#it was up on ao3 yesterday but

[mgu-h]

hii so i wrote my first rpf story!! it's nortrell (with norstappen), 8k word oneshot, rated E, and i've posted it on ao3 for any who are interested!! while max verstappen is not physically present for the story, he is quite present in the narrative, i would say haha. the original outline of the story was much sharper but it all ended up being sweet, i really think nortrell is really just like that 🩷

[humanmorph]

where's my man eclectic

[landwriter]

Hi! I hope you feel better soon!

This is a great prompt by @academicblorbo about Hob Gadling being the landlord of the Dead Boys. It has a wonderful fill already by @omgcinnamoncakes but I’d love to see what you come up with for it!

Alternative prompt from me if that doesn’t work for your brain: remember the date between Jenny and Maxine? How about one between Jenny and Esther? Poor Jenny is going to really question her taste in beautiful blonde women 😭

Thank you! I saw ‘landlord’ and ‘decades’ and blacked out. I love Hob having them as tenants. Maybe even before the modern day meeting in Sandman.

The Sandman/Dead Boy Detectives, 2.4k, G Dream/Hob, pre-slash, alternating/outsider POV, found family, a reunion and revelations etc.

---

Hob did not, strictly speaking, have tenants. It was more of a minor haunting. Pun intended.

The small room above the pub and below his flat wasn’t worth charging anyone rent for; when he first bought the building he had put a handsome oak desk in there and some bookshelves before wondering who he was possibly keeping up appearances for. Who was he going to take back upstairs that would stop and say, Wait, can I see your office? So he’d left it as more or less an abandoned room.

When he realized a pair of boys were using it as their clubhouse, he didn’t do anything at first. He saw them quietly coming and going a couple times, disappearing around the corner of the first landing. Brazen things. He meant to call after them, but the shout had died in his throat. He’d been young once. He still remembered the need to get away from it all. It was only when he went to check if they’d been making a mess of the room that he discovered it was still locked.

He’d crouched down and inspected the latch and found no marks at all. Huh, he’d said, and jiggled it again, and been a little more interested in whatever clever way they were getting into it after they disappeared up his stairs. Then he didn’t see them for weeks, and assumed they had gotten bored and stopped.

Until they came back. In the middle of an argument, striding through the pub like they owned it. Hob straightened up as they passed him.

“I cannot believe you broke the mirror.”

“I was in a rush! It’s not my fault you forgot you needed Arcana Incantatum after we arrived at the church. And found the demon.”

“I hardly forgot, I only made the mistake of assuming you would know to pack it by now.”

Hob raised his eyebrows. The boys disappeared into the back hallway. He followed them as they went upstairs, too preoccupied with their drama to notice Hob. They turned onto the landing, still carrying on. Even as they walked through the door. The locked, closed door.

Hob blinked. Then he drew his keys from his pocket and opened the door. The boys were still inside. One of them was pulling a mirror out of a backpack that was several times too small for it. They didn’t even look up, and Hob wondered how he couldn’t possibly have put it together earlier. He cleared his throat.

“Hello, boys.” That caught their attention. Hob grinned. “Seems we’re neighbours.”

---

Edwin abhorred getting involved with the living. He and Charles got along perfectly well on their own. They were a duo. An intrepid pair. Best mates, like Charles often stressed whenever he was about to ask something particularly ridiculous of Edwin. They were solid together. As solid as two ghost boys could be. The living, though, were messy and unpredictable.

Perhaps the most salient fact at present: Charles invariably became attached to them.

“He’s sad, mate. I can see it in his eyes.”

“You said those exact words in ‘94 about a dog. At least ask Hob himself.”

Before you decide to adopt him too.

Hob Gadling, irritatingly, was unobjectionable on every ground Edwin could think of. He had made no imposition upon them. When he found them, he only asked them their business, and then told them he was usually downstairs, or upstairs, if they needed anything they couldn’t procure themselves. He had an interest in rare and old books, as it happened. In explaining this, he had also hinted at being far older than his looks would suggest, which vexed Edwin twice over. He knew his curiosity would not be slaked until he talked to Hob, but then he would be the one getting involved with the living, and Charles would hardly let him forget it.

“Do you think he’s really immortal? Mate’s far too calm. Last week I saw him stop a fight downstairs by stepping right between these huge blokes. He just said something and smiled and they backed right off.” Charles lit up. “Do you reckon he’d teach me how to do that? Conflict de-escalation, innit? I could show him some moves with the cricket bat, I bet. Oh, do you think he’s a cricket fan?”

It was obviously a hopeless case, and since the Dead Boy Detectives never took on hopeless cases, there was only one course of action that remained. Edwin had long since disabused himself of the notion he needed to breathe. He had no beating heart, yet when he was startled, he would find himself clutching his chest. Now, he exhaled slowly through his nose in an entirely superfluous sigh of resignation. “Well, Charles, shall we go talk to him?”

---

When the millennium came around, Hob found himself celebrating it with his accidental tenants. There was something gloriously satisfying about being able to make a toast to the next one and have it taken seriously. He’d asked them if they had something better to do - spectral trouble to get into et cetera - and they both looked at him with almost identical put-upon and incredulous expressions.

Hob had a terrible suspicion they thought they were taking care of him as much as he thought he was taking care of them.

