#might post my fics to AO3

[leafdrake-haven]

Reblogging some old creative shtuff to see if it inspires me to do more tomorrow :3

[secretagentspydetectiveninja]

posting this with absolutely no context

[munsonkitten]

Eddie doesn’t know how this became a thing between them. He’s wrapped up around Steve’s back, arms and legs snaking around Steve’s body. He has one thigh between Steve’s, hooked over his hip and snug against his crotch. He can feel the soft bulge of Steve’s cock beneath his leg, and tries not to think too hard about it. 

One of Steve’s arms is tucked under Eddie in a way that makes it possible for him to scratch at Eddie’s hair through his hood. His fingers move rhythmically, sliding over the fabric covering Eddie's head. 

It’s cozy like this, tangled in a way where Eddie can't tell where he ends and Steve begins. It's not something friends do, especially not two guys, but neither one of them mention that.

Sometimes they just lay and talk, and sometimes, like today, they have a book in front of them, positioned in the hand Eddie has snaked beneath Steve’s neck. 

Eddie’s reading, soft and quiet into Steve’s ear, when it happens. Steve turns his head back and presses a kiss to Eddie’s chin. A quick little peck beneath his mouth. 

The words die in Eddie’s throat, choked off by a squeaky noise of surprise. He drops the book onto the bed, letting it fall shut because saving the page he’s on is the last thing on his mind right now. Steve just kissed him. A little kiss, not even on his lips, but still a kiss. From Steve. 

They’re both frozen there, so still Eddie doesn’t think either of them are even breathing, and then Steve’s disentangling himself, pulling away. The exact opposite of what Eddie wants to happen. 

He finds the front of Steve’s shirt clutched in his fist, holding him where he is. 

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Steve says, still attempting to pull away. “We’re friends — I don’t know what got into me, man. I didn’t mean to do that.”

One hand curls around his wrist, the other going to his fingers to try peeling them away from Steve’s shirt. Eddie closes his fist tighter, shaking his head. 

“Yes, you should have,” Eddie whispers, voice caught in his throat. “Done that, I mean.”

Eddie’s been kissed before. At bars and parties, by guys and girls alike, liquor on their lips or laughter on their tongues. The girls at parties in town were always dared — kiss the freak, see if he puts out (Eddie never did) — and the guys in bars were always drunk and too impersonal. It never went further than that, never felt quite right, especially not with the girls, but he’s been kissed before. 

None of that could have prepared him for the way Steve Harrington kisses him now.

[nyoomerr]

Shen Yuan entered Luo Binghe’s life like any other good thing he’s ever had: with great difficulty, and accompanied by copious amounts of sex.

The difficult parts don’t bear talking about. Luo Binghe still feels his stomach drop at the reminders of those first few mercurial months of knowing Shen Yuan, at the way Shen Yuan had unintentionally dismantled most notions of what Luo Binghe thought a happy ending should be like. He doesn’t think he’ll ever quite enjoy thinking about that time: it had been, in some ways, a more miserable challenge to overcome than his time in the Abyss had been. 

(It had been, in many ways, the only challenge Luo Binghe had ever had to face that was directed inwards. There was no straightforward evil to banish or monster to slay. There was hardly even a wife to seduce, given the fact that Shen Yuan had let himself be seduced by Luo Binghe’s image long before Luo Binghe himself had ever arrived in Shen Yuan’s world to begin with. 

There was only this: in order to grasp the incandescent happiness that Shen Yuan presented - that Luo Binghe deserved - he had to admit that every moment of so-called happiness he had experienced for the last century had been a fool’s imitation of it. In order to be happy with Shen Yuan, he had to admit to being miserable without him. 

It was humiliating, and it was nauseating, and it had even made Luo Binghe cry once, where he thought Shen Yuan wouldn’t be able to see him. 

He’d been so, so glad when it turned out Shen Yuan wouldn’t even look away from that - from Luo Binghe at his least lovable.)

No, the difficult parts of Luo Binghe’s conquest of Shen Yuan are best kept carefully out of mind. The other, better parts of that conquest - the parts involving hot skin against skin, as close as Luo Binghe could get to fitting Shen Yuan within his own flesh where he could never part from him - those parts are far more pleasant to remember, and Luo Binghe works to make new memories of that sort every day. 

Despite its pleasantness, however, the sex is not Luo Binghe’s favorite part of his courtship with Shen Yuan. 

“Bing-ge,” Shen Yuan calls, voice just an octave shy of a proper whine, “surely we can spend summers in my world? You can’t really think this heat is more pleasant than modern AC, ah?”

Luo Binghe hums, leaning in to run his mouth across the plane of Shen Yuan’s neck, savoring the smell of Shen Yuan’s sweat. His skin is tacky from the heat; Luo Binghe briefly fantasizes about being able to stick himself to it permanently. 

“Wasn’t it Yuan-er who begged to see the Fire-Driven Herons’ migration? It only happens once every decade, after all.”

“I know that,” Shen Yuan says, scowling. “I was the one who told you that.”

“Yuan-er is the most knowledgeable about this world,” Luo Binghe agrees. 

Shen Yuan sighs, squirming half-heartedly in Luo Binghe’s lap - a wordless threat to get up. Obediently, Luo Binghe waves the fan in his free hand a bit quicker in Shen Yuan’s direction, threading delicate veins of qi into the generated wind to ensure it’s pleasantly cool. Satisfied, Shen Yuan settles back in, starting up one of his charming lectures about the fauna of Luo Binghe’s world. 

Luo Binghe listens more to the cadence of Shen Yuan’s voice than to the words themselves. He doesn’t often find it necessary to know the ecological features of a beast in order to slay it, or to capture it for Shen Yuan’s zoo, or to cook it into a proper meal. 

Still, this is what Luo Binghe likes best - what he likes even more than sex, which he’d thought to be his favorite activity from the ages of 17 to 132. 

Lounging on the ground, Shen Yuan sat snugly in his lap and held close by Luo Binghe’s free arm, allowing himself to be pet and cuddled as if it were a natural part of a trip to see some ugly birds migrate - 

Pressing his nose into the nape of Shen Yuan’s neck, left bare by Luo Binghe’s own hands that had been responsible for putting Shen Yuan’s hair up in its current complicated hairstyle - 

Idly fanning Shen Yuan to keep him cool even even while Luo Binghe himself is the greatest source of heat when pressed so close in the summer sun like this -

Over a century into his so-called happy ending, Luo Binghe has rediscovered his greatest pleasure to be physical affection of a non-sexual sort, and Shen Yuan gives it as freely as he breathes.

Oh, he fusses and complains and acts as if he must be coaxed into loving Luo Binghe, but it is such a poor act that Luo Binghe can’t help feeling nothing but warm indulgence towards it. 

“Don’t be so bold,” Shen Yuan will scold when Luo Binghe buys lube without hiding his identity, and yet in the next moment he’ll casually thread his fingers between Luo Binghe’s to hold his hand all the way through their walk down the main street of town.

“Who taught you to act like this, ah?!” Shen Yuan will complain when Luo Binghe ensures his subordinates know what an honor it is to be allowed to look at Shen Yuan, but then it will be Shen Yuan himself who will seat himself directly at Luo Binghe’s side instead of any more appropriate location for a Lord’s wife.

“There’s no need to be so sticky,” Shen Yuan will sigh when he catches Luo Binghe practically running back from the kitchens with breakfast, eager to return to his sweetheart’s side, but then Shen Yuan will happily eat from Luo Binghe’s own chopsticks, even during meals taken in the main dining hall.

Despite all his aired grievances, Shen Yuan himself breaks countless social boundaries a day without even blinking. He truly thinks nothing of it, believing these gifts he presses into Luo Binghe’s heart to be nothing but normal for a couple. Normal! As if Luo Binghe has not heard tavern songs about the Demon Emperor’s shameless new male wife, spun by every servant and enemy alike that has visited the palace and been struck to flustered embarrassment at the way Shen Yuan acts!

Luo Binghe wants to roll Shen Yuan up in one hand and eat him. He dared to say as much to Shen Yuan, once; Shen Yuan had merely rolled his eyes and told him that he wasn’t into “vore.”

(Luo Binghe had made a note to research this “vore” when they next returned to Shen Yuan’s world. He’s learned that he can coax Shen Yuan into a great many number of things, if he does it slowly and lovingly enough. The delay will give Luo Binghe time to figure out a way to both take Shen Yuan’s flesh and blood into his own without then being left without a Shen Yuan to hold in his arms.)

Certainly, some part of Luo Binghe knows this quirk in Shen Yuan’s behavior to be a byproduct of the world Luo Binghe had stolen him from. The standards for modesty are warped in that place, and Shen Yuan had been gently raised by the hand of that world to not notice anything odd about it. 

A god is no less sacred for having come from the heavens where more gods reside, though. Nor does a man feel faith to any of those supposed unseen gods when one presently sits in their lap, free to worship with prayer and touch alike. None of the other people of Shen Yuan’s world had offered Luo Binghe something so precious as the free flowing love that Shen Yuan shows him. None of them had been so foolish, and so sweet, and so carelessly thoughtful despite a cute mean streak hidden within, and -

“Bing-ge,” Shen Yuan calls, and Luo Binghe bites at Shen Yuan’s neck to prove he’s listening. Shen Yuan sighs. “Bing-ge, you aren’t listening to a word I say.”

“I am,” Luo Binghe says, “I just bit you to prove it.”

“Wha - how does that prove - oh, you’re hopeless!” Shen Yuan cries, squirming again, this time with a stronger intention.

Displeased, Luo Binghe casts aside the fan he’d been using to cool Shen Yuan, moving instead to curl both arms around Shen Yuan’s middle. When Shen Yuan keeps squirming, he trails one hand down to rub at Shen Yuan’s thigh, listening for Shen Yuan’s indignant protests. Luo Binghe may have grown drunk on the simple act of holding Shen Yuan without the need for it to be sexually pleasurable, but he isn’t above using sex to keep Shen Yuan close if he must. He refuses to give up even a millimeter of contact with this precious person unless there is no other option. 

“You’re insufferable,” Shen Yuan complains, slapping at Luo Binghe’s creeping hand several times. “We’ll miss the migration we came all this way to see if you keep this up!”

“I’ll miss Yuan-er’s closeness the most,” Luo Binghe says gravely, and Shen Yuan snorts.

“Insufferable,” he repeats, and then gives his most put-upon sigh. “Can’t you just settle for holding my hand for at least until the birds leave?”

Happily, Luo Binghe stops feeling Shen Yuan up and intertwines their hands instead. Shen Yuan praises him for his patience, as if the simple feeling of their palms pressed together isn’t more pleasurable than the greatest heights of ecstasy found in any bed. 

One day, Luo Binghe will confess this to Shen Yuan: that he’s truly deviated far too much from the erotic character Shen Yuan had read all about in that other world. That somehow, when it’s Shen Yuan, Luo Binghe feels so overwhelmed with simple affection that his greatest desires are as chaste as a young boy’s. Oh, he still enjoys the sex, but -

But ah, what he really loves most is this.

[wikiangela]

you're the sun to me

Buck's in the middle of cooking dinner when there's a knock at the door. Before he can even move or open his mouth to tell his guest to come in, the door is opening, and his boyfriend walks in. Buck grins at him from where he's stirring in the pot, heart swelling just at the sight of him. It's supposed to be just a regular evening, not really a date, just eating dinner together like they try to at least once a week whenever their schedules allow.

