#is it casual now fic

[cocaineskarsgard]

is it casual now?

pt. 2: one of your girls

tw: self harm, blood play, blood drinking, basically roman fetishizing self harm. read at your own risk

pt. 1 linked here!

fic under the cut!

peter sat in the shower, the scalding hot water pouring down over him. his eyes red from crying, he had cried for a week straight, and felt as if no more tears could come from his eyes, yet, they still fell. staining his pillow. he hadn’t showered in a few days, the dishes piled in the sink, clothes covered the floor, empty beer bottles scattered around the trailer, shards of glass littering the kitchen floor. peter had gotten too drunk, throwing a few bottles around in a rage. he was tired of feeling the empty pain of roman’s rejection, of roman’s denial.

he stares at the small blade twirling between his fingertips. peter’s hands trembling as he holds the blade to his wrist, horizontally. he wasnt looking for an end, just any sort of feeling other than the permanent loneliness that plagued him. the empty feeling in his chest, the dulling pain of the bite mark on his neck. peter drags the blade across his wrist, not too deep. the skin splits, blood rushing to the surface to spill out down his arm. he winces as the hot water stings the fresh wound.

this is better than feeling unloved.

peter wrestled with his thoughts as the crimson ran down the drain, as the blade began to cut just a little bit deeper. he sat under the streaming water until it ran cold, his hair still unwashed. red stains the white towel he dries himself with, and it stings as it sticks to his skin. he needed the bleeding to stop, maybe he’d gone overboard this time, maybe it was just a little too deep. peter wraps the towel around his forearm and applies pressure, sitting on the edge of the tub. the cuts stopped bleeding after a few minutes.

he walks back to his bedroom, throwing on a pair of old gym shorts and a long sleeve shirt, laying on the bed, his phone still plugged in on the nightstand next to the bed. peter closed his eyes, he’d slept so much but he still couldn’t stop himself from dozing off again. he was tired, he was drained, he wanted to feel anything but the pain of roman leading him on. he remembers so many times before, where roman flirted with him, kissed him or even teased him, granted roman was drunk during those times but it still, made peters heart throb, and he couldn’t get enough. roman was a drug, and peter was a helpless addict, begging for the next hit.

peter was startled awake an hour later by his phone ringing loudly. he catches his breath, running a hand through his hair. he unplugs his phone, looking at it through half awake eyes. roman. his heart skips a beat as he answers.

“hey, roman…” he sighs. rubbing his eyes with his spare hand.

“you left your jacket here, do you want to come get it? it’s cold outside.”

“roman- that’s the only coat i have. and my car is still not working, you’d have to bring it to me.”

“i’d rather you come and get it.”

“i can’t-“

“jesus christ, peter- i just want you to come over… i’m lonely.” roman interrupts, begging.

“could you at least pick me up?” he yawns.

“yeah, i guess i can. i’ll be there in 15?”

peter’s left arm began to feel wet and hot again, and the sleeve began to stick as blood seeped through the cuts again.

“fuck-“ peter whispers. “can you make it 20?”

“i’m already in my car, dude, i’ve already left the driveway.”

“ah shit- okay. uh- my place is a fucking disaster so please don’t come insi-“

roman hung up. peter tossed his phone on the bed as he stands up, rushing back to the bathroom to grab his towel, applying pressure again. peter was panicking now, his breathing becoming erratic, his eyes filling with tears.

roman can’t see him like this.

the blood stopped again, and peter now had to change his shirt, as the other one was bloody now. he takes it off, dropping it on the floor as he went back to his room. the only thing he could find with sleeves was a flannel shirt, so it would have to do, he put a t-shirt on underneath it, and some jeans. he grabbed his phone and waited on the couch, rolling a few joints. peter pretends not to notice the blood staining his fingernails.

roman knocks on the door a few minutes later, peter opens it and goes to step outside. roman blocks him, his eyes scanning the mess of the trailer. peter sighs, trying to push him.

“cmon man move. let’s go.”

“damn, it really is like a tornado went through here. you wanna stay at my place tonight?” roman questions.

the word sat heavy in peter’s throat. he couldn’t bring himself to say anything, he just stared at roman, feeling swallowed whole by the emerald green of his eyes. he didn’t want roman to see this. he wanted to just pretend he was okay, and that he didn’t love roman, that they were just friends. because that’s what roman wanted them to be.

roman and his stupid fucking denial.

“peter? hello?” roman waves his hand in front of peter’s face.

“uh- yeah. let me just get my stuff..” peter turns around and slowly makes his way to his room. roman follows silently, his eyes scanning the trailer, the glass, the empty bottles, the dishes in the sink, the blood stained shirt. he tried to pull his eyes away from it, but he couldn’t. the smell of the fairly fresh blood flooding his nostrils, intoxicating.

“peter?”

“yeah?” peter calls from his room, throwing whatever clothes he can find in his bag, with a phone charger and his bong.

“what happened to this shirt out here?”

oh fuck

“i uh- was trying to clean up some of the glass out here and got a cut. it’s fine. don’t uh- don’t worry.” he lies.

roman doesn’t believe him, but he isn’t one to pry. he isn’t one to force information out of someone. peter comes out of his room, and into the bathroom. roman standing in the threshold, his eyes scanning again. he can’t help but notice the razor blade sat on the edge of the tub, dried blood caked on the corners, the bloody towel on the floor. but once again, roman doesn’t pry.

peter grabs his toothbrush, placing it in his bag. he turns around to see roman, staring at the towel on the floor. and his face feels hot. he starts to panic again.

god he knows. he’s going to think i’m so fucking stupid and pathetic for this…

“let’s uh- let’s get back to my place. we can order some indian takeout?” roman smiles, placing his hand on peter’s shoulder, flipping the light switch, leading him to his car. peter makes a brief stop to grab some more weed, and to lock the door. roman carries his bag, putting it in the backseat of the maserati. peter gets in the passenger seat, neglecting his seatbelt. roman seats himself in the drivers seat, looking at peter. he sighs softly as he notices peter’s lack of seat belt. roman leans over him, grabbing the seat belt and locking it in place. his fingertips brushing peter’s thigh. peter shivers. the hum of the engine soothing his anxiety, just a touch. he looks out the window, his head is turned, but he can still feel roman’s eyes on him periodically.

peter exits the car before roman, grabbing his bag from the backseat, and walking to the front door. standing in the same spot where he stood last week. before he fucked everything up. roman unlocks the door for him, and the two enter. peter sitting his bag down in the living room, grabbing out his bong. as he goes to fill it up, roman takes it from his hand, gently pushes his shoulder so he sits on the couch, and goes to the kitchen to fill the bong.

“roman, i’m perfectly capable of filling the bong for myself..” peter sighs.

“just- shut up and let me be nice to you!” roman groans. handing the bong back to peter.

peter takes it, his fingers brushing against roman’s. he takes time to pack his bowl, but he doesn’t light it just yet. reaching into his pocket, he pulls out the joints, he hands one to roman. roman places it between his lips, sitting on the couch next to peter, leaning forward for peter to light it for him.

roman inhales the smoke, the subtle burn in his lungs causing him to cough slightly. peter lights his own bowl, clearing the bong in just a few hits. the smoke falling from his lips, blown into roman’s face. the two smoke in silence, allowing the weed fo hit. then, roman looked at peter a certain way, and the two just broke. they laughed so hard, and over nothing at all.

“don’t say shit man- i’m about to call the restaurant. shhh!” roman shushes peter, who was now hunched over onto roman’s lap, still laughing. only this time it was over a video he remembered and showed roman just moments prior. roman orders the food, stifling his laughter the whole time. the two boys find a movie to watch as they wait, peter grabbing beers from the fridge. he hands roman his beer, and tucks himself back into the couch. they drink and smoke another joint, watching the movie on screen.

twenty minutes passed and the doorbell rings, startling peter. his hand instinctively grabbing roman’s thigh. roman flicks his eyes towards peter, gently removing his hand. he stands and grabs the food, handing the delivery man some cash and locking the door. peter grabs the bag of food from roman, just for roman to jump over the back of the couch to sit down.

peter unpacks the food, handing roman his lamb curry, taking the tikka masala for himself. out of habit, peter removes his flannel, forgetting for just a while what covered the inner flesh of his left forearm. luckily roman wasn’t paying much attention to peter at the moment. the two ate in silence, only the sounds of the screen filling the gap between them. they pretended not to notice the tension, the longing between them. peter couldn’t sit and understand why roman would lie to himself, why he would lie to peter? he knew that roman just didn’t want to admit the truth, he knew he was just afraid of what people would say.

“peter…” the silence broken by roman’s voice, slightly shaken. the remaining food sat on the table, in their containers still. roman’s eyes having caught a slight glimpse of the inner skin of peter’s forearm.

“yeah?” peter turns, laughing at the movie.

“what did you do..”

“what do you mean?”

peter forgot. he forgot the state of his arm, he forgot the scabbing and the aching pain of them every time the fabric brushed against it. because roman helped him forget. he helped him feel like he had some semblance of normalcy left, any ounce of sanity.

“you cut yourself didn’t you? it wasn’t from glass…”

peter looks down, blood had started to trickle down his arm again. the deeper ones just wouldn’t stay scabbed for long enough, and he had nothing to wrap them with. his face burned and he felt sick, he couldn’t breathe, he was hyperventilating. peter can’t move, he shakes as the tears stream down his cheeks, his hands white knuckled as he grips the couch cushion. he wanted to scream, his whole world was crashing down again.

roman grabs peter’s wrist, turning it over to expose the cuts completely. it wasn’t pretty, the cuts littered in various thicknesses, lengths, and depths. blood ran from the deepest one, and peter winced as roman applied gentle pressure, blood staining his hand.