Edwin, with his insatiable curiosity and, deep underneath it, something Hob thought he recognized from himself: a sharp animal ferocity and a refusal to go until he’s good and done, natural laws be damned. Charles, still brightly, painfully alive for a ghost - who should be alive still, by all rights, but nothing of this life was fair - who joked to cover up hurt in a way Hob knew too, and glowed any time Hob turned so much as a kind word to him.

He wondered what they saw when they looked at him.

The year ticked over, and technology kept working. Charles grinned innocently and said he could probably possess the telly and break it that way if Hob wanted?

Hob’s heart twinged. He knew they weren’t his, not to keep, but it seemed that teenagers didn’t change at all over the centuries, even if the boys were only sort of teenagers in the way Hob was only sort of in his thirties. It didn’t change that they’d been punted from the mortal coil before having a chance to grow up, and figure out the kind of men they were, and make their own choices and fuck up and try to be better than their fathers, and everything everyone deserved. Hob had made more than his share of mistakes. They hadn’t been given the chance to make nearly any at all.

So they made toasts to the new millennium, to the detective agency, to themselves, all stuck out of time in different ways and refusing to move on for different reasons, and Hob allowed himself to think of Robyn and privately pretend that they were his all the same.

---

A week later, Hob was reminded of the other universal traits of teenagers when he mentioned his stranger and both boys began to grill him with terrifying alacrity. Before turning to his dating life, like ravening bloody wolves. When Edwin had asked, in a specifically nineteenth century manner that Hob remembered all too well, if Hob had always been unmarried, he’d nearly put his head in his hands.

“It can be hard for me to associate with the living too, you know. For obvious reasons.”

Charles had turned to Edwin and hissed “See? I told you.”

Right in front of him. Nobody had taught them manners.

“Manners, Charles,” replied Edwin loftily. “We will, of course, respect your privacy. A man is entitled to his secrets.”

“You’ll go upstairs and rifle through my personal things, is what you’ll do,” said Hob.

Charles coughed to hide his laugh. Edwin flushed and looked away. Hob snorted, and told them about Eleanor and Robyn. Properly. It was a strange relief. He’d told the story wrong for plausibility’s sake so many times he had been worried he’d forget the truth of it one day.

They had listened, and been remarkably quiet until Charles piped up and offered to set him up with a ‘really fit’ ghost. Hob had roundly shut that down. Woefully, not all explanations were satisfying enough. Charles cornered him again the next morning while he was cleaning the bar.

“No, mate, I still don’t get it.” Hob was about to say he no more wanted to be with someone who couldn’t feel pleasure from his touch than someone who would grow old and be taken from him while he stayed the same, when Charles went on, bafflingly, to ask, “Why don’t you meet your mysterious friend more often than once a century?”

Hob sighed. “Adults are often busy, Charles.” Nevermind that he had begun to wonder the same since the eighteenth century. He’d always just assumed time passed differently for his stranger.

Charles just laughed and perched himself on the bar top. “Ooh, low blow. We’re busy too, you know. Plenty of cases to solve.”

“Really,” said Hob. “You’re busy. Right now.”

Charles waggled his eyebrows.

“Charles, I am not a case,” said Hob, sternly as possible. “I’m not even a ghost. He’s not a ghost. No ghosts.”

“We could investigate. Maybe ghosts are involved. What even is he? Why every hundred years? Is it some sort of Persephone situation?”

Hob bit his lip against shouting I don’t know! I don’t know anything about him! Instead, he tried to smile, and felt it come out as a wince instead. “He’s very private.”

Charles scowled. “Yeah, obviously. You don’t even know his name. He can’t be that good of a friend if he’s too busy to see you more than once a century.”

Hob couldn’t see the expression on his own face, but he saw Charles’ shocked reaction well enough. It was so long ago for him, and still Hob knew at once what Charles saw now: that first time you manage to visibly hurt a grown-up’s feelings, people who seemed too old and too stern to actually feel pain, when you’d been going around kicking at them like a new foal, just to stretch your legs.

“Sorry,” said Charles, instant regret chasing his surprise. He was a good kid.

“It’s alright,” said Hob. He meant it. He looked down at the shining bartop. His hands were restless with the urge to light a cigarette. He gave in. It wasn’t like Charles would be dying of lung cancer any time soon if he decided to follow Hob’s example. “I don’t think he would say he’s very good at being a friend either. Truth is, I’d love to see him more often. But we had an awful fight the last time we met. If he forgives me, I’ll have to ask.”

“Mates always make up,” said Charles earnestly. He was such a good kid.

“I suppose they do.” Charles still looked sorry, and Hob clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey. Thanks for looking out for me, Charles.”

Charles beamed at him. “Always. We’ve got your back, me and Edwin.”

---

Charles couldn’t bloody believe it. Hob’s friend was here. There was nobody else it could be. He and Edwin were watching from a nearby table, pretending to be absorbed in their own conversation. Neither man noticed them. They were too busy looking at each other.

He couldn’t imagine spending more than a century apart from Edwin. The way Hob had talked about him and his stranger over the years, it sometimes seemed like they were best mates too, no matter how little they saw each other. He was dead sure that’s what had Hob looking so gutted when he thought nobody was looking. He had known they would make up, though. Maybe now Hob would be happier.

