#jarring thing to come across when i'm trying to figure it out

[dreamsaflame]

always a very strange feeling when someone you've followed for years and years, whose comment/tag/art style is so familiar to you that you would recognise them even without the username and even with constantly changing profile pictures

suddenly posts or reblogs something that completely shits on your identity.

"i had a bad experience with people pretending to be this identity, so all of you in this community are now suspect."

"this personally isn't a fit for me, so all of you who do fit must have something wrong with you."

of course, the post in question doesn't use that language. but parsed, it sure sounds like bigotry and discrimination, doesn't it?

always a very strange feeling to realise someone i thought i'd known, would be disgusted to know me in turn, because i don't fit into their box. "why don't you come out? why do you hide away even in anonymous online spaces?" well, i wonder why.

[bbyobbyo]

Remembering all your boyfriend's drunk habits? That's the easy part. But taking care of him? Well, he makes that part easy too.

content: fluff, established relationship, drunk!(and then hungover!)chan, mentions of food, so much domesticity, they're literally so in love with each other it's disgusting

wc: 1.2k

note: still trying to figure out my writing style and doing some experimenting with povs and such 😭 this one was a horribly self indulgent one tho...food is my love language and when it was revealed that dino only eats ramen when hes hungover i couldnt help myself lol. i really just take any tidbit of info these men divulge and run with it into delululand huh. anyways please enjoy and as always comments and feedback are appreciated 🥺

You knew Chan liked to drink. It wasn't an actual problem, but it happened often enough that you had come to expect him to come back to your shared apartment after a night out stumbling and slurring his words.

Not that your boyfriend was the dark brooding serious type, but you find the change from his usually composed and witty self to someone who could erupt into a mess of giggles and burst into song and obnoxious yelling at any moment quite jarring. But you couldn't say you hated it either.

No, drunk Chan was different. Drunk Chan was straightforward, every single emotion flashing onto his face like a billboard. The Chan that normally would throw a quip back when teased would suddenly turn into a whiny child with a yapping problem.

Your sober Chan was careful, he was always fearful of letting you know if there was anything bothering him (much to your dismay). Even when he hits a breaking point, you would never catch it on his mannerisms. Instead he opted to deal with his emotions himself, or occasionally in the form of a passive aggressive text laced with smiley faces to whoever scorned him.

Where sober Chan could be quite shy with his affections toward you in public, drunk Chan would cling to your body like a koala to a tree, protesting anytime you wanted to brush him off for some air.

But you loved him, drunk or sober. You loved that he could let loose sometimes and truly let his inner self be free, knowing that he was in good company and that he would be accepted no matter what, inside and out. And you took it upon yourself to take care of him in all his states.

And that's how you ended up at 1am with a grown man leaning on your shoulder as you help him take his shoes off in the doorway of his own damn apartment.

"Buuuut baaabe...!" He whined into your ear as he manages to fling off the remaining shoe from his foot. "I wanna eat chicken nuggiessss."

Your smile spread uncontrollably across your face and you maneuver around him to take off his jacket next. "I would make you chicken nuggies, but it's 1am and you hate eating late at night."

There's silence for a moment as your intoxicated boyfriend seems to ponder your words. You take advantage of his stillness to slip the jacket off his sleeves and guide him to the bedroom.

You gently shush him with your finger, "If I'm always right, then you'll listen to me when I tell you to go get washed up right, big guy?" You take the opportunity to give him a small peck on his pouty lips as you throw a fresh pair of boxers onto his lap. He only smiles in response and begins his lazy waddle to the bathroom only to emerge minutes later, crawling into the sheets and enveloping your body with his own and knocking out.

"Oh no, you're right," he finally responds as he plops onto your bed, his lips pressed into a pout you can only describe as cute. "What would I do without you babe? You're always right, you know me better than I do sometimes and I really love that about you and ya'kno..."

-

To no one's surprise, you wake up before Chan. The intensity of the light that filters through your bedroom window tells you it's already quite late in the morning. But that's alright, you cleared your schedule for one thing and for one thing only.

You take a moment to soak in his soft features, bathing in the sunlight that leaks through the curtains. Everything from the curve of his eyelashes to his sharp jawline is perfect, just as the day you saw him. You don't get to see him like this often, as he's always been a busybody for as long as you knew him, but you think that this might be one of your favorite views in the world.

You scoot out of the bed as quietly as possible, trying not to disturb the soft rise and falls of your boyfriend's bare chest as he slumbers, but not before pressing a light kiss to his forehead. His nose scrunches up momentarily before settling again as you laugh, leaving for the kitchen satisfied that the love of your life was getting the rest he deserved. Your morning routine goes smoothly and soon enough you hear the sound of sheets shuffling, signaling the real start to your day.

You're by his side in a record amount of time, sitting on the edge of your shared bed while sliding a glass of water and a painkiller onto his nightstand. Amongst a tangle of sheets, your boyfriend lays still, eyes not quite open yet. "Good morning, handsome" you whisper softly, seeing how a smile immediately spreads across his face.

"My head is actually killing me. Sorry if I'm a zombie today, I just wanna eat some r-"

"Ramen?" you finish for him. There's nothing but love and adoration behind your eyes as you softly comb through his messy bedhead with your fingers. "I know baby, I already have some water boiling on the stove. Drink the water and take the painkillers, it'll be ready by the time you come out."

"God, have I told you I love you? Because I don't do it nearly enough." He groans out in his raspy morning voice. You just laugh and press a swift kiss to his forehead, doing good on your promise as you walk back out to the kitchen.

Before long, you hear the heavy footsteps of a sleepy man make its way into the room. They stop right as they approach you and you feel strong arms wrap around your waist as you add the finishing garnishes to the bowl of noodles you just made. "Smells so nice" Chan murmurs, face buried in the crook of your neck.

"What, me or the ramen?" you tease back, gently shaking him off of you as you place the bowl on the table. "Or... these?" You pull the handle of the air fryer sitting next to the stove to reveal several golden brown dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets.

The scene before you is as mundane as can be: a Saturday morning spent with your extremely hungover boyfriend barely awake in nothing but his boxers slurping instant noodles on the kitchen counter.

Chan's eyes light up. "Oh my god, you remembered?!" A toothy smile permanently stuck on his face as you plated the nuggets to join his bowl of ramen. "Of course, how could I forget my boyfriend whining for nuggieesssss last night?" He fakes an offended scoff but relents as he finally digs in.

But to you it's anything but mundane, cherishing these little moments that seem few and far between as both of your schedules get busier and busier.

It's not the first time you've heard him say this exact sentence, and it probably won't be the last. But one thing you knew for certain as you stare into the most loving eyes you've ever seen is that you were always the lucky one.

"How did I get this lucky to have you in my life?" he suddenly remarks in between mouthfuls.

[hoonieyun]

collecting tears - jongseong

jar of tears that were shed for jongseong

park jongseong x reader "y/n"

genre: angst, breakup, the one that got away

warnings: profanity, mental illness/depression, overall 18+

summary: no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't get jongseong out of your head. two years after your tear filled and emotional breakup, he's still on your mind but it seems he hasn't thought about you since that night.

I hope you're happy But not like how you were with me I'm selfish, I know, I can't let you go So find someone great, but don't find no one better I hope you're happy, but don't be happier olivia rodrigo - happier word count: 2007

text in italics are flashbacks

You saw him in everything. 

You saw him in the way your glasses reflected the light as it sat on your vanity.

You saw him in the way your guitar collected dust in the corner of your bedroom. 

And you saw him in your reflection as you stared at your tear stained face and dark circles under your eyes. 

The memory of Jongseong that you held onto hurt more than the idea of being without him, because being without him only led to the memories of when you were with him, something that no longer exists in your life. 

Jongseong. 

The events of your tear filled and emotional breakup replays in your mind often, Jongseong’s tired face and the broken picture frame scattered into thousands of pieces in your bedroom. You could hear the argument in your head like it was playing through a speaker that followed you wherever you went. The last words you ever spoke to him ringing in your ears as a constant reminder that your inability to process your emotions and failure to stabilize your mind was the reason you were so lonely, even two whole years after your breakup. 

It’s a gloomy afternoon in the middle of September. The weather foreshadows the inevitable dreary, dull, and dark outcome of what your life would be for years to come. You had been in bed all day, crippled by your anxiety and depression, making it difficult for you to make any rational decisions or clear judgement of what you should be doing. 

Your phone fills with unanswered calls and texts that would remain unanswered until you convinced yourself enough that you weren’t a burden to others. Something that you wouldn’t be able to shake off for almost half a year from today. A feeling that still lingers and creeps up onto you every now and then. 

“Honey?” a voice asks from beyond the darkness of your bedroom. You quickly wiped away your tears and did your best to make it seem like you weren’t crying the whole day. Pulling yourself up and dragging the blanket further up your body to cover yourself as if your boyfriend, Jongseong, was anyone you should be hiding away from. His tenderness and soft demeanor was the first thing that attracted you towards him, his good looks was just a plus. 

“Honey, are you still sleeping?” Jongseong asks as he slowly pushes the door of your bedroom open, a slight creak sounding from the hinges as light emerges from the other side of the door, Jongseong’s silhouette outlined by the light. “Hi… No, i’ve just been in bed. Doing some thinking…” you say, trying to avoid the fact that you were just crying and hoping that he doesn’t notice as he makes his way closer. 

Your bed dips as Jongseong takes a seat next to your figure, still hiding under the blanket. It goes without being said but Jongseong knew you all too well.

He knew when you were really happy over fake happy because true joy spreads across your face when your eyes widen and you blink a thousan times, like you were trying your best to contain your joy but ultimately failing. 

He knew when you were upset because you would sniffle your nose as a way to avoid awkward silence or having to voice out your feelings. 

And he knew when you were sad because you’d rather surround yourself in the comfort of the darkness instead of reaching out to the hand that could pull you away from the dark. Much like how you were right now. 

Jongseong would’ve never abandoned you. He vowed that he would always be by your side no matter what, had you let him. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?” he asks, already knowing the answer but he’s made it a habit to encourage you to vocalize your feelings so that it would be easier for you to process them. You only hummed in response but you knew that you should’ve told him how you felt in that moment because it only manifested into something worse. 

He sighs at your response, he would be lying if he said that sometimes he wished it was easier, but what was love if it didn’t have some ups and downs. Jongseong just hoped that it was up more than it was down. You scoff at him. Your anxiety was already talking you closer to a ledge and you didn’t need this from him right now. You were convinced that he only came here to make you more upset and the voices validated that outrageous claim over the evidence that Jongseong only had love for you. 

“You don’t need to be here. You can leave.” your harsh words piercing into Jongseong’s heart, a feeling of guilt over hurt as he had hoped his presence alone would be enough to make you feel better but it only made you feel worse and he didn’t know why. 

“Why would I leave? I want to be here, let me take care of you.” Jongseong says, inching closer to you but you quickly recoil away from, widening the distance like your mattress was meters long. “What’s wrong? Y/N, talk to me…” Jongseong urges but his pleas of wanting to be let in only read as judgement. Like he was judging you for the way you were instead of trying to understand you. Your mind forces a lie for you to believe over the truth, that Jongseong loved you and he wished you knew how much he did. 

He loved you more than anxiety loved to cling onto the smallest piece of doubt in your mind. 

He loved you more than you loved the darkness. 

And he loved you more than words could say but no amount of words could ever tell you that. 

“Just leave, I don’t need you here to think I’m someone to take care of and be seen as a burden!” you say, voice now a bit louder as frustration begins to build inside of you. “Honey, you’re not a burden and I’d never treat you like that.” Jongseong says as he settles his hand over your thigh, rubbing it softly over the blanket. 

“Why do you do that? Huh?!” you ask, scattering away from his touch and dragging yourself out of bed to stand in front of him. 

“You think you can just come in here and act like I’m some poor and unfortunate thing that needs to be fixed or that needs to be looked after. I know you see me as a burden Jongseong, you just don’t want to say it because you’d rather convince yourself that you love me instead of facing the truth. 

What did you even come here for? To make sure that I wasn’t doing well? So you could come and swoop in to save the day? You see me as nothing more than just a sick puppy to take care of. You’ve only stayed as long as you have because you pity me more than you love me.” the words just continue to spill out of you. the voices inside of your head had fully convinced you that everything you were saying was the truth and you were only just helping Jongseong face it. 

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He loved you more than anything and he couldn’t process the fact that you only saw him as someone that pitied you over someone that truly loves you. Because he did. He loved you… or was he starting to believe that what you were saying was in fact the truth. 

“How could you say that?” Jongseong says, voice low and discouraged. Great, now you had upset him and intead of focusing on yourself you now had to worry about your boyfriend’s feelings. 

“I- You know what. We’re done. Get out.” your voice was dull but it stabbed Jongseong’s heart like it was nothing. “What?” he says in disbelief and you don’t even give him time to process as you're grabbing his wrists and doing your best to drag him out of your apartment. His body was heavy as he tried to stop you but there was something, aside from you, pulling Jongseong out of your apartment and away from you. 

Was it wrong to say that maybe there was a small chance he had been waiting for you to push him away? That he had been secretly hoping you would finally get tired of him so that he no longer had to deal with you? Was that so wrong for him to want to be happy in the chance that it meant not being happy with you?

