#i need to write a mini fic

[keebwee]

"wow i need to get to 12,000 words in this fic and im halfway there. maybe i should start a NEW ONE"

[carebeardean]

Charles has always left Edwin little notes slipped between the pages of his favorite books, in his science equipment, places he knows Edwin loves. Just silly things—post its that say “hi Edwin :)”. doodles of Edwin with his nose stuck in a book. reminders to stock up on wolfsbane. but.

Then, post canon, Edwin tentatively starts dating people. And it’s ridiculous, because Edwin’s right there, all the time, but Charles..misses him a bit. And his heads a mess, and he can’t sort out what the hell he’s feeling most of the time, and whenever he tries to say any of it out loud it comes out rubbish.

So. He writes down some of the shit he can’t say right, and because he’s a coward, hides them so he doesn’t have to see Edwin’s face when he reads them.

then Edwin starts writing back.

Neat lilac blue little envelopes appear in Charles coat pockets. In his bag. Once, in his shoe? Some nights, Edwin will clear his throat and mention something from a letter, offhand, like they’re just picking up conversation, and Charles can pretend they are. That they always have talked about the basement, the belt, the nameless fear that chokes him every time Edwin walks out the door with someone else on his arm.

Sometimes he can’t. The words get stuck in his throat. Edwin’s not mad, he’s maddeningly, stubbornly kind about it, which is worse.

Some nights they trade. A secret for a secret. Charles learns about the novels Edwin used to hide under his mattress, about all the lonely years before Charles got there. About Simon.

Meanwhile, Edwin is losing his mind, because Charles has accidentally stumbled onto what was a fucking courting ritual in his time. Love letters were something engaged couples treasured for years, kept and reread over and over. (Edwin does. keep them in a special box, will take one out and trace the words, tuck it in his breast pocket for courage).

Edwin would rather have to reattach a limb again than lose Charles trust, all the dark and beautiful things he shares with Edwin only. He knows—knows Charles doesn’t mean to make him fall more in love with him.

[donutfloats]

One night, Lamb and Narinder are sat outside gazing at the stars, it’s before they’re in a romantic relationship (perhaps pining at this stage) so they’re just friends at this moment.

Lamb asks the question “If you had a normal life, what would you have wanted to do?”

Narinder is confused by this, “what brought this on?” He’d ask, turning to look at them.

Lamb shrugged, still gazing up at the starlit sky. “Just somethin’ I remembered thinking about a lot before.. well, you know.” They gestured down the hill, where the temple of their cult stood along with the many follower huts and other stations. “The whole cult thing.”

Narinder hummed as he turned back to gazing at the stars, “… I do not know. It was never a thought that crossed my mind as I couldn’t imagine my self as anything else other than a God.”

There was a long pause after this, the silence was then broken by Narinder.

“I assume you had something in mind for your self?”

“I wanted a family.” Lamb replied.

Narinder was taken slightly aback by this, brows furrowed into a look of confusion. “A family? That’s it?”

Lamb nodded, pushing their arms out that were propping their self up to fully lay back on the grass, their gaze still transfixed upon the night sky. “Yep, I wanted to get married and have kids. Settle down, have a house, grow our own food. Live a small, simple life.”

“How… mundane.” Narinder replied as he slumped back into the grass. “… Why?”

Now it was the Lamb’s turn to be confused as they turned to face Narinder. “Really? Thought it was obvious.”

“Enlighten me.”

Lamb rolled their eyes and sighed at this. “I spent my entire life on the move because of the hunts. I never got to call anywhere ‘home’.”

“Why a family though?”

“Well-“ Lamb turned onto their side so they were facing Narinder fully, which he recuperated by doing the same, the two now being face to face as the Lamb continued. “- I never thought I’d be able to have kids, let alone a partner. The herds were dwindling, so it was obvious that I was part of the last generation of sheep.” The Lamb’s gaze drifted, not focusing on anything particular. “It would have also been cruel to bring a child into the world that only wanted them dead.”

“So I used to just daydream about a life I wanted.”

It was quiet for a moment between the two, but the Lamb felt a sense of awkwardness rush over them as they quickly tried to fill the silence. “But uh, yeah. It’s a silly mundane thing to want I guess, especially now.”

Narinder’s expression hadn’t changed, but after a moment he closed his eyes as he in a softer tone than the lamb expected.

“I suppose the mundane wouldn’t be so bad.”

The Lamb’s ears perked up at this, surprised by Narinder’s response. “Is… that something you would have done?”

“Perhaps.” He replied

Silence fell once again between the two, but it was comfortable. The stars had been forgotten as the Lamb gazed at Narinder’s face at rest. It would be a couple hours until the sun would start to peak over the horizon, so the Lamb indulged in the serene moment by closing their eyes, drifting away to one of the most comfortable sleeps they’ve had in a long time.

[starrystevie]

eddie figures out that he likes steve all because of nancy fucking wheeler.

it isn't often that they find themselves hanging out just the two of them, quite the opposite. this is the first time they've ever done it and the only reason nancy is even stepping foot inside the munson's new government-provided trailer is because she's having a crisis.

"but what does it mean," she asks, voice muffled as her lips wrap around the opening of her beer bottle before taking a swig. her cheeks hollow and her eyes shut against the feeling of the carbonation bubbling up before she fixes eddie with a glare that he doesn't think is for him. "it didn't... feel this way with barb."

and eddie's just sitting there on the couch, rolling a much needed joint for both of them, trying to follow along with what nancy is saying. she's pacing a hole in the carpet and her hands are flying around in a way that eddie himself does when the wheels in his brain are spinning too fast.

"... what didn't feel what way?"

nancy glares at him again and he gets the feeling that it's directed at him this time. he feels himself shrink under her eyes and wants to raise his hands up in surrender (he gives in and does indeed raise his hands in surrender).

"i think i'm in love with robin, please try and keep up."

eddie stills, his hands in the air and mouth open in shock. nancy's still muttering about something but his brain is stuck on the being-in-love-with-robin part of her tirade. it's not an issue, not in the slightest, and sure he's heard of people who... but he's never met someone who actually-

"are you even listening?" nancy asks, her tone firm. she has a hand on her hip while the other is clenched tightly around the neck of her beer. "what am i supposed to do?! am i just supposed to kiss her and tell her that her eyes are my favorite color and that i miss her when she leaves a room even for just a minute?"

"how should i know?! i'm not in love with robin!" eddie responds and he knows it's the wrong answer by how nancy's whole face falls in the span of .02 seconds. she looks like she's on the brink of tears, frustrated or hopeless or sad, and eddie doesn't know what to do with that either.

"but... you know. what about steve?" nancy's voice is soft now, and paired with her puppy dog eyes, eddie almost doesn't process what she says. "how'd you know with him?"

and if eddie thought he was stunned before, this takes the cake. a nervous laugh bubbles out of him, his face hot and heart pounding. his arms feel a bit like liquid and he doesn't know if he's even breathing anymore.

"nancy, i'm sorry but i think we're on two different wave lengths here." he needs to do something with his hands so he starts to fiddle with his lighter, flicking the zippo open and shut until the clink of the metal sounds too loud in the quiet room. "i don't.... love steve."

tears start to roll down her cheeks and yeah, eddie definitely messed up somewhere. she's wiping the drops away furiously like she's surprised they even dared to show up and she's biting her lip in a way that looks like it hurts.

"what are you talking about? of course you do." her eyebrows furrow which makes her look even angrier or disgusted and eddie feels like they're on a tightrope in his living room that's about to snap away from underneath them.

"well yeah, i... love him," he stutters over the words, "like i love you and rob and everyone. but not like... love love."

nancy's laugh sounds way too harsh for it to have come out of her. "are you sure? you stare at his ass more than i stare at robin's." she takes a deep breath, ignores the gasp of indignation that her statement gets out of eddie, and tilts her chin up like she's taking the high ground.

"i do not!"