“why would you do this to yourself?”

“roman- you know the answer to that just as well as i do.”

roman sighs, lifting peter’s arm, he hesitates for a moment before kissing peter’s palm, traveling up, across the cuts, the blood coating his lips. his tongue darting out for a brief moment to dip into the deepest cut. peter winces. roman’s tongue stinging his flesh.

“no, peter. i don’t know why you’d do this.” roman was sincere. his thumbs prodding at the cuts, one slipping into the deepest cut just slightly, the blood gushing down his wrist.

“i hate you! i hate you so much for making me fall in love with you. i hate you for needing me, i hate myself for needing you. i hate that we share dreams, i hate that you led me on and fucked me and you just- don’t seem to care! you really can’t fathom in that beautiful brain of yours why i’d be hurting myself?”

roman shakes his head, his eyes still on peter’s bleeding wrist. his cock growing under his pants. peter glares, holding back sobs.

“you don’t love me.” peter chokes out.

“i know.” roman replies, one hand reaching up to hold peter’s face, looking into the sea blue of peter’s eyes. his gaze apologetic, his thumb caressing peter’s cheek.

“you don’t love me and it hurts, roman. it hurts worse than any bite, any punch, any blade. it’s an inescapable loneliness that no matter how hard you try to push it away, it remains.” peter sniffs, his cheeks and nose flushed red.

roman watches him. one hand still cradling peters cut arm, his thumb gently running over the scabbed up lines.

“and you don’t understand what it’s like, because everyone loves you. you only call me when you’re desperate and lonely, like i’m one of your girls, who gets paid to fuck you. only my payment is one sided love, and you fetishizing the fact that i’m hurting myself over it.” he began to raise his voice more, ripping his arm from roman’s grasp. peter stands, his hands tangling in his own hair, gripping at the strands.

“fuck you, roman! you ruined my fucking life! if i never met you i wouldn’t be like this, if i didn’t love you i’d be okay! i hate you so much but i love you more than i hate you and i just can’t fucking rip myself away from you. you always call me back, like a fucking dog on a leash.” peter was yelling now, the tears hot as they streamed down his cheeks. he couldn’t back his words anymore, his brain wouldn’t let him process what he was saying before he said it.

“you can keep lying to me and to yourself about how you feel, but i know the truth. you’ve always been this way. you’re just afraid. afraid of what people will think. but you know what? it shouldn’t matter what anyone else thinks, only the people who love you.”

roman stands up, slowly walking toward peter. he gently grabs peter’s wrists and takes his hands out of his hair. peter shakes and his heart felt like shattering glass, piece by piece until there was nothing left. roman only had so much time to salvage this, before it was too late. roman wraps peter in a hug, his fingertips gently caressing his back. peter buries his face into roman’s shoulder, sobbing.

“i’m so sorry. i can’t fucking apologize enough, i can’t sit here beside myself and accept the fact that you’re hurting yourself because of me. i caused you so much pain. enough that you had to mutilate your fucking arm over it. i don’t know what’s wrong with me, i feel like i’m broken, peter. i can’t be loved. so therefore, i cannot love.” roman holds peter as close as possible, his own eyes welling with tears. he’d never said that out loud, never said that he couldn’t love.

“you can be loved because you are loved, roman. can’t you see, i love you! i love every single part of you and you can’t bring yourself to say it back! but you- you kiss me and fuck me and i-i let you drink my blood. and you still won’t say it?” peter looks up at roman now, seeing the tears well in those beautiful emerald eyes, pained him more.

“i’m sorry. i-i can’t say it because i don’t know what it means to love someone. i don’t. you saw the environment i grew up in, if i felt unloved, my mom would just give me money. so i started doing coke, because that was better than feeling like a fucking failure every single time my mother looked at me.” roman pauses, pulling peter to the couch to sit down again. his hand resting on peter’s thigh.

“sit down please- anyway- i had feelings for you, i believe, when we first met, i even mentioned it to letha at one point, and word got around to olivia, that her son was a fag. and she didn’t like that. so she made me pretend, she made me lie to myself so much that i just- fuck. i just cant go back to the way i was. i cant accept myself, because i’m not gay.”

peter huffs before roughly pressing his lips to roman’s. roman gasps into the kiss, his lips parting for peter’s tongue to slide into his mouth. roman didn’t fight for dominance, he just slowly kissed peter back, his hand squeezing peter’s thigh hard enough to bruise. peter pulls away, and roman whines softly.

“not gay, hm?” peter smirks, his hand slowly palming at roman’s cock straining against his pants.

“i-im not…” roman shivers. one hand covering his mouth, stifling soft whimpers. peter straddles roman’s lap, holding his face.

“you’re not convincing me much, pretty boy. you got so hard from me kissing you.” peter teases, grinding his hips against roman. roman leans his head back against the couch, his hands trailing peter’s body. peter kisses at the exposed skin of roman’s neck, sucking dark bruises onto his flesh.

“what does love feel like, peter?” roman mutters. peter pulls away from his neck, and gently holds his face.

“you know how you said that when you drink my blood, it makes you feel so high?” peter replies, his hips stilling. roman nods, trailing his hands up and down peter’s torso.

“it’s like that feeling but without the need to drink from me, you just feel so- so happy, and at peace, and that all your problems can just disappear because you’re with the one person who makes you feel like you’re normal. it makes your heart stop, and your brain not think straight because you’d do anything that person asked.”

roman stares, watching peter speak as peter held his face. he was melting under his touch, and he was desperate for more than the friction of peter grinding against him.

“i think i understand what you mean.“ roman hums, his eyes meeting peter’s again. peter smiles before giving roman a gentle kiss. roman threads his fingers in peter’s hair, tugging at the long brown locks, kissing him deeper. peters hips grinding against roman again, harder this time. desperate.

“mm- need to bite you-“ roman moans into the kiss, his teeth dragging across peter’s lower lip. peter whimpers, his cock throbbing beneath his jeans. roman slides his hands under peter’s shirt, trailing his fingers over his back.

“why should i let you?”

roman whines, kissing peter’s neck. peter smirks. roman helpless underneath him. he gently grabs roman’s chin, turning his head to the side. exposing his marked neck.

“maybe i should bite you?” peter taunts, laughing softly.

roman’s eyes widen, his cock twitches as his lips part in a begging sigh. the words caught in his throat.

“you want that? you want me to bite you and make you bleed?”

“please, mutt. please i-i need it.” roman stammers.

peter exhales, lowering his lips to roman’s neck. he licks and nips at the skin before roughly sinking his teeth into the flesh. roman moans and tenses underneath the wolf’s teeth. blood running from his neck. peter’s teeth sinking deeper, blood pooling in his mouth, he swallows. roman whimpers as his hips grind against peter needily. peter moans as he sucks the blood from roman’s veins, his blood giving him the same effect that roman says he gets from his. so high.

“fuck- oh fuck- i’m cumming, mutt!” roman gasps, his cock spilling out cum, the friction and the way peter was sucking blood from him so deliciously. he couldn’t help it, he couldn’t hold it back. peter rips his teeth from roman’s neck, licking his lips.

“you really came from that? i haven’t even touched you.. and you called me a pathetic whore.” peter teases.

roman nods, peters grasp on his wrists loosens. he picks peter up from his lap and pins him to the couch. peter gasps, grabbing onto roman’s shoulders.

“you really think that’s all i’ve got for you, mutt?” roman taunts, his lips hovering over peter’s neck.

“bite me- fuck please bite me!” peter whines, holding roman’s hips against his. roman grinds against him softly, licking the bite mark he had previously left.

“not yet.”

peter whimpers, roman’s hands sliding under his shirt, pulling it off him. his lips kissing gently all over peter neck and chest, further down until he reached his waist. he slowly takes peter’s jeans and boxers off. kissing his thighs and hip bones. roman slides the tip into his mouth, working his tongue around it. one of peter’s hands tugs at his hair, forcing more into roman’s mouth. peter thrusts into roman’s throat, softly at first, allowing roman to enjoy himself. then peter began to feel hatred towards him again, and how this wouldn’t mean anything to roman once again. roman looks up at peter through his lashes, peters gaze shifting from needy to hate.

“i can’t fucking believe this, i’m letting you suck me off, again? you’re enjoying it too. but you’re not gay? no no, the pretty, rich, upir whos allowed to lead people on can do whatever the fuck he wants with no fucking consequences. that’s what this is, yeah?” peter growls, fucking roman’s throat roughly, the poor upir could barely breathe. roman’s whimpers being gagged by peter’s cock. peter holds his cock deep in roman’s throat. he pulls out from his throat, still holding his hair.

roman looked so fucking good like this, his eyes glassy, his nose red, his lips swollen and slick with drool. peter moans softly at the sight.

“do you have anything to say for yourself, roman?” peter teases, his cock resting on roman’s cheek, leaving drops of pre on his pale, smooth skin.

roman stares at him, his heart beating just a little bit faster. peter is looking at roman with so much hate, yet for the first time, roman is looking at peter with so much love.

“is this what it feels like?”

peters gaze softens, his grip on roman’s hair loosens. roman looking at him fully now. and peter can see it, he can see the look in roman’s eyes, the longing for something more than just a fuck. for the first time, peter doesn’t feel like an object, he doesn’t feel used.

“is this what what feels like?” peter asks, softly.

“this feeling in my chest, i-i feel like there’s a bomb in my heart and i’m going to explode.” roman whines, he doesn’t know what the feeling of love is truly like for him.

“honey, i don’t know what you mean?”

roman blushes at the nickname. nuzzling his face into peter’s hip, one hand stroking peter’s cock.

“i feel like there’s a million ants running around the lining of my stomach like maggots are inside me, like things are crawling around. am i dying?” roman spoke quickly, panicked.