“Charles, we really ought not eavesdrop,” hissed Edwin. Right as he scooted his chair closer, the cheeky hypocrite. Hob and his friend were talking too quietly to properly hear, their heads bent together. Lots to catch up on, Charles reckoned. A hundred years. He couldn’t stop thinking about the number. It seemed impossible. Funny, he couldn’t imagine that long away from Edwin, but he could imagine spending that long being best mates. There was nobody he’d rather hide from Death with.

Hob’s face was doing something strange as his long-lost friend talked. Then Hob moved and grasped him by the shoulders, so tight that his knuckles stood out in relief. The man said something in low tones and Hob shook his head, and then pulled him in for a hug. The man stiffened and then relaxed, and his arms came up around Hob’s.

Their cheeks both looked wet.

Charles swallowed and it felt suddenly a little like he was choking. He should look away, only he couldn’t.

“They must be great friends,” said Edwin softly.

“Yeah,” he managed to croak. We won’t ever need to have a reunion like this because I’m never going to lose you, mate. I won’t let them take you. It was stuck behind the phantom lump in his phantom throat. His hand, without him telling it to, reached out and grabbed hold of Edwin’s. Edwin squeezed it hard, and Charles knew he didn’t have to make his voice work after all.

Then the man pushed Hob away, but only far enough to grab his face and pull him back again, thumbing over Hob’s cheeks, and beside him, Edwin honest-to-god gasped, and then Charles momentarily forgot how thoughts worked too.

---

It happens thus: in the New Inn, just next door to the White Horse, some 639 years after they first met, Hob Gadling and Dream of the Endless share their first kiss. Neither, if they had bothered to think about it, would have intended to have an audience, but it’s a well-known fact that some kisses cannot wait, and theirs was chief among them, being that it had so much to say, and was so very long overdue.

I missed you, it said, and I came back, it said, and Please don’t go away from me again, and I could not.

And atop them, like blankets, were laid invisible the daydreams of those who saw them, including two long-dead boys, whose dreams were woven from the fresh and unaccounted-for possibilities of Hob kissing his mysterious stranger. Another man, thought Edwin. His best friend, thought Charles. Dream was the only one who could have heeded this, but he did not, because Hob Gadling was holding him tight and daydreaming loudly of this kiss and more, of this today and tonight and tomorrow, ever greedy and ever easily pleased, and Dream could hear nothing at all over their clamouring and comingled joy; the bright gold daydream between the scant space of their bodies that sounded so much like at last.

[erinwantstowrite]

by the way i have finally been cured of the "i need to rewrite this again"' disease so I'm hoping the next few days i can speed through this chapter like i'm a butter knife cutting through warm butter

[passionartx]

Tails when I start thinking about my fic, au and art ideas I’ve had lingering in my brain for years but almost all of them involve making him sad ^

Sorry little buddy <\3 😔

[rosesofenvy]

Golden Future Arc 2 'Keep You Safe' - Chapter 1 is up!

Collab with @sha-biest - exclusive art by her in the fic!

[yaralulu]

trust and believe that once i finish all my lucienweek fics im gonna write the lucien/jurian fic of my dreams. i already have such a sexy idea for them i just have to finish all my other shit .

[harmonictechnicality]

This has got to be a mistake. There is no way on this spherical floating rock of fucked-uppery that this is the right hotel room.

Rose petals. Champagne bottles in a glass bucket. A silver tray of chocolate covered strawberries. A goddamn hot tub in the center of the room??

Mistake. Total mistake. The highest of errors.

See, Eddie is just tagging along with Steve on his monthly trips to visit Henderson at his big-brained university. And since Eddie has earned himself an appalling (yet valid) reputation of being flaky as dandruff, Steve was in charge of all the travel arrangements. Gas, schedule, hotel room.

This isn’t a hotel room. This a fucking honeymoon suite.

“The concierge said this was the only room left.” Steve tells him, plopping his duffel bag onto the heart-shaped bed. Which… fuck, really? Those exist outside of soft-core pornos?

“Sure. Okay.” Eddie spots candles on the balcony. Their balcony. Holy… “But why is all of this romantic shit here? Cause I’m sure as hell not paying for any of it.”

Eddie is barely paying for anything to begin with. He bought the snacks at the first gas station stop and has conveniently forgotten to pitch in ever since.

Steve shrugs. “It just… comes with the room, apparently.”

Eddie really wishes Steve had not put emphasis on that specific word. Knowing his hyperactive imagination, he won’t be able to un-hear that phrase for the entire duration of their trip. Awesome.

See, none of this would’ve been a problem two months ago. Up until then, Eddie never thought about inflicting red-rope marks around Steve’s wrists or how salivating it must sound to have his own name leaving Steve’s mouth while it’s stuffed with silk. No. Before two months ago, Eddie had Very Normal thoughts about Steve Harrington.

But since that day - the day Steve insisted on helping Eddie reapply his new eyebrow piercing, Eddie’s normal thoughts have been fucking poisonedwith vulgarity. 

It was everything whipped into one moment. The close proximity, the chemical-high off the sanitation wipes, the wetness of Steve’s fingers on him, the slight pinch of the metal threading through Eddie’s skin. 

