#idk what a ficlet is lol

[lesbiannancytruther]

flayed robin au...post apocalypse..😏😏

this is a bit broad so im sorry if it isnt exactly what ur looking for!!

also this is my first thing i've ever done in this style so go easy on me </3

Nancy Wheeler was not new to the Upside Down. Not new to the dim light, the rotting smell, the persistent slime that clung to her skin and soaked the roots of her hair. She didn't think she could forget any of it if she tried.

When she, Robin, and Steve had pulled their way out of dark mirrored realm and were met with sunlight, she humored the fact that maybe, hopelessly, this was it. Never again. Nancy Wheeler would never again breath the stinking air that weighed down her lungs and weakened her iron will.

It was just too good to be true.

Standing on that hill, where she was surrounded by people who felt so... distant. They weren't there when she experienced the new memories that made her head ache in a way she didn't know was possible. That's where she felt any fleeting hope crumble to nothing.

Breathing that air, that toxic cloud, she shouldn't have been surprised that everything went to shit directly after.

What was left of Hawkins fell apart. In the hurry to escape the violent weather that racked the small towns with destructive winds and lightning that flashed blood red, random civilians found themselves in the woods, just outside of town, where they were left vulnerable when the monsters followed shortly after.

In the months that followed, Nancy learned to slaughter every kind of creature that lurked in the murk of the Upside Down, reliving old trauma after old trauma in her desperate fight to survive.

She figured she'd have lost the better parts of her if Robin hadn't trucked through the apocalypse, not without heavy complaining and slightly concerning commentary, albeit, but she figured Robin's unwavering humor was part of what kept her sane.

Robin was so strong, not that Nancy ever doubted this fact, but it was to the point where every day she felt new awe for Robin's lasting humor and compassion. There were points where Nancy tried to get Robin to open up, to talk about what must be bothering her in all of this mess, tried to forget about herself and her problems to help someone who helped her by just being herself, but she knew it wasn't often enough.

That's why she blames herself, why she's chosen to lead the charge to fixing this.

Maybe she should give herself more credit, after all, every day she fights for her life, every once in awhile she receives wounds that leave permanent scars. Her hair is permanently singed at the tips from the constant fires she lights and spreads. Who could blame her for not being there? For not noticing the signs? Robin drifting away, flickering in and out in weird ways? Nancy figured that one day she'd just wandered off and gotten scaped up, that it was the trauma just catching up to her.

Not that she was flayed. Not that she might be broken beyond repair.

Nancy wasn't sure why she thought Vecna would be one for originality, of course he would try to recreate the Mind Flayer, of course he'd target someone on the inside, someone vulnerable.

Of course she was destined to lose someone else. Of course she wasn't able to protect them.

Nancy is forced to recall some of the memories she did her best to bury. Will's screams as they burned the monster out, the feeling of thrusting the white hot poker into his side to stop him from strangling his own mother. Terrible memories. Necessary memories.

It's her idea to act as bait. Robin seems to have taken on the role that Billy did, all that time ago, and she likes to target Nancy specifically to relay messages. To make her ache. She can't tell if it's because Robin is still in there, trying to tell her something, or if this is Vecna's unique and cruel revenge for lighting him up in his home territory.

Nancy thinks the worst part of this is that Robin still acts sort of like herself. She's meaner, she berates Nancy for things she once comforted her about, but she has the same endearing snark. The same mannerisms. It tells Nancy that Robin is still in there, she just needs help rising to the surface. The failed sauna experiment of last summer would not fail with Nancy in charge. Not with Robin on the line.

Nancy would almost call Robin's behavior flirty, she calls her "priss" and "princess" with a sneer on her face, she touches her, way more than she used to. Robin'll twist her curls with ring clad fingers, grab her shoulders and breathe threats into her ear, one time she even kissed her hand.

The final straw is when the monster that has a grip on the girl she's grown to care an immeasurable amount about crosses a line she didn't even know was there.

"You're so self-absorbed that you didn't even know how I felt about you. Typical for a serial heartbreaker, huh Wheeler?"

This strikes... a chord. No matter how distracted Nancy was in the apocalypse, struggling to survive, there were always the quiet moments where she was left with herself. Her own thoughts. Her worst enemy.

She broke up with Jonathan because she felt they'd grown irreparably apart. She was different, changed, she didn't even know what she wanted anymore. He was the same, he could not follow her anymore. She shut the budding hurt feelings from Steve down as quickly as she could, made it known how she felt. Made it known that they could never work again.

At first she thought that the affection she felt for Robin was a fate-granted punishment, that she was doomed to love another person in a complicated way, another person for her to lose.

And yet, she realized that her love for Robin was the opposite of complicated, that she loved Robin so purely and unapologetically, that it was how she treated that love that made it complicated.

Eventually she had to confront what made it complicated. She wasn't stupid, she knew what it meant, it was just... really hard for her to learn how to accept it.

It's that same love that pushes her towards this plan. She was evicting that fucking monster.

It's face to face with Robin Buckley in a ring of fire, who hisses and spits insults at her in a venomous and inherently un-Robin tone, that Nancy allows herself to feel hope. She will be triumphant, with blazing torch in hand, she will not let herself fail. Not now, with those she's survived with the past months around the fire, keeping the ground ablaze, making the circle smaller and smaller.

They're only a foot apart when Nancy lunges, binding a writhing Robin with her arms, whispering.

"Please Birdie, please come back. We have so much to talk about."

She doesn't think she'll ever forget how Robin looked in those moments, how Robin's curled fingers shredded the sweat-soaked skin of her exposed arms, cutting her deep. How Robin felt in her arms, the blackened veins, her expression contorted in agony as black smoke poured from her and into the air, flinching constantly from the flames. Horrifically familiar.

She's never held onto someone so tight, she doesn't think.

It's later, much later, where they lay side by side on a cot, looking at each other, that they exchange apologies.

It took Robin awhile to recover, with her pulse dropping so low and her body so limp after the presence of the Mind Flayer left her that Nancy was sure she'd lost her, forever. Nancy takes on caring for Robin, and just... talks to her, while she sleeps. Tells her all the things she missed, how much she missed her.

It's so much harder for Nancy to talk to Robin now that she's conscious, now that she's looking at her. Harder than it used to be. Maybe it's because she's accepted her feelings, after all this time.

"I'm so sorry for not seeing the signs. For not noticing until... it was too late."

"Come on, Nance, that wasn't your fault. It wasn't anyone's fault."

"You don't get it. I was so... caught up... If I was just there when it got you-"

"Nance. I know what you're doing. Don't. Matter of fact, I'm sorry."

"For what!? You were possessed!"

"Yeah, but the things I said-"

"Nope. Not letting you do this."

"Nance, I-"

She wasn't expecting to silence Robin's desperate attempts at apologizing with a kiss.

Robin isn't expecting it either.

Nancy pulls away, already about to apologize, talk about how stupid she was for thinking what Flayed Robin said was true, when Robin pulls her back, and she's submerged in something other than despair for the first time in too long.

lmk what u think <3 im always open to prompts lol

[wikiangela]

It's a quiet evening, they're winding down after a long, exhausting day of work, just enjoying each other's company. They're on the couch, a cheesy romcom playing on the TV, Tommy's head in Buck's lap, Buck's fingers playing with Tommy's soft curls.

He's watching Tommy more than the movie. He observes his reactions, the soft smiles, the small chuckles, the eye rolls and scoffs - depending on what's happening on the screen. He's so beautiful and Buck wants to stare at him forever. And he gets to.

He beams, as he glances at his hand, still in Tommy's hair, where a simple silver band sits right on his ring finger, an exact match to the one on Tommy's hand, now casually resting on his stomach. Well, almost an exact match, the inscription on the inside just a little bit different - they both say their wedding date and the word 'forever' but they also have each other's names inscribed. Buck likes to take if off sometimes and just look at the words, trace his fingertip over Tommy's name, still amazed that this is his life, even after over a year of being married already.

So he observes his husband, eyes scanning all over, while Tommy's completely immersed in the movie, the romantic dork - Buck loves that he's the only one who truly gets to see this side of him. He's so cute and gorgeous, and Buck loves him so much and just can't take his eyes off him.

That's when he notices it, and a gasp breaks out of him. He can feel a huge grin pulling at his face.

"What's wrong?" Tommy immediately looks at him, a small concerned frown creasing his forehead. When he notices Buck smiling, worry turns into pure confusion. "Evan?"

"Baby." Buck says seriously, his fingers gripping a strand of Tommy's hair, as he announces happily, "You have your first gray hair." He's looking right at it, just a tiny, barely noticeable, silvery hair. It's there, and it looks beautiful, and Buck already kind of can't wait to see his husband get more of them.

"Okay?" Tommy's frown deepens, this time with amusement. "So?"

"So-" Buck starts, then shakes his head. It's stupid, it's just a hair, no big deal, everyone gets them eventually, it's nothing special. But in a way, it is. Because when they met a few years ago Tommy didn't have gray hair. Because in their line of work, and with their luck, with Buck's luck, seeing yourself or a person you love grow old is not always a given - and it's such a blessing. This, seeing a gray hair in Tommy's hair, combined with wrinkles starting to form on his beautiful face - it's an amazing sight. They're sharing a life together, growing older together, they're able to see each other go through all these changes, step by step, day by day, seemingly unnoticeable unless you pay particular attention. It makes Buck feel so grateful for this life he has, for his husband, for getting this chance. "Nothing," he says, fingers resuming combing through Tommy's thick curls, eyes still drawn to that lone gray hair. "I just love you."

