#it might get a fanfiction idk

[artobsessedloser]

ttttthey're fucking snuggling <3

[choccy-milky]

herbology class 🌹🌿 (from chap 2 of my fic!)

[transvampireboyfriend]

Had this “Steve only hates impersonal nicknames” idea in my notes for a while and then after seeing @cholvoq​ ‘s wonderful art I had to turn it into a real thing for Valentine’s Day. This is 2.4k, i’m SO sorry edit: you can now read this on ao3 :)

Eddie’s a nickname guy. It’s always Dusty this and Gare-Bear that and JeffJeff here and Bobbie there and it’s Mikey and Maxxii and Nance-pants and Johnny and… big boy?

Him being a nickname guy makes it near impossible to hide his crushes. Thankfully, Steve had been really cool about it. Sure, he seemed a little stunned, but Eddie still had all his teeth in place by the end of that interaction, so he had called that a win.

He hadn’t known then that Steve was… different. Or he was starting to see it but what he thought was shocking then had really been just the tip of the iceberg. He hadn’t expected Steve to be nice. Or funny, or caring, or protective, or understanding.

He had learned all of that after everything. During chats on Hellfire nights while the kids cleaned up after themselves, during hangouts at the diner with Robin and Nancy, during Saturday afternoons when he went to pick out a movie only to end up talking with Steve, their conversation flowing until it was cut short by Steve’s shift ending.

After some time, Eddie had gotten to know Steve even more during long weekday nights when one came over to bring the other something they left behind, or to share a record, or to demand the beers the other owes or to show the other a stupid article in a stupid magazine only to end up making dinner together and watching a movie afterwards.

They stopped making excuses about two weeks ago.

Eddie had asked “do youuu… wanna come over?” on Saturday night, while nervously twirling his keys as Steve locked the front doors of the Family Video.

The evening chill had cut right through Eddie’s leather jacket as his keys clanged against his rings. But Steve had nodded with a smile and asked “pizza?” on their way to their cars, and Eddie had forgotten all about the cold.

Point being, Steve had been just fine with ‘big boy’ when it happened. Eddie’s a nickname guy. Him and Steve are hanging out more now, and so, Eddie’s been calling him more nicknames. Some of them are very intentional, others come completely without thinking, and it turns out, Steve takes issue with a few of them.

The first time it happens, Eddie’s underneath his van trying to get the damn thing to cooperate, the recent winter was tough on it, and it keeps dying out on him.

Steve sits nearby perched on a little stool, wearing his Family Video vest since he came by right after finishing his morning shift to see if they could make plans for lunch. Eddie suggested they grab something at the diner if and when he finally gets the van to start back up and Steve had agreed to wait.

He’s been telling Eddie about tonight’s basketball- game? match? super bowl? Is there such a thing as the major leagues of basketball? Eddie’s not sure, but he adores the sound of Steve’s voice and he’s kind of invested in the drama of players switching teams and retiring and whatever else Steve wants to tell him about. So, he’s been listening, not really bothering with asking for clarification for what he doesn’t understand yet. He’ll figure it out as they go.

He's blindly patting the floor around his legs for his rag, when he feels Steve put it right in his hand.

Eddie’s relieved. "Thanks, bud!" he says, the nickname just rolling off his tongue effortlessly, no meaning attached.

It gets kind of quiet all of a sudden. After about five seconds of Steve not talking, Eddie comes out to check on him, and finds him frowning at his legs.

"Don't call me ‘bud’" Steve requests, looking up at his face, his tone just a tad harsh. Eddie would think he ran into King Steve if he didn't know any better.

As it is, Eddie gets Steve probably thinks the nickname is childish or patronizing, so he doesn’t think twice of it, just gets a little sheepish and says "sorry, Stevie".

Steve smiles at that, a little cocky. He does his little mean girl shaking his head thing like he just got exactly what he wanted. Eddie feels his face twist a bit in confusion, but he likes it when Steve gets a little mean so he doesn't say anything about it and just dives back under his van as Steve resumes their conversation.

 The second time it happens, they’re outside the supermarket. The kids shot out of the van as soon as it rolled to a stop, Steve calling out a warning after them while still listening to Eddie explain why Star Wars and Star Trek are actually very different but really good in their own way. Their conversation carries on as they hop out of the van, lock up and walk to meet at the front.

“I’m telling you, Star Trek is great. You would love it,” Eddie says, “you just have to give it a chance”.

Steve rolls his eyes at him, but Eddie can see his smile.

“Ok, alright,” Steve answers, “you can show me tonight then”, it’s almost too nonchalant. Eddie has to hide his grin.

Steve’s been suggesting they hang out more and more lately, and he can’t help but feel a bit hopeful. They clearly enjoy each other’s company, their time together is never dull, Steve seems to be really comfortable around him and maybe, just maybe…

“Should we get beers then?” Eddie asks, excited at the prospect of some more time alone with him.  They haven’t had a weeknight hangout since Eddie fixed his van last week. He kinda misses the very specific color of Steve’s eyes in the Harringtons’ yellow living room lamplight.

“Yeah,” Steve says, his eyes get soft in a way Eddie only started noticing a couple of weeks back, “we can watch it at my place” he adds. Eddie thinks he definitely hasn’t seen him look at anyone else like that.

To shake himself out of the spell of the prettiest boy he’s ever met making the prettiest eyes he’s ever seen at him and ONLY him, Eddie grabs Steve by the wrist and starts marching them towards the supermarket’s front doors.

Without thinking, Eddie says "c'mon man," as they go.

Steve, who started easily following him (like he always does these days), suddenly stops in his tracks. Eddie gets pulled back and almost stumbles on top of Steve. He'd get flustered if Steve wasn't frowning at him like he’d just said the most insulting thing he’d heard this month.

"Don't call me ‘man’" Steve says. Eddie feels his eyebrows raise a bit.

He debates asking why but doesn't question Steve in the end. He’d rather offer understanding than judgement to him any day.

So, Eddie takes advantage of Steve's wrist in his hand, and squeezes there a bit, says "I'm sorry sweetheart" sincerely, looks into Steve's eyes so he can see Eddie means it.

Steve blushes a bit then, not really used to the nickname yet, Eddie just got the balls to start using it last week. Eddie himself is not really used to seeing Steve blush, and at something he says? It’s too much power for one metalhead.

But he gets distracted from Steve’s blush because it happens again, Steve basically preens like a peacock once Eddie switches nicknames. Looks smug, like he has Eddie wrapped around his finger and well, Eddie guesses he does, so, no arguments there either.

He just smiles back at Steve, really, has no other choice, it’s not like he can control how he reacts to the most gorgeous fucking face the universe could ever come up with. But he tugs him along again, Steve happily following this time.

The next time it happens, Steve’s leaning against his kitchen island, with Eddie leaning across from him against the counter.

The party is watching a movie in the Harringtons’ living room and at some point, Eddie got up to get himself another soda, Steve not so subtly followed after him, taking the empty popcorn bowls to the sink. He struck up a conversation and there they stayed.

Eddie’s been turning the small gesture around and around in his head. Clearly Steve’s not shy about seeking him out, and he’s obviously good with the party knowing, which means a hell of a lot because those are Steve’s people, that’s his family.

Eddie’s honestly running out of excuses to not ask him out. Seeing him reaching out to bump his sneaker against Eddie’s boot when he says something funny, laughing just a little too hard at Eddie’s dumb joke; seeing his eyes widen a bit when Eddie compliments him; seeing him notice when Eddie is holding back from talking too much, and not letting it go until he thinks Eddie’s shared all of his opinions on the subject; Eddie thinks maybe he can be brave, when it comes to Steve.

And this week might be the perfect time.

Here they are still, the movie long ended and several easy conversations floating from the living room to the kitchen, where they’re still engrossed on their own.

“I mean I taught the kid how to do his hair for god’s sake!” Steve is saying, Eddie’s laughing easily, and he has a slight suspicion Steve’s acting way more annoyed than he really is because he knows Eddie dies laughing every time Steve roasts the kids.

“Just, if he’s gonna give me hair advice, he should work on that goddamn tone. At the Very Least.” Steve finishes, Eddie giggling all the while at his Annoyed Mom tone.

"Yeah, dude!" Eddie agrees, wanting to egg him on, but Steve's face suddenly falls and whatever remark Eddie had locked and loaded just fades away.

Eddie blinks perplexed; he’s getting déjà vu.

Steve frowns at him, says "Don't call me ‘dude’".

It’s eerie, only he sounds a bit annoyed this time.

Eddie thinks, maybe someone called Steve ‘dude’ before in an unpleasant way, so he doesn't pry.  Instead, he takes the chance to call him a nickname he likes more, and says "Sorry, pretty boy", his heart fluttering in the milliseconds he has to wait for Steve’s reaction.

And it happens one last time: Steve absolutely beams at that one, his smile so bright it makes Eddie want to jump in place.

He leans further back on the counter returning the smile, not noticing the common thread in Steve’s reactions to him switching nicknames.

But then the glint in Steve’s eyes suddenly brightens a dim corner of Eddie’s brain. He gets this feeling that reminds him of a perfectly set up riddle or finding that one perfect note for his latest song. It’s like everything suddenly just makes sense.

Eddie feels realization dawn on his face as he pushes himself off the counter to walk right into Steve’s personal bubble, grabs both of Steve's hands.

"Steve" Eddie says, not even caring that he sounds like the name is dripping in honey when it comes out of his mouth. With how sweet Steve is, it might as well be.

Steve just looks at him a little stunned, but doesn't say anything. Eddie draws circles in the back of his palms to reassure him.

"Why don't you want me to call you ‘dude’?" Eddie asks, trying to find out if this whole thing is what he thinks it is.

Steve looks down at their joined hands,.

"You call Nancy that sometimes..." Steve mumbles.

His answer would sound inconsequential to the unsuspecting, certainly would have to Eddie as late as last week, but Eddie thinks he’s finally getting it, and he hums his understanding.

"How ‘bout ‘man’?" he asks

Steve replies "You call Robin that sometimes..." his eyes still on their hands.

Eddie nods his agreement.

"I call everyone those things" he points out.

Steve agrees. "Exactly" he says, finally looking at him again, sounding annoyed and confirming Eddie’s suspicions.

Eddie feels his face split into a smile. He wants to grab Steve’s beautiful freaking face and just plant one on him.

"Can I still call you sweetheart?" he ventures instead. The nickname brings the hint of a smile to Steve's face but then he seems to realize something not so pleasant.

"Do you call someone else ‘sweetheart’?" Steve asks in return.

"No one" Eddie says, shaking his head, his tone vehement.

"Then yes" Steve finally answers. Eddie's heart wants to beat right out of his chest.

He interlocks their fingers to ground himself, Steve looks down at their hands and smiles at the sight.

"So, you don't want me to call you something I call someone else?" Eddie states, more than asks, calling Steve’s eyes back to his again.

"Anyone else" Steve confirms, holding his gaze.