"Hey." Tommy says, kicking off his shoes at the door. Buck instantly notices that he has his arm hidden behind his back, and is careful to face Buck at all times as he walks over to him. Huh.

"Hi, Tommy." Buck responds, raising an eyebrow. "What-" he starts, but just as he's about to ask what Tommy's hiding, he's already right next to Buck, spinning him with one hand to press him against the counter, and kissing him hello. Buck instinctively closes his eyes and kisses back, smiling into Tommy's lips. Kissing him is still one of his favorite activities ever, and he doesn't think it's ever going to change.

The kiss is sweet and soft, and way too short, Tommy pulling away way too quickly for Buck's liking. He's about to pout and complain about it, and probably get another delicious, deeper kiss, like usual, but when he opens his eyes, he's a little stunned. Because he finds himself staring into a bouquet of sunflowers, that Tommy's holding up to him in the hand previously hidden behind his back. Oh, okay. That makes sense. Or, does it?

"Um. What's that?" Buck asks dumbly, as if he's never seen flowers before.

"Sunflowers for my sunshine." Tommy responds, a beaming smile on his face. Buck's heart is racing and he thinks he's going to melt into a puddle. He thinks there are tears welling up in his eyes, and he blinks them away, feeling so silly. "Is that... okay?" Tommy asks when Buck's been silent for a minute, still staring at the yellow flowers.

"Of course." Buck whispers, then clears his throat, lifting his eyes to look into Tommy's. "It's just- no one has ever gotten me flowers before."

"Hm. Well, we gotta change that, then. I can buy you flowers all the time. If you want. If you like them." Tommy shrugs, seeming a little self-conscious now, and Buck can't have that. He's wonderful, and always manages to surprise Buck in the best ways possible.

"I do, I really do. It's- it's really nice. Thank you," he says, just amazed. He'd never expect this, he'd never expect he might want this, but now that it's here, now that Tommy bought him flowers, he's actually really touched. It's stupid, it's just flowers. Still, it feels like a big deal. "But why- what's the occasion?"

"No occasion." Tommy looks down at the bouquet in his hand, smiling softly. "I was walking by the market near my house today, and saw these, and they made me think of you," he shrugs again. "So bright and happy and beautiful. Like my Evan." He grins, eyes soft and full of love and adoration, and Buck's face is burning. God, this is silly. It's such a simple gesture, but somehow it's one of the nicest and most thoughtful things a partner has ever done for him. It's sunflowers, the flower of loyalty and adoration, and happiness. And they made Tommy think of him. He called him his sunshine, didn't he? God, he's the sweetest. "To brighten your day, like you brighten my life." Tommy adds so casually, as if it wasn't one of the most beautiful things anyone's ever said to him.

"I love you." Buck sighs, and tries to lean in to kiss Tommy, but there are flowers in the way, still in Tommy's hand, extended to Buck, probably expecting him to take them, but he was too surprised to think about that. He slowly lifts his hand, placing it over Tommy's on the flowers.

"I love you, too, Evan." Tommy responds, smiling fondly. "Now, do you have a vase or something to put them in?"

"Uh, yeah, yeah, I think I have-" Buck goes to look for a vase, stirring in the pot again on his way. He doesn't stop smiling the rest of the evening. The flowers stand on the kitchen table for weeks, slowly wilting, and when they do, Tommy replaces them. Buck thinks he wants to buy his boyfriend flowers, too, so he does, researching the meanings of specific flowers and their amount. He finds it a good way to show Tommy how exactly he feels when simple words don't seem like enough anymore.

___

Years later, when they stand at the altar about to vow to love each other forever, both of them have little sunflower boutonnieres. Tommy's the one who insisted on the flower being present at their wedding. The dork proclaimed sunflowers their flower, and it's equally silly and adorable. Buck had never given much thought to what his favorite flower might be. Now, the answer is obvious.

[jatersade]

taking a break from the 3.06 euphoria to be fucking devastated about jamie tartt?? not remembering losing his virginity because it was such a traumatizing experience??? People keep saying they want jamie’s dad to show up again so we can get some closure on that front but honestly I hope he never comes back and I hope it’s because sometime between seasons 2 and 3 james tartt sr. was taken out back and shot

[lunisoular]

Hello!!

I wanted to ask if you had any asl brother fanfictions??

I'm literally not even close to those episodes but I've seen so many spoilers and art about them that I'm already obsessed lmao

It's totally cool if you don't have any or just don't want to share, it just seems like you would know some good one lol

Hope you have a good day! 😁

SO SORRY FOR THE LATE RESPONSE tumblr hasnt been notifying me lately

there’s so many fics i’ve gone insane over i’d be overjoyed to share !!!!!

i don’t know if u or anyone else want to avoid major spoilers, but just in case, i put a red star (*) next to those that have them 😗

light up, light up - taizi

aaah taizi has so many great fics but this is one of my favorites; u can go thru all their op works to find more i didn’t list. it’s focused around sabo and is like a role reversal. definitely teared up

a little murder never killed anybody - loserlife592

family reunion !! asl expresses their ways of affection and boggles some minds. so cute……..

a song to bring you home - taizi

canon divergence—not sure how much u’ve seen, but it’s definitely still worth the read. it’s wonderful and cute and makes me ILL

without you by my side - capisback

ace and luffy get into a small scuffle; ace figures things out eventually. brotherly love….. oh im dead on the floor it’s wonderful

fish day (it takes a village) - hyperbolicreverie

luffy drags ace and sabo to a festival. they have fun, there’s cool villager dialogue that never fails to satisfy me, and cuteness

*all for one - missmungoe

okay i have a fair amount of alternate marineford fics but damn it i am nothing if not a sucker for good endings. read if ur fine with slight spoilers lol !! good bonding moments

soft and quiet and peaceful - whirlybird70

snow day….. just some nice fluff. can never go wrong with that

where the wild things are - space_ghost_with_the_most

FRIEND GHOST HAS LOVELY FICS !! u should check them out !!! 23k words of feral jungle children asl and it’s WONDERFUL

light up the sky (with you) - whirlybird70

luffy once again drags ace and sabo to have an adventure, this time with fireworks !! + makino cameo. it’s so cute the way they’re written…. !!

bedtime rituals - poisonstain

sweet n soft sickfic…… the series is about something different, this is a flashback, so u can check out the other fics in it if u’d like !

signal lamps - cowboy_emoji

ace and luffy catch fireflies, dadan and luffy talk a bit about ace. luffys his weirdly perceptive self; dadan continues to deal with them. love <3

*take a step in mine - soccersarah01

another alternate marineford—if ur fine with spoilers, it’s good ! it takes a sec, but sweet asl reunion <3

*time moves through you - lampalot7

technically only ace and luffy but i’ve reread this one so many times. it does have both marineford and gear 5 spoilers tho, so keep that in mind if u want to avoid them. time travel, little luffy cameo, AUGH it’s all so cute

*there is thunder in our hearts / you were always gold to me - taizi

these are also both alternate marineford + the latter gear 5, sorry 🫢 i think u get the gist by now

put your faith in what you most believe in - taizi

taizi just has lovely asl fics it’s insane. sickfic, sabo worries, but they both feel better in the end <3

here in spirit - lampalot7

GHOST ASL FIC !!!!! i’ve loved it for a while, and it inspired a few aspects of my own ghost au. made me cry……. god i love ghosts

close calls (or, monkey d. dragon’s no good, very bad day) - isntitlupintic

dragon’s perspective and focuses a lot on him, but there are some sweet asl moments !!! dragon saves the day !

[read-write-thrive]

part 1

“Waiting for the other shoe to drop”, while pessimistic, seemed to be a running theme in Charles Rowland’s life. It wasn’t really a phrase he heard when he was alive, to be fair, but at some point he’d come across it (probably hanging out with too many Americans, but can’t remember for sure) and it felt a little too much accurate. His dad’s come home angry again? Time to wait for the fallout. He’d gotten written up at school for not paying attention? Just a disaster waiting to happen. He goes against his best mate’s advice? There he goes, literally torn from Charles’s arms and back to hell, just as he’d said. Maybe the last one was a little dramatic, but that’s the gist.

The looming anxiety of it all usually slid off of him for the minor stuff, and was otherwise bottled up and shoved far away for the heavier stuff, but regardless he didn’t let it show. Have to keep up appearances and all. He’d only had one real instance of all those emotions blowing up (and he still blames the Night Nurse for all that mess) so he thought he was doing a bang-up job keeping himself together.

That was until his dad died. Yeah, it was rough, and he ended up berating the old man on his death bed, which probably was a shitty thing to do. And yeah, he’d needed a bit of a cry afterwards. So what? Blokes cried sometimes, and he was man enough to admit to his emotions and all that. The girls had done a good job of emphasising that he (and, mostly, Edwin) needed to express their emotions more. That it was healthier to let it out than bottle it all up. Not sure if they still needed healthy habits as ghosts, but it wasn’t hurting anyone. Just a little uncomfortable.

All that to say, it felt like his friends had been treading on eggshells around him ever since his dad died. Which was infuriating, yeah, but also didn’t make sense to him. Especially after he’d already cried—did they expect him to get angry again? To blow up over a dead man? He thought he’d gotten it out of his system just fine, so getting these weird vibes was starting to stress him out more than anything. He’d resolved to bring it up on their next movie night and ask why they were acting funny—didn’t want to mess up a case, after all.

However, he didn’t get the chance before it all came crashing down on his head. Ultimately, Edwin was the messenger.

“Charles, I—“ he took an unnecessary breath, “Have you checked on your mother lately?”

His undead heart went cold, but his default smiley ways were still stuck on, “Not really, why?”

Edwin’s eyes were sad, which was never good. He didn’t emote unless it was serious, “I think you need to visit her. She’s not faring well.”

And so they went. Turns out everyone hadn’t been waiting for Charles to blow up, but rather for his mother to pass and then for him to break down all over again. Edwin had been checking on her daily since his father’s passing, deducing correctly that Charles would be too swept up in the emotions around his dad dying to remember that his mum wasn’t getting any younger.

The girls weren’t free until the evening, but they promised to stay in touch and maybe visit later if they could (particularly if they could figure out how to visit the Hospice without rousing suspicion). And so Edwin and Charles were on their own.

Charles had rushed into the room, as if running at the issue would evade the emotions of it, or as if getting there quickly would reveal it was all a lie—neither of which were true.

Instead, he was face to face with a dying woman with some resemblance to the photo on the mantle in the house he grew up in—his grandmother, or maybe his great grandmother, or some favourite aunt, he couldn’t remember anymore— hair gone fully white, pulled back into a tight bun so as to keep her curls controlled, keeping her gaunt, sleeping face exposed. Unlike that photo, this woman was in a hospital gown, tucked into sterile sheets, with a tube under her nose to help her breathe. Gone were her usually loud and ornate earrings, her bare fingernails stained from years of colour. There was a singular blanket laid across her lap, on top of the sheets, that almost looked more familiar than the woman it covered. It was her, but apparently he hadn’t stopped to just look at her any time recently, if ever. It felt too much like looking at a ghost, as ironic as that felt.