"do too! and you're always looking for him when you walk into a room, like it doesn't matter if we're there, you only look for him. and you sit right next to him even if there's an open seat that's more comfortable. and you have this little, i don't know, tic when he smiles that makes you wiggle your fingers and you-"

"wheeler, you gotta stop."

"-always listen to him and he does all of that back for you and it's so obvious. i can't believe you didn't know you were in love with steve! you do everything that i do for robin and i'm in love with her so it must mean you're in love with steve and- holy shit i'm in love with robin."

the silence after nancy stops rings loud in his ears. honestly, he hadn't really given it any thought before but it makes sense.

the very idea of steve has his heart feeling a way it hasn't since he was nine and tracy nichols gave him a shiny rock on valentine's day. he does always look for steve when he enters a room, his very presence calming and dependable. he does sit next to him no matter what, their sides pressed together, heat radiating between them like a blanket. and god, when steve smiles, he does have to move his fingers, something to get out these jolts of energy that he feels licking through his veins.

steve is good and steve is a bit of an asshole but eddie likes that and suddenly the line between platonic and romantic seems to have vanished because holy shit, how did he live for the past year without spending every day loving steve harrington?

eddie reaches for the half rolled joint, licks at the paper to close it and lights up quickly. he holds the smoke in his lungs for probably too long but couldn't care less because he's now having a crisis of his own thanks to nancy.

"goddamnit," eddie hisses out as he exhales. "i'm in love with steve."

nancy looks smug, her arm extended as she waits for eddie to pass the joint to her before taking a hit. "that's what i'm saying."

"but i'm not... you know."

nancy rolls her eyes. "it's not going to bite you if you say it, eddie."

"i'm not gay."

the silence seems louder now as the paper on the joint sizzles. there's a dog somewhere in the park barking and he can hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

"neither am i." nancy responds quietly with a shrug of her shoulders. "but i am for robin. and you are for steve."

she passes the joint back over to eddie and stands up from the couch, wipes off imaginary crumbs from her pants like she didn't just turn eddie's world upside down.

"i think i'm gonna go. i have a lady to woo." nancy looks happy. it's a good look on her, one he doesn't see all that often what with everything that's happened to them in the past year. she deserves it, he thinks, happiness.

"let me know how it goes," he calls to her as she stops at the trailer door.

"i will." with a tilt of her head and a with a gleam in her eye, she gives eddie yet another look that he doesn't know if he wants to try and decipher. "you should call him."

eddie snorts and takes a hit, rolling his eyes as he stares up at the ceiling so he doesn't have to look at nancy's all knowing eyes. it isn't that he's scared to call steve, it's that he's terrified. petrified. what would he say? what would steve say? he just figured out that he loves him, he hasn't had time to prepare a whole speech to declare it and-

"eddie." nancy's voice is sharp but certain and part of him thinks that robin is a lucky woman to have nancy wheeler falling in love with her. "trust me. call him."

after she's gone, he finishes the joint. he sits in the silence of his trailer and pulls hit after hit of sticky smoke until it's down the end and burning his fingertips. he stares at the ceiling some more, contemplates what to say, how to say it, how to do anything without throwing up.

he wonders if wayne knows, if he saw what nancy saw, what he thinks of eddie falling in with a guy. he wonders if this will change everything. wonders if it'll change for better or worse. wonders if he'll have to skip town and change his name like he imagined doing after he was cleared of murder.

picking up the phone is easy, dialing is easier when he has steve's number memorized like the back of his hand.

"hello?" steve mutters like he's been roused out of sleep. his voice is scruffy and somehow soft and eddie knows he's going to throw up.

"steve."

"hey, man. is everything okay?"

and it makes eddie's heart flutter in a way that a generic question shouldn't but damn it, he's in love. he's allowed.

"yeah, yeah. everything's good i just-" eddie sighs, scrubs a hand down his face to stop from twirling the phone cord in his fingers. "do you wanna maybe come over? watch a movie or something?"

eddie can almost hear the smile in his voice when he breathes out a yes, thanking whatever higher powers there may be for nancy wheeler.

[puhpandas]

i like to think that a couple years post ggy tony still gets caught up in mysteries that he can’t help obsessing over and he tries to rope gregory into his crazy plans to investigate

[resident-gay-bitch]

Single teen dad steve who’s kid comes out as trans kinda young and fuck it’s the late 80’s early 90’s - post upside down - and he’s freaking out because he just wants the best for his little kid. She- he has always been Steve’s biggest priority and he loves his kid no matter what and he’s gonna embrace the hell out of it, but he has worries about it all because he’s in small town Hawkins and people here get beat up for being rumoured to be gay, what the hell is gonna happen to his kid??

But mainly, he has no idea how to help. He doesn’t know anything about it. Robin assists where she can but she’s just as in the dark about it as Steve.

Then comes one night, Axl (they’re trying out new names each month and this month Axl is obsessed with Gunners so it’s only appropriate) is having a panic attack over his dysphoria and Steve is trying his best to help. He can’t bind, doesn’t know how to do it on his own without it hurting really bad, and Steve is trying to help but Axl won’t let anyone see any part of him without a shirt and so it’s hard. They tried to figure out how to do it on Steve’s bare chest but it’s not really the same. Eventually Axl cries himself to sleep about it with Steve sitting on the end of his bed because Axl didn’t want to even be touched after a while.

And Steve doesn’t sleep that night, he stays up half the night trying to bind his own chest correctly, then he tapes balloons and stuffed toys to the front of this big bear they have and tries to bind on that. But nothings working, and he can’t help but feel like he’s failed his kid. He debated calling Robin up to see if she’d come over and he could try binding her chest to figure it out, he knows she’ll say yes because she cares about Axl so much and also won’t care if Steve sees her bare chest as he has before, but she’s out of state for work for a whole other week. He just cries until it’s time to get up for work and school.

Axl is wearing a baggy shirt under an even baggier hoodie, even though it’s the middle of summer. Steve wants to tell him to take it off, to make sure he doesn’t faint today, but he knows that’s only gonna make things worse - everyone at school still thinks he’s a girl. He makes sure to pack ice packs in Axl’s lunch bag and extra ice in his water bottle.

He goes to work and thinks about it all day, then he gets home to find a note on the counter from Axl, saying he’s popped across the street to study with Melody for a while. They’ve been friends since they were little, and she’s the only one from school who knows so far. Steve’s glad Axl’s doing something to distract himself rather than rotting away in bed and making himself feel more sick about it.

Halfway through cooking himself dinner (and by cooking he means microwaving whatever the fuck he can find in the fridge) he gets a knock on the door. It’s Eddie. Of course it’s Eddie. They had plans to catch up for a beer down the pub tonight, since they hadn’t seen eachother in a while now. Steve had been so distracted today he completely forgot.

Steve apologises to Eddie and tells him he’s just been so stressed today and he couldn’t talk to Robin about it and everything is just so complicated, he just breaks down and cries right then and there in his doorway.

And Eddie, being the kind soul that he always has been, pulls Steve into a hug and lets him cry about it.

They sit down at the table together and crack open a couple of beers and eat the microwaved leftovers. And they chat and Steve forgets about everything for a little while. Eddie does that to him; makes Steve forget everything else in the world doesn’t exist besides Eddie.

He’s tried to snuff his stupid feelings for Eddie out for years, since 1986. It hasn’t worked. But Eddie’s been between relationships, and Steve’s had Axl to worry about so trying to have anything serious has been so hard and pointless. No one wants an instant pre-teen, and especially not Eddie who has expressed he doesn’t want kids several times. It’s pointless.

So very pointless.

But Steve wants him anyway.

Eddie asks about Axl, as he always does. He cares about Steve’s kid the way he cares about Dustin, sort of. They get along, but Eddie kinda gets awkward around him for some reason and Axl gets very flustered around Eddie. Steve found it adorable when he was little, Eddie with his long hair and tattoos, he always through it was cool. And as Axl got older, the more he’d avoid Eddie in hopes of not fanboying over Eddie’s band, or tattoos, or his guitar.

