt through the music, throughout the entirety of Yoka ni Mitoreta, the way that warm colors always follow her when she chases after Mizuki, just to hold onto her and stop her from running away completely.

It's about how that careful combination of Ena's directness, Ena's persistence, Ena's warmth, her patience, her bluntness about her feelings, the way she chases and holds on but not too tight and her regard for how unsafe and exposed Mizuki feels actually works and breaks it all down. It's about how she really did reach through to Mizuki, despite the thorns and broken glass shards and nearly-unfulfilled promises, the way that Mizuki did finally let her turn the door handle and step through to see what she'd been hiding all this time, the way that Mizuki's hand, limp, when Ena first grabs onto it, shifts to hold hers back as they cry in the face of Ena's gentleness.

Despite how harsh Mizu/Ena5, and even Ena herself as a character can be (or at least was in the very beginning of pjsk), everything is somehow gentle and warm in the end, blindingly so. And you know what, I think that's beautiful. And what's even more beautiful than that is how Mizuki allows themself to crumble and shatter under that kindness, that warm light, but this time, finally, out of relief.

On a final note, I just want to say that I also appreciate how all that didn't have to solve everything. The scars haven't disappeared, haven't gone away, and Mizuki knows that their desire to run hasn't gone away forever, and maybe it never truly will. But for now they've calmed it, at least a little. She's learning to allow herself to be seen, learning that when someone's fingertips brush over their scars the way Ena's did that it's only out of care, and that maybe taking in that care and allowing herself to feel kindness and safety is okay. They're safe, for now, somehow. They're learning. They're trying. And I think that's cool :)

[ringosmistress]

[teethkid67]

PAYDAY

aka a valentine for the lovely @itsnotmystic / @corvids-calling - fanart for stars fic of the same name, which you can read here !!! i really enjoyed this concept and wanted to do some art for it :3 hope you like it because i REALLY loved your work & i hope this shows that !!! HAPPY VALENTINES DAY !!!!

this is also a loose love-letter to the wonderful @arginnit 's crazy background-drawing-ability and style/skill at portraying environments . wadds your stuff is insane and i love it

happy @mcyt-valentines exchange !!!!

[shalomniscient]

every day, once a year, yelan takes a day off.

this is written directly into her contract with the tianquan. there are no exceptions, no special arrangements. on this singular day, yelan does not belong to the qixing; on this singular day, her leash and collar are abandoned, and she has free reign to do as she pleases.

what does she do? well, prepare for your anniversary, of course.

she hops out of bed, cleans up, tugs her jacket on and then slips out the door with the clink of her jade bracelet. it’s a clear day, and yelan tilts her head to the sky briefly, letting the golden sunrays warm her face almost like an embrace. you were never really a morning person, but the sun on your skin always suited you. she’d have to drag you out of bed to see it, but it was always well worth your grumbling in the end when you finally cave and offer her a smile which she would then steal with a kiss.

“ugh, yelan—“ you giggled, your hands on her chest gently pushing her back. your bracelet was cool against her skin, and the matching one on her own wrist hummed. she nosed along your jaw, pressing more and more kisses until she reached your neck. playfulness turned into something a little more heated, and her blood sang at the sigh she pulled from your lips. emerald eyes flicked up to you, teasing, challenging, and you managed a wry huff before tangling your fingers in her hair and tugging her back to properly kiss her again. it stung, beautifully, but yelan grinned all the way."

she shakes herself out of the memory, and steps into the busy street. liyue’s morning scene has always been crowded, and she blends into the throng with practiced ease. she follows the flow of the crowd down the wharf until she reaches the shop she’s looking for—a florist, tucked snugly between two other stores on the higher levels of the shopping district.

the owner, a midde-aged woman, looks up from tending to her orchids to smile at her. her eyes crease with familiarity at the sight of yelan as the spy steps into her store, fingers brushing the petals of a few flowers. the woman rounds the counter, and rummages in the storage for a few moments.

“the usual, i take it?” she asks, and yelan nods, leaning against the counter and tapping her fingers over the grainy wood. the shop hasn’t changed much, if at all, since she last came here with you.

you leaned down by a bouquet of white chrysanthemums, lips curving upward into a smile as you breathed in the soft, floral scent. yelan looked curiously over your shoulder, a hand casually resting on your hip. she asked if it was your favorite flower—you nodded, your other hand rising to just as casually cup her face from over your shoulder. “they’re quite pretty, aren’t they?” you hummed, and yelan took a moment to ponder the question. in the end, she said they were nowhere near as pretty as you, and took the light smack you delivered to her shoulder with an easy laugh.

the florist clears her throat, coaxing her out of the memory. yelan recieves the bouquet—white chrysanthemums—with a smile, settling it in the crook of her arm. the woman’s expression is measured, but there’s a slight waver to her tone when she speaks. if yelan really had to name it, it sounds close to… pity.

