#like i said i think it would have been better to have the entire first season be milly and emily

[thecurioustale]

To go off on a tangent of my own...

In my college years I performed Extensive Research on how a nobody can get their fiction published, and consequently I was Ready to Go on that count for a while, "merely" pending the completion of said fiction...

In the centuries that followed, something strange happened to me. I began to suspect that no traditional publishing house would ever want to touch my work without Extensive Edits, and, concomitantly, having precise control over my fiction was becoming more and more important to me. I was becoming less willing to accept Extensive Edits even as I was becoming convinced that there could be no other path to success with a traditional publisher.

In time this decision made itself, not all at once but gradually, the old traditional model spalling away and finally disintegrating entirely. When faced with the dilemma of choosing the integrity of my work or choosing better access to an audience, it was no choice at all.

Meanwhile, self-publishing was becoming more sophisticated. A family friend had been publishing some of her work for years on one of the early-era Internet-based self-publishers, Xlibris. Perhaps not fully comprehending what exactly a traditional publisher does, I started to think that independent publication might just be the way for me.

By the time mountain ranges had risen and fallen, and I completed my first novel, Amazon had come along and taken away all of the up-front capital costs required. There was no longer any barrier to entry! So I published it online and got probably a couple dozen readers! (One order of magnitude higher than I'd have gotten were it not for the OP posting about it on Tumblr.)

But this anodyne anecdote isn't why I'm posting this; it's just the setup:

When the Prelude to After The Hero came out, it occurred to me that I was a Published Author now. I already had a Patreon, and, small though it was, I was technically being paid to write. So I was also a Professional Author, if not financially self-sufficient about it. These were strange hats to wear, as I'd always associated "professional authors" and "published authors" (I'll just combine those two into the latter now) with the people whose books show up in all the bookstores and whose works audiences are large enough to sustain ongoing fan communities. I was obviously nowhere in that realm, yet I was technically allowed to wear their hats now, and I had to think about What That Meant.

I realized I had come to associate being a professional author with fame and fortune. Not a state of A-list celebrity, necessarily, but fame and fortune all the same. And that's not really what authorship is. Authorship is in the word; it is no more and no less than writing works and, at least sometimes, finishing them.

But there is a deeply unsatisfying side to this. It's like being sold on Disneyland and arriving only to find you're in a regular old park with a short slide and a couple of those cute animals on giant springs. Something's missing, and it is both easy to see what that is and hard to articulate how the discrepancy matters.

What does it matter, really? Are the comforts of money and the intrigue of attention more important than the art itself? Not really. But then why do they hold such sway? And I think it's because of a quirk of my psyche that probably doesn't impact most people quite as forcefully: There is an issue of acceptance and belonging at work here.

I have many ways of talking about this, both in my fiction and nonfiction. I like to use the metaphor of the horizon most of all: beautiful landscapes and cityscapes, which disappear when you enter into them. They seem to exist in this place where others are allowed to dwell but you yourself are not. And, having dealt with a lot of rejection in both my child and adult lives, it's no surprise that I would be highly compelled by the allure of belonging.

There's an episode of The Simpsons where Homer discovers a secret society called The Stonecutters whose members include practically all of Springfield's well-known faces other than Homer himself. The Stonecutters are played up as being this mysterious, wonderful thing, with fantastic food, great parties, even private roads with chandeliers. And by the end of the episode Homer has become its leader! But, in so doing, everything about The Stonecutters that gave this exquisite secret society its potency vanishes. It stops being fun or interesting, and everyone else leaves the society and forms the No Homers Club. The magic is lost.

We have brains that are evolved to compose narratives where none exist, and build legends out of mundane facts. Our cities upon the horizon, and their glorious ways, sparkle magnificently. But rarely, if ever, do we ourselves seem to be able to step inside such places and dwell there without them disappearing around us—even when our lives are going very well, let alone when they're not.

I think a lot of Tumblrinos would just look at all of the above and say "tldr impostor syndrome," but I would not agree with that. For one thing, I have become increasingly opposed over the past ten years to the rampancy of biomedicalization of our identities and bodies. I don't like deploying biomedical frameworks as a cultural affiliation marker or as a form of expression. I've heard people claim that "everyone has impostor syndrome." Maybe in your worldview, buddy, but not in mine. To me that's a misuse of psychological nomenclature. But even if that objection weren't in effect—let's say I conceded it for the sake of conversation—the bigger reason that I don't agree with boiling down what I've written here to "impostor syndrome" is that it isn't accurate. I don't have any real doubts about the artistic wholeness and high quality of the Prelude, or of any of the novels I am presently writing. I know I'm a good author. I don't feel like I don't belong in the secret club of Professional Authors. I think I do! Rather, I feel that it is closed off to me by powers outside my control for reasons having little or nothing to do with me. I'm not saying that I see the world as being "against me." Nothing so dramatic or self-centered! I see the world as being cold and unthinking in many respects, and me being a poor fit for it on top of that, and, thus, mainly by circumstance, me not fitting into it. And, like a cosmic rounding error, there seems to be no fixing this. I've never fit in, and I probably never will. I'm not an impostor. I'm an outsider.

A Guru of Horizons, they called me once...

Long ago I used to fantasize that completing my books would lead to fame and fortune. But what I really wanted was to be accepted for who I am, in the context of doing the things I love. That, too, is an illusion of the horizon. No one will ever know you well enough for that. And fame and admiration are a sword because of it. For you will be misunderstood, and, to people like me at least, that makes all the difference. It will slice into you. At best, you will only be accepted as a "close enough" by dear friends. But, mostly, in the words of my star-captain Cherry Ilyapa, people will wrap your skin around their own dreams and thoughts, and sink your eyes into its sockets, never thinking how garish it might be.

Imagine that you can still draw, or paint, if you feel like it, and have the tools. That hasn't changed.

And (no, this post isn't about AI, there we go, where was I) all the other newer tools still exist too: Wacom tablets exist, and Adobe Photoshop, and every sort of camera, and so forth. If you have these tools ready at hand, you can just pick them up, and make pictures with them.

And tumblr still exists, and all the rest of the internet with it. And so – if you like – you can use these venues to share the pictures you make with others, easily and immediately, for free.

However, there is also another venue, for sharing pictures.

That is the only thing that is different.

The other venue is... let's say it's a magazine that only prints visual art, and which has an extremely large number of subscribers.

Everyone knows about The Magazine. Most people you know are subscribers.

Before the internet, The Magazine was the main way that visual art got into people's homes (if it wasn't created there in the first place). Your parents speak of The Magazine as though it's just where art lives, as though the notion that there might be art somewhere else has never really crossed their minds.

Much of what appears in The Magazine is, in fact, pretty good. Conversely, much of the truly great art of the recent past made an appearance in The Magazine, at some point, before or after appearing in galleries and/or being reproduced in other ways.

But a lot of it is just... fine. Trendy, competent, workmanlike.

You flip through the pages and mostly you think, yeah, this sure is the sort of thing that gets printed in The Magazine, in the current year. Occasionally you're impressed by something you see there, and even more rarely something moves you, transfixes you.

Much the same could be said of your tumblr dash, of course.

It must be noted, however, that The Magazine has a higher quality floor than your tumblr dash. Everything that appears there looks polished, professional, carefully worked-over. This counts for less than one might think; that professional gloss can do nothing to elevate ill-conceived or simply dull work (and The Magazine does print such things fairly often).

In a gallery, you might encounter mere sketches, or blatantly unfinished paintings (Leonardo left behind plenty of both, after all). But you will never find such things in The Magazine.

The Magazine's cultural and psychological prestige is immense. It holds the popular conception of "art" in its tight, totalizing grip. If you ever pick up a pencil and draw, it will be assumed – by default – that you aspire to eventual publication in The Magazine. If you are not very good, people will tell you to keep at it; maybe someday you will make the grade. If you are good, people will tell you so, and ask you whether you've prepared anything for submission, whether you've sent it, whether you heard back.

It is tremendously inconvenient to appear in The Magazine.

After all, anyone can pick up paper and pencil, but The Magazine only has so many pages per month. So, The Magazine has standards. It is persnickety. It couldn't afford to behave differently.

But even if it could afford to behave differently, it would not want to. For it so happens that The Magazine prides itself on its active role in the production of "art" (meaning, "that which has appeared in The Magazine").

Even if you are one of the "lucky" few who does not receive a simple rejection letter from The Magazine, you will not simply be allowed to put your drawing or painting or what-have-you into The Magazine as it is.

Unmediated transmission of art, straight from artist to viewer, is for lower-class venues ("tumblr.com," "physical reality and its tendency to project images of nearby objects onto the retina," etc). The Magazine has standards, and they have a full staff of not-quite-artist, not-quite-art-critic people who are employed to impose them. If you do not get a rejection letter, what happens instead is that you begin a long and laborious transaction with one or more of these strange middlemen. They will tell you that your work is a good start, but that you really should have put this part over there, or made the symbolism more obvious or less obvious, or "applied your evident talent" to a more socially relevant choice of subject matter, or something of this nature.

Eventually, after a protracted interaction like this, you might succeed! A new, different, quite possibly worse picture – produced by laboriously adjusting your original one (which, being original/unmediated, is of course unprintable by definition) until The Magazine's staff feel satisfied in the relative scope of their role versus yours in the collaborative act that is "art" production – will end up on a page somewhere in the next issue of The Magazine.

And, finally: real art has been produced! You've made it!

You're in The Magazine. And your work ("your"? you don't feel so sure anymore) does look nice, sitting there on one of those oh-so-glossy pages.

It is nice enough that you spend nearly a minute lingering over it, before you go back to tumblr.com, where all the rest of the pictures are.

(And then, on the weekend, you go to a museum, and look at pictures which were being lauded as masterworks centuries before The Magazine was even founded. You could never produce anything like them, you know – and you feel envious of their creators, not so much because of their greater talents, but because no one ever praised them by saying, hey, this stuff is good enough to be in The Magazine!)

But at least your mom and dad will look at your drawings, now, and think: my child is an artist. You were an artist before, too, but it was just amateur stuff. Now it's for real. Professional. In The Magazine.

Professional? Well, The Magazine did pay you a little in the end, as a prize. And there are some people who make their livings this way. They have good, longstanding, hard-won relationships with The Magazine's staff of intermediaries. They are unusual; by sheer force of numbers, only a select few can make a decent and reliable living in this manner.

(Indeed, The Magazine's insistence on imposing its standards is essentially inimical to steady, reproducible money-making for individual artists. You shouldn't feel secure already that they'll print your next picture without delay, before you've even sent it in for assessment – that would mean they are not keeping standards at all, wouldn't it? And so, cultural forces within The Magazine conspire to degrade its value as a potential source of one's livelihood.)

Those who appear regularly in The Magazine have unparalleled reach. As a child, perhaps, they shaped your notion of what an "artist" was; as a child, maybe you wanted to be just like them, when you grew up.

But then you did grow up – and so, you realized that they were employing the tools at hand (pencil, paper) to a very unusual end. Anyone can pick up the tools and draw. But few can make it into The Magazine, and perhaps even fewer than that should want to appear there.

After all, there is something almost shameful about the exercise, isn't it?

The Magazine says: I am the means by art is produced and disseminated. And many people, passively following the ambient culture, unconsciously nod along.

But in fact, The Magazine has no potency in it whatsoever. It is you, and the viewer, who create the work of art and create the experience of experiencing art. You can just draw things. You can just show your drawings to people.

And The Magazine cannot turn an uninspired artist into a genius, or an unskilled artist into a master; it can only trim perceived fat, arrange perceived rough edges into a more agreeable shape, apply gloss and trendiness and "professionalism." But those were never what anyone liked about art to begin with. You don't need them – unless you do, for your own artistic reasons (and your viewers'), and in that case home-made versions will probably do the job well enough.

There is, in fact, not much reason at all to want to appear in The Magazine.

And that, in itself, is a strong argument against the idea.

You ought not to play along in the charade, pretending that the whole laborious exercise has a point after all, if you know that it is in fact pointless. This is a matter of integrity, if nothing else.

Anyway, that's how I feel whenever anyone's like, "so are you gonna try to get this stuff published or what"

[yvesssssssss]

Hellooo :3

Mayhaps could I request Mydei with spouse reader who is just so atrociously down bad for their husband? It's not even about his title or anything, they are just down horrid (totally not projecting)

Even better if it started off as an arranged marriage

𐙚⋆.˚Mydei — honkai star rail

Hellooo!! I kinda had a hard time writing this one💔 but i hope you enjoy!!😽😽😽

⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁.𖥔 ݁ ˖

You had been warned about Mydei before the wedding.

That he was quiet. Stoic. That you’d never know what he was thinking. That he was a difficult man to understand, let alone love. That this marriage, arranged for diplomacy and structure, was destined to be little more than cordial distance and shared titles.

They couldn’t have known that you were a disaster.

Not in the political sense. No, in that you were already, hopelessly, horrifyingly infatuated with him by the time you arrived at the capital. Not with his influence. Not with the legacy he carried like armor. But with him—the elegance in how he held himself, the sheer gravity in his silence, the way he could say your name and make it sound like it belonged in a poem.

He met you with courteous bows and an unreadable gaze.

You met him with heart palpitations and a mouth dry enough to parch stars.

The wedding was brief and immaculate. He offered his hand. You took it like a lifeline. The entire time, you wanted to say, My husband is so beautiful I could scream, but you were trying not to combust in public.

Your chambers were adjacent, not shared.

Your roles were parallel, not intertwined.

Your feelings? Definitely not mutual.

You fell first. Fast. Hard. Unreasonably.

He would pass you in the hall, nodding politely, and you'd nearly drop whatever you were holding. Once he said, “You look well,” and you had to sit down for five minutes to recover. You once caught a glimpse of him in the early morning—hair slightly mussed, collar undone—and it haunted your dreams for a week.

He didn’t flirt. Didn’t tease. He spoke to you gently, always gently, and kept his distance with care. Like you were precious. Like he was afraid of hurting you.

And yet—despite how cold others claimed he could be, he never looked away from you. He always answered. He always listened.

It was maddening.

You tried being subtle. Which, for someone as disastrously down bad as you were, meant:

Staring.

Standing closer than necessary.

Fumbling compliments like, “Your hands are so elegant— I MEAN efficient—no, wait—beautiful! NO. STRONG??”

You were a walking embarrassment.

And Mydei? Ever composed.

⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁.𖥔 ݁ ˖

The change happened quietly.

A shoulder offered when you stumbled slightly in public—fingers steadying your elbow, his hand lingering just a moment longer than required.

“My apologies,” he murmured. “I should’ve stood closer.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Later, during a diplomatic dinner, you’d leaned into him more than propriety allowed. His breath hitched—hitched—when you brushed his arm.

“Do you... mind?” you asked, already wanting to dissolve into the carpet.

He looked at you. Not through you. At you. And said, “No. I rather prefer it.”

You nearly passed out.

⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁.𖥔 ݁ ˖

And now, tonight.

He had just returned from a series of long negotiations. Hours of speaking in that calm voice of his, delivering strategies and commands like scripture. You were waiting in his study, legs swinging over the edge of the chair like a child too jittery to sit still.

The door opened. He walked in, loosened his coat, and stopped.

“You’re here.”

“Always,” you chirped. “I mean. Not always. Not in a weird way—well, maybe weird, but not creepy. Definitely not—”

His mouth twitched. The smallest smile.

You melted.

“I made tea,” you added, voice pitching embarrassingly high. “If you want. Or need. Or don’t. I just thought you might. Because, you know, you’re—you.”

He walked to you slowly, soundlessly. Took the cup from your hand.

You felt the heat of his fingers even after they left.

“You’re trembling,” he said.

“Am I? Oh. Wow. So I am.”

He studied you then, truly studied you. “Are you afraid of me?”

“No!” You answered too fast. Too loud. “Never. You could ruin me with one word and I’d still follow you around like a lost puppy. Wait. Ignore that. That’s insane.”

“It’s honest.”

“...That’s worse.”

He took a breath, then placed the tea down, untouched. “Why do you speak like that around me?”

“Like what?”

“Like I might vanish. Or like you’re ashamed to want me to stay.”

The air cracked.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Then, helplessly, whispered: “Because I’ve never been in love with someone who makes me feel like this.”

Mydei’s gaze softened.

“I thought… I was the only one,” you added, laughing weakly. “People said you’d never care. That I’d always be a name on a contract to you. But I don’t care about the arrangement. Or your rank. Or what we were supposed to be. I just—”

You paused.

“I just really, really love my husband.”

There was silence. You waited for his rejection, his polite dismissal, his cool, distant kindness.

But instead—

He stepped closer.

Then, softly:

“I know.”

You blinked.

“I’ve known for some time,” he continued, voice lower now, more intimate. “I didn’t think you’d stay. Most people in my life do not.”

“Why—why wouldn’t I stay?” you asked, stunned.

“Because I’m not easy to love. I’m not expressive. Or thrilling. I move slowly. Deliberately. I don’t chase.”

“I don’t need you to chase me,” you said, standing. “I’m already here.”

Mydei’s hand reached for yours. Hesitated. Then laced your fingers together with a gentleness that felt like reverence.

“I find you… extraordinary,” he said.

You made a sound halfway between a squeal and a sob.

“I didn’t know how to say it,” he added. “But I think I’ve always admired the way you look at me. Like I am more than duty.”