As soon as Steve inserted the thin barbell, Eddie audibly gasped, swore quietly, had to play it off like the insertion hurt or whatever - just so Steve wouldn’t freak the fuck out. It proved to be an ineffective attempt at coolness, obviously Steve knew what he was doing. Has been an absolute tease about it ever since too. Flirty comments with Eddie when no one is around or making subtle touches whenever Eddie is close enough to get away with that sort of thing.

And look, Eddie would happily encourage all of that. He’d get Steve out of that stupid little polo and kiss every muscle on his torso if he thought that’s what Steve really wanted. There’s just no damn way that they are into the same stuff, physically.

Steve is probably nuts about fluffy-pink sex. All wispy touches and muffled moans under the covers. And Eddie doesn’t do that shit. Eddie wants bruising kisses and sensual demands. He wants to dissect all the vanilla parts of Steve and replace them with black magic and velvet.

That. That is why this room, these things, that person, is making this all of this very dangerous for Eddie.

“You okay, man?” Steve asks.

“Yeah.” Liar.

“You’ve been staring at the desk lamp for like, five minutes.”

“Just speculating as to where the interior designer may have found a dark red lightbulb.” Which, yeah. Why is it red? Is red the horniest color? Eddie bets if Steve is lying beneath red lighting, it’ll look like his whole body is flushed, overheated from whatever Eddie is doing to him.

Fuck. This is bad. This is so very bad.

And yet, Steve is so unfazed. So casual. He’s eating the gummies off the snack bar like they’re not shaped like dicks. He’s turning on the stereo as if it’s not only looping through steamy saxophone solos. Why is none of this affecting him like it’s affecting Eddie? Is passion and desire so deeply woven into his Harrington DNA that this stuff is just a typical Tuesday for him? Ugh, Eddie is making his own head spin. 

“So…” Eddie sways side to side. “None of this is weird to you?”

“What do you mean?”

What does he mean? What fucking gives? “Uh - there’s a bowl of flavored rubbers sitting next to your hand, dude. How are you so chill about this?”

Steve clinks his nail over the condom bowl. “It’s just stuff. No biggie.”

“Just stuff? It’s like a romance novel threw up in this place.”

“Yeah, but..” Steve counters, sounds irritated. “It’s only romantic if you’re with someone and wanna… get it on.”

Eddie scoffs. “Get it on? What - suddenly, you can’t just say fuck?”

“You’re so annoying.” Steve rolls his eyes, tosses another dick gummy into his mouth. “These are all just things. It’s all about your mindset.”

“I disagree.” Eddie states. “I think anyone with an active libido would wanna fuck all over this sex-trap.”

“Booby-trap.”

“Nice one.” Eddie gives Steve a high-five. Unironically.

“Still…” Steve turns the volume dial down on the stereo. “I think you’re wrong.”

“I think you’re wrong.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Steve’s arms fold into his chest, taking a step towards Eddie. “Then prove your point. Convince me otherwise.”

Eddie should back down. He should wrap a leash around all of his sick thoughts and chain them up somewhere far away. He should not say what he’s about to say. He shouldn’t.

“How about we make a bet?” Big yikes. Wrong move.

“What kind of bet, Munson?”

“I bet you twenty bucks that I can change your mind. If we can use up all of these so-called ‘regular items,’ without you feeling a twinge of romance, then you win.”

Steve doesn’t respond, so Eddie keeps talking. Can’t shut up anymore.

“But if you so much as blush during any of it, then I win.”

Steve opens his mouth, shuts it. He raises an eyebrow and tries again. “When you say regular items, that excludes the condom bowl, right?” 

“What ever do you mean?” Eddie gives a sneaky grin, no restraining his dirty plan now. “You’re not interested in making balloon animals this evening?”

Steve huffs, plops down into a nearby chair. “So weird.”

“Do we have a deal or not, Harrington?” 

This is so dumb. Eddie can tell just how dumb it is by the puzzled expression on Steve’s face. But here he is, making bets like he’s still in fucking high school, trying to swindle beefy jocks out of their cushy-privileged allowance money.

However, it appears that Steve is just as dumb as Eddie is.

“Make it forty bucks.” Steve offers a hand out to him. 

Eddie accepts it, gives the firmest handshake. “You're on.”

So much for this being a normal evening.

*the rest is on ao3 :) here's the link*

[worldsokayestdragon]

GreedxLing Week Day 5: Regrets

Read here on AO3

Greed wasn’t the type of guy who had many regrets. He went for what he wanted when he wanted it, and he didn’t waste time moping over what might have been. 

Oh sure, some things stuck with him, (Like blood swirling through dirty water, limbs floating by as he failed again and again to strike a single blow against the bastard who’d done that. Like blood on his own hands and a small body crumpled on the floor of the nightmarish tunnel he’d been told to guard, a face that became familiar too late stuck forever in an expression of betrayal.) but for the most part he let any regret he might feel go as he focused on his next big plan.

Even now that he was dying for good when he should have had a few more centuries of life in him, Greed didn’t have any regrets. It had been less than five minutes since he’d found out he’d been deluding himself about what he wanted for his entire existence, but he’d always been quick to adapt.

He’d found his way to what he’d truly desired regardless.

Ed was a good friend. That was why so many people cared about him. And it was obvious he cared about Greed, even if Greed never got around to telling him he felt the same way.