“yelan—“ she begins, but she only flashes the woman a signature grin, before slipping out the door as quickly as she came. she has other things to get, after all, and the clock is always ticking.

(or maybe her clock stopped ticking a long time ago and all this is just extra. maybe it cracked when the rocks fell and the earth buried—)

she dissolves back into the crowd as she heads to her next destination: wanmin restaurant. she can smell the chili in the air as she makes her way down the street again, a sharpness only wanmin seems to be able to make. when she gets there, xiangling is boisterously calling out orders while her father toils away in the kitchen, with guoba tirelessly maintaining the roaring fire for his wok. when she sees her, xiangling’s grin only widens, and she waves her over enthusiastically.

“miss yelan! welcome, welcome,” the young chef says cheerily. “here for another batch of dried chillies?”

yelan chuckles, shaking her head. “no, not this time. i’m here for a few rice buns. with a sweet filling, preferably.”

“ooh,” xiangling coos, nodding. “are you planning to go on an expedition? rice buns are both portable and satiating.”

“you could say that,” yelan says vaguely. the little chef is right, in a way, since she’ll have to hike a little to get to your spot—but really, it’s because rice buns have always been a comfort food of sorts for you.

“how can you not like them?” you asked defensively as you trudged along with her behind the group. there was a slight smear of filling on the corner of your lip, and your expression scrunched up a little more as she wiped it off. her jade bracelet was cool against your heated cheeks. yelan only shook her head, teasingly remarking that spice was a much greater wake-up call than sweets. you huffed at that, taking another bite of your rice bun. “not all of us are masochists, lan’er,” you grumbled, and yelan laughed softly. her nimble fingers encircled your wrist, tugging you closer so she could take a quick bite of your bun. it was sweet, sweeter than she’d like, but maybe that was because you were there. and somehow, that made it good.

yelan pulls herself out of yet another memory when xiangling deposits the bag of warm rice buns into her hands. they’re freshly steamed, and the scent of warm buns fill her senses. she thanks the chef, and disappears much the same way she came before the young lady can get even so much as a word in. in the back of her mind, she can almost hear you chastise her for it.

(she always hears you in the back of her mind. if not, where else—)

there’s only one thing left on her list, and it’s incense. it’s late in the morning now, so the crowds have thinned out—and without her cover, yelan takes to back alleys and rooftops instead. she sighs, relieved almost, as she slips into the shimmering, reflective cover of hydro, darting like a minnow between buildings like rocks, barely a blur in the eyes of anyone nearby. the secrecy isn’t strictly necessary for what she’s doing now, but she’s been so used to being unseen that being in the open feels… unsafe.

it doesn’t take her that long to reach wangsheng funeral parlor. the young lady running the parlor isn’t in today—instead, it’s her ‘assistant’, the elegant man shrouded in such thick mystery that neither her nor ningguang has been able to pierce. he greets her with a solemn expression, no doubt because director hu has told him the reason for her visit. “incense?” he asks again anyway to confirm, his voice low and soft. yelan nods absently, her nose stinging slightly from the intense scent permeating the parlor.

she watches as the man disappears into the back of the parlor for a moment, before he reappears with a delicately wrapped packet of incense sticks. she slides a pouch of mora his way, which he takes wordlessly. she tucks the packet into her little pocket dimension, then turns on her heel to leave. just as she exits the door, he calls out to her.

“safe travels.”

she doesn’t deign him with a response.

her feet take her out and away from the city, down the familiar path to the bleeding wound in the earth—the chasm. the land goes from valleys to large, curling momuments of rock, carved by the force of a falling star. she feels that familiar tug in her chest, the voice that calls to her, that tells her to forsake the surface as her ancestor once did. she listened to it, once. and—

“go,” you whispered, pushing her away. half of you was buried under rock, and she could only see one of your eyes; the other was forced shut by the blood that trickled down your face. yelan nearly screamed herself hoarse, but you grabbed her face and kissed her. it tasted like salt, and her heart lurched at the wrongness. your kisses had always been sweet. you slipped your bracelet onto her wrist, then pushed her again, and then the earth heaved and groaned, and it was the last she ever saw of you—

she turns her head and rips herself out of the memory and the temptation; she has other, more important places to be today. she has other days to chase down her demons. she skirts the side of the chasm, slowly ascending to the top. she passes by the memorial to the millelith, and leaves a rice bun and a few sticks of incense as an offering. they too, deserve to be remembered after all.