“You are,” you whispered.

His other hand cupped your cheek. “Then allow me to return the favor. Stay with me tonight.”

“Just stay, or—”

“Just stay. For now.”

You nodded, utterly starstruck.

And that night, lying beside him in soft silence, his fingers curled lightly around yours and his heartbeat a steady rhythm against your side, you realized something wonderful:

He might not say much.

But you didn’t need declarations. Not when he held you like this.

Not when he whispered, so faintly you thought you imagined it:

“I love my spouse too.”

[livvymd]

Anything you want.

this was a request but I genuinely cannot be bothered looking for it sorry also this may be cringe

You were curled up on Chris’s sofa in your favorite hoodie — well, his hoodie — and a pair of leggings that had definitely seen better days. Your feet were tucked beneath you, blanket draped on your legs.

“I think I need new trainers,” you said absentmindedly, sipping from your tea.

Chris glanced down from where he was scrolling on his phone, one arm thrown around the back of the couch. “Yeah, babe, I’ve been meaning to stage an intervention.”

You nudged him with your foot. “Oi.”

“I’m just saying,” he grinned. “You deserve trainers that don’t look like you've taken bites out of them.”

You snorted. “I like my beat-up ones.”

“Mmhm,” he hummed, a mischievous glint already forming in his eyes.

You didn’t think much of it.

Until two days later, when he showed up at your door — black hoodie, sunglasses, and a grin that told you he was up to something.

“Get dressed,” he said, stepping inside like it was the most casual thing in the world. “We’re going shopping.”

You blinked. ���Shopping?”

“Yep. For you.” He leaned in, pecked your forehead. “And don’t argue. I’m not having you walk around in tragic trainers and threadbare jumpers any longer.”

“Chris, seriously — ”

“Nope.” He backed away, hands up. “Don’t want to hear it. You’re my girlfriend. I fancy you stupid. And I want to spoil you. Let me.”

It was only once you got to the shopping centre that you realised just how serious he was.

He took you to the fancy part of town — clean walkways, shiny glass storefronts, soft music playing outside shops that you’d never dared enter alone. The kind of stores with stylists who greeted you like old friends and folded tissue paper into your bag with ridiculous precision.

The first store had the comfiest trainers you’d ever seen.

You tried on a white pair, bouncing a little on your heels. “These are actually nice.”

“Perfect,” Chris said, tossing them over to the cashier. “We’ll take those — and those two as well.”

“Wait, I didn’t even try the other ones — ”

“They’re your size, yeah?”

“Well, yeah, but — ”

He raised an eyebrow. “Then trust me. You’ll look fit in all of them.”

You wandered in and out of shops, Chris barely letting go of your hand the entire time. Every so often, he’d pull you to a stop just to tuck your hair behind your ear or press a kiss to your cheek.

“You realise I don’t need all this stuff,” you said as he piled two cardigans and a dress onto his arm.

“I know you don’t,” he replied. “But I want you to have nice things. And I like the way your face lights up when you find something you like. Also,” he added with a crooked grin, “I’ve been fantasizing about you in that dress since we walked in.”

You rolled your eyes but felt your stomach flip. He always said things like that so casually, like complimenting you was as natural as breathing.

Eventually, you found yourself standing outside a changing room, clutching a handful of clothes.

“Go on then,” Chris said, sitting on the little bench outside the curtain. “Let me see the goods.”

“You’re not peeking.”

“I would never,” he said solemnly, though the smirk tugging at his lips suggested otherwise.

The first outfit was a cropped jumper and a pair of high-waisted jeans. You stepped out shyly, smoothing the fabric.

Chris looked up from his phone — and grinned. “Alright, who is she? Look at you.”

You flushed. “It’s just jeans — ”

“It’s not just jeans when it’s on you,” he said, pulling out his phone to sneak a photo. “Turn around.”

You spun slowly, cheeks warm.

“Yep,” he said. “Buying it.”

You ducked behind the curtain again, changing into a sage green sundress with tiny white flowers. Then a white blouse with subtle embroidery. Then a pair of faux-leather trousers that made you laugh out loud.

"SO slay." "...Please never say that again."

Chris insisted on seeing all of it.

Until you reached the last item in the pile: the silky, fitted navy dress.

It wasn’t something you’d usually pick for yourself. It had thin straps, a low neckline, and stopped just above your knees. When you pulled it on, the fabric slid like water over your skin.

You hesitated, fiddling with the hem. Then, slowly, you stepped out.

Chris had his head bent over his phone, scrolling. But the second you appeared, he looked up — and froze.

You shifted awkwardly. “Is it too much?”

His eyes raked down your frame, slow and reverent. “No.”

You fiddled with the strap. “I mean, it’s a bit… fitted.”

He stood. “No.”

You bit your lip. “Chris — ”

He reached for your hand, tugging you gently closer until your chest bumped his. “You look unreal,” he said, voice low. “I mean it. That dress was made for you.”

“You really think so?”

He stared at you like you’d hung the stars.

“I think… I could look at you in this dress every day and still freeze on the spot." He leaned in, lips brushing your temple. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

You looked up at him, touched.

“And don’t even get me started on how kind you are,” he continued, stroking your arm. “Every shop assistant you’ve thanked. Every person you smiled at. The lady you held the door open for like it was second nature. You’re just… you.”

“Effortlessly kind?” you teased.

He grinned. “Exactly.”

You reached up, pulling him into a soft kiss. He tasted like spearmint and warmth.

When you pulled away, he was smiling stupidly.

“I love you,” he said. “You’re my favourite person in the world.”

By the time you reached the car, you were exhausted, buzzing, and maybe a little overwhelmed. The backseat was stacked with shopping bags, and Chris was whistling as he pulled out of the parking lot.

“I can’t believe you did all this,” you said, glancing back at the bags.

He took your hand and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. “Believe it. And we’re not done yet. You’re wearing that navy dress tonight.”

You groaned softly. “Chris…”

“Nope.” He winked. “I’m taking you out. Somewhere nice. You, me, that dress, and a stupid amount of compliments you’ll pretend to hate.”

You laughed, leaning your head on his shoulder. “You really are the most dramatic boyfriend in the world.”

“And you,” he said, squeezing your hand, “are the love of my life.”

TAGLIST :

@jamiekluivert

@wherethezoes-at

@pretendyoucantseeme

@artvscvntymullet

@chrisolivia4l

@formulaal

@smzyyx

[coca-lastic]

How would BNHA characters resolve arguments?

Part 1: Takami Keigo (Hawks)

I'm back!!!! Thanks for the support on my fics, I love youuuu!!!

As I always say, English isn't my first language, so please let me know if I have any spelling mistakes :)

Keigo works A LOT, and it's not like he really has much of a choice, he'd love to be able to sleep for a whole day, watch a few movies with you, read an entire book in a day, play a game on the hardest difficulty until he gets sick of it, or just fuck you until neither of you can take it anymore.

But, this is almost never the case, in fact, you can count on one hand the amount of times Keigo has been off work for more than 2 days, and probably 99.99% of it is because Keigo got sick, so it doesn't really count as a break or vacation.

And you always try to understand, you really do, but sometimes you feel like Keigo just puts work above you, and maybe it's your insecurities making you see something that's not true, but it still hurts when you call his number and he doesn't answer, or when you wait up late until you can't keep your eyes open anymore, only to hear Keigo arrive two hours later so tired and hurt that he's not even able to give a kiss.

The thing is, even though you understand, you're also tired of always understanding and understanding and understanding, so one day, when Keigo has the day off because his agency is celebrating an anniversary, you just explode. Because you had planned a nice time off, some decorations and freshly prepared food for your boyfriend, all of that for everything to be ruined when he received a call informing him that there was going to be a meeting with another agency that was of utmost importance.

And Keigo left, because what else can he do? Work is what he was raised and trained to do, so if they call him he's already on his way. But no you, you weren't raised or trained to handle that, so today you stayed up until Keigo arrived to have a talk with him, so you made yourself a coffee to stay awake, went to the living room cabinet, turned on the TV and waited while watching a movie.

After a few hours you heard a creak on the balcony and saw him walk through the door.

"Hi babe, what are you doing up so late?" He said as he took off his jacket and walked over to kiss you.

But no.

No.

You weren't in the mood for that.

Seeing how you took a step back Keigo tilted his head a little as he watched you in confusion. "Something's wrong love?"

"What do you think?"

You could tell the exact moment Keigo tensed up. He knew from your tone and posture that something was up. The thing is he didn't know what, and it was exactly what you were asking.

"...Did I need to get you something or something like that?" No answer. "Love, is it because of dinner yesterday? I know it wasn't my best creation but..." Still no answer, and it seemed like he was starting to get frustrated by the way he saw you. "Love..."

"Try again, since you're so important and needed by everyone, you should be able to guess what's bothering your girlfriend, right? Or maybe you know better about what worries everyone except what worries your partner" You said with a frown and a cold and hurtful tone. It was meant to make him feel bad, because you were already tired of understanding.

"Love... If it's because of work, you- well, I... you know it's not easy but-"

"Is it easier to leave me hanging every time I try to plan something for us? Wow, thanks for showing me your priorities" You said with sarcasm and a fake laugh, as you turned around and headed to the room, you realized that if you continued you would cry, because you weren't as strong as you wanted to pretend, you couldn't understand as much as you wanted to.

"Love, please" You heard him say behind you, and you could hear a bit of desperation and tiredness in his voice, and it made sense, it was the only day of vacation he had been given in months and it was ruined, he was obviously tired. And normally you would reason and hug him until he fell asleep, but this time your own pain didn't allow it.

It wasn't so much that he worked hard, you knew he did it for a good purpose and, although sometimes you didn't understand how he managed to do everything, he always made sure to keep you cared for, loved and pampered. But it hurt you that they took him away from you every time you managed to have him in your arms.

Then, you saw how the door to the room closed in front of you before you could get in thanks to one of Keigo's feathers.

"Baby, listen to me before you lock yourself in our room, please" but you didn't turn around, you didn't try to open the door either since you knew that with just a feather Keigo could defeat you if he wanted to. "I know you had plans for today and, believe me, I was also looking forward to eating your food while we watched that series and believe me, when I received that call, I was about to throw the phone out the window, but I can't. You know I can't" He said as he tried to approach you and hug you. But you took a step back, pressing yourself against the door. And what he said made sense, but you still couldn't say it. "Please..., you know I love you"

And you loved him too, a lot.

But you also loved yourself, and you understood that even though he had things to do, so did you, and yet you still put the relationship first. Always finding time to share together, always comforting him after work hours, always there.

But you were sick, hurt, and tired of the fact that while you were always there, he was there sometimes.

"Keigo, I understand that you have to work, I understand that it's important to you, I understand that you can't spend that much time with me. But I'm sure that if one damn day you left work a little earlier or assigned extra tasks to your assistants instead of doing it yourself, you could be with me. But you don't, because your heroism is worth more."

Tears were beginning to well up in your eyes, but you didn't want to let them fall. No, you wanted Keigo to see that you were steadfast, that it hurt, but you wouldn't let it break you.

"Open the door, Keigo." You looked him straight in the eyes so he could see you weren't up for games or talks.

He stared back at you for a few seconds. You could see his realization at how hurt you were, and also his regret, but that wasn't enough, not anymore.

He opened the bedroom door, letting you in. And, even though he wanted to sneak you inside, you closed the door before he could. However, his voice echoed through the door. "Love... Look, I understand if you don't want to talk right now, but... I love you, okay? I don't want you to doubt it." You heard his footsteps walking away, probably toward the guest room. You weren't going to deny that his words helped you a little, but you needed more than words this time.

And Keigo knew that. So while he slept, he started thinking about what he could do.

He didn't want to lose you. Even if you didn't realize it, you're the most important thing to him. Hell, sometimes even he's surprised that his heart can love someone so much.

Too bad neither he nor his heart know how to show it.

The next day you woke up to the smell of pancakes, which you didn't expect since Keigo was working today. So unless someone came into your house exclusively to cook (something you wouldn't really complain about), Keigo stayed home. The thought brought comfort to your heart, which had been aching all the time the day before. But it still hurt that he only did it once you exploded, and not before.

As you left the room, you started to hear Keigo's voice. He seemed to be on the phone and a little agitated. As you got closer, you could make out his words better.

"No, no, those work hours are over. I need Tuesdays off... Yeah, well, there are other heroes, boss... I don't care, I'm not going to do it."

Seeing Keigo upset wasn't common. And after hearing the word "Boss" and realizing who he was talking to, you started to get a little worried.

'He'll leave again.' 'He's going on a mission.' 'I'll be alone.'

"I'm busy right now, Boss, and I'm not going to change my mind... Yeah, yeah, I'll be there tomorrow," he continued into the phone. Then he hung up and sighed.

You didn't know what the call was about, but it obviously wasn't a very pleasant one. Normally, you'd go hug him and ask him to tell you what's going on. But not today.

You walked closer to the kitchen, where Keigo was flipping a pancake, his posture tense and his brow furrowed.

"What time are you going to work?"

Keigo turned around, surprised by your presence, and his sour demeanor changed to a...nervous one? Okay, that's unusual for him.

"Hey, Love, I- well, it's just that- No... I'm not going to work today."

Your face was completely surprised, not because of the day off, but because of his attitude. It was very rare to see Keigo so nervous and shy.

"Uh, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I... made breakfast." He turned around immediately to hide the blush on his face, finished serving breakfast, and gave it to you.

"Okay..." You said, looking at him suspiciously.

You sat down at the table without saying many words to your boyfriend. You were still upset, very upset. Breakfast wasn't going to change that.

However, you didn't know how far Keigo's repentant, desperate for forgiveness, version of himself could go.

But you were going to find out soon.

Keigo sat down across from you, still a little embarrassed and flushed, but he looked you straight in the eyes.

"Love... I'm sorry. I'm sorry for not realizing how much I was hurting you, and for focusing on my duty to others and not on my duty as your partner, which, even if you don't believe it right now, is 100,000 times more important to me, and I'm going to prove it to you. I swear." He paused briefly to gather his thoughts and continued. "I...can't promise you I'll be with you 24/7, although believe me I would enjoy it so fucking much. But, I want to improve, I want to be better...for you, for you to feel comfortable and happy about...about all of this, u know? so tell me what to do and I'll do it, love, I promise I will."

You looked at him and realized his desperation.

Shit, you'd forgotten how much this man loves you.

And you wanted to never forget it again.

"Remind me that you love me, Keigo. Not just with words. Prove it."

You stood up from the table, along with your plate, and headed to the kitchen to clean it without even looking at Keigo again. This time you didn't just want words; you wanted actions. And you wanted him to figure out what to do.

Oh, if only you knew that man knows every part of you. You doubted he could get anything that would make you forgive him, but he got more than that. Keigo is observant, very observant. He knows the dress you eyed a week ago while browsing an online store; he knows the restaurant you've been wanting to visit for months; he knows what makes you happy.

And he'll use all of that to get your forgiveness.

Checklist to get my girlfriend's forgiveness:

- Take her to the restaurant she wanted to try (with a private reservation)

- Give her her favorite flowers (tulips and peonies)

- Give her the dress she wanted along with a necklace.

- Remind her that you love her, don't be stupid, Keigo.

- Take her there, she'll love it.

A few minutes later.

"Love, put on the red dress you like and dress up. I want to take you somewhere."

You were lying in bed, giving Keigo the silent treatment. But you NEVER turn down a dinner date.

So you put on a dress, but not the red one. Keigo wasn't going to tell you what to do. You put on a new black dress, only to realize that, given how good it looked on you, it was probably a gift for Keigo instead of a punishment.

And you confirmed it when you left the room and Keigo stared at you for more than the seconds considered decent.

"Is it still too soon to tell you that when you forgive me you have to wear that dress?"

Your response was only a reproachful look, to which he smiled at you with false innocence.

He approached you and carefully placed a hand on your waist, expecting you to reject him, but you didn't because his compliments always makes you SO happy

"You look beautiful, love, so fucking beautiful."

"I know."

"I love you."

"Okay."

Keigo lets his head fall forward, letting out a deep, husky laugh, his hair falling a little onto his forehead. Then he brings his face down to your cheek and places a kiss.

"After today's plans, you won't be so cold anymore."

"As far as I can see, you haven't even made me leave the house, Keigo. I'm starting to get bored."

He just laughed a little and took your hand as you left the apartment.

He decided it was best to go by car so as not to ruin your hairstyle and dress; knowing you, that would only make you feel uncomfortable in the restaurant.

The closer you got to the restaurant, the more relaxed you felt. The whole way there, Keigo made sure you felt good, occasionally kissing your hand, putting his hand on your leg, complimenting you every time you moved, and telling you he loved you.

When you arrived at the restaurant and realized where your boyfriend had taken you, you could only stand in shock. You hadn't told Keigo you wanted to come, but he'd noticed.

You looked at him with shock all over your face, to which he just smiled and winked.

While he was talking to the waiter about the reservation, you couldn't stop thinking that Keigo was paying more attention to you than you thought.

"How did you know?" You said as the waiter led you to a terrace apart from the rest.

"Please, love, you liked all his posts on Instagram, it was obvious."

"Still, I didn't think you'd noticed."

He brought your hand up to his face, leaving a small kiss, "I always notice, beautiful."