As he pondered these questions, the slam of your front door knocked him out of his thoughts, eyes glued onto the brown paint of the front door. Jongseong contimplated to knock on the door, beg for him to be let in, but he chooses not. Dropping his hand to his side with a sigh as he turns on his heel and walks away from your apartment. 

And ultimately walking away from you, forever. 

You, on the other hand, waited on the other side of the door, tears welling in your eyes the longer you waited for Jongseong to try and make his way back in. Hoping that you would hear his voice that you loved so much, ask for you to open the door so he could take care of you. 

Because maybe, even if you thought you didn’t need it, you did need to be taken care of. And Jongseong was the person who had done that for as long as you could remember. 

But the longer you waited the more sadness and regret filtered out the insecurity and doubt. Leaving you to stand in your home, alone, and never to see Jongseong again. 

You drag yourself back into your bedroom, flickering the light on and the first thing your eyes fall to is the framed photo of you and Jongseong. The photo was of the day he asked you to be his girlfriend. A photo of you sitting in the middle of a field for a picnic that he had planned. Flowers and your favorite food and snacks sitting next to the both of you on the picnic blanket. 

The anger you felt from the photo surged throughout your body and without even thinking you swipe the photo off your vanity, tears flowing from your eyes as it crashes to the floor into thousands of pieces. 

You would have hoped that two years after your breakup that you would’ve gotten better and gotten over him, but you fell back into the cycle of shrouding in darkness when a photo of Jongseong appears on your SNS. 

He’s smiling, hair done in the way you liked, in a suit that made him look like a prince, and an arm around the waist of a girl you didn’t know. Your eyes trailed over from his arms, to her waist, to her arm, and then to the ring on her finger. 

It felt like your heart shattered in that moment. Like you were offended and hurt that Jongseong would ever choose another girl over you as if you gave him a choice like you hadn’t made that choice for him. 

More tears well in your eyes as you glance over to Jongseong again. His smile was so beautiful and that was when you realized you had never seen him smile like that when he was with you. He seemed so happy and it hurt even more knowing that he was happy without you. 

But there was no one to blame but you. 

You forced him away and what a waste of a life for Jongseong to never choose happiness. 

You only ever wished that he would be happy. 

Just as long as he’s not happier without you. 

Maybe in another life. When you weren’t so convinced that everyone hated you and that you were deserving of Jongseong’s love. 

Maybe in another life. 

copyright 2024 - present © hoonieyun all rights reserved

all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned.

the credit for the lyrics used in this piece of writing go to their rightful owners

[acotarxreader]

Shadow and Flame pt 3

Azriel X Reader

Warnings: Angst, smut, miscommunications, mentions of burn.

A/N: Right, I haven't written smut in a very long time and I am very rusty so apologies in advance there 😂 the end of this segment I hope it's clear that both situations happen concurrently and that that comes across yikes! I'm still blown away by people's kind words and welcoming nature. Thank you so much loves! Part 4 loading

Part 1 Part 2

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You woke to the smell of cedar and mist replacing the smell of burned skin in your nose. You sighed gently, tempting your eyes to open. You reached to feel the softest silk beneath your hands. This sent fear through you. Where were you? You tried to will your body upright but insurmountable pain shattered through your bones. Your eyes peeled open, to stare up at a delicately painted ceiling, the stars of the night sky looking back at you. You reached for any flame you could find but none came to you, your own fire truly exhausted from the battle with your Father's. 

“Easy there YN” the female's voice stopped your movements, your eyes frantically searching for the source as she stepped out of the shadow.

“Hello, I'm Feyre, please be gentle with yourself you were ravaged” she said quietly and you hated it. Hated the pity. You knew of Feyre, you knew of her and your brother, what happened Under The Mountain and all the things that happened since but mostly you knew she was not an immediate threat unless threatened. 

“Where am I?” You rasped through your smokey throat. 

“Velaris, this is our home, Azriel brought you to us when you landed on the town house steps, we have healers round the clock for you, it won't be long until you're right again” you groaned, trying to move your body, pushing away the pain. 

“I need Lucien” you breathed

“Yes well….about him, he is kind of sort of not available at the moment”

“What?�� You gently turned your head to get a look at the beautiful High Lady.

“Az won't allow him to darken the door. I'm sorry if this upsets you but we must let him work through it himself if we are ever to see them in the same room again” Feyre left out the part where Azriel had nearly torn the Prince of Foxes limb for limb, leaving him in his own state of disrepair.

“I have to go, I have to go back to Autumn, he'll come for me”

“Beron will not step another foot in this Court unless he fancies losing it. My mate is handling him as we speak” she spoke with such hatred in her voice for your Father. He had crossed into the territory unwelcomed, certainly ruffling the treaty but you were his to fetch. You knew he'd come back, treaty or not. You couldn't stay here and risk the vengeance. You couldn't stay here and risk them finding out your heritage. You pushed up slightly to sit and rest against the headboard, your skin screaming at you to stop. You glanced around the room lit by sunlight, no flame to be seen

“Feyre, I need fire”

“I think you've had enough of that” she laughed but stopped once she noticed your stony expression.

She cleared her throat before speaking again. “Az has instructed us to keep you from fire until you are rested, he said you're a flight risk, he didn't care to elaborate” she gave a small smile. 

“Azriel is not my keeper. I have to get to flame, it will help me to recover” she weighed up her options as you pleaded with your copper eyes. She moved slowly to the fireplace to retrieve a matchbox and tealight, figuring a small light was of minimal risk. Your eyes followed her hands as she drew the match backwards, watching and waiting for the relief the crackle of fire would bring. The match drew against the red phosphorus as you held your breath. A shadow quenches the flame before it could grow.

“Feyre” her head snapped to Azriel as he stood in the doorway, tea tray in hand. She looked at the Shadowsinger as if she was a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. 

“I-she said she needs it to recover” he sighed at her before glancing straight to you, the words she said only resonating with him then, you were awake.

“YN, thank the Gods” he dashed to your side, putting the tray down. Feyre allowed a smirk to grow, dropping the matches at the end of the bed before seeing herself out of the room.

“Get me Lucien” his face twisted in anger at the sound of the name and that these were the first words you'd uttered to him in a week. 

“YN, please I know he is your love but-” your loud laugh cut him off, pressure releasing as your ribs shook.

“That is disgusting” you remarked with a smile to the confused Shadowsinger. You swallowed the laugh growing in you again, attempting to swing your legs to the side of the bed to have Azriels hand stop you in your tracks. 

“YN please you must rest”

“I must get out of here before Fa-Beron comes and burns this place to cinders”

“He wouldn't dare, what is it he wants with you?” You glanced down at your feet and back up to meet the hazel eyes. You must have looked like a nightmare, ash still in your hair, cracked skin screaming to be reconnected with itself and yet Azriel looked at you with pure kindness in his eyes. 

“He wants - I can't tell you what he wants but I should go to him before he comes to collect” you said smally. Azriel kneeled to the side of the bed to fall between your legs as they hung over the edge. His hands slid into yours as if they were always meant to be there. You watched the movement with such caution. This wasn't supposed to happen. You weren't supposed to be seen. You weren't supposed to want to be seen. 

“I will not hesitate to kill him where he stands should he cross the threshold of the Night Court without permission again” his eyes searched yours with determination.

“I want to trust you” he lowered his head to your hands at your response. Azriel almost painfully slowly raised your hands to his mouth to place the gentlest of kisses on your cracked skin. This sent tingles through your body, the lovingness of the gesture warmed you, soothing your exhausted internal blaze. 

“Then trust me” His words broke your heart, but you felt you trusted him as much as you trusted your father would come for you.

“Give me a flame” your eyes landed on the box of matches at the end of the bed. His eyes followed yours with trepidation. If your father was to come then you were not going to have him find you broken in a bed. 

“YN-”

“-If I am to trust you then you are to trust me, give me a flame to aid my recovery” your eyes scanned him from side to side, hoping to portray the genuineness you felt. He released your hands, reaching for the match box again.

He dragged a match from its cage and looked into your eyes as he struck it off the red phosphorus, bursting into life. Its glow illuminated the space between you both. You reached a shaky hand towards the flame, it almost stretching out to you in joy of being reunited.

Azriel watched in awe, never had he seen the elements behave in such a way for any ordinary Fae. But you weren't ordinary, you were of pure Autumn Court blood, the flame a friend of yours. Your finger made contact with the heat, Azriel tried not to cringe at the sound of the sizzle. You breathed the energy before diving in. You were pulled from the bed and deep within its heat. Azriel leapt to his feet at the now empty bed in front of him. He cursed out loud, he trusted you and you left. He wanted to help you and you left. He cared for you and you left. The match fizzled out. 

“Told you” he jumped on the spot as you stood from behind him, skin beginning to knit together again faster than any healer could work. Your loose nightdress flowed over the scars now melting back into your skin as you smiled at the Shadowsinger. He exhaled in relief, closing the distance between you.

“Did you think I'd gone?” he caught hold of your hands as you gave a small laugh at his surprised face. 

“I thought you had evaded my touch once again Flame” you tried to hide your blush at his new pet name for you, failing miserably. You felt yourself almost fall into the shrinking space between you both, Azriels shadows dancing with your flames around your feet, finding home in one another. 

“Who are you Flame?” It was hardly above a whisper.

“I-”

“-Excuse me!” Madjas sharp voice split you both apart. 

“Madja I was just-”

“-Leaving Lady YN to bed rest, as we had agreed” she raised an eyebrow as Azriel almost shrunk into himself like a bold school child. You let a little laugh leave you at the sight, until Madja landed her gaze on you and you hung your head almost in shame. She pointed to the bed with a slender finger, you went to protest but her heated stare told you otherwise as you slipped back into the sheets. 

∆***************∆

You sank into the medicated bath. Normally being submerged in water had you feeling ill but the myriad of lit candles surrounding you gave you comfort. Madja had ordered you to soak your stitching skin and you now feared her almost as much as your father so you obliged. 

You hummed gently as your eyes rested in the swimming pool-like bath that was flush with the floor. You wondered where Lucien was, how angry he'd be with you, how enraged he'd be at the sight of you and Azriel earlier. You couldn't help but smile at the discomfort you'd bring your sibling. You reached for the salve Madja instructed you to apply, it's cream-like consistency foaming on the grooves of your skin.

“YN I brought you- Fuck sorry!” Azriel shielded his eyes quickly while dropping the books he held in his hand. You moved deeper in the water, suddenly shy at his presence. He moved to gather the books still blocking his eyes, kicking one into the bubbling water. 

“Shit!” 

“Azriel just open your eyes before you end up in here with me” you laughed retrieving the book, its ink blending into the water. Azriel thought for a moment to keep his eyes closed, the possibility of ending up in there with you making the hair on his neck stand up in excitement. He opened his eyes cautiously to find you staring up at him through your lashes.

“Thank you for lighting the candles for me earlier, a lovely surprise” 

“You're welcome, anything you need” he gathered the books, shivers running through him at the sight of your body beneath the bubbles.

“Actually Azriel….nevermind”

“No, what is it? Tell me” You shrunk in on yourself slightly, your boldness leaving you. He wanted to stay there with you as long as he could, in any capacity. 

“It's just….I need to put this salve on my back and…I can't reach and Madja has gone home for the evening and-”

“Sure” he replied quickly, cursing himself internally at your smirk. 

Azriel lowered himself on his knees behind you, his wings balancing him from teetering over the edge. You passed the jar back to him over your shoulder, trying to keep your anticipation to a minimum, fixing your glance at the navy tiling. 

He hovered his shaking hand above your shoulder as it glistened from the water. Azriel every so gently rubbed the salve into your skin, it foaming on contact. You rolled your head back slightly at the feeling of the soothing balm on your cracked skin causing a breath of relief to leave you. Azriels eyes fell over your shoulder for a moment to glance at your chest, he mentally scolded himself immediately for stealing the glance, pulling his hand back.

“Are you okay?” You noticed the missing sensation straight away, you rolled to lie on your stomach, forearms across the rim of the bath, you looked up at the Shadowsinger on his knees above you.

“I-I’m not sure I've ever felt so okay before in my life Flame” his eyes were so lovingly looking at you with such true sincerity you'd never felt from someone before. You pushed up from the bath to your feet, your whole torso dripping in bubbles gleaming. Azriel swallowed the lump in his throat, he was now eye level with you as you reached for his hand and pulled him closer to you. He couldn't help but trace your whole body with his eyes, drinking you in. Your hand slipped around the back of his neck, pulling him up from his knees and forward to meet your lips. 

Inferno. Azriels whole body felt warm and secure as you kissed him deeply, his hands going to your waist. You shuddered a little bit at his cold hands meeting your wet sides.

“Sorry sorry did I hurt you?” he pulled back suddenly to your surprise. 

“Azriel do you intend on hurting me?”

“No”

“Then no, you didn't hurt me, it's just because I'm all….wet that your dry hand just…startled me” Azriel took a moment to think before a devilish smirk grew across his face, he stood and began to strip down in front of you. Your mouth dried out at the sight of him, your skin felt electric as he sank into the water alongside you. His hand grazed the side of your cheek, pulling you forward to meet him gently. 

“I-was-so-scared-when-I-found-you-on-the-steps” Azriel breathed out between kisses. You passed one of your legs over his lap beneath the water to straddle him, tilting his head back to deepen the kiss. 