She was awake, but halfway to dozing. There was someone at her side, adjusting the blanket and murmuring reassurances in what was definitely Punjabi. It had been so long since he’d heard it, added to having never properly learned anything besides English under the threat of his father, that he couldn’t make out the words. That realisation left a stinging feeling in his chest.

“A relation of yours?” Edwin asked at a whisper, coming up to stand beside Charles, almost entirely copying his position from that fateful hospital room. It didn’t seem as if either of the room’s living occupants had noticed them.

Charles blindly reached for Edwin’s hand for comfort, not looking away from the scene in front of him and matching his partner’s volume, “No idea. Don’t think I’ve seen them before.”

Edwin hummed, “Perhaps a little too young to have met you. Or someone your mother reconnected with recently—“

“I’m not really in the mood for deductions, love.” Charles said, not unkindly. Everything felt too fragile to be picked apart like that.

“Right. Apologies.” Edwin squeezed his hand and went quiet.

Charles squeezed his hand back in forgiveness, joining in the silence. He kept going back to what the stranger was saying, familiar consonants both soothing and devastating. What kind of a son was he, failing to comfort his dying mother, unable to speak her mother tongue, a stranger to his relatives? His tears were thankfully silent.

It took much longer for his mother to see them than his father. Several days passed, with the mystery relative coming and going more days than not, and the usual nurses and caregivers administering various care. Over time, the boys (the girls couldn’t figure out how to enter the space, but were supportive from their distance) had learned that the stranger’s name was Sangeeta, and she was a niece of his mother’s who’d noticed her steady decline and was the one to take her to hospital and then to hospice care. Charles’s mother had apparently stopped taking care of herself after her husband’s death, and she had refused other care, so at this point all they could do was make her comfortable. Charles spent a whole morning ranting to Edwin about it, how unfair it was that her life was so tied up in his asshole father’s that she wasn’t even trying to live after he was gone. Edwin, the deeply kind person he was, had let Charles rant until he ran out of steam, then gently pointed out that she’d been under the thumb of his father for far longer than Charles was, and that she’d now had to mourn her husband and her only child, which presumably takes a toll. Charles had started crying before Edwin had even finished talking, and Edwin had held him close on the plush sofa for the rest of the day.

It was hard to tell if it was a comfort or not when she finally saw them, but Charles decided that wasn’t important to think about right now, if ever. Right now, his mother could see him for the first time in forty years, and they didn’t know for how much longer. And yet, with all this time to prepare, he still found himself speechless when the time finally came.

“Mere laal,” She beat him to the punch, eyes glazed over but clearly locked on Charles, “I am glad to see you again, beta. It’s been so long.”

Charles let out a shakey breath, “Hi, mum. It’s—well— it’s been longer for you. I’ve visited a few times, over the years.”

She reached out a sinewy hand on a bone-thin arm, and Charles flew to the seat by her side, keeping his focus to make sure his hand stayed solid in her grasp. He vaguely noticed Edwin taking the seat beside him.

“Such a handsome boy. You were so young.” Tears welled up in her eyes.

Charles, all anxious energy and nerves, tears of his own threatening to spill, was quick to respond, “It’s alright, mum, I’m alright. No need to cry over me.”

She huffed, “Nonsense. You were the light of my life. Who else should I cry over?”

They were both crying at this point, tears streaming as they sniffled in turns. Edwin laid a careful hand on Charles’s back in a show of comfort.

However, that seemed to give Charles an idea, “No, really mum, it’s okay! See the bloke next to me? His name’s Edwin, and he’s been by my side all these years! He’s the one who first found me, and we’ve been helping people ever since. It’s been aces. Not sad one bit.”

Edwin stiffened at the mention, then all but froze when her eyes turned to him. He knew he looked night and day from Charles, and if he started talking she was bound to find him as abrasive as everyone always did, so why had Charles pointed him out!? If ghosts could sweat, Edwin would be drowning in his nerves.

Her gaze stayed on him for a long moment before she broke the silence, “He’s been good to you? Not like those other boys.”

Edwin wasn’t sure what to do with that, but thankfully Charles was quick on the uptake, “Not like them at all. He’s— he’s the best, mum. None of those tossers could even compare.”

“Because the boys— the ones who—“

Charles gripped her hand, “I know, I know. He’s a genuinely good person, Edwin. I was bad at picking friends in life, but thankfully I chose well with this one.”

His attempt at joking was overlooked completely by her, “Those boys, how could they do that? I knew their families, John Parish’s mother went to your funeral… Such cruel boys…”

“I’m alright, mum, I’m okay.” Charles kept going, smiling even as the tears continued, “It’s all in the past.”

“I should’ve fought harder for you… kept you close… mere laal, taken from me…” She was sobbing, her whole frame shaking with hiccoughs.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Charles took a steadying breath, “You know I couldn’t have stayed in that house, mum. And no one could’ve known those lads would go that far…”

Her sobs were worse for a moment, then stilled suddenly as she fought for oxygen. She coughed weakly.

At that, Charles’s crying intensified, despite all he did to keep himself together. He could tell. He knew what was coming. It was still devastating to see. Edwin pulled him in for a proper side hug, taking care not to jostle his grip on his mum.

This did not go unnoticed, and the dying woman suddenly smiled, as if the devastation was forgotten with the oxygen. She looked back to her son, “I am glad you have been happy, beta. You deserved happiness.”

“I’m happy, I’ve been so happy mum, I promise,” Charles tried to calm himself down, stuck in his reassuring her.

“Mere laal, light of my life, darling boy,” She breathed with difficulty, smile dropping, “Can you forgive me? I failed you…”

Charles’s frame shook with his vigorous nodding, “I forgive you, mum, you did the best you could, I love you so much—“

Her weak smile returned, glinting in the lamplight of the evening room, “Thank you, beta. You were too good for me, for this world…”

“All because of you, I swear it, all thanks to you—“

“Charles.”

“I love you, I’m sorry I wasn’t a better son, I’m could’ve been better, gotten you out of that house—“

“Charles, darling.”

“You deserved better, I love you, I forgive you—“

“My love, the light—“

Edwin was right, a deep blue light had filled the space, illuminating the still body of his mother. Her face was pulled into a slight smile, eyes closed, as if she was having a pleasant dream, even as the tear tracks dried on her cheeks.

“No, no I’m not ready—“ Charles immediately started to protest, gripping onto her hand like a lifeline.

“Charles—“

“I only just got to see her! She only just got free of him! No, no, I won’t—“

Edwin gently but solidly grabbed under Charles’s arms, “I’m sorry my love but we should go—“

Charles was nothing but hysterics by this point, head thudding onto the sheets for a moment before Edwin fully pulled him away. He said more, but Charles was too overwhelmed to process it properly, buzzing in his ears and headache behind his eyes making him feel alive in all the worst ways. Maybe it was just the first time he had cried this hard in his afterlife, or maybe being this close to an active death did something to their physiology—

Everything was a blur as they returned to the flat, Edwin all but carrying him through the mirror so that he wouldn’t get lost on the way. They collapsed onto the sofa, extra large cushions taken up by their ghostly presences. The girls were already there, and joined into the cuddle pile without another word (or perhaps with a few, Charles still wasn’t all there yet). Edwin jostled them all slightly to better position everyone before settling in again, making sure Charles was properly surrounded.

Charles sobbed for a while longer. He wasn’t quite sure for how long, or what day it was, or if he was bothering his friends by taking up their time and space like this. His devastation had seemed to take over his entire being. But, when he did breathe a little easier, when he was finally able to sit up, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. His mom was dead, yes, but so was he, and dying had granted them both freedom from that man, from that house, from the cruelties of the world. And in his death he was surrounded by people who loved him, people who were there for him when he needed them and would still be there for him tomorrow, and the next, and the next. The other shoe had dropped, and it certainly hurt, but thankfully he had people around him to help him through it. He was truly lucky to have them.

~

hope you enjoyed this impromptu series exploring Charles and his parents and grief and loss and all those lovely things. this was inspired by the complicated emotions I have / had after my grandparents passing, and I heavily encourage you to do something similar if you’re ever struggling with these big emotions—therapists and such will say that journaling is where it’s at, but sometimes it’s easier to project onto fictional characters and that’s ok !!! and, just to drive the point home, I want to reiterate that you are loved, and there are people around you who are there to support you, I promise ❤️

also, just to make it abundantly clear, I’m a v white midwestern american and as such have vvv limited knowledge of cultural aspects of Charles’s mom—I did research and tried my best, but if I screwed anything up PLEASE let me know so I can fix it!!!!! same goes for Britishisms ig but mostly looking for feedback on her Punjabi and her various cultural elements :)

[puraiuddo]

༺JazzProwl Fic Recs༻

— brought to you by puraiuddo -

This is by all means not a complete list of banger JP fics! It's my personal favorites—those fics that lodged themselves in my brain for one reason or another and never left.

Hopefully this list satisfies at least some of the sudden influx of interest for JP fics (and given how well rec'ing a fic turned out last time...) But, nah for real, not to make rec'ing fics fake deep or anything, but I think the fandom would be a better place if people were more unapologetically enthusiastic about fics and less afraid to interact with authors. So if you use this list to find some fics you have to promise to leave some unhinged comments! ٩("•̀ᴗ•́")و ̑̑

But before I start, I want to acknowledge the prevalence of potentially stereotypical depictions of Jazz in regards to his speech (❞), criminal/violent/sexual characterization (▾), or backstory/origins (⟲) in the JP/TF fandom. I've attempted to flag fics with the corresponding symbols above, because I'd like to recognize those problems while still rec'ing for a variety of other fantastic qualities. That said, I'm not infallible so please use your own discretion.

I've also tagged fics with "hiatus" if it's been a while between updates, but the author hasn't made a comment—these fics are especially important to interact with, b/c you never know if the author stopped posting b/c they weren't getting any reviews!

Now, without further adieu...

༺♡❦♡❦♡❦♡ -ˋˏ ♫ ♡ 𓆩𓆪 ˎˊ- ♡❦♡❦♡❦♡༻

༺JazzProwl-centric༻

Mistakes on Mistakes Until— by jabberish

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 280,212 - Alt-War AU』

Ricochet's got a bad case of conscience and he's pretty sure it's about to get him killed. (aka I think I've read every defection/ex-Con au and now I'm forced to make my own. Jazz-centric.)

* (づ ᴗ _ ᴗ)づ♡ The crème de la crème of JP fics. I really can't properly articulate the sheer amount of love and respect I have for MOMU other than that if you haven't read it, your life is worse for it. Go read it. Then read it again. Now. (I've read it 4 times. No, I'm not joking) I love all the fics on this list dearly, but MOMU holds a very special place in my heart. Flawless characterization, flawless dynamics, flawless plot, one-of-a-kind writing style... it's got it all. Of note: I've not flagged it despite its premise, because it will expertly subvert your expectations and you need to read it to understand. Bonus: it's got a lot of well-deserved fanart!