When you arrived at the table, you felt like crying. The terrace was completely decorated with lights and flowers, and a slow melody played in the background.

The waiter left, and you saw a table in the center of the terrace with two wine-colored boxes on top of it: one small, like a jewelry box, and the other medium-sized.

"Keigo... What?" You looked at him with curiosity and surprise.

He gave you that shy look from the morning again, which you were starting to like a lot. "You like it?"

"Kei... do I like it? Damn, babe, it's beautiful."

His smile grew wider and his eyes sparkled. "Do you want to open the presents?"

"Of course!"

You headed to the table to sit down and opened the first gift, the medium-sized one. Meanwhile, Keigo watched you. He wanted to see your reaction, wanted to imprint your beautiful face on his mind and never lose it.

When you opened it, you noticed it was the dress you'd been wanting for a while. And if there were any doubts that Keigo wasn't thinking about you, this gift erased them completely. Because you never asked him, you never even talked to him about it, and yet he knew.

"Keigo...how-" you looked at him, your eyes a little teary.

"I heard you talking to your friend from work about the dress. I thought maybe it was a good gift," he said, once again shyly.

"It's beautiful, Kei. Thank you, really," you said as you examined the dress. It was truly beautiful, both the dress and the gesture.

"Open the other one. You'll like it even more"

When you opened it, you confirmed that his words were true. It was a necklace with a watch pendant along with your initial. The necklace was made of gold/silver because he knew that was what looked best with your skin tone. Plus, underneath the necklace was a small piece of paper with a dedication.

"To the woman who deserves every second of my life."

"Oh my god, Kei... Did you- did you really do this for me?"

"Of course I did, love. I'm sorry if I made you feel like I didn't love you enough to deserve it."

"No... you didn't... God, it's beautiful, Keigo, thank you," you said sincerely, your eyes filling with more tears, but you didn't let them fall.

His gifts had been beautiful, the place too. The food arrived a few minutes later, and it was wonderful too. Even the conversation with Keigo had been comfortable, but...

"Kei, really, thank you, love. I loved all of this, but... Fuck, it's hard to explain, but it still hurts, okay? Thanks for showing me you know me, but- I... it's been months of keeping this inside, and- I can't...i'm so sorry"

Maybe if it were someone else sitting in front of you, they would have walked away, or yelled at you, or given up, but in front of you, was Keigo.

And he just smiled, a tender, understanding smile.

"I know, I know I hurt you a lot, and I understand. But the day isn't over. There's something else I'd like to show you. I know it won't solve the whole problem, but maybe it will show you that I want to."

You were really surprised there was more. But apparently, Keigo wasn't ready to give up.

"We're going to have to fly a little bit up there, do you mind?" You shook your head quickly, not caring about your hair at this point; you wanted to see how far Keigo could go.

After paying for the food, he gently took you in his arms and began to fly. He began showing you beautiful places you didn't know could be seen so well from the sky. By now, you felt like Jasmine exploring the world with Aladdin.

"Keigo, if you let me fall, I swear I'll never forgive you." He laughed loudly and held you tighter against him.

"Relax, love, we're almost there."

You saw he begin to descend, but you couldn't understand where. From what you could see, you were relatively close to the place where he grew up and trained to become a hero, which was strange since Keigo usually avoided those kinds of places.

You looked at him strangely. "Kei...where are we going?"

"Shhh, it's a surprise, don't ruin it with your questions," he said reproachfully, but with a smile on his face.

When they landed, it was somewhere near the buildings where he grew up, but it was an area completely filled with trees and flowers. He started walking, guiding you through the small forest.

"Okay...well..." Keigo suddenly started to get nervous. "I know you don't know this place, but I used to come here when I could get away from my training or when I had days off from work... I, well—maybe it sounds a little silly, but I used to come here whenever something was happening in my life, to de-stress. I—have you heard of writing down the things you think to...I don't know, de-stress or something?"

"Yeah...I've heard of it," you said, confused. You didn't know where he was going with this.

Suddenly, he stopped walking and, with the help of his hand, removed a small bush. As he removed it, you realized it opened into a covered area with a small table, which had a bouquet of your favorite flowers in the center.

"I came to this place to write about things that happened to me, usually things... well, you know my childhood wasn't the best. But when I met you, I started writing about you and how you were, the only thing I could think about." He led you closer to the table, and you noticed that from there you could see a cliff and the beautiful sunset.

Keigo extended the bouquet that had previously been on the table toward you as you moved closer to the railing that bordered the cliff.

"I brought you here because it's the place where I realized I was in love with you. It's the place where I would get away from absolutely everything and think about the person who made me and continues to make me happy."

By this moment, tears were running down your cheeks, and you couldn't believe what he was telling you.

"I'm sorry, love. You don't know how much. I'm sorry for not showing you how obsessed I am with you. I'm sorry for not giving you the time you deserve. I'm sorry for making you feel like my work matters more when I would give anything to spend my life with you."

"I know... God, I love you so much," you said, your voice breaking, your tears growing stronger.

"I love you even more. I swear I'm obsessed with you. It was in this place that I realized it, and it's in this place that I want you to realize it."

You took the flowers from his hands and held them to your chest with all the love in the world.

"I want to give you something. I want you to take it home and read it when you think you're ready to forgive me." He turned around and grabbed a wooden box hidden among the trees and the structure.

He pulled several sheets of paper out and held them out to you.

"They're from when I met you, so you can see how much I've loved you since the first second."

You looked into his eyes with wonder and love, and before you could even lock eyes, you threw yourself at him and hugged him. You needed him, you wanted him.

"Thank you, Kei, thank you."

"Thanks to you, for still being here."

You enjoyed the beautiful place until the sun set and the place, without light bulbs, began to darken.

Keigo led you to the car you 2 had left at the restaurant and then to the house.

And, even though you didn't tell him, you had already forgiven him, because he had kept his word, he had made it his goal to show you that he loves you.

And oh man, when you read those pages, you cried like a baby when you realized that the first thing he wrote about you was

"I met a girl and, God! She is the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, it's incredible"

And the last thing he wrote, before you started dating, was

"If she'll let me, I want to love her every second. I want to hug her, I want to kiss her, I want to touch her. I love her, so much.

If this woman doesn't drive me crazy, I don't think any other can."

[yuusishi]

mysterious beings

synopsis : characters finding your tsum running around !!

genre: fluff , established relationship

pairings : Rollo Flamme , Skully J. Graves x gn!Reader

cws/tws : none

a/n : oh yeah first fic in 4 months I can't wait for summer vacation. I actually haven't played twst in like a month cuz I'm burnt out but I still love everyone

ROLLO FLAMME

He was already informed before of the tsums’ appearance in NRC ever since he first time. He couldn’t help but think this could be yet another headache that the Headmage would thrust unto you to take care of.

If Rollo had to be honest it almost urged him to take you away from the school before the Headmage had a chance to give his work to you.

Thankfully, you texted him that everyone is taking care of their own tsums which relieved him greatly. He doesn’t need the problems of magic users to be yours as well.

He did find it peculiar that there isn’t the usual number of tsums in the picture you sent to him. That was until he heard the faintest of knocks on his door.

He opened it to find no one there until he looked down and saw…a tsum version of you.

So that’s where the last one went.

Before anyone could see, he swept tsum you up into his hands and shut the door to his dorm room. He stared and stared at the tsum contemplating what he should do until it tilted its head in confusion, a sight most familiar to him due to a certain someone (*cough* you obviously *cough*).

He let your tsum follow him around like a lost puppy as he did his student council duties until that evening where you visited him saying that the portal is opening soon.

Admittedly he was a little sad considering this was the closest he got to spending the day with you without it needing to be a holiday, but eventually he gave the little mini you back and said your goodbyes as you made your way back to NRC.

He went back to his dorm room shortly after, the silence with nothing but the flickering of the fireplace was interrupted by his phone buzzing

"There's a fair near NRC in a week, do you wanna come with me :) ?"

A small smile played on his face as he stared at the text you sent him, "Of course, I'll finish my work immediately to be with you" he replied.

(art by @ TsunTsun_tsunno on twitter)

SKULLY J. GRAVES

Scared. Like, pretty scared.

He assumed the worst and thought an evil witch cursed you to become a little stubby...thing...(he didn't know what to call it) that couldn't talk!

Then he saw five other students' little creatures and made his fears even worse, the entire school could've been cursed!

He took your tsum in his arms immediately and ran to the Headmage's office, ready to beg on his hands and knees to find a spell, whether forbidden or not, to turn you back.

As he opened the door, panting like he just ran from mortal danger, he saw you and other students speaking with the Headmage. He was stunned and thought to himself "If that's [Name], then who is this??"

Eventually he got an explanation from both you and the Headmage and he was relieved this wasn't a situation of cloning gone wrong either.

Throughout the day you would see him carrying and coddling your tsum with a smile. In classes it's sat on his lap as he wrote down notes, at lunch it sits on the table you and him are eating at and even occasionally offering it a bite of his food, and during PE placed on one of the benches a safe distance away from everyone participating in sports or broom flying (he doesn't want it getting hurt).

When it's time for the tsums to leave he's SO sad, literally crying as he lets go of your tsum and watches it levitate into the portal in the sky (the tsum doesn't have a hint of emotion on its face).

You have to remind him that the original you is still here but his argument is that he's was so happy with TWO of you 💔

He gets better eventually and you both probably go on an ice cream date after.

[southconfessionpark]

I know the fandom is crazy about Style and Kyman, and that's cool. But sometimes I wish the fandom would give more love to Kyle's ships with their canon love interests. I know they're all just one-episode thing, but they still have so much potential. Kybecca? It's the cutest, fluffiest thing ever. How can you look at them and not feel your heart melt? All the scenes of Kyle trying to win her heart and her not understanding a thing about what was happening were a gem. Plus, Rebecca's socially awkward personality had so much to offer, not only as Kyle's crush, but as a recurring character that would be a great foil for most of the other girls on the show. Also imagine the awkwardness between the two after the dance incident, when at the end of the episode her parents said they would allow their children to attend public school I was hoping that she and her brother would become recurring characters, too bad it didn't turn out that way. Kychole? They could have possibly been one of the most wholesome and healthy relationships on the show, too, and I think someone with Nichole's calm personality would be a great fit for Kyle as a foil to the chaos that usually surrounds him on South Park. Not to mention their shared interests like basketball that would help them connect, Cartman's racist prejudices on the comedic side, and the whole "I liked you but didn't do anything about it because I thought you were gay" thing is so funny to me. Kylie? It's definitely a toxic relationship, but a damn interesting one. An "artificial intelligence" that has a guy eating out of her hand, making him believe she's a helpless girl who needs him, exploiting her savior complex to her advantage and making her become her protector while she tries to carry out her evil plans? Maybe it's not very romantic, but there's a lot to explore there. Kydi? Your rival/friend gets a girlfriend, at first she doesn't catch your attention but as time goes by you get to know her better, you see that she's actually very nice and smart, you end up growing fond of her and while you watch how her relationship becomes toxic and your stupid savior complex makes you feel the need to help her and also... uh oh... maybe you're starting to feel something more for her, and as you get closer she doesn't seem to be entirely indifferent to you, you even have the potential to become a safe place for each other, but she's too proud to accept her relationship is a mess so she prefers to turn against you than to accept her mistakes because she hates hear "I told you so". It has the potential for so many things, angst, comfort, misunderstandings, fluff, slow burn, friends to lovers, lovers to enemies, something healthy, something toxic, it can be almost anything without being too ooc.

[chaifootsteps]

saw a discussion on xitter that was about how people sympathize with Striker too much and someone claimed the issue was just Stolas being "patronizing" that people took issue with

and then said Striker's speech didn't work because "His brutality caused Stolas to double down on his close-mindedness by comparing Blitzo's complaints to his. Maybe it's just suggesting that inflicting extreme violence on the oppressor class doesn't get them to change for the better?"

which is kind of so indicative of the liberal perspective at play here. who cares if the oppressor class changes for the better? Striker wasn't lecturing Stolas to try and get him to treat imps like actual people with feelings, he was venting his frustrations at his mistreatment and intended to kill him. that's the whole thing he was there for!

the issue isn't getting the oppressor class to change for the better in their own good time. it's about deposing them by whatever means necessary.

there's also a real pervasive sense that Stolas is 'one of the good ones' so he ought to be educated nicely about why the class system is wrong. um, first off it's Stolas' responsibility to see imps as equals, not something he should have to be taught (and not something Striker should be blamed for if he doubles down on his ignorance; if he doesn't want to be the victim of assassination attempts maybe he should think about why him having unearned power makes him a target for the underclasses? or about why they hate him so much?)

and also Stolas is not one of the good ones. he used his butler like a stress toy and didn't even notice his distress. he's an abusive asshole to his servants and a coercive monster (monster being his own adjective in a rare moment of self reflection) to Blitz

naturally one of the replies was like 'yes it's wrong of Stolas to compare Blitz to Striker, but he was tortured by a random stranger who put all the problems royals have onto him and blamed whim, which is ridiculous so I don't blame Stolas'

at least they acknowledge the comparison is wrong, but as for the rest of it - why shouldn't Striker hold Stolas to account? as mentioned, he abuses his imp servants, he hoards wealth and power and he sexually abused Blitz. Stolas is everything wrong with the royal system and as good a representative as any as to why all of them should be deposed. and again, instead of empathizing with imps or noticing why they might be motivated to do what they do, he instead just uses Striker as a proxy to get at Blitz - basically as an excuse not to consider that he has looked down on Blitz and the rejection he's getting is entirely his fault.

the show is so bad at showing the emotional toll on Stolas nearly dying to Striker takes that it just comes across as pettiness and outright racism on his part.

sorry, rant over. it's just takes like this that show the sheer gulf between the remaining fans and everyone else because so much of it revolves around painting Stolas as better than he is or acting like the ones who are directly perpetuating an unfair class system cannot be held to account. Stolas isn't just some moderately wealthy demon or a noble. He is a prince. There's a world of difference there

And I say again what I point out every time someone says Stolas suffered under the class system too: what was stopping him from abdicating his throne at any time? or running away? on some level he had to have been holding on to the power and wealth he had if he never even considered it

I think that the people who make these kinds of arguments, the ones on that side of the fandom divide, are too far gone. They're the ones who can look directly at a pic of Stolas physically abusing his butler and they'll still make excuses. They're like flat earthers, detached from reality.

If it were just limited to Stolas's behavior within the show, that would be one thing I guess, but nine times out of ten, these are the same people who say that Spindlehorse employees should be grateful for whatever scraps they're given, that whistleblowers deserve jail, and that boycotting Amazon is morally wrong. And then they'll retweet every leftist post about worker's rights they can find, because the cognitive dissonance and cult mentality is that strong.

[obitez]

Troubled Waters

Another 8x17 coda fic, because I can't help myself | AO3 Link

Since Bobby’s death, Buck and Tommy… they had started growing close to each other again. 

It was good, healthy in a way for someone to be there when you were grieving a great loss. Even though Tommy still had feelings for Buck, and he felt they were reciprocated, he didn’t think this was the best time with everything going on for them to get back together again. 

So things were growing as if they were close friends. Nothing like when they were dating, nothing like that at all. They hadn’t shared any kisses or other displays of affection beyond one or two supportive hugs, the same kind Tommy would share with someone like Chimney or anyone else he worked closely with now or in the past. 

But Buck and Tommy had started talking again. Started talking to each other again and stopped leaving the elephants unspoken about. 

Most of their communication had been over the phone or through text messages, but they had met up in person a handful of times too. 

On one such occasion, two days before the funeral, Tommy had run into Eddie on the day he arrived at Buck’s house. To say that the meeting had been awkward was an understatement. 

Eddie clearly didn’t forgive him for whatever he thought happened between Buck and Tommy when they broke up. And Tommy didn’t feel the need to get forgiveness from the man. 

They had spent pretty much the entire dinner avoiding talking and looking at each other, almost like Buck was having dinner with two different people at the same time. Tommy had tried his best to avoid Eddie after that. 

That night was about a week ago now. 

Tommy had texted Buck that morning, in the way he had done almost every morning in the last couple weeks, asking how Buck was doing. Not if he was okay, Tommy knew if he asked that Buck would just say ‘yes’, but an open ended question that Buck would actually have to describe how he was doing. 

Evan: Doing better

Evan: Think Eddie’s starting to grow on me tho

Tommy: What do you mean by that? 

As much as Tommy knew Buck and Eddie were best friends and that Bobby’s death hadn’t done anything to diminish that, Tommy had picked up on a certain… strained between the two the longer Eddie had stayed at Buck’s place. Nothing that screamed imminent doom for their friendship, but more in the way Buck was annoyed by having to share his personal space with someone. Tommy knew, from the months they had dated, Buck usually wasn’t one to get annoyed by people being in his place. But it probably had to do with a mix of still dealing with the aftermath of Bobby’s death and the fact that, from the time he was over there with Eddie, Eddie still treated the place like his own. 

Evan: Doesn’t matter. Ravi said Eddie got the job with El Paso Fire, he should be going back to Texas by the end of this week.

At first Tommy wanted to point out that whatever Buck was feeling with the man, it did matter, but his focus was pulled more towards the second sentence. Why was Ravi the person to tell Buck that, when Buck was living with Eddie? 

Tommy: That sounds good for him. 