He hadn’t thought that Lan Fan girl liked him at all, but now she was looking up at him with hurt in her eyes, like she really cared that he was dying before they could get to know each other better. She was tough as nails, that one, and the most loyal person he’d ever met. It was a pleasant surprise that she had any positive feeling for him at all.

And, of course, there was Ling.

Ling was…everything. 

Everything a guy like Greed could hope for and more. 

Kind enough to want power not for himself but to help his people, and selfish enough to refuse to trade any of those people to get it. Smart and calculating, ruthless when necessary but never needlessly cruel, fucking deadly with a blade. 

Not to mention perceptive enough to see through Greed’s bullshit, with all the patience needed to ease Greed into seeing through it himself. Greed probably never would have recognized that what he truly wanted was friendship–much less admitted to it–without Ling’s influence.

Ling was the best friend Greed had ever had.

Leaving him hurt. Lying to him hadn’t felt too great either. 

But it was the only way to keep his father from killing Ling too, so Greed didn’t regret that either. He was far too greedy to let someone kill his best friend.

No, Greed didn’t have any regrets as he looked down, taking in the sight of his friends one last time. It really had been enough.

Ling looked away from Greed, which was a little disappointing. From his vantage point, drifting away above the battlefield, Greed could just barely hear Ling say Lan Fan’s name.

The girl nodded once, a determined look on her face, and then…threw something at Greed? 

Rude! No respect for the soon-to-be dead.

Whatever it was seemed to warp in shape as it sailed through the air, its arc unerringly bringing it right between Greed’s eyes. It was bright red.

Greed realized that it must be the philosopher’s stone Lan Fan had found right before it hit him.

The untethered, floating sensation that had been carrying Greed out of this lifetime disappeared, and he felt he’d been swimming in a giant tub when the plug was pulled, carried down and down by an irresistible current. 

The sky and the battlefield and his friends all disappeared, and Greed found himself once again suspended in a familiar, red-tinged void. The screaming around him was as loud as it had ever been–something you got used to and stopped hearing unless something reminded you to listen after a while–but Greed could tell that it was different than before. New voices from a new stone.

(Greed wondered if he could talk to all of these souls, get to know them like Ed’s dad had done for the ones in him, or if you needed to start that right after the stone was made so people didn’t have time to lose their sense of self.)

Something shifted again, and Greed found himself looking across the void of souls and into Ling’s face. Just like old times.

Ling didn’t struggle to find his footing this time, body and mind already accustomed to sharing this space with Greed. After barely a second to reorient himself to the new stone, Ling’s eyes locked onto Greed and he surged forward.

And punched Greed in the face. 

Once again, rude! Everyone was attacking him today, and he didn’t even have his ultimate shield in here to protect himself.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“You idiot,” Ling snarled, winding back to punch Greed again.

Greed was ready this time, and projected an arm for himself to catch Ling’s hand. Ling reached to hit him with the other hand, and Greed caught that too. Ling struggled to keep swinging at Greed, but the homunculus didn’t let him go.

“Why am I an idiot? I just saved the day, ya know.” This really was not the reaction Greed was anticipating for his noble sacrifice.  

“You were only thinking about yourself!”

“That’s kind of my whole deal, Ling.”

“No it isn’t,” Ling insisted. “You know it isn’t. And you lied to me! You promised we’d rule Xing together and then you left me.”

Ling was crying.

Ling was sobbing, and he’d stopped trying to pull away from Greed’s hands, clinging to them instead.

“You left me,” Ling repeated. “I was all alone. I don’t want to be alone like that again. It doesn’t matter if Lan Fan had a philosopher’s stone, I need you.” 

All the regret Greed hadn’t felt as he was dying slammed into him now. 

He hadn’t meant to upset Ling. He’d never wanted to make Ling cry. He’d been trying to protect him, to save him.

Regret and guilt churned uncomfortably inside of Greed.

Hesitantly he pulled Ling toward him and into a hug. Or as close to a hug as two soul projections–one human shaped and the other mostly a floating face–could have.

Ling went easily, wrapping his arms around Greed so tightly it might have been a problem if Greed needed to breathe.

“I’m sorry,” Greed murmured, the sound nearly lost to the cacophony around them. “It was the only thing I could think of to keep you safe. Father was going to kill you, too.”

“We could have fought him together,” Ling argued. “We should have fought him together.”

They really shouldn’t have–they would have both ended up dead–but Greed didn’t say that. Instead he just rubbed a hand over Ling’s back in a way he hoped was soothing.

“Please don’t leave me again.” Ling whispered.

“Never.” Greed wrapped his arms even tighter around Ling. “I’ll never leave you again if I have any choice about it. I promise.” 

He hoped Ling believed him, but he couldn’t be sure how much trust he’d damaged with his one and only lie.

Ling pulled back, and Greed reluctantly let him go. 

He didn’t go far, just putting enough space between them to look into Greed’s face. 

Before leaning right back in and kissing Greed.

Greed’s mind screeched to halt. This wasn’t something he’d ever expected, and only partly because in this form Greed didn’t have what would traditionally be considered a human mouth.

Ling was amazing. Ling was perfect, really, and he was a prince. He could have anyone in the world, so why the hell was he wasting his time kissing Greed?

Ling pulled back when Greed didn’t respond, too stunned to kiss back. The prince looked embarrassed and a little afraid.