(she wonders if anyone else comes out here to remember them. she wonders who will come when she’s gone for—)

it takes her a while, but eventually, she reaches the highest point in the chasm. the sun has traveled across the sky by this point, the afternoon heat mellowing out into a slightly cooler evening warmth. the sky is alive with shades of gold when she finally stops, drawing to a halt right before a smooth stone, standing upright from the earth like a silent vigil. she kneels before it, producing three sticks on incense and inserting them into the censer before the stone and lighting them. she sets a rice bun on the plate by the stone, and saves one for herself. the bouquet of white chrysanthemums, she lays on top of the stone.

yelan takes a bite of her rice bun, letting the sweetness settle on her tongue, as the floral scent mixes with the incense, filling her lungs and settling on her shoulders. she tilts her head to the sun, and the warmth feels almost like an embrace. and when she closes her eyes, the wind in her hair feels almost like a caress. when she opens them again, she lets them rest on the stone—the headstone, and she offers it a smile.

sitting on the edge of the cliff, your legs swinging, you smiled at her, nearly blindingly bright like the golden hour. your pinkies were twined together, your shoulders flush with hers. there was a bouquet of white chrysanthemums on your lap, and just a few crumbs on the corner of your lips. your voice carried in the wind when you spoke.

“happy anniversary, yelan.”

“happy anniversary, sweetheart,” she whispers. the wind carries her voice as well, and she hopes you hear it, wherever you are now. one day, she’ll join you, but for now she takes another bite of her rice bun and breathes in the scent of incense and chrysanthemums.

[nondelphic]

i fucking love writing a healthy best friendship between a man and a woman without making it weird or having them fall in love

[icewindandboringhorror]

I made a few new wax seal stamps out of clay (like the ones I did for my worldbuilding stuff forever ago), this time just of random symbols that I thought might look good done in the style of painting over the raised part of the wax or etc. :0c Some of them aren't carved deep enough to really show up that well, but overall they worked okay for being clay lol

[tagarilaghost]

I SWEAR CELEBI'S THINGY IS COMING SOON BUT I REALLY WANTED TO POST THIS ALRIGHT

yeaah... future trio got me too...

and Darkrai is there too, because of course he is.

hey look i drew a cute Drifloon :D

...ignore the rest

whatever started at Darkrai doodles ended in brainrot of future trio + darkrai and I'm blaming @scribz-ag24 for this

[steveseddie]

outside looking in

for @steddie-week day one “secret relationship”

rated: t | cw: none | wc: 4,8k | tags: max’s pov, post vol. 4, 3+1 things, secret relationship, friendship, max & steve, max & eddie

click here to read on ao3

1.

Max is sitting on the front steps of her house, adjusting the wheels of her skateboard when the screen door of the Munson’s trailer swings open.

The noise it makes as it slams against the side of the trailer makes her jump. It’s only been a few weeks since Spring Break and she’s still on high alert after everything that happened.

Looking up from her skateboard, she expects to see Eddie or his uncle. She’s used to it- catching them on their way in or out of the trailer or sitting on the old ratty couch that they keep on the front porch. She’s used to waving at them and them waving back. Sometimes, if it’s Eddie, she’ll stick her middle finger out just to make him crow with laughter so loud she can hear it from across the gravel path. 

What Max doesn’t expect is to see someone else stumbling out of the Munson’s trailer. 

She certainly doesn’t expect to see Steve. 

It can’t be Steve, Max thinks. She remembers one of the doctors at the hospital telling her that her eyesight suffered some damage from being trapped in Vecna’s mind prison for too long and now she thinks that he must’ve been right. Maybe she does need glasses. 

But even if she squints her eyes, she still sees Steve. More importantly, she sees what Steve is wearing, and even from a distance despite whatever eyesight problems she might have, she can see that the clothes Steve is wearing aren’t his. Well, the jeans probably are, but the shirt is black and the logo plastered on the front is a big skull surrounded by flames, and while she can’t make out the words that are written in big bold letters, she’s willing to bet it’s the name of one of Eddie’s metal bands. Which would make that Eddie’s shirt.  

And it looks wrinkled, slept in.

Huh.

Jogging down the front steps, Steve makes his way to his BMW, parked out front and sticking out like a shiny sore thumb. Max is surprised she didn’t notice it sooner. 