It took a long… long moment for Buck to respond to that. 

Evan: Yeah.

Tommy didn’t need to hear Buck’s voice say it to tell he wasn’t that enthusiastic about Eddie’s new job. 

Tommy: Do you not want him to go back to TX?

It took a while for Buck to send a message back to that question. Tommy watched as the text bubbles popped up, then disappeared, then popped up again, for a couple more minutes. Whatever Buck sent, Tommy knew he found the touchy subject Buck was acting hesitant about. 

Evan: No, or well, I’m happy he got the job and is going back to his family. Also, things are getting kind of cramped over here. I’m just kind of annoyed he didn’t tell me himself, we’re living together rn. 

Evan: And I mean, I’m trying to be supportive and help him, but he’s just like, pushing me away. 

Yeah, Tommy could understand Buck’s annoyance with that. 

Tommy: Do you have anything going on tonight?

Tommy asked the question, not expecting or hoping for either a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer. Maybe, if possible, they could meet and talk about this stuff in person. It would be better than texting, and it had been about a week since they’ve seen each other in person. 

Evan: Not really. Since I took an extra shift on Monday, Gerrard said I could get off at 2 unless some big emergency comes up. Needed to pick some stuff up at the store. Other than that nothing’s going on. 

Tommy: I could bring some take out over. Got some coupons for that Indian place that opened on Powers Street

Evan: You don’t have to do that. 

Tommy: Don’t worry, I want to do this. 

If there was one thing that worried Tommy the most these last three weeks, it was that Buck was continuously putting others before himself, to the point where if someone offered him help, he was pushing them away. Maybe that was one of the reasons Tommy had made sure to keep in contact with him. 

It took a second, and another message from Buck came in. 

Evan: Okay, I’ll leave the door unlocked for you. 

🚁 🚁 🚁 🚁 🚁

Tommy pulled up on the street outside of Buck’s house. He got out and grabbed the bag of take out he had sat on the floor in front of the passenger’s seat, closing the door behind him and walking up to Buck’s door. 

Tommy had walked in, the front door unlocked like Buck had said, and through the angle he was looking towards the kitchen at, he could see Buck standing, back to the wall, with Eddie standing in front of him, nearly chest to chest, Eddie’s arm against Buck, aggression oozing out of him. 

Tommy let his presence be known by slamming the door closed behind him, both Eddie and Buck quickly turning their heads in his direction. 

Eddie dropped his arm, letting out a breath and taking a step back. “T- Tommy!” Buck called out. 

“Hey,” Tommy said. He lifted his arm holding the food. “I brought the food, what’s going on?” he asked, trying to play it cool and bring a calmness to whatever was just going on. 

“Nothing,” Eddie said as he turned around and leant against the opposite counter. 

Tommy had to lift an eyebrow in disbelief at that. Whatever was happening, it definitely wasn’t ‘nothing.’ 

“We- we were just talking,” Buck said, mumbling and looking down at his feet. “Eddie finally got a position with El Paso Fire,” he said, as if he hadn;t told Tommy that only hours before, probably because he didn’t want Tommy to know what they were actually talking about. 

Eddie let out a harsh breath and he turned around, his back leaning against the kitchen counter as Tommy walked in, setting the bag of take out on a far counter. With all three grown men standing in there, the already small kitchen felt infinitely smaller, and the tense atmosphere did nothing to help. 

“You just can’t leave anything between us, can you?” Eddie asked. 

Buck shifted on his feet. “Again, sorry for assuming you would have told me instead of needing to find out from someone else. You’re freaking living with me right now.” 

So this was what this ‘argument’ was about, if you could call Eddie pinning someone to a wall an argument. From his texts earlier, Tommy figured this might be a topic of conversation tonight. 

“And again you’re making it about yourself,” Eddie bit out. 

Tommy watched as Buck bit his lip, but before he stepped in to say something and try to dispel this whole fight, Buck continued. “I just want to know what’s going on! Sorry about that!” 

“Oh, you want to know what’s going on!” Eddie repeated. “Well maybe if you hadn’t been constantly ‘checking in on us’ I would have told you!” 

“Well sorry for caring about everyone! I just wanted to make sure everyone was doing okay after… after…” Even after all this time, Buck still had trouble voicing the event. 

“You want to know what it feels like for me?” Eddie asked. “Well, what do you want to know? How I had to wake up in the middle of the night to find out Bobby died. Or how I had to hold it in to not wake my son up? Or how I had to tell my son the next morning that another person that he loved was dead? Of what? You want to know about all of the thoughts running through my head on how if I was here we might have been able to save him?” 

“What- What are you saying? You think we didn’t try everything to save him?” Buck asked. 

“How should I know? I wasn’t there,” Eddie threw back. 

Tommy’s eyes widened in complete shock. Did he really just hear Eddie say that? As if that was Buck’s fault? 

“Okay, that was uncalled for,” Tommy said, directing Eddie’s attention from Buck to him. 

“And who do you think you are to have a say in any of this?” Eddie asked. 

“I was there too!” he shouted, making them all go silent. “We were all there, all doing the best we could to save everyone, when you were across the country, so why do you feel the need to question any of this?!” 

“Tommy-” Buck began to say as he took a light hold of one of Tommy’s hands. 

Eddie cut him off by speaking. “Look man! This is about you, this is between me and Buck!” 

“Oh, don’t give me that Eddie!” Tommy said. “You lost that when you put your hands on him!”

Eddie scoffed, looking away from them. “Well sorry for wanting to grieve in my own way.”

“You’re not the only one grieving here, Eddie,” Tommy bit out. “We all are, that doesn’t give anyone the right to attack someone like this.” 

They all lapsed into a very tense silence after that. Eddie glaring daggers at Tommy. Tommy stood firm and not backing down to him. Buck looked nervously between them, but drifting closer to Tommy. 

“I think you should leave,” Buck said, just over a mumble, just loud enough for all of them to clearly hear what he said. 

Eddie’s head whipped up to look at him. “What?” he asked. 

Buck took a deep breath, giving his eyes a hard blink as he looked at Eddie, making direct eye contact with him. “I said… you should leave… You, Eddie.” 

Eddie brought a hand up to his head and ran it through his hair. Letting out half of a laugh, he said, “This is hilarious, you know that.” 

Tommy felt more than saw Buck take a half step back, straightening his posture as he did so.  

Eddie dropped his arm and shifted his gaze between the two of them a couple times, before eventually landing back on Buck. “When this blows up in your face again, don’t come crying to me,” Eddie said before he turned around and left the kitchen. 

It took a couple minutes, a couple banged doors later, but then Eddie was gone. Tommy didn’t know where, but he didn’t particularly care right now. 

“Sorry, I didn’t know Eddie was gonna be here when you arrived,” Buck said after a moment. 

Tommy resisted the urge to sigh, knowing it wouldn’t be reassuring to Buck at all. “It’s fine, I figured he would most likely be here anyway.” 

“Still,” Buck said, wrapping his hands around one of the cans he had just taken out of the shopping bag. “You shouldn’t- you shouldn’t have had to walk in on that.” 

“Really, it isn’t a problem,” Tommy said, then paused and rethought something Buck had just said. “When I walked in it looked like he was about to hit you,” Tommy said, his voice almost near a whisper. 

“It- it wasn’t like that!” Buck suddenly said, looking slightly startled. “He- Eddie’s- He never hurt me before!” 

“Never hurt you?” Tommy asked. 

Buck gulped, looking down at the can and picking his fingers at it. “It was years ago now. Doesn’t matter.” 

Tommy knew when to drop a subject. He wouldn’t drop it for good, but he would for now. Instead he walked back a couple steps and picked up the bag of food, setting it down on the kitchen island. 

Buck looked back up, still looking slightly shaky. “What did you get?” he asked. 

“Their sampler and some samosas,” Tommy said. “Didn’t really know what I was reading on their menu.” 

That elicited a small laugh from Buck. “You could have sent me their menu. I could’ve told you what sounded good.” 

“I’ll remember that for next time.” 

🚁 🚁 🚁 🚁 🚁

They fell asleep watching movies on the couch in Buck’s living room, leaning against each other. Buck’s cheek pressed into the bony tip of Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy was woken up by the sun peeking through the blind on the window on the other side of the room. 

“Tommy?” he heard Buck’s voice softly ask after a while. He turned his head to the side, he hadn’t even realized Buck had woken up yet. 

“Hmm?” he hummed. 

Buck lifted his head to look at Tommy’s face. “You stayed?” he asked. 

Tommy gave him a soft smile. “Of course,” he said. 

Buck lowered his head to place his forehead against Tommy's large biceps. “This is the first time you’ve stayed over since that night,” Buck said, followed by a small squeeze to his forearm and what Tommy probably guessed was a smile on Buck’s face. 

“I guess it is.”

“Thank you… for everything.”

“No problem.”

[hbyrde36]

Steddie | R: Explicit | WC:5877 | Ch 4/8 | AO3

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 <-

Chapter 4: The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak

For the next few days, Robin’s words continued to echo through Eddie’s mind. 

“I don’t know what is or isn’t going on between you two, but be careful with Steve, I don’t want to see him get hurt again.”

That wasn’t all she’d said, but it was the part that struck him most.

While he was stuck combining forces with her to make Steve stay in bed resting and healing, as best they could without direct communication anyway, Eddie tried to be angry that she had essentially given the shovel talk to a dead guy, which felt a little insensitive, and more than a little fucked up. But, the longer he thought about it, he had to admit she kinda had a point. 

He was a ghost.

Probably. 

There was no version of his story that included a happy ending, and he didn’t want to trap Steve in a horror flick when he deserved nothing less than a fairytale romance and a happily ever after.

In death was a hell of a time to find out that the ‘straight’ guy he’d been crushing on and flirting with the entire time they'd been preparing for battle with Vecna was not as straight as previous estimation. And, sure, Eddie’d had his suspicions before. It’d been hard not to wonder when Steve couldn’t seem to stop staring at his mouth when they were talking in those creepy woods, or think twice about the way Steve had started to reach for him in moments of pain or joy, almost as much as Eddie had done the same, relying on one another like they’d known each other better, and for far longer, than they really had. 

If only he’d known then that he actually had a chance, before those fucking devil bats had gone to town on his flesh and ruined everything. He would have risked it all for one kiss from Steve to bring with him to the afterlife. 

Taking Robin’s words to heart, for his own sake and sanity as well as Steve’s, Eddie tried to keep a little distance. It wasn’t all that hard at first, with Steve sleeping so many hours of the day and night. He still spent more time than was probably healthy lying in bed next to Steve’s sleeping form, but from shovel talk on, Eddie made himself scarce whenever Steve began to stir.

Naturally though, there came a point where he and Robin could no longer keep Steve contained. Steve was feeling better, stronger, and even Robin couldn’t argue that his wounds were finally on their way to mending.

Eddie stuck close that first day when Steve was up and about, though he kept quiet—by Munson standards—feeling a bit unsure of how to act around the other boy now. Nothing had changed exactly, but also, everything had changed. He was happy enough to stay a shadow for now, letting Robin and her motormouth take the lead on convincing Steve to take it slow and let the ghost research go for one more day. 

Unfortunately for Eddie and his plan to suffer in silence, a frantic phone call from Robin’s parents was about to leave him alone with Steve for the first time since Robin had all but confirmed that Steve was into him.

Shit.

As soon as she hung up the phone, she whirled on Steve with narrowed eyes. “I swear on Dustin’s mother, if you so much as look at that attic door before I come back here tomorrow morning, you’ll be sorry.”

“Are you really threatening me with bodily harm when I just got out of the hospital?” Steve asked, looking unimpressed as he leaned against the kitchen door frame.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, pursing her lips, tapping them as if she were deep in thought. “I was thinking more like telling Munson something embarrassing. Your middle name maybe? Or—ooh! How when you found out your precious Farrah Fawcett hairspray had been discontinued you cried like a ba—”

Steve lunged forward to slap a hand over her mouth, the tips of his ears burning pink as he began to walk her forcefully towards the front door. “Oookay, you better hurry home before your mom sends Powell and Callahan after me.”

Eddie stifled a giggle, following along at a safe distance behind them.

“Where is Casper anyway?” Robin asked.

Steve hitched a thumb in Eddie’s direction, turning to catch his eye. 

It was the first time all day that Eddie didn’t avoid Steve’s direct gaze, stomach fluttering traitorously at the sight of those gorgeous hazel eyes.

Robin turned too, facing the general area Steve had pointed and glaring at a spot roughly a foot to Eddie’s left. “I’m counting on you to keep him from doing anything stupid.”

“And how exactly do you expect me to do that?!” Eddie quipped, for whatever good it would do, and glared right back at her.

A heavy pause and a sideways glance later, Steve relayed what he’d said to Robin.

“Use your words, Mr. Dungeon Master!” She shot back with an attitude and air quotes.

“First of all,” Eddie sucked in a loud, sharp, affronted breath. “Watch your tone when you’re talking about my life’s work, Buckley. Second of all, what makes you think he’ll listen to me?”

“Can you both stop talking about me like I'm a child?!” Steve snapped. “It’s extra insulting when you figure I have to translate for one of you.”

In an impressive act of synchronicity considering the circumstances, Eddie and Robin swung their gazes around as one to look at Steve, wearing matching raised eyebrows.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve muttered quietly, pressing two fingers hard against the bridge of his nose. “Look, my only plans for the night are to finally take a shower, and go to bed. Scouts honor.”

“Fiiine,” Robin ground out.

Meanwhile Eddie could only grimace at the implications. “Please tell me you weren’t really a boy scout.”

Seriously, the polos were one thing, but to have a crush on a former badge collecting goody-two-shoes?

Steve rolled his eyes. “Of course not. I used to be cool, remember?”

Robin looked between Steve’s face, the air Eddie’s form occupied, and back again, before bursting out in the most obnoxious laughter imaginable.

“Thanks, Rob.” Steve deadpanned.

“You’re welcome!” she chirped cheerfully, finally pulling the front open and stepping out. “I’ll see you both in the morning. Well, I’ll see Steve in the morning, and I’ll just assume the ghost of Christmas past is floating around somewhere too.”

“I don’t float,” Eddie grumbled in reflex, only realizing what she’d actually said after she was gone. He quickly rounded on Steve, mouth agape. “Wait, can I float? Have I been out here walking around like an idiot and missing out on all the fun parts of being a ghost?!”

Steve grinned wide enough to make his eyes sparkle, and suddenly it dawned on Eddie that his buffer had just left for the night. He looked away abruptly, an awkward tension, completely of his own making, pulling taut now that they were unsupervised. 

“N-nevermind,” Eddie mumbled, before Steve even had a chance to reply, keeping his head down as he stepped wide around him, “I-I just remembered I don’t like heights anyway, so—”

“Eddie, wait—” Steve called out.

Though every instinct in Eddie’s body shouted at him to run, his traitorous, unbeating heart could hear the sad and timid quality of Steve’s voice peeking out from behind those two words, giving him no choice but to stop and face his friend.

“I’m sorry if I-I said or did something to make you uncomfortable. I thought…” Steve paused, giving a little shake of his head. “It doesn’t matter what I thought, but iIt feels like you’ve been avoiding me and considering the fact that I’m the only person who can see and talk to you, I figure that means I must have fucked up pretty badly.” 

And, god, that wasn’t what Eddie wanted at all. 

He knew he was doing the right thing here. For both of them. For himself, who didn’t need to go into whatever eternity he faced with a dinged-up heart, and for Steve, who had his whole life ahead of him. But he couldn’t bring himself to let Steve go on thinking he’d done something wrong when that was the furthest thing from the truth.

Eddie’s shoulders sagged, and he started and stopped half a dozen times before the words finally came out. “You’re… amazing.”

Steve raised a perfectly arched brow.

Okay, not what Eddie’d meant to say, even if it was the truth. He cleared his throat, and tried again. “I mean, you didn’t fuck anything up, Steve. And I don’t know exactly what you thought, but if it’s what I think you thought, you weren’t wrong.”

Jesus Christ… did that even make sense?

“Um, what?” Steve asked.

Right.

“I like you,” Eddie pushed on, figuring the direct approach was his best course of action here. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t sure for a while if you even realized I was flirting with you while all this shit has been happening. If I was the only one feeling like there was something between us. I mean, after shoving a broken bottle up to your neck, it would have been fair if you hated me.”

Steve tilted his head thoughtfully. “For the record, hate is definitely not what I was feeling at the time.”

Fuck. 

He should have known Steve wasn’t going to make this easy.

Eddie pulled at his shirt collar. Was it getting warm in here? Could ghosts even feel room temperature? “Noted,” he choked out.

“So—that moment we had the other day, when we almost…” Steve took a few careful steps closer as he trailed off. 

“Kissed?” Eddie breathed, finishing Steve’s sentence, fighting both the instinct to back up and meet him halfway.

Steve nodded. “Yeah.”

It’d been such an almost… normal—for lack of a better word—moment, between two people who were growing closer, getting comfortable with each other and opening up. There’d been heartbeat there, the briefest of seconds when Eddie realized they were both leaning in, where he forgot he was dead. He was just a guy and his crush, about to share their first kiss.

Until they weren’t.

Though Eddie technically managed to stand his ground, with Robin’s warning stuck in his ear, running still won out. Just, not with his feet. “I’m dead, Steve. You, more than anyone, should understand what that means.” 