But they don’t really see eachother much these days, so now that Axl’s fourteen and too cool to ask questions when Steve brings Eddie up, who knows what they’d be like around eachother?

Eddie’s asking questions, completely oblivious as he asks how “she’s going” and if “she’s surviving her first year of highschool” and blah blah blah, and Steve knows it’s because he doesn’t know. But it messes with his head anyway, because that’s his boy their talking about, not his girl, and it’s been bothering him all day and Steve just-

He crumbles. He opens up to Eddie and tells him everything on his mind right now. How Axl is really a boy, and how they’re trying out new names, and how Steve feels like he’s failing his kid because he doesn’t know how to help him bind, or feel safe, or come out at school, or what to do to get him on testosterone or if that’s even an option and-

Eddie places his hand on Steve’s and smiles so softly, “You’re struggling to bind?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah, it’s like- his chest… he- he’s doesn’t-“

“Yeah, I- I know, Steve.” Eddie nods, “Would Axl be okay with me knowing this? Or, like, not?”

“I don’t know.” Steve so sobs, “I shouldn’t have said anything without his permission, but I just trusted you and I needed to talk to- to someone. And I’m…”

“Okay.” Eddie cleared his throat, “okay, will Axl be home tonight?”

“Yeah.” Steve sniffled and checked his watch, “It’s almost curfew.”

“Okay. Have you got any bandages? Or what have you been using?”

“Yeah, bandages… cloth.” Steve rubbed his nose.

“That’s okay, uhm, how about you go get those for me?”

Steve, confused but too mentally tired to think much of it, goes and does just that. He brings back the rolls of bandages and cloth they were using and dumps them on the table in front of Eddie. Eddie smiles and moves the cloth aside, looking at the strip of bandages.

“The wider ones are better. These are a little thin, but… does he use a sports bra most days?”

Steve nods.

“Okay, I suggest getting some wider bandages. But I can make these work.” Eddie grins.

“What?” Steve grumbles.

“Come here.” Eddie shuffles his chair over to Steve, “Arms up, not up in the air but like, out so I can get around.”

Steve follows his command yet again, and watches with confused eyes as Eddie begins to wrap the bandage around Steve’s chest, talking him through the process; where to place his hands for best compression, and insisting it can’t be too tight or it will hurt.

“It probably won’t be perfectly flat, they never are, but it will be better.” Eddie smiled, “Surgery is always an option, but they won’t let him get that until he’s like, eighteen.”

“How do you-“

“Hey, dad, sorry I’m late, I have a math test tomorrow and we-“ Axl chattered, walking through and shutting the door, “… uhm, hi Eddie.”

“Hi!” Eddie grinned and waved at Axl before looking back at Steve’s chest and fastening the bandage together with the clip at Steve’s side.

“What are you doing?”

Steve felt his heart drop, “I’m- I’m sorry, kid, I shouldn’t have told him but- I was just, I needed someone to talk to, and- It’s not and excuse-“

“No, it’s not.” Axl dumped his bag down on the kitchen counter and walked over, “You should ask before assuming.”

“I know.” Steve furrowed his brow, “I don’t usually-“

“But it’s okay because it’s just Eddie.” Axl shrugged and leant down to look at the bandges wrapped tight around Steve’s chest, “I figured you’d already told all of your friends.”

“Nope.” Eddie shook his head and smiled, “He certainly did not. Cool name, by the way- Guns and Roses?”

“Yeah.” Axl nodded.

“Sick.” Eddie grinned.

“Did you do this?” Axl pointed to the bandages.

“Wait, you’re not upset with me?” Steve asked.

“No, I know you’re not just gonna out me to some cunt who’s gonna beat me up-“

“Language.” Steve pressed.

“Besides, Eddie’s gay and a self proclaimed Freak, out of most of your friends he’s the least likely to judge.”

“Right you are, little gremlin.” Eddie smiled up at him.

“I’m still sorry.” Steve murmured.

“Don’t be.” Axl playfully punched his arm.

“Also, to answer your question,” Eddie continued, “Yes, this is how you bind. I can show you how to do it, if you like? I suggest bigger bandages but this can work for now.”

“Yes please.” Axl nodded, and Eddie immediately started to unwound the bindings on Steve’s chest.

He re-tied it, talking step by step to Axl, and then he got Axl to bind Steve’s chest himself, Eddie talking him through the process.

Then, Eddie got Axl to do it on himself, over his baggy jumpers, because it’s a little different doing it on someone else. Steve sat at the table and watched in awe as Eddie animatedly talked Axl through the process, and Axl couldn’t wipe his smile off his face.

The moment it was done he raced off to his room to do it properly. Eddie went and got them another beer.

“Thank you.” Steve smiled at him, “So much.”

“No problem, Steve-o.” Eddie grinned, “I have not done that in a while, it was kinda fun.”

“What do you mean?” Steve furrowed his brow, and Eddie shrugged and pulled up his shirt.

The first thing Steve noticed was the added ink Eddie had gotten since ‘86. The second thing he noticed was the bat bites scattered over his skin. And the third… two scars stretching along his chest.

Steve remembered being back there, crying and trying to add compression on all of Eddie’s scars. He remembered finding bandages already wrapped around Eddie’s chest, under his clothes, but he thought nothing of it, figured Eddie had cut his chest open or something. Not… this.

Eddie blushed and lowered his shirt, shrugging up at Steve.

“Oh my god.” Steve muttered, and Eddie just stared at him, “Holy shit, you’re like Axl?!”

“Yeah.” Eddie nodded, and then a couple of seconds later Axl was body slamming into the back of Eddie and wrapping himself around him.

“I didn’t think anyone was like me here.” Axl mumbled, obviously trying to not cry, “I always thought you’d be the coolest out of dad’s friends.”

Eddie snickered and gave Axl a hug back, “How’d you go, did you get it?”

“I think so.” He said, stepping back and showing off to them. It’s the first time Steve had seen him wear anything less than a baggy shirt. He was dressed in a cropped muscle tee, and he looked so confident.

Steve started to cry.

“Hey! Look at you, it looks so good, kid.” Eddie grinned, “If you want I can show you how to draw facial hair on to look realistic.”

“Fuck yeah.” Axl grinned, “I want a moustache.”

Eddie snickered and looked back at Steve, his face dropped when he saw him crying, “Hey, Stevie-“

“Thank you.” Steve sobbed and buried his head in his hands, “Holy fuck, thank you so much.”

Eddie smiled softly, “It’s no issues, of course. Anything to help a fellow freak like me, huh?” He smiled up at Axl, “I should be thanking you, it feels nice to have another person like me around again.”

“Do you know more people like us?”

Eddie nodded, “You know my friend Gareth? Yeah, he’s like us, and a two more people but they’re not in town.”

“Oh my god, really?!” Axl grinned, “This is so awesome, can I please come to one of your gigs or something?”

“I thought you were too cool for that stuff?” Steve snickered.

Axl flipped him off, “I just wanna meet him… as a guy.”

Eddie leant out and ruffled Axl’s hair, “Yeah, kid, whenever you like- though, a band practice would be more ideal for a fourteen year old.”

Axl frowned dramatically and went to get himself a drink.

“Seriously, Eddie, thank you.” Steve murmured, “I haven’t seen him that happy in… not in years. He’s just a kid, he’s meant to be that happy every day.”

Eddie nodded, “I know how he feels. I knew I was different really young too, and when I was about twelve I told my mum and she told me to never tell anyone. And then she died, when I was sixteen, and I ended up telling dad for some- I don’t even know why, he beat the shit out of me and I ran away. Like, away away, up to Indi. Wayne found me then, when my dad told him what happened, and bought me home and let me be Eddie.” He shrugged, “I remember the first time I tried binding with duct tape, Wayne found me crying in front of the mirror about it and he came in with bandages and helped me figure it out. I went on testosterone when I turned eighteen, so.”

