#kudos if you recognize the one on the right

[puppppppppy]

hi!! trick or treat ? if you're still takign those <3

trick(?).. you get: korok seed (1/999)

[tekatonic]

a special treat : big MS Paint Guy Collection to end the year !

plus bonus uncompressed ms-paint colored sonic sticker

[thevoidstaredback]

A funny thought just came to me, so here's a new writing prompt:

The Justice League doesn't think that Batman has a civilian identity. For the most part, he only ever comes out at night, adding to the nocturnal rumors, but he has been seen during the day when there are huge problems or bigger rouge attacks.

And, because the JL don't think he has a civilian identity, they naturally assume that none of the other Gotham Vigilantes do, either. Signal, the only consistent day shift, is obviously a different breed than the rest. All of the others are nocturnal.

Extra points if they think they're a group of cryptids.

One day, Bruce and Tim are needed to help set up at WE for a press conference. One that Lois Lane is covering. At the same time, the JL Is having a meeting. Normally Dick would put on the Batman suit, but Nightwing is needed at the meeting, too. They can't say that Batman is off world, because all of those trips are logged and followed by the Lanterns. So, the next logical thing to do is for Nightwing to tell the JL that Batman and Red Robin were needed as civilians, but he will make sure to pass the information on to them, as well as record the meeting.

"Batman doesn't have a civilian identity," Is the response he gets. "None of you do, right?"

Nightwing, for all his training, doesn't react outside of his smile getting slightly bigger. "You don't think we have secret identities?"

"No, we kinda just assumed you all just hid away in a cave or something when you weren't needed or on duty."

Oh, these sweet summer children. Nightwing is trying very hard not to laugh at them. "We, we do have secret identities, we don't do nothing when we aren't in costume."

"Are you sure?" That's the Flash. "'Cause I'm pretty sure we'd recognize you guys out of costume." Kudos to him for being so confident about that. "Most of you only have tiny masks over your eyes. That's not enough to cover an identity."

Nightwing takes a glance at Superman, not that anyone can see his eyes move behind the domino mask. The alien's eyes have shifted left.

"I've been to Gotham plenty of time," Green Arrow speaks up, "I know I haven't seen everyone in the city, but I'm pretty sure I'd recognize your build. It's pretty distinct."

Bold. All of the Wayne Clan have met Green Arrow in and out of costume. They've actually met most of the JL in and out of costume. Should he tell them? Nah, that's not funny. He can't wait to tell the others.

[reveluving]

Hello how are you? 😊 I have something in mind for the movie triple frontier 

Like imagine Ben Miller x girlfriend shy reader and both your infant son is a mommy boy, waiting Ben after the MMA fights, being both his good luck charms

a/n: Baby, I've been busy. But overall? Pretty swell, thank you for asking! And this ask? A Benny ask with a shy!reader? With a child??? FAWK, it made my entire WEEK(S), so I cannot thank you enough! 😭❤️ Hope you don't mind me making them husband & wife instead, and take care!

warnings: lovestruck benny, fluffy family-focused, brief mma-level violence & explicit language!

» fancy reading another triple frontier fic? check out the m.list!

“Alright, alright, make way, comin’ through.” Frankie demanded, with him on the left and Santiago on the right as they kept you in the middle.

The two stayed vigilant, ensuring no one was close enough to bump into you, let alone your bundle of joy slung to your chest. When one did stand too close, despite accidentally, Santiago hissed, “Watch it.”

You chuckled, already used to their rugged behaviour because it was all to keep you unharmed.

Completely unharmed.

Despite the curious eyes that weighed on you, yours remained on his—Bubba’s, rubbing his back and making silly faces at him, with him none the wiser of anything beyond his mother’s presence, given the baby earmuffs on him. Instead, he reacted to your attention excitedly, displaying his gummy smile.

Will was already at the front row seats when you arrived, giving you a side hug and asking you about your and Bubba’s wellbeing like the protective brother-in-law he was.

“Hey, lil’ man, you hangin’ in there?” Will smiled at his nephew. Despite the earmuffs, he immediately recognized his uncle and squirmed against your chest, gurgling. Will, letting out a deep and hearty laugh, gently ruffled Bubba’s baby hair before offering to hold him, “C’mon.”

You loosened the carrier, and Will took Bubba into his arms, and as if on cue, in came the boisterous announcement on the microphone, “I bring you, Ben Miller!”

Many cheered, some booed, but you? You just couldn’t wipe the lovestruck smile on your face, watching him enter the arena, carrying himself with sheer confidence that whether one was a fan or not, they couldn’t deny the aura he exuded. 

If anything, Benny basked in the jeers, because his wins, many in a row, said it all. Plus, he was the lucky son of a gun blessed with a wife to die for, a son he couldn’t be any prouder of, and the best ride-or-die group in his circle. He couldn’t ask for more than that.

He looked past the crowd’s outstretched hands for taps and middle fingers of his rivals’ fans, searching for the eyes that would hold so much love for him, like he had hung the moon for her—for you—which he found amusing because he would stare at you the same way, though, bolder than your bashfulness could muster.

It wouldn’t take long to find you, kudos to his brother for saving the front-row seats way earlier, and he made sure to keep his eyes on you as he took off his shirt. Tossing the fabric onto the seats near you, he immediately pulled you into his chest, his smile widening upon watching a shy one gracing your lips, even more so as the spectators whooped at the mushy display.

He greeted you with that flirty tone of his, “You taken, pretty girl?”

Benny’s smile morphed into a grin, pumped up like the tournament was nothing more than another typical Tuesday to conquer and bring home victory to his beloved family. 

The uncontrollable bundle of excitement in his brother’s arms caught his eye, and Benny was quick to scoop his son into his arms. 

Benny couldn't be any happier, being in his element with the people he truly cared for. With his son in one arm, the other around you. He let Bubba tap his little pudgy hands on his stubbled face, his babbles of ‘ma ma ma’ soothing like a balm, before kissing his forehead, then turned his attention to you.

“Watch me.” He whispered in your ear.

“Always.” You replied, kissing his cheek, and Benny quickly closed the gap between you for a kiss. Benny, with his bulky boxing glove, had the courtesy to block the view of where your lips touched from the crowd, giving you some sense of privacy, despite the knowing cheers from the onlookers.

He couldn't help with his own amusement, seeing you press your face into his shoulder before planting a little kiss on his son's forehead, and just like that, his good luck charm, despite already being activated from the moment you walked in with Bubba, was now cranked to the max.

Ever the charmer, Benny flexed his muscles for you, even as he ascended the steps and into the cage backwards, and even then, even as he faced his rival, the smile never left his face. Just more… evil. More sinister, like he had already seen the outcome of the fight, and as he delivered the first sharp swing, Benny knew, like usual, his good luck charm has never, and will never fail him.

His focus only strayed during the one-minute breaks, looking over to see you holding Bubba, his little tiger, giving him reassuring smiles and mouthing ‘I love you’s and ‘you can do it’s, and he believed you. 

He always does.

And Bubba? Oh, Bubba, watching the little man bounce on your lap like there was no tomorrow, not only having his sweet mother holding him close but also watching his father being cool. Who cares about a bunch of guys heckling him beyond the cage when he had his son’s support?

Before he knew it, with determination coursing through his veins, plus his rival’s attempts to embarrass him for being a softie before the fight rang in his head, the announcer hailed Benny as the winner and raised his arm, prompting the spectators to go wild the same way they did when he knocked his opponent out. 

And even with his weary muscles and bones, he sought after you, just like you did him, Carelessly throwing the towel he used to wipe his sweat to the side to meet you in the middle for a kiss. He sighed as he pulled you against him, only breaking the kiss when Frankie and Pope approached, plus Will with Bubba before passing him to his brother.

Bubba giggled as Benny rubbed his forehead against his, then made grabby hands for you. Benny chuckled, “Always wants his mama, just like his old man.”

You smiled warmly, picking Bubba up before snuggling into your husband’s side and partially hiding from the crowd, “Clingy boys.”

“Your clingy boys.” He corrected with a grin before leaning in for another kiss.

Benny could have all the wins he could want, if and only if he did it all for you.

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

a/n: I enjoyed making this so, so, so, so damn much, it only took me a day HEHE! Don’t forget to leave some sugar! ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ

[mixingandmelting]

Hello dear! Idk if your requests are open but I was wondering what you would do with a first responder!mc x Jason (kudos if u get them in a jam somewhere the mc can use her "I'm a GOTHAM first responder I can handle Metropolis/central city/etc" while Jason goes suit up? 🥺 idk if u write for all pronouns but I would love if it was she/her! Thank you love your writting!

A/N: aww, thank you! ❤️

You’re his best decision he made in life. Amazing, brave, beautiful both inside and out.  He adores everything about you where he’ll lay his life down for you if it means to keep you alive. So when he hears shuffling next to him, he pauses on spot.

“...What are you doing?” He lowers his helmet, watching you readjust your utility belt around your waist. 

“…Doing the same as you?”

You were way too casual when you said that. It spoke volume on the severity of the situation when not only did he get paged by both Babs and Dick for back-up, he heard from the old man, himself, Bludhaven’s PD had asked all near-by cities police department’s to send in any spare first responders as soon as they could. And of the enlisted, you’re one of them. 

The only thing that helps control his grip on his helmet is knowing that he’ll be very screwed in every sense if it breaks, so much cracks a tiny bit. But the snap of the taser getting clipped does little to calm him down. Throat constricting, lips thinning, reality keeps hitting him in the viscera that you’re going to be at the scene. The very same one that’s requiring every member of his family to be present for.  

“Jason?”

He stays still, his head hanging low. He doesn’t want to show you the expression he’s making. He knows you're strong, stronger than him, stronger than Gotham’s finest in so many aspects. But you’re too precious to him. His one love. This could be his last time with you, he might not see you again, his one chance to give a final goodbye-

“Jason.” 

He stiffens. Your hands warm his cold ones as if melting away the fear and worries plaguing his mind.   

“I’m a Gotham first responder, I can handle Bludhaven.” 

…So this was what Dick and Bruce meant when they said girls are unfair. Confidence in your smile, comfort in your eyes - how does anyone expect him to say no? 

He heaves a heavy sigh. Shifting his helmet into one hand, he uses the other to grab and place something into your hands from his pocket. It’s metallic, no bigger than a button. 

“Anything that happens, press it.”

Trust you to recognize what it was and what he means without saying the rest. Confidence and comfort morphs into affection, your arms wrap themselves around him. He savors the tight embrace, pulling you closer to him to fully relish and cherish him holding you as you are to him. 

“You know I love you, right?” So sweet, so tender with a gilt of teasing from fondness is how he hears, his eyes matching it with a smirk on your lips. 