Steve’s gaze dropped, so many different warring emotions dancing across his pretty face before he finally looked back up. Eddie desperately wanted to know every single one, but he stayed quiet.

“I think that’s the first time you’ve said it like you believe it,” Steve said eventually, a small, sad smile curving his lips.

Eddie shrugged, trying so hard to smile back but he couldn’t seem to make it reach his eyes. “Well, I guess I'm starting to.”

For someone who’d been trying to convince him of the reality of his existence from the moment he’d appeared, Steve sure didn’t look happy about his sudden willingness to accept it. Eddie wasn’t thrilled with it either, particularly given his recent realizations, but there was no use in fighting the truth.

It wouldn’t change anything.

“Look, I wish things were different but they’re not and we just—we can’t go there, okay?” Eddie sighed, backing his way towards the hall, desperately needing to be anywhere but here, at least for a while. 

Standing there, looking into Steve’s wide puppy-dog eyes begging him to stay, was torture of the worst kind. It was also a foolproof recipe for surrender to this thing between them, and he couldn’t risk giving in no matter how much he wanted to. What could he even offer Steve like this?  Yes they could talk, and he would always be there for Steve in that way, or for however long he was allowed to haunt the guy, but there were some needs, and wants, that required more… right? 

Steve had to realize that.

“Besides, Big Boy,” Eddie said as he turned, unable to stop the frown that was tugging at his lips. “What would be the point?”

This time when he walked away, Steve let him go.

Steve took his time in the shower, letting the warm water run over his body long after he was clean, as if the spray alone could ease the disappointment that had settled into his bones. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about the sad, resigned look on Eddie’s face when he’d said it.

‘What would be the point?’

Steve had wanted to scream.

Everything?

Nothing?

What was the point of any of this bullshit if they were just going to roll over and give up when something good actually presented itself, without even trying to take it!

Inevitably, the hot water ran out and Steve had no choice but to leave the comfort and safety of his shower, carefully drying himself off and taping new clean bandages to his healing wounds.

He slipped on a pair of clean boxers and nothing else before falling into bed, more tired than he felt like he should be when all he’d done that day was walk around the house and argue with Robin, but he supposed that was what he got for not taking care of himself. He was leaning over to switch the bedside lamp off when Eddie appeared in his open doorway, left so out of habit and maybe a small spark of hope that Eddie might have a change of heart and seek him out.

“Hey,” Steve said, sinking back down into his bed and pulling the covers up higher on his chest. If by chance they were about to rehash the conversation from downstairs again, he didn’t really feel like being so exposed when Eddie doubled down on his rejection. 

“Can I come in?” Eddie said, the first time he’d actually asked permission to do anything since his arrival.

It didn’t feel like a good sign, but Steve grit his teeth and nodded.

“I, um…” Eddie stepped over the threshold and into the room, but hovered an awkward distance away from Steve and the bed, eyeing it cautiously. “I don’t—uh—I didn’t really like the way we left things earlier.”

Steve snorted, giving him half an eye roll. “I wasn’t a big fan either.”

“I’m sorry, okay?” Eddie pleaded, taking a few slow steps closer. “But you know I'm right. I mean, this whole thing is ridiculous anyway. Don’t we have bigger, much more important things to worry about than having stupid crushes on each other?!”

By the end of his brief speech Eddie was practically shouting, and Steve tried and failed to stifle a grin. It was so obviously taking all of Eddie’s self control not to stamp his feet.

“I don't recall actually admitting—”Steve began, but was quickly cut off.

“Harrington—” Eddie growled, glaring with all the fierceness of an especially adorable house cat as he crossed his arms over his chest. 

Steve couldn't resist copying him, sitting up to cross his own arms and pitch his voice as low as possible. “Munson—”

Eddie let out an exasperated sigh, raking a hand roughly over his face before stumbling closer, falling to his knees next to the bed. 

“Look, Eddie,” Steve said gently, something tight in his chest releasing as he scooched himself towards the edge. “If there's one thing I've learned in the last three years, it’s that there’s always going to be something else to worry about. But I’m done waiting to live my life when I know full well It could end with a snap of Vecna’s disgusting fingers. None of us knows how much time we’ve got left, and if all I have are these stolen moments between world ending disasters, then so be it. We’ll deal with Vecna when the time comes, but until then…” 

Steve trailed off, trying to find the words to explain to Eddie that he wanted this, that he’d already fought through his own worry and doubt, weighing the pros and cons as he rotted away in sleep for the last few days, but Eddie was already shaking his head.

“But I’m—”

“A ghost, yeah, I know,” Steve spat, cutting him off with a wave of his hand, and went on to say the single last sentence he ever thought he’d utter aloud and truly mean it. “It’s a good thing I was born a Harrington then, isn’t it.” 

Eddie said nothing, his jaw tightening, and his gaze remaining set on the comforter below.

“Unless…” Steve mumbled, worried now that maybe he’d misjudged. Maybe Eddie was trying to let him down easy, when really he just wasn’t all that interested. “Unless you don’t want—”

“Oh, I want,” Eddie blurted out, raising his head, his eyes burning with enough open, naked desire that it lit Steve’s skin on fire and burned away the last of his uncertainty. “More than what I ever thought was realistic to hope for. But you deserve better than what I could give you like this. I'd be happy enough to just be your platonic invisible friend for the rest of your life. What if we try this and you regret it, and then you're stuck with the ghost of your ex hanging around?”

Steve sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. It was a fair thought, and this was uncharted territory, but even if it was just a crush, as Eddie had called it, even if they got together and one day it fizzled out, Steve couldn’t imagine regretting any time spent with Eddie. 

“The only thing I regret is not getting to know you better when you were alive. Not being able to touch you now? Yeah, it kills me. And I know we could never have a normal relationship, that it’ll never be real, but I want this, you, in whatever way I can.”

Eddie squeezed his eyes shut, scrunching them tight, the faintest hint of a whine escaping him as he let his chin fall to his chest.

Steve worried at his bottom lip, letting the silence stretch on in hopes that Eddie would say something, anything.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Eddie finally whispered as he raised his head again, a new resolve  reaching out to hover his hand just above Steve’s cheek, warming it, and making the rest of his body shudder, suddenly aching with need. “Just because we can't touch the usual way, why would that ever mean it wasn’t real?”

The impulse to surge forward and capture Eddie’s lips was intense, but Steve managed to hold back. This would be a delicate dance to learn, but he was sure they could figure it out together.

“Tell me,” Steve purred, letting all the longing he felt leak into his tone, just as he would have made Eddie feel it through his kiss if he could have. Gathering his old confidence, he tossed the covers aside, revealing his mostly naked body, save for the thin white briefs he wore and the fresh gauze at his sides. “Talk me through it, Eddie. What would you do to me right now, if you could?”

Eddie’s eyes raked up and down his body hungrily, a low groan emanating from deep in his throat like a warning, “Steve.”

“Tell me,” Steve said again, quiet as a whisper, as he let his fingers play along the hair on his lower stomach. He felt so exposed, but so safe at the same time under Eddie’s reverent, watchful gaze. “Please?”

“Fuuuck,” Eddie cursed softly, raising himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. “Okay, yes, I…”

A thrill ran up Steve’s spine, anticipation already making him reach for the waistband of his underwear until Eddie’s voice, deeper than he’d ever heard it, made him freeze.

“Wait.”

For one frightening moment he thought Eddie was changing his mind, calling it off, and he almost reached for the covers in embarrassment, but then Eddie spoke again, leaning over his body with shining, eager eyes. 

“I wouldn’t rush it if I had my way with you, Steve,” Eddie said softly, running his tongue along his bottom lip. “I’d start with that lovely mouth of yours. I’d spend hours memorizing the feel of your lips against mine, and the taste of them, if you’d let me.”

Steve slowly raised his hand to his face, running the tips of his fingers softly over his lips as he met Eddie’s eyes, wishing it was the real thing.

“Close your eyes,” Eddie whispered.

Without hesitation Steve complied, pursing his lips again to kiss the pads of his fingers and found it really was easier this way. Easy to pretend he could taste Eddie’s mouth. Lips dry, but soft. Sweet with a hint of cigarette. He imagined the scents that would fill his nose as they made out in the backseat of his car, hairspray and smoke, the warm earthy smell of leather as he grabbed Eddie by the collar of his jacket and pulled him in impossibly closer.

“Only when we’re both panting and desperate for air would I stop, giving your swollen lips a rest while I kiss down your neck.”

Steve pressed his lips to his fingers one last time before running his tongue over them, trailing the wet touch down his chin and over his throat.

“Would you let me mark you there, sweetheart? Suck a bruise into your skin where everyone could see it?”

The possessive bite to Eddie’s otherwise softly spoken question was enough to have Steve already whimpering pathetically. “Yes,” he gasped, hardly able to recognize the wanton, breathy sound as his own voice. “Please, Eddie.”

“So pretty when you beg for it.” 

This time Eddie’s words were spoken right next to his ear, so close to where his own fingers were pressed. Close enough for him to feel a bit of the warm aura that surrounded Eddie’s form, like it was Eddie’s real hot breath washing over his skin. His cock twitched for it, filling out and straining against the tight fabric of his briefs, a sensation so similar to that of a hand palming him that his hips bucked, searching out a deeper friction.

“Needy boy,” Eddie murmured. “I’d make my way to your chest next.”

Steve sucked in a breath, forcing his hips to still as he ran both of his hands down to his chest without needing to be told.

“So good for me.” Eddie’s voice trembled, a strained quality to it that told Steve without a doubt that this was all affecting Eddie just as much as it was him. 

“Do you have any idea how long I've wanted this?” Eddie went on at a whisper, the sound moving lower just as Steve’s hands had. “To rest my hands against that chest of yours, rake my fingers through all the thick hair. I almost lost my mind when you took your shirt off on that little boat, and not out of fear.”

Steve remembered the moment well. The terror of knowing what he was likely to find at the bottom of the lake, the fear that nothing they did would make a difference in the end anyway. A fear that had partially come to pass, but he wasn’t thinking about that now. Instead he recalled the way he’d looked back to see Eddie staring at him openly, those big brown doe eyes catching the moonlight almost as well as they’d caught Steve’s attention. It was far from the first time he’d noticed Eddie in that way, but it was the first time he realized the attraction might be mutual. So, he’d smirked, and he’d thrown his sweater into Eddie’s stunned arms for safekeeping, a subtle attempt at flirting, but an attempt nonetheless.

“I would have let you,” Steve said with a grin. He kept his eyes shut tight but it was easy to hear the answering smile in Eddie’s voice when he huffed a laugh.

“I can see that now.”

Picturing ringed hands in place of his own, Steve could almost feel the cool metal gliding over his skin when he ran his fingers through the thatch of hair on his chest. He paused, taking a handful and gripping it tight, giving it a light tug. He hissed at the sharp feel of it, pulling harder and arching his back as he moaned. 

“That’s it,” Eddie cooed softly. “I had a feeling you’d like a little pain with your pleasure.”

Eddie wasn’t wrong. Steve had often longed for a rougher hand, and maybe some other things, in the bedroom, but hadn’t quite known how to ask any of the girls he’d been with for what he wanted, even if they’d have been willing to give it to him. With Eddie though, he was starting to get the most wonderful feeling that he wouldn’t have to ask at all.

“Mustn’t neglect the most sensitive part of your chest, hmm?” Eddie hummed. “I’d keep playing with your chest hair, teasing little pulls that are never quite enough to reach that sting you’re craving, until I take one of your nipples into my mouth, rolling my tongue around the edge until it pebbles up, and finally biting down.”

Though his dick was screaming for attention, Steve obeyed, performing the torturous touch to himself with one hand just as Eddie had described, using his other, and the light touch of a fingertip, to circle his already pert nipple before pinching it as hard as he dared.

Lightning shot down his spine, while a high-pitched whine was forced from his lips. It wasn’t until he let go, fighting to catch his breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, that he felt the small wet spot in his underwear, the almost cold feel of the cotton pressing back against him. 

He was dripping. 

Eddie was taking him apart piece by piece with nothing but his voice and his words. He was harder than he’d ever been in his life, leaking precome, and his briefs hadn’t even come off yet.

“You’re so fucking hot like this, all laid out for me like a banquet, letting me do whatever I want with you.”

“Anything… everything. Just, please… don’t stop.”

“Anything, huh?” Eddie mused. “So if I kissed a line down the center of your chest and ran my tongue along the length of your delectable happy trail, only to stop cold at the waistband of your underwear, you’d just lay there and take it?”

Steve’s hands moved to comply of their own volition, even as he pleaded for more.

“Please, Eddie. I need… I need…”

Eddie shushed him quietly. “I know, baby, I’ve got you. I’m gonna make you feel so good, I promise. I just prefer to open my gifts carefully, that’s all. I would take that bit of fabric between my teeth and slowly pull them down your hips, your thighs, and all the way to your ankles and off so I could spread your legs as wide as I like.”

With shaking fingers, Steve finally took hold of his briefs, tugging them down bit by bit until his cock was freed, slapping against his lower stomach with a light smack. He had to tuck his legs up to finish stripping them off, but he didn’t let that take him out of the fantasy, and when he was finally laid bare he placed a hand on each of his knees, pushing them apart wide until he heard Eddie choke on air.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect.” 

As much as the compliments and praise were doing for him, and they really were doing it for him, Steve felt like he was on the verge of losing his sanity. 

Thankfully, Eddie seemed to be of the same mind.

“Lovely as it is to torture both of us, I wouldn’t be able to resist wrapping my lips around you immediately, letting your cock fill my mouth until my spit pooled at the base of it, taking it all the way to the back of my throat until I choked.”

Just being surrounded by the husky sound of Eddie's voice, hearing him explain in detail how he’d work him over with that clever mouth had Steve ready to blow, and it almost had him hesitating to take himself in hand.

Almost.

His need for relief, for release, won out over his worry of ending their fun too soon. Besides, if this experience they were sharing now meant what he desperately hoped it meant, then there would be other opportunities to expand their play in the future.

Still, he started slow, taking only the head of his cock in his palm at first, smearing around the precome that had been steadily leaking from his slit this entire time, and envisioning Eddie’s tongue circling before his lips closed tightly around his shaft. He groaned at the sight in his mind’s eye, gripping himself tighter and letting more of his cock slide through his fist as he thought of the way Eddie’s eyes might begin to water when he took the full length to the back of his throat.

“Has anyone ever explored this tight little hole of yours?”

There was no mistaking it, Eddie’s voice came from directly between Steve’s legs. He really was laying there, probably spread out on his stomach, his face inches from Steve’s most intimate parts.

Steve’s breath hitched, speeding up the pace of his hand as he jerked himself off. “No, but I–I want you to. Want you to be the first,” he choked out.

In truth he had attempted to finger himself once or twice, but no one else had ever touched him there. He never managed to get the right angle to find his prostate, but the feeling of being entered, that fullness, had still helped him come in record time.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie cursed, sounding as wrecked as Steve felt. “You’re a dream, sweetheart, I can’t believe I get to have you like this. I’m gonna need you to wet my fingers for me, since my mouth is a little busy elsewhere. Do you think you can do that?”

Steve nodded, too lost in the heady cocktail of lust and desire running through him to form any more words, the lines between fantasy and reality blurring as two fingers were shoved into his mouth. He moaned around the intrusion, nearly gagging himself as he took the digits deeper, wanting to make sure he did the job thoroughly for Eddie.

“Good fucking boy,” Eddie crooned, a deep rumbling bass. “I think you’re ready for me now.”

While one hand still bobbed up and down his length, Steve reached under his raised leg with the other until he found his rim, circling, spreading the spit around the edge of his hole. He tried to push the tip of one finger inside, gently at first but the resistance was too much and he was too keyed up to wait or relax. He pressed in hard, a loud, piteous whine forcing its way out of his throat when it finally popped inside. The burning stretch was small, fading too quickly for Steve to really enjoy and he was quickly begging for more. 

“Another,” Steve gasped, working the finger in and out of his hole until it slid easily, down to the knuckle. “Please, Eddie, I need more.”

“Okay, baby. If you're sure.”

God, Eddie was going to ruin him with all these pet names just as sure as he was ruining him with the rest of it. Every baby, every sweetheart, had his heart filling dangerously close to the brim.

“I’m sure… need you.”

Steve’s mouth dropped open as he worked his middle finger in next to the first, and quickly got what he’d been wanting, that intense pressure bordering on pain, the incredible feeling of being stuffed full. As he fucked himself in earnest, caught between bucking his hips up to drive his cock into his fist, and wriggling down to meet the thrusting of his hand, he lost control of himself completely, loud cries of pleasure falling from his lips near constantly.

“You close, baby?” Eddie asked, voice gone taut, strained as though he were the one balancing on the edge of the most intense orgasm of his life.

“So close. I’m—” was all Steve could manage in reply as he felt his length suddenly being engulfed by Eddie’s unique effervescent warmth. It was such a surprise that he couldn’t help finally snapping his eyes open, seeing Eddie’s translucent fist hovering around his own as he rabbited up into the clutch of them together. The sight alone was more than enough to send him hurtling over that last breathtaking cliff.

He came with Eddie's name on his lips, looking deep into Eddie’s eyes and it made all the pretending, all the imagining feel so fucking real. His orgasm seemed to go on forever, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over him as his dick pulsed in his grip, coating his hand and dripping down his inner thigh.