Steve smiled, “I’m sorry you went through that, Eddie.”

“I’m sorry you’ve been going through this clueless. Wayne had no idea either, he’s got a book on how to look after trans kids now, but he didn’t back then, I can tell you that.” Eddie laughed, “Thanks for being his dad, and like, being a good one.”

“He’s my kid, I can’t just… of course, I love him.”

Eddie smiled, “You don’t know how rare that is for people like Axl and I.”

“I don’t understand why.”

“Me either.” Eddie hummed, “You’re a really good dad, Steve. A really good guy.”

“I’m just doing what I’m supposed to do.”

“Yeah, but you care. More than most people do. You care so much.” Eddie gently took Steve’s hand into his own, “I’m sure you already know but being Axl’s dad isn’t gonna be easy, especially not in fucking Hawkins, but so long as you just stick around and… care, then things are gonna be a whole lot easier for him. It means so much to him, and me, even.”

Steve smiled at him and squeezed Eddie’s hands as a thank you, “Can you stick around too?” He asked, “Help Axl in the places I cant?”

Eddie grinned, “Yeah, of course I can, Stevie.”

“Thank you.” Steve sighed, rubbing his temples, “You have no idea how grateful I am that you’re in my life.”

There was a moment of silence before Eddie whispered, “You have no idea how grateful I am that you’re in mine.”

They looked at eachother, and Steve felt his heart in his throat.

“Okay…” Axl murmured, rolling back over to the table, “You guys are clearly having a moment so I’m gonna stop eavesdropping.”

“Hey!” Steve scoffed, “You little shit.”

Axl chuckled and scruffed Steve’s hair, “Thanks dad, I love you too. You’re my best friend.”

Steve absolutely blossomed at that, he’d never been so happy to hear those words. He used to hear them all the time, when Axl was really little. But then he became a preteen and being friends with your dad suddenly stopped being cool. He’s ecstatic right now.

“Thanks Eddie.” Axl smiled at him, giving Eddie a fist bump as he passed, “Can we like… talk sometime? I just wanna-“

“Know if someone’s gone through all the crazy shit as you?” Eddie offered and Eddie nodded, “How about we get some lunch this weekend, huh? Then hang out at the music store?”

“Sounds good.” Axl grinned and continued to walk past, “I’ll let you guys get back to your moment.”

“Moment?” Steve asked, red in the face, watching Axl walk down the hallway to his room, “There’s no moment, what moment?!”

“Don’t worry about it.” Axl shouted back and walked into his room.

“Axl!” Steve shouted out.

“Axl!” Eddie shouted too, “What fucking moment do you mean?”

Axl poked his head back out the door, “You were having a nice moment about friendship and being a good dad and blah blah blah!” Axl shouted and Steve and Eddie both relaxed, “I just shouldn’t be evesdropping of course.”

“Okay.” Steve nodded and looked back to Eddie, watched the sparkle in his eyes dance as he shifted to look back at Steve. And he melted at the sight.

“Also, this would be a great time to do something about that crush you’ve had on Eddie for years, dad!”

And with that, Axl’s door was slammed shut.

Steve and Eddie were staring at eachother. Eddie was slowly turning more and more red.

“You have a crush on me?”

Steve’s lack of an answer probably was a dead giveaway, but he hoped Eddie was oblivious.

“Oh.” Eddie muttered, and clearly he’s not oblivious, “You have a crush on me- god, I sound fifteen. Wow, you are into me- Steve- you- okay.” Eddie cleared his throat and fixed his posture, “Do- wow, huh, uh… do- do you wanna- do you wanna go out with me? Okay, there, I did it.”

“You’re asking me out?” Steve asked, a little gobsmacked.

“Yeah.” Eddie bit at his nails as he looked at Steve nervously.

“Yes.” Steve swallowed, “Yeah, I- yeah… can- does tomorrow work? Seven?”

“Seven.” Eddie smiled, his shoulders relaxing, “Yeah, a date at seven.”

“Okay.” Steve smiled too, “Wait, is this just… I just need to know if this is a date or like, with the intention of something more serious.”

“Uh…” Eddie swallowed, “Considering I’ve been into you for years now, I’d prefer something a little more permanent. But-“

“You don’t care I’ve got a kid?”

“No, I-“ Eddie ducked his head, blushing, “To be honest I’ve kinda always been jealous he wasn’t our kid.”

“Holy shit.” Steve muttered, “I thought you didn’t want kids?!”

“Yeah.” Eddie shrugged, “I don’t know, you make all my wires cross, Steve. I’ve pictured a whole ass future with you.”

And Steve can’t wait to make that future come true.

And Axl grows up with a second dad who helps him through his transition too, has a little more intel. And Steve loves watching them as they chat about their shared experiences being trans, and cries when Axl comes out and shows off his excessive leg hair one afternoon, and when Eddie starts compulsively making fun of his voice cracks at age seventeen, and when Eddie’s sitting there and talking him through the procedure he’ll endure for his first surgery and- Steve’s just overwhelmed with love for them both.

And then he and Eddie adopt a little girl and Steve’s just so in awe of how Eddie is with the baby, and how Axl instantly takes to the protective big brother role. And just picture it, okay!? Just picture Steve and Eddie having a family together, okay?!

[ozzo-the-wozzo]

I need to you guys to stay with me and imagine Adrien Agreste experimenting with what to wear after he quits modeling but being hopelessly lost on where to start so, after much consideration, he gets the brilliant idea to mimic his friends clothing aesthetics.

So naturally one week he’s wearing a backwards cap and baggy jeans in an attempt to mimic Nino who is ecstatic and another he’s wearing a lot of flannel which makes Alya roll her eyes and another him and Marinette are practically twins much to his delight until she gently tells him he only likes it because they are matching and he should probably keep looking until he finds something that is his own.

But instead he just keeps on mimicking classmate after classmate until he runs through them all and he starts talking to Kagami who’s figuring things out herself and doesn’t provide much to go off of and he settles on wearing suits until someone mistakes him for Felix.

So then he decides to move on from people and starts to look on Pinterest at Marinette’s suggestion and he copies the outfits down to a science but why does everything STILL feel not right? He decides it’s the website so he moves on and copies what he sees in magazines and in ads and it feels a little better but he also feels a little sick when he does it and why isn’t anything right and he’s twisting the ring on his finger so much it’s leaving a mark and hes pacing around the mansion and it has so many portraits and his dad is in all of them and why is he suddenly getting the feeling nothing he puts on will ever be right and why in the world does this stupid ring feel so heavy.

And so after a month of experimenting, he gets up in the morning one day and decides to try on the outfit he always used to wear and attempts to do his grown out hair the old way and looks in the mirror and stares at himself for a while. He slips on his sneakers and then the door rings and he heads downstairs to meet Marinette for school. As they’re walking he is still trying to decipher what he feels and he suddenly realizes that his dad would like this outfit a lot. He smiles to himself and tells Marinette and she smiles weakly and says she supposes he would and then avoids his eyes.

Adrien feels that familiar twist in his stomach that tells him something isn’t right, but when he tries to reflect on why that would be he’s only met with the same fuzzy memories of his father that he can’t quite sort out. He wonders if that’s where the unease comes from but then he shakes his head because those memories must be good because his father died a hero.

And so he wears the same outfit he always wore, ignoring the fact it feels a little too tight on him and that it makes his new ring feel heavier than ever.