Eddie lets out a small shuddering exhale and feels his heart fluttering in his throat, he really cannot believe this boy.

"Steve" Eddie drawls, dripping in honey again, his hands coming up to cradle Steve's face because he really can't resist anymore "Sweetheart" he says.

Steve's eyes grow a little wide and he starts blushing so much that Eddie can feel it in his palms.

"Steevieeee" Eddie sinsongs, squeezing Steve's face a bit "Pretty boy" Eddie calls him. Steve just keeps looking at him and a small smile blooms in his pretty, pretty face.

"Would you let me take you out to dinner this Friday?" Eddie finally asks him, his fingers curling to the back of Steve's head to play with his hair there. Steve's eyes get even wider.

" 's Valentine's this Friday" he points out. Eddie knows.

"Mmhm. Want you to be my Valentine." Eddie tells him, tugs his hair gently, "How's that sound?" he asks, bold in a way he never has been before. Steve blushing does things to him.

"Sounds nice" Steve answers. He smiles and nods while his hands hook on Eddie's belt loops.

"Then it's a date?" Eddie asks, trying not to sound too eager. He thinks he fails spectacularly but Steve beams and pulls him in to kiss his cheek.

"It's a date" Steve tells him, his breath ghosting on Eddie's cheek and making him shiver.

Steve pulls back, lets go of Eddie’s belt loops and tugs on a strand of his hair gently, smiling like the cat that got the cream as he walks back out into the living room.

Eddie’s gonna make this the best Valentine’s Day date Steve has ever been on.

[juiceicicles]

Mean and Scary | Chapter 1: King of Hawkins High

AO3 Link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/48053206/chapters/121165750

Pts: 1, 2, 3

As he traipses through the woods, Eddie tries to get a bearing on what is about to happen and what his plan is for when it inevitably goes sideways.

Dealing pot to Hawkins Royalty like King Steve isn’t entirely out of the ordinary, but doing it alone at a picnic table in the middle of the isolated woods? Yeah, not Eddie’s smartest decision for a meeting place.

In his defense, he’s only a hop skip and a jump away from the high school, and he couldn’t be assed to drive any further for what’s likely going to be a one time payment of $20. $25, if he overcharges Steve (which, he absolutely plans to do.)

Eddie finally gets to the clearing and Steve jumps when he notices him, finally looking away from a tree he was seemingly having a very intense staring match with.

“Whoa, hey, hey, hey! Sorry,” Eddie chuckles a bit awkwardly, trying his best to subconsciously communicate that he is not a threat, because he really doesn’t wanna get his lights punched out right now “Didn't mean to scare you.”

Eddie sits down and his metal lunchbox clatters onto the table —Steve flinches again. Boy, Harrington is jumpy— and sits across from him. He opens up his Pail-o’-Drugs and watches as Steve drums his fingers on the table.

“There's, uh... There's nothing to worry about. Okay? No one ever comes out here. We're safe. I promise.” Eddie honestly didn’t expect Steve Harrington to be worried about being caught, considering that Steve apparently used to hold daily house parties.

He still can’t believe it. King Steve goddamn Harrington sitting there, in all his douchey glory. Or at least, that’s what Eddie expected. Instead he sort looks exhausted. His eyes keep flitting around, and he looks like he just saw a ghost.

You see, Harrington was never a dick to Eddie, specifically. However, he sure as hell didn’t treat the freaks of Hawkins High with any sort of sympathy. Hence Eddie’s original plan to act like the biggest asshole he possibly could without scaring off a rich customer. But something about Harrington’s eyes, a sort of dull terror etched into the hazel brown, is making Eddie reconsider that decision.

“So, how does this work, exactly?” Steve sort of mutters. This is so utterly different from everything Eddie heard about him. Steve always roamed the halls with a sick sort of ironclad confidence, with his two jackals Tommy and Carol following his every beck and call. The boy across from Eddie though? He seems so haunted. Like a flickering projection of someone. A puppet with its strings cut.

“Uhh just like any other old sale, except cash only, and for obvious reasons, no receipts,” he gives Harrington what he hopes is a reassuring smile, “I'll do you a half ounce for, uh... 20. What do you say? Plenty of bang for your buck. Should last a while.”

A squirrel skitters up a tree in the background, and Harrington gasps quietly and whips around to track it. And then, finally, it clicks for Eddie.

Steve’s worried about being seen with Eddie the Freak Munson. Figures. He shouldn’t have expected anything less from King Steve.

“Hey, we don’t need to do this. Just give me the word, and I’ll walk away.”

“It’s not that, I don’t want you to go.” Steve starts, tentatively. He’s still looking around, like somethings about to pop out of the woods. “It’s just…Do you ever feel like you’re loosing your mind?”

And, of course Eddie feels like he’s lost his marbles. He’s a super senior with the nickname the Freak. Obviously he sometimes feels a little crazy. He’s a little surprised that notorious cool guy Steve Harrington feels that way, though.

He makes the decision right then and there to see this out, because even if Harrington’s afraid of being caught, there’s something here that Eddie’s missing.

“You know on a daily basis. I feel like I’m loosing my mind right now,” screw it, might as well be honest, go big or go home right? “doing a drug deal with Steve Harrington, former king of Hawkins High.”

“Ah, well, I haven’t been king for a while…” Steve trails off.

Eddie remembers Billy Hargrove. Remembers how he made him want to beg every god there was for Steve to steal back the crown. Billy Hargrove was mean to Eddie. He was mean to everyone. And he wasn’t highschool-mean either, he was Larry Munson mean. He was a jackass who wasn’t afraid of anyone and wanted you to know it.

Unprompted, Eddie remembers the first time he met Steve. Before he was Hawkins Royalty, before he was a jock and a bully, before Eddie was the freak and not just a freak. Eddie had just gotten to Hawkins, his old man had been put away and the US government dropped lil’ Eddie on Wayne’s doorstep. He’d met some friends and formed a shitty garage band. They’d played at the middle school talent show, and Eddie had lost his guitar pick. A boy about his age had given it back, told him his name was Steve and he had found it underneath his chair in the seats.

“You know, this isn't the first time that we've, um... Hung out.”

“No?”

Eddie lets out a little chuckle. Of course Steve wouldn’t remember. “It’s alright.”

He clutches at his heart like he’s been shot with an arrow and flings himself off the bench and into a pile of leaves behind him. He hears Steve let out a little gasp before he hops back up.

“I wouldn’t remember me either, Harrington!”

Steve looks a little amused, and Eddie catches a light brown blob in his peripheral vision. He combs his fingers through his hair and dislodges a dead leaf.

“Honestly, do I have stuff in my hair?”

Steve lets out a little chuckle as Eddie starts to gets into his story. If there’s one thing Eddie Munson is good at, it’s story telling.

“Middle school, talent show. Carol I think did this cheer thing? You know the thing the,” Eddie mimed some pom poms. Steve was smiling a little bit, so Eddie continued his spiel, “and I- I was with my band.”

Suddenly Steve pipes up “Corroded Coffin! Oh my god!”

Eddie’s bewildered that Steve apparently remembered their weird prepubescent metal show. He claps his hands excitedly and points to Steve. “You do remember!”

“Yes, of course! With a name like that, how could I forget?”

“I dunno. You’re a freak.” Eddie’s pretty pleased with himself when his lack of brain-to-mouth filer apparently doesn’t offend Steve. In fact, Steve breaks out a smile. It’s less Harrington Charm then Eddie expected, more of a dorky toothy grin.

“No you just- you looked so-“

“Different? Yeah. Yeah. Well, uh, my hair was buzzed, and I didn't have these sweet old tatties yet.”

“You played guitar right?”

“Uh-huh. Still do. Still do.” And since Eddie is an impulsive mess and isn’t totally hating this interaction, he does something that totally spits in the face of the tried and true Munson doctrine and invites a preppy jock to a metal concert, “You should come see us. Uh, we play at the Hideout on Tuesdays. It’s pretty cool. We- we actually get a crowd of about five…drunks.”

Steve laughs a bit and clamps a hand over his mouth, like he’s a bit startled by the noise. Eddie doesn’t blame him, he’s a bit caught off guard too.

“It’s not exactly the Garden, but, you gotta start somewhere, right?”

Steve looks at Eddie with a considering gaze for a moment, like he’s trying to figure Eddie out.

“You know, you’re not what I thought you’d be.”

“What, a total freak?”

“No, no. Honestly? I thought you’d be mean. And scary.”

“Me? Steve Harrington thought I’d be scary?”

“Yeah! You’ve got this whole, I dunno, chains and leather vibe. Thought you wouldn’t give me the time of day.”

“Yeah, well, I thought you’d be mean and scary too.”

“Yeah?”

“Terrifying.” Eddie’s hit with the sudden realization that he’s completely forgot about the drug deal he came here for and plops himself back down at the picnic table. “Uh, so, in other good news, flattery works with me, so... Twenty-five percent discount for the half. Fifteen bucks. You're robbing me blind here, you know.”

“…do you have anything maybe stronger?”

[bernardellinewsagency]

short neuvifuri angst idea

"Oh, did you enjoy the script that she wrote? Did you like the role that you were cast as? I hope you were happy in those five hundred years, Neuvillette, because I never was!"

Furina storms off after pushing him, leaving him drenched to the bone and sitting awkwardly in the waters of the Fountain of Lucine with naught to do but contemplate his long lasting memories. Remembering the way she would smile is an easy endeavor. Furina always looked sincere when smiling; perhaps he wasn't looking hard enough, but surely even fleeting moments between just the two of them had to have brought her some amount of happiness, as small as it may be.

He thinks of one long ago night, during the third century of her reign. Actually, right on the cusp of the new milestone, he recalls the Palais had been eerily silent after wrapping up a week of festivities held in Furina's honor. The people of Fontaine were still celebrating, and would be doing so until the early hours of the morning, but all was still within the Palais. Except for them, that is. She had supposedly retired to her bedchambers, and him to his office, yet the two had bumped into each other within the kitchen.

"Let's go to the Opera," she had told him, in lieu of answering when he asked what she was doing. He supposes that the flecks of pastry crumbs on her clothes answered that, and he didn't ask other questions such as why she wanted to go to the Opera. He followed her as willingly as if she had simply asked for the time.

(Their whole relationship had been like that, hadn't it? A duty that extended beyond just an Archon and her Iudex. He once heard the Traveler mention a sea of flowers at the end of the world, and should Furina declare that she would like to see such a sight, he would tear down Celestia just to make it happen.)

Furina had packed a basket of food to bring, and two bottles of wine to go with. Then they partook perhaps more than they should've, and perhaps he should've questioned if Archons can get drunk, or if a Sovereign should be getting drunk with one. He definitely should have stopped her from going into the storerooms of the Epiclese and procuring even more for them. The memories start to get a little hazy after that, but he can vaguely recall a remark she made about the location not being the best choice, and that she wanted to get away from something. He can't recall who made the decision to go up, and have him help carry her as they climb to the roof, but suspects it was still her doing.