“Kiss me!” Steve cried, forgetting for a split second that they couldn’t. 

But he didnt take it back. It didn’t matter that it wouldn’t feel the same, the phantom brush of Eddie’s mouth on his would be better than a normal kiss from anyone else. He was absolutely sure of it.

Eddie crawled up higher on the bed, and as if he too had forgotten his limitations brought his mouth crashing down onto Steve’s without hesitation.

The first touch was indeed warm, as all Eddie’s touches were, but it was also firm and real. Eddie’s lips were plush, as soft as they looked, a perfect compliment to the light scratch of stubble as they both leaned in, deepening the kiss. For a solid minute Eddie licked into his mouth, and it tasted exactly as Steve had imagined, but better. 

Because it was really him.

All too soon the feeling was gone, whatever connection they had that allowed for such things failing in an instant.

“Sorry,” Eddie mumbled, pulling back, as if it were his fault.

Steve wasn’t so sure it was, but hopefully their research tomorrow would help shed some light on it all. “Don’t be sorry, it was perfect,” he said with a small shake of his head. “You were perfect.”

Reluctantly Steve slid off the bed, knowing he had to clean up before the sticky mess he’d made spread any more and got on his clean bandages. He plucked his still damp towel from the hamper and gave himself a quick wipe down before climbing back into bed, next to a now pensive looking Eddie. 

“Lay with me?” Steve asked through a yawn.

Without a word Eddie laid down facing him, and after only a second’s hesitation slid his arms around and sort-of through Steve’s body. 

It made for an unusual sight but it was everything Steve wanted, and needed, in that moment, caring, comfortable, warm. He let out a contented sigh, feeling his body go boneless as he relaxed into the sheets, and was asleep before he even registered that his eyes had closed.

Thanks as always to @penny00dreadful for being the best beta and an absolutely amazing cheerleader!

Permanent taglist (open): @penny00dreadful @pearynice @hitlikehammers @sidekick-hero @firefly-party

@bookworm0690 @wonderland-girl143-blog  @goodolefashionedloverboi @themagicalari @awkwardgravity1

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Fic taglist (open): @geekymagicalpotato

[riverbends]

vacillator 18+

[jack abbot x samira mohan]

part one: red zone | mdni | dystopian AU | ao3

tags: explicit sexual content, outdoor oral (m receiving), creepy sex pollen ergo dubcon, horror themes, descriptions of gore (body horror kinda?), dead animals, supernatural/mythological elements, umm porn with plot first wc: 5.6k note: yar i thought it was too gross so i deleted this but thank elise for noticing its absence

She fixed the latch on the cage under the beam of his flashlight with a clean tug. Pencil-thin iron bars encaging the fresh, mangled carcass of a cottontail. The top of the cage remained open to welcome its subject with false sustenance. Sighing, she braced her hands on her knees to rise back up to his level.

“That’s my last one. What a shit way to go,” she said, woefully admiring her work. Main course for the grotesque. “Sucks. She was adorable.”

Jack laughed out his scoff, momentarily shaking the light off the dead animal. “Just be glad you’re not the rabbit.” Samira could only glower at him. He looked to his side, finding her dimly lit frown in the residual glow of the flashlight between them. “What? What did I do this time?”

She shook her head, no longer bothered. Instead, she reached around her bag in search of disinfectant, slathering it on her hands before wiping the excess on her pants. “Aren’t you like fifty?”

“Not yet,” he flicked off the light in spite. Playfully, of course. “What’s my age got to do with anything?”

“Turn it back on,” she gritted, seizing the torch from his grasp when he obeyed. He didn’t usually put up a fight. “Grow up.”

Jack whistled, clean and straight. Amused. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

“Don’t whistle,” Samira snapped over her shoulder. “Bad omens.”

The ground surrendered to the soles of their boots, carrying them through this corner of the Appalachian Mountains with minor struggle. Moonlight fell between the spread of branches, speckling the sea of flora to reflect the night sky. They could see the air catching their breaths in front of them, condensed into sheer little clouds. To protect them from the cold during patrol, they wore long cargo pants and bulky jackets with woollen insides. Carried backpacks weighed with tools and gadgets and food, but not so heavy that it would hold them back in the very likely event where they’d have to break into a sprint at some point. They were lucky there had not yet been such an occasion on duty together.

Samira led on with the torch while Jack grumbled behind her.

“Many people my age still make jokes, we’re not all that bad,” he teased, poking her side.

“Then make better jokes,” she dismissed, stopping momentarily to sidestep the glistening octagon of a spiderweb. He mirrored her movement. “Also, watch your feet.”

“I know, I’m the one who set the traps in this sector,” he said. Sucked his tongue and shook his head, laughably disappointed. If it were up to him, he’d set her right. Show her exactly who she’s talking to. He was almost entirely sure she’d give in as well.

Neither of them bothered to give a name to, let alone acknowledge, whatever had brewed between them when they were first paired up for zone patrol. Maybe his hand would find the small of her back when they treaded over uneven ground, or she’d sit up close to him on their breaks after settling on the forest floor, usually leaning back against a tree trunk. She’d excuse herself and say something about the cold at night, but he’d feel the heat of her body giving her away.

Her elbow digging into his bicep, her thigh slowly creeping up to lay against his as they talked about things he could never really recall because the unspoken insistence of her proximity only had him thinking about one thing. Or many things about one thing. Things he was itching to do to her, even out here in this cursed mountain range in the dead of night. Especially out here.

Wondered if she ever noticed the bulge swelling below his belly whenever she nestled into his side. If she ever raised her thigh a bit higher over his or bent it at some ninety-degree angle in these instances, he could guarantee she’d feel the imprint just under her the side of her knee. Hard and throbbing.

Jack didn’t mind if the lines were blurred. Kept him entertained, really. They were comfortable enough to practically rub up on each other, and comfortable enough to toss banter back and forth. Though, tonight, she seemed a little too tender to the touch. Everything he said appeared to hit a nerve.

Back at the collective, he never fought his attraction to her, only kept it at bay. Still breaking a wild horse in his round pen. But something about this part of the woodlands always had his cock weighing heavier, got him all playful and brazen around her. He knew, though, that it was one of the many dangers of lurking in the mountains. Symptoms, more like. Heightened emotions, hyperactivity, turbulent hormones (elevated libido, in Jack’s case) – just to name a few. Something in the air at these dark hours. Tree branches arching down as if to reach out for them.

It had worsened over time, weaving in and out of their missions together. Assigned to inspect the northern regions of the Appalachians running through Pennsylvania. The dreaded night duty. Though, it was usually alright. The both of them had dealt with far worse in the deep ends of these woods. (The countless horrors that occurred were usually never spoken of more than once. Maybe addressed in a council meeting after the fact. But, for those patrolling the shadows, you were probably better off swallowing down the fear than letting it swallow you).

Strict and sustained protocol warned everybody on duty to be wary of certain zones—namely, red zones. Twelve of the most hazardous plots of forestry, identifiable by the bright red markers on bordering tree trunks—for anything slightly out of the ordinary. Even each other. Samira only knew half as much about the dangers as Jack did and, even then, these woodlands never failed to surprise him.

He was only nineteen when everything changed (Samira liked to remind him she wasn’t even born yet), his father tore him out of bed in the middle of the night and dragged him down the stairs, still half asleep. A cacophony of sirens singing from various speakers outside his house. Around the neighbourhood, around the town. All over the country.

The mutilated bodies were scattered across the streets where people screamed and bolted. At first, he couldn’t even properly panic. A state of pure, razor-edged shock had sliced him clean. Just paralysis. Mouth parted in simple confusion at the pandemonium unfolding before himself and his parents. After all those years, he could still remember the feel of a wet, mushy substance under his bare foot. Fat, swollen tube-like shape.

To his utter horror, he realised he had stepped on somebody’s unspooled intestines. Short, hurried pants shot out from his lungs as he jumped back and clung to his father.

Then, those things. A lone one, several feet away from them. Some fucked-up hybrid crossing itself halfway between a lizard and a dog. The top of its head would’ve been roughly level with his shoulder. Sharp green scales vibrated down its spine; all four legs, long and disgustingly jutted out. A strange coat of some iridescent, slippery substance matting its patches of hair. Oozed past its canines and drooped slowly out of its ugly, open maw to pool on the ground around its disfigured paws. The eyes made his heart stutter.

Hollowed out but still gleaming. Turning. Like somebody had scooped deeper into its sockets and poured bubbling ink into the cavities. He watched them flicker in his direction. The sound that came out of it upon seeing him was a stark warning. A whispered scream, almost as piercing as the sirens.

Had their neighbour not fired his shotgun, Jack and his family would’ve ended up torn and strewn across their front lawn. Instead, hours later, they had returned to find only parts of the man. Shotgun still clutched in his severed hand; his calves ripped to shreds. The rest of him was either lying across the road or churning inside a hot belly.

Evacuation camps and crisis centres were set up in every state for the next three months, all guarded by military personnel and 30-foot walls with active electric fencing. Advised by his father, Jack joined junior combat teams and climbed the ranks within a few years.

After a decade, most camps had been overrun and the population dwindled. A large portion of deaths being a result of those deathly hounds, while the majority had actually been enacted by other unknown creatures that everyone remaining would soon come to learn about in due time. Countless people had also ultimately disappeared without a trace.

No more military, just individual combat and protective services. There were now only a handful of active camps, this one being dubbed the ‘collective’ by its inhabitants. The council was assembled in the early days, remaining one of the main constants since the old world.

Now, Jack had settled. Patrolling was easier on him, almost grounding. When asked why he stepped down from his position of delegate, he’d simply answer that he needed a change of pace. But he’d been meaning to leave the council for years, realising that real concerns were never real priorities. He didn’t want to be part of the reason that the collective fell to pieces in the years to come.

Coinciding with Jack’s withdrawal from the council, Samira had lost her patrol partner on duty. Zones all the way south, where some of the darker things took place. A red zone. She knew she had crossed over, saw the red markers on the bark of tree trunks and took the risk anyway. Not even an hour into patrol, full moon washing over the forest as she trudged through tangled foliage in search of her until she found her flashlight beaming on the ground.

It shone bright upon the girl’s torn head. Eyes wrenched open, frozen in terror. Mouth gaping. Samira felt her stomach lurch like it was ready to make her cough up her dinner. It took everything in her not to outwardly react in a way that drew attention to herself. She just backed away, holding her breath, feeling her insides tense and tighten with dread. Handgun clutched in her palm as she raised it, arms straightened out before her to scan her surroundings. The silencer locked firm in place. Then, that hushed scream and a shadow to her left.

A blur of motion and muffled shots. The strangled whine of the end of a life, and then a heavy thud vibrating the forest floor.

Samira finally breathed, choked out stunted, fractured exhalations. Three of her bullets, softened by the silencer, neatly pierced through its skull and punctured the brain before it had the chance to charge at her. With shaking hands, she reached for her walkie.

“Red zone A12...red. Breached. Red,” she whispered, teeth chattering. “Night patrol down.”

Samira was shortly reassigned to inspect a new sector further north with none other than Jack Abbot, who, for months, could not seem to reel himself in around her.

Maybe it was just the simple fact that he found himself alone with a young woman in the middle of the woodlands two nights every week at a time where unnecessary contact and intimacy in the collective were usually advised against by the council. A lot of things were advised against by the council. Not that he ever cared, though. Being a former delegate still afforded him the privilege of disregard for policy. He had never been one to fall in line anyway. Policy and protocol be damned.

While Jack wrestled with his magnified compulsions behind her, Samira skirted shrubs and burrows like they offended her. She didn’t want to admit how much his earlier comment had stung.

“You’re in a mood tonight,” she broke the silence. “Cockier than usual.”

“And you’re being mean.”

“Hm.”

“But, no, I’m just fed up,” he said. She heard him stopping. “Those things don’t want carcasses, they’re smarter than that. I’ve told the council for years, but they never listen. There’s a reason why people are getting snatched up again.” Samira paused, turned halfway to meet his gaze. The look on his face was more than genuine, and she hated when he was right about things that she hesitated to admit to herself. He was always right. “Living, breathing food - that’s what we are. Traps and bait are pointless, and I know you know that. Predators ravage. You’re executing little bunnies and tying them up with bows for nothing.”

She looked away from him now, jaw clenched tight. Sniffled from the cold. Guilt chewed through his stomach like teeth.

“Kid, I’m sorry,” he stepped closer, voice softer. She stared up at him again, her body still sideways from his. The wounded shimmer in her eyes left him gutted. “I could’ve phrased that better. I know it gets to you.”

As if it were instinct, Jack gently held her jaw to tip her head up, stroking his thumb against her chin. He could’ve kissed her like this.

She would’ve let him, and she was expecting it. Saw the way he struggled to keep his gaze off her lips (and this was not a rare occurrence). Felt his thumb just barely brush underneath. If she tucked in her chin, she could easily take the finger into her mouth. Pull back slowly, make sure he watched close as she traded the thumb for his middle and index. She could make her spit glisten all over his fingers in the glow of the flashlight between them. Right before dropping to her knees—

Jack pulled away before she seized the chance to suck on his thumb, or anything else.

“Rendezvous with John Shen,” he inhaled sharply. John was one of the few who preferred to patrol solo – something else against which the council heavily advised. Groups were usually encouraged to check in on each other throughout the night, both through the walkies and physical meetings. Although, these meetings were more often recreational than cautionary.

“I still don’t get why everyone consistently uses his government name.”

“I don’t get why anyone still refers to the government,” Jack retorted beside her as they resumed their trek.

“False sense of normalcy, maybe,” Samira shrugged, turning the torch in her hand.

“Shit is looong gone,” he droned, brow quirked.

“Right, you remember what they were like?” The teasing smile in her question was audible.

“Jesus Christ, kid, you’re bordering on elder abuse.”

“So, you admit it?” She was having too much fun now and Jack couldn’t complain. No longer acidic, it seemed she was in a slightly better mood now.

“Respect your elders,” he jabbed his index into the curve of her hip, earning a yap and shove from her. “I’ve gotta do something about that mouth of yours.”

Samira felt her face burn hot. She swallowed, recomposing herself.

“You’ve been running yours for the past twenty minutes, sir.”

Jack stopped walking, hands held out. “Are you a fuckin’ tease with John Shen?”

“He’s the tease,” she countered, laughing. “Well, speaking of, where is he?”

A beat, and then another. The sound of trampled twigs snapped their heads to the left before a flat, glowing cylinder of white bounced around the ground and off the trees.

“John,” Samira addressed him, nodding her head.

“John Shen, say John Shen,” Jack goaded, and she waved him off.

The man approached them with his flashlight, panting lightly, “I could hear your asses a mile away. Council’s gonna separate the two of you.”

Two limp, bloodied cottontails hung from his belt by their feet. Samira pouted.

“And pair me with you?” Jack perked, tapping John’s nose, “I’d rather feed myself to the hounds.”

“No skin off my back, baby,” John grinned at him. Cheshire cat leer in the torch glow. “Anyway, what the fuck do you guys do out here? Langdon always says you’re fucking like rabbits, and he sounds more convincing every day.”

Samira shot John a soured look, responding a little too fast: “He says what?”

“Maybe don’t mention the rabbits,” said Jack, hands moving up to hold on to the straps of his backpack, “she’s a bit sore right now.”

“I’m standing right here,” Samira looked back and forth between the men before turning on her heel to continue their zone inspections. They watched after her for a moment before slowly following her lead, John making sure to leave enough distance so that Samira was well enough out of earshot.

“Kid, don’t wander too far,” Jack called out to her, his advice falling on deaf ears. Made a note to himself to keep up with her from here.

“I take it Langdon was right, then,” John teased and Jack shook his head. “If not, that’s a shame. For you. She’s grabbing lunch with me tomorrow.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Adonis,” said Jack, half amused and half ticked off.

“What, you claim her or something?”

Jack scoffed before lowering his voice a notch, “Shit, she’s not an auction horse.”

“You still remember auctions? How old are you again?” John pressed, smirking. Jack only responded with a short grunt. “Anyway, pussy is scarce, doc. You know how it is.”

“Oh no, it isn’t, junior,” the older man laughed heartily. “Plenty of women in the collective. Last month’s census can attest to that. You’re just an ass.”

“And you’re not?”

John got him there. “Maybe. But I don’t go around scavenging for pussy.”

“Because you don’t have to do a thing for it,” John elbowed him. “Hell, I bet even Mohan’s dying to give it to you.”

There it was again, the feeling that Jack’s cock was stiffening at the mere mention of her.

Needed to sink himself somewhere deep and warm.

He could still see her frame in the distance, lit up by her torchlight. The fat of her ass filling out those dark cargo pants. He cleared his throat.

“You should return to your sector, John Shen. Council would spank us for too much chatter, right?”

John barked out a laugh, “Not if the freaks hiding out in these woods get to us first.” He clapped Jack on the shoulder, taking his leave and disappearing into the night with his own torch.

Mythologically speaking, Jack always thought they should’ve been referred to as chimeras. But ‘hounds’ seemed to have stuck over the decades. Most of the time, they weren’t even the real problem. The hounds were tangible; killable. If you aimed right and well, you were more or less guaranteed to have saved yourself. It was everything else that you had to look out for.