[somanypetals]

just a theatre kid and her guard dog

[fist-of-vengeance]

thinking about how essentially every relationship john locke formed in the early seasons of lost has completely disintegrated by the time of his death.

of course there's his relationship with jack, which starts tense but manageable and culminates in jack pointing a gun at john's head and pulling the trigger. but even his smaller, less narratively prominent relationships either implode or drift apart. he bonds with walt in season one but then walt leaves the island, which is itself a severing of their bond since it was mainly based on being the only two people who wanted to stay. still, he goes and visits walt off the island so this is probably john's most successful relationship. I dont think i need to explain how he fucked up with boone, "the sacrifice that the island demanded." charlie viewed john as a mentor and claimed to trust him more than anyone on the island, but after the events of fire and water, that trust is destroyed and charlie despises him. at the same time we get john bonding with claire and having a pseudo-paternal dynamic with her, but their closeness basically drops off the face of the earth as he gets less and less involved with the other survivors.

his arc in the series is essentially a gradual distancing from everyone around him. it starts when he abandons hunting (providing for the others) in favor of trying to get the hatch open (it's extremely clear his primary motive isn't any survival applications but getting answers to the mystery). when they do open the hatch, he spends more and more time inside, underground, cut off from other people. he spends more and more time interacting with ben, a human mystery box that he's obsessed with cracking even if it gets him killed. he follows the proverbial white rabbit deeper down the hole and leaves his connection to humanity behind. the island and its mysteries become more important to john than anything or anyone else.

then in season three we get him claiming to go undercover with the others only to unceremoniously tell sawyer that he's actually going to join them. and it doesn't feel shocking, it feels inevitable. because john has spent the entire series becoming less and less connected with the people he arrived with. in that sense he actually makes a fascinating foil to juliet, who is introduced as one of the others and yet never really fits, she's increasingly sympathetic and kind in a way the rest of them aren't, her redemption arc feels so natural that she actually starts referring to her old people as "the others" like she's been one of the crash survivors from the beginning. her and john basically have inverse arcs, which is probably accidental but very neat.

in season five john tries to convince everyone to go back to the island, and fails spectacularly. and of course he does, because he was so consumed by obsession that he stopped maintaining his relationships, and in many cases actively alienated people (this is also basically what happened with helen) and now he can't wrap his head around why they're all so hostile to him. i am forever obsessed with the scene where he confronts kate and she brutally calls him out for wanting to return to the island because he doesn't love anyone. it actually struck me on rewatch how well the two of them got along in season one, and how badly their relationship has degraded by this point. john repeatedly casts aside interpersonal relationships in favor of his obsession with destiny, so when said destiny actually involves persuading the people he once shunned, he's at a loss. this is because john treats purpose as a supplement for connection, destiny as an alternative to love.

as an aside, this aspect of john's character kinda ties into my opinion that several lost characters can be read as allegorically neurdivergent under a certain lens. i know this was absolutely not intended, but as an adhd former gifted kid who struggles socially, there is something uncomfortably familiar about a character who allows their relationships to burn around them because of a single-minded obsession, especially as a result of being promised the fickle status of "special."

tl/dr: john locke is a doomed idiot and i love him

[eywaseclipse]

Perhaps we all deserve cute little Sully family scenarios where the sky people never came back…. Just saying

[le-panda-chocovore]

BASED ON THIS TIKTOK

(I actually wrote way more but it has become an entire fanfiction at this point so I cut it out. I'm only posting the first part here and I'll publish the entire work on AO3 when I'll be done with it. However I do not guarantee it'd be published anytime soon. Anyway, enjoy our national brat <3)

"Don't test your luck Satoru, this is NOT going to happen again."

The white haired boy looked at his best friend smugly. He didn't seem to be listening, and if he was, he clearly didn't care.

"This was just a one-time thing, I was surprised, but I won't let my guard down again, do you understand?"

Satoru made a few steps toward the other teen, showing how absolutely not understanding he was at this moment.

"I hope you do, because I'm not going to repeat myself !"

Wet lips, red cheeks, avoiding eyes and perfectly tied hair did nothing to help Satoru focus on his friend's words. Suguru's face seemed to attract him like a magnet. The owner of the six eyes had all his attention on that pretty, sexy, tempting mouth but he couldn't force himself to listen to whatever words were going out of it.

"So now I- Mmmmh~"

Satoru pleaded guilty, he couldn't resist longer. He grabbed Suguru's neck and crashed himself into that unfairly handsome face. The contact was brutal, but the kiss was sweet and passionate.

And despite his big speech, Suguru couldn't help but close his eyes for a second and answer the kiss. However, he quickly gained back control of his body -and his mind- to push the insolent boy away with both hands. His face was even redder than after their first kiss. Which happened a few minutes prior. Hence the whole speech about NOT wanting to do it again. A speech that this brat blatantly ignored.

"SATORU," the teen with a bun scolded, a hand on his mouth as if it was going to protect him. Honestly, he wasn't very convincing when his voice shook so much. "NO !!! This- You- I said don't !!!!"

"Sorry, sorry," the white-haired one laughed. "But just so you know, it will happen again."

"What ?! No it won't ! This is NOT okay and I'm not letting you in ever again !!"

Satoru smiled, not feeling guilty for a bit. He licked his lips to remind himself of the taste of Suguru's delicious mouth, and he could see the way the purple eyes followed his tongue's movement with too much interest. His smile widened because Suguru was obviously lying to himself.

"Okay ~" He winked, then laughed harder when Suguru hurriedly left the room with a flustered face.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

[aphel1on]

actually i'm not over the new developments in scaramouche's still-unfolding arc from simulanka yet. we are getting to watch him basically in real time gradually unrepress the ability to feel emotions other than hatred, rage, and despair, and slowly get in touch with the softer parts of himself that despite what he may have believed were only ever buried, never lost. this is quite possibly one of the best "Redemption as Recovery, Recovery as Redemption" arcs i have seen play out in media and it drives me crazy that it's in a fucking gacha.

we saw hints of his personal development in the inter-darshan championship such as when he gave tighnari water, and then nahida set him up to make more connections in life when she enrolled him in school. but the amount of progress he shows in simulanka makes me stupid emotional. he could at least argue that nahida sent him to keep an eye on things so he HAD to help tighnari. but no one was watching over his shoulder to make sure he helped the little toy guys! he just did that!! all on his own!! and CERTAINLY no one made him get that invested in mini durin. he saw himself in that funky paper dragon and just got wildly attached wildly fast. the feelings i had when he told mini durin he wanted to be friends, it was like i was a 10-year-old who just discovered the power of friendship trope in a shounen anime for the first time ever or something. it's downright silly how impactful that little display of earnestness was to me.

this is a character that we've seen be suicidal on screen 2-3 times depending on how you count it, and to see him extend such empathy to a creature that reminds him of himself, and how he's started to feel safe enough to express his gentleness and to pass on the same type of kindnesses nahida showed to him at his lowest, just really gets to me in the best way.

...of course, because it is a fucking gacha, a lot of this character development and plot beats are time-gated behind limited-edition events to force you to keep logging on, and will later only be available in people's youtube recordings.

...but still!!

[urdepressedslut]

Stray ❝part six❞

♡ Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader/The Winter Soldier x Fem!Reader

♡ Summary: You run into someone from the past, no way this can be real? Bucky finds you in distress, and is there to comfort you.

♡ Warnings: dark themes, angst, abuse, nightmares, fluff, language

Part 7

After sitting on the porch steps until the sun went down, you headed inside without another word to Bucky. Desperately needing your brain to shut off, no more thinking.

But you were never that lucky.

You stayed curled up on your bed, having a staring contest with the ceiling until your body didn’t have the strength to keep your eyes open anymore. You wish it didn’t have to be so difficult, but you didn’t complain, and welcomed the darkness.

For the first time, your mind wasn’t wandering, wasn’t latching onto horrifying memories to drown itself in. Instead, you found nothing, like a blank page in a notebook. Nothing pulled your focus, only the never ending emptiness. Although unsettling, you welcomed the view immediately.

Until a loud scream from downstairs frazzled you from your thoughtless sleep.

Sitting up in bed, your body felt tingly, skin erupting in goosebumps in fear. It wasn’t uncommon for you to wake in the middle of the night. The strange, eerie noises weren’t new to you either, but something about the way that scream sounded, it had been too clear.

In nothing but your silk nightgown, you padded down the stairs, in random curiosity. You should’ve been more scared, but perhaps this was becoming your normal.