“no, no honey. i-“ peter pauses. sighing.

“i think you’re just experiencing a lot of feelings right now and your body doesn’t know how to react to it, so your heart is beating really fast and your nerves are feeling weird in your stomach. i promise, you’re alive.”

“no bugs?”

“no bugs.” peter smiles, holding roman’s face. roman returns the smile before licking a stripe up peter’s cock. peters head falls back against the couch, moaning. his grip tightening on roman’s hair again, guiding his mouth on his cock. drool pools in the corners of his mouth, roman gathers it with two fingers, prodding at peters hole.

“fuck- oh my god fuck-“ peter whines, his hips bucking into roman’s throat deeply. roman moans around his cock as he gently pushes the two fingers in. slowly he pulls them out, then back in. all the while he sucks at peter’s cock. peter whimpers and moans at the slow pace of roman stretching him. roman pulls off of peter’s cock, using his spare hand to stroke the tip.

“want you to cum in my mouth again.” roman begs, wrapping his lips around peter’s cock again. his fingers fucking into peter faster now. peter fucks roman’s throat, feral. he’s tugging at roman’s hair, growling, whining. roman slowly adds a third finger, peters cock twitches before cumming in roman’s mouth, roman takes peter’s cock deep into his throat, swallowing the cum as it spilled out. peter pulls roman’s mouth away from his sensitive cock, a small spurt of cum following after, landing on his stomach. roman swiftly licks it up, before slowly pulling his fingers out. peter whines.

“ride me?” roman smirks, taking his clothes off and sitting on the couch. peter smiles and nods, straddling roman again. roman gives him a deep kiss as he lines himself up. peter sinks down onto his cock, moaning loudly.

“fuck- that’s so good. i fucking love your cock.” peter purrs, leaning his head against roman’s shoulder. roman runs his fingers up and down peter’s back.

“you take it so fucking good, mutt.” roman moans, gently thrusting upward into peter. he grabs peter’s hair, pulling him away from his shoulder, turning his head to the side and sinks his fangs in. the same spot as he did last time. the blood flowed down his throat. an animalistic growl muffled by peter’s neck. peter wanted more, roman was being too gentle. roman fucked peter soft and slow as he drank, ripping his fangs out in the same manner peter had done to him. their eyes meet, both of them with blown pupils. so fucking high from you.

peter raises himself off of roman’s cock, not completely, just enough to have roman whimper. before ramming himself back down onto it. he rides him hard and fast, roman’s hands just holding his waist, allowing himself to be used.

“fuck i’m gonna cum again.” roman gasps, his cock throbbing inside peter. one of his hands reaching down to stroke peter’s cock as he fucks himself on roman’s.

“j-just keep stroking my cock i-i’m close.” peter whines, quickening his pace. roman’s hand matches the pace, focusing on the swollen tip. roman moans loudly, holding peter down on his cock as he cums, his cock twitching as it spurts inside him. his hand continues to stroke peter’s cock, until peter bucks his hips, cum spilling onto roman’s stomach and hands, and peter’s thighs. he collapses onto roman, his body shaking gently.

“you did so good for me, mutt. so fucking good.” roman sighs contentedly, kissing peter’s shoulder. he slowly raises peter off of his cock, wincing at the loss. he grabs his shirt from the floor and cleans the both of them. peter lays down on the couch, shivering from the lack of roman’s warmth.

“cold?”

peter nods, his teeth chattering as he shakes. roman stands, walks to the closet nearby and grabs a large comforter and a pillow, he hands them to peter and helps him cover up. he reaches into peter’s bag and plugs in his phone for him, as he could see that peter was dozing off.

“mutt?”

“hm?” peter hums, sleepily.

“can i sleep next to you on the couch?” roman asks, shyly. afraid if what he’d say.

“of course you can.” peter smiles, lifting the blanket for roman to crawl under next to him. roman wraps one arm around peter’s waist, kissing his forehead. the other gently stroking his hair in perfect silence until he heard the soft snores letting him know that peter was sleeping finally. he peppered gentle kisses onto peter’s neck and shoulder. gently holding his face and caressing it with his thumb.

“i could learn to love you, peter. i hope. because i can’t imagine myself with anytime except you, my love. my beautiful boy. my mutt. i’m sorry it took so long, i’m sorry i was so cruel. i could learn to love you, that i know.” roman whispers to peters sleeping body in front of him, he wraps his arms around peter completely, holding him as close as possible, falling asleep with peter in his arms.

give me a call if you ever get desperate, i’ll be like one of your girls.

[cocaineskarsgard]

part 2…. execute me

writing is so fun

[punkrockmlchael]

Casual

Masterlist | Eddie Munson Masterlist | Corroded Coffin Masterlist

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Fuckers to Lovers? (Both Eddie and Reader are 18+)

Warnings: 18+ mdni, Lowkey Cocky Eddie (around the boys), Mixed Signals from Eddie, Eddie has commitment issues, Starts off right with some smut, mentions of drug use, Possessive Eddie!, Smut with plot (kinda), Smut: Oral (Fem Receiving), Fingering, Cum eating, Sex in Eddie's Van, PinV, Riding Eddie in the front seat of his Van, Slight Choking, Dominant Eddie, afab reader

Synopsis: High School is a weird time, especially senior year. Everyone is thinking about college, plans after they graduate, and who they’re going to Prom with. You, however, are always thinking about Eddie Munson and whatever it is you two are. Friends with benefits? Lovers? No strings attached fuckers? Eddie tells all his friends that you two are just “casual,” but, if it’s casual then why does your favorite bra live in his dresser? And, why is he bragging about hitting it to the Hellfire boys when you’re not around?

Based off of the song Casual by Chappell Roan. Also, uh, I don't know anything about campaigns or dnd, please don't come for me. Also this is my first Eddie fic so enjoy!

Word Count: 3.1k

Knee deep in the passenger seat and you're eating me out

Is it casual now?

Two weeks and your mom invites me to her house in Long Beach

Is it casual now?

I know what you tell your friends

It's casual, if it's casual now

Then baby get me off again

If it's casual, it's casual now

"Jesus, fuck, Eddie," you moaned, closing your eyes as your fingers tangled into his hair. He groaned, looking up at you through his lashes. He hummed against you, licking up your folds again as you tugged on his hair harder.

"God, princess, I adore the way you say my name," he mumbled, placing soft kisses against your clit. "It really turns me on," he added before he sucked on your clit gently.

You sighed, resting your head back against the cool passenger window of his van. He repositioned himself gently, hoisting both of your thighs over his shoulders as he moved his tongue up and down your folds. His tongue darted in and out of your core, causing a sharp moan to escape your mouth.

"Eds," you whined, squeezing your thighs against his head tightly. He moaned again, his fingers squeezing your thighs as he looked up at you, continuing to eat you out like you were his favorite meal.

His tongue moved in and out of your core, while his nose pressed against your clit, drawing you closer and closer to the edge.

"Eddie, fuck," you whined, grinding against his face. "I'm gonna cum," you said, pulling his hair tighter. His grip around your thighs tightened, signaling that he had heard you, but he didn't stop. If anything, he just kept going.

He wanted to get you off.

He always wanted to get you off.

After all you were his... girlfriend?

Eddie licked one last stripe up your folds before he went back to sucking on your clit. He moved his dominant hand from your thigh, his slender fingers moving your slick around at your core. He pushed his pointer and middle finger inside of you, pumping them in and out before curling them inside of you.

"Eds," you moaned, grinding against his fingers. "Fuck, please," you whined. He pulled his head away and rested it against your thigh. You looked down at him, the moonlight from outside the van illuminating his face as he looked back at you with his signature smirk.

"Cum for me, princess," he said, leaving wet, sloppy kisses against your thighs. "Let me see what I do to you," he added, kissing his way back to your clit. He left sloppy kisses over your clit and continued to finger fuck you, relishing in the feeling of you clenching around his fingers.

You whined again, your head hitting the window behind you as you came undone on his fingers. You moaned loudly, grinding against his fingers as you rode out your high.

Eddie smirked, removing his fingers from your core, licking your juices off of them before he moved his head back between your thighs. He licked you clean, groaning at the taste of you on his tongue. He left a few more kisses on your thighs before he kissed back up your body, leaving hasty kisses on your lips.

"You taste so fucking good, princess. And, you're all mine," he added, kissing your lips again. You sighed into the kiss, still feeling the effects from your previous orgasm. He kissed down your jaw and to the left side of your neck, sucking and nibbling at the sensitive skin there. A groan left your lips as you moved your hand to his head, running your fingers through his hair as he kept kissing and nipping at your neck.

Your other hand ran down his chest and stomach, stopping over his clothed cock. You palmed him slightly through his jeans, a loud moan erupting from his mouth in your left ear.

“Fuck, princess, please,” he begged, moving his hips to grind against your hand. “Need to be inside of you, preferably with you on top,” he added, leaving more kisses along your jaw line.

You whined at his begs, fumbling your hands to undo his belt. He pulled away from you, sitting back in the driver’s seat of his van. He pushed his seat back all the way and undid his belt, tugging his jeans and boxers down just enough for his cock to spring free, twitching painfully as it leaked precum.

He fumbled in the glove box, pulling out a condom. He opened it quickly, throwing the wrapper behind him before he grabbed your hands gently, pulling you towards him.

“Come here, beautiful,” he mumbled, allowing you to get comfortable. With your knees on both sides of his thighs, he sighed, pumping his cock a couple of times before he teased your core with it. You sighed, slowing sinking down onto him with a squeak. Once he was fully in you, he moved his hands to your hips, helping to guide you up and down.

“Fuck, Eddie, god, you’re so big,” you babbled, moving to kiss his lips.