As clear as day, though, he can remember her smile, bathed in the light of the slowly rising sun as it crested over the waters of her dominion. Out of every beautiful sight in Fontaine, she is the one he gets to appreciate most often, but never before in a light like this. He could gaze at that moment for another hundred years and never tire of it. "Dragon of the waters," she had called him, "might you allow an Archon to call you theirs?"

Should she have asked him that at the start of her reign, should they have been in a similar situation, the answer would be clear. He might have even wondered, with the walls of the Court to block them from their peoples' sights, if an Archon so in love with her people would fall like one if he shoved her. But they were not in the past, and he already knew by then that he had come to love her, and thus his answer was "I was under the belief that I already was yours, Lady Furina, both within my capacity as your Chief Justice and without. The people of Fontaine adore you, yet it is my love for you that truly knows no bounds. Nothing would make me happier than to be yours."

"They do, don't they," she had whispered, a note he almost lost to time with how he just barely could hear her. "Promise me this, Neuvillette, if you wish to be mine- promise you will never stray from your duties to Fontaine, and you will always, always, do what is best for her people."

"I will."

"And promise that you will stay by my side forever, then, for another three centuries and beyond that, even if you grow tired of me!"

"Of course, Furina, is... is something the matter?"

It was the first time he had seen her come close to crying, droplets of tears clumping her eyelashes together yet disappearing as she blinked, "Oh, you silly dragon, only the fact that you make me ever so happy."

Leaving the warmth of the memory behind, Neuvillette returns to the cold of an overcast sky dripping with sleet, as a blue silhouette leaves him behind and disappears into the cloudy distance.

[sunsetsandsunshine]

~ 𝚃𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚘𝚛 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚕 ~

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙸𝙼 𝚂𝙾𝙱𝙱𝙸𝙽𝙽𝙶𝙶𝙶𝙶. 𝙸’𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙿𝙱&𝙹 𝚍𝚞𝚘 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚃𝙾 𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚃𝙼𝙽𝚃 𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚖 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝. 𝙸 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚜𝚖 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚞𝚢𝚜 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚍𝚠— 𝙸’𝚖 𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚞𝚘’𝚜 𝚘𝚏𝚌 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚟𝚋𝚏𝚋𝚏𝚑𝚍𝚓𝚓 𝙸 ��𝙾𝚅𝙴 𝙿𝙱&𝙹 ✊🏾🥲…𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢’𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚍𝚞𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙…˚*• ̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊·̩̩̥͙

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝙵𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 𝟸,𝟻𝟷𝟸

𝙻𝚎𝚎: 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 🐢🧡

𝙻𝚎𝚛: 𝙳𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚎 🐢💜

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚝𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚝 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚞𝚙 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛. (𝙶𝚎𝚝 𝚒𝚝? 𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚝 = 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎 = 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜/𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚙? 𝚈𝚎𝚊𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚒𝚝, 𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝).

(𝙰/𝙽: 𝙳𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚐𝚞𝚢! 𝚃*𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚔/𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚜 𝙳𝙽𝙸!!!)

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚜: @shut-up-jo @someone1348 @itzsana-kiddingmenow

@saturnzskyzz @giggly-cloud @savemeafruitjuice

@rice-cake-teen10 @titters-and-tingles @tmntalways @my-l0v3r-v3rse

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝟷𝟶𝟷% 𝚊 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚜𝚘 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙸 𝚜𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 <𝟹

𝚃𝚆: 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎’𝚜 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑𝚑𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚒𝚝!!!

̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙻𝚎𝚝’𝚜 𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜…𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 /𝚛𝚎𝚏˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

Alright. Hear Mikey out on this one, okay? Because in all honesty, this was originally a fire plan. A lit plan. Some might say that the fire from the plan was sooooo hot it was practically blazing due to the fact of how awesome it was.

…okay. Well perhaps maybe people don’t say that exact term but they definitely should!

Anyways, it started off as a pretty chill day for the orange banded teen. I mean, it was Summer for crying out loud! These next few months were supposed to be absolutely nothing but pure chillness.

If your Summer isn’t even a bit chill in the slightest, then you’re doing something totally wrong. 

Daylight savings was over, school was over and most importantly…homework was over! (Besides the fact that Mikey and his brother’s are forced to do dumb reading reports over the break because the school system dumb)…But other than that, Michelangelo was basically free! Free as a bird. 

And so, like any sane studious kid that has been in High school for about a year…Mikey has been doing something he hasn’t done in a while since school started…

…Absolutely nothing.  

He’s been spending the past week or two playing Roblox on his IPad while eating Doritos mixed with Skittles.

Look, don’t even judge until you try, it’s actually pretty good!

But anyways, as Mikey was playing Flee the Facility, he randomly came to terms with the fact that he needed to steal some of his brother’s clothes for today…

Random thought, I know. 

The youngest has (and always will) politely take his brother’s clothes during the Summer— preferably hoodies and/or shirts. It’s basically a forced hand-me-down/Yard sale the youngest turtle always looks forward to. And today marked the 29th of June— 8 days from June 22nd. 

And if you’re unfamiliar, the 22nd of June marked the official end of Spring and official start of Summer! So the smallest turtle’s annual raid of his elder brother’s clothes was loooooong overdue. 

Last Summer, Mikey took Raph’s Detroit Become Human t-shirt, his WWE shirt, one of his polos and one of his The Walking Dead t-shirts (Raph had a TON). 

And the Summer before that, Mikey took Leo’s Squidward hoodie. And…yeah. That was basically it— the eldest was a pretty bland guy and there was really nothing worth taking from his wardrobe. 

So if you did your Math correctly, you would realize that this year it was Donnie’s turn. And so that’s what the youngest of the turtle teens was planning…

How the absolute hell could he take some of his immediate older brother’s clothes without taking ALL of them? 

Because believe it or not, the nerdy turtle of the group had a pretty good fashion taste and sense. His style was simple but not too bland or standout-ish. Donnie’s style was just a simple array of sweatshirts— a piece of clothing the smallest turtle could never EVER have too much of. 

But the tech-y turtle of the family definitely did. Just looking at his side of the shared bedroom, you could see sweatshirts and hoodies galore just scattered everywhere. 

The orange banded mutant looked through the sweatshirts and hoodies, trying to figure out which one he should now claim as his own.

A Sailor Moon hoodie? Too bright. 

An MHA sweatshirt? Too basic. 

An Attack on Titan hoodie? Too edgy. 

The youngest sighed in frustration, digging through his brother’s mountain of clothes before settling on a nice black hoodie with Gojo Satoru on it.

…what? Gojo Satoru was cool! Even though the orange banded turtle had only seen him in TikTok edits…those edit’s were pretty fire.

Just like his plan of taking his brother’s anime merch because he simply just could. 

The orange banded teen looked at himself in the mirror right next to Donnie’s tent, humming the popular yet overused tune that Gojo is associated with to himself, trying (and failing) to do the popular dance. 

“Ugh…how did Donnie do it again…?” The chocolate eyed teen inquired, attempting to do the dance one last time before lightly falling on his shell; the other sweatshirts and hoodies breaking his fall. 

“Dude…” A voice giggled behind him.

Mikey’s eyes widened at the sudden but familiar voice, glancing upwards to lock eyes with the one and only Donatello, peering down at him and smirking. 

“DONNIE!” Mikey shouted in surprise, getting up and whirling around so that he faced his immediate older brother as he tried to look as casual as possible, “Donatello! Dee! Don-bon…what’s…up…?” The youngest grimaced, sending awkward finger-guns as the hood to the hoodie fell down, completely covering his eyes due to how big it was on him. 

The elder snickered, putting a hand over his mouth as he tried to stifle them a little. “Oh shut up…” Mikey huffed, taking the hood off as the other turtle chuckled in amusement again, going to his younger brother and standing right next to him.

“My sweatshirt literally engulfs you.” The turtle that wielded glasses chuckled soflty which only caused the youngest to roll his eyes annoyed at the entire situation. “Shut. Up.” He pouted, crossing his arms as he glared at his older brother, “It looks good on me!”

“It swallows you…” The other said back. 

“I’LL SWALLOW YOU!” Mikey retorted, turning away from his brother angrily. 

The purple loving teen sighed fondly and laughed slightly at the automatic retort, raising a teasing brow at his younger brother, “Are you attempting at trying to look like me~?” 

The orange banded turtle blushed profusely, glaring at the other turtle’s question, “HELL NO.”

“Thehen why do you hahave the hoodie I wear literally everywhere? You know damn well Gojo is my go-to anime character of all time.”

Michelangelo grumbled, looking to the side of him as he swayed his arms at his sides. Okay…well, perhaps out of context it did seem like he was trying to look like Donnie. But he wasn’t. He wasn’t.

The only reason why the youngest “steals” clothes from his brother’s is because…well, he can and it’s easy. And it’s just…sorta comforting in a way. Not the stealing part…but…

Look— it’s dumb and confusing don’t think about it too much. 

The elder teen huffed out a small laugh, “Why did you choose my Gojo Satoru hoodie of all things, though?” 

“…I keep seeing him on TikTok and he’s the only anime character that hasn’t made me cry out of cringe in a way...” 

“Ooookay. Good for you, bud.” Donnie nodded, putting his hand out “Now give it here. Me and the TMLBANOT21stC are meeting later today to have a JJK meeting.”

The chocolate eyed turtle blinked, “Your going to…what…?” 

“My club stands for The Most Logical, Big-minded, Anime Nerds of the 21st century. Duh.” The honey brown eyed mutant said sassily, “Now give me back my hoodie or I’ll be late!” 

Mikey blinked once more, a small cheeky smile plastering on his face, “And what if I don’t want to?” 

“Michaelangelo—“ 

And with that, the smallest turtle ran out of the shared room, moving his legs as fast as he could that the other in the room just saw an orange and green blur sprint past him. 

“MIKEY!!!” Donnie howled angrily, running out of the room to catch up with him. The second youngest bumped in between the two eldest turtles, quickly apologizing to them as he ran after the youngest.

The leader in blue scratched his head confused, “Should we…?”

“Nah.” Raph commented. 

.

.

.

.

.

.

Donnie was internally groaning. If he couldn’t get his hoodie back from his brother in the next 10 minutes he would be late to his own club. 

Imagine that.

…Exactly! You can’t. 

The second youngest looked around the living room, trying to figure out just where his little brother was. In the last couple of years, the honey brown teen didn’t really mind the youngest taking some of his clothes (even if Donnie would’ve preferred him just normally asking).

But Donnie needed this hoodie. More than anything and one way or another he would get it. 

Suddenly…an idea popped into the geniuses brain, smirking widely as he leaned on the wall. He closed the door without stepping outside of the kitchen, still in the room to make it seem like he left. The youngest peeked from behind the couch, him and his brother making immediate eye contact. 

Ha. Got em. 

The anime loving turtle basically lunged at the smaller turtle, sitting on top of him as the other tried to squirm away. “I GOT YOU, YOU LITTLE TURD!” The purple cladded teen smirked triumphantly, crossing his arms and watching amusedly as his little brother tried to escape. 