The house was dark, and deadly silent. Only the sound of the creaking steps could be heard.

“(Y/n)…”

A voice whispered from downstairs, making you clench your fists anxiously, forcing yourself to swallow through the tightness of your throat.

You couldn’t distinguish the voice, it didn’t sound like Bucky. The thought of someone breaking into the house added more panic, and you couldn’t help your mind to wonder first…

Was Bucky okay?

Making it all the way down the stairs, you were met with darkness, the house looking vacant. Bucky was nowhere to be seen, his makeshift bed on the living room couch, gone.

“Bucky?” You whispered out, hoping he was around somewhere.

Your chest suddenly ached, the familiar burn returning in your nose. The thought worked it’s way to the front of your mind.

Did he leave me?

You couldn’t help the tears that trailed down your cheeks, the betrayal physically trying to rip your heart from your chest. Soon you were quietly sobbing, gripping the couch cushions from behind, occasionally clenching your eyes shut, opening them in hopes he’d appear. The threat of an intruder was forgotten, the aching pain of being abandoned consuming you.

“Sweetie?”

The horrifyingly familiar voice spoke from behind you, your whole body freezing, limbs stiff in disbelief. With a tear stained face, you turned slowly, your fear blown orbs meeting with a pair of eyes you thought you’d never see again.

“M-mommy?” You gasped out, the name sour rolling off your tongue.

Mother’s eyes held warmth, tenderness. Her smile was inviting and infectious, but you knew better. She outstretched her arms, opening them, silently inviting you to her embrace. You couldn’t help the flinch when she had moved her arms, remembering her touch too well.

Mother’s happy facade slipped the slightest bit, falling back into a fake smile when she caught your flinch.

“Come here daughter.” She cooed, her voice smooth like honey, mocking the warmth a true Mother would have.

Your feet were frozen in place, body shaking slightly in panic. She couldn’t be back, no.

“This isn’t real.” You muttered to yourself, digging your fingernails into your palm, cutting the delicate skin in attempt to wake from this nightmare.

“Oh honey… It’s very real. I’m real. I’m not dead.” She told you genuinely.

Tears unknowingly began to fall from your eyes again, overwhelmed with the image of your Mother standing before you.

“Yo- you’re d-dead.,” You mumbled to yourself, You’re dead.” You continued to repeat, hoping that you’d somehow believe yourself.

“That’s all you want you little bitch! Wishing I was dead! You’re a waste of space you fucking demon!” Mother spat venomously, the false warmth and comfort gone like it had never existed.

Flinching back from her words, you couldn’t help but be ashamed at the normalcy of it all. This was your normal, or it used to be that is.

“Not real… You’re not real.” You repeated, heart pounding, your ears ringing in alert.

Your mumbling only made her angrier, though she hadn’t made a move towards you yet, the suspense of when she’d pounce was killing you.

“You’ll see soon enough how real I am… When I’m cutting off your chest while you’re still awake! Then you’ll see how real I fucking am!” Mother screamed, her threat chilling, bile collecting in your throat.

“No…” You whimpered out, ”You’re not—”

“You finish that and I will shatter your fucking spine, you hear me?” Mother warned, taking slow steps towards you.

Feeling the bile threatening to shoot up, you keep your lips sealed. Trembling, tears painting your cheeks, neck and chest.

“I just wanted to see my daughter,” She spoke softly suddenly, “But I can see you’ve been bad. You know what has to happen, right honey?”

A sob escaped your lips, the scars littering your back aching from just the thought of what was to come.

“Now, turn around. Take your dress off.” She demanded.

Almost instinctively, you had turned around with swaying steps, sliding your gown off, and kneeled to the floor. The tears were trailing faster down your cheeks now, in defeat. The sound of her whip was much like an old friend, familiar. You had been in this position many, many times.

Except before, you didn’t know of Bucky. Now as you prepared to count your slashes, you let your mind wander to Bucky. In a way, you felt comforted, despite him leaving you. The warmth you felt in your chest when you thought of him could not be avoided.

“Stupid girl.” Mother hissed, before letting her whip fly. The last thing you felt, was the agonizing burn on your back, before everything went black.

~

Bucky was staring into the wall, in hopes his brain would eventually shut off. His mind was everywhere, paranoia mixed with restlessness. Joy mixed with confusion. And then there was you.

He fought to keep himself from drowning in the sea that was you. He couldn’t help but feel some sort of attachment to you. You cared for him at his worst, even after getting to know him little, you offered your home. You were sweet and gentle, only ever doing what would make him comfortable, happy. You actually saw him as a person.

He didn’t know how long you’d let him stay until you got annoyed of his presence. But he’d stay as long as you allowed him to, until you sent him away. Even then, he’d want to stay. But if you told him to go, he’d do it in a heartbeat. He felt like he owed his entire life to you.

A startling thud against the window had him jumping from his spot, standing up defensively. His heartbeat was threatening to burst out of his chest, his pupils blown in fear. Afraid that they finally found him.

With cautious steps, he made his way to the window, the one that now had a small crack in it. With furrowed brows, and was going to head outside to investigate further.

Until he heard you screaming from upstairs.

Immediately, adrenaline was pumping through his veins. His body on high alert because you were in distress. Without hesitation, he forgot about the thud against the window, sprinting up the stairs.

Your screams were getting louder the closer he got to your room, which he’d never been in. Now that he was close to your door, he could hear the pure terror and desperation in your screams, causing his heart to ache.

Deciding that now wasn’t the time to be polite, he swung the door open, only to physically feel his heart break at the sight in front of him.

You were on the floor in front of your bed, nightgown pooling around you, leaving you bare. Thrashing around, with your eyes clenched shut, you were holding onto the edge of the bed frame, exposing your scarred back to him.

Bucky quickly sensed that you were having a nightmare, and without thinking, he ran to you, squatting down to your level.

“(Y/n)? (Y/n)?!” Bucky spoke desperately, letting his hands cradle your face, attempting to wipe away the tears.

“It’s just a nightmare! I’m here with you!” He spoke loudly, listening to your screams die down, while your sobbing quieted.

Suddenly, you opened your eyes with a pained gasp, eyes wide, pupils blown in panic. You looked around in paranoia, the nightmare still fresh on your mind.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay, I’ve got you. You’re okay.” Bucky told you softly, his gentle voice soothing you.

Your eyes locked on his and you felt your entire body relax, despite being so vulnerable, nude in front of him. You wanted nothing more than to feel safe and protected in his arms.

“Bucky…” You whimpered, voice hoarse and desperate.

Bucky’s eyes softened at your weak voice, his hands releasing your face, hovering by his sides.

“You’re okay, I’ve got you. Nothing is gonna hurt you.” He told you genuinely, his voice quiet and gentle, making sure he didn’t scare you.

Without another thought, you launched yourself in his arms. Burying yourself into his chest, snuggling your face in the crook of his neck. You kept your arms cradled to your chest, attempting to mold yourself into him.

Bucky’s eyes widened at your sudden movements, his body freezing up at the feel of your body so tightly snug against his. He could feel your body trembling, he could feel your erratic breath, warm against his neck.

You felt his body go rigid from your touch, and immediately you felt guilty. You knew he didn’t like to be touched, but you desperately needed a comforting hold. You needed his touch.

Meanwhile, Bucky’s rigid body was only because he was so shocked. The feeling of your body finally pressed against him. The warmth melting into his skin from yours. Your skin feeling as soft as he had imagined it would be. He couldn’t believe he’d been near you for months, without being able to feel your gentle touch. Now that he’s gotten a taste, he didn’t want to go without it. He was starved of touch, and you were suddenly filling the void.

Snapping out of his shock, he let his palms gently touch your textured back, feeling you lean into his touch immediately. He slowly pulled you tighter against him, fully wrapping his arms around you, caging you in his protective embrace.

You sighed into his neck, feeling his arms curl around you just how you needed them to be.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you, (Y/n).” Bucky whispered, internally promising to be your protector.