"I love you, too, Evan." Tommy smiles that crinkly smile that makes the lines around his eyes even more pronounced. Buck has to lean down and kiss his lips, then the corner of his eye, making Tommy laugh. "What's that have anything to do with my gray hair?"

"I just really like the thought of getting to grow old with you. Of spending my life with you." Buck whispers, and sees Tommy's smile melt into that soft 'Evan' smile, reserved just for him.

"And you say I'm sappy," he responds teasingly, and Buck laughs. Oh, he loves Tommy so much. He looks into Tommy's eyes and sees everything he was just thinking about. He sees how Tommy wants the same things, how he appreciate those reminders, like a silly gray hair, of getting to go through life together.

He kind of can't wait to start going gray, too. To grow old with his husband.

[wormdebut]

JULY MICRO FIC - YOU JUST MIGHT GET IT

@steddiemicrofic | PROMPT: one | WORD COUNT: 111 | Rated: M | CW: horny fucks

——

Steve never expected things to turn out like this. Headed back to Eddie Munsons place.

Jesus Christ.

If the closeted fuck he was in high school could see him now.

Eddie looks ethereal in the street lights. Steve always knew he would, he just—hadn’t gotten the chance to act on it, until tonight.

Eddie turns around, grinning from ear to ear, “You sure about this, big boy?”

Steve blushes, can’t help it. “A good fucking orgasm? Hell yeah.”

Eddie laughs pulling him forward, “One? Oh, sugar, you don’t know what you’ve signed up for.”

Steve can’t help the nervous giggle that escapes his lips as Eddie pulls him, meeting his lips.

[sentientsky]

Do you think Crowley is ever driving through a tunnel at night, carving a path through the heart of London?

And do you think he watches the lights blur past like atoms colliding in the emptiness of a space before time or reason or the fear of a steep fall?

And do you think he blinks, and in that moment—with the road rushing beneath him and the staccato flicker of light against his closed eyelids—he remembers what it felt like to hold the universe between two palms?

To set the gyroscope spinning—to become both creator and divine witness, a hand print pressed into the rough edge of a cave wall (I was here and here I shall remain)?

Do you think he remembers it all?

And do you think he aches when he opens his eyes and finds nothing but chrome and fluorescence and the endless expanse of asphalt laid out before him?

[navnae]

Eddie has been in the press for several years now and his relationship with Steve wasn’t known about due to Steve panicking over what his family would say if the news had gotten a hold of that information. So Eddie made sure that things went smoothly for Steve when every they went out, he’d block the paparazzi that would surround him, refuse to answer any questions that involved, and he shut down every newspaper that tried to even paint the idea that they were together. Eddie took his personal life very seriously and if Steve wasn’t ready to have their relationship public than that was what Eddie fought for. Of course Eddie never shied away from being honest about his sexuality, basically everyone in the entire world knew he wasn’t straight it was almost like a goal for him to tell everyone “no to hetero” (he even made it a shirt). Meaning that he wasn’t shocked when the rumors started when him and Steve would get touchy from time to time but he kept playing it off as them being good friends for the sake of Steve. This went on for a long time that eventually everyone came to the conclusion that they were just friends and their love language was touch, the questions stopped, the pestering stopped, the theories stopped, everything finally stopped. Eddie felt like a weight was being lifted off his shoulders he didn’t have to go through all these obstacles to protect Steve but when an interview asked him about his relationship status he wanted die right on the spot every time. He wanted nothing more than to tell everyone how much he loved Steve and how he had so many thoughts that revolved around marrying him one day, this was killing Eddie deeply. Nonetheless Eddie kept those answers to himself and only hoped that one day they could finally be a couple without hiding.

It was New Year’s Eve when Corroded Coffin got an invite to perform on tv and Eddie was pumped. Steve helped him with his outfit which made him sweat throughout the whole day since it was the biggest jacket known to man but it was freezing outside and he just had to deal with it. They were going to be the last performance of the night right before the countdown for the ball. When it was around midnight Eddie had lost his voice around this point from singing with so much passion that the entire crowd could feel his energy. It made him feel good that while he was on stage he could see Steve in the front row cheering him on, Eddie couldn’t help the butterflies he got. Soon it was time for the countdown and everyone gathered around for it. Eddie being in his own world he shouted the numbers at the top of his lungs as he watched the ball in the distance he didn’t realize that Steve had made his way onto the stage. He kept counting down til he finally said “3… 2… 1” and right when he finished counting his whole body was turned towards the opposite direction then his lips connected with Steve’s in front of everyone. The confetti started to fall as they continued to kiss in the coldest weather they could feel their lips twitching against one another’s. Eddie was still in shock by Steve doing that and apparently the crowd was too. They gave their attention to the couple then the actual New Years event all together. When Steve pulled away a big smile was on his face with tears rolling down his cheek.

“Why did you do that? This is live, your family’s going to see it.” Eddie said worriedly. His heart pounded at the thought of what Steve’s family would do to him.

“I know and I’ve thought about this long enough to say that I don’t care. You went out of your way for years to protect me and make sure that I was okay. It’s not fair to you that we can’t simply live each other because of my family.” Steve spoke softly. Eddie smiled as he brought his thumb up to Steve’s check and wiped away another tear.

“And I would’ve continued to do it if you wanted me to. You should come out on your own terms not because of how I may feel.” Eddie knew that the damage was already done but he was still trying to figure out how he could get the press to forget it.

“I know that too but this is me coming out on my own terms. Who knows I might get a call in the morning from my family saying they accept me and I might not. All I know is I’m in love with you, that’s something I couldn’t hide forever Eddie.” Steve’s voice cracked halfway as he talked. The tears just kept coming down and it broke Eddie’s heart to see him like this.

Eddie wrapped his arms around Steve tightly letting him sob against his chest. He didn’t care if all eyes were on his right now, Steve was more important than all of that. Eddie planted several kisses on the top of Steve’s head and when he did his own vision started to become blurry. Those days of him telling off everyone that said he was in a relationship with Steve flashed in his head over and over again. He hated not being able to hold Steve like this without someone trying out their nose in their business. Now Eddie could do what he always wanted to do with Steve and he wouldn’t have to cover it up anymore. He held his boyfriend close as if he was going to runaway, both of them felt free for the first time in years.

“I love you.” Eddie whispered against Steve’s hair.

“I love you too.” Steve sniffled. Eddie laughed lightly when he felt Steve shiver a little when the wind blew. They were definitely going to be sick after this.

[after-the-end-times]

omg I love this by @steddieas-shegoes, but for some reason that scene from Ted Lasso immediately popped into my head when I was reading it? Thus, this:

It's not long after Steve and Eddie finally slept together for the first time that Eddie walks into the house to Steve holding a baby, a baby with curls and big amber eyes.

And he doesn't want to assume, but it is dressed in a pink onesie, so he's gonna go ahead and say she's a girl baby. And Eddie definitely knows there's normal things to ask about a surprise baby, like what's her name or who's is she or, even, where'd she come from, but nope.

"Is- Is she mine?" he says, eyes widening and a hand drifting up to his chest.

Steve just looks at him, a bemused smile spreading across his face,

"Eddie, we had sex, like, a week ago."

"Riiiight right right, sorry, yeah bad math" Eddie says, huffing out a laugh. 'Cause yeah, it's the math that's the issue.

Steve turns to head back into the kitchen, blithely adding as he goes,

"And if memory serves, you finished on my-"

"Woooah nonono!. Steve! You can't- That's not-" Eddie says rushing after him, stopping in front of Steve and the baby.

The baby who looks up at him with giant eyes and fingers in her mouth and looks so much like SteveandEddie that Eddie's brain is still trying to work out some sort of science or magic that would explain this situation because he suddenly wants it to be-

And Steve's just looking at him with the most gentle half smile and crinkly eyes, but Eddie just shakes his head to clear his thoughts, gently covers the baby's ears, and says in the most scandalized tone he didn't even know he had in him,

"There's no reason to get into the science of it all in front of the baby, Steve!"

Steve smiles wide at that and he heads to the sink, patting Eddie on the shoulder as he goes,

"Well, why don't we get her a bottle and then we can discuss the science of it all while she naps, hm?"

[topsyturvy-turtely]

Love is a Bath...?

Prompt: Fall by @calaisreno

Fandom: Any or None

I wanna fall in love. I don't want it to be too fast or painful. I don't wanna fall in love feeling like I am gonna hit concrete anytime. I want to be caught by gentleness. I want to be caressed, taken care of and treated with kindness.

I want to fall in love. I want it to feel like stepping into a bath, smelling of my favourite scent, I want to feel the bubbles of excitement against my skin. I wanna breathe in the hot steam, inhale it, absorb it, feel it expanding my lungs. It becoming part of me, part of the reason why I am alive.

I want to fall in love. And even if I do get hurt, I wanna believe in my person and me that we will heal. Put effort into fixing what was broken. Work for us in a team and know we can overcome hills, mountains, glaciers... together.

And I sure as hell never wanna fall out of love ever again.

Because I did. I fell in love.