“Just give me back my hoodie, man. You’re making it seem like I’m asking you for your liver.” 

“YOU DID ONCE!!!” 

“That was for a Bio experiment.” The elder corrected almost immediately, “But that’s not the point just— UGH! Give me my dang hoodie!!!” 

“NO!!!”

The purple banded turtle glared, uncrossing his arms as he wiggled his fingers in the air, “Wanna do this the hard way? Because we can do the hard way, little brother…”

The brown eyed mutant paled, shaking his head back and forth at the question. Well…this didn’t go exactly as planned.

Donnie just scoffed, his hands immediately going for the other’s underarms but Mikey put his arms down, sputtery giggles escaping his mouth as he did so. “P-Plehease! Deehee!”

“Don’t 'plehease Deehee' me! Give back me back my JJK hoodie!”

“BuHUT—“

The elder turtle lost his patience, effortlessly raising the other’s arms as he scribbled his free hand’s fingers all over his underarms. The smallest turtle squawked, falling into loud giggles. He kicked his legs underneath his older brother, “DOHOHON— NOHO!”

“Someone is sensitive here!” Donnie mused.

“STAHAP— I AHAM NAHAT!!”

“You’re not? Not what~? Ticklish~?” The anime loving turtle asked, his smiled widening as he saw how flustered his baby brother was getting. “STAHA— STAHA-! DEEHEE!” Mikey shrieked, “NOHO TEEHEEASING!”

The glasses wielding teen gasped dramatically, “No teasing? You take my hoodie and now you’re telling me what to do?” 

“NONONONO WAH— *squeal* WAHAHAIT!!!”

The tech whiz wasted no time prodding his thumbs on the youngest hips. The brown eyed teen squealed loudly, hugging his middles and just not even trying to stop Donnie’s hands at this point.

The last time he attempted to, his immediate older brother spent the next half an hour scribbling the orange banded teen’s palms…

That was hell in itself and Mikey was not trying to relive that again if he could help it.

“Awe…does this tiiiickle? Is this tickling you~? Maybe that’s cuz you’re reeeaally ticklish here…” 

“IHI— *squeal* QUIHIHIET!” Michelangelo demanded loudly. 

Donnie smiled at the weak retort, kneading the other’s hips harder, “What happened to all that smugness, hm? Where’d it all go, little guy~? Do I have you in a giggly puddle because your tickle tickle ticklish and I’m tickle tickle tickling you~?”

“STAHAHAP *squeal* SAHAHAYING *squeal* THAHAT, AHAHASHOLE!!!”

“Stop saying what~? Tickle? Ticklish—?”

The orange banded teen squealed loudly once more, accidentally cutting his brother off with his teasing. The glasses wielding teen couldn’t help but laugh softly at it, “Awe…look at my baby brother…” Donnie cooed. 

“NAHAHAHA!” The youngest threw his head back in loud laughter as Donnie now tickled the sides of his shell. Mikey arched his back, trying to buck his older brother off of him but Donnie held on easily, continuing to tickle him. 

“PLEHEASE! PLEHEHEASE!!!” 

“'Plehease'? Please what~?”

“JUHUST *squeal* NAHAT *hic* THE SHEHELL!” Mikey despretley cried, turning to his side as other small hiccups followed as the end of the hoodie went up a bit, revealing some of his plastron. 

The honey brown eyed turtle giggled at the perfectly played out action, “Oh…would you look at that~!” He mused, “Last chance to give me back my hoodie, bro.”

The smaller turtle’s eyes widened in realization, looking up at his brother from the corner of his eye, “Yohou *hic* wohohoudn’t…!”

“Oho wouldn’t I~?” Donnie grinned, gently holding Mikey’s waist and blowing multiple upon multiple raspberries on his stomach whilst scribbling his nails on his sides. “DAHAH— *squeal* DAHANNIE!” Mikey cried. 

“Jeez…your mega ticklish here, huh?”

“SHUHUT— GEHET— PLEHEHEASE!!!” The brown eyed teen rambled through his laughs, shaking his head. 

“Why— would— I???” The tech whiz mocked playfully, now blowing raspberries on his little brother’s neck and scribbling his fingers all over his stomach. “NAHAHAT THEHERE!! BROHOHO COHOME OHAHAN!!” The youngest squealed and squeaked. 

Donatello smirked, ceasing his 100% justified attack for a second, “You saying 'nahahat thehere' is genuinely so funny, Mikes. Like, I was going to tickle you here regardless but, hey! Thanks for confirming how badly it tickles for you.”

He resumed his tickling onslaught on his younger brother, the younger brother in question basically falling limp due to how hard he was laughing. The only body parts that were really fighting for his life right now were his legs, that still did not cease desperately kicking the floor. 

The purple banded turtle now started lightly giving ticklish nibbles on his younger brother’s neck as his light scribbles on the smaller turtle’s sides became quick and fast squeezes. “Om nom nom! Hm…you taste like…giggles! And ticklishness~! My favorite food combo!” The elder teased. 

“DEEHEE DEEHEEHEE?! WHAT DOHOES THAHAT EHEHEVEN MEEHEEAN?!?!” Mikey cried desperately, his voice sounding like a tea kettle brewing because of how squeaky and high pitched it was.

“Awe…you haven’t used that nickname for me in ages~! It must tickle that bad, huh?” The glasses wielding turtle cooed.

“IHI *hic* CAHAN’T!”

“You can’t~? Can’t what~?”

“IHIT— *hic* NAHAHAH!” Mikey silently wheezed, throwing his head back as he shut his eyes tight. “Is someone giving me the silent treatment?” Donnie snickered, “Pfft— get it? Cuz you’re laughing silently~? Eh? Eh?”

Okay, even if Mikey was the comedian of the family, he would’ve admitted that was a pretty solid joke if he wasn’t getting slaughtered right now. “FIHINE FIHINE *hic* HAHAVE *hic* IHIHIT BAHACK!!! TAHAKE IHIHIT!! PLEHEASE *hic* JUHUST STAHAHAP *squeal* I’M GOHONNA *squeal* DIHIHIE!!!”

“That would be kiiiiiiiinda funny making your grave honestly.” The tech loving teen smugly said, “Michelangelo Hamato. Reason of death? Being too freaking ticklish.”

“DEEHEEHEE!!!” The youngest cried. Donnie stopped, getting up and laying next to his brother, wrapping him in a side hug which the smaller turtle immediately melted to. “May I plehease hahave my hoodie back?” 

“Ihi juhust sahaid yehehehes!” The orange banded teen groaned, literally throwing the hoodie at his immediate older brother. The anime loving teen smiled, putting on the hoodie as he grinned in triumph. “For real real. I feel like new...” He said to himself proudly. 

And if the youngest knew his brother (which he did), that was probably a quote that that Gojo fellow has said. 

“Oh! And by the way, little bro. My club doesn’t have a meet up today. It’s tomorrow.” Donnie snickered, walking away and leaving Mikey left in complete and utter awe. 

That freaking asshole.

Okay, well now Mikey’s definitely taking that MHA hoodie next year.

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙵𝙸𝙽˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙ 

(𝙿.𝚂.: 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐!!!)

[campingwiththecharmings]

HAPPY OSCAR FICVERSARY HONEY!!!!

That is SO exciting!!!!!!

Ok so listen, if you want me to choose a prompt specifically I will, but I had a thought that I think you might like so please just lmk what you think:

Neighbor Miguel is Spider-Man and his identity is a secret from the world, ofc. Reader works in the medical field, he knows this because they've talked casually on occasion in the past. He gets injured and doesn't have anywhere else to go (for whatever reason) so he knocks on reader's door.

Can be just fluff or smut, whatever your heart desires, but I thought it would be a cute idea that you might like hehe <3

Helping Hand

AN: Eeeeeee, thank you, Mel. Your friendship and support mean a lot to me, I hope you know that. ❤️ Thanks for being there, and also for sending this prompt in. I hope it did it justice! 🤞

(Un-beta’d)

Rated: T (for mild gore) Words: 1,007 Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Reader (should be GN, please let me know if that's incorrect) Warnings: brief mention of blood, wounds/injuries, hurt/comfort, cheesy/contrived dialogue probably lol AO3

——————

You sigh as you enter your apartment, shuffling through the door and letting your bag drop to the floor. The ER had been slammed today, and you were beyond exhausted. Starving, you head toward your kitchen, rifling through the fridge before settling on some leftover takeout for dinner. You decide to change while you wait for it to reheat and exit the kitchen, heading in the direction of your bedroom.  

A soft tapping noise makes you pause, your ears perking at the sound as worry settles in your gut—shit, it wasn’t rats again, was it? You’d thought the landlord had taken care of that problem months ago. You listen for a moment longer, your anxiety easing a little when you don’t hear anything further. Maybe it was just the wind, you think, resuming your trek. 

You hear it again as you reach the door to your bedroom, the tapping louder this time, more insistent. It takes a moment for you to realize it’s coming from your window, a surprised scream lodging in your throat when you finally locate the source of the sound. 

Is that….Spider-man? 

You stare, a little flabbergasted and blinking rapidly, as if it’ll somehow make this baffling image disappear. 

Alas, it does not. 

He taps again, the movement sluggish. His fingers slide down the glass and your breath catches when streaks of red appear in their wake. 

He’s injured.  

Before you can really think about it, you’re at the window, unlocking it and pushing it open. He all but falls through it, his huge frame pouring onto the floor beneath the sill. You immediately crouch beside him, your hands on his broad shoulders as he struggles to prop himself up against the wall.  

“Where are you hurt?” you ask calmly, your eyes flicking over him expertly, alert for any signs of injury. 

He says nothing, just gestures to his head, panting as if he’s been running a marathon. You frown, carefully taking his face in your hands. You can feel the warmth of his skin through his suit as you gingerly turn his head this way and that, careful not to injure him further. He grunts when your fingers graze the back of his head and you bite your lip, your gaze settling where you assume his eyes are beneath his mask.

“If you want my help, I’ll need you to remove the mask,” you tell him, your voice gentle but firm, leaving no room for negotiation. 

There’s a pause as he presumably considers your request, and just as you’re wondering what he’s thinking, he nods, his mask retracting like magic. Your mouth falls open when you not only see his face but recognize him. 

It’s your neighbor, Miguel. Spider-man is your neighbor. 

You allow yourself a moment of shock, before standing to your feet and running to your bathroom to grab a few clean towels and your first aid kit.  

Help first, questions after. 

You crouch before him, holding his chin between your fingers and carefully tilting his head up to check his eyes with your pen light. He flinches but doesn’t fight you. Once you’re positive he doesn’t have a concussion, you maneuver him so you can reach the back of his head and begin gently examining and cleaning his wound. His hair is soft against your palm, the ends curling slightly from exposure to the humid air outside, and you wonder briefly what it’d be like to plunge your fingers into the dark, mussed depths (under different circumstances, obviously).  