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Untitled Series by Need2Scream

『(2/?) - ffn - Words: 158,064 - War AU - hiatus』

Where the Lonely Ones Roam - 116,327

"Say you have a little faith in me. Just close your eyes and let me lead. Follow me home. Need to have a little trust in me. Just close your eyes and let me lead. Follow me home. To where the lonely ones roam." Eventual Prowl/Jazz

Spark - 41,737 - hiatus

"Chase you deep into the unknown. In my dark, in my dark, you're the Spark."/ "Roam with me, come down to where all of the others fell. Get lost, in the dark to find yourself. Just remember what I said, 'cause it isn't over yet."/SEQUEL to Where the Lonely Ones Roam

*It's not clear by the summary, but the series is essentially about Jazz and Prowl's developing relationship as they overcome war-related trauma, intermingled with a spectacular amount of original lore. See the author's ffn bio for a rundown. The originality and attention to detail in the world building in this AU is awe-inspiring. There are 2 fics in the JP series, but the author has a bunch of other Gen fics set in the same AU and another on ao3. Bonus: some of the Gen fics are Jazz & Prowl-centric and can be read as romantic!

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Crime in Crystals Series by Aard_Rinn

『(7/?) - ao3 - Words: 258,030 - Crime/Hitman AU - hiatus - ▾ ⟲』

The Hitman - 6,942 - pt 1

Prowl is the last clean cop in Praxus, the final flickering light in the darkness. There are plenty of people who would like to see him snuffed.

2. The Clarification, 3. The Kill, 4. The Capture, 5. The Prime, 6. The Talk, 7. The Chase 8. TBD

*The main plot is broken into 7 separate fics, but it's all one continuous story. Read the whole thing! It's on my all time favorites. It's thrilling, tremendously action packed, and the character dynamics are some of my favorites. It's also hysterical and wholesome and I've reread it a stupid amount of times. Bonus: it's got fanart + there are 5 extra fics, including a Jazz-centric prequel, in the same AU.

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War Eternal Series by Hearts of Eternity

『(3/4) - ffn - 2m? idk it's insane - Bayverse War AU - discontinued - ▾ ❞ ⟲』

Where You and I Collide - 362,090 - prequel

Separately, Jazz and Prowl are like forces of nature- they are uncompromising and uncontrollable. But what becomes of their natures when these two unstoppable forces collide? Will one break the other, or will they both be stronger for it?

As We Come Together - 485,586 - pt 2 - Gen

While the surviving Autobots begin to flock to Earth in response to Optimus' call, trying to find a new home on the strange organic planet called Earth, some unfortunate bots are beginning to realize the price of war may have been too high. Sequel to Time

May We Never Let Go - 408,409 - pt 3 - Gen - d/c

Hell literally lies in wait above Earth as the Cybertronians and Earthlings coexist uneasily, rattled by every attack the Fallen and his master launch on them. With new evil rising, the powers that be on Earth and beyond are gearing up for war.

1. As We Come Together, prequel 2: Surface of the Sun

*Long, convoluted explanation coming up given that this series is obviously a whole different beast compared to likely any other fanfic series you or I have ever encountered in our lives... b/c the author is just superhuman or smth idk...

The series is officially listed as 4 parts (WYaIC, WTWHL, AWCT, MWNLG). Where You and I Collide is the JP-centric prequel to the other 3 Gen fics (that have substantial background JP). WTWHL is technically part 1 of the series, but it's sorta more character-focused ficlets than a continuous story... which is why I didn't specifically list it as a rec even if that makes things more confusing... (ᵕ¬ᴗ¬) Also the author didn't list Surface of the Sun as part of the series, but it's a direct prequel (like WYaIC) starring the Lambo twins and it's... oh it's so good... absolutely shatters my heart that it's been d/c'd.

I've not listed an exact world count, b/c if you want to read every bit of the AU with all its prequels and offshoots (which I would highly recommend and have done)... I'm not gonna do the math for you, sorry. The main 4-part story is ~1.7m+ which I realize is frankly insane and extraordinarily intimidating, but it is so sooo sooooo worth it. The author has created their own fully fleshed out TF world with its own lore and characters and the time and effort they've put into is mind-boggling .

Anywho, despite ultimately being d/c'd, the series is still tremendously readable and nothing about JP is left feeling unbearably unfinished. I also happened to track down the lovely author and beg for a summary of the ending, b/c I'm a bit of a freak and they very kindly provided it so if not knowing how a fic ends bothers you/prevents you from reading, you have the option of getting closure even if you can't have it written out.

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Fathomless by Sroloc_Elbisivni

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 19,949 - Fantasy AU - complete』

Jazz is drowning on dry land on the other side of the world. Once upon a time, before Jazz was born, the Rust Sea covered a swathe of Cybertron bigger than the territory of any city-state except Iacon. The sea had been more powerful than any engine besides the one at the heart of the planet itself, big enough to swallow a metrotitan in its depths, the birthplace of storms. Thing is, none of that was Jazz. He doesn’t remember those days, before he was himself, except in his dreams. And his dreams are terrifying.

*This fic makes me feel some type of way... it gives me shivers. It's so eerie and the premise is so unique. It's also beautifully bittersweet, which is a hard concept to pull off.

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The Judge by SilenceoftheLlamas

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 107,653 - Alt-War AU』

Prowl’s got a secret, and he’d rather be dead in the ground before he let anyone find out about it. Jazz’s got one too, but he’s not as good at hiding it. Prowl is a secret superhero, Jazz is a secret fanboy who doesn’t know that he works with the guy. By night Prowl is the virtuous hero The Judge, but by day he’s just an unassuming tactical officer.

*Jazz and Prowl are sorta painfully adorable in this fic and the JP is so sweet it makes my teeth hurt. Plus it's got a really fun premise with lots of shenanigans.

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Black on White on Black Series by pipermca

『(3/?) - ao3 - Words: 86,248 - fix-it, War AU - complete』

Anamnesis - 31,097 - pt 1

When Jazz and his team are lost on a mission, Prowl has to carry on alone. But a discovery a thousand vorn later could turn his life upside down again.

2. The Ghost of the Howling Plains, 3. Pulling Strings

*Super interesting sorta-kinda-fix-it fic and/or explanation for the events and characterizations in IDW. There are 3 stories in the main JP plot line. Bonus: there's 2 "Extras" fics for cut scenes from the main fics.

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Crystal Ghosts Series by Rizobact

『(2/2) - ao3 - Words: 85,688 - Fantasy AU - complete - ⟲』

Enduring as Crystal - 40,517 - pt 1

There were a lot of reasons Prowl visited the library. He never knew the most important one was waiting for him in the garden behind it.

Eternal as Love - 45,171 - pt 2

Prowl promised he would help Jazz, the ghost of the crystal chapel in the garden behind Praxus' central library. He just couldn't anticipate what shape that help would wind up taking.

*Another super unique premise! I love a good historical mystery and the imagery is specularly evocative! And I'm a sucker for the trope... which I can't reveal, because of spoilers.

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Untitled Series by Vaeru

『(2/2) - ffn - Words: 10,766 - War AU - complete - ❞』

Descant - 7,925 - pt 2

G1/Jux compliant. Requiem sequel. Prowl doubted that his desired image of Respected Superior Officer came across very well with a half-scrapped mech clinging to his hand, but he loomed as best as he was able and glared.

*Requiem is Jazz-centric and I'd say more of a prequel to Descant than Descant is a sequel to Requiem... if that makes any sense. Regardless of how you view it or what order you read it, it's fucking brutal. (-‿-“) Bonus: author also wrote another really great fic called Transformers: Juxtaposition which is Lambo twin-centric and OC-centric, but perhaps one of the only OC fics that I've ever enjoyed.

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Domino Milkshake by SilenceoftheLlamas

『oneshot - (1/?) - ao3 - Words: 24,886 - War AU - complete - ❞』

Jazz drunkenly pretends that he's dating Prowl. Only he isn't, and the mech is right behind him.

*It's a fake dating AU... what more can I say? I love the the begrudging developing romance and the meddling friends. Bonus: it's got fanart!

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Hunter's Spark by WandersUnderStarlight

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 43,645 - Alt-War AU - ❞』

Jazz disobeys orders to abandon the ruins of Praxus and runs into one of the Senate's dirty secrets.

*This author also has a few more JP fics that I enjoy like An Offer He Can't Refuse and Long Patrol. I gotta offer aisclaimer though: the fics are... fairly cliche and a bit OOC. Hunter's Spark is much more tame than the other two, though. They're all sorta a guilty pleasure of mine, because it's fun to enjoy Prowl being a bit of a BAMF and Jazz being a bit of a damsel on occasion even if objectively I understand why it's not everyone's cup of tea. ("￣▽￣";)ゞ But the author definitely deserves credit for creative and entertaining premises and a really nice writing style!

༺☆★☆★☆★-ˋˏ ♫ ♡ 𓆩𓆪 ˎˊ-★☆ ★☆★☆༻

༺General༻

Little Brother by Meiza

『oneshot - ffn - Words: 64,542 - War AU - discontinued』

Prowl is infamous for being a logical, nigh emotionaless thinker who's better at battle calculations than interpersonal relationships. How he was roped into taking care of the last survivor of Praxus is anyone's guess.

*Prowl & Bluestreak centric, but Jazz has a solid amount of screentime. The subplot is pre-relationship, co-parenting JazzProwl and it's cute as hell. It's not 'officially' discontinued, but it hasn't been updated since 2010... so... At least it doesn't end in a cliffhanger. (╥﹏╥|||)

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Things We Don't Tell Humans by SineadRivka

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 363,057 - Bayverse War AU - complete』

This was a first for us Autobots; never before have we come in contact with a species like these humans, so eerily similar to our own race and twice as tenacious as Sparklings. The question was, how far can we trust the humans with our culture? Some things have translated between cultures without much effort. Other subjects, however…

*Please note the tags! Also... I'll be honest that I mostly skip to the JP parts and main plot points in this fic as it's about a very ensemble cast and I'm not interested in TF humans ... so I can't entirely vouch for the integrity of the whole thing. (￢ω￢;)

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Echoes of Messatine by MlleMusketeer

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 303,863 - Alt-War AU - complete - ▾ 』

Cybertron hurtles toward war, and only a handful of mecha see it. Not Megatron, whose inflammatory writings gain him agonizing attention from those on high. Not Ratchet, the Iacon Medical Center’s most prized practitioner, whose Dead-End clinic remains the worst-guarded secret on Cybertron. Not Overlord, whose iron hold over Cybertron’s underworld is beginning to falter. Not Orion Pax, whose concern over the sudden silence of one of his favorite writers drives him to take up his hero’s pen. Not Terminus, who only wants to survive. But Trepan and Senator Shockwave both know well what’s coming. One aims to use a defiant miner’s fall to crush the aspirations of the masses. The other wants to use that miner’s triumph to ignite them. Neither much cares about Megatron himself, or his ultimate survival. Therein lies their fatal error.

*Not clear from the summary, but the premise is essentially "what if Megatron got the matrix instead of OP" and how their pre-war lives would have to pan out for them to ultimately switch roles. Just a really fascinating, supremely well-done "what-if" fic, but also probably the weirdest one to put on this particular list, b/c JP turns into megatron/JP at the very, very end... but... I just kinda ignore that development since it happens in like almost literally in the last chapter and you can def read it as friendship up until that point... (¬⤙¬ ᵕ)

༺☓○☓○☓○☓○-ˋˏ ♫ ♡ 𓆩𓆪 ˎˊ-☓○☓○☓○☓○༻

༺Mature༻

*listen... don't @ me. They're definitely saucy, but they're not explicit. Yada, yada... hey minors, don't read these! ...But we all know you will so just don't talk to me or anyone else about it, cool? Cool. (☞ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞

Intermission by crabapplered

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 5,049 - War AU - complete - ▾』

As the war stretched on for interminable vorn, Prowl found himself faced time and again with the mounting stress of his position. Many of those times he was forced to face alone, the gear grinding stress sending him to Ratchet for system overhauls and forced defrags. But every so often he'd be fortunate enough to have Jazz on hand, and when he did, well, it didn't take much. Pressing Jazz up against the wall, cramming him into corners, pinning him facedown over Prowl's desk. It didn't matter as long he could keep Jazz still.