Warning signs in the disguise of sounds, tricks of the light, strange smells. Beautiful distractions. Whispers of pleasure licking up the side of your neck when not a soul was around you. All the things you could only fight with your mind, with your intuition, not through combat or confrontation. You had to be lucky enough to slip out of its hold untouched.

Ahead of him, Samira halted to hit the torch against her palm as the light flickered, threatening to give out on her. She huffed, exasperated, and Jack caught up with her to take a look at it himself.

“Might die,” she said, watching him frown down at the torch in his hands.

“Well,” he hummed, “it seems to be alright for now. A little flickering won’t hold us back. We’ve got the smaller ones anyway.”

“As if they’ll be enough,” she mumbled. “But I don’t get it, I put new batteries in there.”

“Yeah,” he clicked his tongue, weighing their options. “Our break’s coming up, we can work it out then.”

They continued on, neither of them catching sight of the red square marker tagged on the tree to their left.

If he thought he wasn’t losing it before, he was definitely losing it now.

It was a like a hot bolt of lightning cracked the crown of his skull and shot through his body down to his feet every time Samira’s arm brushed against his, every time their sides knocked from walking so close. Every time he heard a breath pass over her lips.

His tip felt leaky in his pants. Eager; ready. Waiting to tuck itself into a something tight and welcoming. Another minute and he was suddenly reaching for her wrist.

“Shit, wait. I need a second.” He winced like he’d just run a marathon. Samira turned to find him slightly hunched over and trying to catch his breath, hand still clamped around her wrist. He let go when she faced him to hold onto his shoulder.

“What’s wrong? Are you in pain?” She angled his face back up to hers, assessing whatever she could just by the look on it. Then, the flashlight died. Samira cursed under her breath and threw it aside. She was about to reach around to grab her mini torch when Jack choked out a pained moan, stepping back and clumsily kneeling on the ground. He shrugged off his bag as he sat back against a tree, feeling like his heart was going to burst in his throat.

Samira crouched down in front of him and situated herself between his bent, outstretched legs. As soon as she rested her hand on his knee, Jack was fully straining through his pants. If he didn’t know any better, he’d have thought all the blood in his body rocketed down to his throbbing dick.

“I…fuck, I don’t know what’s happening,” he panted, sucked air through his teeth like he ate a hot pepper. Samira’s hands stroking at his neck and petting his hair didn’t help either. “It’s my junk.”

They both dropped their eyes to his crotch and his hand had a mind of its own. Samira’s stomach constricted when she watched him palm the bulge between them.

“Fuck,” he muttered, couldn’t help himself. Rubbing his erection through his pants seemed to be the only thing alleviating the ache, and she could only stare, mouth parted and salivating.

“Uh,” her throat bobbed. Jack tipped his head back to rest against the tree. Nothing could tear her eyes away from the way he tried to soothe himself. She licked her lips, almost in preparation. “Do you- um, is there anything I can do?”

That wrenched his head back down. What could she do? Concern was written all over her face when she looked up at him again. The furrow weighing down her brows almost made her look…keen. Desperate to do anything she could to help him.

Give him a hand. Give him a mouth—

He started shaking his head furiously, muttering a hurried string of no’s as he struggled to get on his feet. He stood up against the tree while she rose to balance on her knees.

“Try taking it out,” she blurted, blushing at her own words. “Maybe...I can see if something’s wrong.”

He processed the image of her kneeling on the forest floor, her face level with his clothed hard-on. Peering up at him like it was a plea. He swore he could feel her breath just kissing it through his fly. His mouth dried up. Had to flex his hands at his sides to resist the urge to rub her face against his bulge.

Then, very slowly, he nodded. Only once.

Samira held her breath as his quivering hands fumbled over his button before abruptly yanking the zipper down, overzealous for release. He paused momentarily, watching for any possible change in her expression—any splinter of hesitation—but she just stared at his undone fly. Waiting.

So, he tugged his pants down enough to reveal the wet patch of precum soaking through his underwear. Her cunt throbbed something fierce between her legs, slickening fast. Then, eyes pinned to her face, he finally dragged the waistband down and sprung his cock free. When the cold air hit, he didn’t waste any time curling a hand around himself, breathy moans tumbling out of him as he leaned back against the tree. Sighing and grunting.

Samira was rapt. Completely awe-struck by everything in front of her. Coarse hair under his belly, fringing his shaft. The girth of it, so enticing as he gave himself good, slow pumps. All of his breaths came out stuttered.

As if on cue, bright rays of moonlight crept past the cover of the trees and meandered their way down to shine on the both of them. Everything lit up and neither Jack nor Samira questioned the bizarreness of it. If anything, the abnormal light only encouraged them, showing each other the vulgar act between them with white, glowing clarity.

His slit drooled with pre. Glistened over his swollen tip under the beaming moonlight. She could feel saliva gathering on her tongue, pooling around her teeth. Her sex, clenching around the ghost of something that should be there. But it stared her in the face instead, and Jack felt his brain short-circuit when he noticed her stare back.

I’ve gotta do something about that mouth of yours

“Y’know what, could you put your tongue out for me?” His voice was ragged. Worn. Samira didn’t register his question for a moment, but then her jaw lowered a bit. “Just, yeah. Just for a minute, sweetheart.”

Samira obeyed and he could have cum just from the sight of it alone. Her tongue, pink and outstretched, was patiently waiting for him. Promising Jack with release. Ecstasy. He filtered out every rational thought screaming in his head as he cradled her jaw with his free hand and lightly planted his wet tip on the flat of her tongue. She was looking up at him the whole time.

His knees almost buckled. Her soft tongue with her warm breath fanning his length should’ve taken him out like a light in an instant. He still wasn’t sure how he lasted this long.

And she didn’t know how much longer she could wait. Every fibre of her being willed her to welcome him all the way in, let his tip scrape the walls of her throat. Make him get off inside the hollow of her cheeks.

With no objection from Samira, he tried his best to pace himself, slowly rolling his hips forward to feed her a little more. Nothing could’ve prepared him for the way she closed her mouth around the width of him, just halfway up. She didn’t give him any time to adjust before easing his length all the way in.

The slight cut-off in her airway burned deliciously. She moaned around him, eyes watering.

“Fuck,” he gritted, bracing himself against the tree as her voice vibrated around him. All the sense in him, gone. “I didn’t know,” he said with a pant, feeling her drag her mouth off just to suck him back in, “didn’t know you’d ever take me like this. I could only- could only dream.”

The sound of the wet pop of her lips latching off his cock reminded him they were still very much outside and on duty.

“Christ, you like this?” he rasped, stroking her hair back, “Sucking me off in the middle of the woods o-on patrol?” She answered with a whimper as she picked up the pace and it had him leaning further back into the tree as her hands found his thighs. Keeping his weight against the trunk, he bent his knees a little to push his feet out further. Samira, in a way that he could not fathom, managed to maintain her sucks as she shifted right to align her cunt with his boot. He watched her get all the friction she needed just by grinding down on him. “Yeah, oh shit, you like this.”

It was dizzying to witness. On her sore knees, panting and slurping and humping. The mix of her spit and his pre smearing the rim of her mouth. This girl, so much younger than him, dragging her clothed pussy against the thick of his shoe as she bobbed her head up and down his pulsing cock. He angled his knee out a bit to accommodate her grinding.

Jack could imagine the seam of her pants catching nicely on her needy clit as she bucked her hips into his leg. Getting off on getting him off. He couldn’t wait to make it up to her, to push her further than she was pushing him. Almost begged her not to go to lunch with John tomorrow.

She gently pulled off to catch her breath and carefully twisted her hands around him with the residue of her spit, stretching her tongue out again so she could drag his mushroom tip over the flat of it. His hips stuttered in response and it struck heat down to her core. “Samira," he breathed, "the things I’m gonna do to you."

She rode his boot harder as she eased his cock back into her mouth, the hair at his base tickling her nose. Sticky panties pressing into her folds.

“You- mm, you’re doing so good for me,” Jack groaned. “Fuck, I can feel the back of your throat.” He let his hands gather up her hair to keep it from brushing over her face. At this point, he had abandoned restraint and allowed himself to rock into the steady tempo of her sucking. He couldn’t believe it.

On duty, in the darkest hours of the night, under the preternatural glow of the moon, he was leveraging his weight against a tree as he lazily fed his hard cock into the mouth of his junior partner while he guided her head back to him, over and over and over again. Shame curled deep in his gut, though it was subdued by the waves of pleasure she wrung out of him.

As soon as he fell from his high, he planned to switch places with her and divest her of her clothes before hooking a leg over his shoulder to bury his tongue deep in her slick cunt. Instead of his boot, she could grind down on his nose.

His fingers tightened around the bunches of her curls, feeling himself approach the precipice of his release. She didn’t seem to tire or back down, and he worried that she couldn’t tell how close he was.

 “Hey, you don’t have to—” he stammered, trying to keep himself from fucking into her mouth too hard when he saw a tear creep down from the corner of her eye. “If it’s too much, I can pull—”

Samira was going for a home run. She was going to make him finish on her tongue if it was the last thing she did.

She sucked him in like a fucking vacuum before releasing him to use her hands again. As she furiously jerked his cock, her lips closed around his crown and she tongued his tip like she was French-kissing it. He saw stars when he felt her lay soft, teasing licks over his dribbling slit.

The forest groaned around them and it seemed to Jack like everything had come to life. Over her fast, clammy strokes and the suckling of her lips, he could catch a flurry of murmurs circling around the tree behind him. Tickling his ear and then echoing throughout the woodlands. It was like a scorching, wispy summer had swallowed the night. Like the whispers of the trees were coaxing him to cum inside the suction of her warm mouth.

When her jerks slowed into squeezing strokes and her lips puckered out around his head, when she bared down on his boot. When she sighed around him, when her eyes flicked up to meet his—he came.

“Oh- oh, shit.”

His senses were stark now as his orgasm surged through him with ferocity.

The blurred shape of what looked like a woman lurking in the distance. The whispered scream of a hound. The red marker plastered on a fallen log behind Samira.

Oblivious, she welcomed him all over her tongue, relishing the taste of his spend as it sprayed the walls of her mouth. All she could hear were his ragged moans when she swallowed and nursed on his fat, spent tip. Felt herself get impossibly wetter as the load of warm cum continued to spill onto her tongue. She didn’t let a drop go to waste.

With Samira struggling to detach from his sensitive tip, Jack was returning to the surrounding environment under the haze of his release. Nothing about this was normal.

Sure, she probably would’ve jimmied him down her throat back at the collective sooner or later. But he wouldn’t have thought he was dying, or coming close to death, in order for it to happen. No, it had only been fifteen minutes prior where he felt like the entire forest was going to cave in on him if he didn’t lodge his cock inside something wet.

And Samira was so cock-drunk, still on her knees; still humping his boot. Still licking him up and down like she was hoping to draw another glob of cum into her mouth. As much as he loved it, there was something very seriously off.

The red marker came back to him, then. Policy and protocol. The symptoms.

Both of them were exorbitantly high on raw lust. Blinded by their urges, deafened by their moans. He didn’t know why it had taken him so long to realise they had wandered into a red zone, but he was undoubtedly sure of it now.

Before he could say anything to Samira, the grating scream of a dying man tore through the silence of the woods. Jack’s flaccid cock fell from Samira’s mouth as they both spun their heads in its direction. A few miles west. It could only belong to John Shen.

[motherish]

SCREAM!!! 🥹 My Sanjeepers!!! 💕💞💓💗

This had to have it's own post because I got so much to say LOLL OK!!! SO!! 🥸

🫀 We're walking around and I see THIS particular Sanji just standing there posing as people take pics and I'm like ?? where's his bodyguard like he's literally just floating around the park all on his lonesome?? so I snap my own pic and as he's walking away I go "I love you Sanjeeps!" (if I really love a character i just say their name differently) and he falls to his knees clutching a lightpole and yells that he loves me too and I'm OVER THE MOON 🥰🥰 cause it feels very in character LOL and I'm just damn!! 🥲 I wanna see more of him!!

🪼 We walk around some more and I tell Keii i really wanna take a pic with a One Piece character esp THAT Sanji so we walk back around and the Sanji and Usopp that we want aren't out smh it's some other people! 🙃 And I won't say they looked bad? It's just that the other guys playing Sanji and Usopp looked BETTER! But whatever we stand in line anyway cause at the end of the day we want a pic!

🫎 The line is long and we're chitchatting and suddenly we see people just crowd around some characters that were coming this way?? First it's Zoro and Nami and we're just "meh" cause we ain't in that line and then I'm like WAIT are they switching out!? 👁️ Maybe our Sanji and Usopp will come back?? AND SURE ENOUGH THEY DOOOO I was literally jumping up and down going "are they walking this way are they walking this way??" 💃🕺 CAUSE THAT'S THE SANJI I WANTED!!

👘 They trade places and MY HEART!! I have been cold this entire trip and that was the first time that ENTIRE night that I didn't even notice I was cold because I was too busy laughing n giggling about the fact that I would NOW get to take the photo with the Sanji that I WANTED! 🥰 And Keii with the Usopp that she wanted!!

🛝 Except everyone infront of us was taking 99yrs.. 🙄you woulda thought they were meeting THE Sanji and Usopp with the way these people were lingering about 😤 smh so here I am checking the time cause now we've been in line for a MINUTE and I know the switch off is gonna be soon and I am nervousss cause I'm so close and yet so far!? 😖 And the group infront of us.. I coulda screamed there were like 12 of em and they ALL wanted individual photos and THEN they wanted group photos and.. yeah I was sweating LOL I had Keii all nervous too I felt so bad! 😅 But I needed THAT one! I even asked the staff member guy watching over them and he said they were switching in 5 minutes.. and we still had folks infront of us.. oh hamburgers. 🙃

🎒 We finally get up there like WE ARE THE NEXT ONES IN LINE and the guy is checking his watch and i go over to him again and I say "can we please be their last group? 🥹" and he looks at me as if he's thinking it over and then he says "ok" WOOHOOO LOLLL then its our turn and remember when I was like "man you woulda thought they were meeting THE Sanji and Usopp with the way they were acting smh🙄" yeah that was me once I got up there HAHAHA ALLLL SMILES!! I told Sanji i wanted HIM in particular! And I wish I woulda thought of something more clever to say! Cause when he asked why I said "because you're tall" SANJI IS SUPPOSED TO BE TALL OK? HE'S ALL LEGS HE'S LIKE SAILOR MOON!

💋 Sanji is so touchy too like kept gripping my hands and hugging me and tbh I can't remember half the shit he even said because I was too busy just being happy that I got a pic with the Sanji I wanted LOL 💞 then I got to hug and speak to Usopp at the tail end and the guy did a really good job replicating his voice?? It sounded just like dubbed Usopp! And he looked AMAZING I mean just LOOK AT USOPP!! I was so blown away just stunning!

Keii and I walked away smiling n giggling. Just riding the wave of being able to be silly with some of our fav One Piece characters. If even for a moment. 💗

[catzz089]

Snippet? 🥺

FIne fine fine

He was, however, very proud of himself when he overheard the very beginnings of what turned out to be a rather important conversation.

And look, he would never consider himself an eavesdropper, just some situations just called for it. He simply needed to.

There were two men, sat opposite each other, at first Max had thought they were on a date, especially with how much their legs were touching, but Max took a fair amount of pride in being gay, and he refused to associate with people like that. So obviously they couldn’t be gay.

One man had a small notebook to the side of him, filled with writing. When Max took a peek it was all irrelevant fantasy bullshit, and entirely unrelated to their food, so it made absolutely no sense when they lowered their voices and started to say,

“We’re going to give them so many bad reviews,”  He winked too, albeit terribly.

“Oh yes,” The other one grinned, “It’ll be so bad, their restaurant will crumble.”

They both laughed darkly at that.

“It’s almost a shame, the food is actually really nice, but it’ll be so much nicer when their reputation collapses so badly they won’t be able to stand anymore.”

A scarred hand muffled his laughter. Max should probably be a good samaritan and tell him that laughing at his own jokes which weren’t even jokes was probably the worst thing he could do.

He also felt the distinct need to flip their table over and watch everything clatter over them. How dare they falsify reviews to make Charles’ restaurant look bad, especially after openly admitting they were dumb fucking liars.

Charles was just so nice he’d  probably never hurt a fly before and these people wanted to ruin that. Ruin him.

Max just couldn’t let that fly.

“Is everything ready for Wednesday?”

“Of course it is, they won’t know what hit them.”

Max had four days to get this all sorted out.

Easy.

---

The first thing he did was pull Carlos aside.

He waited for it to quieten just a little before he grabbed him by the collar and marched him off to the little cupboard.

“Hello to you too,” Carlos sighed, “What’s this for?”

“Okay, you need to listen carefully, I have a plan but we cannot tell Charles.” He stressed.

Carlos raised an eyebrow, “Um, okay? What the fuck is this? What plan and why can’t we tell Charles?”

“Okay, basically, I overheard these two food reviewers, sat on table nine and-”

“Table nine?” Carlos interrupted.

Max sent him a lighthearted glare, “Yes, that’s what I just said, keep up.”

“And you’re sure they were food reviewers?” Carlos asked, with his eyes all big and wide in the way that always freaked Max out just a little bit.