You’re close, close enough to smell him, his scent warm and woodsy, oddly calming. He winces as you work, grunting every now and then in pain as you clean the area. Once you're finished, you apply an antibiotic cream to his scalp that you know will help heal it quickly.  

“You should be okay, just try to keep it clean and dry.” 

He nods, wincing a little as he shifts, leaning more of his weight against the wall. 

You study him quietly for a moment, eyes tracing the tired lines of his face. His eyes are half closed, his mouth drawn in a tight line. You wonder if anyone else knows his secret; does he have a partner or does he carry the weight of all of this alone? The thought breaks your heart a little. 

“So,” you begin airily, his eyes flicking to you as you gesture at what remains of his spider-suit, “is this why I never see you at any of the building meetings?” 

He blinks at you, his movements sluggish, and for a moment, you worry that you’ve made things awkward...but then he sniffs a laugh, a smile curling on his lips, and there’s a dim light in his eyes that wasn’t there before, despite his wince of pain. 

“Sorry,” you mutter, a pang of guilt snagging in your chest.

He waves you off, meeting your eyes again briefly, his expression sobering a little. “I’m the one who should be apologizing.”

“What for?” you ask, brows furrowing in confusion.

“For showing up like this…unannounced and bleeding all over your floor.”

“It’s okay, was only a little blood,” you tease, shrugging slightly.

He snorts and you chew your lip, your stomach flipping nervously. Has he always been this good-looking? Suddenly you can’t remember, aren’t sure you ever really took the time to notice…

“C’mon,” you say, standing to your feet and offering him your hands. 

Miguel looks between your face and your outstretched hands for a moment, then takes them, his large hands engulfing yours. You grunt as you help him stand, using all of your weight to help him get up off the floor. He wobbles a little as his center of gravity shifts, leaning against the wall again for support as he waits for the dizziness to pass.

“Okay?” you ask, watching him closely, your hands still clasped in his.

Your heart skips in your chest when he meets your eyes again, his gaze soft as he smiles and nods.

“I’m getting there.”

If you enjoyed this, please let me know! I appreciate every single reblog and/or comment. Thank you. 💖

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[x-i-l-verify]

Title: Harmless Games (Went to My Head) Fandom: Linked Universe Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Category: Gen Characters: Four (Linked Universe), Sky (Linked Universe), Time (Linked Universe), Cia (Legend of Zelda), Minish | Picori Characters (Legend of Zelda) Status: complete Additional Tags: No Smut, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Sky (Linked Universe), Protective Time (Linked Universe), Protective Four (Linked Universe), Hurt Four (Linked Universe), Four (Linked Universe)-centric, Four (Linked Universe) Needs a Hug, Four (Linked Universe) Has a Bad Time, Good Sibling Four (Linked Universe), Physical Abuse, Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied Mind Rape, Cia (Legend of Zelda) Is Her Own Warning, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Hopeful Ending, Self-Sacrifice, Victim Blaming, Four Stans Come Get Y'alls Juice

Summary:

“I’m sorry, Four,” Sky said sorrowfully, wiping at his leaking nose with a handkerchief yet again. “I would go myself, but-” “Like hell you would,” Four retorted, gently pushing his brother back down into the pillows. “You are staying right there until you can at least walk to one end of the hallway and back without passing out. I can deal with Mistress Cia for a few days on my own, no problem.” Bloodshot, royal blue eyes gazed pitifully up at him. “But you shouldn’t have to.” “Is what it is, Sky. If it’ll give you a break, I don’t mind it.” And he didn’t, truly. He leaned in and briefly pressed his forehead into Sky’s burning temple as the older aspect shivered and trembled like a leaf against him, even bundled in three layers of blankets. “Just focus on resting, okay?” (or: In an AU where the dark witch Cia obsessively crafts intricate artificial humans made of magic in the hopes of perfectly recreating her lost love, her littlest plaything is forced to to make a terrible choice.)

link to fic

*emerges from my frenetic fugue state dazed and confused* What day is it?

[unopenablebox]

people around me online are always disclosing their kinks, like by writing fic about them or writing posts about them or reblogging the same photo of lee pace thirty times. but i can't do that. because my kink is embarrassing

[shannonsketches]

Every time I talk to a DB fan who doesn't know or doesn't agree that the whole franchise is an adventure comedy first and an action series second I feel insane but then I find an old Toriyama interview,

You made some comedic scenes where you have minor villains Pilaf & co. appear; how did you come up with a balance between laughs and fierce battles? Do you pay attention to the difference between comedy and battle in making a work “entertaining”?

I believe that, when you combine comedy and serious battles, both of them might come alive even more. As for me personally, though, I much prefer drawing dumb jokes to battle scenes.

as a bonus, every time I'm like 'idk I didn't really like most of the DBZ movies prior to Yo Son Goku and Friends Return and BotG,' and get the 'whAAaaT they're so gOOD' (from my brother, tbh askdjs) but they all seemed really Action-Drama and About the Fight Scenes and I'm like 'meh kinda boring tbh' I get to gaze upon,

In the latest movie, Toriyama-san, you participated in the production from the scriptwriting stage for the first time. What is the reason for that? Was there anything you noticed in coming face-to-face with the work after so long?

I was told about a project for Dragon Ball in its first animated film in a long while, and I read the story outline; while the beings “Beerus, God of Destruction” and “Super Saiyan God” (which goes above Super Saiyan) were interesting, the themes were heavy, and I felt that the world was a bit different from Dragon Ball. Rather than telling them about this or that problematic spot, I thought it would be faster if I just wrote it out concretely, and while I had intended just to give them a model―”for example”―my hand wouldn’t stop, and ultimately, I ended up writing almost everything, including the dialogue. I am reflecting on the fact that I did something terribly rude to the scriptwriter.

Akira "It was bad so I fixed it, oops" Toriyama, Absolute Legend

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

Chapter 18

are we finally getting somewhere with the trial? please??

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

was tempted to start this chapter with toko waking up and gasping 'i think i like girls!!'

wanted to say that everything would've been resolved way earlier if people were just a little nicer to toko before remembering that aoi was literally doing that and she STILL obsessed over byakuya. can we get this girl to a therapist please

shoutout to @digitaldollsworld for reading this at ass o'clock in the morning while i was still writing it. a real hero tbh

Content warning tags: self-deprecating language, implied self-harm, canon-typical manipulation and language

< previous - from start - next >

There’s a moment of stillness. Someone shouts in alarm, and a few people nearly step away from their stands with intention to help. But just as quickly, the dark figure slumped behind the rail begins to clamber slowly upwards, hands bracing against the balusters as she totters to an upright position.

Slowly, carefully, Toko Fukawa stands up straight, trembling all the while. “I-Is this a trial? W-what’s going o-on?!”

The stammer certainly sounds like Fukawa.“...Toko? That’s really you, right?” Asahina tries tentatively. “Um, are you okay? Are you feeling alright?”

“I…” She looks around, hands fisted tight around her braids, twitching with the same nervous quality of a bird. Her eyes must have landed on Byakuya, and the venomous stare he was giving her, because she squeaks and cowers again. “I-!”

“Chihiro’s body was found today. Approximately twenty minutes after you left the library.” He says coldly, words clipped and harsh. “Kyoko says you were both in the boy’s bathroom before the body discovery alarm. Can you verify this?”

“W-what?!” She stutters. “I-I don’t know w-what’s going on, I n-never know-” She’s shaking violently, as if she’s about to faint again.

“Let’s try a different question.” Kirigiri cuts in. “Toko. What were you doing between 12:30 and 1 o’clock today?”

“Wh- A-are you accusing me of s–something?!”

“No. But everyone else has given testimony on their whereabouts during this time. Yours would help grant us a better understanding of the course of events.” Kirigiri says patiently. Fukawa sways for a moment, thinking carefully, before she answers.

“Th-the library,” She half-mumbles, hands twisting in her braids over and over again, the black coils weaving over her pale fingers like eels. “Um, I w-wanted to talk to B-Byakuya alone, so I w-went to the library, a-and we t-talked for a bit…and then-”

He suddenly realizes what she’s about to say, but it’s too late to stop it. “Then, u-um, he h-hit me…w-with a book.”

He can feel eyes turning towards him, and the air turns disapproving. He scowls back. “She’s left out the part where she tried to blackmail me with the secret that she peeked at the other night.” He explains, and at once Fukawa flushes darkly and begins stammering something out.

“I-! I wasn’t b-blackmailing you!”

“What other word should I have used then? Manipulation? Coercion?” He asks sarcastically, and she shrivels and withers at his words.

“I told you m-my secret too, s-so it’d be fair-”

“You told me you were a serial killer who targets the men you fancied. Forgive me if I wasn’t immediately won over.”

The atmosphere turns a little less hostile at that. “Okay, yeah. If it’s like that I kinda get it.” Hagakure is nodding sagely, as if he understands everything. “But, seriously. You shouldn’t hit girls, man…”

“...Are you really going to do this now?” He just needed this trial to be over, already. The adrenaline of the earlier reveal had worn off, and now he felt sick with anger and exhaustion. “The whole thing barely took ten minutes. I wasn’t interested in dragging it out any longer than I had to.”

“Still, hitting is sort of-” But Hagakure shuts up at the glare Byakuya gives him, and quickly amends. “Never mind. Gender equality. Especially in self-defense. Cool, got it, my bad.”

“So, I suppose it is safe to assume that the source of the blood on your hand, and the book from earlier, was because of this confrontation?” Celeste asks. And, without waiting for an answer: “Then, that would also mean that the reason you were holding that file on Syo was due to what Toko had revealed to you.”

She sounds all too satisfied with herself for reaching that conclusion. “And so, it seems that the most damning evidence that had been implicating you has been disproven. Is that not reassuring?”

“...Don’t patronize me.”

“Why, I wouldn’t dare.” She laughs lightly, a soft sound that perfectly conceals her shrewdness.

“Toko. Please, continue.” Kirigiri says again, and there’s a quiet rustle as Fukawa yanks at her hair, the strands scraping over her fingers.

“A-after he h-hit me, I left…u-um, I went to the bathroom t-to w-wash my face, and when I touched the faucet - I-I mean, I wiped my f-face with my hands earlier, a-and the b-blood…” She trails off and shakes her head, and shoves her face into a fistful of her hair. 

Byakuya suddenly recalls something, something that Fukawa had mentioned during their confrontation in the library in a hurried, muttered tone. “Syo comes out when you see blood.” He remembers aloud, and her incoherent words begin clicking together.

Her pale face immediately darkens to an ugly, blotchy pink. “Yeah, um. I-I’m scared of b-blood, so…a-and when she’s out, I d-don’t have any m-memory of what s-she does.” She cradles her face in her hands, swaying a little like a swooning maiden. “S-so you did remember…” She mumbles, apparently to herself, and he feels his stomach turn with disgust.

It’s not worth wasting the effort on her to think of a response, so he opts to ignore her fawning instead. “So Toko left the library and went to the boy’s bathroom, and fainted after seeing the blood on her hand.” That seems logical enough, but something about this sequence of events bothered him. 