She watches as he runs a hand through his hair, his messy hair- another sign pointing to the fact that Steve spent the night in Eddie’s trailer.

And the thing is Max didn’t even know they were friends. 

She’s seen them talk- or more like bicker when the party hangs out, but she had no idea that they sometimes hang out just the two or that they spend the night at each other’s places, or that they share clothes. 

She thinks she’s not supposed to know, based on the way Steve stops in his tracks with his hand frozen mid-air as he reaches for the car door handle when he spots Max across the road. 

His eyes go wide and his jaw drops a little, the dopey smile that was plastered on his face disappearing as he stands there, staring at her for several seconds. 

Max raises her hand in an awkward wave, which seems to snap him out of his reverie. He offers a small finger wiggle in return. 

Max doesn’t know how clearly he can see her. Just like her, Steve was advised by one of the doctors to wear glasses- his own eyesight showing signs of damage after the multiple concussions that he’s suffered over the years. And just like her, Steve didn’t listen.

Still, she raises an eyebrow at him while staring pointedly at the shirt he’s wearing.

And despite his own shitty eyesight, Steve must be able to see her face clearly enough because he ducks his head, realizes what Max is staring at, and his eyes widen even more. Then, without looking at her again, he hurriedly slides into the driver’s seat and starts the car, backing it up and driving it away.

Once the car disappears, Max jumps to her feet, and tucking her skateboard under her arm, she walks over to Eddie’s trailer. 

Her knuckles rap on the door and she hears movement behind it- the couch squeaking, a loud thud, and a heartfelt “son of a bitch!” coming from Eddie as he, most likely, trips over something.

Eddie starts talking before he opens the door enough to see Max, rubbing at his eyes. “Did you forget something, Stevie-” He pauses when he finally sees Max, whose eyebrows are knit together in a frown. Stevie? She’s only ever heard Eddie call Steve by his last name or by some mocking title before. “Oh. Hey Red, I thought- I thought you were someone else,” he tacks on with an awkward laugh, a hand hanging from his neck. 

Max studies him for a moment. He’s in boxers and a shirt that could very well be the same one that Steve was wearing, equally slept in. They both must’ve woken up recently- Eddie’s hair is even more of a mess than Steve’s was. 

“Who? Steve?” She asks, and Eddie makes a noncommittal sound. “Nah, he left already.” 

Eddie bites his lip. “You- you saw him?” 

“I was fixing my skateboard outside when he came out.” She narrows her eyes at him. “Wearing your shirt.”

“Um,” Eddie says dumbly, scratching the back of his neck. “He, uh, he spilled something on his shirt last night. If you ask me, it was an act of divine intervention, no one should own that many polo shirts.” He chuckles, but it sounds a little strained. 

“So he was here last night?” Max asks and Eddie grimaces, mentally face-palming himself.

“Um, yeah.” 

“Since when do you guys hang out?” She asks, raising an eyebrow.

Eddie shrugs. “Since we found ourselves as the only two adults in a group of children, I guess.” 

Max rolls her eyes. “We’re hardly children.”

“Sorry, teenagers,” he says with a smirk. “But you know, same shit. Sometimes it’s nice to hang out with someone your age who also understands, you know- everything that happened.”

“I guess,” Max concedes. Maybe in a universe without the Upside Down, Eddie and Steve never would’ve become friends, but it makes sense that they did. After everything they went through. 

Eddie reaches over and flicks Max’s forehead, sniggering when Max bats his hand away with a huff. “So, milady, is there a reason you visited me on this fine morning?” 

There isn’t. Truth is, she was curious and wanted to ask about Steve and she did that already, so she might as well just leave. But she also has nothing to do all day and she was hoping to practice with her skateboard anyway-

“Can you give me a ride to the skate park?” She asks and when Eddie glances down at himself and raises an eyebrow, Max scrunches up her nose and adds, “After you take a shower or something?”

Eddie snorts. “Yeah, sure. Come in, you can wait here while I get ready.” He steps to the side and sweeps his arm with a flourish.

“Nerd,” Max mutters but steps in any way, leaving her skateboard on the porch. 

“You can watch something or if you want to grab some breakfast, we have Cocoa Puffs and Honeycomb.” He scrunches up his nose. “But the milk might’ve gone bad, so. Careful with that.” 

Max snorts. “Thanks, but I think I’ll pass,” She says. She had breakfast at home anyway. 

“Suit yourself,” Eddie says, throwing some finger guns her way. “Be right back.” And then he disappears down the hallway.