“I’m sorry,” Ling rushed to say. “I should have asked first, or–or not done that at all. I was just–I was so scared when you were gone, and then I was so relieved to have you back, but that’s no excuse. Please forgive me, we can forget that this ever–”

Well, that just wouldn’t do.

Greed took Ling’s face in both his hands and pulled him in for another kiss.

It was better than Greed had ever imagined, and not just because he’d never let himself imagine it. He’d wanted it, of course. Ling was his person, the one he could admit–at least to himself–that he cared about as more than a possession even before he’d realized that he wanted that with the others too. Ling knew Greed better than Greed knew himself, and that went both ways. Of course he wanted Ling to be his in every way.

But people had to want to belong to him, or there wasn’t any point to it. And Greed still wasn’t sure what Ling saw in him.

He definitely saw something. He pulled Greed impossible closer and deepened the kiss.Greed was a bit worried at first about his own sharp teeth, but judging from Ling’s enthusiasm, that wasn’t even a problem.

Eventually they pulled apart again, and this time Ling grinned at Greed.

“Does this mean you still want to come rule Xing with me?”

Greed laughed and tucked a bit of hair behind Ling’s ear as he answered. “Yeah, of course I’ll rule Xing with you. You don’t even have to ask.”

It was no King of the World, but Greed had never truly wanted that anyway. He would gladly rule a country with Ling. He would gladly rule just one clan with Ling.

Greed would happily move to a farm and rule nothing but a bunch of chickens if Ling asked him to.

He knew the hurt was still there from his lie, from his near death. He could feel it in the way Ling clung to him, afraid he’d disappear if he let go for a moment. 

Greed would spend the rest of their lives making that up to him. And with the brand new philosopher’s stone within them, he would have plenty of time to do it.

[spaghett-onaplate]

i'm saaaaddd and in paaain and feeling oh so very sorry for myself

[kanene-yaaay]

The Only One Monster

Kanene's Notes: I started to write this fic like oiuygtfrdfghj an month ago and completely forgot about it as it was burried in my drafts so that is the fun fact of today kjhgfghjkl This was not written for Jiang Cheng's birthday but it is a convinient time so. :D

Warnings: None. Only Familial tickles, since I know some aren't comfortable with that. Around 2.500 words (probably? I forgot to check). Ticklish Jin Ling and Ler Jiang Cheng. A tiny little bit of angst and hurt/comfort.

[~*~]

"Hush, now. Enough." Even in a harsh tone Jiang Cheng brought the kid closer to his chest, heart tearing and brittling with each sniffle. "It's just a nightmare. Is that the behavior of a future sect leader?"

"Jiujiu, stop." His voice was low, so different from his usual snarking words, who would never run out of cutting words, matching him complaint from complaint, shout to shout. Hearing it, Jiang Cheng froze before pulling his nephew even closer, curling all around him as if he could protect them from the world.

He slowly rocked them from one side to another, a hand rubbing his back lightly, just like his jiejie used to do when they were kids and Jiang Cheng ran to her with tears in his eyes. So alike their little A-Ling now. Pressing his lips to the top of his head, the adult held a sigh.

His sister would know what to say in his place. She would comfort with touches soft and caring, with a smile so brilliant that made everything vanish in the pure light of it, so truthful and caring that would leave you wanting to smile too. Jiang Yanli would never say such cutting words, never made her own son sound so small, even if he was (already) almost hitting his shoulder.

But since she wasn't here anymore, he would be. With a too broad hug and a thougher touch, with a lotus pork rib soup that didn't taste the same, with the same lullaby she sang to them with a much rougher voice and all the sharp edges he kept turning and twisting away from his dear waisheng who deserved more than the harsh words of his fool jiujiu.

"What can those dreams even do to you now, brat?" He scoffed, and maybe it was the sleepness of being woken in the middle of the night, of having his entire family in his arms, but his words were softer, the memories of his sister much less hurting than the usual. "Can they hurt you here? Is there anywhere safer than Lotus Pier?"

Jin Ling sniffed and bright, teary eyes turning to look at him, getting away from his chest just enough to do so. "But what if they get in, jiujiu?"

Jiang Cheng grinned and let Zidian send unharming and bright purple sparkles across his arms, in the exact same way that would make A-Ling as a baby squeal and try to chew the ring. Nowadays there was no chewing, but the growing young still stared at it reluctantly amazed. "Let them come, A-Ling, and they will be the example why no one dares to challenge the Yunmeng Jiang Clan nor my family."

With his sleeve (the robe was already ruined anyway) he cleaned the tears and snot, pinching Jin Ling's nose lightly, putting him immediately back to the scowling and trying to push him away with a whine.

"Jiujiu! Weren't you just talking about protecting me?" A knee found a way to the bottom of his ribs and Jiang Cheng very much gracefully did not send the boy back to his room for the disrespect. "Don't complain when I decide to not come here if I need you again!"

Jiang Cheng scowled.

"It's that so? See if I'll try to protect you from the monsters next time you come banging at my door in the middle of the night."

Jin Ling harrumphed exactly like his father used to when they're both teenagers and went back to lay on his chest, burrowing in the warmth as the adult rolled his eyes and laid a hand on his back, rubbing it softly, making him melt even more on the embrace. Both knew he would never have the heart to send him away, night, morning or any other moment.