According to Kirigiri, Syo only woke up shortly before the body discovery. If Fukawa went to the bathroom right after leaving the library, why had it taken so long? And that aside, there was something that bothered him about her story. Something that he couldn’t place a finger on.

He’s not the only one who noticed the fallacy. “Excuse me, Toko,” Makoto tries tentatively. “So…that means from around 12:40 to one, you were unconscious?”

“Y-yes? What, do you n-not believe me?” She immediately goes on the defensive, cagey and snappish. “Y-you think I’m l-lying, right? J-just because I’m l-like this, you th-think that e-everything I say is a l-lie-?! Y-you all think I s-strung Chihiro up, I kn-know it!”

“Toko…no one said that.” Asahina has her hands raised, in some attempt to calm her down. “We just want to know what happened.”

She was proving to be an impossible witness. Byakuya raises a hand to press to his temple, feeling his pulse throbbing beneath his fingertips. “Kyoko. Can you verify what Toko has said?” He asks, exasperated, and Kirigiri actually seems to startle a bit, head snapping to look at him.

“...I can’t.” She says, after a pause. “Because she did not enter the bathroom at that time, or else I would have noticed it.”

She remains fixated on him for a moment longer, before turning away. Belatedly, he suddenly realizes this was the second time he’s caught her off guard. The first time was when he pointed out the fact that access to information on Genocider Syo was limited.

He doesn’t have the luxury to dwell on that though. “So, that means that either you, or Toko, is lying about their whereabouts during this time.” He sighs. “For now, we need to identify which one of you both is deceiving us.”

Both are equally suspicious. Kirigiri has been mysterious, even more so than usual, and purposefully vague about her activities. And he didn’t trust Fukawa at all to start with, but she was also clumsy and awkward. It was hard to imagine her being able to plan everything ahead to this degree, from planting the evidence, to staging the actual murder…

“Wait. Something’s not right.” Makoto says suddenly, and his voice is clear and contemplative, his chin tucked over his knuckle. “If Toko fainted before she actually washed her hands, then how come her hands are clean? Remember, when we first met Syo, she showed us that her hands were totally free of blood.”

“I-I-!” She squawks, indignant, but she can’t seem to formulate a reply for a few moments. “M-maybe Syo washed my h-hands or s-something, I don’t know! S-she’s the one that k-kills people, so o-of course she would h-hide her tracks!”

“But, again, the sinks of the boy’s bathroom were all dry.” Makoto points out, and Fukawa sputters some more. “And…”

He pauses, and his head dips for a moment, enough for a shadow to cast over his face. “Toko. How did you know that Chihiro is dead?”

Byakuya figures it out a half-step after him, and silently kicks himself for not picking up on it earlier. And the others pick up on it as well, and the atmosphere turns dark, thick with unease and suspicion. Same as the elevator ride down, but this time, directed at Fukawa.

She’s gaping like a fish. She turns left and right, shuffling slightly. The rails of the stand stand tall and straight like the bars of a cage. “I-that’s-the portraits!” She yelps, and jabs out a pale hand in Byakuya’s direction. “Ch-Chihiro’s portrait, i-it’s crossed out! Th-that means s-she’s dead, so-”

“He’s dead.” Byakuya corrects sharply, and glares so fiercely the confused question that Fukawa was preparing simply vanishes. “But the fact that you weren’t aware of that means that Chihiro never came to speak with you about it. When he already discussed the matter with the rest of us.”

“I-that doesn’t m-mean I k-killed he-him!”

“Maybe that doesn’t implicate you,” Kirigiri concedes. “But earlier, you said ‘strung Chihiro up’. How were you aware of what the crime scene looked like?”

Fukawa squeaks, and smacks her hands to her mouth, as if she can retroactively shove the words back. “Th-that- i-isn’t that like S-Syo’s habits? S-so o-of course I would a-assume-”

“Syo said the crime scene doesn’t match what she does.” Makoto interjects. “All her victims are pinned by her scissors. Like you said, Chihiro was crucified using a cord.”

“I-”

“The time period doesn’t make sense. If we assume that Kyoko is being truthful - why did it take so long for Syo to wake up, in the time between you fainting and Chihiro being found?” Byakuya stares at her icily, and she squirms and shudders beneath his gaze. “You woke up awfully quick just now. For someone accusing us of labeling you a liar, you don’t seem inclined to tell the truth about anything, do you?”

His words drip with vitriol and acid, and Fukawa digs her fingers into her scalp and stamps her foot and screams, a long, strangled noise of frustration and anger. It’s a piercing sound, sharp enough to make Byakuya flinch, and it echoes for a moment up to the high ceiling of the chamber. And then everyone is silent as she catches her breath, hands pulling slowly away from her thoroughly disheveled hair.

“Fine,” She spits, and somehow, her voice is steadier than he’s ever heard it. “I hung up Chihiro. A-and I framed Byakuya for it.”

The confession sounds almost giddy with how breathless she is, but maybe Byakuya was imagining it. After a moment’s pause for people to register what she said, there’s no small amount of shock.

“You- you did?!” Yamada, standing directly next to Fukawa, cows as far away as the stand will let him. “Wha- but you seemed so…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, but the implication of the word ‘harmless’ hangs in the air. “Yes, I did.” She snaps back savagely. “I-it was easy. H-he’s so small, a-and I knew B-Byakuya would be l-looking for s-stuff on Syo…and, t-the extension cord…”

Byakuya suddenly remembers, then. How she had stumbled as she left the library, foot smashing through some box and getting tangled in its contents. And how he hadn’t paid any mind to it, already too preoccupied with his own survival to care.

“How did you manage it without turning into Syo?” Kirigiri asks, and Fukawa’s face twists. It's only as she turns her head, and Byakuya notices the subtle glint of her bared teeth, that he realizes that she’s grinning.

“He had been i-ignoring me f-for so long…I was w-working so hard. T-to be normal and good. S-so he would l-look at me…” It’s not hard to figure out who she was referring to by ‘he’. Byakuya feels eyes on him once more. But his attention is turned to her raised forearm, exposed by the sleeve drooping around her elbow from how her hands are clutching at her scalp, and the strip of white that is almost imperceptible against her already pale skin. “I-I thought if I could - I could g-get over it, I could prove th-that I could be normal, then…”

She trails off, energy quickly depleted. “So, you had been training to not immediately faint at the sight of blood.” Kirigiri concludes, and Fukawa nods once, jerkily.

“Wait, so you did all that just because he ignored you?” Hagakure asks, mouth agape.

“Yes!” She shrieks vehemently, so sharp and sudden that Byakuya nearly jumps. “You don’t get it! None of you g-get it! I-I can stand it i-if he was mean to me, o-or if he h-hated me, but- it’s the worst when h-he acts like I’m n-not even there!”

Her voice breaks, and for a long moment the only sound in the room is her quiet sobs. To some degree - and Byakuya is furious with himself for even thinking this - he understands why she might behave this way. Clearly, she had been abused, and likely neglected, and this manifested into the extreme, self-demeaning, aggressive behavior she displayed now. Her actions had a twisted logic. She herself was pitiable.

But just because he understood, did not mean he had to accept it.

“Well, you have my full attention now.” He says coldly. “Congratulations. Why don’t you try and keep that attention by telling us what we all want to know?”

“Yeah, how about you tell us how Chihiro died?” It takes Byakuya a moment to place that the question came from Owada, who had been mostly quiet for a while now. He’s not blazing with fury anymore, but there’s an edge in his voice now that Byakuya can’t read. “I don’t give a shit about your fucking crush. I want to know how you killed Chihiro.”

Fukawa tilts her head in thought, and the action is somehow reminiscent of Syo. “B-but, I didn’t kill Chihiro?” She says, and she sounds almost innocent. “I-I just found the b-body…I-I think if I d-did kill him th-then Syo w-would have woken up r-right away.”

As if anticipating it, Kirigiri raises her hands, as if trying to stop the rush of questions and shocked exclamations from the others. It’s no use though, as Owada bellows: “Like hell we’re believing that!”

“Guys, the time limit-!” Makoto has to shout above the din. At that, Byakuya glances at the clock hanging over Monokuma’s chair, the flashing red digits initiating a countdown. How long had it been already? How much time was left? There was no way for him to tell. He’d totally forgotten about it. “Just. Toko, can you tell us how you found the body? Please?”

“W-why should I?” Byakuya feels his jaw physically creak with how hard he’s grinding his teeth. It seemed that in the time Fukawa spent unconscious, she had absorbed the worst aspects of Syo’s personality.

“We may all perish if you don’t.” Sakura points out, a low threat in her voice.

“I-I don’t care.”

Byakuya thinks he might scream. “Why?! What else do you have left to lose?” He demands, and his voice rasps slightly, throat sore from how much he’d been talking. “We know what you’ve done already. You’ve already revealed everything about me. What else do you want?!”

And she giggles, a breathless, insane sound. “I-I don’t c-care what happens t-to me,” She sings. “I hate you. I h-hate everyone here. I kn-know I-I’m gonna get t-targeted no matter w-what I do, b-because you all th-think I’m so horrible…so I should h-hit back f-first, right?” She wobbles, hands knotted in her hair again. “B-but I hate you the most. I-I wanted y-you to know how you made me feel, even j-just a little.”

Even without seeing her face, he can sense her malice, thick and unpleasant like the smell of rot. He hasn’t been the target of such blatant contempt in years, and the complete hostility that she radiates makes him feel a little unsteady.

“Fine. We will figure out the details ourselves. You’ve given us enough clues already.” Kirigiri replies coolly. “Unfortunately for you, only one person will be dying after this trial.”

He’s not sure how she can be so confident about that. The pounding in his head is getting worse, and as his eyes slip closed, he finds he’s not even sure where to start with everything; after all this, they were still not any closer to a definite conclusion. All they had done so far was run blindly around each other, getting lured to dead-ends and circles.

Through the low throb of pain in his skull, he can just barely make out the sound of quiet muttering fromMakoto’s direction. If he opened his eyes, he might have seen the other boy tapping his foot, resting his chin in his hand as he thinks. And if he could have seen, he might have noticed how Makoto’s eyes were darting, drawing invisible lines between fixed points in his mind.

“The place where Chihiro died. And Toko found the body. That’s what we need to figure out,” He says aloud, slowly. “I don’t think Chihiro died on the second floor. There’s no place with enough blood that could justify it, or enough evidence of a clean-up to suggest that it happened there. Even in the hallway where the body was found, the only blood there was against the wall from where Chihiro was crucified. There’s no splatter to match the method of death.”

“Yeah, but there’s no place on the first floor to suggest that Chihiro died there, either.” Asahina points out.

“No, there is one room. There was no blood there, but there was evidence that it was cleaned recently.” Even as he says this, Owada is beginning to gasp, ‘Wait-’, but he continues. “And, it’s somewhere someone got injured recently, so any blood that was missed can be explained away.”