“I love you more.” 

“I love you the most!”

His heart flutters, falling in love with you all over again when you grin at him just before you close the door. He stands there for a hot second, your words echoing in his head. Then, he goes back to placing his helmet over his head. Steps lighter now, a tiny weight lifts from his heart. He trusts in you, that you’ll press his pager when you need him. Because he will come and save you, no matter where and the cost. Always.

[space-mango-company]

Stranger | Chapter 5

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

TW: Descriptions of Violence, Mentions of Cannibalism

Tags: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!Reader, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Smut, POV Second Person, No use of y/n, Original Characters, Canon What Canon

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Not proofread!! Holy moly. Here it is, folks. The scene that inspired this whole fic. I had fun writing this so I really hope you enjoy it. Once again, I appreciate everyone who likes, comments, and/or leaves kudos so much. I really started this fic for myself but good golly, that dopamine rush whenever I get a notif might be more addicting than spice. I'm glad to be part of the bald man brigade.

Also, I can't believe I'm only now questioning why I decided to write this in the second person? I guess maybe I thought this fic would be a lot shorter and not that deep, lol. At this point 'y/n' probably has enough personality to just be a straight-up OC. It's funnier because I don't even find second-person or y/n fics any more engaging either. I always detach myself by giving 'y/n' her own name and only seeing her as a character in the fic.

ANYWAY, sorry to ramble. Stay safe and have a good one, ya weirdos.

You step out into the dark cul-de-sac of the guest hall, illuminated only by the large suspensor lamp in the middle. Feyd-Rautha looks you up and down, seemingly entranced by how the dim light casts his shadow on your modest dress. Atreides green, he recognized.

"Trying to sneak into my rooms again?" you say arms crossed, leaning on your door. "I didn't appreciate the last time, by the way."

"It's my house," he says cooly, "and I did knock this time."

You stare at him indifferently.

"Quite the display from you yesterday morning, using The Voice on me." His voice low and raspy, "I should have you drawn and quartered."

You scoff in his face. "You almost choked me to death. Are you trying to start a war?"

He takes a step closer and his face is inches from yours, you can feel his breath on your cheek, "I didn't think I'd like you this much, little hawk."

"What do you want, Feyd-Rautha?" you had no patience for him right now.

"Ah," he steps back, a dark smile on his face, "I've been waiting to hear my name from your tongue." His hand reaches for your lips. "I've grown quite tired of 'na-Baron'."

You grab his wrist before he can touch you. "If you're only here to toy with me, I would rather be left alone to prepare for bed." You release his hand and turn to open your door.

Feyd-Rautha props an arm against the doorway to block you. "We're to be married in three days," he says, "and I just can't seem to bring myself to let go of my 'harpies', as you called them." He meets your gaze. "You said you'd kill them. Did you mean that?"

You look up at him with steely eyes. He towered over you but your heart felt no fear, "Yes."

His coy smile returns. "Good. Come to my training hall tomorrow," he says, walking away.

"What?" you call after him.

"Dress to fight," he says over his shoulder. "I want to see what you can do, Atreides."

You needed no help from Zora in putting on a loose shirt and long pants. The plain beige outfit certainly wasn't as elegant as the dresses you had been wearing so far. But it was comfortable and you could fight in it, which was all that mattered. Still, you look yourself in the mirror. The soft, airy fabrics draped over your figure well but perhaps you were not in the best shape as you once were. Your muscle mass is much less than your brother's and he wasn't particularly built himself. You admit you did wane off your training sessions with Gurney and Paul leading up to your departure from Caladan. Nevertheless, you were still a skilled warrior. Another secret you've been keeping from the Harkonnens.

You were 14 when you started learning the blade. Watching Paul, 2 years your senior, practice with the Atreides Warmaster lit a fire in you. You didn't hesitate to pester your father to let you train with them and of course, there was nothing he could deny his darling daughter. You were a fierce and determined student. Gurney Halleck was a man you genuinely believed to be one of the best fighters in the Imperium, along with Duncan Idaho. Gurney would train you and Paul on even days. On odd days, your mother would teach you the Weirding Way. These lessons, much like the rest of your mother's teachings, your father wanted to know nothing about. After becoming decently adept at Prana-Bindu and gaining almost complete physical control of your body, Lady Jessica insisted that you also be skilled in the Bene Gesserit style of combat.

You were far from mastery in either but the combination of both trainings made you a formidable fighter. Despite this, you could never seem to beat your brother in a sparring match. A fact that frustrated you to no end, though you appreciated that Paul never went easy on you. You'd always blame it on him having trained for longer than you have. But in truth, you knew there had just always been something special about him.

"Are you ready, my lady?" Zora's soft voice wakes you from your thoughts.

"Hm? Right. Yes, let's go." You quickly tie your hair out of the way and grab your father's dagger from atop your dresser.

There was no fanfare when you entered the hall. On one end, the na-Baron's concubines sat chained on the steps of the shallow recessed pit in their leathers, their glares piercing through you. Your eyes linger on them as Feyd-Rautha and his Warmaster greet you.

"I was starting to think my lady bride was bluffing," Feyd-Rautha says as you approach him. The older man beside him offers you a polite bow.

"Perhaps she wasn't so keen on your brutish games," you bite back. "Your lord uncle won't be joining us?"

"No," Feyd-Rautha crosses his arms, "but he'll be hearing about your victory. Or your demise."

"Right. Well, I assume you'll be releasing them from those chains," you nod towards his pets "Not sure why they're necessary."

"Oh, trust me, little hawk. They're necessary." Feyd-Rautha motions to a servant.

"Your blade and shield, my lady," they bow, presenting you with a knife and a small device you recognize as a Holtzman shield.

"I've brought my own," you unsheath your father's dagger. You contemplate taking the shield but remembering that the na-Baron forwent it during his gladiator fight, you decide to do so as well. "They've no weapons anyway, the shield seems pointless."

Feyd-Rautha shrugs, "If you insist."

You take a deep breath, "Let's get this over with."

You lightly stretch as you walk down the steps of the shallow pit to stand opposite the na-Baron's concubines. You had come into this on the pretense of righteousness. For Iassa, you told yourself. But you've known her a mere two days. A part of you wanted to show off. You were good and you knew it. You could probably kill anyone in this room, even Feyd-Rautha. You craved the respect of the people here: the Harkonnens, the people of Geidi Prime. You figured this was one way to get it.

Feyd-Rautha walks around the pit to one of his concubines and kneels to whisper something in her ear. You assume a fighting stance when he moves to release her from the chains. When you meet her eyes, they are filled with feral bloodlust.

Suddenly, you weren't so bold. The veil of courage you have maintained since you arrived, even when Feyd-Rautha had your neck in his grip, is torn apart when you face this woman. You could tell no part of her would hesitate to rip your throat out with her bare teeth. You were almost relieved they were unarmed, but you weren't sure if that would make them any less lethal.

Fear grew in your chest and you had less than a moment to recite the Litany in your head before the concubine lunged at you.

You crouch down in time and slash at her abdomen as she approaches you. You turn to face her on the other side of the pit and she wastes no time in attacking you again. She attempts to grab your armed hand but you take hold of her wrist first and move to pin it behind her back. Quickly, your blade drags across her throat and she falls to your feet.

The kill has not yet registered in your mind but your heart is racing. You can almost hear your blood coursing through your veins. You held your arms outstretched, your eyes focused ahead, ready for the next one.

Across the pit, Feyd-Rautha licks his lips, smiling as he releases his second concubine. This time, you walk toward her while she moves to attack you. You clock her head with the pommel of your dagger and knock her a few steps back. She reaches a hand to wipe the blood beginning to drip out of her nose. After examining it, she snarls and bares her sharp teeth at you. Your mind is blank now. She dodges your first slash then manages to land a blow to your jaw. You seethe from the pain. You spit out the mixture of blood and saliva filling your mouth. The anger at the hit drives you to rush at her. Seeing an opening, you duck down to her waist and stab her twice. As she falls to her knees, the look of determination doesn't leave her eyes until the very last moment.

When you turn around, Feyd-Rautha has already released the last concubine. The ruthless scream she lets out disorients you. She pounces and knocks you over. She straddles you and pins your arms to the ground, your blade sliding inches away. She screams again in your face at the death of her sisters. You wedge your right knee between you and her abdomen, the only thing keeping her teeth from reaching your throat. You grunt as you struggle to free your hands. In your periphery, you see Feyd-Rautha, wielding his own blade, take a step into the pit.

"GET BACK," you roar, and he is powerless to refuse.

You turn back to your opponent still on top of you and you butt her head with your own. She loosens her grip and you kick her off to hastily crawl to your weapon. When she reorients herself and attempts to grab you again, you hook a knee under her arm and flip the both of you over. With your weight on her chest and both your knees pinning her arms down, she thrashes underneath you, claws digging into your right ankle. You take your blade in both hands and her screaming is silenced when you sink your knife deep into her heart.

When you rise, the room is quiet. Your chest heaves. The stark white ceiling lights don't help the lightheadedness that begins to wash over you in the post-adrenaline rush. Feyd-Rautha says something from behind you but his speech is garbled as you reel from the thrill of what just transpired. You were electrified. You almost... wanted more.

Then, the realization of the revolting scene you are in settles upon you and you are knocked off your high. You look at the leather-clad bodies scattered around you, the grotesque way they lay on the floor, the red blood pooling around them made brighter by the sterile grayness of the room. You did this.

A hand on your shoulder snaps you out of it. In reflex, you turn and raise your blade at the offender.

Feyd-Rautha holds his hands up, "Whoa, easy, Atreides. Trying to kill me? Don't want to start a war, do you?"

You yield your weapon. Your eyes dodge his as you look to your feet and try to steady your breathing.

"Enjoy your first taste of blood?" Feyd-Rautha says, the look in his eyes indecipherable to you. He raises a hand and swipes his thumb on your cheek. It comes away covered in crimson.

You gasp and reach for your face with your own hand. You don't even know if it's your blood or theirs, or when it got on you. Your heart pounded, unable to decide whether you were repulsed or proud.

"Look at you," he says licking the red off his finger. You could not help but stare at him through the strands of your hair that had come undone in the fighting. "You're beautiful like this," his hand reaches for your face again.

"No," you say low and quiet when you swat his hand away, "you're sick." You didn't know if you meant him or yourself. You calmly turn to leave. No one stops you when you make your way up the shallow steps of the pit. As you pass Iassa—no, Zora—by the doorway, you tell her flatly, "Prepare a bath."

You had never taken a life before. Today, you took three. You were glad you didn't know their names. You decided you'd never find out.

After Zora pours a final pitcher of hot water into the bath, you tell her, "You may go. I'll dress myself later, thank you."