“Were you looking for me?” You smiled into the kiss, his hands wrapping around you to pull you flush into him. 

“I think my whole life Flame” your heart sang at these words, your breath taken from you as he attached himself to your neck. You moaned at the feeling of his teeth nipping you, trailing down your neck to your chest. Azriel hardened beneath you even more at the sound. You leaned up slightly, running a hand down his chiselled chest to beneath the surface of the water to his lengthy member. 

“Fuuuck” he breathed at the feeling and you grinned. You slowly lowered yourself back down onto him, moaning loudly in his ear, your nails dug into his shoulders at the sensation. You adjusted to him between your legs, the flames of the candles growing wilder around the bath. 

“Are you going to set me on fire Flame?” Azriel groaned out as you began to bounce slightly on his length. He reattached to your neck to muffle his groans, failing massively. The both of you moved in unison, tension building building building. Azriels fingers gripped into your sides with burning pressure, the flames around you growing taller and taller with your tighting core until the whole bath was surrounded by a ring of your fire. If Azriel was honest with himself, he was a bit afraid of the growing towers of fire but he felt so easily lost in your moans he forgot the fear as soon as it came. You moaned his name so loudly you were sure they heard you in Summer Court, toppling Azriel over his own edge, the flame on the candles becoming small and still again at the release. 

You stayed on his lap for a moment, until he stood with you still in his arms. He passed through the bathroom doors into your adjacent room with your flames dancing around to dry you both before he placed you on the bed. 

“Flame, I have to see to something with Rhys but I will be back before you know it” you ran your hand gently down his cheek as he leaned and whispered those words from above you. 

“I'll be here”

“Do you promise?”

“Do you trust me?” He kissed your cheek in answering your question before retrieving his clothes and redressing. You allowed your eyes to fall close as he slipped out the door. 

********* 

You rolled over to find the bed empty alongside you still an hour or so later. You lifted yourself from the bed, dressing in a robe that Feyre had laid out for you. You wandered down the hall in search of Azriel. 

“I don't care Rhys, she stays!” You heard Azriels sharp tone from the other side of a large oak door. You couldn't help but stop and listen. 

“Az, she is not from the Court, she belongs to Autumn-”

“She belongs to no one” Azriel seethed.

“Brother, she brings a threat to our door. Lucien has told us she must go to Autumn, to Beron, it is beyond our control-” your breath hitched in your throat, had Lucien let the cat out of the bag?

“It is very much in your control Cass” 

“Beron has made it clear that he will help us in our efforts should we return YN” 

“She is not a political pawn!”

“She belongs to Beron, she must go back! I am not going to war for some female that landed on our doorstep! He wants you dead Azriel, I will not have you sacrificed for her!” Rhysands hands banged against the solid wood of his desk. 

You took a step back from the door again. They were going to send you back. Your Father would have you mangled for the embarrassment of having to be sent against your will back to him. You looked at the candles lighting the stairwell adjacent and with a deep breath you knew it was time to go before they took you kicking and screaming. But you didn't want to, you couldn't leave like this, couldn't leave Azriel. The rock of having him hurt because of you and the hard place of returning to a vengeful father is where you found yourself wedged firmly between. You ran from the stairwell to your room, head scrambling.

“I could have said the same when you barraged in on Tamlin and Feyres wedding!’

“Az!” Cass reprimanded Azriel with his eyes for his comments. 

“That was different Az, Feyre is my mate!”

“And what if YN is mine!?” The two were instantly silent to this. Azriel felt such strong and complex feelings towards you, such a magnetic force, the flame to his smoke.  A chill ran down his spine. Something was happening. The three Illyrians took an instinctive fighting stance.

“Y/N” your father stood in a circle of flame in your room, eerily calm with an outstretched hand. 

“Come home now and all will be forgiven” Berons eyes told a different story. He was boiling in anger, anger you knew Azriel would take the brunt of if you didn't go now and yet you hesitated, looking around the safe space Azriel had made for you. You went to speak, to defy, to scream but you were too slow, too weak still, Berons flame engulfed you and pulled you from where you stood. 

 ****

Azriel materialised into your room, the other two warriors searching for the source of their unease elsewhere in River House. 

“Flame, you wouldn't believe the- YN?” He materialised in your room to find it empty. He ran to the bathroom to find you gone from there as well, all the flames in the room doused out.

*******************

What do we think friends?

Part 4

Tag list: @sunshineangel-reads @skylarkalchemist @tele86 @saltedcoffeescotch @impossibelle @quiettuba @thecraziestcrayon @fightmedraco

If you were forgotten please feel every right to give out to me

[foodtruckery]

I left a comment on Combat Baby because that fic is so awesome, but I’m here because I’m thinking about Stan in short short again. Ford would go insane, especially if Stan was wearing them *in public* where everyone can see what’s *his*. I think it’s even funnier if they’re both aware of their feelings but think the other isn’t into them/aware, so Ford is gripping his hands trying to act like normal brother and like he doesn’t want to rail Stan 10 ways to Sunday so everyone knows he’s taken. Meanwhile Stan is like “God I’m such a freak for wanting Ford to think I’m hot-“

I REMEMBER YOU GUEST ANON! and omg thank you so much for the kind words again, truly!! and this is. lol. maybe not exactly what you asked for, and i'm sorry for that, but i HAVE been thinking about the damn short shorts since you first commented and this is what we ended up with hahaha! i wrote this with either 30's stan & ford in mind or 30's stan and 60's ford, but hey, y'all read whatever you wanna read!

"Oh, hey, I couldn't find the exact coffee you mentioned on the list, but I grabbed something that seemed close? Got a small bag, so if it's shitty, we won't have too much of it to get through, but I figured somethin' was better than nothin' on the coffee front."

Ford was certain that in any other circumstances, he would be annoyed by that. There were complaints swimming up in the back of his mind - Did you even look? Did you bother to ask an associate? - but they slid away before he'd even tried to form any words. That was probably for the best. His tongue felt leaden and too thick in his mouth, and he wasn't sure he would be able to make it cooperate enough to speak if he'd tried. Even getting a short sound of acknowledgement out was more difficult than it should have been. 

When Ford didn't throw a fit over the coffee, Stan continued on, describing some additional adjustments he'd made to the shopping list and what he was planning to cook for dinner. Ford didn't really hear any of it. Hell, he couldn't even remember why he'd come upstairs in the first place. A question, probably, considering the sound of Stan coming back to the cabin and putting away groceries had drawn him to the kitchen in the first place. 

But he'd walked in, caught sight of his brother stashing jars and cans in an overhead cabinet, and his brain had started slowly filling with static. 

The crop top was bad enough. He'd seen it several times at this point –  enough times that he should be well used to the damn thing by now. But it was hard not to be distracted by the soft, exposed stretch of Stan's midsection or the way the hair on his stomach tapered down into the band of his pants. 

Jeans usually. It was usually jeans. Stan  had a tendency to spend the evenings around the cabin in his boxers, but Ford had only ever seen him pair the too-short t-shirt with jeans. 

He was not wearing jeans today. He was wearing a pair of shorts. 

A pair of shorts that pinched around his full waist and made his stomach spill over the elastic. 

A pair of shorts that stopped alarmingly high on Stan's thighs, exposing nearly every inch of hair and skin on his legs. 

A pair of shorts that fit just a shade too tight around Stan's ass, and were borderline indecent when he bent over to put something in the fridge. 

A pair of shorts that belonged to Ford. 

The realization hit him with all the subtlety of a taser, burning across his skin and threatening the stability of his knees. 

"Do you already have a place where you're keepin' shit like–"

"Where did you find those?" 

Ford wasn't sure if it was the fact that he hadn't spoken at all since he'd come into the kitchen, or if it was the raggedness of his voice, but Stan jerked his head up from the bag he'd been pulling non-perishables from. 

"What?" 

"Your–" Ford's voice stuck on the back of his tongue, and he worked his throat until he managed to swallow, curling his fingers over the back of the nearest chair to make sure he stayed upright. "Those shorts. Are those mine?" 

Stan frowned at him, confused, before glancing down at himself. "Oh! Yeah, I think so? I mean, I found 'em in the back of a drawer upstairs. It's like a hundred goddamn degrees out there, and all I got on me is denim right now."

Ford felt like someone was holding a livewire to his hypothalamus. 

"You– You wore those, my shorts, out? In public?" 

Stan squinted at him. "Yeah. Isn't that what I said?" and then, when Ford didn't respond right away, Stan shifted uncomfortably. "Uhh....shit. I'm sorry? I hadn't seen you wearing 'em or anything, so I didn't think you'd care if I borrowed them."

Ford could feel where his nails were digging impressions into the chair's finish, but he couldn't pull his eyes away from the shadow of Stan's bulge, entirely too apparent in those little green shorts. He'd been outside in those. In town, even. He'd gone grocery shopping in half of a shirt and shorts that had been snug on Ford before he'd even gotten his second PhD.��

Who had he run into? Even if the store had been completely empty otherwise, there would at least have been a cashier to see his brother parading around like an exhibitionist. And the odds were entirely too high that other patrons would have been present. 

Since Stan had arrived in Gravity Falls, he had better inundated himself with the townsfolk over several weeks than Ford had ever managed (or tried to manage) over several years. It made sense, Stan had always been the "people person" between them. But Ford also noticed the way Susan Wentworth always found a reason to nudge Stan's arm or pat his shoulder when they stopped by the diner. He saw the way Greg Valentino stole too many lingering glances when he thought he wasn't being observed in turn. 

Had either of them been there? Would Greg have seen him crouching down to puruse a lower shelf? If so, it would be impossible not to see the full shape of Stan's ass and the impression of his sack squeezed into so little material. Had Susan been shopping at the same time? Would she have devised a reason to put her hand against the exposed skin on Stan's waist to shuffle past him?

"Jesus Christ, are you havin' a stroke over there or what, Sixer?" 

Stan's voice snapped Ford out of the lurid green hypotheticals, and he cleared his throat. "I'm fine."

"Fine? You sure about that?" Stan said, sounding unconvinced and unimpressed. "Look, I said I was sorry about wearing your dumb shorts. Can I at least finish putting the damn groceries away, or are you gonna stand there scowling until I change?"

"No!" Ford said, entirely too quickly if the single eyebrow creeping up Stan's forehead was anything to go by. "I mean, you don't have to change. I was just...surprised."

"Yeah, I'll say," Stan snorted, turning back to the last bag of groceries. "Dinner plans all right at least?"

Ford ran his tongue out over his lips when Stan turned to the cupboard. He watched the green material shift with his stretching, the white piped hem hiking up just a hair too close to the curve of his ass. 

"Yes, sure." 

"And ya don't care about the coffee?" Stan asked, and Ford swallowed down hard on whatever noise tried to crawl up his throat when Stan adjusted the waistband of the shorts, pulling the material briefly higher and tighter.

"Hmm? No, I don't believe so..."

Ford very nearly had to reach down and adjust himself in the confines of his own pants when Stan leaned over and reached for something on the kitchen counter, giving Ford almost enough room to peek under the hem of those god forsaken shorts. It was a miracle he hadn't pulled up curls of varnish with his nails already. 

"You gettin' a good look back there?" Stan asked, shifting his weight between his feet in a way that made the shorts creep up between his thighs. 

"Yes, of course I– Stan!" Ford choked when the question caught up to him, and he could feel heat burning up his throat and across his face. 

Stan was smirking at him from over his shoulder now, giving his ass a much more deliberate wiggle. "Christ, Sixer, you are not subtle at all." 

Ford stammered, trying to think beyond the curl of Stan's lips and the crease at the top of his thighs that he could just make out. 

"...Jesus, you're also thick," Stan muttered to himself before reaching back and plucking pointedly at the waistband of the shorts. "You gonna come over here and see what's under them, or what?" 

"Oh..oh!" Ford realized, clearing his throat, though it did little to help how rough his voice felt when he finally rounded the chair. "God, yes." 

[jay-m3]

The lid!

Imagine them trying to open a jar for you only for them to fail.

Male reader insert! * Cursing and suggestive language This was also inspired by another post from someone but idk their username. Pls help me find them so I can tag!

Characters: Vox, Valentino, Adam, Alastor, Lucifer

Vox

He would roll his eyes when you ask him for help. At first, he would pretend he didn’t hear you. Secretly watching you fail at a simple task in life. How pathetic can one be? He takes the jar, looking at you, lecturing you about focusing more on training your arms instead of laying around all day-

What the fuck? He huffs, relaxing his grip before twisting once more, continuing to throw insults-

Like what the actual fucking hell! He turns his back to you, leaning forward for more strength. He grunts as his grip slips once more.

"Uh, Vox? It's fine I'll figure something out-" You reach out, hearing him start to glitch before the noise of glass breaking is heard. You look over to see that the top part of the glass is still sealed shut but the bottom half was shattered by his grip.

"Oh, come on!"

Valentino

He'll giggle watching you struggle in trying to open a jar with no success. Sliding back on his couch as he hears his lovely little boy toy grunting and sighing in frustration. It's like music to his ears. If he closes his eyes, he can imagine you in positions that will have you sounding like that.