❀❁❀❁❀❁❀❁❀❁❀❁❀❁❀❀❁❀❁❀❁❀❁❀❁❀❁❀❁

tagging random people 🥰

@totallysilvergirl @lisbeth-kk @gregorovitch-adler @a-victorian-girl @booksoversleep @safedistancefrombeingsmart @popcorn-plots @jawnscoffee @helloliriels @dreamerofthemeadow

let me know if you wanna be added! 💜

[spirk-trek]

Maybe if you can and are inspired something showing how smart Jim is? I live for genius!kirk!!! Please and thank you!

i hope you're still around to see this anon. i struggled with it SO much even though it's one of my favorite tropes ever. i'm quite happy with the way it turned out in the end :)

disclaimers: blood & injury, fake-real-science

read here on ao3!!!!

~*~*~*~*~

Spock.

The syllable drifted into his consciousness like an echo. Faint. Indistinct.

“Spock?”

He attempted to clear a path for rational thought, cataloging each sense as it returned to him. Pain. Disregard. Touch. The ground was warm beneath him, conforming to his body. Sand, he speculated. Pain. Disregard. Sight. None. Scent. Rotting vegetation. Sulfide. The metallic tang of blood.

“Spock! Acknowledge!”

Sound. Clearer than before. Familiar. Jim. 

He swallowed with some amount of difficulty. There was movement. Footsteps slipping over loose stone.

“I… am here,” he finally managed to rasp. 

The movement stilled. An expulsion of breath. 

“Stay with me, Spock.” 

Jim's voice, bounding off unseen walls, was imbued with a relief that was as illogical as the order it carried. Spock would not leave his Captain except in death.

“Stay with me,” he repeated the words nonetheless, though they did not carry as effectively as the first iteration. As though they were not intended to reach him. Upon consideration, perhaps his death had been the very thing Jim feared. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll get us out of here. Don’t…”

Spock wanted to deny his ability to do something so emotional as to worry, but moreso he wished to ask where ‘here’ was, precisely. He had the sense that he should know. Unconsciousness pulled at him again as he searched for an answer, a tide he struggled to resist, eroding the shoreline of his mind. He began to lose his body, sinking back toward wherever he had been before.

“Tell me- about- sodium chlorate.”

Spock’s brows pulled together. Surely Jim knew the properties of such a basic structure. 

“Sodium chlorate, Spock!”

This information was easier to access than where they had found themselves, or why his head was throbbing with each beat of his heart, so he forced a response from the back of his throat. 

“Formula… NaClO₃… Melting point… 521.01 kelvin… When heated… produces sodium chloride and…”

Oxygen. Yes. It became more apparent with each breath that it did not feel like enough. His mind opened, details of their predicament beginning to filter back to him.

Sodium chlorate. An elegant solution. 

“And?” Jim probed.

Spock did not finish his thought, aware now that the query was no more than an attempt to keep him alert. It had worked, for now, and it would be illogical to waste further breath providing Jim with information he already knew.

“Etherbane gas, Captain-”

“No-”

“Etherbane gas,” he insisted, and Jim fell silent, understanding his efforts were no longer necessary, “is currently filling the space... we inhabit. Estimated time… remaining with breathable air…” Spock thought back to prior calculations, existing on another plane. He considered the tightness in his lungs, Jim’s own struggle for breath, the echoes of sound around them. “Twenty three point seven… standard minutes.”

Jim did not answer immediately. When he did, his voice was quiet. Flat.

“Thank you, Mr. Spock.”

Following his words, for the first time since regaining consciousness, Spock saw. A flash of red accompanied by the sound of phaser fire.

“Captain-” 

“Increasing oxygen levels could displace it, dilute it even…” 

He was muttering to himself, seemingly unharmed, although the crackle of rocks tumbling over themselves continued.

“Captain,” he tried again. “I fail to see… how we will  produce oxygen without-” 

“A catalyst, yes,” Jim completed the thought, though provided no further insight. “Kirk to enterprise, do you read? Kirk to Enterprise. Acknowledge.” 

His communicator flipped closed when he received no answer. 

“There’s got to be a way. ”

“Perhaps… not one available to us.”

Jim did not answer. Spock could once again make out the sound of labored breathing, though it remained some distance away. His fingers twitched, irrationally thinking of reaching across the space between them. He forced them to still.

“Captain… It would be wise to conserve… your energy.”

“What for?” Jim pushed the question out with some degree of bitterness, jaw locked. More shuffling. More rocks. Spock pulled an unbalanced breath into his lungs.

“Longevity.”

“There won’t be any use for longevity if…”

He trailed off, coughing lightly. Spock did not have a satisfactory response to this, so he did not offer one, instead moving on. 

“If your intention is to burn… sodium chlorate… as a source of oxygen, it should be noted-”

“Etherbane is combustible,” Jim answered tightly. “It could burn up, suffocate us in the process.”

“Quite correct.”

“I’m aware of the risks.”

“I am unaware of the benefits.”

“I’m getting to that, I just need… What do I need? What do I need?”

“You are exhausting yourself.”

“How to control the burn, how…”

Spock was unprepared for the swell of unconsciousness that gripped him again, unable to fight it back this time, nor to utter another word before reality escaped him. With one last breath he attempted to form Jim’s name, then faded away.

*  *  *

When Spock next awoke, he could see. Swaths of deep orange contrasted with black shadows high above him, flickering and shifting over rough rock, giving the illusion that the cave itself was swaying. Once more he disregarded the pain that jolted through his skull. Concussion. Severe, but not life threatening. He blinked several times, grunting with the effort it took to turn his head toward the source of light.

A vaguely cylindrical object was protruding from the sand beside him, yellow flame emanating from its tip. He squinted, attempting to bring his vision into focus. Several strips of gold were wrapped around the object’s base, visible between messily gathered clumps of clay.

Gold. Sleeves of a command uniform. 

A pulse of clarity jolted through him. Spock pushed himself into a sitting position, noting distantly that the task of breathing appeared easier than it had previously. He scanned the perimeter of the cave and found nothing. 

“Captain?”

No reply came. Alarm pulled him the rest of the way to his feet, a wave of dizziness causing him to stumble until he found a wall of stone to lean against. Again he looked around for any sign of his Captain, seconds of silence passing until, finally, he identified a disturbance in the otherwise smooth sand. Sinking, dragging trenches, the stride of which undeniably belonged to Jim. 

He followed the trail deeper into the dark, throat itching as the air grew thin again. Broken flakes of slate-like rock cracked under his feet as he staggered, pushed through shadow, stumbled-

Finally, a boot. Half buried. Completely still. Jim. 

More of his prone form was revealed as Spock rushed to his side, lying flat on his stomach, one arm outstretched. His uniform was torn messily from one arm. The hand it led to was slack. Unmoving. 

Dread, frigid and alive, writhed into Spock's stomach. He gripped Jim’s shoulders, pulling them away from the ground. His head pitched forward, unresponsive.

“Jim,” he spoke urgently, rolling the man onto his back. He brushed grains of deep purple sand from his face before grasping it firmly between both hands. No movement stirred behind closed lids. No spark of familiar energy surfaced at Spock’s touch. No thoughts. No emotion. No steady beat of his heart.

The flame at Spock’s back flickered, momentarily casting their corner in a wash of yellow, and his gaze was drawn up to a partially covered gap in the cave’s wall. Details began sorting themselves into place again, breaking through disordered bouts of control and lack thereof. 

The etherbane gas. Jim had been attempting to stifle the flow. 

He threw himself forward, deft hands making quick work of what Jim had begun before returning to his side and immediately gathering him in his arms. How long had he been breathing this concentrated flow? Could it be too late? 

No. He will not perish. 

It was an irrational promise, but it took root in him nonetheless before he could stop it. He carried his Captain back to where he himself had been laying before, all but collapsing to his knees beside the light. Before they had even settled he was covering Jim’s parted lips with his own, breathing what little he had into his lungs, cradling the back of his neck to open the airway. He straightened to press the heels of his hands down over his chest, timing each beat perfectly. One two three…

“Jim,” he groaned as he came up after yet another breath. More heartbeats. Ten. Twenty. Thirty.

Just as he was about to repeat the process for a third time, Jim gasped. His eyes flew open before slipping halfway shut, the spasm of his muscles fading as he went limp once more. Spock watched as his chest stuttered upward on its own. His lips as they moved ever so slightly until a word could finally form.

“Spock?”

He released the hands which had fisted into Jim’s torn tunic, pressing both palms flat to his own thighs instead. He sat back over his heels and made a futile attempt at taming the panic still chasing itself within him.

“I am here.”

Jim's arm shifted clumsily in the sand, nudging against Spock’s knee, and he peered down at it for a beat before realizing it was reaching for him. He reached back, the touch delicate, opting not to raise his shields with perhaps some amount of greed. The sensation of Jim’s still mind, vacant and dark, prickled unpleasantly in recent memory, but as they touched now he could feel Jim’s emotions there again. Faint, but unmistakable. Spock shut his eyes. 

“You’re alive,” Jim breathed. Relief. Contentment. Joy.

Spock blinked his eyes open again as Jim’s fingers attempted to fill the spaces between his own. Eventually, he settled for simply hooking one around his thumb. 

“Indeed.”

“Good.” 

Spock reached forward with his free hand to gently catch Jim’s head when it began to roll to the side, turning it back toward him. Hazel eyes, appearing deep brown in the dim light, finally opened and found his, though they didn’t quite focus. Long lashes fluttered with the effort of remaining open.