She bows and makes her way out of your rooms.

In your solitude, you bring your knees to your chest. You had been quick to wipe the blood off your cheek before you even reached your quarters. Now, you cup the water into your hands and rub it into your face, the slight sting of the heat comforting you.

He was a cruel man, your betrothed. This is what you've decided. Having you kill the concubines he claimed to want to keep so much. But wasn't it you who threatened to kill them? He started it, you argue with yourself, when he had Iassa killed. You felt like a child.

When you used to hear of Feyd-Rautha's exploits, you had to mask your disgust. And yet now, you had killed so easily in that pit as he had in the arena. What was this place doing to you?

When you left Caladan, Paul had never killed anyone either. You wonder if he ever does, would he feel the same exhilaration you did when you slit that first concubine's throat. No. Your brother was fierce but, like your father, he had a good heart. You beat him by three. You hoped it would stay that way.

You think about your future here, marrying Feyd-Rautha. Producing heir after heir under the Baron's watchful eye. You were a broodmare. Despite all your fancy training and education. Despite your little demonstration earlier. It was the bitter truth.

You missed home. You missed walking along the beach at night with your father. You missed your mother's gentle hands brushing your hair. You missed the banter and teasing with your brother. You missed Gurney, and Duncan, and the cold breeze on your balcony, and getting to roam free and going anywhere you pleased. When the tears come, you sink deep into the bath so they might fade away in the water.

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

Taglist: @torchbearerkyle @austinswhitewolf @dreamlandcreations @emeraldsgirl @strawberryfieldsforevermore @bornslippys @vexis-world @aoi-targaryen @alexandrainlove @mamawiggers1980 @sstardussty @aboutthenabaron

[leothil]

fic recs: archive edition 29

Too tired yesterday, but I'm back today with some more fic recs from late 2021!

Previous rec posts can be found here!

Home Is Where You Are by @dancer-me Belated Christmas fic, but I missed this one last week. Right before Christmas they find asbestos in Buck's apartment building, so he goes to live with Eddie and Christopher until it's fixed. Very cute, and leads exactly where you'd think! 10.3k words, rated T

eddie diaz vs the pta agenda by @mmtions The PTA at Christopher's school are all enamoured with Buck, which for some reason makes Eddie want to throw a hissy fit. Eddie working to recognize his jealousy for what it really is is a glorious thing to behold! 19.7k words, rated M

Close Enough for Comfort by allyasavedtheday (@littlespoonevan) Touchdowns in Buck and Eddie's relationship from S2 to 5A, and how their physical relationship evolved from casual friends to seeking comfort in the other's touch. Manages to be both longing and comforting at the same time! 14k words, rated T

Your Name A Promise In My Mouth by @kitkatpancakestack An unspecified time in the future, married Buck and Eddie attend couple's therapy, and we get to see them in a time of struggle through the eyes of their therapist. Devastatingly lovely (and don't worry, they never doubt that they love each other). 7.6k words, rated T

love is the dawn by @renecdote Rounding off this recommendations list with a sweet little early morning established relationship smut! 1.1k words, rated E

Happy reading, and remember to leave kudos and comments for the authors!

[amurotoorudesu]

how to give someone a hickey

kudo shinichi x male reader pt. 2

suggestive theme, kissing, bottom male reader, top shinichi kudo, curse, making out, reader is a fboy, reader is shorter than tomo & shinichi, reader is making out with another boy, kinda platonic kiss, tomo's visual is soloist park jihoon, jealous shinichi, with consent, biting, marking, lovebites, shinichi reads wikihow, etc~

(m/n) started to get annoyed by shinichi's countless ask.

its been like, one week after the glasses boy teach him how to kiss someone, and after that, the detective never stop to interrupt his daily life.

he can just go to (m/n)'s class after school ended and said, "i dont think my performance is still good, can you teach me again?"

and it goes forever.

"can you teach me again?"

"im not that good, lets do it more"

"umm... i dont think im that good, you should teach me more"

he will always try to have his daily kisses.

well, its not like you hate it anyway. he was getting better and better everytime you two kiss.

and the fact that his kisses makes (m/n) go addicted and wanting for more and more.

the (h/c) haired boy sometimes get too excited.

but he just kinda feel bad to ran.

but the fact that the blue eyed boy can just go to (m/n)'s class on lunch break or other break, going to his home after school, weekend, and just make out, making the (e/c) eyed boy adore him too much.

he wants to have the detective all for himself.

but he cant.

right now, its almost lunch break. and (m/n) is thinking to find a place where he can hide from that sly detective.

at this situation he feels kinda grateful that he and shinichi is on different class, (m/n) is on 2-A and shinichi is on 2-B, who knows what happen if the school put them together in the same class after the teaching incident.

he tapped on the table with anxious but aggresive tap, and tomo, his one and only bestfriend noticed it.

as (m/n) repeatedly looked at his watch, he feels something knocked his head, it was a scrambled paper.

by the handwriting, (m/n) recognized its from tomo.

"whats wrong?" -t

"nothing" replied the glasses boy.

"we've been friend since baby, i know if theres something wrong" -t

this is what the (h/c) haired boy hate about his bestie, but thats also his reason why he does admire tomo.

"that detective >:("

"the famous shinichi kudo?" -t

"ye"

"whats wrong with him? i thought you two were close?" -t

"hes annoying"

"indeed he is---" -t

tomo tapped on his pencil, unsure should he continue his thought or no.

"he steal you from me" -t

"wanna help me hide from him n make out? ;))"

tomo looked at (m/n) with his smirk, and (m/n) understand the smirk.

right after the bell has rang and (m/n) is going to the rooftop with tomo, shinichi's already waiting in front of the door with his usual sly smile but when he looked at tomo, he frowned his eyebrow.

"(m/n)— oh..."

tomo just looked at shinichi with his usual, polite smile.

and shinichi? if he can, he want to pout. he want to pull (m/n) to his embrace and just go tf out of the school and kiss him and mark him—

he just doesnt really like the black-haired boy that much. why you ask? because tomo is too close with his (m/n).

"soo... uhh, do you want to eat lunch with me...?" ask shinichi after they got quiet for a moment.

"uhm... sorry but we already have a plan" before (m/n) could answer, tomo already precede him.

"uhm... i thought you were free on lunchbreak?" shinichi looked at the glasses boy with his usual look that only (m/n) understand.

"i thought we were going to kiss...?"

"well... you see, tomo is offering me his homemade lunch, and after that we're going to the library"

"can i come along?"

(m/n) was kinda surprised when he heard shinichi's question, even tomo also surprised that he frowned.

"what about mouri-san?" ask tomo, represent the (e/c) eyed boy's question.

"aahh... shes going to be alright..."

tomo and (m/n) looked at eachother with mix emotion.

————————————————————————————

shinichi hates this current moment so much.

he's currently watching tomo and (m/n) talking at eachother while eating tomo's lunchbox together.

and they didnt even glare at him.

especially (m/n).

afther they finished eating, (m/n) look at shinichi, while asking, "are you going to your class now or no? im heading off to the library now"

"im going too"

(m/n) just shrugged and continue his talks with tomo about their fav kpop boygroup, while shinichi behind them is cursing the black haired guy beside his (m/n) on his mind.

after they arrived to the library, shinichi tried to get his mind off from (m/n), as he going to the mystery selection, pulling out some books he already read (cuz he already read it on his dad massive library/work room) but still paying attention at the two.

(m/n) and tomo tried to get out from his vision by slowly walking to the corner of the library, where its a really a quiet place and student rarely comes there.

right after the two convinced that shinichi wasnt looking anymore, tomo begin to softly pushes (m/n) and trapped the shorter male between him, grabbing his chin with smile as he slowly kiss the (h/c).

(m/n) can feel the longing and genuine gesture from his kiss, as well as some playful bite on his lips, giggling while they were making out.

"can i...?" said tomo, asking for permission to do more.

(m/n) just giggled at his plea, looking so cute while nodding. having his friend consent, tomo begin to kiss him again, now with his tongue slipped inside the (e/c) boy, carresing his friend jaw while the two focused on making out.

after they done, tomo hides his flushed face on (m/n)'s neck, slowly panting and bite the pale neck of his friend, not too hard that it bruised but still, it makes (m/n) let out a surprised small moan.

"i miss you... you spend too much time with the detective..." said tomo while hugging (m/n)'s waist, kissing the shorter male's neck.

(m/n) just let out a small giggle while stroking his friend's black hair, "didn't you said you were straight?"

"platonically miss you"

(m/n) pinching his friend's chubby cheeks not too hard, looking at the black-haired that looked like an angry cat, pouting.

little did they now, shinichi was aware and listened to their conversation and he dont know why but it make him ick.

he didnt understand this sudden bubbling angry emotion, as well as the feeling he want to snapped his (m/n) from his friend.

maybe he understand it but he deny.

the bell ring and they have to comeback to their class. when (m/n) bids him a goodbye, shinichi couldnt help but see a bitemark on (m/n) pale neck.

'would (m/n) let him bite his neck like what he did with tomo?'

that thought linger on his mind, even when hes supposed to do his assignment at class.

he couldn't focus, okay? hes too petty about that and he want to do it too.

right after the school finishes, he went home, while searching on the internet.

"How to Give Someone a Hickey"

he read all of the instructions, as well with the hiding hickey part and everything.

'should he do it?' a part of him wonder. him and (m/n) is just a kissy kissy buddy, not anything too personal like lover.

'but (m/n) did threw himself at his friend like at the library, why couldnt he do that too?' another part of him debating.

maybe he should bring something in any case (m/n) gets kinda angry.

'bribing the male with delicious foods maybe work'

its not like (m/n) would get mad anyways, he need to be used to him asking for daily kisses.

after a while, shinichi arrived at the (h/c)'s residence, knocking on the door.

after a quite long time waiting, (m/n) opened the door and just look at shinichi like usual.

"youre free to crash here anyway"

shinichi then followed (m/n) to his living room, noticing the absence of the (e/c)'s parents.

"are your parents still out of town?"

"yeah, prob gonna come back next week or something, i don't know"

"what happened to your neck?" shinichi asked like he didnt know what happened during the (h/c) time with tomo.

and (m/n)? he pretended like nothing happened. he didnt know why he suddenly lied to the detective.

"some random insect bite me"

shinichi just nodded, before sitting besides the pale boy, looking at his eyes, asking for kisses.

and (m/n) just couldn't handle the look shinichi gave him so he just gave himself.

"if you want to kiss just ask. dont stare at me like that, you idiot"

shinichi didnt care and he just threw himself, holding (m/n)'s waist as his lips met with another, creating a lewd sound.