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Audition by crabapplered

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 12,783 - War AU - complete - ▾』

If one were to be delicate, one would say that Jazz and Prowl are incompatible. The blunt truth? 'You just lie there with this blank expression on your face,' he'd been told by his last partner. Signal had stayed longer then most, willing to try since Prowl was so obviously doing his best, interfacing to please his partner and give him what Prowl himself disliked. In the end, though, it hadn't worked. 'You don't like me touching you, you don't like the mess, you don't even like the overload, and half the time I swear you're running economic simulations in your CPU you look that bored. I don't want that. I don't want you miserable, and I don't want me miserable, either.' So why can't Prowl stop wishing?

༺♡❦♡❦♡❦♡ -ˋˏ ♫ ♡ 𓆩𓆪 ˎˊ- ♡❦♡❦♡❦♡༻

That's all, folks.

ദ്ദി(｡•̀ω-)✧ ~Happy reading!

and for the shit tumblr search/tag system, i offer: #jazzprowl #jazzprowl recs #jazz x prowl #jazzprowl fic recs #jazzprowl fanfic recs #tansformers fic recs #tf jazzprowl #tf fic recs

[arahusk]

Teamwork Makes the Dream Work

Characters/Pairing: Alastor/Husk, Niffty, Vox, Valentino, Velvette

Word count: 5378

Ao3 link: [here]

-

The spats between Overlords in Pentagram city could be called the very definition of petty. 

It’s one of those things from his prime that Husk can say he didn’t really miss at all. Just one unintended slight, or a little extension of one’s territory into another, a sale of a faulty product or even just a small rejection, could start a whole gang war. Other sinners, or even other hellborn, would get caught in the middle of it. Such spats left things in ruins, or destroyed afterlives, making it a nightmare to rebuild again.

The V Tower is effectively wrecked, but the Vees themselves are still standing, still high and mighty, as they loom above the wreckage over Husk, an overeager Niffty, and his bitch of a boss.

Whatever set either of these fuckers off this time, Husk had no damn clue, but the ache in his shoulder told him that he’d be paying the price for it either way.

“You really thought it would be like last time?!” Vox shouts from above a pile of disfigured television sets, red spittle dripping down his screen. His face is cracked, but not enough to mess with the hypnosis that was moving demons from underneath the rubble, weapons of all kinds in their hands. “You’re stuck in the past while I’ve been innovating! Because that’s what technology does, you red piece of shit!”

“You know, you’re yelling right in my ear,” Velvette grouses, just a few strands of her dyed hair out of place.

Smartphone in hand, she barely glances at it when she swipes a thumb down. It seems to send a signal, one that opens up a hidden door and more sinner monstrosities in broken high heels and tattered dresses turn up with murder in their eyes, drugged out of their minds.

Valentino isn’t doing much except looking mighty pissed at his coat being ripped at the back. He cocks the trigger of a bedazzled gun, grinning fiercely. “He’s just having fun, Vel, honey. Though he fucking owes me a whole new wardrobe after this.”

Husk in particular hates that guy. For a lot of things, but right now for the bullet he left in his damn shoulder.

“What next, Sir!? Can I try to get that bad boy again?” Niffty is, of course, living this up, and at least her rabid speech makes Valentino look a bit unsure.

Husk waits for the next order. There would be no point in refusing, and he and Niffty would just have to continue this stupid war until enough of them keel over.

Except, even with the onslaught already coming for them, still climbing over ruined wires and broken letter V’s, Alastor still doesn’t say anything. Husk risks a glance, finding the Radio Demon standing still, hands over his mic, looking straight ahead at nothing.

His coat’s even more frayed than usual, and the fight had left his hair a bit messy, but he’s the least worse off. Even Niffty had a scratch over her cheek, and blood running down her fingers…from accidentally stabbing herself with her own needles.

The demons are still heading their way towards them, and it makes Husk a bit nervous. “Er, boss? We doing something?” No way he just summoned them here just to have one stupid last stand.

At that, Alastor picks up his head slightly. He looks over at Husk on his right side, then at Niffty on his left, who is still bursting with energy at the seams. After a moment, he looks forward again. “Right. Looks like we’ll need a bit of an intermission!”

With that, he makes a sweeping gesture with his arm, keeping his other hand on his cane. The shadows that spring out from the ground range from tiny, impish beings to gigantic ogres, all with stitches connecting their limbs and smiles carved into their doll-like faces. Another gesture with his fingers, and they propel forward with the help of dark tendrils, clashing against the demons so that it becomes just another chaotic brawl. 

And more tendrils shoot up, closer to Alastor’s feet, so that they converge on each other, surrounding the three until they are all encased in a slightly transparent dark shield.

“Oh, this old trick again?! You’re so boring!” Vox clenches his fists, directing his hypnotic gaze at them. “Get out here and fight! You cowardly fuckass–!”

Another gesture, and the shield becomes solid black. Soon there’s no more sound from outside, and the only light that exists comes from the strange red glow of Alastor’s cane.

“Finally, I can think for a bit,” Alastor mutters.

Husk looks around in confusion, while Niffty ooo’s and aaa’s at her boss’s powers. She pokes at the shield with her bleeding fingers. “Hehe, it’s sproingy!”

“So are we just twiddling our thumbs until the Vees tear this shield down?” Husk asks a bit more bitterly than he intends. The wound on him is really stinging now. “If we’re not fighting, then at least get us the fuck outta here.”

“We are not doing that,” Alastor says, cracking his neck sharply to glare at Husk. “I haven’t won.”

Husk blinks. Then, slowly, he grits his teeth. “Oh fuck off.”

“I can win for you, Sir! Just let me at’em!” Niffty raises up her hand, waving erratically. “I almost got that bug boy too!”

“Niffty, dear, you’re swell. But I still need to think—”

“What, we’re just gonna stand around while you mull it over? I’m fucking tired and I just wanna go back home and drink.”

“You can drink yourself to death anytime, Husker. Now let me just—”

“Ohhh, sure. You’re right, I’d rather die from getting mauled to death by some brainwashed cultists outside!”

“Maul! Maul! I wanna do some mauling! Can you let me, Sir? Please?!”

“If I wasn’t bound to you, I’d be hauling ass and letting you deal with this shit yourself!”

Suddenly, pressure.

The chains appear out of the air, latching onto both Husk and Niffty’s necks. Husk stiffens, while Niffty is bouncing up and down on her toes. But both effectively quiet down, all while Alastor looms above them with a tight grin on his face, a hand gripping both chains, making them rattle. The static feedback sounds even louder within the small, dark space.

“I said, let me think.”

Husk should have stayed quiet, and he almost does, but both the anger and blood loss is probably getting to him. “Finally caught yourself between a rock and a hard place, huh?” If only because of the man’s pride and nothing else.

Alastor doesn’t respond. The feedback keens just a bit higher, but only for a moment before he turns around, slamming the end of his cane into the ground.

Niffty is still waiting eagerly, but she leans over to Husk, whispering loudly, “He’s gonna have a really fun idea!”

Husk scoffs. “If you say so, little lady.” He doubts hard. At the most, Alastor is probably planning for them all to go on a suicide mission and hopefully get Vox along the way. His defeat from Adam must still be a big sore spot for him.

The sound finally builds from outside like a rolling wave, which means the deadly mob is probably getting closer. And still, Alastor stands around like a fucking moron, tapping his fingers against the mic. The hell did he expect would happen from this?

Both bored and aching, Husk groans. “You fought Vox by himself last time. Don’t know why you thought fighting all three would be any easier.”

Then, he feels the chain tighten. But not to throw him to the ground like he half-expects, but from Alastor turning around. “What was that?”

His boss is being really damn obtuse for some reason. “I mean, it’s three against one. Not like me and Niffty even count really, at least not anymore.”

Alastor stares, then tilts his head a bit. “Is that so?”

Husk gestures to the chains he and Niffty were leashed to. “Binding contract, remember? Your memory getting spotty now?”

“I love being tied up though!” Niffty cackles, her bright eye shining with adoration. “Best deal I ever made!”

“Speak for yourself,” Husk grumbles.

In his heyday, maybe Husk could be more of a threat. Heck, from what he heard of Niffty, she’d also been a force to be reckoned with. But not many really remembered the power of the Needlewoman and her love of pointy things.

Alastor pauses again. He’s considering something, though Husk can’t really guess as to what. A new strategy to get at Vox? Maybe cataloging through his arsenal of abominations to unleash a counterattack. Or maybe just thinking up a way to get Husk to shut up.

Then, Alastor shrugs. “Well, I see no other way then.” He brings his hand up, the chains laying slack in his palm, and snaps his fingers.

Husk feels it right away. The weight lifting off his neck. He widens his eyes and looks down, just in time to see the fragments of metal and chain links fall away into nothingness.

He’s free. 

“You and Niffty have been released from your contracts. You may thank me later!”

Niffty also looks down at herself, then at the ground, then at the air again as she tries to piece together the links that had once housed her soul. “Oh no! Does Sir not like me anymore?!”

Husk stares, and stares. He then lifts his eyes to face Alastor. “Excuse me, but, what?”

Alastor just grins. “You now have your full power at your disposal again.” A small twirl of his cane as he faces them fully, unmindful to the ruckus outside. “Though perhaps not as much as when you owned souls.”

Husk still has no idea what to make of this. It’s almost like the door of his cage has been flung open wide, and he’s not sure if he should head for it. And as he feels Niffty grip his arm, also shivering at her newfound freedom, she seems to be feeling the same way.

And then, Alastor grins wider. He reaches out his hand. “Which is why I propose we all make a new deal instead.”

Of course there’s a fucking catch.

“You think I’m that much of a sucker?” Husk blurts out. He points a claw at Alastor. “This is some kind of trick. No way you’d let us go that easy.”

“Don’t throw me away, Sir! I can be better!”

Alastor remains motionless, hand still outstretched. The sounds outside are growing louder.

“Instead of working for me, how about we all become business partners? Is that enticing enough?” He quirks up an eyebrow. “All those souls you once owned will now be back at your disposal.”

Husk now really wonders if he’s not just been knocked out and having one hell of a coma dream. Alastor, the Overlord who sees everyone as beneath him. Alastor, the Radio Demon who would rather go to war than take the offer of joining the Vees’ team. Alastor, the narcissistic prick who would probably gnaw his own arm off then ever seeing anyone else as his equal.

But then, Husk pieces it all together.

“You know you can’t win by yourself,” he says. “Not unless we’re all at the top of our game.”

Alastor’s right eye twitches a bit. His frazzled hair makes it look all the more menacing. 

“Motherfucker. You’re that desperate.”

“I believe I already told you,” Alastor says quietly. “I won’t be humiliated.”