“Good,” he repeated, quieter. The weight of his head fully leaned into Spock’s palm now. Whether consciously or from weakness, it was impossible to tell. 

“Thought I lost you.”

Spock felt a sudden, irrational flare of agitation. Jim’s pleasant expression fell, the finger hooked around his thumb curling a little tighter.

“S’ wrong?”

Spock quickly pulled both hands back into his lap, feeling foolish. He turned away.

“Despite us both being revived, we remain trapped here.”

It was not the answer Jim had sought, and Spock did not expect him to accept it.

“Not what I…”

He trailed off, head falling once more to the side. Spock caught it again, shields in place this time, though they shivered dangerously as his fingertips brushed over Jim’s qui’lari.

“Jim.”

Dim golden eyes blinked open again.

“...meant.”

Spock did not provide a different answer, instead simply shifting to sit beside him with his legs crossed neatly. He tilted Jim’s head further toward him, not removing his hand until he was certain it was no longer needed for support. 

“Your head,” Jim mumbled. He lifted his gaze to look for some sign of damage in the dark.

“I shall recover.”

Jim hummed, one corner of his mouth quirking. 

“Gas can’t be pushed out yet,” he patted the sand beside him. “Lie down.”

Spock looked up instead, noticing the faint twinkle of stars through the sinkhole which had swallowed them. The gap was slightly wider than it had been. Spock recalled the sound of Jim’s phaser, of rocks tumbling down around them. This is how the etherbane was being ventilated, but given the density of its particles, how that was possible was still unclear. When Spock looked down again, Jim was watching him with a small grin.

“Haven’t worked it out?”

Spock’s eyes shifted back to the cylindrical object, opting for the distraction of considering its nature rather than the restlessness continuing to press in on his chest.

“I have had little opportunity to formulate a theory.” 

He hadn’t meant to convey such bitterness, but if Jim noticed he gave no indication. He chuckled anyway.

“Oxygen candle.”

Spock blinked. Jim coughed slightly and took an unsteady breath before launching into explanation.

“They used to have them- on naval ships. Submarines too, in case of depleted oxygen levels. Uses sodium chlorate and…”

“A catalyst,” Spock repeated his earlier sentiment. “There are none present.”

“Aren’t there?”

A gleam had returned to his Captain’s eye that softened Spock’s concern slightly. He raised a brow. 

“The stalagmites.”

Spock looked down into the sand, noticing the shards of slate scattered throughout it again, deep black in pigment and matching the pillars of stone rising from the ground around them. After a moment of thought, his face ironed out in realization.

“Magnesium dioxide,” he said quietly before turning his head quickly to regard Jim. “Its presence would have been masked by the etherbane gas to our instrumentation without manual adjustment. ” He cocked his head, brows drawing together. “How did you detect it?”

Jim’s smile was stronger now, his voice wavering less. He nudged his chin upward, looking off in a direction past Spock. “Our phasers. They have a magnetic component, for recharging the banks.”

Spock blinked. “And magnesium dioxide has magnetic properties. Of course.”

Jim hummed again. “Found enough to make a core for the candle, used the phaser I didn’t pull apart to ignite it, bound it tight enough to control the burn, clay for ventilation.” He smiled again, looking up at Spock and blinking slowly. “Simple.”

Spock stared at him in wonder for several seconds, astounded.

“That solution would not have occurred to me.”

Jim let out a huff. “I appreciate the flattery.”

“The likelihood of the necessary components being present are several million to one.”

“Several million, hm?”

“If you will forgive my lack of precision, Captain.”

“Forgiven.” 

He paused then, and Spock could feel his observance on the side of his face. 

“Would you please lie down?”

The same sensation from before crawled beneath his skin again. He could feel the edges of his control continue to fray, pulling loose like threads of an old garment marked by constant wear. He looked toward the now filled gap in the wall. The disturbed sand where Jim’s body had collapsed without the necessary oxygen.

"You constructed this… as you were actively suffocating?"

"Seemed like the logical thing to do at the time."

Spock’s jaw tightened. He averted his gaze from the disturbed sand. 

"Come here, Spock.”

Spock remained resolutely still, back straight. 

“You need to breathe-"

"No, Captain." 

"Spock-"

“It was unnecessary for you to risk your life in this way.”

Jim winced as he pushed himself up onto his elbows, but Spock stood abruptly before he could reach out, pacing swiftly away from their spot on the ground.

“Spock, wait- I had to reduce the risk of ignition-”

“You could have allowed yourself to breathe-”

“There isn’t much use in breathing if the whole place goes up in flame, is there?” Another pause. “I had no choice.”

“There is always a choice." He snapped the words, speech pressured, their voices overlapping. He shut his eyes and fought for control. “If I had not woken when I did, you would not have survived. That is the choice you made.”

To die. The words remained unspoken, heavy, suspended in the space between them.

When he breathed this far from the candle his lungs felt tight again. Logically, he knew it was due to the gas, but the residual tightness he had felt in his chest when he first saw Jim on the ground also continued to constrict him. He curled his body toward the darkest remaining corner of the cave where he was unable to tell where dark sand met the perimeter, arms hung loosely at his side, fingers unfurled and shaking. He hoped that Jim could not see them. 

"It was illogical,” he found himself saying. “Reckless."

Distantly, he registered the sounds of Jim pulling himself to his feet, of clumsy footfalls approaching him until a gentle touch came around his upper arm. Spock shut his eyes uselessly, able to feel the heat of Jim's body along his back, remaining perfectly still until the touch slid down and fell away. 

But Jim did not leave. They stood there, and Spock could practically feel indecision encasing them just as the gas had, as it still did, until the touch returned to his shoulder. Before long it was joined by a second hand, and both arms slid around Spock’s thin frame slowly, joining over his stomach, forming a firm loop. 

A hug, Spock realized.

A human gesture, intended for physical comfort. The touch had no purpose beyond this, but Spock found he had no desire for it to end. He quickly suppressed the warmth he began to feel in response, but he knew the name. Pleasure. Sun on his face. The sound of oasis birds. Jim. 

They stayed like until Spock felt the pressure around him loosen somewhat, enough for him to turn. When he did, he found the Captain looking up at him openly. His hands slid to Spock's lower back, a question in his eyes, searching for the answer in his face. Regardless of whether or not he found it, Spock was spared the burden of explaining himself any further. Jim simply nodded back toward the light. 

“C'mon."

He began to move before Spock did, but he followed as always, watching as the human dropped heavily back to the ground. Spock lowered himself wordlessly and stretched out flat on his back, parallel to Jim, both of their heads positioned near the flame. Only a few breaths later he felt his head begin to clear again, but Jim sighed beside him before he could submit to inner turmoil over his lapse. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Spock swallowed. The apology was unnecessary, but he found himself unable to voice his repudiation.

“I thought I had more time."

Spock did not answer this either. Not for several seconds. The regret that had half formed released now, broken apart into small enough pieces to flow through his bloodstream and touch every part of him. He knew that it would coalesce again. That they had only delayed the inevitable.

“I believe I understand the feeling, Captain.”

Jim turned his head at the same time Spock did, and their faces were suddenly so close Spock could feel the other’s breath touch the tip of his nose. The longing to reach out and touch multiplied exponentially in an instant, but he resisted, even as Jim’s gaze dropped to his lips and he was reminded that they had touched just minutes before. A memory of how the contact had felt pushed into his mind. If he tried now, if he allowed it, he could even recall the taste despite not devoting thought to it at the time, concerned only with sparing his Captain’s life. 

“Spock.”

His name pulled him back to the present, but when he brought his gaze back up he found Jim’s no longer on him. Instead he was looking somewhere beyond, head coming away from the warm sand and craning upward.

“Spock, look.”

And so he did. Above them, around them, shifting over the walls and glinting in the faint light, were what he estimated to be several hundred small, fast moving creatures comparable to insects. Their wings shone like jewels when the light from the candle touched them, revealing striking blue abdomens topped by twisting red antennae. A prickle of defensive vigilance wrapped around the back of Spock’s neck, making his hair stand on end, but he suppressed it just as he had everything else. The creatures did not attack, nor did they seem interested in doing so.

"Incredible,” Jim whispered, eyes darting all around the space to watch them, having risen into a fully seated position.

Spock pushed himself up to join him, their shoulders brushing together. In an effort to remain close to their halo of oxygen, he told himself. 

“Fascinating.”

Jim was blinking upward, wide eyed, an open mouthed grin unyielding on his face. Without looking away he grasped Spock’s shoulder.

"You don’t think we’re hurting them, do you?” he asked, reverent. Quiet. He leveled his head and met Spock’s eye. “The oxygen?”

Spock considered the creatures again and shook his head. “They do not appear to be fleeing.”

A cluster of them began to stretch their wings, revealing intricate, vibrant patterns indicative of flora. He frowned in thought. This directly contradicted the lack of living vegetation they had observed or detected on the planet before falling into its depths, as well as the known history of this world. 

Jim was curling his knees and getting to his feet, reaching down to dislodge the oxygen candle before offering his hand to Spock. He took it, despite perhaps not needing to, and leaned into the flame just as Jim did. They paced further into what had previously been only darkness. 

“Spock. Could it be the light?”