This time, tears of relief and happiness started to run from your eyes. The moisture rubbing against his neck, only making him hold you tighter. You had never felt so protected, in his arms you felt invincible.

You tried to speak, but couldn’t find the energy to move your mouth. Your entire body exhausted. Instead, you shifted slightly, snuggling comfortably in his arms, letting your eyes shut.

You were quickly falling into a peaceful slumber, knowing you had someone to protect you while you were away.

Bucky’s heart swelled at your fragile, curled up form in his lap. Moving himself slowly, he leaned back up against the bed, holding you in his arms.

And before you were completely out, you heard the faintest whisper.

“My guardian angel.”

A/N: omg they touched 🥹 pls let me know if you’re missing from the taglist, and i’ll add you! how’d you like this part?? love feedback! 🤍

TAGLIST: @tortilla-maria1 @lizslibrary @sebastians-love @xiaosluvr @navs-bhat @ragingrainbowshipl @delicatecapnerd @buckybarnesandmarvel @viperchick47 @hunitweet @vixi-3303 @buckyb-stan @happinessinthebeing @mirtaqueen

[timperi-fan]

"Are you alright?"

A calm voice broke through Timmy's panic, and he blinked. He always thought that if he ever found himself being mugged or attacked, he would stay calm and handle himself with dignity.

Instead, when his walk home from his shitty fast food job had been interrupted by a knife pointed at his face, Timmy had froze.

He still felt frozen now, sitting on the asphalt (when had he gotten on the ground?) with the night chill biting into his palms and leaking through his jeans. His heart was still slamming in his chest, even though the threat was gone.

The threat was gone?

The figure standing over him moved, and Timmy flinched. His wide eyes darted up, absorbing the stranger's concerned gaze and his mask and God, that was so much purple—

"Hey, hey, it's okay... You're in shock," the masked man said gently, like he was trying to settle a spooked animal.

Timmy worked his jaw a couple of times. He swallowed; squinted up at the man. "...Sídhe?"

It was. Sídhe — Dimmsdale's resident superhero — stood over Timmy, bending over to be closer to his height. The wings on his back cast scattered light over Timmy's prone form. The sound of his name made the hero grin in relief.

"You're okay. I'm so glad." He offered Timmy his hand. "Can you stand?"

Timmy nodded. He still felt shaky, but he was calming down some, now. He took Sídhe's hand on autopilot, letting himself be pulled to his feet.

He always thought that Sídhe would be taller in person, but the TV had a way of making things seem bigger than reality. He never thought he would be meeting Sídhe in person at all.

"It's a good thing that I was doing a late patrol today — I saw that man try to mug you," Sídhe explained, his voice tight with fury. Despite that, his grip on Timmy's hand remained gentle. "Are you injured at all?"

Somehow, Timmy found it within himself to shake his head. "No, I'm— I'm fine," he mumbled. "Just tired."

Sídhe leaned in. His other hand settled on Timmy's cheek, and he had the ludicrous thought that he was about to be kissed. Instead, Sídhe swiped his thumb over Timmy's cheek. His hand came away with blood on it.

It almost seemed like Sídhe's golden pupils flaired brighter still. "You're hurt."

Timmy reached out and caught Sídhe's hand. "It's just a cut. I..." He struggled to speak evenly. "I just want to go home. Really."

They stood still like that for a moment more. Sídhe's inhuman eyes scanned his face, like he was peeling away Timmy's skin to gaze at his soul. Could he do that? Maybe. He was magic, right?

Timmy was a little surprised to find that he wasn't bothered. He felt at ease around Sídhe.

Their hands were still entwined. He didn't feel any desire to change that.

Finally, Sídhe nodded. "I'll walk you home," he said. It wasn't a suggestion.

Timmy wouldn't have refuted even if it was.

He turned and started walking.

In his mind, Timmy always thought that if he did get to meet Sídhe, for whatever reason, he would ask a bunch of questions that he wanted to know the answer to. Like, where did he get his powers from? Why did he choose to be a hero? Were his wings as delicate as they looked? Was he born with them?

Was being a superhero lonely?

Instead, they walked in silence. Timmy stole glances at Sídhe as they walked, just to ensure that he wasn't dreaming. His wings were iridescent and looked as thin as air, like the details were spun from spider's silk and would fall apart at a touch. His clothing choice didn't seem to include any armor — Sídhe was dressed in flowing, loose fabric. The effect was that he looked ephemeral. Timmy kept thinking that he was going to blink and Sídhe would be gone.

For some reason, he stayed. He stayed all the way down the street, to Timmy's shitty little apartment just two blocks from his college campus.

"This is my stop," Timmy said.

Sídhe glanced appraisingly at the run-down brick building. "Are you safe here?" He asked.

"Uh." Timmy wasn't sure how to answer that. He wasn't sure why Sídhe cared. He shrugged one shoulder. "More or less."

Sídhe hummed. He set a hand on Timmy's shoulder, leaning in — so close that their breaths mingled and Timmy could count the flecks of gold burning in his irises.

This time, the last thing that Timmy expected was to be kissed. And that was exactly what Sídhe did.

His lips brushed the cut on Timmy's cheek, and it felt like time stopped. Timmy's fingers curled, clenching around nothing. He wanted time to freeze again; wanted this moment to last just a little bit longer.

Instead, Sídhe pulled back. The corner of his mouth was quirked up in a smile. "I have healing magic," he said by way of an explanation. Timmy could feel the place where he'd kissed tingling but, honestly, it would have felt that way even without magic.

"T-Thanks," Timmy managed. He cleared his throat. "I really, um, appreciate you, helping me out and walking me home... You didn't have to do all of that," he said awkwardly.

It was easier to make conversation when he'd been frozen. Now that he was thawed, all Timmy could focus on was the way that Sídhe's purple curls were hanging in front of his eyes, just begging to be brushed away from his face.

"Of course I didn't 'have to.' I wanted to," Sídhe said warmly. And he smiled, like there was no where in the world he'd rather be than on Timmy Turner's doorstep, with blood on his glove and fondness in his eyes. "Get some sleep, Timmy."

His wings fluttered as Sídhe became airborne. Timmy watched, amazed that something so pretty was actually functional. He wanted to memorize those swooping swirls and careful curves. He wanted to duck his head along Sídhe's bare back, lips brushing down his spine, while his fingers traced the patterns on his wings from memory.

Instead, Timmy stood there like an idiot, staring at the night sky until long after Sídhe was out of sight.

His cut had been healed, but his cheek still burned.

All Timmy could think was that he wanted Sídhe to stare at him like that again — like he was the most important thing in the universe.

(It didn't occur to him until the next morning that he had never told Sídhe his name.)

[nathandrakeisabottom]

When Sunlight Hits : Nathan Drake x Reader

Summary: After the events of a more-than-fortunate sleeping bag situation, you and Nate play chicken to decide whether or not your twin confessions the night before were in the heat of the moment... or exist even brighter in broad daylight. Warning: None! Just some fluffy quick-fic goodness! Reader is briefly implied to be blonde/redhead/etc. with brown/hazel eyes due to the specific dialogue some unrelated freakazoid wrote. Feel free to disregard.

Your first time. Your first time back. You almost can’t believe it.

You’re wearing a dress. He’s wearing a suit. And the drinks you both hold are only to soften the brutality that follows. For one brief hour, you two find the will to believe you deserve to soften, deserve to meet your worlds intertwined in the middle. Where danger becomes mundane, and where danger is born from the mundane. 

Born in a ballroom in Italy. 

“You havin’ a good time?” Nathan smiles with teeth, grip leveraging up to mindlessly swirl his glass of whiskey. It’s three quarters of the way gone, but that doesn’t near out-do your double drag of lemon drop. Or maybe he’s just better at holding it than you are.