“Yeah, of course, they had little notebooks out and they were taking about giving our restaurant so many bad reviews, they said on Wednesday they’d flood the site with so many that we wouldn’t know what hit us and we’d crumble.”

“Oh!” Carlos replied, his voice jumping a couple of octaves- Max honestly felt bad, Carlos had been working here for years, no wonder he’d be so upset at the thought of his workplace collapsing and losing his job. 

“Wednesday, you say? That’s when they plan to hit us. Okay. So um… Maybe you should like- you know- not come in then? So uhh. So you don’t feel the effects?” Carlos reasoned.

Max looked at him like he was stupid, because clearly he was, “No, obviously not! I have a plan, Carlos. We cannot tell Charles. His business means so much to him, he started it from the ground! And he’s already going through a lot; His car is ruined, he was just super ill and he’s always staying late and overworking himself- even more so recently! So we need to do this together.”

“Okay, but I really don’t think he was that bothered by the whole car thing, he was like, way more concerned about you. He came in every fucking day and spoke about how much he wanted you to get better and be okay. I’ve literally seen him drive a new car for each day of the week. It doesn’t matter to him.” Carlos said, entirely off topic.

“That’s what they all say, Carlos. Anyway, we’ll be the only floor staff that night, so basically, we just can’t let them in. If they want to leave reviews they need to go through the whole verification system to check they’ve actually eaten here, and if they plan on doing that on Wednesday, we just need to man the door and tell them that all the tables are either taken or reserved. Boom. Issue gone.”

Carlos smiled tightly, “Wow, that’s great. Yeah. We’ll do that. Anyway, I think we should go back out now.”

Max scoffed internally, he’d done all this work to get everything sorted out and save Carlos’ job and he gets a half assed thank you. Some people.

[mintedwitcher]

I promise this isn't bait and I am not trying to dabble in ship war bs.

You said in an earlier post that Eddie isn't in the way of BuckTommy, which I assume means that you have a different interpretation than I do of what Tommy meant when he asked Buck to try again "now that the competition is out of the way."

I will even agree with you that currently Eddie is a conically straight character. But if he's always been straight and continues to be straight, then why would Tommy consider him competition?

Lastly, if Eddie decides to return to LA, would his return still create a wedge between Buck and Tommy?

I would love to hear your thoughts!

Jelousy/insecurity is highly irrational. It doesn't adhere to logic. It also isn't always true. Tommy even says, after mentioning "competition", that he's "mostly kidding". Because rationally, he knows it's not true.

Tommy knows Eddie is straight. That's not the problem. His insecurity/jealousy isn't a fear of Eddie swooping in and stealing Buck from him; he's worried that Evan might be misplacing his feelings for Eddie onto a convenient second option - aka, Tommy himself. Maybe he's had past experience with this situation before (which he's implied already in the breakup scene where he told Buck "I'm not your last, I'm your first" - implying that he has been someone's "first" before, and been left/dumped/whatever by someone who has realised their feelings for someone else)

It's not so much about the Eddie of it all as it is about Buck's relationship with Eddie. Buck still idolises the guy, won't ever say (or hear) a bad word about him. He spent the entire bar night with Ravi talking about Eddie, he compared his friendship with Ravi to his friendship with Eddie, he's currently living in Eddie's house, he takes care of Eddie's kid at the drop of a hat. Hell, they got together in the first place because Buck was mad that Eddie was spending time with Tommy.

And then on the other side of it, Tommy's brief friendship with Eddie, all he heard about was Buck. Eddie talked about him, Chris talked about him, it was very clear that Buck was a major part of their lives (and Tim, I'd just like to Talk about where the fuck THAT went, because uhm.... make it make sense).

So, Tommy, who we can fairly accurately deduce has been someone's First Gay Relationship before, has been left by someone for someone else before, has been in this situation before, would have a LOT to be insecure about. It's not a rational insecurity, and it's certainly not true, but like I said, jealousy and insecurity are not rational.

Buck handled it terribly, but then, he knows that he doesn't have feelings for Eddie. But he got upset, and stuck his foot in his mouth, and explained it in just about the worst way possible.

As for Eddie returning... see, there's a BIG gap between what I think would happen, and what the narrative would say. The narrative refuses to give Eddie any kind of repercussions for his actions - even when he's hurt someone - or any kind of long-lasting consequences. The last time that happened was during his breakdown in season 5, and even then, he managed to get and keep a decent job at Dispatch, and was able to rejoin the 118 after the season finale. So, narratively, I think Eddie would come back and everything would go back to 'normal'. Eddie continuing to use Buck, Buck continuing to be Eddie's best friend, and Tommy 'just trying to keep up' with Evan.

However, if you want my opinion on what could/should happen?

It's extremely hard to believe that anything can just 'go back to normal' after the Kitchen Scene. I think Buck will be more reserved around Eddie, more shut-down. I think Tommy will notice and be concerned. I think Buck will try to downplay what happened - because that's what he does every time when it comes to Eddie - and Tommy will call bullshit, because he's been around long enough to see the pattern of behaviour. I think that would be the wedge. Tommy would believe that Buck deserves better, while Buck would believe he's actually getting more than he deserves. As for Eddie, I think he would be unaware of any of this until Tommy starts giving him the cold shoulder. THEN it would be an issue for him, because now it's affecting HIM.

I'm trying extremely hard to be generous with that last part, because frankly I'd prefer it if Eddie got written off the show entirely. The only part of that I'd be upset about is losing Chris.

[clinicalcuntetiquette]

HOLD UP LET ME PUT MY “I LOVE ALLURA” PANTS ON REAL QUICK

I don’t think shiro and allura were meant to be closer in age rather I’ve always thought that the main reason they act more “mature” (more on track than the rest of the paladins) is because of their proximity to the galra in s1-2 right? they have that in common, a reason to hate the galra most thus motivating them to get the job done accordingly and add to that their sense of responsibility towards the team.

shiro was imprisoned for months, he was enslaved for their entertainment, they tortured him and took his arm. he experienced how cruel the galra can be first hand (pun intended) and he’s in a constant fight with zarkon over black.

allura is a survivor of genocide, the person who was her father!s trusted friend had exterminated her entire race, and now it’s up to her to build and guide the “universe’s only hope” to defeat the power that took everything from her.

The paladins were told how bad the galra are, their only motive was to stop them before they get to earth and the entire universe (even pidge and Keith had completely separate reason to fight) but none of them know the scale of their cause like shiro and allura and add to that the responsibility they bear towards the team

besides, allura had so many “immature” moments in s1-2. mostly season 1 very similar to the other paladins, she literally was constantly in a rush to get the paladins ready, pushing them till they snap, she literally started a fucking food fight 😂. and in season 2 her rashness drove her to go on a mission which jeopardized the entire team twice not once (in collect and extract s1 she insists on going on that mission), and (ark of taujeer s2 she leaves even though the castle can’t operate wout her) much like heith. and she lets her prejudice prevail in the episode shiro’s escape. [MY SHAYLAS]

and as grounding shiro is to keith, he grounds allura too.

I think that putting her in blue was a mistake for the reason you said, she lost her leadership rank. nevertheless I think that she does mature after s1-2 but with the pace and the sudden changes she gets to a point where she has limited options.

LOTOR! he symbolized so much!!! he was the product of galra and altean unity.. he constantly praised allura’s dad, I do not think he was disingenuous with his praise.. having him as an ally was a huge step for the coalition because now they get to operate within the corrupt system.

allura recognized all of those things, she wasn’t naive she was hopeful and desperate. she had no other option but to trust him and gain the oriond powers that would get them steps over the galra power that been growing for the past 10,000 years.

at this point the paladins did not present any other better plan and the voice of sound in the group was absent leaving her and the rest open to manipulation

(Lance and coran were just protective of her and that was getting her nowhere in the war)

she did what she could do with the knowledge that she had to serve her team and the coalition I wouldn’t call her naive for that.

ALLURA’S REGRESSION IN MATURITY

I remember a rumor after season 3 came out that Allura was originally written to be Shiro’s age in the first two seasons, but her age was lowered to match the other paladins in season 3 so that she fit in more as a paladin. Well, I found some evidence of this:

Shiro and Allura as equals

Firstly, Allura is seen in season 1-2 mostly sparring intellectually and emotionally with Shiro rather than the other (younger) paladins:

[Season 1, Episode 5: Eye of the Storm, 09:09]

Here we have Allura “sparring” emotionally with Shiro, again, and also a quite sweet moment where he takes her hand. We saw everyone surrounding her when she collapsed by the controls earlier this episode, but here, she is alone with Shiro, and discussing her worries with him only. He also discusses his worries with her. 

[Season 1, Episode 10: Collection and Extraction, 04:15]

Her insistence here is reasonable. She used her previous knowledge of Galra supply lines as a reason, whereas in Season 3, she didn’t have much of a reason at all, only a desire to see if there were any Alteans there.

Shiro agrees to have her on the mission, because he sees her reason and can’t argue against it. I don’t think he even really wants to, recognising that her knowledge is invaluable to their mission. The only reason he looks at Coran while shrugging is because Coran looked to him for help to let her stay back, due to his overprotectiveness. Shiro enables her and respects her as a member of the team, just like the others, and he sees her as an equal.

Read More

[lowrezbonuslevel]

9.🪞 aaaand... 16!📺 For whoever you want... or Tarantillda, idk!!!

9 was already answered here, so let's answer 16 ("If the anime got a reboot or if there was another Kirby TV show, do you have any ideas for episodes that your OC could appear in? What would the plot be and what role would your OC play?"):

I decided to try to slot Tarantillda (and Zed, for fun) into the anime, since coming up with an entirely new Kirby show canon seemed too big an undertaking lol.

I think, if the anime were continued, it would have been cool to see a Star Warriors resurgence with new heroes, and I think it would make sense for Tarantillda and Zed to end up joining said resistance. But they would have to be introduced properly, first, so check under the cut for some episode run-downs if you're interested! :)

For Tillda's introductory episode ("Flower Power"):

A young woman from another planet arrives in Dreamland seeking her brother, who apparently went missing some time ago. She looks through the whole town and doesn't find him—but, just when she's about to leave Pop Star, trouble appears: it's Flowery Woods, a tree-like demon beast! It begins to take over Dreamland and chokes out the sunlight so that Cappy Town is covered in darkness. Tillda, knowing some plant magic and hopeful that her brother might appear alongside Flowery Woods, sticks around to help.

After the fight, she explains that Dedede isn't the only monarch that has been lured by NME to the side of evil—her homeland, Floralia (which probably works better as another planet entirely in the anime-verse), was turned to a miserable place after their tyrannical queen swore loyalty to Nightmare. Tillda meant to grab her little brother and escape the place, but he was lured away and turned into a demon beast himself, leading Tillda to search planets for signs of Nightmare-sponsored trouble and, hopefully, bring her brother back to the light.

The episode ends with Kirby and friends waving her off, promising they'll keep an eye out for Taranza. (She and Tiff would probably take a shine to each other over the course of the episode, since they both play the role of sharp elder sister to an adventurous little brother in a world full of danger!)

For Zed's introductory episode ("Over the Rainbow"):

Kirby, Tiff, and Tuff are playing in town when they see an unfamiliar feline face pass by. Though the newcomer isn't very talkative, he seems friendly enough—especially to Kirby, who is excited to meet a new friend. Tiff and Tuff, on the other hand, are mildly suspicious, but agree that they should learn more before they interfere—especially after catching a glimpse of a strange, black, blob-like creature with one eye displayed on Zed's portable computer.

Later that day, a blight of Dark Matter (which no one in Dreamland is particularly familiar with) descends upon the townspeople. With the exception of Tiff and Tuff, everyone around Kirby starts turning angry and violent, including Lady Like and Sir Ebrum; when the three protagonists encounter several strange, one-eyed creatures, they remember Zed from earlier in the day and assume he is a demon beast summoned by Dedede to bring the blight upon the town.

Zed is discovered huddled away writing notes about the monster. Tiff and Tuff threaten to attack, but Meta Knight quickly swoops in with exposition. Soon everyone calms down and listens to what Zed has to say—that the darkness over Dreamland can be expelled if the leader of the occupying Dark Matter army, the Swordsman, is defeated.

In reply, Meta Knight mentions that the Star Warriors previously defeated Dark Matter Swordsman using the Rainbow Sword, which has since gone missing; Zed then reveals themself to be in possession of this legendary weapon and offers it to Meta Knight, thinking that this must be the hero that can defeat the Dark Matter Clan yet again—but Meta Knight, who already has Galaxia, insists Kirby take it so that the two can join forces to stop this very powerful threat.

Hence DMS is defeated by Kirby and Meta Knight, leaving its army to flee and Dreamland safe and peaceful once more (much to Dedede and Escargoon's relief—the Dark Matter ended up possessing them, too).

Zed exits without much of a goodbye, let alone an explanation of who they are, where they came from, or why they helped fight against the Dark Matter Clan. Meta Knight is left to ponder aloud that, like Fofa, maybe there are other demon beasts that turned to the good side, for one reason or another.

Afterward...

I suppose Zed and Tillda could meet off-screen and become besties (as they ought to be, in every universe 😌). I don't think they'd be the founders of the New Star Warriors, though, especially considering Tillda has no idea who the "Star Warriors" were. Maybe Knuckle Joe and Sirica would come up with the idea and invite Tillda and Zed to join them?

[elodiah]

Traffic Lights Tag Game

Thanks @loki-is-my-kink-awakening and @distracteddream for the tags aaaaages ago! I wasn’t going to do this one, because my fics are nearly all basic-ass one shots that I almost always conceive of, write, and post all in the space of one day to two weeks. 🫣😆

BUT I’ve finally been bitten by a plot bunny that MIGHT end up being a bit more involved than my usual stuff, and a few chapters as well, hopefully…

rules: talk about something creative you're working on of any kind.🚦 green: what is it about, what excited you about it, what sparked the idea? orange: slow down and share something from it: a photo, a few words, some more background info etc. red: what is the roadblock currently? what is one thing that is a necessary evil in making it?

GREEN

So I’ve got one of the prompts for the upcoming Lokius Week event to thank for this. The prompt ‘memory loss’ immediately captured my interest, purely because for the longest time now I’ve had ‘temporary amnesia’ as a random idea in my fic ideas notes, and thought “oh good, I have a reason to finally knock something out for that one.”

Initially I anticipated my regular flavour of cake, i.e. a typical angsty h/c one shot. But after thinking about it for barely even a few minutes, my mind took me on a joyride well out of my comfort zone.

I don’t want to give too much about it away, just in case it doesn’t turn out the way I planned, and also because there’s not a lot of actual plot-plot to it. And I will shamelessly state that it is tropey and predictable AF, lmao! So, anything I try to describe would likely divulge more than I’d prefer.

Basically, though, it’s a lot more romance-focussed than anything I’ve ever done, and very character-centric as well, so I’m very keen to explore something new and see where it takes me.

ORANGE

I’m on a little bit of a Mobius-whump kick right now, uncharacteristically, and even though this isn’t exactly a whumpy fic, my first thought was “what if Mobius lost his memory?”

That of course immediately led to “what would Mobius say or think if he lost his memory, then saw Loki?”

I almost instantly raced over to my phone and tapped out this (very, very rough!) exchange:

“Were we… involved?”

“What makes you ask?”

“Just a vibe. I’m having this weird, intense feeling of attachment, despite not actually knowing you before now. Well, that… and I’m insanely attracted to you.”

He would have said that Loki’s bright red blush was the most adorable thing he’d ever seen in his life, but of course he had no way of knowing whether that was actually true.

After I wrote that as a placeholder, I tried to get back to my chores… but five minutes later I’d dot-point-plotted the entire fic, lol.

So the above (if I use it), isn’t in fact taking place when he first sees Loki, but a bit later on. I don’t think even ‘single dad!Don’ would be that bold on a first encounter, lol. I actually imagine his initial thoughts being something like this other bunch of lines I got down:

Well hello, aren’t you a bit gorgeous?

Despite his head throbbing, and feeling excessively dizzy and nauseated, he couldn’t pass up an opportunity when it was staring him right in the face… with pretty blue eyes.

“Mobius? Are you okay?”

And apparently he knew this man too, even better.

You can kind-of see where this is going, hehe. However, the fic I’ve planned is actually going to switch POV, so it’s not all going to be a hopelessly oblivious Mobius desperately trying to shoot his shot with Loki, there’s gonna be a bit more to it than that. 🤣

I actually imagine it to be kind of slow and bittersweet in terms of vibes, set in a post-season 2, post-Loki-returning universe.

RED

My biggest red light is that I’m fkn terrified of writing this one, TBH. I’m so excited to try something new, but it’s sooooo far out of my comfort zone, I’m scared I won’t be able to do it the justice I think it deserves. I’m also not very good with character-driven interactions and plot, and that’s exactly what this is.

Also for someone who waffles as much as I do, I’m worried about committing to writing a multi-chapter fic. I’ve done so very few, and none of them were anything like this idea, they were generally still my usual whumpy, h/c, mission-gone-wrong type stuff.

So yeah. Scary, confronting… but exciting, so long as I can pull it off and not write the most boring, unsatisfying fic imaginable. Pfffff.

I’m so far behind with this game, since I didn’t even plan on doing it, so if you’ve read this far and would like to do one of your own, please consider yourself tagged, and make sure you tag me please, so I can check it out!