The Vulcan considered this as Jim shifted the candle slightly, presumably to test his hypothesis. The insects who’s light it touched began to open their wings while those who were consequently cast into shadow shuttered theirs. He raised the candle higher, over his head, taking a few steps ahead. Spock watched as several of the creatures arranged themselves into the unmistakable shape of a flower, each pair of wings another petal. A trail of them formed as if blooming wherever the light touched, following Jim’s progression further into the cave.

Jim was beaming up at them. Spock found he could not look away, though wished he had when Jim spun to find him again, seeing he was already being watched. Instead of confusion, aversion, his smile only grew. Spock’s heart missed a beat in his side. 

“Thoughts?”

Spock looked up again and placed his hands at the small of his back. 

“These lifeforms must have evolved prior to the stellar death of their sun," he began. "Likely, the generation we are seeing now have not seen light in their lifetimes, yet the vestigial instinct to attract pollinators for prey appears to have survived.” When he leveled his gaze again, he found Jim’s eyes stuck to him, listening intently. “It is reasonable to assume they are mimicking flora which have since gone extinct. Perhaps nyctinastic ones.”

He took a few slow steps toward the cave wall, so he could observe one of them up close, having to crane his neck to do so. Jim was at his side again, lowering the candle between them, and they shared a breath of fresh oxygen. Light danced over the lines of Jim’s face, catching at the corners of his mouth, the lower lashes surrounding his eyes.

 “Preserved in memory alone,” he murmured after a moment, then sighed again. He turned to watch the insects crawl over one another in an effort to chase the light in his hand.

“A little sad, isn’t it?” 

“It simply is, Captain.”

After a beat of silence, in a move that surprised Spock to his very core, Jim reached for his hand again. Spock allowed their fingers to touch, not knowing precisely why. For Jim’s to curl into his. For his thumb to swipe an arch over the back of his knuckles.

“Yeah,” he said softly, looking down at their hands just as Spock did. “Simple.”

Spock dared to lower his shields then, and immediately something unknown passed over the contact. A shadow. Not quite sadness, but not unlike it either. He found he did not have a word at his disposal to describe it.

“However,” he attempted to entertain Jim’s emotional assessment, hoping to alleviate whatever the emotion was. Jim lifted his head to watch him with an air of amusement, but Spock didn’t miss the spark of hope that accompanied it. “One could, perhaps, view it as a testament to the resilience of life, and find value in the fact that we now know the beauty of at least one species of flower which once thrived here.” 

Jim’s smile had returned. Spock’s stomach clenched at the sight of it.

“Life finds a way,” he murmured.

“Indeed.”

They remained like this, hand in hand, long enough for Spock’s heart to beat eleven times and for Jim’s to beat six, until the harsh sound of a communicator ultimately severed the moment. They jerked away from each other, candlelight wobbling as the flame tilted in Jim’s hand.

“Keptin? Keptin, are you there?”

Jim passed the candle to Spock almost carelessly and dove into the dark, digging through sand until Chekov’s voice became less muffled. He dangled the device from his fingers once it was extracted, shaking it several times before flipping it open.

“Kirk here,” he answered breathlessly. Spock approached and squatted down, holding the flame out toward him.

“Keptin! Is Meester Spock-?”

“We’re both here. Are you alright?”

“Back aboard the ship, sir. We’ve been trying to find you.”

“Well done, then.” Jim clutched the communicator in both hands, propping it against his chest. “Can you get a lock on us?”

“Thank you, sir. Yes, sir. The interference has cleared now.”

“Have Doctor McCoy on standby. Spock needs treatment.” Once again amber eyes lifted to scan the side of Spock’s head where evidence of his injury was most pronounced, frowning slightly at whatever he found. 

“Delay transport for the moment, Ensign. Won’t be long.” 

“Aye aye, Keptin. On your order.”

He flipped the communicator shut and turned to Spock, grinning, both brows arched toward the curl of blond lying against his forehead.

“Well? Shall we?”

Spock looked around them at the creatures once again, wishing for his tricorder which was left abandoned back on the surface high above. 

“I know,” Jim said quietly. “It’s a shame we can’t study them further, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

As they both stood, Jim touched his arm in sympathy before leaning forward and blowing the candle out, casting them into complete darkness. The touch dropped away and Spock straightened, preparing for the transporter beam to take them at any moment. The soft sound of a thousand wings folding around them was the last thing he heard before Jim’s voice drowned it out.

“Two to beam up, Mr. Scott. Energize.”

[jessicas-pi]

Ben has kind of been having the worst day of his life, what with the dying and all.

It’s a marked improvement when he’s tramping through the forests of Takodana and a familiar voice demands, “Would you believe me if I told you Palpatine was my grandfather?”

He turns around.

Stares.

Rey stands ten feet away, her blaster pointed at him, a challenge in her eyes.

“Would you believe me if I told you Han Solo was my father?” he says, answering the question with a question.

“Yes,” she says, lowering the blaster.

“Well, that answers that,” he replies, turning off his lightsaber.

The silence stretches on.

Takodana is unpleasantly hot.

Why did he ever think wearing all-black was a suitable fashion choice?

Rey falters, apparently not having planned what to say if she got this far. “I suppose this is where we save the galaxy.”

“I suppose so,” he agrees. “To Exogol, then?”

“Have you got the Wayfinder already?” she asks, raising an eyebrow in surprise.

“Picked it up on the way here.”

“Ah. That simplifies things.” She holsters her blaster and sets off at a brisk pace, adding as she brushes past him: “And try not to die this time. It was so inconvenient.”

“You died first,” he mutters.

[aardvaark]

expanding on that post about sophie devereaux backstories, grift ones and real ones and the things in between:

a year or two after they meet, tara and sophie are somewhere near drunk in a hotel room after a con, high heels thrown against the wall, dresses unzipped and halfway off. tara asks for her Story. the Story. and maybe she wouldn’t have asked if she were sober or maybe tara is simply a little too bloody brave sometimes, a little too determined.

so sophie tells her about a father in the military, a mother who died young, a family that moved houses, towns, regions, countries, all the time growing up. about lying to impress kids at every new school. about desperately doing almost anything to fit in for the months or year she’d stay in that area. about sweet talking her way out of a few little crimes here and there, cash that she would certainly never steal from her rich friends’ parents’ wallets, some driving rules she broke when she was too young to even have a license, yet old enough for a cop to encourage her flirting. sophie tells tara that her father died when she was 19, and the grief had led to recklessness. she made a mistake on a too-ballsy grift. she would’ve gone to jail. instead, she faked her death (for the first of many times) and never looked back. it’s the only funeral of hers that she didn’t attend.

and then, tara told her an equally untrue Story in return.

when sophie is duchess charlotte prentiss, her husband william asks far too many questions about her past. of course, charlotte has a Story. all of her aliases have Stories, even the ones she only uses for a day - they all have birthdays, childhood pets, first kisses, people they love. so she tells him that her parents died in a car crash when she was 16 and instead of going into the foster system, the authorities figured she was old enough to become an emancipated minor. she tells him how it was difficult at times, incredible at others, and sad and exciting and embarrassing and bittersweet. she weaves a damn good tale about charlottes life, if she may say so herself - one that’s just painful enough for william to stop asking questions. it works perfectly. but when she tucks astrid into bed that night, and the little girl looks up at her with big round eyes and asks if ‘charlotte’ misses her mummy and daddy and says that she’s sad for ‘charlotte’ because she knows what it’s like to miss a mama… sophie freezes. there’s a lump in her throat and goosebumps on her skin. she blinks down the tears and recovers just enough to fake a smile and kiss astrid’s forehead as she leaves the room. lying has never hurt like this before. it takes all her strength to shut it down, shove the emotions in some tiny box in her head that she simply refuses to acknowledge. she decides, then, that she has to leave this house as soon as possible.

the charlotte Story is one of many that hardison finds. it’s inevitable, when he has to cover all their tracks so thoroughly, that hardison would stumble upon various old aliases. he only learns about the charlotte one from the job in england - there’s no links between her and sophie, but he destroys a decent amount of excess duchess charlotte prentiss information just in case, and then looks for any other mysterious women who happened to pop up or vanish around that time. he notices that there are some things that all of sophie’s aliases share: their parents are dead, they have no siblings, and their life changed dramatically somehow in their mid-to-late teens (usually with those parents’ deaths, or gaining an inheritance, or moving far away). he knows that these are all pretty standard, convenient details for a fake identity. but he wonders, sometimes. couldn’t she have made up dead siblings? estranged but alive parents? a dramatic event in her early childhood or in her twenties? he doesn’t know if the consistent parts mean anything. he doesn’t ask for her Story - not outright, at least. though for the first couple months of knowing her, he does sometimes enquire about little things here and there. did she grow up with sisters, what was her high school like - that sort of stuff. information is his thing, sue him! sometimes sophie just smiles. sometimes she answers, and he eventually learns that her truths, at least, are very much relative. when he decides that she is family - which is pretty early on, to be honest - he also decides not to ask anymore. he destroys old aliases when necessary, but he never reads more than he has to. he loves sophie and that is enough.

eliot never asks anything about her life. not even the innocent, casual, unthinking questions that sophie is used to from other people: where’d you grow up? did you ever have any pets? i always had to share a room with my sister, what about you? eliot clearly avoids asking her any of it. she’s somewhat surprised by that. sure, he’s polite, but he’s also suspicious both by nature and due to certain unfortunate experiences, so she sort of expected him to interrogate her when they first met.