"Val." The sound of his name wakes him up from his daze as a jar was held in his face. Chuckling, he takes the jar with his lower hands while his upper arms spread over the back of the couch. He looks at you in a haughty manner-

Eye twitching once he fails in opening the jar, he grabs it with his upper hands now. They had more strength since-

Gritting his teeth, he stands up and holds the jar close before using two hands in twisting-

"Fuck!" You cringe as he throws the bottle across the room.

Adam

He laughs and laughs and luaghs. Tears in his eyes as he watches you struggle on trying to open a damn jar. How hilarious! He should record this shit.

"Here, you try!" You shove the jar into his hands. Tired of him laughing.

"Let me show you a real man strength." He snorts out, putting out his arms out to show you how easy it will pop off-

Sniffling, he adjust his grip to a firmer one. Grunting when his hand slips off of the damn thing.

"Fucking shitty ass stupid jar!" He yells out in frustration as his multiple attempts fail him. Once you let out a chuckle, he lets go of the jar, letting it fall to the ground.

"It's fucking rigged."

Alastor

He lets out a chuckle, leaning against the counter with his hand supporting his head as he watches in fascination. Each tactic you try to pull off fail and the lid of the jar sits in victory.

"What a wonderful display of an ordeal you're going through my dear." His voice filters through in a cheerful tone as a laughing track blares out.

"Then you do it." He grabs the jar from you, pulling in the slightly big jar close to his body before trying to pop the lid off and failing. His smile widens with a grit as he places the jar down and tries again, eye twitching as the lid still remains in place.

The sound of the door opening caught your attention for a split second before turning back to Alastor-

Where did he go?

Lucifer

His eyebrows furrowed in curiosity as he looks at a jar inside a bowl of water. What is this?

"Uh, (M/n), what is this?" You tell him about how you couldn't open the jar so you looked up a method on how. The solution is to leave a jar in warm water for at least 10 minutes to soften the lid. So far, it needs 8 more minutes. He nods before a cheshire grin makes his way on his lips.

"Since I'm here, you don't have to wait much longer." He grabs the jar, from the water and twist the jar to pop it-

"Hehe, uh, slippery." He nervously chuckles, wiping it down before trying again. Seeing as it won't budge, he smiles at you with false joy.

"Give me a second, handsome." He quickly turns around, using his magic before it pops open.

"Ta-da! What can't the King of hell can't do?"

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

Okay, let's talk about NC/Ra*e Kink

disclaimer: Thoughts are under a cut due to the sensitive nature of the topic.

disclaimer: This is not a post endorsing or condemning the kinks. It is simply a discussion about them.

Some kinks are more niche than others. Some kinks aren't widely accepted. Some kinks are very nuanced and will elicit contradictory or confusing feelings.

When I first came across non-consensual (NC) and rape kink fics, I was a little bit jarred. I couldn't understand why someone would want to write it or how someone could enjoy reading it. To me it was very triggering and upsetting, so I didn't interact with "dark fic" like that.

Still, I had a genuine curiosity as to why people were attracted to the kink even if I didn't enjoy it myself. Sexuality is a very broad spectrum, and I try to be open minded if not for just gaining the understanding of a different point of view.

I wanted to ask questions to readers and writers of the kink, but it's such an inflammatory subject in fandom that I couldn't figure out how to do it without it coming across like I was being rude or condemning. Eventually I was able to talk directly to people about it who knew I wasn't coming from a place of judgment. This was on top of looking into things on my own (like reading articles, think pieces, historical/social takes on it, etc.).

Here's a quick list of what I learned:

SURVIVORS: WRITERS — Many of the writers of the kink had been subjected to sexual violence. When you're writing, you can dictate the characters, the dialogue, the plot points, etc. You are in control of what happens. For some survivors, it is a therapeutic exercise in "rewriting" an experience where they had zero control into an experience where they control every facet of what happens.

SURVIVORS: READERS — Readers of the kink have the buffer of a fictional exploration of it and can choose to exit out of a story if they no longer enjoy it or it becomes too much for them, which was not an option in their actual lived trauma. There is also the distance between themselves and the story, which creates a safety buffer where they can engage with the sensitive topic in an indirect way if they so choose.

SEXUAL AUTONOMY — If you pick up any given romance novel, there's a decent chance the kidnapping trope is in there. This roughly entails some physically bigger/stronger man whisking a woman away against her will and then forcing her into a sexual situation where she ends up enjoying it despite it not being consensual. There might even be bits of "this isn't supposed to feel good" and "why do I feel like I'm enjoying this?" sprinkled into it. This trope is in large part due to the limited sexual freedom of women in the past (and present, but notably in the past). Because the woman wasn't initiating or even agreeing to the sexual act, she is relieved of the responsibility of said act. She didn't ask or choose for it to happen, so she does not have ownership of the sexual act. (I know this isn't reality because unfortunately many women are burdened with the "responsibility" for their assault, but please keep in mind I'm speaking on the fantasy/fantasizing aspect of this.) Because of historical and social expectations of chastity in women, one of the few ways that it was even "acceptable" to explore sexual acts was through means of coercion. The fantasy that you don't have to endure the societal repercussions of your sexual act because you didn't initiate it or execute it is sometimes the only way that women knew or felt comfortable in accepting a sexual experience.

SEXUAL DOMINATION — For some people, the idea of being completely sexually dominated and controlled is their biggest fantasy. There's a thrill to not knowing what will happen or when it will happen or how it will happen. Having zero control is akin to being able to turn their brain off and just exist and feel. This bleeds into consensual non-consent (CNC) kink and domination/submission kink as well with NC kink being the more "extreme end" of the spectrum imo.

These points do not exist in a vacuum, and it is not a comprehensive list of factors. Again, this is not an endorsement or a rejection of the kink. I am simply sharing my thoughts on what I have learned over time in the hopes that it can clarify things for others who maybe were curious like me but weren't sure how to learn or where to start.

[nausicaamusiclover20]

heyyyy I hope you feel well❣️

Can I request fluff fic reader (f) x current kirk hammett? they’re watching some horror movies and reader is so scared that she covers her face in his arm

I'm feeling good, thank you for asking, I hope you feel good too❤ I hope you like it!

Safe in his arms

 The room was dim, the only light coming from the flickering glow of the TV. It was one of those perfect nights—quiet, cozy, and calm. Kirk and I were curled up together on the couch, a blanket wrapped around us, a bowl of popcorn between us. We’d chosen a horror movie—something dark and creepy that would get under your skin, but I figured I could handle it. I loved a good scare. It wasn’t until the opening scene that I realized how real this one was going to be.

The movie had a slow, sinister start. Shadows crept across the screen, and the music was that kind of eerie, spine-chilling soundtrack that seemed to seep into the air, making everything feel tense. My heartbeat began to quicken, the hairs on the back of my neck prickling as the figure in the dark, the nun, started to make her appearance.

I tried to focus on the movie, but my nerves were already getting the best of me. Every creak, every whisper on the screen made my breath catch in my throat. The sound was deafening. The atmosphere in the room felt thicker with each passing minute. The nun—her dark figure, that terrifying face—was creeping into my thoughts, making me tense up every time the music swelled.

I shifted, leaning closer to Kirk. His warmth was a welcome comfort, but the air in the room had changed. The fear was building, rising with every second of the film. I tried to shake it off, but my body was betraying me. The tension in the air was almost unbearable, and I felt my heart thumping harder, faster.

Kirk must've noticed, because his gaze flicked over to me. "You alright?" he asked, his voice soft, but with that teasing edge he always had.

I smiled, though it felt forced. "Yeah, I’m good," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. The last thing I wanted was for him to know how easily I was getting spooked. But the feeling in my chest, the unease that had started to creep up on me, wouldn’t go away. Every time that figure appeared in the dark, my pulse would spike, and I’d find myself looking away from the screen, unable to shake the feeling of dread building up inside me.

It wasn’t long before it happened. The figure—the nun—loomed in the shadows again, and this time, the camera lingered on her face for just a beat too long. The silence was suffocating. The tension was unbearable. I could feel myself tense up completely. I didn’t know how much more I could take.

Then the music exploded—sharp, jarring—and I felt my body jump, my hands instinctively shooting up to cover my face, eyes squeezed shut as if blocking it out could make it stop.

But it wasn’t enough. The fear flooded my chest, overwhelming me. And before I even realized what I was doing, I turned toward Kirk, burying my face into the crook of his arm, my hands gripping his sleeve tightly.

Kirk’s arm was around me instantly, pulling me closer, his warmth flooding through me like a shield. The sound of the film, the low, menacing growl of the music, still vibrated through the air, but I felt a little less afraid with him holding me. I buried my face deeper into his arm, seeking the comfort I needed to escape the overwhelming fear that gripped me.

"Hey, it’s okay," Kirk’s voice was low and reassuring, his fingers brushing through my hair as he held me tightly. "You’re safe here."

The words did something to calm me. I still felt the fear crawling beneath my skin, but with him so close, I could breathe a little easier. The movie was still terrifying, but it didn’t seem as powerful when I was wrapped up in his arms. I took a shaky breath, letting his steady heartbeat against my ear ground me.

"I’m sorry," I mumbled, feeling a little embarrassed by how easily the film had gotten to me. I hated the idea of being so afraid, especially with someone like Kirk who always seemed so calm and in control.

He shook his head, smiling softly. "Don’t apologize," he said gently. "It’s just a movie. I’m right here, okay?"

I nodded, but I didn’t pull away from him. I couldn’t. The film was still full of those dark, ominous moments. The shadows in the room seemed to feel darker now, the silence stretching on longer, as though something terrible was waiting to leap out at me from the dark. I felt that terrifying sense of unease creeping into my chest again.

The figure on screen reappeared. This time, the nun was closer, moving silently through the dark, her face twisted in a grotesque smile. The music swelled again, the sound of her footsteps echoing, loud and sharp in the stillness. I flinched again, and this time, I buried my face deeper into Kirk’s arm. I could feel him holding me tighter, his presence a grounding force in the storm of fear that threatened to overtake me.

"You’re not alone in this," he whispered, his lips brushing the top of my head. "I’ve got you."

His words wrapped around me like a blanket, and somehow, I felt like the world outside us didn’t matter as much. It was just me and Kirk. The terrifying image of the nun, the creeping fear that had been suffocating me, started to fade into the background. As long as I had him with me, nothing seemed as scary.

I pulled back a little to look up at him, my eyes wide with a mixture of gratitude and affection.

"You’re really doing a great job of keeping me safe," I said, half-laughing, my voice still a little shaky.

Kirk smirked, adjusting his arm around me. "Well, it’s my job," he said with a wink. "Keeping you safe from movies and bad vibes—easy."

I laughed softly, the tension finally easing. "I guess I’ve got a pretty good bodyguard."

He chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to my forehead. "You bet you do."

For the rest of the movie, I stayed close to him, every time a scary moment came up, I buried my face in his arm again, but now there was a little less fear and a lot more laughter between us. His calm presence was enough to make the horror movie feel a little less terrifying, and every time I tensed up, Kirk was right there to calm me down, making me feel safe.

When the movie finally ended and the credits rolled, I let out a long breath. The tension that had been winding inside me slowly began to loosen, but I didn’t move right away. I stayed close to Kirk, my head resting on his shoulder, letting the safety of his embrace wash over me.

"That was... intense," I said, still a little breathless from the adrenaline.

Kirk smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "I think you were more scared than I was," he teased, but his voice was gentle, full of affection.

I laughed, the sound shaky but genuine. "Yeah... I guess so," I admitted. "But I’m really glad you were here with me."

He squeezed me a little tighter, his voice low and sincere. "I’ll always be here for you," he said, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Nothing’s getting past me, babe”

"Awwww, thank you, Kirky," I murmured, giving him a soft, quick kiss on the cheek. His skin was warm beneath my lips, and I felt the corners of my mouth curl into a smile as I pulled away.

Kirk smiled back, his eyes softening as he rubbed the back of my neck. "Anything for you," he said, his voice low and sincere.

With him by my side, I knew I’d always be safe. The world could throw all the scares and shadows it wanted at me, but with Kirk, I was never alone in facing them.

[strangersteddierthings]

Porcelain Steve - Part 8

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five🦇Part Six🦇Part Seven🦇Part Eight🦇Part Nine

Eddie hears the commotion in the living room, and it takes everything left in him to move away from the door. He just crawls himself forward and onto a pile of nearby clothes because he knows he'll be out of the way there when they open his door.

He knows he should open the door and go out there. Wayne's still out there, confused and concerned, and he needs to call Jeff. He can't just not show up. Yet he remains on the ground, cross-legged this time, face hidden in his hands.

Steve is broken. Because Eddie broke him.

He's been so afraid that something would happen to Steve if he wasn't around but given the track record of Eddie's life, he feels like such an idiot for not realizing the biggest threat to Steve and his safety is Eddie himself.

The commotion beyond his door gets louder, bursting open, and then Robin and Dustin are falling through it, stumbling over each other in their haste to get into Eddie's room. Wordlessly, Eddie points to where he abandoned Steve on the floor, knows that they're here for him.

He's a bit startled when the two finally untangle themselves and Dustin goes to Steve but Robin drops herself onto his dirty laundry, all but draping herself over him in a hug. His body moves on its own, wrapping around Robin and all but pulling her into his lap in a bear hug. He's not crying, too numb for that now, but he does shove his face into the side of her neck and let out a dry, sobbing noise as she coos softly.