“God, you’re boosting my ego again, princess,” he groaned, kissing your lips roughly as he continued to move you up and down on his cock. “And I love it,” he added, resting his head back against the headrest.

“Yeah?” You asked, breathlessly as you kept bouncing on top of him. “You it when I tell you that? How you’re so good with your hands, and your mouth, and your, fuck, and your cock,” you mumbled, leaning down to kiss his neck. You kissed up and down his neck, biting the skin softly.

“Jesus, fuck, you’re going to make me cum if you keep talking like that,” Eddie sighed, twitching inside of you slightly.

You hummed against his neck, biting the skin harder. “Mhm, you should. Cum for me,” you said, “let me see what I can do to you,” you added, mocking him form earlier.

He groaned, squeezing your hips as he thrusted up into you, meeting your movements. After a couple of good thrusts he moaned loudly, releasing into the condom.

“Fuck, princess, god,” he groaned riding out his high. He moved his hand down to where your bodies met and rubbed tight circles on your clit, causing a high pitched moan to escape your lips.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you moaned, feeling your orgasm hit for the second time. Your bounces became sloppy as you clenched around him and released around him for a second time. You sighed, resting your forehead on his shoulder as you sunk back onto him, enjoying the feeling of him being inside of you.

Eddie ran his fingers up your back softly, leaving a couple soft kisses on your temple. You looked over at the clock, “fuck,” you mumbled, moving off of Eddie slowly. “Shit, Eds, it’s 10,” you sighed, quickly moving to the passenger seat as you slid your panties and jeans back on. “I have to get home.”

“Relax,” he sighed, slowly removing the condom. “You’ve never been late with me before, princess.”

You took your normal seat at the Hellfire lunch table, squeezing between Jeff and Gareth. Gareth looked up at you and smiled as he sipped on his Dr. Pepper while Jeff nodded a greeting in your direction.

“No, Eddie, I don’t see how that’s right,” Dustin argued, looking at the character sheet he was working on. “This would totally work!”

“Wrong, child,” Eddie replied, leaning back in his seat at the table. “That’s literally so wrong that it’s comical how you can’t see why it wouldn’t work.” He added, glancing down at the character sheet that was resting on the lunch table. "What do you think, hm?" Eddie asked, directing his attention towards you as you pushed the crappy cafeteria peas around on your lunch tray.

You looked up from your lunch tray, confused. "About?" You asked, searching for more context about the argument between the senior and freshman.

"Eddie thinks my new character design would totally flop in the next campaign," Dustin said, handing you the sheet of paper.

"That's because he's right," Mike piped up from beside he curly haired freshman.

"Mike, I swear to god," Dustin mumbled. "You helped me make this!" Dustin argued, turning to face Mike.

While the two freshmen kept arguing back and forth across the table from you, you glanced at the character sheet in greater detail. You ran your fingers through your hair, pulling it from the left side of your neck to the right side of your neck.

Jeff and Gareth moved closer to you, examining the paper in your hands. As you moved your hair to the opposite side of your neck, Gareth glanced up and caught sight of the three purple marks on the left side your neck. He stopped and slowly looked back at Eddie, who was wearing a smirk as his eyes also caught sight of the three purple marks.

The three hickies, to be specific.

The same three hickies that Eddie had left on your neck the night before. Gareth rolled his eyes at Eddie and looked back at the sheet, leaning closer to you as he examined it.

“You really think this will work, Dustin?” Jeff asked, looking up at the freshmen across the table from you.

“Yeah, man, I’m not so sure,” Gareth added, taking the paper from your hands gently.

You shrugged, peering over Gareth’s shoulder. “I think he has a really good base, he just needs to work on it slightly and tweak it.” You replied, looking up at Dustin. “Don’t let Eddie scare you, he just wants to get in your head."

Dustin looked up at you, also catching sight of the hickies on your neck. "You, uh, you really think so?" He asked, trying not to make it obvious that he was staring at your neck.

“Yeah, a couple tweaks here and there and you’ll be fine,” you nodded, reassuring him and you went back to your food.

All the boys at the table that had noticed the marks on your neck made eye contact with Eddie, who proceeded to sit there with this dumb smirk on his face.

A smirk that read: Yeah, I made those. Are you jealous?

You looked down at your watch and sighed, “shit, I have to go. I have to actually pretend I care about my school work.” You said, standing up from your seat. “Bye, guys. Dustin, I’ll try to help you with that character sheet later if you want,” you nodded before you grabbed your bag and lunch tray and were off in the direction of the school library.

Soon after you excused yourself from the table, Mike and Dustin followed; they both had excuses about needing to get to their next class early.

After most people had left, Gareth looked at Eddie and raised an eyebrow. “So, like, are you dating yet or what’s the deal here?”

“Yeah, how much longer do we just have to pretend that we know you’re fucking but have to hide it?” Jeff added.

“Relax. It’s just casual,” Eddie replied, shrugging as he munched on some pretzels from his lunch.

“Right,” Gareth nodded, looking in the direction you went. “Those were.. new, weren’t they?” He asked, redirecting his attention to Eddie.

“Hell yeah, man, last night.” Eddie bragged. “We drove to Lover’s Lake and had some fun.”

Gareth and Jeff rolled their eyes, exchanging a look with each other.

“Just causal?” Jeff asked, looking at Eddie.

“Yeah, strictly causal,” he replied, nodding with a smirk.

“Damn,” Gareth said, “you better hope no one asks her on a date, then.”

You knocked on the door of Eddie’s trailer, waiting for him to answer. When he finally answered the door he looked up at you and smirked, “well, hello there, wasn’t expecting you to come over tonight,” he said, leaning against the door with a smirk. "Not that I'm complaining at all."

“Hey, Eds,” you smiled, looking at him. “Can I come in? I think I left my bra here the last time we uh, smoked,” you said, lying.

“Oh, but of course, princess,” he said, stepping to the side. He allowed you in and you walked into his room, going towards his dresser.

He followed after you, watching as you moved around his room. “What do you need this bra for? I was enjoying having it in my collection,” he smirked, walking towards you.

You hummed, picking it up. “It’s my favorite and I have a date tonight,” you said, shrugging. Eddie stopped behind you, looking at you.

“A date?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. “With who?” He asked, getting defensive. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked at you, demanding an answer.

“Andy,” you replied. “I needed my favorite push up bra to help show off the goods. Thanks!” You said, walking past him. He grabbed your arm and stopped you, pulling you back towards him gently.

“With Andy? But, what about us?” He asked, looking at you.

You shrugged, “we’re causal,” you said, the word coming off as bitter. “I mean, that’s what you’re telling all the guys, right? So, I might as well try to find a guy that wants commitment and wants to be exclusive.”

He stopped, looking at you. “Come on, princess, that doesn’t mean you have to go on a date with Andy,” he argued, the grip on your arm tightening.

“You’re right,” you said, “but, maybe I want something that’s more than just casual.” You added, looking up at Eddie. “Maybe I want to feel like I’m a person instead of a fuck toy.” You took a step away from him and began to walk back towards the front door. “Clearly, we don’t see this, whatever it is, going the same place… so why continue to do this?” You asked, looking up at Eddie.

"Why not continue to do it?" He asked, stepping towards you again as he towered over you.

You looked up at him and shrugged, "I want a boyfriend, not a fuck buddy. I want commitment. And, it seems like you don't care about me," you replied.

"You don't seem to complain about commitment when I'm getting you off," Eddie smirked, looking at you. "Besides, you're mine, you can't just go off to another guy."

"I'm yours?" You asked, raising an eyebrow. "I don't recall ever being asked to be yours." You shrugged.

Eddie groaned, wrapping his arms around your waist as he pulled you flush to his body. "I didn't have to ask," he growled, leaning in closer to you. "You're mine," he repeated, kissing your lips roughly.

You groaned into the kiss, kissing him back as you wrapped your arms around his neck, dropping the bra to the ground. He pushed you down on the bed, pinning you down without breaking the kiss. He pulled away from the kiss and kissed up and down you're neck.

"You're mine, all of you. You belong to me." He groaned, squeezing your ass as he continued to kiss up and down your neck. "Now, say it," he mumbled, grinding his hips into yours.

"I'm yours," you mumbled, groaning at the feeling of his hips against yours. You closed your eyes gently and bucked your hips up against his.

"Louder," he said, pulling away from your neck. He wrapped his hand around your neck gently, forcing you to look at him. "Say it louder." He growled.

You opened your eyes, looking up at him, "I'm yours," you replied, struggling to catch your breath as he squeezed his hand around your neck a bit harder, the cool rings on his fingers pressing against the sensitive skin of your neck. "I'm yours," you breathed out louder.

"Good girl," he said, releasing his grip around your neck. "Now, shut up, stop talking back to me and let me make you feel good, princess," he said, yanking your pants and panties down.

You sighed, laying back on the bed as Eddie threw your pants and panties back behind him. He hoisted your thighs up over his shoulders and licked up and down your folds, causing a small moan to escape your lips.

“You’re mine,” he said, licking up and down your folds again. He squeezed your thighs gently, looking up at you as he placed soft kisses against your clit.

“I’m the only one that is allowed to do this, to have you, to make you feel good,” he said between kisses against your clit. "I'm the only one that gets to taste you," he added, sucking on your clit roughly.

You groaned, looking down at him as you moved your hand to his hair, pushing his head down. You tugged on his shaggy hair, moving your hips against his face.

He groaned against you, looking up at you as he moved his tongue to your core, thrusting it in and out of you. He caught your eyes, pulling you closer to him, eating you desperately.

Eddie's fingers dug into the plush skin of your thighs, creating subtle bruises from his nails and the rings that were scattered across his digits. You moaned at the feeling, throwing your head back against the pillow as you continued to grind against his face.