Sleepness began taking over them, laying as an extra cover over them and Jiang Cheng barely heard his next words, even with his enhanced hearing.

"Jiujiu, is there a monster you've never been able to defeat?"

Way too many memories flashed in his eyes, of darker times and too many battles he could've never won and suddenly a spark of anger flashed in him, wishing nothing more than to push it and them all  the away from him. Wasn’t his efforts enough? What did Jin Ling begging doubting him now? 

But then there was a memory, that only exhaustion could bring with so much softness and so little grief. 

Yanli smiling, a hint of mischievousness in her eyes that only made his curiosity burn brighter as she let go of his bandaged hand and got closer to his ear, whispering: "There is a monster here in Lotus Pier, A-Cheng, one that not even A-Niang or A-Die could win against."

At the time, he gasped and widened his eyes, appalled by this very idea. Their parents were giants, with unending power that was above anything, untouchables, undefeatables. "Not even with Zidian?"

"Not even with Zidian, until today, no one can even approach it in combat without getting caught by its claws."

Jiang Cheng gasped and held her hand, trying to pull her closer, behind him. "I will get him, jiejie! You don't need to worry because I will win. I will."

There was a chuckle behind him, both fond and playful. "You're very brave, A-Cheng. Do you really want to face it?"

"I want! I will protect us, jiejie!"

And his voice, as it always did, was already leaving his mouth before he could even think about it. "There is one."

Jin Ling froze in his arms, face quickly turning up to face him, eyes wide. Jiang Cheng simply stared impassively back. "There is?!"

"Yes. It's an old monster that wanders across the humans and lands, with the power to possess people. Many families have been attacked by it and many other will fallen victims in the future. There isn't a single disciple from the biggest or tiniest sects or villagers and towns in the cultivation world that haven't heard about it." He stopped, narrowed his eyes and frowned in a thoughtful expression. "Maybe the Lans, living all the way up in the mountains with their thousands of rules."

(Somewhere, in Gusu Lan, Wangji sneezed, stopping momentarily his meditation and using the opportunity of distraction to help his son keep being awake for the lesson, softening at those bright giggles he continued to let out.)

"It can be here in Lotus Pier, too?"

"It already is."

"What?! Right now?!"

"Yes, I said. Are you becoming deaf at such a young age?"

"More like you're becoming crazy with old age! You're making no sense! How can a monster be here and no one is doing anything about it?"

"I truly must be getting crazy. I just now imagined that my waisheng decided to be disrespectful, forgetting the education I gave him and is asking for me to break his legs."

Said waisheng scowled at him, as if he was being unreasonable. "Jiujiu, there is no time to joke. If Lotus Pier is being targeted then I can help, I will grab Suihua and-"

"It's here." Before the younger could move, Jiang Cheng locked his arms around him, words grave. "It just got into the room."

"It WHAT?" Jin Ling clued on him, voice high and scared, hands gripping his robes so tightly that for a ke Jiang Cheng almost lost his façade by snorting, only being saved by Jin Ling who kept staring at every wall and object with growing alarm.

"Yes." And before anything else could be said, Jiang Cheng burrowed his hands on the back of the boy's ribs, wincing at the shriek it resulted. In a neutral voice, he continued. "Oh no, A-Ling, it got you."

"Wha-! J-J-JIHIHIHIUJIHIU!" Jiang Cheng began tazing his ribcage and he squealed, falling into an uncontrollable giggling fit as those dancing fingers scribbled over each bone and poked the space in between them, focusing on those awfully ticklish spots that always made his giggles higher and louder. "W-whahahahahaha-ack! Whahahat is thihihihis!"

"The tickle monster, obviously." Jiang Cheng was helpless for the grin that suddenly pulled on his lips at the sound of that laughter, strident and unstoppable, chasing away any cold from the night. Jin Ling began shaking his head and flailing around like a fish, squirming for freedom. Instead of that, however, he only managed to lift his arms enough for the other to start attacking it with scratches and prodding, snorts taking over the laughter as he decided to lightly dig on it. “Didn’t I just tell you? That is the only monster I can’t save you from.”

“NohohohohoHOHOHOT-” The loud giggling became a shrill when Jiang Cheng started to drum the center of his armpit restlessly with his thumbs, the other free fingers lightly wiggling on his ribs once more. “NOHOHOHOHOT A MONSTER! Eek!! JIUJIU!”

“It is.” Freeing his hands he began spidering and skittering his fingers all across his back, increasing all his squirming and wiggling around tenfold, the cackling laughter giving space to a snickering, giggly and squeaky chuckle, better for breathing. “What do you think then, A-Ling? You offered to help, do you think you can defeat it?”

“Ihihihihihihit’s yohohohohu! Snk! Yohohohou!!”

There was a spot on the back, right next to his sides, that would make Jin Ling squeal and guffaw like crazy, leaving even his ears as red as his vermillion mark with how much he was laughing. Jiang Cheng wasted no time before concentrating in scribbling and squeezing every single inch of that spot over and over and over again, summoning the laughter to fill the air with mirth.

“Is it?”

At the answering nods from the kid - his smile so big and bright and so, so similar to his jiejie that Jiang Cheng almost teared up - Jiang Cheng stopped his tickles, letting his hands rest on his sides. For the way Jin Ling kept snickering and jolting from side to side every time his fingers did much as lightly, just barely, almost not touching, claw at it, the ghost tickles were probably running wild at his nerves. 