Max has been inside the trailer a few times, but she’s never been left alone so naturally she decides to snoop around a little while she waits. There’s not a lot that she finds interesting- worn furniture, old newspapers, Eddie’s uncle’s mug collection and-

Steve’s polo shirt that somehow ended up on top of the TV like it was tossed haphazardly by someone. 

She picks it up and inspects it.

There’s not a single stain on it.  

And well, Eddie’s excuse sounded flimsy at best, but this is confirmation that it was actually a lie. It makes Max wonder why Eddie would lie about it. Friends can share clothes and if Steve spent the night it would make sense that he would borrow one of Eddie’s shirts-

But why would his shirt end up on top of the TV if that was the case? 

Before Max can answer her own question, she hears footsteps approaching. Putting the shirt back where it was for Eddie to find later, she makes herself seem busy by staring at the mugs lining up the walls just as Eddie appears. 

“Ready to go?” He asks, oblivious to Max finding the shirt and discovering he was lying about the stain. When she nods, Eddie gestures at the door with another flourish and a, “Ladies first.” 

Sending one last glance at Steve’s shirt, Max steps outside, still wondering what it could mean. 

2. 

Max doesn’t expect it to happen again, but just one week later she sees Steve leaving Eddie’s trailer again.

This time she doesn’t need to squint to notice there’s something off with Steve’s clothes. She’s on her way to Eddie’s trailer when Steve walks out and jogs down the steps, not paying attention to where he’s going, almost knocking Max over. 

“Dude!” She says, stopping him in his tracks. 

“Christ! Where did you come from?” He hisses, stumbling a few steps back, clutching at his chest. 

It makes Max’s eyes dart down to it and she raises an eyebrow. “Why is your shirt inside out?” 

Steve’s eyes nearly bulge out his face as he looks down and notices that his baby blue polo shirt is, in fact, inside out. 

“Uh.” 

Max can see him trying to come up with an explanation, she can almost hear the gears turning in his head, but he seems to be coming up blank. She narrows her eyes further. 

“There was- uh, there was a spider! It ended up caught under my shirt and I had to take it off to- to get it off me and I must’ve put it on the wrong way,” he stammers out with a strained laugh.

“A spider?” Max asks slowly, her eyebrow arched. 

“Uh-huh.” 

Max doesn’t buy it. Just like she didn’t buy Eddie’s excuse about Steve’s shirt having a stain. But since she doesn’t know the real reason why Steve was wearing Eddie’s shirt or why his own is inside out after leaving Eddie’s trailer, she doesn’t confront him about it, just filing the information for later. 

“Okay.” 

Steve awkwardly shuffles from one foot to the other for a second, eyeing his car like he wants to duck inside it and drive away from the trailer park and Max as fast as he can.

At that moment, the trailer door opens and they both whirl around to see Eddie lighting the cigarette dangling from his lips as he walks out. He freezes when he sees them, his eyes darting between the two.

“Oh, you’re still here,” he mumbles through the cigarette. “And so is Max, hey Red.” 

Max gives him a wave.

“What are you two talking about?” He asks, taking a drag from the cigarette.

“I was telling Steve that his shirt is inside out,” Max says, her lips twitching into a smirk. 

Eddie’s eyes widen the same way Steve’s did as he clocks in the inside-out shirt. “Right, that’s- that’s because, um.”

Max waits for him to come up with an excuse of his own, wondering if he’ll come up with the same one that Steve did. But before he can say anything else, Steve intervenes. “There was a spider, right, Eds?” 

Eds? Steve calls him Eds now?

Eddie claps his hands together and points a finger at Steve. “A spider! Right! Nasty little crawler!” 

Max rolls her eyes, wondering if they think she’s stupid. Idiots.

“Whatever.” She turns to Eddie. “My mom made lasagna and she told me to invite you over for lunch,” she says. That was the reason she came over in the first place.

Eddie grins around his cigarette. “Hell yeah, your mom’s lasagna is the shit.” 

Max turns to Steve. “You can come too if you want. She made plenty.” 

The corners of his mouth twitch up for a second before he frowns. “Crap, I’d love to but I have a shift in,” he pauses and glances down at his watch, “twenty minutes. Sorry.”

“Another time.”

“Definitely,” Steve says, ruffling Max’s hair and ducking out of the way before Max can punch his arm. “But for now, I gotta go!” He starts jogging towards his car.

“Don’t forget to fix your shirt!” Max calls and Steve makes a face as he opens the door. 