"Fuck, Eddie," you sighed, moaning so loud you swore the neighbors in his trailer park heard. And if they did? Well, he didn't care. He wanted people to know you were his. "God, fuck, I'm yours," you moaned out. "I'm yours and you're mine. No one else is allowed to do this. Allowed to have me. Allowed to make me feel so good. No one, fuck, no one else can taste me," you babbled on, feeling your high begin to build. "Only you, only your tongue, only your fingers, only your cock," you continued, moaning loudly as you clenched around nothing, releasing on his tongue and face.

Eddie groaned at your words, licking your juices up as he looked up at you. Once he was finished, he left kisses on your thighs, resting his head on your lower stomach.

"Fine, okay." He said softly, looking up at you. "Truth is, I'm terrified of commitment, but, I also don't want to lose you. I do care about you, and I do want to be with you. So, I guess, will you... be my girlfriend?" He asked, you looked down at him and smiled softly, running your fingers through his hair softly.

"Yeah," you said softly, smiling at him as you pulled him up to kiss his face. You left a soft kiss on his lips. "I'll be your girlfriend."

[amarriageoftrueminds]

cannot stop thinking about an AU where Bucky gets the same treatment as Steve (ie. serumed and vitarayed.)

So he shoots up to 6' 8" or something ridiculous and is built like a brick shithouse. To everyone else he's almost Too Big, but to Steve it's just like being small again while Bucky is ...Large, and Steve is permanently flustered about it. 😳🥺

[cocaineskarsgard]

me and peter at the end of ch 1 and beginning of ch 2

Me and the blorbo both pretending we're okay after what I just fucking did to them

[nyxi-pixie]

guys look away im in the skk trenches again but does anyone else think about how big a thing physical intimacy Should be between them. skin on skin between a guy who always keeps his hands gloved, who is constantly aware of keeping his implanted strength in check, and a guy who wears bandages like they're a second skin, and is convinced everything he's close to and wants is something he's doomed to lose. but they are constantly shown to be physically close even from the first days of knowing each other dazais ruffling his hair and chuuya is staying his firing arm with his bare hands and its casual and constant and close in spite of everything and and and. augh.

[parkrows]

if i ever see you reference stephcass as sisters and i go onto your profile to find even a whiff of wfa im killing you with hammers

[zarnzarn]

The doors to Olympus are sturdy and strong, given everyone's preferences for drama and slamming said doors open and sending them cracking into the wall whenever the opportunity arises. Which is why it's a surprise when they creak open during the once-a-decade pantheon meeting; less so because no entity worth their salt would take so long to open the doors, and more so because everyone who is anyone is already there.

But if everyone is being honest with themselves- which no one is, usually- these gatherings are boring enough that the bland conversation is dropped immediately in favour of craning their necks to catch a glimpse of whatever is coming to relieve them of their boredom.

When the doors finally open however, several of the pantheon murmur in surprise.

"Odysseus," Athena whispers, wide-eyed as she pushes herself off her throne to her feet. It is him- in the king's garb he was buried in but the face he has when he reached home, hair till the shoulders and speckled with grey, face oddly blank. His feet are transparent.

"What are you doing here, sceptre?" Poseidon booms, hair the color of a stormy sea. Zeus, beside him, looks reserved, observing the ghost with something approaching curiosity- eyes flicking to the lightning scars on his daughter's face and back. "Your time has long passed, and Hades-"

"It is a temporary agreement," Odysseus says curtly, barely sparing him a glance as he approaches his patron. "Athena."

Her armour clinks as she steps forward and the gods all twitch, trading glances. Owls are silent creatures- to have her aspect so affected to make noise was... uneasy to say the least. She even holds herself different than usual, something like confused delight shining in her eyes. "How did you-"

"Did you sleep with my wife?"

The throne room is silent. Several jaws drop.

Athena straightens back up, blinking in surprise. She looks a bit shifty, some of the nymphs closest whisper to each other, which- well, almost every single god present owed some part of their existence to the mere story of Odysseus loving his wife.

Would he fight his own patron goddess over it in front of Mount Olympus, though? He certainly was unbalanced enough; Athena herself looked rather uncertain of her odds, even though-

"Are you addled in death, King of Ithaka?" Artemis drawls, looking amused. "Did you forget that your own patron is celibate? Whatever rumor you-"

"No, I-" Athena says suddenly, shifting her spear to her other hand. "I did."

Artemis chokes on her breath and several assorted divine beings gasp in shock and the rest shouting for explanations, although everyone is nearly drowned out by Aphrodite's loud, "WHAT?"

Odysseus inhales sharply and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I cannot believe you."

"She asked-" Athena starts, only to be drowned out by the din of various beings screeching and shouting about the scandal.

"ATHENA!" Hera hisses, peacock tail fanning behind her sharply as she pushes herself up. "Explain yourself!"

Athena half-turns to face her, face creased in a frown. "Mother, I-"

"LET ME REPHRASE!" Odysseus cuts in loudly, and the shouting settles down into silence. He walks to his patron, eyes blazing. "I cannot believe," he throws his clenched fists wide as he growls the last word, "-you took Penelope to bed-" Athena surprisingly stays still as he reaches her, mouth falling open as he grabs her by the chiton to yank her down, uncaring of the gasps of horror from all around as he snarls, "-before you ever kissed me."

And then Odysseus grabs Athena by the face roughly and kisses her.

This time Aphrodite's shriek cannot be escaped by anyone.

"Aphrodite, please," Zeus says a few moments later, wincing as his throne reforms around him, stained oddly pink. Quite a few minor entities have discorporated, and the ones nearest to her are still trying to regenerate their hearing. "Control yourself."

Their eyes land back on where Athena has dropped her spear- dropped her spear, Ares in the corner seems to be having some minor hysteria over this, well warranted- and is also on the floor, still being thoroughly kissed by that insufferable, mannerless hero of hers, perched on her stomach to reach. Zeus inhales in fury, Poseidon close behind him as the shock wears off, lightning crackling around his fingers as he opens his mouth to shout- of all the indignities-

"If you two ruin this for me," Aphrodite thunders, warping in front of them and glaring. "I will make you both regret it."

Both gods visibly blanch at the threat, taken aback for one brief moment. Threats from Aphrodite are far worse than any of her more violent siblings, at the end of the day.

Zeus visibly gathers himself just as Athena's helmet clatters to the floor, and he gains a second wind immediately, eye twitching as he spreads a hand to the spectacle in the middle of the hall. "WHAT MANNER OF DISRESPECT IS THIS? TO BARGE INTO OUR MEETING AND THROW ONE OF THE OLDEST GODDESSES TO THE FLOOR LIKE A COMMON WENCH-"

"Zeus," Hera says quietly. Everyone falls silent, although it's not quite enough to stop the two tangled together on the ground. She clears her throat, which finally seems to get through to Athena, who had finally seemed to have gotten over her shock enough to reach out, hands hovering over Odysseus hesitantly. Still, at the noise she seems to remember herself, pushing herself up on an elbow and dislodging him enough to break their necking. He pouts at her, but Athena's eyes are too glazed over to notice, heaving for breath.

Hera opens her mouth to speak, crown manifesting on her brow as she steps in front of the throne, but closes it as the door rattles again.

This time, the spectre shimmers with a faint hint of scales that comes with a freshwater nymph's heritage and excited whispers starved for drama explode across the room as the Queen of Ithaka steps into the room, skirts hitched in her hand and panting as if she'd been running.

"Your Graces," She bows respectfully before entering, Spartan princess through and through, until she catches sight of her husband and Athena, the former of whom seems to have taken the opportunity to start kissing the wisdom goddess again, fingers in her curls.

"What are you doing?" She snaps, rushing over. The entire courtroom holds its breath. She slaps her husband upside the head, making him yelp and move back to shoot her a betrayed look. Athena looks even further dazed than before, cheeks red. "Argos has more manners than you! No wonder Lady Athena wanted nothing to do with you- ah, hello, darling, by the way."

"Penelope," Athena murmurs hoarsely, and the Queen of Ithaka leans down to kiss her as well.

Odysseus chuckles, then jumps with everyone else as Hera slams a hand down on the throne elegantly, cracking it to the base.

"Ah, goddess-" He says, clambering off Athena to bow.

"Silence," Hera interrupts, holding up a hand, eyes cold. "You will not say anything to me apart from an explanation. My agreement for your release from Ogygia was due to the assurance that your marriage was one of the truest I have ever witnessed, conveyed by Athena herself when bartered with all of us to let you go. Tell me, was it a ploy? Because from the disgraceful looks of it, this seems to not be the case in the slightest."

Odysseus frowns, face twisting in confusion. "Athena bartered with...?" He turns to look at his patron, who stares back, unspeaking. His eyes flicker to the lightning scar over her right eye as Penelope traces it with horrified eyes and a gentle thumb, and understanding seems to dawn.

For a moment, rage seems to fill him, glaring with a hatred towards Zeus that everyone whispered later wasn't met by the god king with anger, but a flicker of remorse- before he visibly throws it away behind Athena's old smile and bows.

"God-queen," He says formally, gracefully. Hera twitches a bit, and they'll all talk later about how odd it was to so clearly see Athena's younger mannerisms in the man, down to the curl of the letters. "My marriage to Penelope has never been false, never been broken, this I promise you." He takes Penelope's hand and squeezes it for emphasis, and she raises them as acknowledgement. "But... can you not argue that Athena has been part of our marriage all this time? From its start, where she advised me on courting and her on what to look for, to the twenty years she spent with both of us- me on the battlefield and Penelope in the court; to say nothing of how she helped raise our son and lived in our palace in the days after. And is she not so unbearably beautiful that even my Penelope couldn't wait-" He shoots a glare at her, which Penelope returns with a smile. "-when the chance was presented? How can you fault us for disgrace, after being so long apart from our wife?"