one night, they’re the last two left at nate’s apartment. even nate had gone to bed and left them there, long given up on shooing his team out at appropriate times. sophie’s been drinking tea and flipping through a latvian phrase book to refresh her memory for tomorrow’s grift, and apparently that 90-minute-a-day sleep schedule allows for eliot to be doing one-handed push ups in the living room at this ungodly hour. too tired to retain any more information, sophie studies eliot instead. he’s a straightforward guy. she decides to be straightforward too. she breaks the silence of the apartment and simply asks - is he ever curious about her Story? eliot pauses a moment. looks her in the eye, quiet. doesn’t brush her off gruffly like she thought he might. instead, he asks if she’s ever curious about What He’s Done. that is answer enough for the both of them. they don’t talk for the rest of the night, each going back to their own activities, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable. on the contrary - the mutual understanding ends up solidifying their relationship.

nate isn’t always so intensely careful about his questions like eliot. well, actually, there were many times back in his insurance days that he very much did ask her questions on purpose. and of course, for five years, he asks after her real name. sophie generally thinks of it as a fun game. she smiles at his useless determination and teases him when he comes back from jail. after a while, though, she realizes that the questions about her Story mostly stopped when leverage formed, and stop completely once he proposed. nate never hears any version of her Story. she’s here now, and that’s all he needs or wants to know - just like how sophie is her real name in any way that matters.

the moment that sophie realizes this is the moment she stops caring about the real Story, the burden of the secret and the guilt and shame of keeping it from her newfound family. in that moment, she understands that what happened back then is just a small drop in the ocean, irrelevant to the life she’s built and come to love. she never tells them the story, and she never needs to.

[jademickian]

I think it’s pretty neat that stargazing was a Gallavich thing. 

In season 2, Mickey says “you want us to put a blanket out and look for shooting stars next?” There is that—once again—an inner desire hidden behind the veil of a witty rhetoric. The dawn is popularly the symbol of new hope, the sun coming up shining its light, enveloping the ground with a potential of joy and rebirth. But with stargazing, the darkness in which it transpires precedes the coming of dawn. It is the hoping itself, the wishing, the tilting of head towards the sky, like the heart whispering a prayer to the universe. The sun is a very bright star that illuminates all. It’s overwhelming with its promise of renewal and warmth of love. That's why it’s much easier to look at tinier, less brighter stars at night. The multitude of them enough to give light—not too much—but just enough to stare at, so it doesn’t hit you all at once. The dawn would tell him he deserves to love and be loved, and that contrary to his belief, he’s not fucked for life. It’s a crazy jump, and the blaze of it might even burn. Meanwhile, the twinkle of the stars would tell him that a boy likes him enough to hang out with him, and that it is okay to long for something so far out of reach, for now.

In season 5, Ian is having some grass time (he’s lying on the grass), stargazing. Earlier than this, he mentions you can never see this many stars from Chicago because of light pollution. Mickey calls, and he holds it up to stare at his ringing phone. Contemplating whether he should or should not. He stares at the stars—weaver of fates, guider of travels. Desire, once again, for answers. A confirmation. Some direction. There must be something because here, they’re clearer, unlike back home where it’s hindered by stray city lights. Maybe this could help clear his clouded mind. Maybe he could draw constellations by connecting the dots and it’ll show him what to keep, what to lose. A glint. A flicker. “That’s the most important thing, to find somebody to love, right? Who loves you back for who you are.” But the thing about the stars’ divine message is that it could often be misunderstood. Misinterpreted. Maybe the stars will sigh, oh well. Guess you could take detours. Because another thing about stars is that, although enigmatic to a fault, they know where everything must go. They are close to the language of the gods. Perhaps for now, the answer is to be apart because in the grand scheme of things, it will all play out as planned. 

In season 7, together, under the very same stars. It is hope and desire realized. Who would’ve thought? It was inexplicable, almost alien, that this is how their story is going now. But to the stars, it’s an old song. This is exactly where they should be. It’s the same narrative back then under the bleachers, when they didn’t know better. When voicing your feelings seems a futile and gargantuan feat. It’s the same story now, when they reconvene after, celestial forces refusing to cut these ties. When feelings are all you could voice out, as you’ve learned that if they swim inside you long enough, you’ll drown. “God I missed you.” The stars have known since the beginning. Its plans, slowly unfolding themselves. The wisdom they hold seem nearer now that if reached by the fingertips could be cold to the touch—not yet, not yet. 

But even stars could grow impatient. 

Even stargazer lilies—observer of heavenly bodies, predictor of futures—bloom facing the sky. Upwards, toward the stars, the flower looks upon. Maybe they’re ready for the dawn. The sun, the bigger and brighter star. The ball of fire catapulting itself, yet it doesn’t burn. It caresses, warm to the touch, and over the land gives life. It is here before them, and it will be here after. 

“Now?” Now.

[wikiangela]

idea: bucktommy squabble over nothing when their laundry gets mixed up and one of them cares less and they wear eo clothes and it's not a big deal most times, they love seeing each other in eo clothes, but then one of them is looking for his favorite pair of underwear or smth stupid and gets annoyed (maybe on edge bc of other stuff and it's the last straw, *cough* buck working under gerrard *cough*) and they argue about it but it's so ridiculous in the end they just laugh it all off

idk, just give me bucktommy having a small inconsequential squabble that's so ridiculous and lighthearted lol

just buck coming to work all annoyed and everyone's like "what happened" and Buck is like "he always takes the last clean pair of socks" or smth lol

[patheticgirlsteve]

Steve loves Eddie's hands. They're beautiful and they're kind of impossible not to stare at, Steve thinks. He's not really sure how everyone else manages to pull their eyes away from them when they're playing guitar at The Hideout, or gesticulating with gusto during one of their Hellfire sessions, or when they're absently spinning the rings that adorn his fingers.

So, yeah, Steve loves Eddie's hands, thinks about them constantly. About what they would feel like holding Steve's hand as they sit together on the couch during movie night, or how they would feel cupping his face as he leaned in for a kiss, or how they would feel sinking into Steve's hair, tugging just a little.

So when Steve sees his opportunity to find out just how those hands feel cradled in his own, he takes it.

They've been at the trailer all day, smoking and just hanging out together with no expectations. These are some of Steve's favorite days lately, just spending time with Eddie, listening to him ramble about whatever nerd tangent he's gone off on any given day.

He specially likes days like today, specifically. Days when Eddie's writing music. He won't let Steve see what lyrics he's frantically scrawling into his notebook, but Steve gets to hear the music and that's enough for him. He's kind of honored to be allowed to witness what is clearly a very personal process for Eddie.

Eddie's been playing and writing and playing and writing and playing some more all day, and Steve sees his chance as soon as Eddie puts his baby back on her mount on the wall and flops back onto his bed with a wide grin.

Steve grins back and doesn't say anything as he reaches out and grabs one of Eddie's hands. He carefully starts removing the bulky silver rings from Eddie's fingers.

"What are you doing?" Eddie is watching Steve with an intensity that is hard to ignore, but Steve just continues in his task. He's on a mission and he will not be derailed.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Steve says, slipping off the last of Eddie's rings. They're sitting close, Eddie leaned back against his pillow and Steve cross-legged next to him with his body turned toward Eddie's like a sunflower finding the sun.

"It looks like you're taking off my rings. Why are you doing that? Are you trying to steal them? You could just ask, you know, I'd give you one if you wanted," Eddie doesn't sound upset, just confused and maybe a tiny bit flustered underneath his joking tone. Steve would check to see if Eddie's face has that delightful little flush that it sometimes gets when Steve touches him a little more tenderly than usual or flirts with him a little more overtly.

Steve would like to look, but he thinks he might lose his nerve if he does, so he keeps his eyes focused on Eddie's hands. On Eddie's long fingers, his chipped nails, his calloused fingertips. He places the removed rings into a small pile on Eddie's bedside table, in the little jewelry dish that Steve had gotten for him last month.

"No thanks, they're not really my style. I'm taking them off so that I can do this," And he pulls Eddie's arm out a little further from his body so that he can start massaging Eddie's palm with both of his thumbs.

"Oh," Eddie gasps and Steve feels a rush of satisfaction at how out of breath Eddie sounds. Steve chances a look up and is quietly delighted to see that Eddie is indeed blushing.

"Yeah," Steve offers a small smile as he turns his attention back to Eddie's hand in his. "I figured your hands must be cramping a bit after playing and scribbling things down in your little notebook all day."

Steve sees Eddie nod out of the corner of his eye.

"Yeah, um," Eddie says and Steve's heart is racing in his chest. "Thanks, that, uh, it feels good."

"Good," Steve looks up at Eddie with another small smile and releases his hand. "Other hand?" He holds his own palm up for Eddie to place his hand in, which he does bashfully.

"Okay," Eddie is staring openly at Steve almost like he can't believe that Steve would want to massage his hands, which Steve thinks is ridiculous because it's not like he's been subtle about his attraction to Eddie for the past several months.

Steve squeezes Eddie's hand quickly before he works his thumbs into his other palm and it's a little bit sweaty now, but Steve doesn't mind. They sit in companionable silence while Steve finishes the massage.

When he's done, he doesn't release Eddie's hand back to him, just sits with it in his own for a moment. He could do something now, it's a risk, but Steve's almost positive now that Eddie feels the same way about Steve that Steve feels about Eddie. And even if Steve's wrong about that he knows that Eddie won't give him shit for being queer.