“And beware of spiders!” Eddie yells right before he climbs inside. Max still catches a glimpse of the fond smile teasing at Steve’s lips. 

When the car disappears, she turns to Eddie again. “You coming or what?”

“Well, when you ask so nicely,” Eddie says with a grin, walking down the steps. 

As soon as he’s within reach, Max snatches the cigarette from his lips and drops it on the ground, snuffing it out with her foot. 

“Hey!” 

“Smoking kills, you know?” She says, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“My dear Red,” Eddie says, throwing an arm over her shoulders as he steers them towards her house. “I defied death once, and I shall do it again!” He says in a silly voice. 

Max bites her lip around a smile. “Yeah, yeah, you can defy it where I don’t have to smell it. Come on, Mom’s waiting.” 

He withdraws his arm and jogs a few steps forward, crouching down in front of Max. “Hop on, milady.” 

Max rolls her eyes, but she grabs Eddie’s shoulders for balance and jumps on his back. Eddie laughs, hoists Max up by her legs, and yells, “Onwards!” before he starts running towards her house. 

Max can’t help but laugh along with him. 

3. 

The next time Max sees Steve outside Eddie’s trailer he’s not leaving but arriving instead. 

She’s sitting down on the porch with her Walkman, waiting for her mother to pick her up. She doesn’t just listen to Kate Bush these days, but she still keeps one of her tapes with her at all times. Right now, she’s listening to a mixtape Lucas made for her. 

It comes to an end just as Steve’s car rolls into the trailer park, stopping in front of Eddie’s trailer. 

As she rewinds the tape, she expects Steve to step out of the car and head inside, but he doesn’t. Eddie doesn’t come out of the trailer either. Steve just sits in his car with his hands on the steering wheel for seemingly no reason.

After ten minutes, he still hasn’t come out and since Max has nothing better to do until her mother gets here, she decides to walk over there to find out what’s going on with Steve. 

She opens the passenger door and slides into the seat without announcing herself, making Steve jump and hit his head with the roof of the car.

“Jesus Christ! Ouch! Fuck!” He glances at Max with wide crazy eyes. “Goddammit, Max, are you trying to give me a heart attack?” 

Max ignores the question in favor of asking one herself. “You’ve been sitting here for ten minutes, dude, what gives?” 

The hand that Steve is rubbing his head with stops abruptly. “Um.” 

“Well?” Max gives him an exasperated look. Her mom is going to be home any second and she would like to get an answer before she does.

Steve bites his lip, watching Max closely. “Can- Can I ask you something?” 

He seems nervous and that’s the only reason why Max lets him ignore her question. “Okay?” 

“You and Lucas-” he starts and Max raises an eyebrow. She wasn’t expecting Steve to ask about them. “You’re together again, right?” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“Did he- when he asked you to-” He waves his hand in a vague gesture. “You know- be his girlfriend, how did he- what did he do?” 

She bites down on the why? that’s at the tip of her tongue. “He gave me this. A mixtape,” she says, holding her Walkman for Steve to see. “And he- he just asked me. He said that after Vecna he didn’t want to waste any more time. He wanted to be with me.” 

Steve smiles softly. “Smart kid.” 

“It wasn’t terribly romantic but-” Max trails off with a shrug. She hadn’t cared about that. Vecna made her realize she wanted to be with Lucas too, and that’s all that mattered. 

“He probably knew you wouldn’t want a big romantic gesture,” Steve says and Max nods.

She narrows her eyes at him- at the way Steve bites his lip while glancing at Eddie’s trailer, thinking.

That’s when it clicks. The shared clothes, the inside-out shirt, Steve asking about her and Lucas, how nervous he is to go inside-

“Is that something Eddie would want? A big romantic gesture?” She asks and Steve snaps his head in her direction so fast she thinks she hears his neck crack. 

“What- what do you- how do you-” 

Max scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “Dude, I saw you leaving Eddie’s trailer wearing his clothes and then with your shirt on inside out. And don’t give me that bullshit about the spider! You were obviously- you know.” She gestures vaguely but Steve gets it. His cheeks go pink which is enough confirmation. “And now you’re asking me about Lucas and how he asked me to be his girlfriend like- like you’re thinking about doing that so- is that it? Are you gonna ask Eddie?” 

Steve sighs heavily, slumping back against his seat. “Yeah, that’s- yeah. I want to ask him,” he admits, gripping the steering wheel. He glances at Max out of the corner of his eye. “Is that- is that okay?” 