He turns to the pale, silent figure of Kiyotaka Ishimaru, as still and unobtrusive as a ghost. “Taka. Can you please tell us what happened?”

___

Of course, Mondo blocks him before Taka can even respond.

“How dare you.” His voice is a low rumble, and he somehow looks angrier than Makoto has ever seen him. He can practically hear the creak of wood where Mondo was gripping the bannister, knuckles white and bulging. “What the fuck are you trying to pull, Makoto? What the fuck are you trying to say?!”

Makoto swallows, his heart feeling like it’s about to pop out of his chest. He’s seen Mondo both at his most violent moments, and at his kindest ones, his face softening with sympathy as he was listening to Chihiro, the hearty reassurance and gentle clap on the back he had offered to them both. But now Mondo looked like he might actually kill him, and would make it hurt while it happened.

But despite that, he presses on. “I know you said that a trophy fell on Taka’s head, and that’s how you found him. When I went to look at the trophy room, the floor was still wet, and it was clean - like, really clean. And I assumed it was because you went back and cleaned it up after Taka got injured, but looking back, that doesn’t make sense.” He glances briefly at Kyoko, who merely closes her eyes in silent assent. “If your friend had a concussion, wouldn’t you stay by his side?”

Mondo’s face pulls into a snarl, a vein bulging at his temple. “So what if I went back and cleaned it up? Maybe Taka wanted to rest alone. What the hell does that matter?”

“No, I think it does matter. You don’t act like it, but you’re really nice, Mondo. When you were talking with me and Chihiro, and told us about your bro-”

He cuts himself off for a moment, suddenly hesitant. He’s already revealed Byakuya’s secret. He didn’t want to have to reveal Mondo’s as well, even now. He didn’t want to betray anyone else, but-

He already hates me for what I’m doing. He thinks to himself. Whether he reveals Mondo’s secret now or not, he knows that no matter what, he was going to be hated; there was no chance at the friendly ribbing and pleasant exchanges they had in the past. But even despite that, he finds himself unwilling to form the words on his tongue.

He needn’t have bothered though. Kyoko is the one who speaks up in his stead. “There’s no point in hiding the fact that you care deeply for Taka. We all remember the display of friendship the two of you put on the other day after spending weeks at each other’s throats. And as someone who’s familiar with violence, I imagine you’re also familiar with basic first aid; so why would you abandon someone with a head injury to clean up the other room?”

Mondo glares at her furiously, but there’s sweat beading on his forehead now. “You-you meddling bitch, what the fuck are you-?!”

“Please don’t misunderstand. I’m not trying to accuse you of anything.” She sighs. Makoto thinks she looks a little haggard, with dark rings of exhaustion under her eyes, and wonders when the last time she slept was. Despite that, her eyes are still sharp, and meet Mondo’s glower with a cool stare. “But, since we are missing out on Toko’s testimony, I think we should have our last witness speak for himself.”

And before she had even finished her sentence, Taka was opening his mouth.

< previous - from start - next >

[teamjacobthot]

nyctophobia

chapter 9: earthbound

read on ao3 | read on ff.net

summary: now, think of the biggest lover you know. it’s a water sign, right? after getting kicked out of prom ‘05, Leah and Sam still have the whole night ahead of them. and guess what? they’re home alone. word count: ~6.3k warnings: more of the same in recent chapters such as profanity, blatant flirting, romance, lots of innuendos, and sensuality (not explicit). last chapter had the first "fuck" but this chapter has the first FUCK……

thanks so much to everyone who's been consistently reading the story, especially those who leave comments. I really appreciate y'all and your kind words.

@bellasdumptruckass did the damn thing again as a beta-reader! thanks so much for always letting me vent, cry, scream, etc. you just get me <3

this chapter is about to get real cute, real touchy-feely, real romantic, real heart-fluttery. this is literally the sweetest thing I’ve written in a long ass time, maybe ever. GODDD I wish my first boyfriend wasn’t such a piece of shit lmao. but um anyways-

Real Lovers™ this one's for y'all!

hope you all enjoy the update! show some love in the comments if you're real <3

tag list (literally just copying and pasting from old posts - pls lmk if you want me to tag/untag you in future nyctophobia posts): @leahclearwaterdefensesquad @cheerynoir @big-idiot-wolf-boys @the-golden-onion @howlonghaveyoubeenseventeen @phil-dwyer-stan-account @paulxlahotee @edwardsmedow @the-most-pathetic-edge-marquis @effervescent-influenza @gezellig-writes @witchyangela @leahcee @haletwinsstan @musingsofvenus @leahclearwlwater @haemshaems @vampiresarezombies @femmealice @blackpack @bellasoutrageousflavor @tenarcansteponme @me-and-jake @plainjaniedee @renegadepack @manicpixietwilight @emotwilights @jacobyouidiotihadit @edwardsmate4ever @sugarshackpeasant

[delusinaldreamer19]

I swear to god I am going to finish Offspring.

Someday………..probably.

[winter-ashes21]

Emerald Fire Like Live Wire (Eren x Trans!Reader(FtM)

This is a spicy one shot of Eren X Reader where they don't get along, except in the bedroom. The Reader in this story has had top surgery, but still has female body parts below. If this would make you uncomfortable or trigger your dysphoria, then please do not read. This post will only have the first few paragraphs, the rest will be posted on my AO3 account. I'll tag it down below after the teaser. I hope you enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eren had a talent at pissing him off. They never got along, not even during their first meeting. Eren had just rubbed him wrong. He’d been so blunt and closed off, his eyes so piercing and sharp. It had always kinda unsettled him.It didn’t help that Eren had this aura around him that had immediately made the hairs on the back of his neck raise. Eren was always so… Aloof. Rarely smiled and was always just there. It didn’t help that he always looked tired and stressed, dressed in all black. He could see in Eren’s eyes that he was always paying attention, always listening, always so damn sharp. It freaked him out, even if his friends had blown it off, saying that Eren was just like that. It still didn’t seem… Right…

He’d opted to try and stay as far away from Eren as he could, but that wasn’t easy. They both had most of the same friends and often ended up at hangouts together, and it never failed that there would be a fight at some point. Either he or Eren would say something and the other would get annoyed. The others were so over their shit that they would just sigh instead of trying to break it up anymore. One time, Armin had come up to him while he was in the kitchen, trying to get away from Eren. Armin had offered him a bottle of water, then said that as much as he hated seeing them argue, that at the same time, he liked it. He explained that Eren slowly stopped smiling over the years and became quiet and withdrawn, and that it was good to see Eren speaking and getting loud again, even if it was due to some petty argument. 

He had been confused by that information. He hadn’t met Eren until after he’d graduated High School, so he’d only known the cold and aloof man, but to know that Eren had once been full of life? That had tipped his interest. To the point he’d started seeing Eren in a different light. He still wasn’t nice to the guy, or happy to be in his presence, but it’d made him wonder what the man had gone through to have such a drastic change. All that wondering had built up until it had become too much and he’d end up asking him. It hadn’t gone over well and had led to a nasty fight. One of their worst yet. They’d ended up screaming in each other's faces, snapping and throwing insults back and forth. It had almost come to physical blows and Reiner and Jean had to pull them apart, Armin had tried talking them down. They hadn’t even looked in each other's direction for about a month after that.

Once they did start speaking again, things were different, tense, but something had shifted. They both had felt it, and the others had felt it as well. They still glared and threw insults, but he’d noticed that Eren wasn’t as… Rude? No, that wasn’t it. It was like Eren had started to become more mindful about what he’d said, but was still mean as hell. It had confused the hell out of him, made him wonder what had changed. He found out a week later when they had been at Connie’s party and they’d ended up in the kitchen together, alone. He’d been drinking and he knew that Eren had been drinking as well. That weird tension was back, worse than normal. Insults were thrown back and forth, glares shot at each other. They had ended up slowly inching towards each other until they stood toe to toe. He had to tilt his head back to glare at Eren and Eren had to look down at him. He could feel the heat pouring off Eren, the man was like a furnace, and although he’d never admit it, it felt nice since he was always so cold. 

At some point they’d gone silent and were just glaring at one another. He took in Eren’s vibrant green eyes, his dark hair that he kept pulled back, his tanned skin from always being outside. He stared at Eren’s sharp jawline and his full lips. He saw Eren’s flushed face and felt his breaths against his face. He could smell the alcohol on Eren’s breath, along with something sweet. He felt his heart kickstart as he was surrounded by Eren’s cologne, but his warmth. He swallowed hard.

He hadn’t known who had moved first, but he’d ended up with his back against the counter and Eren’s lips on his. Eren was an aggressive kisser, his lips moving over Eren’s and Eren’s tongue sliding into his mouth. He’d felt Eren’s large warm hands on his hips, felt his body against his. His arms had looped around his neck. He’d never been kissed like this before, had never been held so possessively before. It felt… So good. It’d made his head spin, and the alcohol hadn’t helped either. 

When the kiss had broken and they’d locked eyes, he felt tingles all over his body, his breathing labored. He saw Eren’s eyes, normally so sharp and dull looking, now more vibrant than he’d ever seen them, like live green fire. His breath had caught in his throat and he’d just stared in fascination. In that moment, all he could think was that Eren’s body felt good against his and that Eren’s eyes were absolutely beautiful.

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The rest will be posted on my AO3 account!!! I hope you enjoyed reading!

[eyesontheskyline]

Oh nothing just me sharing my very own "help my porn is turning into an angsty character study" vague outline with @sequinsmile-x and getting called out for being a parody of myself.

[theflyingfeeling]

💖 it's here, it's pink, it's sparkly, and full of fluff 💖

Hiiiiii and welcome to witness my attempt at an Olli/Allu Advent Calendar, in which I'll give you ~a cute little something~ about these two idiots in love almost every day until December 24! My plan is to use prompts from this list to either write a fic based on the prompt or just some good ol' delulu thoughts if all else fails. I cannot guarantee there'll be a post literally every day, but I'm really excited to try this out and I thank you for your support along the way in advance 💝

The biggest thanks and a million hugs go to one of my favourite human beings @kraeuterhexchen for making the adorable banner!! I mean helloooooo?? 😭 Go show them some love ❣️

For December 1, the prompt list is titled One True Pairing Moments, and the prompt I chose was 'calling just to hear their voice' 🥺 You can read the fic below, I hope you like it <3

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PS. Even though this is an advent calendar of sorts, I'm not planning on making this particularly Christmassy. I hope no one minds terribly!

~

Falling for Aleksi had, in a way, sneaked up on Olli, at least if he fooled himself a little. He could pretend he didn’t feel any different about the man than he did about, say, Joonas or Tommi, but that strategy only worked for so long – that is to say, approximately until Aleksi as much as smiled softly at him from across a room or bumped his shoulder into his jovially when walking down the street and Olli would feel his breath getting caught in his throat or stumble in his words, his tongue tangled like shoelaces, which was so unlike him as well and frustrated him to no end. It really took a special kind of fool to not only develop some level of feelings for a friend, a colleague, a bandmate for Christ’s sake, but also become so hopelessly enamored with him that you rolled awake in bed in the dead of night, grabbing your phone and tossing it back on the nightstand again and again because you couldn’t decide whether or not you should, on some erratic 2 o’clock impulse, call him to let him know he was the very reason for your insomnia. 