"Shhhh. We're here. We've got Steve and we've got you," Robin's voice is wet. She's crying, too, silently but tears are definitely falling because one lands directly in his ear.

He feels detached from himself after that. He's aware of things going on around him but doesn't feel sentient. Robin pulls back from him slowly, she says something as she stands up but Eddie's too busy watching Dustin ever so gently pick up Steve's pinky finger and then Steve. He thinks the smile Dustin gives him is supposed to be reassuring but it's mostly just sad.

Eddie's head followed Dustin as he heads out the door and down the hall, at which point he starts to track Robin as she's coming back down the hall, dragging Wayne behind her.

"Can you stand up, Eddie?" she asks, and Eddie feels like he's watching himself shake his head no more than he feels like he's actually doing it.

"That's alright," Wayne says, as he pats one of Robin's shoulders before moving around her. "I'm not so old as to not be able to get down there. I still don't understand what's goin' on, Eddie, but I'm here."

Wayne joins him on the floor, sitting beside him so he can fling an arm around Eddie's shoulders and tuck him into his side. Robin flops down on his other side, once again draping herself across Eddie like a weighted blanket. It's all very grounding, and a little bit jarring, and that's probably what makes Eddie come back to himself sooner than he would have if he were alone in his room.

"You should be with Steve," is what Eddie decides on saying when words return, turning his head to look at Robin.

"Nah."

"He'd want you-"

"No, he wouldn't. I'm Steve's soulmate and I know him better than anyone else in the world. Which mean you don't get to tell me what Steve would want, because I know what Steve would want. And that's me, here, making sure you're okay first."

"What's happened with Steve?" Wayne asks, and Eddie stiffens. Robin starts rubbing soothing circles on his back.

"It's a long story, Mr. Munson. But I promise we'll fill you in once the crisis has passed."

"Is this related to whatever happened last year durin' the supposed earthquake that y'all can't talk about?"

"Well, I couldn't say either way, since we can't talk about it."

"Right. Get one o' the kids to tell me, then. Whatever they signed ain't legal anyhow."

Robin shoots Eddie a look, like she's trying to figure out if Eddie broke his NDA and told his uncle everything. He gives a quick shake of his head, and then Robin looks to Wayne. "I'm certain Dustin would be thrilled to fill you in, then. Now, Eddie, can you tell me what happened?"

He looks down the hall. He can see people crowded into the trailer's tiny living room but none of them look like any member of the Byers-Hopper household. "Uhh, yeah, but where's El?"

"They're in Indy, some family day thing. But don't worry, we went out to the Cerebro and were able to get El on the Walkie, so they're on the way back."

"You went- how long have I been just... sitting in here," Eddie is mostly talking to himself because it hasn't felt like enough time has passed for them to have made it to pick everyone up, get to Weathertop, communicate with El, and come here.

"Well, Nancy called me-" she cuts off, grabbing Eddie's arm and twisting it around so she can read the time on his watch, "-about an hour and a half ago. So, I guess you've been here that long."

Eddie untwists his arm, shaking her off. "You are being scarily calm right now, Queen of Catastrophizing."

"I already had an hour and a half to freak out. You think I need more?" Robin says as she stands up.

"I guess not," Eddie follows after her.

"Hey, help your old man up," Wayne grumbles, hand out for Eddie to grasp and help pull.

They go down the hall and now Eddie can see the full collective of people in his living room. Nancy, Mike, Lucas, Erica, Max, and Dustin, who is still holding Steve. It settles something inside Eddie, that the group he sees before him is the same one that fought tooth and nail to clear his name and keep him alive.

"So, we're all really sure that we can't just glue it back on?" Mike is asking when Eddie, Robin, and Wayne make it to the living room.

"We aren't sure about anything, Mike," Nancy replies, the frustration in her voice clear.

Everyone stops talking, though, as Wayne gives Eddie a thump on his back and wades through the crowd to get back to his chair. "Well, don't stop on my account. If I hear somethin', no I didn't."

That gets a snort of a laugh from Dustin.

Nancy looks like she wants to argue but doesn't. Instead, she wheels on Eddie, full journalism mode seemingly on, "what happened?"

Eddie swallows thickly before answering, "I dropped him. I-I pick him up and something pinched my palm. It surprised me, or something, and I just- I just let go. He landed on his left side before falling onto his back."

Nancy nods, brain processing much faster than Eddie right now, "And the crack appeared before or after you dropped him?"

He tries to remember, "I don't- I think so?"

"You think or you know?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I don't know, Wheeler," Eddie says it more harshly than needed but he doesn't know! He doesn't remember because he didn't even look at Steve for longer than a second or two after Jeff saw him. "I've been having a mental breakdown kind of all day so no, I don't know! All I know is it's my fault because there wasn't a crack this morning, and now he's missing a finger-"

She's not even effected by his outburst, "Eddie! I'm not blaming you! I'm asking for the details because if you didn't do anything to cause the crack, then maybe that's just Steve, breaking the curse or something."

His anger drains from him almost as quickly as it built. "What?"

"I've been reading a lot, researching you know. About magical transformations. But there's not a lot of nonfiction on the subject. Ergo, I've been reading a lot of fairy tales."

"Which isn't really good for research-" Dustin starts, but Nancy just talks over him.

"My point is that, if you didn't do anything to cause the crack, maybe it just happened naturally. Supernaturally? Whatever, maybe it's a sign of whatever curse is on Steve is fading on it's own. That's why I wanted to know," she shifts from one foot to another now before adding, "I'm sorry about your day. I might have broached the subject differently had I known."

"No, you wouldn't have, but that's why I like you, Wheeler. You're a no-nonsense gal and I appreciate that," Eddie says.

Nancy gives him a small, almost shy, smile in return and the room falls into a silence that just this side of uncomfortable.

"Alright, Dustin, since the talkin' seems to be done, you wanna fill an old man in on what the hell's been goin' on around here for the last few years?" Wayne breaks the silence and Eddie barks out a laugh at the look on everyone's faces.

"Uhh, we don't-I don't know what you are talking about," is Dustin's eloquent answer.

Wayne nods and Eddie knows his uncle well enough to recognize the look on his face and in his eyes. Wayne switches tactics, then, and says, "You got any one older than twenty-five that knows what's happenin'?"

The group exchanges looks before Dustin says, "yes."

"Alright. They comin' here?"

"Yes."

"I can wait, then. Anyone hungry? Thirsty?" Wayne asks, and then without waiting for an answer, looks to Eddie and says, "Eddie, get to makin' some sandwiches. What kinda host are you?" Wayne is shaking his head like he can't believe Eddie's audacity.

Eddie sputters out some indignant response, even as he turns to round the corner cabinet to officially be in the kitchen. His first choice is peanut butter and jelly, but when he gets the peanut butter out, he can see there's probably enough for two sandwiches, three if it's a thin layer of peanut butter. Opening the fridge shows a sad amount of lunch meat; the cupboard has two tuna fish cans.

"Guess we're making several different sandwiches," Robin's voice so close to his back makes him jump, which earns a chorus of chuckles from the peanut gallery in the living room.

"Someone needs to get you a bell," Eddie mutters. "Get to work on the PB and J's. I'll get this tuna mixed."

They work in silence, making three different types of sandwiches. Wayne knew they didn't have enough of any one thing to make enough for everyone here, and the ones who will be showing up eventually, but he told Eddie to do it anyway. Asked, but didn't wait for an answer. Wayne's making busy work for him, he realizes. A distraction from what he's done. He's not sure if he should be thankful for that or not.

The only thing separating the kitchen from where everyone is seated in the living room is a counter and cupboards, so when the sandwiches are done, Eddie just shoved them across the counter. "Sandwiches are done."

It's not exactly a rush for the sandwiches on the other side of the counter but everyone does gather to grab one. There's not even an argument about wanting a specific one, except Max, who is offered all three kinds and when she says PB&J, Mike hands over the one he grabbed without hesitation. It's the most mature thing Eddie's seen him do, if only because every other time he does something mature he complains about it, which kind of ruins the 'mature' part.

It's about three minutes into eating that the trailer's front door bursts open and at first no one is there, like a gust of wind had blown it open, but then El comes barreling in and Hopper can be heard shouting something about knocking first.

"Where is he?" El demands.

"Here," Dustin is already holding Steve out to her. She doesn't even approach Dustin, just pulls Steve to her using her mind, grabbing him out of the air with one hand. She examines him quickly, finding the crack. She trails one of her fingers along the crack to where his pinky is missing. Dustin adds, "Do you want his finger, too?"

She shakes her head and turns to Eddie next, and he doesn't even feel the bandana leave his pocket, but he does watch it fly across the space between them. She moves over to sit in front of the TV, Steve in her lap as she's folding the bandana into a blindfold.

"TV," is her final demand as her eyes vanish behind cloth and she's trying off the bandana. Mike moves instantly to the TV, clicking it on to fill the room with static.

Wayne, to his credit, has only the tiniest hint of an eyebrow raised from watching things move about the room seemingly by nothing. El hadn't even stopped to consider someone not In The Know was here. Guess he's In The Know now.

Will, Jonathan, Argyle, Joyce, and Hopper have made it into the trailer, closing the door silently behind them. Hopper finds Wayne among the crowd of kids, eyes going wide, while Wayne just lifts his sandwich in a salute before taking a big bite out of it.

"Steve, I cannot hear you. I do not think you can hear me in your mind. Nod if you hear me now." El's voice breaks the tense silence that had fallen.

Of shit, what did Eddie do?

"Oh, good. Are you okay?" A pause. "He is nodding. Do you know what happened? He is shaking his head. Do you know why you are far away now? Shaking his head again. You can still hear. Can you still see? He is nodding. Steve, there is a crack on your arm-"

"His left arm," Mike interjectes.

"Yes, your left arm. Yes. You are missing a finger on that hand. Do you think that is what is causing the distance? He is shrugging. Do not worry, we will figure this out. I am going to go now."

El pulls off the bandana and uses it to wipe the blood from her nose before setting it on the living room floor. "I cannot get as close to him as I could before. He stays far away no matter how close I walk. But he is okay."

He's okay. Steve's okay. Fucking Christ, Eddie's going to throw up. A couple people call his name as he dashes down the hall. He crashes through the bathroom door and knows he doesn't have time to close it, so everyone gets to hear him lose his sandwich into the toilet bowl. On the third heave of his stomach, cool hands touch his head, gather his hair up and away from his face. He doesn't even have it in him to flinch or jump. "Thanks."

"I'd say anytime, dingbat, but I don't really want to hold your puke hair too many more times. You get, like, two more, tops," Robin says.

"I can't go back out there, Robin," he whispers, "I did this. I cracked him, broke his finger off and now El can't even hear him. I can't- he's gotta go with someone else. I can't-"

"I know. Dustin already asked if you'd be upset if Steve went home with him. I'll let him know you understand he needs to be around Steve right now."

"Why aren't you mad at me?"

"Dingbat. Eddie. You're mad enough at yourself for all of us," she says, reaching over and flushing the toilet. Eddie feels like there's more throwing up to do but he is glad to have the smell of vomit reduced with the flush. He sits up a bit more, so his hair won't fall into his face when Robin lets go. Robin lets go long enough to search the bathroom cabinets for a hair tie, pushing it into Eddie's hands. "Hair up."

"So demanding," Eddie mumbles even as he gathers his hair into the tie.

"Once you're done ralphing just go to bed. I'll get everyone out of your house."

Eddie nods and Robin leaves, clicking the door closed. He heaves a few more times before his body is done. On shaking legs, he makes his way to his room. He feels like he's floating above himself again. He doesn't know if everyone has left yet, or if he hears nothing because he's too out of it.

He tucks himself in and dozes. He wakes up three times; once, when his uncle comes in and puts the walkie near him on the bed, the second time in the evening when Robin wriggles into his bed and forces herself into his arms with a simple I usually hold Steve when I'm feeling bad, but I suppose you holding me will have to do and the final time, almost at midnight, when the walkie goes off.

"Anyone up?" says the disembodied voice of Dustin Henderson.

Eddie's not sure how the quiet voice woke him up, but it does. He reaches over Robin, who has starfished out of his arms in their sleep, to grab the walkie. He doesn't know if he should answer, so he holds out for someone else.

"Hello?" Dustin asks again.

No one answers. So, finally, Eddie does. "I'm here, Henderson. Bad dream?"

"I'm glad it's you, Eddie," Dustin says, something soft in his voice.

"Why?"

"'Cause I wanted to talk to you," says a new voice, a familiar voice.

"Steve?" Eddie whispers, even as his free hand is violently shaking Robin awake.

Robin mumbles something incoherent, head turning to Eddie as the voice on the walkie says, "Yeah, it's me."

[honorarysimp]

Interlude: The Diner

series masterlist

Out of everywhere in town you’ve been since you arrived two weeks ago, this is the only place you’ve truly felt safe.

The diner was a blast from the past, a relic of a time long gone. The checkered linoleum floor worn and scuffed in places, and vinyl-covered booths gave the place a retro feel, while the crackled and faded wallpaper added a touch of nostalgia.

The smell of stale coffee and fried food hung in the air, adding a distinct atmosphere to the place.