Max snorts. “You know you don’t need my permission, right? But if you’re asking if I think you and Eddie being together is okay? Yeah, of course it is.” 

Steve relaxes slightly. “Thanks. I- we- this thing between us is new. We haven’t told anyone. Not that we had to tell you,” he chuckles. “Of course, you figured it out, but we haven’t, you know, made it official, but I want to. I just don’t know how.” 

“I thought you were supposed to be some kind of ladies’ man?” 

Steve lets out an undignified squawk. “I- that’s not- I mean I was, but my game kind of went downhill after high school and Eddie- he makes me nervous.”

“Is that why you’ve been freaking out here for ten minutes?”

A high-pitched laughter tumbles out of Steve’s lips. “Yeah, that’s- yeah.” 

Max rolls her eyes. “Steve, just tell Eddie how you feel! How you really feel.”

“Easier said than done, Mayfield.” 

She turns sideways in her seat to face him. “Look, Eddie likes you, that’s obvious, and you like him so just tell him that. Tell him that you want to be together. Officially.”

Steve runs a hand through his hair, blowing out a breath.

“And stop doing that!” Max chatises, slapping his hand away. “You don’t want to look like a bird built a nest in your head when you ask Eddie to be your boyfriend.”

He drops his hand to his lap. “No, I don’t,” He concedes. Then he takes a deep breath. “Yeah, okay, I’m doing this.”

Max waits for him to move and get out of the car, but he just sits there. “Dude, you’re still in the car-”

Steve throws his arms up. “I know! I know, I’m going!” 

And then finally, he gets out of the car. Max follows his lead, leaning her crossed arms on the roof to narrow her eyes at Steve. 

“Now you gotta walk over there-”

Steve groans. “Yeah, I know that. You,” he points at her with one finger while the other one settles on his hip, “you gotta scram. I’m not doing this in front of you.”

Max rolls her eyes. “Whatever. My mom will be here soon anyway.”

She starts walking back to her house but before she gets too far, Steve calls her name. She turns around with a raised eyebrow. 

Steve is smiling softly at her. “Thanks.”

Max smiles back. “Good luck!”

Her mom’s car appears then and she waves at Steve before running towards it. She gets in, and as her mom drives away, she sees Steve fix his hair one last time in the car window before finally walking towards the trailer. 

She faces forward in her seat, convinced that the next time she sees Steve leaving Eddie’s trailer, he’ll be doing it as Eddie’s boyfriend. 

+1. 

The next time he sees Steve, however, it’s not outside Eddie’s trailer, but rather inside it.

She’s sitting down at the Munson’s table, watching Eddie putter around the small kitchen as he cooks them pasta for dinner while she works on her History homework. 

Eddie has music on- loud, heavy metal music that Max rolled her eyes at when she walked in. But the truth is that she’s used to it by now and she prefers this to the silence back at her house when her mom is at work. 

Because of the loud music though they don’t hear the car that parks outside or the person that walks up the front steps. It’s only when the door flings open that both Max and Eddie jump and glance at it, both of them relaxing when Steve walks in carrying a six-pack.

“Honey, I’m home!” He announces, shrugging off his jacket. 

Max watches as Eddie’s eyes widen comically before darting between her and Steve, who still hasn’t noticed her. Steve must’ve forgotten to tell him that Max knows about them- probably too embarrassed to admit he asked a fifteen-year-old for advice on boys. 

“Uh, Stevie-” Eddie starts, but Steve, whose back is still turned towards them as he hangs his jacket on the coat rack, ignores him and keeps talking.

“It smells great in here, Eds! I’m starving. Robin ate the last of my sandwich at work and then she wouldn’t let me steal anything from the candy display. I thought we could order pizza, but thank God my boyfriend decided to surprise me with a home-cooked meal. Oh hey, Max.” He wiggles his fingers at Max, finally noticing her, and she waves back. 

Eddie’s jaw hangs open as he stares at Max. “Shit, I guess- I guess the cat’s out of the bag,” he chuckles, nervously tugging some of his hair in front of his face.

“Dude, the cat’s been out of the bag since I saw Steve leave in one of your shirts after spending the night here,” Max says with a snort. 

Eddie splutters. “What?”

She smirks. “Yeah. And that time Steve walked out with his shirt inside out? Did you really expect me to believe it was because of a spider?”

Steve’s face twists into a grimace. Eddie shrugs, hanging a hand from his neck. Yeah, they should be embarrassed about that one. 

“Also, who do you think was the one who gave Steve a pep talk before he asked you to be his boyfriend?” 