So, why not? The benefits of being right outweigh the fear of being wrong and Steve makes up his mind.

"Steve?" Eddie asks slowly, but makes no move to remove his hand from Steve's grip.

"Eddie," Steve answers and brings Eddie's knuckles up to trace across his lips. Steve hears Eddie gasp as he places a gentle but undeniable kiss on the center of Eddie's knuckles, letting his lips linger for a moment before pulling back to look at Eddie's face.

For such a small kiss Eddie looks absolutely wrecked, his face is flushed, his eyes are blown wide, and his mouth is hanging open. Steve's eyes drop to Eddie's lips unconsciously and Eddie closes them with a swallow that makes his adam's apple bob tantalizingly.

"Eddie," Steve repeats and he inches forward so that his knees are pressed up against Eddie's thighs, his face hovering over Eddie's. "Tell me if I'm wrong, okay?"

And then he kisses Eddie.

He doesn't panic when Eddie doesn't kiss back immediately, Steve's kissed enough people to know that it takes a moment sometimes for your brain to catch up with your body.

He doesn't panic, but he does feel a huge rush of relief when Eddie does kiss back, sweet and deep and Steve feels like he could drown in it.

And when one of Eddie's hands comes up to cradle Steve's face while the other works its way into Steve's hair, it feels even better than Steve had imagined.

[theflyingfeeling]

hello if you thought that this stupid band going on a stupid devastating world-crushing well-deserved hiatus would stop me from writing the terrible tragic miserable galaxy-brain Olli/Allu infidelity AU... lol think again <3

this one is sort of an independent sequel to this ficlet and takes place after The Decision™ 🖤

~

When Aleksi got back from the Hilltop Forest cottage, the first thing he did was get out his drum set. 

It was dusty from having been untouched for months (or for years? Aleksi wasn’t sure anymore) and he suffered through multiple coughing fits while assembling it, but at last everything was in place. He spent another moment giving the cymbals a final polishing, a hint of a grin on his lips as he imagined Tommi’s voice scolding him for handling them so carelessly, then he sat on the stool that squeaked from the first touch since– yes, Aleksi still couldn’t remember since when exactly. Come to think of it, now that he was seated, alone in his studio, he tried and failed recalling the last time he had had time to just sit. 

So he sat. He sat, until voices started echoing in his head. They were the voices of his bandmates, of their management team from Century Media. Of Joonas crying silently in the woodshed. Of her saying hi and how was the meeting before Aleksi had rushed to the studio to avoid having to say out loud what they had agreed on at the cottage. 

Of Olli’s whisper by his ear, ordering him to stay quiet. 

When the voices got too loud, he started playing. 

And once he had started, he played for an entire week. 

He played, until the bang of the drums muted all these voices. He played to mute the suffocating silence behind all that noise. He played until it became almost too dark to see in the studio, with the curtains drawn and the midnight sun covered by a thick veil of clouds, so he lit one of his scented candles and resumed playing. He played and played and played, from breakfast until sunset, skipping dinners and ignoring text messages from upstairs, asking him to please come to bed already, and when he stopped at last, when he could no longer hear a single thought swirling in his head, he was left in silence, his hands aching and trembling, his breathing coming in short puffs. 

Something wet was spread on his cheeks. Sweat, he decided, and dried them off with the back of his palm. 

Then he set the drumsticks aside, took out his phone and texted Olli. 

I miss you already. 

The second he had sent it, he wanted to unsend it, because fuck if it didn’t sound ridiculous and desperate – both of which he was, of course, but he didn’t need Olli to know that. 

(As if Olli didn’t already, from the way Aleksi had begged for him to let him cum the last time they had been together.)

It was too late, though, because the second after the regret had hit him, the message was marked ‘seen’. Aleksi couldn’t pretend to be surprised, because that’s what he had gotten used to when texting with Olli. Sometimes he felt as if Olli was already typing his reply or calling him when Aleksi had barely lifted his thumb off the ‘send’ button. That was why it felt odd to see Olli was viewing his message but not writing back to him or to not feel the phone in his hand vibrate from an incoming call. 

No matter how hard he stared at the screen, there seemed to be no reaction from Olli. It was such a strange feeling, one that scared him to the depths of his soul. 

Is this what it’s going to be like from then on? Him in Oulu living his idyllic northern life in his idyllic northern home with her, and me down here in my desolate studio, missing him so much that I want to scream and rip my hair off? 

Suddenly it was getting too loud again in Aleksi’s head, so he grabbed the drumsticks and was all but ready to bang his longing away, right until he’d feel numb, and not just in his hands. He never got around to it, though; if he had started playing a second earlier, he wouldn’t have heard the quiet knock on the door interrupting his intentions. 

Which was an odd thing to hear in the first place, because no one ever knocked on his door. 

Joel never knocked, because he always just sent Aleksi a text informing him he had arrived and Aleksi would find him standing awkwardly behind his studio door. Niko never knocked, as he just stormed right in the studio to play Aleksi his new song ideas, not noticing (or caring) what he was interrupting, even if it was Aleksi about to slide his hand down his pants in a delusional daydream about a mutual friend of theirs. Joonas never knocked either; Aleksi usually learnt of his arrival from upstairs where he’d be playing with Rilla before coming down to greet Aleksi. 

She never knocked, because she never came to the studio. It was the one place that was his, only his in the house, from the walls he had painted himself, to the wobbly Ikea shelves he had assembled alone at two in the morning with a great deal of swearing and maybe even tears – although he wouldn’t admit it – to the shabby couch he had gotten from his mother when she had moved houses, to the polaroids that kept him company by his computer when he worked and which could have him travel back in time and space in the blink of an eye, to memories he would be treasuring until the very end of everything. 

(All of them had Olli as the main character.) 

And, well, Rilla never knocked, because she was just a little dog with no hands, so Aleksi was baffled as to who would be behind his studio door, at almost midnight on a Tuesday. During the four steps it took him to reach the door, Aleksi’s guesses on who he’d reveal when opening it ranged from an annoyed neighbour complaining about the noise, to the studio ghost his Twitch viewers kept joking about, asking to be left back in after having sneaked out when Aleksi had gone upstairs for some coffee, and somehow all of that seemed to make much more sense than what he did find behind the door.

He had not expected to find a familiar mop of curls and a pair of sad, grey eyes staring straight into his. 

“Hey,” Olli said. 

“Huh,” Aleksi replied, which was an accurate expression of how he was feeling. 

“I’m just… here are your shorts.” Olli was handing him a bundle of black fabric. 

“Huh,” Aleksi repeated, still bewildered about the latest turn of events. He looked at the alleged shorts in Olli’s hand, then at Olli, and again at the shorts. “You… did you come from Oulu just to give me these?” 

“Uhhh. Yeah.” Olli looked almost embarrassed now, his gaze having fallen to the garment he was holding, his chin lowered closer to his chest. 

“But… We’re gonna see each other next week. You could have given them to me at Provinssi.” 

As if there was something in Olli’s eye, he blinked rapidly while reaching towards Aleksi until he took the shorts from Olli’s hand. 

“I thought you’d maybe need them before that. They’ve promised a heatwave after midsummer.” 

Aleksi felt the worn fabric. It smelled different, of an unfamiliar conditioner. He wanted the garment out of his hands, but he didn’t want to seem rude; Olli had travelled all this way, seemingly to just give Aleksi back his stupid shorts, the ones he had seen Olli pack in his backpack (by accident or on purpose, Aleksi could only guess) the morning after they had made love for the last time and had said nothing of it (out of courtesy or on some twisted, selfish whim of his mind, Aleksi wasn’t sure). 

“Well. Thanks,” he said, and tried his best to sound grateful. Perhaps, if Olli had stolen a piece of his heart and taken it to Oulu with him, it was only fair that he at least returned his shorts. 

“Well,” Olli’s eyes wandered somewhere past Aleksi, now that he no longer had anything his hands to fix his eyes on, “guess I’ll get back, then.” 

“No,” Aleksi heard himself say, way before his useless brain could follow. “Don’t go.” 

Aleksi searched for Olli’s gaze, but when he finally found it, he regretted it immediately, for Olli’s eyes had welled with tears and his bottom lip was quivering. 

“Don’t go,” Aleksi echoed himself. By then he was prepared to repeat it over and over, would have gotten on his knees if that was what it would have taken to make Olli stay, now that he was there in front of him again, for him to touch and hold if Olli only would let him. 

Like he had, so many times before. 

Even though he maybe shouldn’t have, for both their sake.

(Aleksi was terrified he might not, ever again.) 

Olli stepped inside, the tips of their shoes touching. The sorrow in Olli’s eyes was going to drown Aleksi if he kept staring into it for too long, yet he couldn’t force himself to look anywhere else except into the depths of grey and blue. 

How could he ever? Whenever he looked into Olli’s eyes, he felt loved like he had never before. He felt safe, even when the world around him was changing and scared him to the bone. 

“I miss you already too,” Olli whispered. His voice was just as full of melancholy as his eyes. “Every day. Every second.” 

That was the reply Aleksi had been left hanging without just a moment earlier. That was the reassurance Aleksi needed to toss the shorts in his hands aside and pull Olli in, their hips and chests and lips crashing together. 