“It’s alright.” You match his grin with your own, blood beating with the drum and twirl of alcohol, heart palpitating to be so close to him. He doesn’t move his arm when your elbows bump on a lean over the balcony. He smells like vanilla sandalwood and aftershave. Overwhelming. Perfect. “A bit disappointed I haven’t bagged any hotties yet.”

He laughs full and open— and your heart takes a breathtaking nosedive. “Well, there’s still time.”

His body leans further over the railing, eyes scanning through the stripes of jade, ruby, sapphire, amethyst, black silk-covered crowd, eagle-eyeing for a win. “Anyone your type?” 

And maybe it’s just the liquor that does it, cheeks flushed and making the whole room spin warm and possible, that makes you spitball a death-defying risk.

“...Sam’s single, isn’t he?” 

You take a half-glance over the rim of your glass on another sip. And Nathan’s eyes bug in some reaction you can’t quite decipher. Your heartbeat thunders for his reply.

“S-Sam?! Are you kidding me?” His mouth falters for a fallen grin, or maybe he’s just swallowing back upchuck. No self-respecting man would give the go-ahead for a friend to jump the bones of his potential crack-head older brother. “Please tell me you're joking.”

“And what if I wasn’t?” 

You trail, slinking up onto a nearby pub table bathed in white linen, ankle crossing over ankle. You play coy so you can ignore the way your hands start to sweat. But the alcohol, the flabbergasted way he looks at you makes it easy to forget.

“Nah… nah, I don’t see it.” 

And Nate leaves it at that before swigging back and emptying the last of his glass. A pathetically reasonless answer. But you need more.

Please.

Oh god please, you need more. 

“Why not?” The next gulp makes your thoughts warp. You’re far from sober, even farther from thirst, but your body does what is necessary for your growing fight or flight. You don’t even know the person who asks with such mystique. 

He says nothing, only tips back his head for the backwash remnants of a drink that no longer exists. 

“What kind of person do you think would be better?” You’re putting your life on the line when you ask it, balancing precarious upon a tightrope as wonderfully garish tulle collects sweat between your chest, between your thighs, beneath your fucking pits. There is no escape from what his presence does to your body, to your barely beating heart. What his answer could possibly incite next. 

“Better? Well, uh…” 

But maybe it doesn’t really matter. 

“Blonde or Brunette?” You swing back to standing when he’s pulled back abash from speech, palms swaying just barely against your laying skirt. You hope he likes the dress you picked. 

You know you do.

“What does that matter?”

“Just curious what you think.”

“Well, brunette would… pair better, I guess.” His reply warbles uncomfortable at the edges, reluctantly sets his glass down when no reason to hold presents itself. And you’d be dumb to not notice the way he eyes your dress— wishing with all your heart that he was eyeing you— sinking into bombastic, glaring hues for example. “I know you like color contrast.”

You hover on closer to him. It’s everything your body chooses without you.

“I–- I don’t know! Whatever you like best is fine, I’m sure.” His breath barely breaches past withholding hysteria. Downstairs: glasses clink, a gentle jazz thrums through the echoing space, rich crimson reds of parted, velvet curtains, satin cloth magnetizing to a triple dozen wealthy socialites’ curves, dips, hips, tricks. 

And yet his eyes are only on you, cloudy over and gorgeous sky, before they pull back once again. Shrugging shoulders do little to hide his timidity. It’s a way you never see him when Sam and Sully are around. It’s the way he is when your heart plucks over his safe, beautiful, gentlemanly visage and fawns. 

“Blue eyes?” And now textile has been added for sight, fingers carefully moving over the soft polyester of his suit, a touch you would never have the courage to give without the booze. The music. The dress. The solitude. “For the contrast?”

“Heh, I guess that makes sense.” His chest stutters for inhale as his warmth meets yours, quirking sideways smiles you want to taste and grin against and give love to. “Whatever you like.” 

You slide your palm across his back, nestle, thumb over where his shoulder blades sit. The places on his body you want to wring the pain out of. He takes a less than steady inhale. Form forced to turn towards it. And his eyes speak such tender shyness into yours.

You love him.

You want to tell him in the places he might actually believe you.

“How about someone sweet? Boy— man— next door type?” His eyes drop bashfully at the closeness, lips still quirking in that petal-soft grin. “Someone who will be good and gentle with me. That’s what I like.”

Your fingers brave farther, farther, farther, and the wool polyester translates into starch cotton and the big band below is playing smooth jazz you’d have to be an idiot to not think is romantic and the liquor bubbles and pounds and twitters through your skin so strong that it dematerializes any pointless barrier.

And you ask:

“What do you think?”

He finally looks up at you. His lips look unbearably soft, and in any and every other instance that you’ve known him, you would’ve near thrown yourself into the sea for even daring to look. But when you look back up, he’s only looking back at yours. 

“That sounds… nice.” — Soft, dreamy, distant. Like he’s a hundred miles away and inside your very soul simultaneously.

And you’re so stupid, so fucking stupid. 

“Do you know anyone like that?” 

And he’s stupid, so fucking stupid.

And so fucking brave. 

“Maybe.”

This time, for the first time, he doesn’t speak coy words he hardly makes coy, doesn’t reach for his empty glass to combat the nerves, to fix his uneven footing. Or maybe there’s just no more space for his hands to even reach with how close you drift. His eyes are soft and gentle when he looks back up at you, cautious and bearing all that the man with a gun refuses to. 

Or maybe just never allows himself to.

“I know one.”

And that’s when you finally, finally, finally—

Fucking finally—

After all this fucking time—

In the light of a full moon and a marble-sheened dance floor, outside the world of dreams, outside of secrets held in warm sleeping bags and claustrophobic caves and all the life you didn't live until you found each other, finally, finally, within your sunlit, unashamed reality—

You meet him into a kiss.

[kingsofneon]

wip wednesday fake it till you break it 🙏

WIP Wednesday list

…The really stupid bit is that he distinctly remembers thinking; it’s not like there will be consequences. 

Well, here’s the irony, he thinks to himself, propping his chin on one hand to hide his scowl. He still doesn’t know what’s troubling Kon, and the consequences are awkward and bitter on his tongue. Kon is love-struck by Caroline, gushing about her pretty hair and her pretty eyes and her sarcastic sense of humour, and Tim has to sit here and listen, discomfort squirming in his belly. He hadn’t actually thought it would get this far, because normally Caroline can twine a boy round her finger and get what she needs in an hour or a second date, but Kon…

Tim isn’t naive enough to think that Kon can’t keep secrets. They’re heroes - they have to be able to bluff, at the very least. Only, Kon doesn’t bluff - he just lies, and Tim doesn’t even notice until Kon says something different to Caroline! 

He also hasn’t even flirted with her past the first time they interacted, and Tim had tried to give Kon Caroline’s number. Caroline had been turned down so gently that Tim had barely recognised the dismissal, flattered despite himself. 

And therein lies the problem. Or, well, the fourth part of the problem in a problem that he thought would’ve been solved three sections of a problem ago.

He’s…

He knows Kon isn’t actually talking about him. He knows Kon is talking about his new friend who works with the Hall of Justice tour guide crew. He knows Kon gets excited when he meets new people, and that he likes introducing his friends to each other, so of course Kon would talk up Caroline in order to get Robin, known lurker, at least vaguely interested.

He is well-aware of all of those things in the most cold-hearted, logical way he can manage. 

It does not stop his insides from being on fire, because currently he is somehow both burning up at Kon’s flattery and wildly jealous of himself.

All he’s saying is that Steph is never allowed to find out. She’ll laugh at him for years.  

“Yo, wonder,” Kon says, snapping fingers in front of his face, and Tim jerks back with a noise that can probably pass as a yeah, I was totally listening as long as no-one asks him for a camera replay. “You’re the one with the dating experience. What’s the most platonic activity you can think of?”

“Anything with a tag-a-long,” Tim says, before he can think the better of it - before he can think at all, really - and yet still somehow caught on the specifics of Kon’s request. 

There’s something wrong with his chest, and he thinks maybe there are five problems, instead.