But Niffty, who has now climbed to the top of Husk’s left wing, gasps with happiness. “That means we’re all going to get married!”

A record scratch echoes around them, one that makes Alastor’s fingers move back and forth. Then, “Whatever works, dear!”

“For the love of—” Husk glares, and he does a small, experimental search through his soul. It’s faint, but he does find something. It’s been locked away by door and key, one that he could only scratch at but never get through. The pit of his soul where a sinner’s power grows, but how it can grow even more with another couple of souls at his fingertips.

From Alastor’s palm, a green flame erupts. It has shifting faces in it, merging from all the souls he still held onto.

Husk can’t help but look into the fire. It’s enticing. It’s addictive. And the fact that this would be an even playing field this time…

He once thought he didn’t miss being an Overlord, but suddenly, he feels so hungry.

“What makes you think we’d accept—”

“I want to be a beautiful bride!” Niffty cries into his ear.

“Ugh, fine. What makes you think I’d accept this? I could just walk off right now. I can break through your dumbass shield and never see your ugly mug again.”

He probably didn’t even need his old powers to do so. He could see the shadows begin to fade, how the spiderweb cracks spread behind Alastor. His boss—no, his ex-boss was running out of time.

Still, the only thing Alastor did was reach out further. A finger pressed underneath Husk’s chin, bringing up his gaze.

“Because I know you.”

Husk swallows. Even without the damn chain, he feels immobile.

“You’ve always been a greedy kitty. It’s why it was just so easy I could even get your soul in the first place!” Alastor laughs a little, as if reliving an old memory. “And I know how much you also like to win.”

The thrill of winning can be so intoxicating. 

Husk watches as the shield cracks even further, until a part of it ruptures, giving them a view of the outside. He sees the ruins of the V Tower again, and some of the shadows getting decimated by brainwashed sinners. He hears gunshots, and knows Valentino is probably having the time of his afterlife, which frankly irks him.

Niffty is salivating as she sees the carnage, and he feels a particular heat from her. Her pupil dilates, and her sharp teeth elongate. Her limbs, already thin as twigs, seem to get even thinner, like the sharp points of rusty needles.

The Overlord of all things sharp and stabby. Rumors say she typically cut apart most of her acquired souls out of habit, which probably made it all the more easy for Alastor to win her over.

Alastor ignores the commotion, even that of Vox’s unhinged ranting that they could hear once more (“Oh, finally showed up again?! Well, here’s another fucking thing! Your bob haircut is tacky!! I’m gonna shave off all that shit!”), and just keeps his gaze on Husk and Niffty.

Though, Alastor has already won Niffty over long ago. So it’s really just Husk.

His finger slowly slips from out of Husk’s chin, momentarily breaking a spell. His hand is now held open again, palm facing upwards.

“Now, how about it, dear? This time, you don’t have anything to lose.”

Husk’s wings rustle. Then they stretch—and then they grow bigger. The Lucky Gambler, once a big name back downtown, could push out a bunch of low-rollers from his casino with a beat of his wings alone. And that didn’t include the natural luck on his side, dodging a fatal blow and rolling snake eyes right between a demon’s own eyes, so that all that was left of them was brain matter and an empty wallet.

Niffty is breathing harder. He can also hear her rapid heartbeat, which is going so fast it’s like a hum.

“Equal partnership, between all three of us,” Husk states. An explosive whizzes right past them, blowing up another section of drywall from the tower. They all ignore it. “That means neither of us can order around the other. Unless one of us is into that.”

Niffty is practically frothing at the mouth, her spittle getting on Husk’s fur. 

“We get access to all the souls, not just those we used to own.” Husk raises a thick eyebrow at Alastor. “If you want us to be business partners, then we’re gonna share the wealth.”

And he expects Alastor to refuse. The man barely wants to share his own alcohol case back home with anyone besides maybe Rosie. No way he would agree to share his entire stash of souls. He’d probably eat them all first.

But Alastor doesn’t do that. He looks at Husk with a certain glee he can’t even name.

“And no loopholes, or hidden clauses, none of that shit,” Husk goes on. “If you want our help with this fight, you’re gonna learn to be a team player. Okay, partner?”

Oh, how he knows Alastor hates being on a team that’s not just him and him alone, more than anything else.

But the Radio Demon is such a proud abomination, so he keeps his hand out and smiles tightly. There’s also something else in his eyes, something beyond the bloodlust and the power hungry gaze. It’s so intense.

It’s excitement.

These are uncharted waters for Alastor. He has no idea how this will end, but it’s probably one of the most entertaining things he’s ever experienced.

“Fair enough,” Alastor complies. The flame in his hand grows brighter. “So, is it a deal?”

Niffty is about to launch herself right into Alastor’s palm before Husk grips her tiny—but shifting—body in his hand to steady her. Then, he gives a nod to Alastor. He holds out his own hand.

“Deal.” He glances back at Niffty. “You still in?”

She nods rapidly. “Deal! Deal! Let’s kill some bad boys!”

Husk clasps Alastor’s hand, and Niffty slams her tiny one on top of both of theirs. It’s almost akin to some weird friendship handshake. 

Light flickers around them, sealing it. Another explosion goes off, this time right at Alastor’s back. It singes just a bit of his hair. 

His grin widens, and his eyes become dials, turned all the way to the right. The feedback blares.

“Shall we?”

—

Niffty, in her Overlord prime, is a terrifying, beautiful thing.

Her smile is enough to rival Alastor’s, which says a lot. She’s more spindly, more quick, and her love of pointy things has deadly consequences for nearly everyone else around her. Husk wonders if she ever heard the phrase to not run with scissors, or if she did and just decided to take up on the challenge to its extreme.

She has gigantic as fuck scissors that could cut a demon clean in half, spraying blood all over the place. She gives a laugh before she runs over to her next victim on needle-thin limbs, sometimes running on all fours which makes her even more uncanny, like a spider that had been constructed out of wires. She’s a slasher flick brought to gory life, and she’d probably cut apart friend along with foe if he didn’t pointedly get out of her way.

Maybe it’s the sudden surge of power that makes her crazy, because Husk also finds himself going insane over it. Even so, it’s a red-tinged blur of adrenaline and luck on his side before it’s finally all over.

What he can gather out of the fight between Niffty and Velvette was brutal, but somehow, it’s the aftermath itself that’s even more unnecessarily violent.

“Stop that!! You’re messing it all up!” Velvette shouts through a mouthful of blood. 

Niffty uses her scissors to cut apart Velvette limb from limb. Though there’s blood and guts, Velvette’s body is absolutely abnormal. There are ball joints that connect her elbows to her arms, and her knees to her legs. Except Niffty was just sawing through what seemed like plastic that still housed blood inside.

“I used to always love playing with dolls,” Niffty whispers as she takes out one of her needles. “I loved pulling them apart then putting them back together again. Wanna see how?”

“Nooo!”

Husk makes sure to turn away while Velvette continues to scream and Niffty continues to laugh. At least she’s having fun.

Sitting against a piece of rubble, where he narrowly avoids the electricity of live wires that hung from nearby, he draws a pull on his cigar. He keeps a few of the things in his pockets when drinking isn’t doing much for him after all. Then, he puffs out the smoke at the downed face next to him. 

“Shame you can’t shoot for shit,” he says. His wings stay large, casting shadows over the cracked tiles and bodies of sinners that would probably regenerate in the next month, give or take. “Those glasses really just for decoration?”

Valentino is snarling through what’s left of his teeth, then coughs up a glob of blood. Both his antennas have been ripped off (for Niffty’s collection) and his stupid expensive sunglasses have been shattered. Some of the shards have embedded into his face, making the Pimp Overlord wince. His own wings are spread out, pinned at the edges by playing cards that are wicked sharp. They’ve already been half-sliced, along with the guy’s double-set of arms, which were laying around who knows where.

“I’m going to fucking kill you, gatito.” Valentino coughs again, raising up his face to give Husk the most obnoxious sneer. “Voy a matar al cabrón hijo de su puta madraaaaaaggh!”

Valentino’s screaming, along with sizzling skin, could be heard across the ruins. 

“Cállate la boca, pendejo.” Husk twists the end of his cigar further into Valentino’s eye. Further, and further, until it’s effectively ruined. Now he definitely can’t see for shit.

And further out there, he can see his boss’s hulking back—most likely relishing his victory. 

Valentino eventually did quiet down and went still, which Husk took as the opportunity to stretch his legs and flick away the cigar. It arcs in the air to land right onto Valentino’s back, giving another dark patch to his already burned-up coat.

Husk walks. His ears flick. Then he quickly shifts to the side to avoid a bullet that narrowly misses his head.

“Damn, guess having one eye was the best thing to happen to your aim.” With a turn, Husk grins at the bug who trembles while he holds his last bedazzled gun in his already mangled hand. He knows how his own eyes shine like gold coins, as dazzling as casino lights. “Hope you can shoot these away, for your sake.”

But Husk always has a good throwing hand when it comes to his dice, and the newly revived Overlord’s luck is still going strong as it explodes right at Valentino’s befuddled face.

Now, he can finally shift his attention to Alastor who’s busy playing with his food.

Vox huddles before the looming dark tower that is the Radio Demon. His face could also barely be even called a face anymore, the cracks so numerous, corrupting the video feed of his eyes and his mouth. It just fragments into chaos, the visual quality flickering, then fading, before flickering again, as if there had been a sudden power surge.

The TV set that was everything about him and more, looks ready to fall right off his shoulders and clatter to the ground.

“You… I hate you…” Vox grips a hand against the side of his screen, and tries to push it back in place. There are numerous other monitors hanging from a partly collapsed wall behind him, but more than half of them are dark, and the rest are flickering or giving their jarring blue screens of death.

Alastor, further craning down his neck, says nothing. But even Husk could see from here that his grin is absolutely euphoric. It covers nearly the entirety of his face, with his eyes bright red and highlighting Vox in all of his pathetic defeat.

Between his giant, curved fingers is his mic cane, looking as tiny as a toothpick in comparison. He holds it near Vox’s head.

“Speak into the mic, old friend.”

Vox trembles, then he lets loose with a tirade—or as much as he could. His own feed is too corrupted to get anything out right anymore, buffering at an embarrassingly slow rate. “I-I-I-I fu-fuc-fucking-g-g-g HATE y-y-you!! I-I-I-I’ll r-r-r-ip yo-o-o-ou a-a-p-p-art!! A-A-A-l-l-as-s-s-s-tor!!”

A pillar of shadow juts from the ground beneath, impaling him straight into his chest. Vox then just hangs there, his blocky head tilted to the right, his screen an array of colors before it also goes as dead as the rest of his empire. 

Alastor opens his mouth, his rows of teeth as big as slot machines. Husk can only imagine that his mouth is just a dark abyss, with nothing inside, because the Radio Demon is always hungry, all the time. Husk braces himself for the inevitable crunch, the final curtain for this TV mogul Overlord.

It’s all still for a moment, Vox hanging over his ultimate death, before the shadow that he’s impaled on suddenly throws him to the side. A small crash of glass and metal, followed by a spark of electricity, before going quiet again.

When Husk blinks, Alastor is back to normal, fixing up his bowtie and tucking his cane under his right arm. “He would just taste terrible.” Then he turns on his heel, facing Husk with a curious gaze. “Husker! Looks like you’ve put on a bit of weight!”