Turning on his back, Olli groaned (only a little desperately) as he remembered losing himself in the lingering hug they had shared just before the arrivals lobby at the airport, inhaling Aleksi’s scent and wishing they wouldn’t have to go home just yet, even if Olli was more than ready to finally sleep in his own bed again. Ironically, ever since they had returned home from tour, Olli had spent night after sleepless night missing Aleksi terribly: his stupid jokes and playful banter that bordered on being flirtatious if Olli allowed himself the benefit of delusion; his quick, subtle smiles that probably meant nothing; his little touches Olli hoped meant something; his smell and his touch and the softness of his hair at the back of his neck, compared to which the blanket Olli was grasping in his fist was like sandpaper. (How he had come to know of the qualities of Aleksi’s hair in such detail, he preferred not to dwell on too much to save himself from the heartache, so let’s just leave it at ‘stressful, emotional week far away from home’ and ‘a little too much to drink’).

Above all, Olli missed Aleksi’s voice. He hadn’t even thought that was possible, until the other morning when Olli had woken up to a voice message Aleksi had left just hours earlier, rambling about a song idea he had gotten in the middle of the night – something he did from time to time – and Olli had spent the next several minutes replaying it over and over again as he had lied in bed procrastinating getting up and and instead closing his eyes to better imagine Aleksi lying there beside him, turned on his side to face Olli, talking to him sleepily like they often did when they shared a room on tour and were just too lazy to join others at breakfast. Much like the hug at the airport, Olli wished those moments would have lasted way longer than they did, often ending abruptly when either of their phones would go off with Santeri’s name on the screen, a passive-aggressive interruption to the soft, low tone of Aleksi’s early-morning thoughts. (Sometimes, when Olli was lucky enough, he had been blessed with the bliss of feeling the light touch of a fingertip tracing along his collarbone, cut short just as frustratingly by their well-meaning tour manager politely enquiring whether the two of them had plans of dragging themselves downstairs for some toast and coffee, or if they’d rather starve until lunchtime, for which he wasn’t at all sure they’d even have time that day.)

The lovesick idiot that he was, his thumb hovered over the ‘play’ button of Aleksi’s voice message, probably for the millionth time that week. The chest-carving hesitation turned into a heart flip when he noticed Aleksi was online.

Then Aleksi began to type, and Olli held his breath the entire time until a new message appeared in the thread, anticipation holding him by his throat.

You awake?

Olli exhaled and typed his affirmative reply, leaving out the reason why.

He blinked at the screen, waiting for Aleksi to ask him a random question that clearly couldn’t wait until morning, or perhaps talk about something related to another late-night Twitch stream (from what Olli had gathered, Aleksi had been doing a lot of those recently, and with his last remaining braincell Olli had managed to resist the temptation to watch every single one of them, because he knew that if he did, it would only dig his grave of pining and longing deeper, seeing Aleksi smile and giggle about but not being able to do that with him or snuggle up next to him when he was wearing that flannel Olli often used as a blanket in the tour bus). But instead of another text appearing on the screen, Olli’s phone began to vibrate in his hand, and it took him an embarrassingly long while to understand it was because Aleksi was calling him. 

“Hi,” he sighed when he finally collected himself enough to speak. He prayed he’d be able to hear what Aleksi was going to say from the thumping heartbeat echoing in his ears.

“Hi,” a soft voice said. “Sorry, I know it’s late…”

“No, not at all,” Olli hurried to say, “I mean, I wasn’t sleeping. Not even close, actually.” Part of him hoped Aleksi wouldn’t ask about it, but in some foolhardy way the possibility intrigued him. 

Nothing much, he would have likely said anyway, but what would happen if he told Aleksi how it really was? That he squeezed his pillow imagining it was him instead, or wailed into it because something had reminded him of a moment-that-was-probably-not-a-Moment™ they had shared? What would Aleksi say if he knew Olli sometimes touched himself the way Aleksi had touched him That One Night they never talked about? The only obstacle between Olli and that knowledge was a bottomless ocean of cold sweat and cowardice, and Olli had never been a great swimmer.

“So, ummm…,” Olli said when Aleksi’s end stayed silent. “What’s up?”

A short breath of laughter sounded through the phone line.

“Honestly? I don’t know, I… It’s just been a… weird week, I guess.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, like… my head’s just been so full of… everything and… I’ve been so busy and kinda tense and… fuck, this is going to sound crazy,” Aleksi laughed that brief laugh again, although to Olli it didn’t sound particularly cheerful. Tired, more like. Strained, somehow. Not sad, but definitely a little troubled, and Olli intended to find out why.

“I’m all for crazy, you know.” Olli hoped his sorry attempt to lighten Aleksi’s mood would work, and so he smiled in relief when he heard Aleksi chuckle at his comment.

“I know,” Aleksi said softly, in that tone of voice that had Olli melt against his bedsheets. “So yeah, it’s been a rough week, but… in between all that stupid shit, I’ve been thinking a lot about… umm… well, the tour and– and… about you, for some reason,” (the troubled laugh made its return) “and… yeah. That’s sort of helped me a lot recently.”

Olli listened to the words carefully, not fully believing what he was hearing, yet clinging on to them until they were all but swirling around in his otherwise empty head like dry leaves in October wind.

“And tonight I just couldn’t fucking sleep for some reason and nothing I did seemed to help and so I thought I’d call you. And I’m–” If it hadn’t been dead silent otherwise, Olli wouldn’t have heard the shaky breath Aleksi paused to take, “I’m sorry I’m calling you at this hour and bothering you with this all but I guess I just… wanted to hear your voice. To see if that would help.”

“Does it?” Olli asked. Aleksi’s confession had made him clasp his blanket close to his chest, as if that would do anything about his rapidly beating heart.

“Yeah. It does. So maybe just… keep talking?”

Despite his mind living a life of its own, completely unfit to form a single coherent thought, for Aleksi’s sake Olli tried his best to think of something to say, but everything he came up with was something he was not ready to tell him quite yet. 

“Uuummmm…” he said to buy himself some time, but while he waited for his useless brain and mouth to form any actual words, Aleksi spoke again.

“Fuck, I’m– I’m sorry, this is too weird, I shouldn’t have– I’ll let you go back to–”

“I miss you,” Olli blurted before Aleksi would hang up on him. He squeezed his eyes shut when Aleksi went silent, too silent for too long for it to mean any good.

The line stayed open, however, which Olli took as a positive sign, even if the seconds during which all Olli could hear was Aleksi's quiet breathing seemed endless.

“And I you,” Aleksi finally replied. “A little too much, probably, or at least that’s what it feels like,” he chuckled. Olli almost missed the quiet sniff that followed.

He had to steel himself for his next question.

“What do you mean?”

“Just… forget it.” Aleksi said quietly. Contrary to Aleksi’s request, Olli knew he was going to all but ‘forget it’ for the next 3-5 business days; mentally he booked all his evenings as well as most of his mornings and noons for pondering what exactly had been in Aleksi’s mind in that moment or why he had sounded so sombre, almost disappointed. He’d probably never come to any satisfactory conclusion about it though, at least not without a little help from Aleksi himself. 

A ridiculous idea popped into his head, and before he could stop himself, the words flooded out of his mouth.

“Do you wanna come over some time? To hang out? When your schedule’s a little less tight, I mean.” He sucked on his lips and closed his eyes as he waited for Aleksi’s answer, ready to hang up the moment he’d decline the offer on some obvious and logical reason for why Aleksi couldn’t possibly make nor want to take a trip to the north to see him, such as ‘didn’t we just spend over two months on the road together?’ or ‘damn, buddy, I miss you alright but not quite that much, I’ve done enough sitting in public transportation for one year, thank you very much lol’ or ‘what about Rilla?’

“You could take Rilla with you, you know.” Olli hurried to say, just in case, the deranged part of his brain thinking there might be a chance Aleksi might be at least considering it.

“Oh! Well, umm… I actually might have time next week? If– if you’re actually being serious about this.”

Funny you should ask, Aleksi; I’ve actually never been more serious about anything in my entire life than I am about having you here with me so that I can hold you and be held by you and see your face when I wake up in the morning and say goodnight to your annoyingly cute face instead of via text message and maybe, if the stars are in position and the northern wind won’t discourage me too much, I might actually be brave enough to torment you with the knowledge of just how miserable I’ve been since we last saw each other.

“I think it would be cool,” he said, because he had a feeling what he wanted to say would’ve been a tad too much and sudden. “I mean, if you’re up for it, of course. I understand if you can’t make it though, I know you have all those side projects.”

“No, I think it might actually do me some good to get out of the capital area for change.” Then there was a muffled ‘ouch’, followed by a laugh that sounded much brighter than any of the other ones Olli had heard from Aleksi that night. “Sorry, correction, it might do us some good. Rilla just told me she’s most definitely coming too. Rilla, stop nibbling on my toes!”

Olli smiled tiredly at the mental image that was painted in his mind of Aleksi and Rilla cuddling in bed, both minding their own business from what it seemed while still minding each other as well, very much indeed.

“I’ll be sure to set up a bed for her in the guest room.”

“The guest room? Do you not know her at all? If she’s not getting the master bedroom, she’ll ruin all your rugs and most of your shoes. Probably also gossip about you to all the neighbourhood dogs. And she’s brutal.”

Olli held his stomach as he laughed, tears almost forming in the corners of his eyes. In his defence, it was late and he was finally becoming tired, thus too far gone to help himself, let alone feel embarrassed about being in stitches about something Aleksi had said that was only mildly amusing. (It wasn’t the first time that had happened either, and likely not the last time.)

“So yeah, ummm, I can take a look at some flight options for next week and let you know, alright? I’m gonna let you sleep now and… I should get some myself too.”

Olli wanted to tell Aleksi he’d love to stay up chatting until dawn, but the yawn he let out when he opened his mouth to speak implied Aleksi had a point.

“Yeah, let me know. And… thanks for calling, I… you have no idea how much I needed this tonight.”

That was as close to a confession as Olli was able to get as of now.

“Probably not half as much as I did.”

Olli chuckled at Aleksi’s response, mostly to hide his own agony.

If only you knew. If only I knew how to tell you.

It didn’t take long for Olli to doze off after they hung up, and when he woke up to the kids from next door having a snowball fight under his window in the morning, he noticed new messages from Aleksi, sent half an hour after their phone call had ended, complete with screen captions of airplane schedules.

Would these days work for you? I might be free all week actually 😇

Olli cuddled into his pillow while typing his reply, hoping it wouldn’t wake up Aleksi.

yeah I’m free as well. I’ll pick you two up from the airport 🖤

From then on, Olli started counting the days until he’d see Aleksi again.