He let him get enough gulps of air, those shiny eyes looking back at him with a mix of anticipation and joy, so much different from half shichen ago. 

“So it is me, then. I might as well change my question in this case.” Jiang Cheng let out an evil smirk, chuckling slowly and lowly. “Do you think you can defeat your jiujiu, A-Ling?”

With a sudden move, lifted the boy (lately he had been claiming to be ‘too old’ for this and the sect leader was secretly happy at the opportunity) who screamed bloody murder (what a dramatic brat) and immediately began kicking and throwing himself in high pitched crackles as Jiang Cheng decided to actually claw at his sides, actually getting hit on his chest twice (the disrespect) before shoving his head on his stomach and blowing a raspberry at it.

“EEEEEEEEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHE NOOOOOHOHOHO! GEHEHEHET OOHOHOHOHOHOUT!” Jin Ling felt his eyes close, entire body buzzing with the tickles, snorts, squeals and screech falling from his mouth with no hope of being held back, head throwing backward with the force of his laughter, trashing and squirming around by instinct while holding his jiujiu’s hands in a firm grip. He shrieked when he was moved again, now resting on his lap, almost not listening to the (so rare and delightful) playful voice making his smile grow even bigger. “YOHOHOHOU’RE BEING MEHEHEHEAN! BAHAHAHAHAD JIUJIHIHIHIHIU!!”

Jiang Cheng scoffed in unbelief. “What am I now, Fairy?” Suddenly he grinned again and Jin Ling squealed again in anticipation, trashing more. “The nerve. Actually, I should warn the servants to not bring me my breakfast this morning. Tiny brats who refuse to show any respect are my favorite meal.”

“BAHAHAHAHAHAD JIUJIU! BAHAHAHAHAD!”

The raspberries stopped and Jin Ling took a few giggling breaths before he felt one of the hands on his grip moving.

“Nohohohoho,” he snickered, eyes still closed, trying to pull those hands back into a hug or anything that would stop it from going to the next target. A wiggling finger lightly tickling his armpit quickly weakened his hold, however, and soon that hand was snatching his ankle, making him do a half spin on Jiang Cheng’s legs. “Thihihihihis not ahahahaha fair fihight!” 

“Oh, so if it was a fair fight you think you would win?”

“I would!” Especially because his jiujiu would never try to hurt him, so he was technically right. “Yohohu’re getting ohold!”

“You-!” There came the affronted voice that made him snicker for another unrelated to tickly reasons. “You’re literally begging me to go for the legs.”

And suddenly everything made sense. Unfortunately it was already too late, before Jin Ling could struggle enough to tear his ankle away from the grip there was already raspberries shaking and tickling with an awfully unbearable feeling every single nerve on his sole. He could only shriek when a ‘nomnomnom’ sound began following little nibbles on his toes, everything else in the word disappearing except the tickles and how much he was losing himself in laughter, every muscle finally going limp and tears appearing in the corner of his eyes.

Jiang Cheng gave him a last raspberry and huffed fondly, almost snickering when he realized the kid lightly pushing him away with a frown that didn’t last at all in the face of the remanescent giggles and smiles as he adjusted the younger back on his chest and brought them both back to laying on the bed, kissing his forehead and combing his hair softly.

“I’m getting revenge, tomorrow.” Without opening his eyes, he snuggled more in the embrace. “You’re too silly, jiujiu.” 

Jiang Cheng actually snorted. He was pretty sure that was an opinion that no one else would agree with his waisheng, but it didn’t matter. For once, he thought that they both would be able to go back to sleep again and find no nightmares. “Go to sleep, A-Ling.”

And they both did, falling back to a restful, soft sleep.

[snek-of-eden]

happy trektober everyone!!!

[kindlythevoid]

Me, upon receiving one (1) SORTA mean, maybe-off comment out of hundreds of super nice comments that I love, now staring for even MORE hours at the draft of the next chapter I need to write: Well, fuck. Now what? Also Me, .02 seconds later, gritting my teeth and strategizing: Well, I write this fanfic for me. This is my fanfic. People can think what they like. I will take this comment and use it to think of new ways to improve my writing, but I will not internalize it. I write this fanfic for me. This is my fanfic. People can think what they like. I will take this comment and use it to think of new ways to improve my writing, but I will not internalize it. I write this fanfic for ME. This is MY fanfic. People can think what they like--

[mariana-oconnor]

I see a lot of posts about having a healthy relationship with your stats post on AO3. I don't know if mine is healthy, but I am currently checking it once a day because my third most kudosed fic is only 10 kudos away from overtaking my second most kudosed fic and it's a very exciting race!

[rrogueamendiares]

maybe what im about to say is controversial surely it has been said before but i cant help but wonder why explicit fics in fandoms with strictly m/f (cis) ships are so lame like those smut books from booktok and such. i mean it seems they're scared to be filthy and authentically horny in a way that fic authors that write queer ships aren't, and for me it makes them feel very rigid and not pleasurable at all (if you know what i mean. sometimes it all reads like a medical description). this is not a critique about authors' writing skills of course (im always grateful that im able to read all of that for free whenever i want) but more like, i wish ppl that write m/f werent so afraid of being a little unhinged