“You talking about my wings, asshole?” Husk shakes his head, before he also goes back to normal, a few loose feathers rustling loose to float in the air. He puts his power back into the pit of his soul, and his eyes burn less, no longer seeking out lady luck and her guiding hand. 

He takes a quick look around the ruined V Tower, with piles of corpses and machines littering the ground. Husk spreads his hands wide. “There. You won. Happy now?”

Alastor’s eyes are alight with jovial red. An upbeat jazz number plays from his mic cane, one that was more on the swing side than usual. “Incredibly!” he answers.

Niffty turns up just then, her head rising from the rubble and breaking apart the cement cleanly. She’s only the long, spindly creature that had cut up bodies for a moment, before she finally reverts back to her tiny self—though still covered in an immense amount of blood.

“That was amazing!! Let’s do it again!” Niffty pops up further, freeing her legs before she runs up to Alastor and grabs at his coat. “Can we? Can we? I want to keep fighting in gang wars like I used to!”

…Husk then recalls an old story about the bloodbath massacre in downtown around the 60’s, before his time, much of it perpetuated by an Overlord that was said to be manic and off her rocker. Had that been her?

Alastor pets her head fondly, like she’s his loyal maid once more. Husk doesn’t expect much to happen. His ex-boss, now partner, got his victory and probably wanted to savor it without them haggling him. Lone wolf and all that.

But then, Alastor faces Husk, still with that happy grin on his face to go along with the happy tune. “You know, that did go rather swimmingly! Perhaps this truly was the best route after all.”

Husk raises an eyebrow. “I would hope so since you’re the one that came up with the arrangement in the first place.”

“Yes, yes, but I was going to double-cross you once this was through.” Alastor nods like that’s a normal thing to say. “You both are truly professionals! I didn’t even notice the other two all the while I was dealing with Vox.”

“Back up a sec, you were going to what now? You promised no loopholes-!”

But Niffty quickly overtakes the conversation, keening happily as she once again lifts up her giant scissor. There’s a bit of familiar red hair on its sharp edges, along with dried up blood. “Now that we’re all married, we can go paint the town red!”

Alastor nods again. “Right as rain as you always are, dear Niffty. Except for the marriage aspect, but whatever makes you happy!”

“Hey, partner,” Husk nags a bit, catching Alastor’s attention. “So you’re saying you want to stick with this? I’ll forgive the whole double-crossing shit if you keep giving us the fair share.”

At that, Alastor lowers his eyelids, but doesn’t do so as a threat. It’s almost like he’s so pleased with what Husk is saying, with how he looks. “Share the wealth, of course.”

Then the Radio Demon looks around at the rubble, which is when another V logo falls off the wall to crash into a million pieces. And then is promptly set on fire, for no discernable reason.

“But first, we should make our base of operations, as by the bouts of combat, we have won this very valuable territory!” Alastor taps a claw against his chin. “Now, if only we had a name…”

“We really need one?” Husk asks.

“The Vees did!”

“Yeah, and the Vees are also dead as fuck.”

“Silly boys!” Niffty wags her finger at them, now slinging her giant scissor across her shoulder like it was a loaded shotgun. “Everyone knows when you’re married that you go by the last name! Mr. and Mr. and Mrs. Radio Demon!”

“That’s a mouthful,” Husk tells her. “Also no.”

“Ah! I got it!” Alastor snaps his fingers to telegraph his obvious eureka moment. “We should call ourselves the A’s!”

“...No? That literally makes no sense with our names.”

“Well, if we get the right papers for the official name changes—”

“What name would I even get?! Husk is just fine, dammit!”

“Touchy, aren’t we?” Alastor leans suddenly very close to Husk, patting his shoulder. “Then how about the Aces?” He pokes at him. “Because of your card tricks?”

Husk considers, very briefly. He then gestures a so-so motion with his hand. “Eh. What does that even have to do with Niffty?”

“Well, I’m just spouting out ideas. Not like you’re helping!”

“Okay, fine. How about the Wild Cards? Got a nice ring to it.”

“Now, now, Husker. This isn’t all about you!”

“Oh, and the A’s name wasn’t just all for your ego!”

But the smile that’s on Alastor’s face is almost genuine, almost thrilled at Husk’s clapback. Of course he’d be happy after a murdering spree of dozens of souls, including that of one of his rival Overlords that could never shut up. Alastor then pulls in both Husk and Niffty into a hug, one that’s a bit tight around Husk’s ribs. He seems to particularly rub his cheek against Husk’s, enjoying the feel of the fur. Asshole. 

“My dear partners! As long as you never disappoint me, we’ll be going straight to the top!” Silence, then static laces his voice just slightly, distorting the soft jazz that had been playing. “Right? You won’t disappoint me?”

Niffty nods while Husk rolls his eyes. “Then don’t disappoint us, either. If not, we’re voting you out.”

“I’ll always vote for Sir!” Niffty instantly proclaims.

“Niff, can you work with me a little here?”

Alastor chuckles, still holding them in his group hug, despite the fires starting everywhere and the smoke filling the air. “I see big things coming our way for sure!”

Husk glances around again. “If you mean the fire that’s starting on the south exit and heading our way, then yeah, you’re probably right.”

“Indeed! This place ought to be condemned!” With that, Alastor laughed, unhinged, neck cricking and cracking. “Haha! Hahahaha!”

“Burning alive with my husbands is the best thing a girl can ask for!”

“Seriously, can we go?”

By the time they do eventually leave, the newly teamed up Overlords still hadn’t decided on a name for themselves. What else would we even call ourselves that Alastor would want? Husk thinks once they’re back outside on the streets, watching the tower burn itself out so they can ‘redecorate,’ as Alastor calls it. The Radio Gang? Radio Trio? That’s stupid. But it’s gonna be something that makes him the head honcho for sure.

Yet, as Husk watches the smoke curl up into the red-tinged sky, hearing Niffty still laughing and Alastor hum along to his tune, he can’t say he hates it. 

Maybe like his new grinning partner, he’s just as oddly excited about the future.

[mycherrycola]

to be honest I want to write Dante and Virgil fanfiction. Nothing good can come from this I fear

[monstrousfemale]

After the world finally stops threatening to end, sometime in late 1989, Steve quietly gets a tattoo across his ribs. It’s something personal and private, something he just needs etched into his skin because to not have it there would feel like a lie. He feels disconnected from himself, he feels alone, he feels like bullshit. Going into Indianapolis for the weekend and shoving the handwritten line at a tattoo artist is the most human Steve has felt in forever. The sharp pain of the needle followed by the dull ache of the healing process finally grounds him.

No one but Robin hears about this, though. And turns out outside of saving the world, now that he doesn’t swim as much, Steve doesn’t have that many excuses to take his shirt off anymore. So, the tattoo is a secret by omission, and Steve is fine with that. It’s his thing, and it doesn’t have to be exposed for it to mean as much as it does.

And it does mean a lot. It’s a mark of a new beginning, something physical to prove to Steve he is still around and kicking. 

And after that, life feels livable again. He has his friends, his only real family. He is managing Family Video now, after the owner had moved out of town due to world-almost-ending experiences. He is finally settling into being someone he actually wants to be.

Most importantly, Steve keeps in touch with Eddie as much as he can. They’re hanging out on and off all the time, falling into an easy routine without either of them meaning to. And by 1990, before either of them knows what hits them, they’re fumbling in the backroom at Family Video, making out against a shelf, VHS tapes raining down on them like falling in love: fast, hard, unexpected.

It’s all a blur of finally expressing things they had been keeping hidden for too long. Sharing secrets at midnight, back and forth with the pass of a joint or two or five. And after they start, they couldn't stop even if they had wanted to. They need this good thing. And they both know too well how fast the shit hits the fan around them. So, they don’t care for taking things slow, not after years of dancing around each other. All this to say, it doesn’t take long at all for Eddie to find himself in Steve Harrington's bedroom.

He’s sitting against the headboard, watching as Steve gets rid of his clothes. He had been expecting an almost childish awkwardness from Steve, because Eddie knows he hadn't done this before, not with a man. Not that Eddie has that much experience to speak of himself, but he had come to terms with it way earlier. It doesn’t matter what he had expected though, because in truth Steve is smooth, sexy even. He removes his clothes with purpose and devastating eye contact. He gets rid of his pants, and then his shirt is coming off – finally, finally messing up that amazing head of hair of his.

Eddie almost gets too distracted by Steve's intensity to notice the tattoo. When he comes closer, though, Eddie places his hand over his ribs. Instinctively, he just has to look and see what his skin looks like against Steve's skin. And there it is, right by his fingers. Pitch black ink, already healed over, already fully Steve. The words are stark against his pale skin. I want to be adored. Eddie has the air knocked out of him.

Steve looks down, confused for a moment. "Wha-?" he starts to ask, but then his brain catches on. Steve feels self-conscious, kisses Eddie to distract him from what he'd found. He hadn't known this is how he would feel, had never felt ashamed or embarrassed of much about his appearance before. And this isn’t quite shame. But this is Steve, bared, naked, in ways that go above a state of undress.

Eddie breaks the kiss, hand splayed over Steve's chest. "Fuck, Steve. When did you get that?"

"A while back. It's nothing." It is everything. It means so much to Steve, he'd never have the words.

Eddie's eyes soften, skimming the words again and again. The smile that graces his lips is tiny, a kind little thing Steve usually only sees on his face whenever he is around the nuggets, Max or Dustin usually.

"I can make that happen," Eddie says, honesty dripping from his words. It isn’t his usual, larger than life rambling. This is Eddie seeing him, really seeing him.

"What?" Steve asks, to diffuse the tension. A self-sabotaging little jab at their clear connection, because he actually thinks he knows exactly what Eddie means.

"I can adore you, big boy," Eddie says, and his playful spark was back. He winks, pulling Steve close by the shoulders. He gets both of them on Steve's bed. Steve's chest aches.

"Shut up," he says, because he doesn’t know how to accept something like this. Doesn’t know how to process that anyone would care, that anyone would pay attention.

Eddie rolls his eyes at him, flips them on the bed so he can straddle Steve's hips. Eddie traces the ink on his skin like it is precious. He kisses Steve hard, kisses his love into his lips, pushes it into his mouth like he does his tongue.

"I do adore you," Eddie says later, after they're both tired and spent and sated. After sex has made things fuzzier. It feels so simple now. It is so true.

"Eddie," Steve starts, ready to tell Eddie about all the ways in which he, Steve, is fucked up. Instead: "Thank you."

"Hey, I got you."

And Eddie does, he really does.

[fluxweeed]

Hii, I just discovered your fics and am reading my way through them. Love, love, love the ones I’ve read so far.😊 I was just wondering what your favourite Draco is you’ve written, and what your fave Draco is in fics written by others? ☺️

ACK thank you!! what a question!! i've considered this v carefully and it turns out i have………a lot of thoughts. i will keep them under a cut so nobody is accosted with a full 700 words of my Draco Opinions 😂 so my quick answer is:

my fave draco i've written: the taste of țuică my fave draco ever: rookie moves by peu_a_peu

draco is an interesting one for me bc i don't really LIKE him? but i have sooo many feelings about him. really not sure i could summon the same fervour for harry, for example, who is my number one boy forever and always.