The diner was dimly lit, the fluorescent tubes above the counter casting a harsh, almost clinical light over the small space. In one corner, an old radio played quiet music, the sound barely reaching a few booths in the room.

You are currently sat in a booth towards the back, visibly exhausted beyond measure as you nurse a cup of black coffee.

Coffee is suppose to be the answer to everything, but you’ve had to reconvey your initial claim the last week.

Your phone suddenly rings loudly in the quiet diner, the sharp sound causing you to flinch, jarring and breaking the ambiance like a hammer against glass. You glance down at the screen, expression darkening as you saw the word "Mayor" flash across the display.

With a heavy exhale, you let the call ring through to voicemail. The Mayor was the last person you want to deal with at the moment. You’re frustrated and exhausted, as this investigation seems to be leading nowhere.

Why answer her when you have nothing to report? She knows where to find you if she’s that desperate for results.

You reach into your coat pocket and retrieved your tape recorder. You lay it on the worn tabletop and looked at it for a moment with a slight grimace.

You hesitate before starting the recording, the weight of your lack of progress weighing heavily on you. With a weary sigh, you hit the record button and began speaking, voice low and tired.

"It's been two weeks since I arrived here, and so far, I've got nothing. No leads, no suspects, just a whole lot of dead ends."

You continue, your voice growing more frustrated as you detail your efforts thus far.

"I've tried everything," you admit, hand running through your hair in exasperation. "Witness interviews, forensic analysis, even digging through records going back decades. But every time I think I'm onto something, it just leads nowhere."

You lean back in the booth, shoulders slouched in exhaustion. "It's like this town is intentionally keeping secrets."

You pause for a moment, expression thoughtful.

"The people here," you begin, voice a bit softer. "They're just as much victims as anyone. I've started to get to know some of them, and they're just trying to live their lives. But then there's this..."

You trail off, expression conflicted. You knew you’ve always tried to be logical and professional when it comes to your job, ruled by rationality and evidence. But this case is pushing your boundaries, forcing you to question your own beliefs.

"Maybe... maybe there's no logical explanation," you admit, voice barely a whisper “the only thing that’s consistent is the fact one person goes missing a month, but even that doesn’t make sense because it stops and starts randomly- goddamn it.”

You hit the pause button on the tape recorder, frustrated. You sit back, the silence in the diner somehow making the weight of the case even heavier.

You sat for a moment, eyes unfocused as you mull over everything that has happened in the last two weeks. The disappearances, the dead ends, the strange events... everything about this case was slowly chipping away at your certainty, your usual rational mind struggling to find footing.

You start the tape recorder again, voice weary but determined.

"The attack in the woods," you began. "I've tried to make sense of it, but it just doesn't add up. The masked figure came out of nowhere, silently and unexpectedly. The knife cut me, but there was no blood, no trace of any kind at the scene. And even after searching, there were no footprints or tracks of any kind. Nothing."

You trail off, eyes fixed on the tabletop. "It's like the assault never even happened."

You again continued, tense with disbelief. "And then there's Wes," you say, shaking your head. "He just vanishes after walking into the lake. We've searched the lake more times than I can count, and we haven't found a body. Nothing. It's like he just vanished into thin air."

Your frustration and confusion becomes more and more evident the more you spoke, the mystery of the case growing more complex with each passing moment as you verbally try to debunk it aloud. "It makes no sense," you mutter, raking a hand through your hair once more, knee bouncing in a fidget underneath the table.

You pause for a moment, taking a deep breath to calm your frustration. "The disappearances, the attack, the lack of any solid evidence... everything about this case just feels wrong. Like there's something bigger going on, something just out of my grasp.”

You look down at the tape recorder, brow furrowed. "But how do I solve something when I can't even see all the pieces? How do I find answers when everything I've tried leads to more questions?"

You sat slumped in the booth, gaze unfocused as you wrestle with your thoughts. "I need... I need..." you repeat in a low voice, frustration and desperation mingling in your tone.

I need a fucking cigarette.

You clench your fists, refocusing on trying to piece together the elusive clues in your mind. "I need something decisive, something concrete," you continue, eyes sweeping over the steam rising from your mug as if the answers were etched within the small bubbles resting on the liquid’s surface.

You let out a heavy sigh, the frustration etched on your face. You reach out and hit the pause button, shutting off the tape recorder.

You lean back in the booth once again, taking a moment to gather your thoughts. The weight of the case hung heavily on you, the lack of progress a crushing disappointment. Never has a case had you so in the weeds before, you should have something by now.

"I need to find something," you mutter to yourself, jaw clenched. "I can't keep spinning my fucking wheels like this."

You rest your elbows to the table for a moment, rubbing a hand over your face as if trying to scrub away the fatigue and temporary defeat. Everything about this case was getting under your skin, the lack of progress wearing on your already frayed nerves.

The Diner's bell jangled as someone entered, causing you to look up from your thoughts. Your gaze lands on Tara of all people, who had just walked in.

You register the first responder uniform she is wearing, coming to the conclusion that she must be working the night shift. Or just got off it, depending on what time it is, that of which you aren’t sure. Your eyes lingered on her for a moment, taking in her tired but determined expression.

Her head turns and you’re already meeting her gaze, a pause between you, and then you silently gesturing for her to join you. You see the hesitation on her face, the fatigue and worry that mirrored your own. But after a moment, she relents and walks over to the booth, sliding into the seat opposite you.

“Hey” you start softly, watching her take your coffee mug off the table and take a small whiff before taking a sip.

You don’t question it.

“Nothing yet on our end, you?”

You shake your head, “even if we did, I’m sure Sam would be the first one to let you know.”

Tara nods, and you both fall silent.

The one waitress that seems to be working tonight walks over, she gives you both a kind smile.

“You’re working late tonight, Cici” Tara says politely, which makes the woman laugh good naturely.

“I could say the same to you, coffee?”

“Please.”

She scribbles it down, glancing back up “and the usual?”

Another nod from Tara, which then has Cici’s gaze going to you expectantly.

“I’m still doing okay with just coffee-“

“The Detective will have what I’m having Cici, thank you” Tara cuts you off, making Cici glance between you knowingly as she jots the order down and heads off without another word.

You look to Tara and narrow your eyes, but she beats you to it before you can speak.

“I wish you’d stop making assumptions about me, you know.”

A pause, you reach across the table for your mug but she pulls it from your reach.

There’s a good chance Tara is talking about the last conversation you two had before you found Wes and Chad, but of course you’d hate to assume.

So you wait for her to continue, after a moment her expression softens slightly and she nudges your coffee mug back across the table to you.

“For what it’s worth, I’m rightfully in the same boat. Worrying certain people are only around for information, for wanting to know things rather than-“ she stops, clearing her throat.

That’s when you get it. The hot and cold.

“Look… I’ve never once been dishonest with you, I’ve got no reason to be” you start slowly, giving your still aching shoulder a little roll before reaching across the table to accept your mug back.

“But-“ you pause, as your fingers brush against hers, neither of you acknowledge it as you pull the coffee mug back to your side “unfortunately that’s the one thing I’m under contract not to tell you, which is who hired me. You already know why I’m here, and if there’s one thing I can promise you is that I’m not using you for any reason.”

She is clearly skeptical, you can tell by the way she looks at you. But you can also see that slight softness between her brow, like she wants to believe you.

You sip your coffee, sitting it to the side before placing your palms flat on the table top, “ask me anything you want, no pool games, no deals, no trades, no bullshit. And then I’ll do the same.”

That look returns, the one Tara gave you a week ago when you’d asked her out for drinks.

“You still are trying to pick my brain” Tara says with an amused tone, you offer a smile and shrug.

“I wanna know you, is that so hard to believe?” You say as you nudge your coffee mug back over to her, a silent offer.

Tara eyes you, then the mug, then you again. She’s fighting back a smile, something you’ve noticed she does a lot with you. In a way you consider it a win, because it means she’s starting to like you even when she doesn’t want to.

“Fine” she agrees, pushing the coffee mug back across the table to you before crossing her arms, “but you’re on thin ice hot shot.”

You grin, trying not to feel triumphant for finally managing to somewhat get through to her.

“First things first, what’s your favorite scary movie?”

The disapproving look Tara gives you makes you laugh harder than it should, which in return, makes her smile more than she should.

And for the first time in a while, a sense of normalcy envelops you both. It won’t last, but for now, it’s nice.

previous, next

[wholoveseggs]

Christmas Khaos

{Masterlist}

~Five days of Fluffmas~

You settle in with the Mikaelsons for a cozy Christmas movie night, but when movie choices spark a sibling feud, chaos ensues.

1k words - No warnings, no smut! just pure fluff.

You were cautiously carrying your mug of hot cocoa into the living room of the Mikaelson compound, observing Kol and Rebekah putting the finishing touches on the Christmas tree as you sat down on the sofa next to Elijah. The plan for the evening involved watching one of those cheesy holiday movies while snuggling in blankets with hot cocoa or eggnog.

"So, what movie did you all decide on?" you asked curiously.

"Die Hard," Kol smirked as he finished placing the last ornament on the tree.

"We already watched that a few days ago," Klaus huffed as he walked into the room. "I want to watch the Grinch."

"Of course you do," Kol scoffed.

"Those movies are terrible. We should watch a better one, like Love Actually!" Rebekah argued.

You turned to Elijah, who had decided not to involve himself in the argument. As the rest of the siblings bickered, you asked him quietly, "What do you want to watch?"

He looked over at his arguing siblings, then back at you. "I will always vote for whatever you want to watch."

You blushed and smiled, "Awww. That's sweet, but I'd still like to know your opinion. Do you have a preference?"

He was silent for a moment, looking deep in thought. "The Nutcracker."

"Seriously?" Kol said, breaking out of the argument he was having.

"Absolutely, The Nutcracker it is then," you announced, earning a raised eyebrow from Kol.

"Are we seriously going to watch a ballet?" he exclaimed, feigning disbelief.

Rebekah rolled her eyes, "Oh, come on, Kol! It's a classic! Plus, it's way better than your Die Hard obsession."

Kol shot back, "Die Hard is a Christmas masterpiece, unlike your sugary romantic dramas."

"We are watching The Nutcracker," Elijah said firmly.

The siblings groaned, but they still settled into the living room. You got up to put the movie in the DVD player, then returned to the sofa, sitting between Kol and Elijah. You grabbed the remote, and when you went to press play, nothing happened. You tried again, same result.

Elijah let out a deep sigh and stood, kneeling in front of the TV to fix the issue. Kol turned to you, giving you a sweet smile.

"So, darling, have any plans for New Year's?"

"Yeah," you nodded. "I'm going to a party in the Quarter."

"A party," he hummed. "I suppose you will be needing a ride there."

You gave him a questioning look. "Yeah… I guess."

He leaned in close to you, whispering into your ear, "I will gladly take you. In fact, I could take you home as well."

He leaned back, giving you a devious smirk. You bit your lip, feeling a little flustered. Kol was so hot, and the two of you had hooked up a few times. He was always so sweet and charming afterward and was just a good time in general. However, sometimes he was a little too flirty and mischievous for your taste. He had a habit of getting you into trouble. As his hand came down to rest on your thigh, you realized how easy it was for him to talk you into doing something reckless and dangerous. You had already done a lot of reckless things with him.

"H-how's the TV looking?" you asked Elijah, trying not to sound flustered.

"I can't figure out the source of the problem," Elijah replied, looking behind the TV.

Kol's hand started slowly inching higher up your leg. Your breath hitched as his thumb brushed against the inseam of your pants. You looked up to see Kol's smirk widen. He was really enjoying messing with you, and you were tempted to let him.

"Well, if it's not getting fixed anytime soon, I'll go get another hot cocoa," Rebekah announced, walking past the couch.

Suddenly the room erupted into chaos, the beautiful Christmas tree came crashing down, ornaments shattering on impact and scattering across the floor like glittering confetti. The air was filled with the jarring sound of glass breaking and the collective gasp of astonishment from everyone present. Everyone looked at it in shock, then jumped as the TV began blasting Christmas music at an alarming volume.

"Oh, for the love of—" Klaus started, but his voice was drowned out by the blaring Christmas music.

Elijah, still on his knees in front of the TV, frantically tried to mute the sound.

"Klaus, what did you do now?" Rebekah exclaimed, narrowing her eyes accusingly.

Kol, seizing the opportunity, grinned mischievously, "I bet Klaus sabotaged the tree to avoid watching The Nutcracker. Crafty move, brother."

“How am I getting blamed for this? I was standing across the room!” Klaus yelled in defense.

Rebekah crossed her arms, unconvinced. "Convenient, Klaus. Very convenient."

Kol chimed in, "Maybe the tree was threatened by Klaus's Grinchy energy."

Amidst the chaos, Elijah rose from in front of the TV, his calming presence attempting to restore order. "Enough, all of you! Let's focus on cleaning up this mess and salvaging what's left of our evening."

As Rebekah and Klaus continued to argue, and Elijah attempted to restore order, Kol's lips brushed against your ear again, his tone suggestive, "Care to get out of here?"

"Absolutely," you said, getting up from the couch.

Kol grabbed your hand and led you upstairs to his room. The moment you both entered, he pulled you into a kiss. The door closed behind you, muffling the echoes of the Mikaelson drama downstairs. Kol's mischievous grin persisted as he gently pulled away, guiding you backward towards his bed.