Hera raises both eyebrows at the impudence, the kind of disbelieving expression that hides a warning to tread carefully. "So you claim to be both married to Pallas Athena?"

"In every way that matters except legality," Odysseus says, fearlessly. He is dead, after all, what much can you do to a shade that they didn't already put him through when alive. He is sort of worried about Athena, though, as they both help her back to her feet, Penelope busy whispering compliments and updates and endearments in turn- she's not usually one to be quiet in face of a problem.

Hera tilts her head. "Ah, but you see. I need the legality, if I am to finally-" A helpless, excited smile pulls at her lips once, twice, before unfolding into a bright grin, peacock tails unfolding to their full wingspan. "-finally arrange for a marriage for my eldest daughter who has not once- oh finally, I can hardly believe this day has come-"

"I do not like the way you grabbed her, Sacker of Troy," Ares steps forward as Hera starts ranting half to herself, half to an equally loud assemblage of joyful entities about wedding arrangements, eyes narrowed.

Odysseus barks an incredulous, loud laugh, gesturing to Athena with a slightly crazed look in his eyes. "This lady has broken- and I do not exaggerate- every single bone in my body before I saw my sixteenth year. I have punched her a hundred times in the face when she taught me how to fight. We'll survive, thanks."

"That is fair," Ares steps back, hands raised.

"What duties will you provide as spouses, Ithakan Queen?" Hestia questions, stepping forward.

"Oh, the same we did when we were living," Penelope huffs a laugh. "Keep her busy, make her laugh, be of mild frustration to her, love her well, worship her-"

"I do not. Need to know," Hestia closes her eyes and raises a hand to cut her off, stepping back. Around them, the din catches speed and volume as no further objections arise, excitement spilling into the air.

"What is happening?" Athena says faintly, looking around as if she was just waking up.

"-oh, and we can get out the decor once more! Hebe, Aphrodite, loves, do you remember where we kept the fountains-"

"-finally, a reason to celebrate! Call them all out of hiding-"

"-can't believe this is finally happening, oh sister, what songs should we-

"Why am I getting married," Athena says with much more alarm and horror. She turns to Odysseus and shakes him by the shoulder, eyes wild. "What did you do?"

"Nothing!"

"How is this nothing? Do you have any idea the headache-"

"Athena, sweetheart, will you consider changing into that beautiful piece you made for the ceremony?"

Creakily, she turns her head to Hera, disbelief pasted across her face. "Mother," She says slowly. "They are both dead."

"Oh, I'll make a deal with Hades or something, you hush!" Aphrodite leans forward and snaps, before her irritation melts back into a manic joy. "Oh, what paint shall we do?"

Paint, Athena mouths, looking afraid for possibly the first time since her conception.

Penelope laughs and tugs on Athena's hand to make her turn, tucking dishevelled curls behind her ear. She wonders if the goddess knows how beautiful she is when she's flustered. "Take us away," She whispers. On Athena's other side, Odysseus leans against their patron with a besotted, helpless smile as he stares up at her, her helmet and spear in hand. She'd missed Athena like a limb, missed her deep laugh at night when they'd discussed the day's court, the dry jokes, the hands over hers as she weaved- but Odysseus wasn't himself without her, happy though they were in Hades' lands together, all of them.

"I'm-" Athena wavers, then looks around once more at all the excited screaming, something unreadable flashing in her eyes. Almost against her will, her eyes fall to Zeus, who is sitting silently and staring back at her. Poseidon looks like he still wants to start a fight, but clearly by his wary looks below can tell he will be heavily outnumbered by the overexcited crowd to not try, but Zeus just stares back at her, face blank of any emotion.

"We ask you formally this time," King Odysseus says, walking in front of her to take her attention away, holding onto her hand. His voice has strength in it, drawing the eyes of the murmuring crowd, but he's deaf to it as he stares up at her.

"Will you be our wife?" Queen Penelope asks, joining him, watching their beautiful patron shudder for breath she does not need as her eyes flick to one of them and then the other.

"Yes," She whispers and cheers erupt all across Mount Olympus.

"Finally!" Odysseus complains, and then pulls her down once more to kiss her, all three of them fading at the edges as one of the generous gods present there- who seems to realize that they're not very inclined to stop anytime soon- thankfully teleports them away into a nice room with a large bed.

"Finally," He whispers as he breaks apart to lay her down, cupping her face, voice heavy with the longing of a full lifetime and more. Penelope circles to the head of the bed and starts undoing Athena's braid, staring at them both lovingly.

Later the ones closest will murmur, as the silhouettes faded away, that tears had slipped from proud Pallas Athena's eyes as she placed one hand against Odysseus' cheek, trembling.

"I missed you," She will whisper back, and all three of them fade away to their own story, yet to be made.

[s0fter-sin]

nik finding out ghost’s father is still alive

he teases out personal information from him over years of careful dedication; always knowing when to back off, always knowing when ghost needs him to push just that little more so he can free himself of his own memories

it’s not always important; sometimes it’s little things like preferring full fat milk for his tea or that he enjoys morning runs with his back to the sunrise. that he prefers to sit in an armchair than a couch and he hates the feel of cotton balls but endures it anyway

it takes a while before he gets to the deep things. the tragic things. broken plates. snake infested beds. dead prostitutes in toilet stalls

all with one man at the centre of them

ghost isn’t shy about his opinion of his old man; he knew he was a cowardly, addicted bastard who stood up for what he believed in only so long as the person he was standing against was weaker than him. he tells nik how close he came to killing him one night when he found him passed out on the couch; foaming spit and vomit all around him. he tells him how much he wished he knew then what he knows now; how he could’ve killed him with a toothpick if he just learned earlier

and he tells him that even unconscious, even when grew bigger than him, when he was stronger than him, ghost was still too afraid of him to try

he tells him around a shared cigarette that he got the call about his cancer just after he enlisted; how bitter he felt that he wouldn’t be around to watch him suffer and wither away. and it’s with a sour laugh that he tells him it was a few years after his first deployment that he got the call that he was in remission

“bastard couldn’t even give me that much,” he scoffs and stares at the smouldering butt long enough that nik takes it from him before he can snuff it out on his skin. “know the funny part of all this? i’ve killed hundreds of men. i know how to use more weapons than i can count- i’m the fuckin’ ghost…

“and i’m still fuckin’ scared of him.”

silence falls and nik sits in it; in the cruelty and discomfort of a man’s fear. he thinks of an old wooden home with its little chapel at the end of the yard. he thinks of silent dinner tables and repeated prayers over the crack of a belt. he thinks of the weight of a bible clutched in his hands and how it never eased the heat of his blood dripping down his back

he thinks and lights another cigarette and pretends ghost’s hand isn’t shaking when he offers it to him. because that’s all he can do

for now

-

months pass and nik does ghost a favour by acting like he’s forgotten their conversation on the roof despite them both knowing it’s bullshit. you don’t just forget sharing something like that; the shame of admitting and the hatred of knowing are too strong for something as merciful as forgetting

but they don’t talk about it again

months pass, missions blur together except for the ones that really don’t and it’s been a while since nik was in country when he slides up beside ghost as he oversees recruit training

he doesn’t say anything; just lets ghost feel his presence, conveniently from behind so he can slip something in his hands held behind his back before he steps up beside him. they watch the repetitive drills and the repetitive mistakes until ghost barks at them to fuck off or he’ll make them run until they puke then make them keep running

he waits for the last of them to huff and puff their way to the showers before bringing his hands to the front and unfolding the paper nik gave him

he doesn’t get past the first line before he stills

ghost forces his head to turn, eyes reluctantly dragging away from the paper to nik who stands waiting expectantly

“a gift,” nik says simply. “it does not bode well to have a haunted ghost, yes?”

he doesn’t let himself deflate the way his body wants; he keeps his back straight and shoulders wide and lets out a carefully controlled breath. “it last long?”

“oh yes,” he nods with a wide smile. “hell received quite a few pieces.”

ghost nods back and looks down at the paper in his hand, refusing to acknowledge the fine shake running through it. it isn’t enough to blur the cutout from a manchester local newspaper and reading it again makes his knees weak with 30 year old relief

missing: norman riley

[poseidons-getting-milk]

“Casual” by Chappel Roan except it’s klance and Keith is“knee deep in the passenger seat” of a lion.

[velveteen-vampire]

i started writing a tuggoff fic!! you can find it here! it is definitely the best + most involved thing ive written so far and you should all read the first chapter because i worked hard on it

[luxaofhesperides]

Ghostlights where Phantom saves Duke or the Signal, and a week later (at a Wayne gala or some other place) Duke recognizes the light/aura coming from Danny

Putting off gala prep was perhaps not the best plan. Duke spent the past month insisting that everything is fine and he has it under control. Duke is also a lying liar who lies, and now he’s frantically trying to pick up his suit in time to get it dry cleaned and altered as necessary. 

Alfred would be disappointed in him, but in Duke’s defense, he had to go out of town on a mission to bust a growing drug cartel, and then spent half a week visiting a shelter for metas on the run (unofficial and hidden away) to help everyone find new homes and learn to control their powers. These things take time!

Unfortunately, gala prep also takes time, and since it’s a charity gala for funding the education of every Gothamite student, it’s not one he can slip out of. The entire family is being strong-armed into attending and not making a scene until the donation period in the first half is over. 

Duke knows he’s not the only one who’s scrambling to get ready for a gala that’s taking place in three days, but they’re not helping him, so it feels like he’s the only one messing up. 

“Sorry!” he calls behind him as he sprints through a group of people. 