(m/n) just silently begging that shinichi didnt realize the tension that the detective do make him quite... aroused.

the sudden rough kissing session, the harsh biting, the dominance over him...!!

shinichi didnt care what he did to (m/n) as he keeps the rough pace and just dominate the boy below him. tounge meet other tounge and shinichi keeps the pace as they make out, letting out all his feelings before he stops and pant at (m/n)'s neck, begin to suddenly showers it with little pecks.

having a quite ticklish neck, (m/n) accidentally let out a small moan, but the detective suddenly whispers on his ears.

"i know im not your lover or anything, but im gonna let you know that im going to mark you, to show the world that youre mine and mine only." his couldnt handle his possessives urge as he kissed the pale's ears and says, "are you going to let me or no?"

(m/n) just nodded, was actually surprised to see the detective other side.

seeing the approval, he begin to do what the article says, aiming for (m/n)'s whole neck and collarbone.

the detective looks at tomo's bite mark with hatred and jealousy, so he went to the nearest place around that area and began to harshly suck it, before giving it a gentle kiss and suck it more (like what the article says).

(m/n) can only crumble to what the detective did to his neck, whining and moaning everytime the detective playfully bite his neck and suck it.

shinichi grins as he starts to look at the hickeys, admiring his own art.

"yknow... *chu* i could be *chu* a better choice *chu* than your friend"

shinichi kiss your neck and collarbone as he said that, then he whispers, "so why dont you be my boyfriend? i could do better than him."

(m/n) was surprised with his confession. he used to get it from other girls or boys but he didnt really care about starting an actual romance relationship but... its from shinichi.

should he...? or can he...?

"why are you being quiet?" ask shinichi with demanding tone.

"i-its... nothing..."

"then, whats the answer?" shinichi looked at the (e/c) with sharp look.

"i-i... yes..." (m/n) can feel his pale cheeks getting red, feeling a sudden warmth both on his heart and cheeks, looking away from his new lover.

shinichi smirks as he says, "thats good, cause i wont be stopping any soon~"

the rest of them is up to you

----------------------------------------------------------

a/n : i actually did what the article says but since im single af i only did it on my arms cuz no one gon bite my neck 💔💔 maybe becuz its on my arm, the hickey are not really shown. i also force my brain to write this shits up cz i have no time to publish it except now. also kinda rant, i get diagnose with typhus symptoms and my doctor told me i have to get rest at home instead of my dorm (cz theyre suck at it) and today is my last day be4 i have to go back so yeah 😞☹️ i can only access the internet once a month using my senior's computer so maybe see you next month :D anyways, i really thank all of you for your appreciation towards my very (not) first english oneshot (yall need to know that i CRIED at my dorm when i see the notifs on my senior's phone) lov you guys<3

[mollywog]

Oooh tell me how what you find interesting about the “I don’t know how you survived this long” line from Peeta. Now that I think about it’s so interesting to me that Peeta thinks lying is a necessity for surviving, and actually says a lot about how he was raised?

Ooo thank you for the ask @mage-chocolate!!

"You're such a bad liar, Katniss. I don't know how you've survived this long." He begins to mimic me. "I knew that goat would be a little gold mine. You're a little cooler though. Of course, I'm not going." He shakes his head. "Never gamble at cards. You'll lose your last coin," he says.

Three different levels here: Living in Panem in general, surviving the Games, Peeta’s home life (this is more HC stuff)

In Panem

You’d expect Katniss would need to be a good liar with all her illegal activities, but fortunately she’s recognized this and has found other ways to stay out of trouble:

When I was younger, I scared my mother to death, the things I would blurt out about District 12, about the people who rule our country, Panem, from the far-off city called the Capitol. Eventually I understood this would only lead us to more trouble. So I learned to hold my tongue and to turn my features into an indifferent mask so that no one could ever read my thoughts. Do my work quietly in school. Make only polite small talk in the public mar-ket. Discuss little more than trades in the Hob, which is the black market where I make most of my money. Even at home, where I am less pleasant, I avoid discussing tricky topics. Like the reaping, or food shortages, or the Hunger Games. Prim might begin to repeat my words and then where would we be?

Not to mention, she says the peacekeepers are among her best customers (don’t execute bite the hand that feeds.)

In the games

Let me start with a kudos to @cutpaperbleedswater for their point from this ask

The idea of putting on a facade and pretending to be something for the sake of strategy is everywhere- from Katniss slipping her mask of indifference on and not crying as soon as she volunteers to her interview prep struggles:

"All right, enough," he says. "We've got to find another angle. Not only are you hostile, I don't know anything about you. I've asked you fifty questions and still have no sense of your life, your family, what you care about. They want to know about you, Katniss."

"But I don't want them to! They're already taking my future! They can't have the things that mattered to me in the past!" I say.

"Then lie! Make something up!" says Haymitch.

"I'm not good at lying," I say.

"Well, you better learn fast. You've got about as much charm as a dead slug," says Haymitch.

…

By the end of the session, I am no one at all. Haymitch started drinking somewhere around witty, and a nasty edge has crept into his voice. "I give up, sweetheart. Just answer the questions and try not to let the audience see how openly you despise them."

I’m also thinking about Katniss hiding her tears over Thresh’s death because it won’t play well for sponsors.

In Peeta’s home life

We know Peeta’s mother physically and verbally assaults him at least once in the past and it’s suggested it wasn’t a one-off occurrence.

So moving into the stuff of HCs: I imagine that Mrs. Mellark is sort of unpredictable - that she can be loving and charming (Peeta’s charm comes from somewhere and Mr. Mellark is often described as quiet), but she can also turn on a dime. And as a result the family walks on egg shells and Peeta, from a young age becomes accurately perceptive of moods (and then by extension others’), and learns to anticipate reactions and lie convincingly - skills he applies beyond just his home life.

[electricalhuzzah]

alright which one of you clownbags opened the heinz dilemma on ten thousand fucking tabs.

that’s a joke because this??? is fucking insane i cant comprehend??? weve surpassed 500 kudos??? over 10,000 FUCKING TEN THOUSAND HITS??? THIS IS SO UNREAL THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH?!?!

im actually losing my shit WOAH thank you all i cant even express. y’alls patience, support, engagement, interaction, all that stuff— it means so fucking much to me <33 thank you all. keep bein awesome sauce.

im gonna put a poll on here just bc im curious, what made yall click on the heinz dilemma? when i gave the fic that title it was mostly just me being like “hehe maybe some fuckers who took intro psych as i did will find this to be a silly reference and clicky” but the comments have been mixed, so i’m curious!

[buddierecs]

slow burn buddie fics

all of these are general audience, teen and up or not rated (no smut) make sure to kudos/comment on these amazing works :)

hurt locker by: bvckandeddie "after finding out shannon is pregnant, eddie enlists in the military. buck goes with him." word count: 77k important tags: military au, ptsd, evan buckley centric, childhood friends, friends to lovers, angst what a heart can do by: bvckandeddie "in which buck becomes the guardian of the daughter he never knew he had. together, they discover what happiness truly means to them." word count: 86k important tags: kid fic, friends to lovers, therapy, emotional hurt/comfort, feelings realisation swear it all over again by: charthur "the one where they go to couples therapy as bros, and then realise they're actually a couple anyway" word count: 29k important tags: therapy, idiots in love, getting together, pre-relationship this must be the place by: euadnes "the buck is also shot by the sniper au that no one asked for." word count: 75k important tags: injury recovery, guilt, panic attacks, mutual pining, angst, hurt/comfort next to me by: emquin "buck and eddie started off in different places but eventually they ended up in the same. eventually, they ended up in love. told from buck and eddie’s perspectives, a canon-compliant take on buddie and how they could realistically get together." word count: 93k important tags: character study, angst, fluff, friends to lovers, pining, sexuality crisis i want your midnights by: allyasavedtheday "in which eddie decides to rent out his spare room to help with mortgage repayments right around the time buck decides to move out of abby's place after some not so gentle prodding from maddie. it's a coincidence. or serendipity. or maybe just really good timing" word count: 36k important tags: roommates au, different first meeting au, friends to lovers, fluff, mutual pining finding our way home by: child_of_wonderland "eddie thought that dropping the news that he was leaving the 118 would be the hardest thing he had to do for at least a few months but then the universe decides to prove him wrong in the form of therapy, buck being buck, and more." word count: 48k important tags: therapy, anxiety, panic attacks, team as family, hurt/comfort, whump nothing left but you by: daisies_and_briars "in may of 2021, 25% of earth's population suddenly disappears. Including eddie. in may of 2026, they all come back. eddie finds himself suddenly in the middle of a world he doesn't recognize, where the people he loves most have changed significantly." word count: 27k important tags: temporary character death, grief, time skips, christopher diaz has two dads, based on the avengers blip i think i've been having revelations (and really weird dreams) by: the11thtardis "this is basically the story of our two idiots in love, understanding their feelings for each other at different times and being cute af in the process... also, christopher helps a lot." word count: 70k important tags: coming out, post season 7, pre-relationship, demisexual!eddie diaz, jealous!eddie diaz, catholic guilt

[positivexcellence]

Jared Padalecki Says Goodbye to ‘Walker’ and Blasts the CW’s ‘Cheap Content’ Strategy After Show’s Cancellation: ‘F— It. They Can’t Fire Me Again’

The writers first introduced this Jackal storyline at the end of the third season as a way to excavate more demons from Cordell and Captain James’ (Coby Bell) shared past. What did this storyline help you unlock in terms of your understanding of Cordell? What were you most interested in exploring from a character perspective?

I’ve been fortunate enough for many years, many decades, to play characters that are in situations where the story is not about the situation necessarily: It’s about what’s going on with the character. On “Supernatural,” we fought God, we fought Lucifer, I was Lucifer at one point, we fought demons — but it was really about the brothers. It was about a bond; it was about the tropes of sacrifice, loyalty, determination, discipline and so many more things.

So when the Jackal storyline first occurred to the gang, [a serial killer storyline] was something that we hadn’t approached yet on “Walker.” And it’s something that the real Texas Rangers actually get involved with: They do hunt down and investigate serial killer allegations. So it was a fun template with which to play out past traumas, [as well as this idea of] trusting those close to you and them trusting you back and getting out of your head.

I don’t want to say I suffer [from this], but I’m in my head a lot. Partially that’s my nature, just the way I was born; and partially that’s my nurture, being an actor. You have your script, you read it, and you’re like, “OK, now what can I add? What does this mean?” So I just spend a lot of time in my head, and oftentimes it takes somebody beloved that’s part of my circle to go, “Hey, you all right?” And I’ll be like, “Oh shit. Yeah, sorry, I’ve been kind of elsewhere.” So [I enjoyed] playing that role this season, and understanding how the rabbit hole of emotions in your mind can sometimes affect more than just you.