"Care to share what exactly you did downstairs?" you asked, a playful glint in your eyes.

"Just a little Christmas magic, darling," he smiled, leaning in to kiss you again.

You were sure the Mikaelsons would figure out it was Kol and come looking for him, but you weren't too worried. You knew how much trouble Kol was going to get in. Maybe you'd let him get away with it for a little while.

Besides, it was the most wonderful time of the year.

Credit goes to Anon for this idea ♡♡

[factual-fantasy]

28 ASKS! THANKS A BUNCH!! 🥰🌊

f...FANK YOIU SO MYUCH!!! 🥰💖💖💖

My cookies can eat and drink :0 but that's mostly becuase I imagine my cookies as more.. people than cookies <XD

Ah, I'm afraid I cannot help you there. I seem to be physically incapable of explaining how I draw things. I've made some hand/art tutorials in the past but I just cant seem to explain myself well-

It boils down to: "Well.. I just, draw it. And uh.. if it looks kind'a off? Draw it a little differently. And if it still looks off.. then uh.. just draw it again, until it looks right." <XDD Not really helpful.. sorry!..

Also thank you so much!! :DD Your compliments mean the world!! 💖

@a-manicured-lawn

ALKSF XDD That sounds great, I'll keep that in mind! :}

(Post in question)

XD It sure is!

That is a good idea! I'll have to keep this in mind! :0 ..Though I do love receiving asks.. 🥺

@headspace-tales

XDD I've been told that Jangles looks like Papyrus, they might fight right in!

Oooo that's a good idea! I might have to try that! :00

(Post in question) (..Or was it this post-)

ALKJSWDJ XDD I'm glad you liked it!! :DD

Probably like warm canned tuna fish spread across a gingerbread cookie XDD

I'm unfamiliar with the world of happy tree friends.. is it safe there? If so, sure they'll stay! :D

That condition was tacked on last minute.. I haven't put much thought into it.. but I'm sure situations like that are very possible :00 I'll have to think more on it! :oo

Can they do that?? Man, Tuna could really use that- <XD

I don't know.. do they? :0

AHEMMM AHEHEMMMMM... THAN K YIOIUUU!!!💖💖💖

SKSAJS IT PROBABLY IS XDD

Aww!! 🥰💖🥰

TERROR!! XDD

I'm not sure.. idk how more cookies in the game are made- <XD

I'm not sure.. I assume a world made of candy would be rather normal to them..? :0

(Post in question)

SKJJDJKSLV XDD

YOOO THATS GENIUS!!

@beryl-shade

I would assume negative.. since a real cookie jar is a bunch of cookies kept "sealed" away in a jar. Its probably the equivalent of a prison to them! :00

My interests come and go. We're bound to see more of it someday, :o

THE NINTENDO SWITCH???

Thank you XDD I hope it works!

ooooo good question! :00

Its rare that Seafoam gets really stressed or overwhelmed. Its the mark of a good Captain to keep his cool when under pressure. But if there comes a time where his stress is high and he cant get away from the situation, he probably seeks out Octo for help. Getting him to take over so that he can step away or just to help him in general. In which Octo is always willing to help.

Octo is the same as Seafoam. Really good under pressure and rarely gets overwhelmed. But just like Seafoam, if things get to be too much he would seek out Seafoam for help. Maybe even getting Seafoam to take control so can get a few minutes to himself.

Red probably gets stressed a lot, the poor kid :< He just runs to Coco, Seafoam, Blue or even Octo if he can. Just the nearest parental/protective figure that can resolve the situation for him <XD

I can see Blue diving deeper or swimming out a ways from the ship when stressed. The whale equivalent of taking a walk <XD

Cuttlefish probably uses her powers to slip out of any situation and find a quiet space to calm down. Removing herself from the situation usually fixes her up pretty quick. Spider crab is the same, just going to find a space alone where he can calm himself down. Usually by taking deep breaths and soaking up the quiet.

Urchin, Louis, Coco, Tuna and Ellie probably would all just find a way to leave the situation to go pace and rant when stressed. Even if they have to make a scene in order to leave.

I can see Pinwheel fleeing to Seafoam whenever something becomes too much to handle. Getting him to step in and help her, though she might not fully leave the situation. Since Seafoam provides her comfort, she might hover nearby while Seafoam resolves the situation for her.. 🥺

(Also thank you for the ask/prompt! Was very tasty😋)

@artistmad (Post in question)

:DD Thank you so much! I'm glad you liked it! XDD

[psychedelic-ink]

darling sweet sil my angel my brainwave twin 🤍 congrats on 4.5k you amazing human! you deserve it all and so much more!!!

I have a mood board request too cuz yours are my favourite but Imma start with a drabble request:

since we’re on the topic of joel miller - perhaps a little something about undressing? maybe he and reader have a bit of an undefined relationship but when he comes home bloody after a supply run a conversation is had while reader helps him out of his dirty clothes 👀

love you sweets!!!!

bby first of all I love you so freaking much and second of all I'm sorry, I wanted to make this horny but it ended up being soft and emotional--whoops (blame joel he just has the vibe)

𝐋𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐲 𝐒𝐤𝐢𝐧

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

genre: hurt/comfort, romance

word count: 1.1k

summary Joel comes back home wounded, and as you clean him up the two of you have a little chat.

warnings: blood mention, joel getting injured off screen, brief mention of them sleeping together, unnamed relationship, stripping joel

𝑺𝑰𝑳'𝑺 4.5𝑲 𝑭𝑶𝑳𝑳𝑶𝑾𝑬𝑹 𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑰 𝑬𝑽𝑬𝑵𝑻 (closed)

Joel Miller is not a happy man. 

You figured that one out five minutes into meeting him and that was three months ago. 

Now that you know him better, your relationship with one another is done on top of a road covered with delicate eggshells. You don’t know what the two of you are supposed to be. You’re close— close enough to sleep with but not close enough to hug him at night when you’re roused awake by nightmares. You know he wouldn’t say a word if you did, but you never wished to put any kind of burden on him. It didn’t seem fair. 

You remember his smile through a fogged, hazy memory. Five times. Five times you had seen those chapped lips curl upward, it wasn’t much but it was something to keep you rooted to his side. 

Sometimes you humor yourself by thinking that some of his remaining happiness is due to you, which is a silly thought a love-struck teenage girl would have but you just can’t help yourself. 

The night grows near and there’s still no sign of Joel. You eye the clock nervously, it’s ticking in a sinister whisper trying to convince you to smash the darn thing to the ground. It was supposed to be a simple supply run, at least that was what he said to you, a job so easy that you didn’t need to trouble yourself with. 

Fucking liar. 

Your ears perk up when you hear the creak of the old door, for the first time you’re happy you always forget to grease it. Rising to your feet, a string of words reach all the way to the tip of your tongue, most of them asking why he didn’t bring you along, but you swallow all of your protests down when you see the state he’s in. 

The front of his shirt is drenched with blood, warm and clinging to his skin, there’s a small shallow cut right underneath his right eye, a slight limp to his step. 

Without uttering a word you throw his arm over your shoulder and guide him to the couch, where he collapses instantly. 

“What the hell happened?” you whisper, he only shakes his head, thumb moving up and down the curve of his nose. 

You make a b-line to the bathroom to get the first aid kit. Heat rises to your cheeks, fingers tips tingling with fear. When you return you find him with his head thrown back, sweat clings to his neck, apple’s adam moving with every strained breath. You take a seat on the coffee table right across from him, your knees brush. 

“I need you to take off your shirt,” you say softly. “I need to clean the wound. Are you bitten?” 

He lets out a bitter laugh, hand dropping to his side. “I wouldn’t be here if I was. I was ambushed but got away,” 

“You should’ve taken me with you,” 

He spreads his legs to get comfortable, eyes finding yours amidst the tension crackling between you two. The white of his eyes is a jarring, sickly yellow, red in the corners. 

“The job was simple.” 

“Clearly it wasn’t.” before he can utter another word, you slap his knee with the back of his hand. “Come one, shirt off.” 

He grunts but obliges, he winces when he lifts his arm, a choked-out sound tumbling from his lips. You don’t ask as you reach out to help him out of it. Your fingers gently hook against the hem of the shirt, slowly pulling it up his torso. Your knuckles brush against his blood-slickened skin, the shiver of his body doesn’t go unnoticed by you. 

As you stand up and completely strip him of his tattered shirt, you throw it to the floor, he’s looking up at you now, giving you a look you can’t quite place but also can’t ignore the way it makes your heart race. Meanwhile, you admire the way his chest heaves, it distracts you from what you’re doing. His skin is peppered with light-colored scars, some seem like bullet wounds. 

You have trouble holding yourself back, wanting to touch him now more than ever. 

“I can clean myself up you know,” he states, eyes dropping. He sighs before you can say anything. “But thanks,” 

“You’re welcome.” 

You start to clean the large gash across his chest, it’s a nasty wound that’ll scar but you doubt he minds. He jerks as you brush the cotton drenched with saline solution and you decide to drag his focus elsewhere. 

“You really shouldn’t be ignoring me,” you say, which is a fact that’s not really helpful to anyone but you know your plan to distract him works because his gaze snaps to your face. “We’re supposed to be a team.” 

“We are but it’s not always that simple—” his words are interrupted by a hiss caused by himself. He swallows and sinks his teeth into his bottom lip. “Look, I usually keep you in the dark sometimes but I swear this one I really did think it would be an easy job. I wanted you to rest.” 

“You wanted me to rest? That’s… surprisingly thoughtful,” 

You pull away the cotton, now crimson red, and throw it above his shirt. You cut up some gauze, eyeing the wound as you do so. 

“I have my days. If I were you I wouldn’t get used to it though,” he says with a crooked smile, but it fades with the rest of his words. “Besides you’re—I don’t know—You’re all I have left.” 

You feel your eyes widening, your brain having trouble computing his words. Gauze slipping between your fingers you just stare at him, mouth opening and closing, only silence following the movement of your lips. He turns you his cheek, brows furrowing. 

“I shouldn’t have said that,” 

“No–No!” you startle him with the sheer volume of your voice. Leaning forward, you grip his chin and force his gaze upon you. Your thumb strokes the small patches of skin that’s scattered throughout his beard. “I’m glad you said that. I’m…I didn’t want to put pressure on you but I’ve been feeling the same for a while now.” 

“I heard you crying once,” he suddenly says, the drawl in his voice thick. “All I wanted to do was reach out and touch you.” 

“Next time you should.” 

It’s a bitter thought, thinking that there will be a definite next time that you’ll cry. But you know he’ll be there, which feels like sunlight filtering through gray clouds. He smooths his palm over the slop of your knee, fingers squeezing your thigh. 

“I will.”  

The gauze and freshly cleaned wound is forgotten as your lips meet uncharacteristically soft as if it’s the first time you’re tasting one another. 

[cigarettesandinevitablebetrayal]

Day 1 - Lunch, or Best Attempts At It

Happy Hauville Birthday, folks! Just a quick little something I wrote up. It started as an answer to the prompts, but kind of became it's own thing. Regardless, I hope you enjoy. You can find it on AO3 or

Felix swears as he nearly drops the cookbook in the pot, catching it in time to save anything more than the corner from dipping into the bubbling tomato sauce. "No, no, no, fuck," he murmurs, giving the cookbook a shake and splattering red across the counter and stove. It takes a mad scramble for the paper towels and shoving spice jars to the side before Felix can comfortably put the cookbook down and start dabbing up the mess from the pages. Julian is going to kill him if it stains. He's not convinced Julian owns a book with so much as a creased spine.

The oil in the pot at the back of the stove pops, spitting angrily as one of the papas rellenas cracks clean in half as it fries. "No!" Felix shouts at the offending ball of mashed potato. A raisin frees itself from the center filling, floating miserably to the top of the oil, as Felix fishes the ruined snack out of the oil with the long-handled strainer that Julian called a spider. He isn't sure why Julian had called it that. If anything, it looks more like a spiderweb than an actual spider.

He drops the papa rellena on the plate beside the stove, his brows furrowing as it rolls against the growing pile of destroyed potato and beef. "Okay, that's fine. That's fine." He turns his attention back to the cookbook resting on the only part of the counter that isn't entirely caked in egg and flour and tomato. As he reads, he runs his finger under the words like Julian always does, hoping that maybe it'll inexplicably reveal what he's doing wrong. "Yes, no, okay. Handful of potato, split it in half, indent, fill, stick back together, dip and roll, and fry."

The potatoes squish unpleasantly between his fingers as he scoops up a handful and Felix can't help but grimace. How does Julian - or anyone, really - eat this stuff? No, he can't get distracted. He's going to figure out how to do this or, at the very least, make a passable pair for Julian to have. He will not end this endeavor with nothing to show but burnt and broken papas rellenas.

A familiar clicking and gait sounds in the hallways and only just drops the most recent ball into the oil as he turns to look in horror. The footsteps stop before the door, a jingling of keys, metal scraping metal as the key is inserted and turned, and Felix manages a strained smile as Julian slowly shuts the door behind himself. He wrinkles his nose as Felix can only imagine the smell of hot oil and burnt food hits him.

"Hey, Jules," Felix stretches out the syllables as though that might distract Julian as he hesitantly approaches the kitchen. "I'm making lunch."