(i saw a thing once that said a pairing becomes ur otp when u relate to one of the characters and want to fuck the other one, and 🙈 i mean, i think you're supposed to relate to the gryffindor, aren't you. whoops.)

OKAY SO HERE'S THE UNHINGED DRACO MALFOY ESSAY BY FLUX W. EED.

listen. i love and respect people who are Refined Draco enjoyers. connoisseurs of redemption arcs. appreciators of majestic malfoy bone structure and ethereal grey eyes and soft windswept hair. fans of dracos who insult harry (with hidden affection) and who are a bit snobbish (in a rich, sexy way) but ultimately have realised the error of their teenage years and have become a better person. perhaps this draco has built a potions business and helps the aurors. perhaps he IS an auror. either way, he has a biting sense of humour, maybe, but he's a good guy.

unfortunately, the draco of my heart is a horrid mean little rat man.

i've never actually managed to write him the way i love him. i tried to aim for immoral bastardy in what's mine is yours but i got so caught up in trying to nail the feelsforbreakfast-style humour in the narrative that i ended up focusing much more on that and much less on writing genuine bastardhood.

i've written him as reserved and clever (in the four doors – this draco was written entirely for @jovialobservationanchor, who had a weak spot for closed-off academics with soft centres) and as a traumatised self-loathing mess (in two to lie and to some extent for lack of wanting and say no to this) and hopelessly sexually/emotionally horny for one harry james potter (in, um, most things) but i've never managed to capture the genuine cruel streak and flawed personality that is sooo so important to me.

WHICH IS WHY i picked țuică!draco for my favourite of the ones i've written. he's still a bit too emotionally intelligent to be Just Right, imo, but i think he's maybe the closest? he's unrepentantly rude to people. he's not attractive. and he has a streak of self-destructive fucked-upedness that is some form of wartime guilt, but certainly not a pretty one.

HOWEVER. rookie moves?? NAILED it. i adooored how genuinely fuckin MEAN he is, even tho he's an auror. i love love LOVED that he's kind of bad at his job in a way that's in complete opposition to how drarry!draco is often written these days:

The look on Malfoy’s face was not only troubling, Harry realized, but familiar. At once activated and dead behind the eyes, like an invasive species in an ecosystem that could not check it. It was the look of the meanest fucking teenager Harry had ever known, giving in to his urge to bully.

-

What Malfoy wasn’t good with was people. Despite his repeated insistences that his upbringing had equipped him with impeccable manners and a facility with society intrigue, the truth was that he rubbed almost everyone the wrong way. He was, undeniably, annoying. Witnesses were put off by his snide, dismissive tone, and he didn’t know how to coax out information with curiosity, warmth, or strategic silence.

that's not to say unrepentant cunt draco is the only one for me!! i DO enjoy the classic redeemed drarry draco!! i love a quirky draco, à la wwpwcs or maya's drop dead gorgeous. gallaplacidia's draco is sooo painful for me to read (complimentary) that even though i adore her fics, i still haven't read them all bc i have to space them out, for my health. and i'm sure there are dozens more dracos that i'm forgetting how much i like – basically, as long as he isn't super suave, absolutely gorgeous and/or obviously tom felton, i'm on board.

[tanked-up]

Soap’s AO3 account

Spoiler “Ghost finds them

———————————————————————————

Soap’s on his way to his bunker, Price and Gaz catch how desperate and excited he is to leave meeting, so when it finishes, they circle Soap.

Price: “Why in a hurry, Soap?”

Soap quickly stops, and faces Price, who’s waiting for an answer, probably an honest one. Gaz as well, next to him.

Soap: “What makes you think I’m in a hurry…?”

Gaz and Price chuckle at the sudden response

Gaz: “C’mon Soap… we know”

Soap now runs off, leaving Price and Gaz staring at each other confused.

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

Soap arrives to his bunker, cursing himself as he almost got caught by his captain and Gaz.

He heads to the shower, puts on his most comfortable clothes and looks for his computer. Now comfortable he jumps on his bed and opens the site.

If you’d ask him, he’ll say he’s… ashamed? Well, we all now the truth. He can’t live without his writing. Which he considers to be sloppy, but yet good enough to be posted on a site like this.

He quickly gets comfortable and starts writing as if someone were waiting for it. It’s true, he had hundreds of people waiting for it, for an update. That’s one thing he hadn’t expected… his fic to go viral. Thank God they don’t know who’s behind all of it… right?

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

It’s been 5 hours since Soap started updating his fic. He’s been at it non stop. When he starts, he suddenly can’t stop himself. I mean, he wouldn’t call himself obsessed… but he wouldn’t correct anyone who called him that either.

He planned to update the fic with 4 more chapters. That’ll be enough. Considering how long those chapters were, plus a few water and bathroom breaks, it seemed to take him forever. He just had so many ideas and dialogues, he couldn’t stop.

He wouldn’t tell anyone… but every single conversations he had with him in real life, he quickly wrote them into a small “notebook ideas” he had specifically for this. Romanticizing every conversation, sudden glances or even touches they had. No wonder they called him obsessive… or, is it just him who calls himself that?

Starting to write the last chapter, there was a knock.

Soap hurried to close the laptop, turning on the main light and turning off the small lamp he had, that surprisingly helped him write better. Not knowing who to expect behind the door, he slowly opened it, and there he was.

Soap: “G-Ghost… what are you doing here at 2 in the morning”

Without saying a word, Ghost hurried inside. Soap would naturally yell or argue about it… but he had other stuff on his mind. Like, the damn laptop in his bed full of fics about Ghost and him.

Soap closed the door, and carefully glanced at Ghost who now sat on his bed, Somehow waiting for something. Fuck

Soap: “So… can I help you with something…?”

Ghost just stared at him and damn did he look intimidating with that mask. Soap’s thoughts quickly went to the small detail on his fic, he wasn’t scared of Ghost’s mask in his fic, in fact, he once ripped it… but that’s something between Soap and the readers…

In real life, man was he scared of it, and just having Ghost sitting on his bed, scared him. A lot. Soap walked small steps up to Ghost. Who seemed to somehow control him with just his gaze… like, mind controlled.

Ghost: “I need your computer”

Soap gulped, sweating internally. Ghost managed to sound demanding, like he needed that computer, not later, not tomorrow, he needed it NOW. Soap quickly glanced at the computer besides Ghost. Fuck, why did I do that.

Ghost: “Can I?”

Ghost sounded somehow calmer now. Soap, still nervous by what was unfolding in his bunker. Ghost stared at Soap, who seemed to be lost in a trance, but why did it have to be starring directly at Ghost’s eyes.

Ghost: “I would normally demolish the person who’s stared at me like that…”

That sentence kept ringing and passing through Soap’s mind. Now, out of his trance, he hurried to grab his computer before Ghost could. Soap whispered a small no, and walked to his closet, where he hid it. Ghost somehow confused, didn’t question him. How badly he wanted to. He remembered Soap’s acting in meeting today, he wanted to go up to him and ask him if everything was alright… but there was always something that stopped him.

Soap: “Why did you want my computer…”

Soap quickly asked Ghost, who still sat on his bed, staring at him.

Ghost, without a saying , took out his phone and showed it to Soap.

Soap: “What happened to it?”

Soap stared at the cracked phone now in front of him. Ghost quickly putting it away, sighed.

Ghost: “I had to send Price a report today, kinda got scolded for not doing it, but my phone was all fucked up and there was nothing I could do…”

A sudden rush of guilt got to Soap. How could he been so mean to Ghost, who was only trying to do his job. Contemplating whether he should go and look for his laptop again, or just send him away, he walked up to the closet and handed the laptop to him.

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

It’s been two days since Ghost borrowed Soap’s laptop, and today was the day he was supposed to return it. Soap, sweating while waiting for Ghost in his bunker. Now sitting on his bed, staring at the roof.

Soap: “FUCK”

Soap’s sudden realization hit. He had left his tabs open. Did he even save his story? Did Ghost see it?

All these thoughts flooded Soap’s mind as he paced the room. A knock was heard. This can’t be happening

Soap took a hold of himself and walked up to the door. Fuck fuck fuck I can’t do this

Soap slowly opened the door, and there he was standing, with the laptop on his hand. Soap gulped and somehow managed to throw a small smile at him, a nervous one. He opened the door completely and motioned Ghost to enter. Hoping Ghost would just hand him the laptop and leave.

Ghost: “We have to talk”

Of course they do… they definitely had to talk. Soap, hesitating, sat on his bed and stared at Ghost, with a hint of guilt and embarrassment in his eyes. Ghost, surprisingly sat besides him.

Now both, shoulder to shoulder, sat in silence. A silence that filled the room, as if it were waiting for someone to take the fall.

Ghost: “So… you’re a writer”

Soap’s heart sanked as Ghost talked. He was dead. Soap, stuttering, didn’t know what to say. He wanted to sink in a hole and never come back.

Ghost: “It’s fine, you don’t have to talk.”

Somehow Soap felt the need to talk, but he just couldn’t.

Starring at Ghost who now stood up to leave, he stopped him. Gripping his arm, hard, he dragged him back to bed next to him, so he could sit.

Soap: I- I’m sorry… I really wasn’t thinking, and- I never knew you would find out like this. If you want… I could delete-”

Ghost: “Don’t. I actually forgot to do Price’s report thanks to it.”

Soap couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Was Ghost not going to argue about it? Did he even get to that scene…?

Soap: “Well… I- um, im glad…”

An awkward silence filled the room again. Ghost nor Soap said a word, probably for about fifteen seconds when Ghost violently grabbed Soap by his collar and smashed his lips into his… I mean, who knows…?

[reddamselette]

“Do you ever dream about me?” Jason pressed the red button on the machine, startled as he watched the claw lower itself into the sea of stuffed animals and plushies. He exhaled softly, turning to face Leo who had been leaning against the machine with his head resting against the glass, arms and ankles crossed, silently observing.

Jason reached into his pocket, digging out another few coins to insert it. His hand wrapped around the joystick, brows furrowed in concentration with squinted eyes carefully calculating the distance of the curved metals to the stitched fabric. “Where’s this coming from?”

Leo shrugged lazily, his eyes roaming Jason’s face. “I’m just curious. I think a lot, you know.”

Jason pressed the button once he was sure, silently praying and hoping for the ridiculous claw to grab the animal he had his eyes on since they stepped into the arcade hours ago. He straightened, the entire body perfectly inside the claw, the arms and legs dangling and just as it brought it to the left to drop it into the basket, it fell.

Leo snickered and pushed himself off the machine to stand beside Jason, taking a few coins he’d been mindlessly fidgeting and inserted it into the slot. Jason’s lips parted in awe as Leo effortlessly managed to grab the dark blue and brown teddy bear, his eyes following the rigged machine as it dropped it into the basket.

Leo bent down to retrieve it and tossed it into the air victoriously. It landed perfectly in the spaces between his thumbs and forefinger, presenting it to Jason with a grin. “Now that you got it, let’s head to the food court. I’m starving.”

I could kiss you right now, Jason thought but he didn’t say so. Only nodding as he swallowed thickly with a dry throat and followed after him.

-

part two

[sttoru]

some of you are soooooo ungrateful for tumblr writers and it shows. u should learn to appreciate the free content you’re getting