At that, Eddie’s head snaps towards Steve, whose cheeks have turned pink. “She- what?”

“Okay, it wasn’t a pep talk, come on! I was just- I was a little nervous!” 

“Aw baby,” Eddie says gleefully, leaning his elbows on the kitchen counter and resting his chin on his hands. “You were nervous?” 

Max sniggers. “He was. He sat in the car for like ten minutes.”

Steve squeaks. “Shut up!” He tells her. Then when Eddie coos, Steve points a menacing finger at him. “You shut up too!” 

Still giggling, Max watches as Eddie walks around the kitchen counter until he’s standing in front of Steve and cups both sides of his face while Steve pouts at him with his own hands resting on his hips. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I think it’s cute that you were nervous,” Eddie tells him before swooping in to give him a quick peck on the lips. “Even if you had no reason to be.”

Steve visibly melts, his hands falling from his hips like a puppet with his strings cut, his pout turning into a dopey smile.

Ew.

“If you guys start making out, I’ll leave. I swear,” Max announces, and both their heads snap in her direction, looking like they forgot she was there. 

Their cheeks turn pink, but while Steve does look a little embarrassed, Eddie looks pleased. 

“Apologies, my lady,” he says with a flourish. “Here, sweetheart, let me take this,” he tells Steve, grabbing the six-pack and walking around the counter to put it inside the fridge before going back to making dinner. Max finds the pet names very cheesy and gross too, but she doesn’t tease them about that. She has the feeling that this is the first time that they can act like a couple in front of someone from the party and she doesn’t want them to think they have to hold back- not unless it comes to kissing. 

Steve joins her on the table, twisting one of the chairs around and straddling it, resting his chin in his arms. “If I’d known you’d be here, I would’ve brought you something to drink too.” 

“That’s okay.” Max shrugs innocently. “I can have a beer.” 

From the kitchen, Eddie cackles, and Steve’s eyes turn into cartoon-like hearts as he glances at him for a second before turning back to Max and speaking in that bitchy tone of his. “Yeah, that’s a no. Nice try. Maybe in a couple of years.” 

Max rolls her eyes as hard as she can. 

“What are you working on?” Steve asks, glancing at her notebook. 

“History homework, I’m almost done.” Then she makes her voice a little louder so Eddie hears it when she says, “I would be done by now if Eddie didn’t listen to his music so loud it makes it hard to think!” 

“You know, Red, music is supposed to improve cognitive performance,” Eddie says in a snarky tone. 

“Yours isn’t music, it’s just noise.”

Steve sniggers and offers his hand for a fist bump that Max accepts. From the kitchen, Eddie sticks his tongue out at her. 

“Whatever, your homework is gonna have to wait anyway. Dinner’s ready.”

Max closes her book and her notebook and moves them both to the coffee table while Steve clears out some old mail and flips his chair forward again. Then he helps Eddie with one of the three pasta bowls and Max grabs a soda from the fridge and two beers for them, carrying it all to the table. 

Steve wasn’t lying when he said it smelled good. Max’s mouth waters the moment she sits down in front of her bowl, wasting no time before she digs in. 

They eat in silence for no more than two minutes which is how long it takes for Eddie to start telling them about his latest study session with Nancy through mouthfuls of pasta. Max scrunches her nose every time she catches a glimpse of Eddie’s half-chewed food, but the whole time, Steve watches him with a dopey smile. Halfway through his story, Steve reaches for one of Eddie’s hands, holding it over the table. Eddie stutters in the middle of complaining about Nancy not believing in breaks (“That woman is a machine! It doesn’t matter if she’s facing off against a dark wizard or an English final!”), his eyes darting to their joined hands and then to Max’s bored expression before relaxing and flipping his hand over so that their fingers intertwine.

They don’t let go for the rest of their dinner- not while the three of them bicker and tease each other or while Steve tells them about his shift at Family Video or while Max tells them about El coming to visit during summer. They don’t let go when Eddie lets Max have a sip of his beer and both he and Steve double over with laughter when she scrunches up her face and gags at the taste. 

They let go only when they move to the couch to watch a movie, but then they cuddle up to each other almost immediately. 

Max gags again, but it’s just for show. She doesn’t mind any of it- the pet names, the cuddling, the hand-holding. She’ll draw the line at seeing them kiss because gross but she’s happy to see them relax and act like this in front of her. Someday, they might tell the rest of the party, maybe even the rest of the world. 

For now, they seem happy to let her be the only one who knows. The only one who gets to see them like this. 

And Max, well, she’s happy too.