This iteration of “Walker” has always been about Cordell’s neverending internal struggle to find the right work-life balance. For me, he seems to finally recognize that he’s done plenty of great work as a Ranger, but he has yet to really fulfill his duties as a father, even though he is about to become an empty nester. What is your take on where we leave him in the finale?

Yeah, it’s exactly that — and kudos to Anna and the rest of the writing gang. It was a lot of what I was going through [in real life]. It’s a lot of what I’m going through now, having worked since I was 17 years old when I started “Gilmore Girls.” There are a lot of things that you miss when you’re acting — a lot of graduations, camp drop-offs, kids’ games, whatever. It’s a wonderful job, and I’m so grateful to have been able to do it for so long, but there’s a lot that you give up.

So I think where we find Cordell in the finale is exactly in that spot where he’s no longer anxiety- or panic-driven about having to do the next job, having to get up and find somebody to arrest or find something to fix or investigate. He has realized — much to the credit of Jeff Pierre’s Trey, Ashley Reyes’ Cassie, and obviously Coby Bell’s Larry James — that, “Hey, the world goes on without you.” I think Cordell was in his own head for a lot of the episodes, and afraid that if he wasn’t around, things would fall apart. I think he found a place where he is like, “The world was here before me. The world will be here after me. And what I need to do for those around me is spend time with them.” So he’s come to a realization that there’s more than just the next job.

I think it took him — I don’t want to call it rock bottom, but getting out of control with his obsession with the Jackal to realize, “Oh, wait, maybe I need to step away from this for a little bit, and when I come back, I’ll come back stronger and more clear headed.” There will always be another job, but the family is growing up. August is graduating, Stella is in college, and he and Geri are working through some stuff. So I think he realized that, “Hey, I need to put my energies elsewhere.” It’s told in TV form, but it’s a really universal lesson. Sometimes, just doing something different, just changing your routine, can open your eyes to not only the positives of the routine — but also the drawbacks.

The writers have put Cordell through the wringer over the years, but this is the closest that he came to dying. The idea of mortality becomes even more intense when you become a parent — and, in Cordell’s case, a widowed single parent — because you have to think about what you’re leaving behind for your children.

Great point. [My wife] Genevieve [who played Cordell’s late wife, Emily] and I talk about that all the time, as parents. I think this is one of the lessons that both Gen and I hope to give to our kids, and for them to grasp as well. As kids grow up — and even adults — they will often deal with and question: “Is what I’m doing right? Should I be doing something else? If I’m not important here, then am I important at all?” I think part of the reason Cordell makes the decision that he does at the end of the finale is to show his kids: “Hey, I know I’ve been doing this, and it is very important. But so are you. It’s not a ‘no, but.’ It’s a ‘yes, and.’” It takes courage to leave routine, to leave habits, and I think he wants his kids to know, “Hey, it’s OK if y’all have to pivot, if y’all have to change. Do what you know is right, not what you think other people think is right.”

Unlike some other shows on the bubble, you and the writers elected not to shoot an alternate ending. That means you’ve left the audience with a couple big cliffhangers: In addition to taking a leave of absence, Cordell is also planning to propose to Geri; and James Van Der Beek was going to play the Walkers’ new (and potentially nefarious) neighbor. Did you and Anna discuss what next season would have looked like?

Yeah, there was so much to deal with, now that Violet and Kale are both young adults. They’re not children like they were four years ago, both literally and metaphorically. So there was a lot that we were going to explore with them — like, how much the sins of the father can carry down to the progeny, and how much Stella and/or August had, unfortunately, [inherited] their father’s bad qualities as well, which we dealt with this year with Stella. She’s very much like her father in the good ways and in the bad ways.

But we were very excited to have James on the show. He’s a personal friend, and he lives here in Austin. It wasn’t going to be like the Walker-Davidson feud necessarily [from Season 2], and the fifth season was certainly not written by any means, but I think there was going to be a very interesting dynamic that Cordell was maybe not anticipating, because he was taking a backseat on his law enforcement duties. We thought that James and his crew were going to be maybe up to no good, and Walker was just blinded to it.

Walker was a “Hell yes” or “hell no” kind of guy; he was either all-in on something, or he was kind of oblivious to it. And that was good when he was all-in on a job or all-in on trying to work with his family. But it was bad when he was oblivious: “Oh, no, the kids are fine. I’m fine. They’re nice. Don’t be suspicious of this person, or that person.” And he kind of got stuck in his own head, as we all often do at times. So we were going to explore that.

Is there something that you would have personally loved to have explored further with Cordell, if you had been given more time?

Oh my God. How long do you have? I really would’ve done the show forever. I just loved my character. I loved that I got to be in Austin with my family. I loved my cast and loved our crew. Maybe this is what ultimately was our downfall, but we weren’t ever seeking like, “Oh, here’s the explosion. Oh, here’s the wild cliffhanger where the aliens come down. Oh, here’s the next hot reality star that comes in and takes their clothes off.” It was never about sensationalism. It was more about life. When Anna and I first talked about the show many years ago, one of the reasons [this reboot] was called “Walker,” not “Walker, Texas Ranger,” was because he’s a widow and a father who happens to be in law enforcement. It was an exploration of everything that life could have to offer — heartbreak, disappointment, shame, love, becoming an empty nester — and I’m worse than heartbroken that we are not going to get to explore all those storylines. 

You’ve developed a tradition, on both “Supernatural” and “Walker,” of being the one to deliver the news of a renewal or a cancellation to your cast and crew. How did that happen this time around?

Yes. I talked to David Stapf at CBS and Brad Schwartz at CW before the announcement was made. And when Brad and I were talking, he was wildly flattering of “Walker” and what we had done, and he has his directives as well. He asked me, “Hey, how would you feel if we release the news or if you release the news? Do you have a preference? You’re CW royalty. You’ve been here since Day 1. How do you want to do this?” I thought about it, and I was like, “You know what, man? I think it might be best if I go ahead and make the announcement.” He was like, “Cool. Just go ahead.” And I asked him, “Do you want me to send what I’m going to post to you first, or do you want me to just go and post it?” And he goes, “We know you. We love you. We trust you. You don’t need to double check it with me. Just go ahead and send it when you’re ready.”

It was not easy to see the keyboard on my phone through the tears in my eyes, but I was grateful that I was allowed to [do that]. So often, when these big announcements are made, it’s like, “OK, here’s what’s going to happen. Don’t say anything until 1 p.m. in three days because we haven’t called all the outlets yet.” It felt like a very human send-off to go, “OK, do what you need to say, and we will reiterate it.” It felt like a great part of the closure that I’m still seeking. 

Did The CW ever give you a reason for the cancellation? Did it come down to budgetary reasons? Do you know any of the particulars?

Yeah. I talked with the head of CBS and the head of Nexstar/CW, I talked with the other [executive producers] on “Walker,” and I think it was a multivariate kind of issue. My understanding is — and again, this is just what I’m told — that Nexstar is going in a different direction with The CW. I mean, they have an hour of “Trivial Pursuit” and an hour of “Scrabble” coming up. I don’t know why you wouldn’t just download the app or grab a board game and play with your friends, but they’re clearly just — what’s that great quote? It’s like, “If somebody tells you who they are, ask questions. If somebody shows you who they are, believe them.”

I feel like The CW that I was a part of last year is not The CW that I was a part of under [former chairman and CEO] Mark Pedowitz for that entire, almost 20-year stretch. They’re just changing the network around, where it’s not really going to be a TV network as much as it’s going to be, “Here’s something fun for an hour that you’ll never watch again, but hopefully you watch it. And it’s cheap!” And I hate to say that, but I’m just being honest. I mean, fuck it. They can’t fire me again. I’m just being brutally honest. I think it felt to me like they were looking for really easy, cheap content that they could fill up time with.

You’ve only had a few weeks to process the cancellation, but have you given any thought to what you will do next?

I left two days [after the cancellation was announced] to go to Europe for work and then for play. My wife and kids met me out there, and we took a little vacation that was already planned. It was strange, and it was both horrible and wonderful. It was horrible because I really wanted to grieve. I really wanted to sit there and grieve, and call my cast. But here I was, eight or 10 hours ahead of their time zone, and I couldn’t make a phone call to everybody I wanted to make. The texts would come in when I woke up in the morning, and I just wanted or needed a personal connection with everybody who I had worked with for so long. But it was great, because I had a lot of distractions.

But I haven’t taken a whole lot of time just yet to think about what’s next. I kind of said this at the end of “Supernatural”: I wasn’t interested in acting [again], per se. I do love producing. I love the production aspect, and I love the problem-solving that comes with it. So there are a few things that my wife and I are in the process of developing that I would love to produce and act in. But beyond that, I still feel like I haven’t grieved the loss of “Walker,” so I don’t know yet if I trust my feelings. That sounds like a cop-out. I’m so sorry.

No, that’s a totally valid answer, considering that you openly spoke about how you hoped “Walker” would last just as long as, if not longer than, “Supernatural.” It’s natural that you wouldn’t necessarily know where to go from here.

Yeah, I don’t want to disappear into the bushes by any means, but I kind of want to disappear into the bushes. But hopefully, at this point in my life, and much like Cordell realized at the end of Season 4, I need to take a good, long, hard look at my personal life and the time I spend with my family and my friends, and I need to stop being so aggressive and obsessed with work. I still want to work, but for now, you’ll find me in and out of the bushes, hanging out with family and seeing friends. If a project comes up and I don’t care about it, then money doesn’t matter. But if a project comes up and I love the story or there’s somebody I really want to work with, then all right, [I’ll do it].

One of the people that you presumably want to work with again is Eric Kripke, who already recruited your former “Supernatural” costar Jensen Ackles to star in his current show, “The Boys.” Now that your schedule has opened up, are you officially joining the final season of “The Boys”?

Well, I’ll say this: Kripke and I texted today. It’s not been written yet, but I think he was saying [the final season] doesn’t even film until 2025. So yeah, I’m going to go play in Kripke’s newest playground. I had a great time the first time around, so I’m sure I’ll have a great time here again. I love the show. I think it’s hilarious and exciting. But you were asking what my plans for the future were — and I love Jensen and Eric Kripke. Obviously, I’ll be indebted to [Kripke] and entangled with him forever. I met my wife because of him. I was Sam Winchester because of him. “Supernatural” happened because of him. So working with him on a show that I enjoy, I’m like, “Yeah, when do I fly out?” But I don’t think we would film until at least January. 

Your body of work has spanned so many genres, but is there a specific genre that you are looking to explore next?