Julian's dark eyes scan over the mess, his lips twitching in that way that Felix has learned isn't actually frustration. Amusement, warm and soothing like a bubble bath, fills the air as Julian wets his lips. "Is that what we're calling this?" He asks, eyes finally wandering back to Felix's.

Felix's shoulders slump just a bit as he looks back at the plate of ruined food. "Well, I was trying to."

Julian hums in response, coming around to Felix's side to peer down at the cookbook. His brows furrow, but his lips don't press into a thin line like when he's upset. "You're trying to make papas rellenas." It isn't a question.

Felix rubs the back of his neck. "You said-" An acrid smell hits his nose and he swears as he jumps to fish the last one out of the oil and turn it off. It's the only one that didn't crack, even if it did get a bit too crispy. "You said they were your favorite."

Julian nods. "They're what I cooked the first night you stayed over." He smiles, leaning his forehead against Felix's. "Sweet of you, but these are really difficult to make." He leans in to steal a quick kiss, his glasses sliding down his nose to bump against Felix's. "If you'd asked, we could have made them together."

Felix wraps his arms around Julian's waist, pulling him closer. "I wanted to surprise you."

"You certainly did," Julian chuckles.

He closes his eyes and Felix follows suit, taking a deep breath of Julian's cologne and the faintest hint of his detergent. The click of his heart valve still demands the majority of his attention, but has since melted into the rhythm of his heartbeat. His clothes are soft in Felix's hands and the warmth of his skin could rival sunlight through a window on a summer day. Everything about him chases away the worries he'd had about this whole endeavor.

Slowly, Julian pulls back, running his hand across Felix's cheek one last time before looking over the kitchen. "Okay. Let's see what you've gotten up to."

Felix lets Julian go, reaching for the cabinets with the plates as Julian picks through the ruined scraps on the plate beside the stove. If the minor disaster bothers him, it doesn't show on his face. Felix finds himself smiling despite it all. Maybe the food didn't turn out, but that doesn't matter. So long as he can keep making Julian smile, it'll be a good day.

[sortasirius]

Frail State of Mind

Fandom: 911

Pairing: Evan Buckley/Eddie Diaz

Words: 1630

Rating: T

Summary:

It's a strange thing, when Eddie realizes how he feels about Buck. For a while, he thinks it's indigestion.

Title comes from this song.

Also on AO3 here

Eddie was laughing. Really laughing too, that kind of laugh that stretches across your chest, makes your face hurt and your breath catch in your throat.

They were all sitting around the dining table in the firehouse, finishing off Bobby's famous lasagna, and laughing uproariously at a story that Bobby was telling about his figure skating days.

"You just don't understand...the art of the dance," Bobby said, waggling his eyebrows, sending the entire table into another wave of hysteria. He smiled at all of them, standing up and walking around to deposit his dish in the sink. "Clean this up so we don't come back to a pile of dirty dishes after the bell rings."

Chim and Hen got up, clearing Buck and Eddie's plates,

"You two are useless at dishes," Chim informed them, "Let the professionals take it from here."

"And you can do the bathrooms," Hen smiled at them sweetly, ignoring their shared groaning.

"You want to come over later?" Eddie was pleasantly warm, probably from the fact that Buck was a certifiable furnace, and their thighs were pressed together on the firehouse couch, digesting after dinner watching Hen and Chim argue over the dishes, "Chris has some new game he wants to show you. We could order takeout."

"Thanks man, but I'm seeing Tommy later," Buck's smile was mega-watt, so bright that it could probably power the entire west coast, "Tell Chris I'll take a rain check."

Something undefined settled in Eddie's stomach. Something strangely heavy that went from his stomach all the way up his chest...

Before he could spend too much time thinking about it, the bell rang, and he and Buck sprang up.

"Oh come on!" Chim gestured up to the alarm with soapy hands, and Buck laughed, sprinting down the stairs three at a time.

Eddie decided to chalk the strange feeling up to indigestion. He would have to start taking tums after lasagna now, he guessed.

At the end of their shift, when morning had just broken over the city, Eddie was sitting next to Buck again, this time in the locker room. They were pulling on their socks in tandem, chatting idly about the call they had taken that night, which involved a couple and an extra large jar of peanut butter of all things.

"It's just gross," Buck was saying, pulling his sock on his right foot. His socks were always mismatched, he said he didn't see the point of sorting them. Eddie had always thought it was strangely charming, if a little silly. "Not to mention a waste of peanut butter."

"The waste of peanut butter was the problem for you?" Eddie asked him, eyebrows raised, "Not...everything else?"

"Everything else was definitely a problem too," Buck shook his head violently, like he was trying to rid himself of the mental image of the call, "Ugh. Gross."

"Breakfast?" Chim poked his head around the corner, "Bobby said he's buying. Peanut butter pancakes for all."

Buck gave a huge fake heave that Eddie couldn't help but snort at.

"Sorry," he grinned at Chimney, "I have a ride."

"Buck, turning down plans for breakfast that Bobby's buying?" Chim looked stunned, "It really is the end days."

Buck ducked his head, a blush creeping across his cheeks.

"Tommy's taking me out for breakfast."

"And so we're nothing to you?" Chim covered his heart with one hand, "I'm hurt, Buckley, really."

"Whatever," he shrugged his shoulders, pulling on his shoes and giving a shifty sort of look to Eddie, "I really hope you don't eat peanut butter pancakes for breakfast."

Eddie shook his head, still grinning.

"Captain's orders, I can't disobey them."

Buck wrinkled his nose.

"Gross."

They finished getting dressed in a comfortable silence, swinging their bags over their shoulders and bumping into each other as usual, making their way into the bay where Hen and Chim were arguing over what the superior breakfast item was.

"Evan!" Eddie nearly jumped at Buck's given name, looking up to see Tommy striding towards them, a wide smile on his face, but with eyes only for Buck, who seemed to shoot up two feet besides him, striding forward to wrap Tommy in a tight hug.

That feeling in his chest was back, that indigestion from the lasagna. Maybe he had GERD or something. He should ask Hen about it.

"Ready to go?" Tommy asked, his hand skating down Buck's forearm.

Eddie swallowed, not sure why he felt so sick to his stomach all of a sudden.

"Sure am," Buck turned around, that bright smile back on his face, giving Eddie a wave, "See ya, tell Chris I'll be around."

"Later, Eddie," Tommy waved at him, before slinging an arm around Buck's shoulders and placing a soft kiss to the side of his face

Eddie swallowed with an audible click. He felt hot all over, like he was about to be sick.

Man, that lasagna had really done a number on him.

He watched them walk away, until they thought no one was watching them. He watched Buck spin Tommy around, kissing him full on the mouth this time. He thought he should look away. It was weird, after all, to watch anyone kissing, but especially two of his friends. Especially his best friend.

He sat with that heavy feeling in his chest long after Buck and Tommy had split apart and disappeared, willing himself to understand it, understand why he felt like this, why looking at Buck made it worse.

He considered the worst case scenario: that looking at Buck and Tommy made him so uncomfortable it made him nauseous.

How could he even be thinking this way? He was an ally! He had been an ally for years! Hen was one of his best friends!

"You okay, Eddie?" Hen's voice came right by his ear, and he jumped, blinking.

"What? Oh. Yeah. Yeah I just...did that lasagna earlier do a number on you too? I've felt off for a few hours."

Immediately, he watched her stance shift from concerned friend to Doctor Wilson mode. If he hadn't felt so crappy, he would have laughed.

"What are you feeling?" she asked him, looking over the thick rims of her glasses.

Eddie shrugged, feeling almost dejected. Normally he would have brushed it off, but Hen was probably the best fountain of knowledge for little ailments like this.

"Just...heavy in my chest and my stomach. Not all the time just- Just..." he trailed off, staring blankly into space.

It was like someone had just moved something from the recesses of his head, pulling forward a tiny box in an abandoned corner of the back of his mind, a place he never bothered to go, and had opened it.

Buck.

Buck.

A man who had shaped his life from the moment he entered it. The only other person he would really trust Chris with long term. The only person he would trust to make medical decisions about himself. A man who had slotted himself so easily into his and Chris' routine it was like he was meant to be there.

He knew his pizza order, he knew how he liked his eggs. He knew what it felt like when his heart stopped beating for three minutes and seventeen seconds.

He couldn't live without him.

The reality of that came crashing down on Eddie like a tidal wave, like a California riptide. He felt like he couldn't breathe, like he was back to having panic attacks.

"Eddie," he felt Hen shaking his shoulder, "Eddie!"

The truth of the matter, that he was just realizing now, that it may be too late, made him feel like he was caught in a whirlpool, spinning endlessly, unable to catch his breath. That image of Tommy and Buck, so unbelievably happy, so utterly adoring of one another was burned into his brain, he could see it when he blinked, when he closed his eyes.

Had he lost the opportunity for something more real than he may have ever had before he even realized that he wanted it.

"Eddie!"

Bobby was standing in front of him, both hands on his shoulders, craning his neck down to look into his face.

Eddie came to enough to look up, shaking his head back and forth experimentally, knowing how completely insane he must look to the others.

"Yeah," he finally croaked, knowing that this would do nothing to help his case, "Sorry I- I'm fine."

"You sure about that?" Bobby looked him up and down, "Doesn't seem that way."

"I just..." he searched wildly for an excuse. It's not like he could tell them about this revelation. "Got tired all of a sudden. I think- I think I'm gonna skip breakfast. Go home."

"Eddie-" Hen started, but Eddie had already pushed his way past them and headed towards his truck, pulling out of the lot immediately, not daring to look back.

It wasn't until he parked in his driveway that he took a shuddering breath, resting his forehead on the steering wheel.

He wished he could just force this new knowledge about himself back into its little box. It had lived there for so long, what was a little more time? Save himself the embarrassment of pining over his best friend. Who was happily taken by his other friend.

What a nightmare.

His phone lit up in the cupholder next to him. He picked it up, his heart leaping into his throat when he saw the message was from Buck.

Hey, Hen just texted me. You okay?

No. He was decidedly not okay.

He sighed. He could do this. He wouldn't ruin what he had with Buck. He refused to ruin it.

Yeah, totally fine. That lasagna, you know?

Fuck. He was so fucked.

[that-dreaming-dragon]

Dream Revelation - Where Goes The Others?

Recently, I've been feeling much more like a full-on singlet than the median/plurallet of usual. And that threw me off kilter. Used to the fuzzy gray blurriness of the identities and selves in nearly every aspect, this is beyond jarring, stuck in something static and concrete.

But this morning came a dream that shed some light on the situation we find ourselves in.

I’m in some sort of dark place, sneaking around. A staff member crosses the path as I silently dip into some crevices. At some point, a white dog finds me. We manage to sneak over to some toy-filled theater room, slipping by the notice of the first person. Finding a long, gentle spiral of stairs, we descend. But there is a noise and shadow of a figure coming down the stairs! We quickly dash into a door we come across, a mini auditorium slash classroom of sorts. I herd the dog to some seats down as I hide in a lower row, pressing myself to the floor and curling as tight as possible. Someone opens the door, sees that the lights are still off, mumbles something like "nobody’s here" and closes the door. As we hide some more, the dog starts speaking, and I shush it. The dog is incredulous and asks me, shouldn’t I be freaking out? I shush it again and tell it that this really isn’t the strangest thing in my mind. Something about it not being that scary, and I rectify in my mind that most things aren’t that scary, except maybe an insect infestation. We sneak out and try to go back up toward the toy room, but just as we take a couple of steps, voices! I grab the dog and dash back toward the classroom again. This time in my haste, I opt for the far back wall where there are fewer definite hiding spots. The dog goes to hide somewhere, and somehow I find a doppelgänger of mine hiding in another row. I dash behind some floor-length vertical blinds. There’s a tiny cabinet next to me. When the door opens, the blinds move a bit. I hunker down and wait. But the person who entered just closes the door and turns the lights a bit brighter. They start methodically checking row by row and end up finding the dog. As they walk around, I try to shuffle myself slowly into the blind spot provided by the cabinet. But we meet eyes for just a moment, and I know they saw me. Even still, I attempt to hide. They come over and promptly sit down on the floor next to me, putting out a simple spread of cabbage, some tomatoes, maybe meat? As well as some tiny blue dog bowls. They ask why we do this. Why bother hiding? They ask if this is what we want — to be fed like this? I counter back defiantly, asking what they are suggesting. To be treated like animals? How do they know this isn’t what we want? Or are they attempting to dehumanize us? They raise an eyebrow, calling for their coworker who just came in, telling them to tend to the dog and my other self. They turn back to me and allude to something, referring to me as “raccoon.” I have a moment of enlightenment. That other me is the bright-colored one. I'm Akumu.

After that, I suddenly wake up, perhaps by will alone, and quickly jot this down because I have my answer, and I know where Akumu is. We are here, fully melded together. Perhaps it’s because I’ve been extra stressed and more depressed these recent days. And the bright orange Ryuu (or Yume, when we try to distinguish, though Ryuu dislikes Yume as it tends to be very feminine) is not as singular/separated/individual as before. Who knows, we are One right at this moment. Not even a "wei."

This also tells me that there’s no such thing as a “host”. Both Ryuu and Akumu (and maybe Beast) together are the “host”. Although once again, there is far more independence and individuality for each of us.