He could have asked someone to drive him, but he knows they’re all busy and doesn’t want his own poor time management to cause problems for anyone else. Even though he’s sure Bruce is looking for an excuse to get out of a mandatory Wayne Enterprises board meeting that both Lucius and Tim dragged him to.

RIP Bruce. He will be missed.

The Diamond District is full of people walking the streets, sprinting between parked cars and waiting for their rides. They’re all dressed nicely, making him feel out of place. It’s a feeling that’s never left him since he joined the Waynes but it’s particularly bad when he’s left to navigate these spaces alone. Rich people and socialites are a different kind of human, one that Duke doesn’t care to understand; there’s greed in all of them, turning them heartless, and they can give as much as they want to charity but it won’t change the fact that all they do is a performance to make people like them, rather than a desire to do anything good. 

The sooner this is over, the better. He keeps going, hoping that he can still make it to his appointment with the tailor. Alfred recommended the store, then set up the appointment, so all Duke has to do is trust their judgment as they get him fitted. He’s still got twenty minutes until the scheduled time, but some unspoken rule makes it so he has to show up fifteen minutes early for better service or risk being turned away and told to reschedule. 

Duke slows to a walk when he catches sight of the store, the trying to catch his breath and look more composed before he reaches the door. He takes a moment to straighten his clothes a bit, then opens the door and steps in.

The bell jingles pleasantly above his head. The store is empty of any other customers, and the employee at the front counter looks up with a plastered on smile. 

“I’ll be with you in a moment!” she says, then looks down at her phone and types something out before placing it under the counter. A tablet comes out instead and she swipes through a few screens, then sets it down and look at Duke again. “How can I help you, sir?”

“I have an appointment? For a suit fitting. Under the name Thomas.”

She taps on the screen for a minute, then nods and gives him another customer service smile. “Alright, I’ll go ahead and grab the tailor. They’ll be out with your suit soon. Please, feel free to take a seat or browse some of our suits. We just recently got a new collection in from Italy.”

“Sure, thanks. I’ll just… be here, I guess.”

The employee takes her tablet and disappears through a door, leaving him alone in the store. He doesn’t want to sit down, not while his heart is still trying to settle from his sprint through half of Diamond District, so Duke wanders around the neat stacks of dress shirts and vests, pants and belts and shoes lined up neatly against the walls. 

He takes a moment to shoot Alfred a text that he’s at the tailor for his fitting appointment. Steph’s sent him a long string of videos online, and he’s just about to go through them when the bell rings again. 

Duke glances up and watches a guy walk into the store. He looks around, makes eye contact with Duke, then quickly looks down, taking a seat by the door.

Probably another upper class citizen uncomfortable with the fact that someone in jeans and a hoodie is shopping for suits. Shaking his head lightly, Duke wanders deeper into the store to get some distance between them so they could ignore each other more easily. It’s only until the tailor comes out, and then he can go to a fitting room and be done with this whole thing, so Duke resigns himself to suffering through the tense silence. 

How long is he even supposed to wait? He can only look at clothes in one of three colors before he gets bored. 

He goes to another rack, trying to see if he can notice anything different about these shirts. 

And then he hears a shoe scuff against the floor behind him. He tenses up, but before he can turn around, a belt is wound around his throat, pulling him back and choking him. 

Duke drops his weight, tucking his chin and gets a hand against the inside of the belt to try to push it away. His back hits someone’s chest and he’s trapped, focused on trying not to be choked to death while also keeping his vigilante abilities and meta powers secret. 

More footsteps come from behind, and a soaked cloth is pressed against his nose and mouth.

Chloroform, he realizes, familiar with the smell from Bruce’s training. But training isn’t enough to keep him from being knocked out, and he quickly slips away from the waking world, falling to the ground. 

Just before he passes out completely, he hears the employee who greeted him say, “I’m not sure how much Wayne would be willing to pay for him, but let’s start high and negotiate lower. New kid can’t possibly be worth that much…”

Duke wakes up groggily, memories of what happened quickly snapping into place. He’s too out of it still to get up, but he’s awake enough to be offended. Sure he’s the new kid, and barely even a Wayne, but he’s still worth a lot!

Kidnappers these days. So rude.

He doesn’t hear anyone around him, and it feels like he’s lying on a cold concrete floor. Basement, maybe? Warehouse? Storage unit tucked away somewhere? There’s nothing much to see when Duke is able to open his eyes, squinting bareilly at his surroundings. His arms are tied behind him, wrists bound, but they left his legs alone. 

If he could just hit the panic button on his bracelet…

Duke wiggles around, fighting through the lingering effects of Chloroform, and manages to sit up. If he strains his hearing, he thinks he can hear voices outside of the empty room he’s been left in. There’s a window high up, too high for a normal person to reach without help, but if he can use the shadows to travel through it, then he may be able to escape on his own. 

First things first: he needs to free his hands before anyone comes in to check on him.

They used zip ties on him, which is inconvenient. He’s learned how to get out of them, but it’s difficult enough without being drugged and having to do it behind his back. 

He’s feeling the zip ties bite into his wrists just as there’s a crash from outside the room. His kidnappers yell, alarmed, and are quickly silenced. That’s rarely ever a good sign. Duke renews his efforts to escape, ignore the pain in pushing against his binds like this. 

The door opens. Duke hears the small click of a lock disengaging and freezes. Then he gets to his feet, still unsteady, and prepares to ram his head into anyone who comes near him like some sort of deranged battering ram, or a drunk raging bull. 

Duke is ready for the worst: a gang hoping to steal away a Wayne hostage, a Rogue, Gnomon popping in to cause trouble for the sole purpose of getting on Duke’s nerve. 

He’s not expecting another teenage boy, who is literally glowing, to poke his head in and zero in on Duke. He blinks, then smiles; it’s friendly and sincere, nothing like the employee who helped kidnap him. 

“Hey!” he says, coming into the room properly. He’s floating a good foot off the ground, eyes a bright neon green, with white hair that sways as if he’s underwater. “Are you okay? I saw them drag you out of the back of the store and followed them, but I got a bit lost. Sorry for taking so long to get here.”

“...It’s fine?” Duke offers, trying to wrap his head around what’s happening. “I wasn’t expecting a rescue so soon, anyways. Think you can help me out here?”

“Yeah, of course!” he flies closer, then drops down to the ground behind Duke. He hums lightly under his breath, and then Duke feels a cold touch on his wrist and the zip ties are suddenly gone. 

Duke blinks, then brings his arms in front of him. He moves around a bit to make sure he’s not hallucination, and sure enough, he’s free and unbound because a random meta teenager vanished the zip ties into the ether, or something. 

“Thanks, man. Any idea where we are?”

“Not a clue. I got lost coming here, and I was following them. I don’t think you should trust any directions I give.”

“Fair enough,” Duke laughs. “I’m Duke, by the way.”

“Phantom.”

“Well, thanks for the save, Phantom. Can I treat you to something?”

“Like, coffee?”

“Sure. Or brunch, or ice cream. Whatever you want, really.”

Phantom considers it for a moment, then shakes his head. “Sorry, I would love to but going out in public looking like this,” he gestures to himself, “Is not a great idea. Thanks for the offer though. You got a ride?”

Duke pats his pockets, then sighs. “My phone’s gone. I still have my wallet, though.”

“I fly you to someplace you can call someone, if you’d like.”

“You sure? I could probably just walk out of here and call a taxi.”

“I don’t think walking around by yourself after being kidnapped is a great idea,” Phantom says, doubtfully. “Seriously, let me fly you.”

He should just hit the panic button and wait for someone to show up to get him. He shouldn’t go to some unknown location with a meta he literally just met. 

But, you know what? No one else can say they got kidnapped twice in one day, so Duke nods and says, “Sure, sweep me off my feet, Phantom. You gotta commit to this rescue.”

Phantom laughs. And then he does sweep Duke off his feet into a princess carry with a cheeky grin and flies them out the building, which turns out to be an abandoned apartment building slated for demolition. 

“Keep this up and you’ll be replacing Superman in no time,” Duke jokes.

“I think I could manage it,” Phantom replies thoughtfully. “I mean, I’m already prettier than him, don’t you think?”

“Oh, definitely. The glow really brings out your eyes.”

Phantom gets him a few blocks away when Duke recognizes where they are, and quickly directs him into Crime Alley. They land on top of one of Jason’s safe houses, and while he’s sure there’s enough security to take out a SWAT Team, that’s absolutely not going to stop him from breaking in to use one of Jason’s burner phones and eat his leftovers. 

He’s set down on his feet gently, and as soon as Phantom sees that he’s fine, able to walk and everything, he floats back up, just out of reach.

“Be careful, okay?” he says, getting ready to leave.

“I’ll do my best. Hey, are you gonna be in Gotham for a while, or…?”

Phantom gives him a tired smile. “Nah. I’m just passing through. As long as my luck doesn’t get even worse, then I should be out of here in a few days.”

“Shame,” Duke says, giving Phantom a very visible once over. He’s pretty tall, and Duke can see some muscle on him, and the tight black outfit really adds to his look. The glow that comes out of his chest makes him look ethereal and Duke is beyond glad that he got such a charming rescuer.

Phantom doesn’t blush like a normal person. He glows brighter instead, curling into himself a bit as he looks away, unable to stop the smile from growing on his face. 

“I guess,” he shrugs. “Are you really going to be alright from here?”

“Yeah, man, I have a friend who lives here. I’ll just bother him until he agrees to give me a ride.”

“Alright.” Phantom drifts away, glancing behind him before turning back to Duke. “I’ll get going then. Take care, Duke!”

Duke waves and watches as Phantom begins to fly away. Then Phantom… disappears? Or rather, his body does but Duke can see an orb of light making its way across Gotham, almost like a star fallen from the sky.