I thought “Walker” was kind of a mixture of “Gilmore Girls” and “Supernatural.” It was a family show with excitement and stunts, and macro storylines married with the micro. You know what? There’s a script that I love, and if we can get it turned into something, then I’d love to be a part of it. It’s actually a sitcom, but not a slapstick or knee-slapping sitcom. It’s kind of like a family-esque sitcom. It could actually be an hourlong show that you’d kind of define as a sitcom.

One of the things I really enjoyed about “Walker” was the humor that I was able to try and bring to screen, because my characters on “Gilmore Girls” and “Supernatural” were more stoic and serious, and I am by nature a much goofier person than the characters I’d played for 20 years. It terrifies me, because I think I’m funny among friends, but I don’t think I’m a funny person. I just think I’m goofy.

I’d like to explore that. It’s scary. It’s something I haven’t done, and I think I’d be very intrigued. 

It seems very difficult for dramatic actors to make that transition to comedy.

It’s so difficult!

You’ve now starred in over 450 episodes of primetime network TV, which is no small feat. What is your biggest takeaway from the time you’ve spent on The WB and The CW? When you think back to your biggest aspirations when you began on “Gilmore Girls,” how did your dreams ultimately compare to your reality?

Yeah, it’s been a long time. I think there’s some form of the saying, “If I only knew then what I know now…” Oftentimes, [this is] such a cutthroat industry. I think I spent so long in my adult life trying to get to a point where I could live my life, where I felt comfortable, where I felt safe and secure. I love storytelling. I love storytellers. I love raconteurs. I love that friend we all have that can just talk for an hour, and you’re laughing, you’re crying, you’re interested, and you’re learning. I love being able to pretend to be one of those characters on screen.

But I think along the way, it feels like I really learned, “Hey, don’t work to earn. Work to learn.” And at some point in time, you’ve got to look in the mirror and go, “Hey, you’re working towards some ever-moving goalpost. Why don’t you try and enjoy it now?” I think that’s kind of where I sit now. We’re just about a month [removed] from the announcement that we weren’t picked up again, so it’s kind of funny how life imitates art, or art imitates life. What Cordell went through in the finale and what I’m going through now are mirrors. I’ll be 42 next month. Am I waiting until I’m 60 and I have 800 episodes of television or something? I have to live my life now. I’ve got a 12-year-old, a 10-year-old, and a 7-year-old. 

I think, ironically, in trying to tell somebody else’s story for so long, I’ve realized that my story has value too.

Variety

[theresthesnitch]

It's about community, y'all.

I’ve found myself recently in a fandom interaction that has left me feeling very uncomfortable, and I want to talk about it. 

I will not be sharing usernames or fic names, so please do not publicly mention who they are if you figure out who this is. 

About a month ago, I was messaged by an account that doesn’t follow me, asking me to read their friend’s fic. The initial message was very flattering–their friend was a big fan of my work, and it would be so nice for them to get a comment from me on it. Honestly, it was such a sweet message, and I said I was busy right then, but I’d make time to read it.

When I opened the fic, it was a username that I didn’t recognize. Which is not terribly surprising, but I do recognize and notice regular commenters and people who regularly interact with me on Tumblr. (Which, by the way, is a good thing. These people all have a special place in my heart, and I love seeing their interactions.) This person also had no other fics published to AO3, and no bookmarks on their account. 

 I am an email hoarder, which means that every comment, kudo, and tumblr follow I get an email notification for is still stored in my email. I searched my inbox for the writer’s username, and nothing came up. I don’t mean nothing significant, I mean not one single comment, kudos, or follow from the account. I searched the account who messaged me, and got the same result. No one single comment, kudo, or follow. 

The thing that may not be immediately obvious from the outside is that many writers connect with each other as well. We share fic recs, snippets, and plot bunnies. We also talk about comments that we love, fans that we enjoy seeing in our notes, and significant interactions. 

Which is to say that the first thing I did was drop this fic with an explanation of what happened into the “fic recs” channel of our discord. Immediately, I find out that this is not a unique situation. Many of the writers in that discord were also approached, either by the actual writer or a friend, and asked to read it. 

I messaged the account again and asked if their friend was operating under a new username because I didn’t recognize them. Which is valid and I know people change their usernames sometimes. The friend responded that they did, but that the friend wouldn’t like them sharing it. I looked into the tumblr that messaged me then, and the account had been set up one singular day before they messaged me, with nothing more than a few art reblogs on their blog. 

At this point, I’m getting a really weird feeling from this, and I decide to just not respond anymore. I’m not going to call them out, but I’m also not going to engage. 

Yesterday, the “friend’s” account sent me another message, asking if I’d read it and telling me again that they can give their friend’s old account name if I really want it. They also mention that their friend read through and commented on a bunch of my older fics–which they did. Between May 24 and June 1, they left 17 comments on some of the very first fics I ever wrote and published. However, the way she tells me this feels very much like a quid pro quo - I commented, now where’s yours? 

I jumped back into the discords of some of my mutuals, and asked about this again. It turns out that all of us have gotten a weird vibe from them, and that this all feels like such a manipulative, creepy way to ask for exposure on your fic. 

And, because I’m me and needed more information, I went back to their fic and looked through the comments and bookmarks. 

There’s an ongoing discussion in many writer’s circles about interactions being lower, particularly comments, which you’ve probably seen crop up around Tumblr as well. While I don’t want to rehash this discussion here, the basic consensus is that most established writers are seeing fewer comments than ever, even when there’s a significant number of kudos. 

This fic has a not insignificant number of kudos, but a surprisingly large amount of comments and bookmarks, comparatively. Enough that just seeing the stats shocked me. I looked through the comments and saw lots of well known fandom writers, as well as some otherwise blank accounts. It strikes me as very odd–especially from a new, blank account and for a one shot without chapters to build up an audience. 

I jumped back in the discord and asked my mutuals about this again. Several people described really weird interactions with this individual. I heard stories about this person being really flattering when they initially reached out, vaguely complimenting the writer, then completely ghosting after the writer comments on their fics. 

I’ve debated for a bit about whether to post on this or not. The entire interaction has left such a bad taste in my mouth. I’ve no doubt that the writer and their friend are the same person, and I suspect some of their comments are fabricated as well. It’s elaborate, to a weird degree, and I feel so uncomfortable by it. 

The thing is, I love talking to people who have read my work. I love getting sent a fic rec. I read so little at this point just due to life and limited time that basically everything I read is something a mutual wrote or something recommended to me. I also really love the “it would mean so much to me if you read this” message, but only if it’s genuine. I have read first fics of new writers who sent me their own work, with their name attached, and asked me to. 

Fandom writing is a community, and that works best when we have a little give and take. But when you’re out there manipulating interactions, building up fake flattery to only not follow through, that breaks down our community. It’s unfortunate, manipulative, and honestly, a bit creepy. 

I don’t know if they just thought we (the writing community) wouldn’t notice, but we did. I’ve talked to other writers about this, and if any of my mutuals had a similar experience, I’d love to hear about it. 

To my “friend” who wrote this fic, I know you’re proud of your fic, but you’re not doing yourself any favors with this behavior. I will not be reading it. I also will not be responding to you or “your friend” any further. I wish you luck, and I hope you find what you’re looking for. 

[deityoftherain]

fighting my battles - Majorwood Fanfic

Rating: Teen

Relationship: M/M

Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Status: Completed Oneshot

Word Count: 1,849

Summary: Martyn and Scott are on the same football/soccer team, along with Joel, a man who has decided he despised Scott for some reason. After going a bit too far, Martyn throws the first punch and they get into a fight. The fic follows Martyn and Scott shortly after the fight was broken up. Scott tends to Martyn, though they both flirt and tease until both of their spirits are lifted once more.

I wrote this for @kaihuntrr via the low budget gift exchange on the Rainers server! Also, happy birthdayyyyy!

Full fanfic underneath the cut! Please reblog, leave kudos on the AO3 fic slash notes/likes here on Tumblr, comment either place, and etc if you enjoy the story :D

“That was really stupid,” Scott murmured, his voice sharp but not unkind. They were both dripping with sweat as the summer sun shined down on them. Using a spare towel, Scott attempted to dry the droplets that formed on his brow without irritating his slightly swollen face.

“I don’t know what he expected,” Martyn huffed, glaring at Joel from the other side of the football field– soccer, for the non-Brits. “Mocking you, insulting you so openly like that, trying to disgrace your name and skill… Honestly, he had it coming.”

Most of their teammates had gone home after practice finished, but a few had lagged behind. Martyn wasn’t sure who was still left, but there was, at minimum, one other person was still here. They were fussing over the black eye Martyn’s right hook had given Joel, but Martyn didn’t pay attention enough to notice who. They had the team uniform on, so Martyn would likely recognize them if he gave it a second thought. He didn’t, however, giving his boyfriend his attention instead. “I appreciate that you care enough to stand up for me, Martyn, but I can fight my own battles. Play my own game.” Scott dabbed the hastily thrown together ice pack against Martyn’s inflamed cheek. “I’m a good player in my own right. Joel’s taunts don’t change that. A few words of ill-will aren’t enough to break my spirit.” “Well, yeah, but, it's more than–” Martyn started to protest, but he promptly clamped his jaw shut when Scott pressed a finger to his lips.

“No need to argue. Drink.” Scott let his finger drop and, in exchange, lifted Martyn’s water bottle up for him to grab. Once he took the bottle and opened the top, Scott continued speaking, “I know Joel acts all confident and full of himself, but he’s really just insecure– and petty, which says something coming from me. I’m not afraid to be a little petty, but Joel can and has taken it to the extreme. He’s just taking it out on me like an immature child, for some reason or another.” Martyn snorted at the comment, finding the “immature child” part fairly accurate. He didn’t say anything though, tossing his head back and gulping down a good portion of the liquid in the water bottle like it was nothing. 

Scott frowned, gaze wandering over to their teammate with a vague sense of hurt and longing. “He’s been like that for as long as I can remember… which is about as long as he’s decided that he hates me, or that I’m some sort of threat to his image. There’s no use bothering yourself about the why when it comes to stuff like this, because there isn’t always a why. He’s just… I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you. It’s okay.”

Martyn wrinkled his nose at that explanation. Really? What did Scott take him for? Of course he was going to worry! Scott was his boyfriend, and Joel was an ass when it came to him. Scott was nothing but friendly and a team player. He got along with everyone– everyone but Joel, that is– so Martyn couldn’t figure out what was possibly going on in Joel’s head. Joel hadn’t seemed like that bad of a guy when Martyn got to know him, but his attitude towards Scott tainted a lot of his good qualities. At least, they did in Martyn’s eyes.

The three of them were all on the same football team, so it would be in Joel’s best interest to work with Scott instead of against him. Unfortunately, that wasn’t how it often played out. Their team had lost several goals because Joel refused to pass to Scott (even if he was objectively the best choice at the moment) if he thought there was another option. 