The heaviness inside Aleksi, the one he had tried to suffocate, gave room to hunger and yearning, to lust and urgency as they stumbled towards the couch, tangled in each other like vines. Olli let out small, soft whines with every kiss, as if he was in pain, and perhaps he was, although Aleksi hoped it was the kind of pain he himself was experiencing: pain of not having Olli close enough even though he was right there, in his arms, skin on bare skin once their shirts had flown off; pain of wanting someone you could not have, or rather, someone you did have but could not keep. 

He could never keep Olli, not the way he wanted to, not for as long as he needed to. Keeping him forever was out of question, and it was naive to even wish for it, but would even that have been enough? Keeping him for one more night was nothing like forever, but it was more than never at all, was it not?

Maybe one more night was their forever. 

Olli’s face was sombre, with his eyebrows straight lines and his lips only just parted, when Aleksi took off the rest of his clothes, never taking his eyes off Olli who lay on his back. Their eye contact was broken when Aleksi touched his lips on Olli’s exposed stomach and Olli closed his eyes, sighing out loud his satisfaction. The sighs grew louder the closer Aleksi got to Olli’s cock, so that when he finally took it in between his lips, Olli was full-on moaning – dangerously loud, but Aleksi had no intention to silence him. Olli moaning out of pleasure was the most beautiful sound Aleksi had ever heard, and if he was the cause of it, he would always do his everything to keep Olli going. 

Olli was perfect under his touch. Olli was perfect inside his mouth. Olli was perfect in all the ways Aleksi could imagine; so perfect and gorgeous and sexy that Aleksi could have come just from sucking him off, just from making Olli feel good, which he had had done, in fact, many times before, but tonight he was feeling a little more selfish. He could have rubbed himself off against the couch cushions while having Olli flood his mouth with his hot cum, but the heaviness that threatened to return to his chest had other ideas. 

He expected Olli to object when he gave the tip of Olli’s erection one last kiss before sitting up, but the man only looked up at him in silence with hooded, darkened eyes. Without a word exchanged, Olli spread his thighs as Aleksi positioned himself in between them and guided his own throbbing cock to Olli’s rim. Then Aleksi glanced at Olli, to wordlessly ask if he needed preparation, but instead of nodding or showing any hesitation, Olli took Aleksi by the back of his head and brought him in for another kiss. 

They kissed until Aleksi slid inside Olli, as slowly as he could so as to not hurt him without driving himself crazy with want. They kissed until the throbbing of Aleksi’s cock became unbearable and Olli urged him to do something about it with a roll of his hips, because of course Olli noticed when Aleksi was losing it. They kissed until Aleksi began moving, in and out of Olli, tears rising into both their eyes with every deep thrust. They kissed until Aleksi was fully fucking into Olli, no longer able to hold himself back. They kissed and kissed and kissed, soft and rough at the same time, loving and furious, blissful and heartbroken, until Aleksi felt Olli tighten around him and cry into his mouth, until Aleksi filled Olli with his seed and kept on rocking his hips until he was spent, until there was nothing left of him except what there’d always be left of him, even when he was too exhausted or fucked up to feel anything else: 

his love for Olli. His bottomless, hopeless, good-for-nothing love for Olli, which he would soon have nowhere to put, nowhere to waste on, nowhere to keep it safe until–

Until what? Until the stars would align and everything keeping them apart from each other would magically disappear with the northern wind? Until Olli would abandon his perfect life in Oulu and run back to him?

It was foolish, Aleksi knew, but it was his only hope. It was all he had left. 

Besides, is that not exactly what Olli had done tonight? Perhaps it wasn’t as foolish after all, Aleksi thought as they lay naked on his studio couch. There was still no room for words, despite Aleksi’s insufferable need to tell Olli how much he needed him and how much he was going to miss him, even if Olli wasn’t exactly going anywhere from his life. He wasn’t going anywhere, except for his home in Oulu, but somehow, suddenly, Oulu seemed farther than it had ever been. 

And Aleksi was scared it would only move farther away in time. 

Slowly, drifting them apart. 

There was no room for words, but there were two that Aleksi still couldn’t keep inside his mouth. 

“Don’t go.” 

Olli traced Aleksi’s arm with his fingertips. Aleksi wondered how long it would take for them to touch a bass again after Christmas. 

Or him, after this night. 

Still, Aleksi found great comfort in the touch and buried his head against Olli’s neck. The kiss he then felt on his forehead would have been enough of an answer already, but he didn’t mind hearing Olli’s words either. 

“I’m not going anywhere.”

[navnae]

You can’t tell me that Steve doesn’t like someone running their hands through his hair and his brain turn into complete mush. Eddie finds this out one day when their sitting on his couch in his trailer and Steve is laying his head on Eddie’s lap. Without much thought Eddie softly brush Steve’s hair with his fingers causing Steve to hum with every stroke of Eddie’s fingers. Eddie laughs to himself at how reactive Steve is to the touch.

“Do you like this?” Eddie asked. He already knew the answer but he wanted Steve to confirm it himself.

“Yeah.” Steve mumbled with his eyes closed and leaning into Eddie’s touch. It gave Steve butterflies when ever someone gave his hair attention and Eddie was so delicate with him that he almost forgot how to speak properly. Eddie smiled before continuing to take of every little strand on Steve’s head.

[klaissance]

walk with me here you guys ahem,

Keith and Lance finally have The TalkTM on a day like most others. The paladins go about their business on the castleship, Keith and Lance mostly doing their activities together as has become, without their really noticing, habit. Keith flips through the pages of one of Allura's Altean romance novels on one end of the couch, Lance plays a video game on the handheld console he and Pidge found at a thrift store the last time they'd stopped off at a space mall from the other end. At some point they wander to the kitchen and make Hunk's latest attempt at space popcorn. They throw the pieces at each other, trying to break their previous streak record of 106 popcorn-mouth-catches. When they run out, they pelt each other with kernels until they collapse on the kitchen floor, out of breath and laughing. They clean up their mess together. They train, talk team strategy, help Coran out with some cleaning. They visit Hunk and Pidge in the lion bay and are promptly kicked out for causing trouble (neither of them can seem to keep their hands to themselves, always touching pieces and parts and projects, and inevitably something falls over and Pidge is yelling and they're scrambling away, giggling as they run down the hall). The paladins eat dinner, everyone hangs out together for a while, and life in space is pretty good.

Lance and Keith are often the last two left in the lounge as people split off--either to go to bed or to work on something independently until the wee hours (Pidge). They're chatting, swapping stories, arguing about silly hypotheticals, until Lance yawns mid-sentence and Keith knows it's time for bed. They stand together and walk to their rooms in warm silence, close enough to brush shoulders, neither changing trajectory to avoid the contact. They stop in the space between their doors to say goodnight; this, too, is normal. They smile small smiles at each other and linger, time stretchy in the way it is at nighttime.

And then something new happens.

"Keith," Lance says slowly, like he's turning the word over in his mouth for the first time. "Would you ever want--"

Keith's heart stutters in his chest and the silence of the empty hallway is suddenly deafening. Lance only hesitates for a beat but it stretches.

"--to go on a space date," Lance finishes, brows unknitting as he seems to consider what just came out of his mouth. Finding it acceptable, he nods, then lifts his gaze from the floor to meet Keith's wide-eyed gaze. "With me," Lance adds, an afterthought but an important clarification nonetheless, quirking an eyebrow.

Keith purses his lips for a moment that pulls like taffy into an eternity and it's Lance's turn to hear the ocean roaring in his ears as he waits. "Would that make us--"

Lance can't breathe.

"--space boyfriends?" Keith finishes and the air rushes from Lance's lungs, something like relief. Keith is smiling his mischievous smile, the crooked one that puts a spark in his eyes. It is among Lance's favorite Keith expressions (there are many).

"Yeah, I guess we'd be space boyfriends," Lance concedes, biting down on his lower lip to keep his grin from spreading too far. He's not doing a very good job.

"Hm." Keith nods solemnly. "Space boyfriends it is, then."

"Cool," Lance concludes eloquently.

"Cool," Keith echoes, and then they're standing in ooey gooey marshmallow silence, grinning softly at each other for a long time or maybe no time at all. Keith feels very warm and melty on the inside. Lance thinks he could run a marathon and not break a sweat.

"Alrighty then, g'night Space Boyfriend," Lance breaks the silence with a two-fingered salute and shuffles backwards towards his door.

Keith rolls his eyes without meaning to, affection heating his face despite himself. "Goodnight, Lance." He turns towards his door, grinning to himself as Lance snorts. Their doors slide open, their doors slide shut.

***

Hours later, Lance slips out of bed, buzzing with the news, and appears, bouncing uncontrollably on his toes and biting on the biggest grin, at Hunk's door. Hunk is rubbing blearily at his half-lidded eyes when he door slides open and he takes in the sight of Lance, practically glowing. Hunk blinks once. Twice. Does a little mental math. And it hits him. His eyes go wide and his mouth makes a little o, eyebrows leaping up his forehead.

"No... No." And Lance is nodding vigorously, eyes shining with unshed happiness, and that bit lip is barely withholding the giggle that threatens to erupt from the vibrating blue paladin. Hunk scoops him into the biggest bear hug, shouting "TELL ME EVERYTHING RIGHT NO-" and the door slides shut behind them, Lance's peals of laughter ricocheting down the halls.

Keith is awake in his room, sitting on the floor with his back up against the door, pressing a grin so wide it hurts into his knees. He rolls his eyes affectionately when he hears Hunk's muffled delight and finally stands up to go to bed.