He stays on the roof until the light is long gone. When he’s finally ready to go in and steal from Jason, the sun has completely set. 

And he still doesn’t have his suit.

Duke sighs, and mentally prepares himself to other day of stressing out about the gala.

Three days of stress and last minute scrambling leave Duke in the Gotham Museum of Modern Art with Steph, Tim, Cass, and Damian. They’re hiding in the photography gallery to avoid other guests, taking a break from being polite and letting thinly veiled, passive aggressive insults slide over them.

.

.

.

“How much longer must we suffer this before we can go?” Damian grumbles, looking like he’s do anything to get his hands on a blade. Which, considering how many people tried to either pinch his cheeks are say some racist remark about him and his mother, is totally fair. Duke would just punch them, but sometimes a little drama helped get the message across. 

“At least two more hours,” Tim says, not bothering to look up from his phone. From what few glimpses of the screen Duke caught, he’s leading a Titans missions through text and clever hacking. Though it may be more accurate to call is a Young Justice mission since there’s no way any of this was authorized by a Justice League member. 

Also Anita, suited up as Empress, is there. If they aren’t on the news for property destruction and absolutely batshit wild shenanigans, Duke will have to check on Tim to make sure he’s not a pod person sent to infiltrate the family. 

“Think we can sneak out without anyone noticing?” Steph asks, looking at the emergency exit longingly.

Cass shakes her head and points to the door leading to the ballroom. When they look over, Dick makes very deliberate eye contact with them and give them a smile that looks stretched across his face.

Tim winces and pushes Duke. “Oh, something went down. Go take over for him and let Dick rest in here for a bit.”

“Man, why does it have to be me?” he grumbles even as he stands. Dick lets out a heavy breath and gives Duke a grateful smile, patting on the shoulder before shoving him out the door. 

As soon as he’s back into the main hallway, the music and chatter swell, no longer muffled by the thick walls of the photography wing. A few people come and go from the ballroom, no doubt looking for the restroom. 

Or more private places for… other things. Things they definitely shouldn’t be doing in an art museum.

He really can’t wait for this night to be over.

Duke joins the rest of the guests, fake smile on his face, and quickly makes his way to the snack table. He might as well make the most of his time stuck out here. Maybe he could even cause another relationship scandal by implying that Bruce is sleeping with one of partners when in hearing distance of a couple. Maybe even both of them. 

Bruce would go with it. It’s hilarious and he also needs something to make these events bearable.

Sadly, he doesn’t see any good targets as he scans the ballroom. A few people are dancing, while others are talking in small circles, closed off from outsiders. There’s an entire table of old ladies with glasses of wine in front of them; Duke considers hanging around them, since they confess to a lot of crimes after a few glasses. It’s fascinating. 

Also, he does kind of miss hanging out with the one old lady who’s declared herself his high society grandmother and told him stories of how she used to go to bars to find racist people or Klan members during the Jim Crow era, seduce them, then poison them and get their addresses so a few gangs she was friends with would fuck them up.

Granny Kaliasto is the coolest person ever. 

Just as he’s about to finish his last mini rolled crepe, Duke catches sight of one of the few teenagers still in the ballroom. The others, mostly stuck up rich kids no one actually likes, have already left to take over some other part of the museum to gossip until their parents decide it’s time to go home. These two are clearly not part of that crew, what with the girl being very goth and in a poofy, ripped dress, and the boy having already taken his jacket off to keep over his forearm, the top button of his shirt popped open.

They might be cool. He’s hoping they’re cool because he desperately needs some company to keep from dying of boredom while the gala continues on.

Duke walks over to them, going around the side of the ballroom, until he’s close enough to hear them talking.

The boy has his back to Duke, but the girl sees him. She immediately scowls and slaps the boys shoulder, eyes locked on Duke.

“Got another comment about my dress?” she says, voice sharp and acidic.

“Another?” Duke repeats. “I was just bored and wanted to talk to people who were my age. Sorry?”

The boy smacks the girl’s arm, then turns to face Duke. “Sorry about her! Sam is just naturally rude and aggressive. Tonight’s been a bit rough, with this crowd.”

Duke goes to say something, but the words stick in his throat when he sees the boy’s eyes shift from deep blue to an electric green. When he focuses, he can see a faint glow in his chest, the same glow he saw in Phantom.

“Dude? You alright?”

Sam looks him over judgmentally. “I guess it’s nice that I’m not being ogled for once, but don’t do that shit to Danny either.”

“Wait, that’s not what I was doing!” Duke hurries to say, snapped out of his shock. “I just… you look a lot like someone I met recently.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. What was your name? I’m Duke, by the way.”

He holds out a hand, and the boy shakes it with a small smile. “Danny. I don’t think we’ve met. I mean, I’m only here because Sam wouldn’t come to this gala without me, so her parents flew me in.”

“You from out of town?”

“Sam and I are from Illinois. Her parents are traveling around the east coast right now, and they decided to spend a week in Gotham to talk business.”

“I’d ask how it is, but outsiders tend to really hate Gotham, so…”

Sam barks out a sharp laugh. “Oh please, we can handle Gotham. Our town might not be as big and well known as Gotham, but we got our own shit to deal with there.”

“I do get shot at a lot back home,” Danny adds thoughtfully. “And that’s without the ghosts.”

“Woah, what?”

“Up for a bit of a story?” Danny asks, impish grin on his face. By his side, Sam brings a hand up to cover a manic smile, shoulders already shaking with laughter. 

This is already better than the grandma gang. Duke leans against the wall, getting settled in, and says, “Always, man. Hit me with it.”

The next hour an a half passes quickly with Sam and Danny dramatically narrating some of the things that have happened in their town. Duke listens, absolutely enraptured, and doesn’t even notice the Waynes file into the ballroom again. 

Unfortunately, they bring with them the attention of most of the ballroom, including Bruce and Sam’s parents. 

She cuts the current story about Box Ghost short with a heavy sigh. “Hold up, I need to greet the Waynes properly while my parents are watching.” She steps in front of Duke and Danny, holding out a hand with a pained smile.

Tim takes it first, giving a solid shake, and introductions start. 

Free from the rules of high society, if only for the moment, Duke leans closer to Danny and whispers to him, “Phantom. Wanna get out of here?”

Danny flinches and turns to him looking panicked. “How did you know?”

“I kinda got magic eyes. I see a lot of things normal humans can’t. Don’t worry about it. I still owe you, so you wanna get out of here?”

He watches as Danny glances around the ballroom, then back to him, clearly weighing out his options. Then he nods and says, “Know where to get a good milkshake around here?”

“Sure do.”

“I guess you’re the one rescuing me this time.”

“Not a rescue,” Duke corrects, and casually picks Danny up over his shoulder into a fireman’s carry, “A kidnapping.”

Danny laughs and waves Sam and all the others goodbye as Duke marches out of the ballroom.

“Don’t bother me for the next two hours!” he calls to the Waynes, “I’m going on a date!”

There are shocked gasps and murmurs all through the crowd. But as he spins around to wave at his shocked and easily amused family, he also catches sight of Granny Kaliasto raising her half full wine glass towards him.

She really is the coolest.

He’s definitely telling her all about this at the next event they attend together. It’ll be nice to have a few stories of his own to share.

[muffinlance]

EDIT: The switchover from "Wani" to "Wanyi" has begun! Salvage should be switched; if anyone's re-reading, let me know if I missed any or accidentally borked any formatting during the change.

All crew names will be left the same, because they are Real People Names and I already had different personalities.

Thanks to everyone who helped me decide!

---Ye original post:---

Debating removing the various hat-tips to Embers in my fics due to attempting to re-read that story and finding it far less enamoring than when it was the second fic I'd ever read.

So anyways now soliciting potential new names for the Wani (Zuko's ship), Crewman Teruko, and Helmsman Kyo.

Update: Seems people (at least on this blog) associate those characters with my stories, not Embers. And the personalities are different, and they're legit real world names... So I'll likely leave those two alone.

Still tempted to change the Wani's name, though. My current top contender is Wanyi, which was @tuktukpodfics 's adorable change when they were podficcing Salvage, which I shall just quote here:

Wànyī (萬一): One in ten thousand, Perchance. I realize now that MuffinLance got the name Wani for Zuko’s ship from the author Vathara and it means "alligator" in another language. But when I was reading Salvage, I always imagined it was "wànyī," which literally means "one in ten thousand" and is used grammatically to mean "what if" or "just in case." I think a ship called "The Perchance" is perfect for a boy clinging to false hope.

I think that is a lot cooler and more meaningful than "Alligator". <3

[keferon]

…..I should be working rn but one of the songs in my playlist hit harder than usual so

[glitteredbubbles]

HELP my homophobic little brother just gained consciousness and asked me this 😭

[existwound]

to breathe in this mirage 

M | 52k | Completed | Keith/Lance

Chapter 4 Summary:

The warm glow of the red morning suns on Xrixa frames them in its light, glinting on their armor and their smiles, and Keith has his hair in a tiny ponytail at the nape of his neck, and Lance is slowly bleeding out right where he stands. It feels terrifyingly, viscerally real. He didn’t even know that this type of pain existed. He’s been shot before, he knows what that feels like, knows how it feels to have flesh and muscle and bone give way to an unyielding bullet, to a flash of light. And he might actually bleed out here, with his eyes glued to Keith. And all it took for him to experience this kind of pain was to feel all-encompassing, brazen love, and to have just that ripped away from him, have him plunge into a fall that he doesn’t know he’ll ever get up from if he manages to hit the ground at some point. All his life, Lance has loved too fiercely, fallen too hard and too deeply. And now, loving Keith is no exception.

or: the one where Lance unwillingly takes one for the team and wakes up ten years in the future.