Every time they would do practice scrimmage, Joel made sure he was on the opposite team from Scott. Martyn couldn’t deny the fact that Joel was a very passionate man, but Martyn just wished he put that passion into the sport itself and, maybe, actually, y’know, help them win without foolishly instigating in-fighting. Scott had expressed multiple times that he would be more than willing to let their “rivalry” be a thing of the past, but Joel just refused to let go for whatever reason. It infuriated Martyn and the rest of the team greatly, but Joel was too good of a player to rationalize kicking him off the team.

After a moment of silence, Martyn inquired, “Why does he hate you? Do you have any idea about what it could be?”

“It’s anyone’s guess. He won’t tell me.” Scott shrugged as if it were no big deal, but his tone was exasperated. He shot a glance toward Joel, his face contorting unpleasantly. He forced his facial muscles to relax as he turned his attention back to Martyn. “I don’t think he knows why he has it out against me– at least, anymore. I probably offended him when we were little, and he’s held the grudge so long that everything I do is cause for war.”

“Well, I will fight loyally by your side, milord.” Martyn lowered his voice an octave just to add some extra dramatics and flair to his words. He put a balled fist against his chest before dipping his head in a shallow bow. “If that scum doesn’t lay off, he will become well familiar with the taste of my fist, I assure you.”

Scott’s pout morphed into a wary chuckle, and Martyn beamed at him in return. His side mission of lifting Scott’s spirits after all the horrible jabs Joel had directed at Scott were succeeding!  

With a sly smirk creeping onto his features, Scott replied, “I thought Ren was ‘milord’.”

Martyn buffered for a moment as his boyfriend mentioned his best friend. Ren and Martyn both had a love of theater and D&D, and, long story short, they often spoke to each other as if they were a king and his knight. If one were to ask Martyn about this moment later, he would claim he recovered quickly, though who's to say he did? “I can have two! There is no law saying otherwise.”

“Oh, can you now?” Scott mused, raising an eyebrow. “Does that make Ren and I husbands?”

Martyn gasped in faux horror, clutching his imaginary pearls. “What kind of eighty episode season soap-opera drama am I in? Has my boyfriend and my best friend been getting handsy behind my back? This whole time? Without me? If you two wanted to do a three-way, you could have just asked!”

“Oh my void, Martyn!” Scott squeaked, cheeks flushing a dusty red against his fair complexion. The red on his cheeks only grew more vibrant as Scott burst into a chorus of giggles. “No, I am not having an affair with Ren. I promise.” “Okay, maybe so, but, consider this: if you were going to, you would let me watch, yeah? You would, wouldn’t you?” Martyn quipped, leaning into the bit. He personally found it amusing, and he happened to enjoy making others laugh at his intentional foolishness. “It’s the least you two can do, surely. A way to make it up to me for the affair. I deserve some entertainment!”

Scott whacked him over the head, intentionally not actually causing him any harm. Scott’s hand kicked up Matyn’s blonde locks, making his hair a little messy, but Martyn didn’t mind. He was already a sweaty mess after their recent football practice, and he planned to shower once he got back home anyway.

“You’re lucky I love you,” Scott tended to the mess he was partly responsible for, brushing the hair that escaped Martyn’s headband out of his face, “or I may just have to leave you for Ren after all.”

“Well, polyamory does exist, and so does being friends with benefits,” Martyn kept up the bit, purposely playing it up to make sure Scott and potentially others knew he was just being silly. “I mean, have you seen Ren? Like, damn, that man is fine. If we weren’t exclusive, I would have ‘friends to lovers’ our relationship a long time ago.”

“If you seriously mean that, we have some things to discuss,” Scott murmured, though it was clear that conversation would be shelved for later. 

“A’course,” Martyn concurred, taking Scott’s hand in his and raising it to his lips. “It’s always good to check in with one another.”

“Friends to lovers,” Scott repeated the story trope like it had just now registered in his brain, tone displaying a hint of baffled amusement. “Void, Martyn, you’re impossible. I can’t believe some of the things that come out of your mouth sometimes.”

“I don’t either,” Martyn placed his hands on Scott’s hips to help pull Scott onto his lap, “yet you still love me!”

“That I do,” Scott agreed softly, resting his arms on Martyn’s shoulders and wrapping his legs around Martyn’s waist. His knees were grass-stained, and his hair and clothes were mildly damp from the sun and exercise, but Martyn still thought he was the most gorgeous being to walk the earth. 

No other words were spoken between them as they closed the gap, sealing it with a kiss. The kisses started off gentle, but they quickly grew deeper until they were so deep all of Martyn’s other senses turned off. The world around them faded into the background, and the only thing that seemed to matter was Scott. It was like Martyn became hypersensitive to Scott’s touch, each little movement sending shock waves of pleasure down his spine.

They both gasped for air when they broke, chests heaving with the effort. Scott fell forward into him, forehead resting against Martyn’s shoulder. “Kissing you is more exhausting than football practice. You literally steal the air out of my lungs.” Martyn mounted his hands on Scott’s back, giving himself enough leverage to pull Scott’s body closer to him. “I don’t know if I should be offended or not.”

“You should be very offended,” Scott teased lightheartedly, though his words were muffled in Martyn’s jersey. “Or, perhaps, you should be honored. You know, for making out with the husband of King Ren himself.” “Oh, you cheeky motherfucker!” Martyn exclaimed in reaction to Scott bringing back his joke. He entangled his fingers in Scott’s dyed blue hair, securing a strong grasp on the locks. Once satisfied with his grip, Martyn pulled Scott’s head back so they were face to face once more before abandoning his hold.

“Perhaps,” Scott fluttered his eyelashes innocently, knowing exactly what he was doing, “yet you still love me.”

“Fortunately for you,” Martyn jabbed his finger toward Scott’s chest, “I do, you lucky bastard.”

“The luckiest,” Scott agreed, taking Martyn’s hand and raising it up to cup his cheek. He leaned into it, letting his eyelids flutter close with a content expression on his face. “I love you, Martyn.”

Martyn softened at those words, the playful nature being replaced with genuinity. He rubbed his thumb against Scott’s cheek. “I love you too, Scott.”

[alaskan-wallflower]

Caretaker 3 and sickie 5 for sick Soda and either caretaker Darry or Steve, you choose! Love these prompts :D

Thanks!! And of course! Let’s do both lol

C. 3.) “That didn’t sound good….”

S. 5.) “You don’t have to waste your time on me.”

It wasn’t even his fault this time.

The last thing he remembers, he’s at the DX, working his tail off, and the next minute, he’s in the back of Steve’s car. All he can see are his shoulders—they’re tensed. He can barely see the speedometer, but it certainly isn’t going ten over the speed limit like it normally would’ve when him and Steve rode together. Heck, he wasn’t even going the speed limit—and for his shoulders to be that tense while driving? Something must’ve been worrying him. He opened his mouth to say something, but all that came out was a strangled groan, and suddenly, he knew what the issue was.

His stomach felt like it was churning molten lava. His mouth tasted like metal and bile, and his shirt reeked. His head was pounding, and he had some ice wrapped around it with a faux bandage, kudos to Steve’s shirt wrapped around it. The raven haired boy, having heard his friend, didn’t say a word. Nor did he turn around. Was he mad? Soda couldn’t remember anything. Did he say or do something to upset Steve?

Soon enough, the car came to a complete stop, and in his blurry haze, he recognized his house. He felt arms under his knees as he was picked up bridal style and carried inside. He looked up and was certainly surprised, and a bit worried at what he saw. Steve’s shoulders were still tense as all hell, and he was biting his lip so hard Soda swore he saw blood. But there were also tears in his eyes. Tears Steve probably would’ve banged himself over if he knew Soda saw. Soda opened his mouth again, trying to speak, to ask what the hell was going on…but all he got out was a ghost of a whisper.

“What…”

That seemed to be all it took, as Steve rested him on the couch, wrapping him in a blanket and putting a pillow behind his head. age sat down by the coffee table and buried his head in his hands. Soda reached out and grazed his arm weakly, trying to navigate through the splitting pain in his head and stomach.

“Glory, Soda…”

His voice was pinched. He sure sounded spooked.

“You scared the shit outta me!” he exploded, standing up and pacing. Soda knew it was the only way Steve knew how to worry—through anger, which normally would’ve been fine, were it not for Soda’s splitting headache. He winced, pulling the blanket over his head as Steve realized his mistake, and tensed even further, mentally berating himself for getting that loud.

“I called Darry.”

“What?!”

Soda emerged from his blanket cocoon, looking at Steve with wild brown eyes—and not the endearing wild. The scared wild.

“Now why wouldja go an’ do a thing like that?”

“Because you vomited all over the counter at work and passed out after and hit your head! That’s why!”

Steve clenched his eyes shut, his body shaking as he winced. Stop yelling, Randle, he told himself. Soon enough, thank god, Darry came home. He took one look at Soda and was over in the blink of an eye. Screw Superman, he was more like The Flash with how fast he came over…

“Soda? What happened? Are you okay?”

His normally harsh, blue eyes were filled with worry as he kneeled down so he was at eye level with his little brother. God, sometimes he looked so much like their dad it was uncanny. Soda swallowed the sudden lump in his throat.

“I’m-“

His stomach, not quite getting the memo, gurgled loudly. It wasn’t in a hungry way either. It was in a sickly, “I’m going to throw up soon”, way. Darry winced.

“That didn’t sound good…”

Soda nodded, swallowing down the rising bile as his stomach churned away. He sighed softly through his nose. He didn’t have time to protest before Darry grabbed a bucket, putting it right in front of Soda. He moved Soda’s head to fluff up his pillow, knowing how Soda liked it. He even took the time to properly blanket burrito Soda. He knew the blonde was probably freezing his ass off. Soda felt horrible as Darry and Steve seemingly ran circles around him, to do things he knew he normally would’ve been able to do himself. He bit his lip.

“You who don’t have to waste your time on me…”

The duo paused for a moment, giving him an “are you serious?” look.

“Honey, it ain’t wastin’ time to be takin’ care of you.” Darry rested his hand on the back of Sdoa’s head, turning him to face him and Steve. Steve nodded, the worried anger fading in his eyes, leaving him resembling more of a black lab puppy who’d just watched its owner pretend to throw the ball, only to realize it was never actually thrown.

“Dar’s right, Pepsi-Cola…you gotta stop beatin’ yourself up whenever you ain’t feelin’ so hot. We’re gonna take care of you anyway, whether ya like it or not.”

Soda huffed through his nose, too tired to put up an actual fight. He closed his eyes as Darry stood up and shut the blinds, picking up Soda and holding him on his chest. He hadn’t even taken off his work shoes yet, and he was still so attentive towards Soda. He figured he’d probably asked one of his older work buddies to cover for him, which he knew they were glad to do. Darry was only twenty, and a lot of his coworkers were ready to jump in, knowing he was their only guardian.

“Well…thank you guys,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. Whether it was with emotions, or with sickness, he wasn’t sure. But he didn’t care. He just closed his eyes, letting Darry run his fingers through his hair, and allowing Steve to rub his thumb over his arm. He felt loved.

He soon fell asleep.

Prompts here!

[unclewaynemunson]

Tadaaaa here is the sequel to this post, which came from an ask that got me in a chokehold for days now so kudos to the lovely anon who sent that prompt to me! You can also read the whole thing on ao3 :)

As soon as Eddie got into the passenger seat of his Wayne's truck, he saw the whole world go blurry. He tried to blink away his tears, but it was no use – nothing ever escaped his uncle's notice anyway.

'Wanna tell me what's wrong, boy?' he asked while he started the car.

Eddie grimaced. 'You know how they say you should never meet your heroes?'

'Hm?'

'Well, I met mine. On the fucking train. Just yet.'

Wayne shot him an incredulous glance.

'What was the Black Sabbath guy doin' on a train?'

'What? No, it wasn't... No.'

'The Hobbits guy?'

'Jesus Christ, Wayne, Tolkien died like fifteen years ago, keep up.'

'You want me to keep guessin' or you gonna tell me?'

Eddie rolled his eyes.

'Yeah, no, you wouldn't guess it right anyway. It's this poet.'

'Don't think I ever heard you talk 'bout poetry before,' Wayne remarked.

And that was exactly the thing. Ronan Right had been something... private. Something between Eddie and the faceless blob in his mind that embodied Right – and maybe Jeff. Okay, and Jeff's mom. But it wasn't someone he'd talk people's ears off about on any occasion he got, like he did with plenty of other musicians or writers that he'd get all obsessive about.

Until Steve, that was. Steve, who had been casually listening to his music. Steve, who had recognized the book in his hands and effortlessly opened the floodgates of his obsession. Steve, who had said the most beautiful things about Corroded Coffin without even knowing who Eddie was. Steve, who had talked with him about their shared passions for hours. Steve, who he now somehow had to merge with Right in his mind.

Steve, who seemed so perfect that it made all of Eddie's alarm bells go off at the loudest possible volume. Because this couldn't be real. This was something straight from a disgustingly sweet romcom scenario, and if there was anything Eddie could be certain about, it was that his life was no romcom.

So during the short walk from the station to Wayne's car, Eddie's head had already come up with a dozen scenarios that were completely spiraling out of control – even though they'd all make for great songs, no doubt about that. Steve would die some kind of tragic death on his way to their first date. Steve was secretly addicted to crack. Steve was a stalkerish fan who had lied to him about being Ronan Right to get close to him. Steve would cheat on him on their wedding day.

The list of possibilities was endless and terrifying – while the list of possibilities for this having a happy ending, on the other hand, was exceptionally short.

'Was it that bad?' asked Wayne while they headed out of the city.

Usually, Eddie enjoyed amping up his dramatics to a maximum around Wayne, providing the much-needed balance to his uncle's calm and steady demeanor. But right now, Eddie felt himself deflate in his seat. He couldn't bring himself to make a show out of it.

'No,' he said, quietly. 'He was perfect.'

And Wayne must've heard it in his voice, must've picked up right away that this wasn't Eddie being dramatic, that something serious was going on here, because he gave him this look that was cutting way too deep into his heart.

'Nobody can be that perfect, you know,' Eddie continued. 'It's impossible. And he – he gave me his number. And I just know that if I call it, and we get to know each other better, I'll get crushingly disappointed sooner rather than later. Because something has to be, like, disturbingly wrong with this guy.'

Anyone else than Wayne would probably tell Eddie that he was being ridiculous, that he should get over himself and call Steve; that he should allow himself to let good things happen to him or some shit. But Wayne wasn't just anyone. Wayne was the one person who knew exactly what Eddie meant. The one person who had seen from up-close the shitshow that Eddie's life had been, who had retained a front row seat through all of it. And he had had his own fair share of misery himself, Eddie knew that much. He was too old and had gotten punched down too many times to still hold naive illusions of the possibility of good things.

So he didn't give him some bullshit advice. He merely patted Eddie's knee and turned up the radio.

---

Ever since Eddie had left Hawkins, it had become a habit of him to stay with Wayne for a couple of weeks every now and then. For all his desires to get the hell out of that town when he was younger, he still spent way too much time at his uncle's trailer. But it wasn't Hawkins that he came back for, it was uncle Wayne.

It was home. And it helped him breathe whenever the city got too intense. Helped him get detached from everything that distracted him from the shit that actually mattered. Helped him get his head right when Chicago was threatening to make him lose it.

Time seemed to move differently in Hawkins than in the city. Slower. More naturally, too, somehow. Maybe it was because of the lack of nightlife and flashing neon signs when the world was supposed to be wrapped in darkness. The fact that he could still see the stars when he stepped out of the trailer at nighttime. Maybe it was the quiet, which allowed him to actually hear himself think. Or maybe it was the predictability of it all: Wayne waking him up with a cup of coffee in the morning, the two of them sharing cigarettes on the porch, Eddie helping Wayne with some chores and then trying to write new songs until well into the night, when the world was his and his alone.

He kept reading Right almost religiously, but it was different, now. Now that he could hear Steve's voice say those words, now that he could envision the way in which the sun shone on his hair through the dirty train window and the shape of his hands clutching a walkman that had Eddie's music in it. It was all different.

After a week, Eddie had a whole album worth of songs about the deception of things that seemed perfect. He hadn't been able to write even one song about things ending well, about things working out. That wasn't his life. Things never worked out. Why would they, for a boy born in a household where the trifecta of poverty, addiction and violence was all he had ever known? In the five albums he had produced so far, he'd never experienced a lack of demons to write about.

So no, he wouldn't be calling Steve, even though he had read the number that was written down on the sleeve of his own album so often that it'd probably be impossible to ever erase it from his mind again. He'd protect himself, this time. He'd cherish the hours he got to spend with Ronan Right, the memories that were already starting to feel like a fever dream, and not let his heart break any further. Not this time. Not again.

---

'Got mail for ya.'

An envelope landed in Eddie's lap.

'What's this?'

'I dunno, 's your mail,' Wayne answered.

Eddie didn't recognize the handwriting and the Indianapolis post stamp didn't give him much of a clue either. It didn't make sense that someone would send him a letter at his uncle's place.

He frowned, roughly tore open the envelope and pulled a single sheet of paper out of it. It was neither directed at nor signed by anyone, but that wasn't necessary for Eddie to know who sent it.

'What is it, boy?' Wayne asked, a worried edge to his voice upon hearing the choked sob that freed itself from Eddie's throat.

Eddie knew that the words were only meant for him. But he and Wayne were a unit, always had been, ever since Eddie moved into Forest Hills. So he wordlessly handed the paper to his uncle, roughly wiping the tears from his eyes.

Wayne assessed the text with a wrinkled forehead, holding the paper at an arm's-length in order to read it.

'That from the boy you met on the train?'

Eddie nodded.

When his uncle looked up from the letter, Eddie caught an almost unfamiliar look in his eyes. It was soft, hopeful. Optimistic.

'You know I ain't any good with words, like you, or this – this poet,' Wayne said. 'But this...' He pressed the letter back into Eddie's hand. 'This looks like he knows you, Ed. Like he sees you. For all that you are.'

He didn't tell Eddie what to do; that wasn't his style, never had been. But what he did say kept bouncing through Eddie's head unceasingly, making him unable to sleep, unable to write, unable to think about anything else.

---

Eddie desperately wanted to say something meaningful when Steve picked up the phone. He wanted to thank him for reaching out, to apologize for being too much of a coward to call earlier – but what came out of his mouth instead was, 'How did you know where to find me?'

'Eddie, is that you?' It sounded like Steve didn't quite believe it.

'Yeah – yeah, it's me,' was the only thing he managed to get out of his mouth.

'Look, I'm sorry if I overstepped,' Steve told him. 'I just – I couldn't get you out of my head and it all felt so right, you know, like fate or some shit, so I just had to... I needed to try. And I knew your name, and that you were staying with your uncle, so I got help from some friends and they managed to find your uncle's address.'

And as if Eddie hadn't been enough of an emotional wreck over the past week, his vision got blurry with tears yet again.

'Sorry, was it – did I go too far?' Steve sounded nervous.

Eddie could perfectly envision the way he would be frowning and anxiously running a hand through his hair; as if they had already shared a whole lifetime of getting to know all about each other's mannerisms instead of a few stolen hours on a train.

He hated the idea of Steve thinking he had done something wrong when all he ever did was so fucking right, so he determinedly shook his head, then realized Steve wouldn't be able to see that, and started scraping for words.

'No, Steve, you... You're perfect. And that scared the shit out of me, because so far, my life hasn't really done perfect. Most of our songs, they're – well – creative retellings of my own shit.' Now that he started talking, the words actually came a lot easier. 'They're all real, at the core, when you peel away the layers of, like, monster slaying and fantasy imagery. Like, everything underneath all that, it's all... me. Damage, betrayal, fear, violence – all that shit is true. Life hasn't been kind to me, Steve. And I was convinced that you'd only become an addition to that long list of crap, because you seemed way too perfect. I never thought I could have something good. And you're good, Steve, you're so fucking good. So I couldn't believe it.'

A long silence ensued at the other side of the line. Then, a sigh.

Then, 'Eddie,' in the softest voice possible, like his name was something breakable. Eddie didn't remember ever having heard his name said like that.

'I think that was exactly what I heard in your songs. Why I kept listening to them. Why they inspired me so much.'

Eddie tried to swallow away the lump in his throat, suffocated by the emotions bubbling up inside of him.

'I wish I could hold you, right now.'

Eddie's breath caught. He knew exactly what he needed to do: he needed to stop running. He needed to trust that Steve could be right, for him. That Steve could be something good.

'I mean, you could come over to Hawkins and do just that, you know,' he suggested.

'D'you want me to?'

He nodded, again forgetting that Steve couldn't see him.

'Yeah, I'd like that. Probably still got half that cookie somewhere in my pocket, y'know. Maybe we could share it.'

Credit where credit is due: the line “He sees you, for all that you are” isn't mine, it's one of my favorite quotes from Schitt's Creek and I really wanted Wayne to say that to Eddie about Steve, so here we have it <3

@ My beloved 🥐 anon: I hope you like this ending, and that I came close enough to your suggestion to have Steve make Eddie a character in his next poem <3

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