#new fic part 1

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 60

Part 1 Part 59

The party is already in full swing by the time they pull up. Drunk high schoolers out on the lawn wearing more thought-out costumes than he and Eddie had managed. Their plans before Nancy accosted them in the hallway involved a pizza and a couple tapes from Family Video that Eddie swears he has to see.

It'd been Eddie’s idea; he’d shrugged on one of Steve’s preppy polos – his words, not Steve’s – and one of his acid-wash jeans, and pristine white sneakers, and called it good. Steve had gone along with the concept for lack of a better idea. He’d chosen his favorite Metallica shirt (the one with the hole in the armpit), a pair of Eddie’s black jeans, and Eddie's leather jacket. Eddie had grabbed his battle vest, pushing Steve's arms through it like he was a small child. It’d still been warm from Eddie’s own back.

To finish the look, Eddie had slid each ring off his fingers, matching them perfectly with their usual placements on his own hands. There was something about the way Eddie's hands felt, sliding up the vulnerable sides of Steve's fingers that made him shiver, goosebumps breaking out along his arms.

Eddie's hands had looked bare, almost risqué in their nakedness. Even now, while being packed in at all sides, Steve can't help looking down at them. He wants to push Eddie's hands into his jean pockets, hide the vulnerability of it from everyone else. He doesn't.

Almost the instant they walk through the door, Hargrove shouts, “King Bitch!” holding up his drink, as if to toast Steve’s arrival.

Tommy’s at his side, laughing like no one had ever said anything that funny in his life. Eddie’s fingers tighten around his wrist as he pulls him along.

Barbara and Nancy are hovering around the punch bowl, laughing. Nancy takes a sip of something that looks disturbingly red from her red plastic cup, and Barbara, while empty-handed, looks far happier than she had at Steve’s party all those months ago.

"Looks like they didn't need us at all!" Eddie calls loudly over the music.

Eddie’s bare fingers sneak under his sleeve to caress the skin of his inner wrist. Steve clenches his fist, relaxes it, wonders if Eddie can feel the flexing of his tendons beneath his palm.

“You came!” Nancy calls, handing her drink off to Barbara with a roll of her eyes, as she throws herself at both of them, wrapping an arm around each of their shoulders and pulling them into her smaller frame. She looks down at the pair of them, brow furrowed. “What are you two even wearing?”

The angle hurts his back, even more so when he turns his head to raise an eyebrow at Eddie, who’s already doing the same. “Well, you see,” Eddie says, trying to eel out of her arms with little to no success. “I’m dressed as the king, and Steve’s my noble jester, of course!”

Nancy opens her mouth, looking up at him with a bitchy expression, but Steve interrupts her, “I said we would.” He says it loud enough to be heard over the thrumming music.

“Are you drunk?” Eddie asks, looking at Nancy with befuddlement. Steve can’t blame him. Nancy’s behavior toward him can usually be called catty at best. Not that Eddie doesn’t usually give as good as he gets, but it’s still bizarre to see Nancy’s arm wrapped so familiarly around him.

“No!” Nancy yells, at the same time Barbara says, “yes,” with an exasperated sigh.

“I only had two drinks. When she pulls out of the embrace, she’s already pouting. “I only had two drinks.

Steve holds his hand out toward Barbara, who hands over Nancy’s drink, even as the other girl complains. Steve takes a tentative sip, curious. It goes down like battery acid. It makes him lightheaded and queasy instantaneously. Probably just from the fumes.

“What the fuck is that?” he asks, sputtering. He rubs his tongue with his fingers, hoping to scrub the remnants of that taste off his tongue for good. Eddie’s hand, where it’s still wrapped around his wrist, nudges against his chin.

“It’s pure fuel,” Barbara replies, laughter audible in her tone, even as Nancy nods enthusiastically.

Steve, still grimacing at the lingering taste, drops his hand, rubbing his saliva off on his borrowed pants. “That’s rancid.”

“This is what the Kingdom has fallen to without their King,” Eddie says with a sigh. For some reason, his cheeks are pink, like he’d been the one drinking that garbage.

Steve shrugs, “Carol always used to mix the drinks.”

“Of course, she did,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes.

Barb nods in agreement, but Steve had made the mistake of handing Nancy back her drink, so she was immediately long-sufferingly trying to corral her friend to stop drinking.

Steve flows into the groove of partying quickly. He fades into the music, smiles at his friends, lets the waves flow over him. He’s happy, with Eddie by his side, and friends coming in and out of view.

Enter: Jonathan Byers.

Steve’s breathing picks up, and suddenly the pack of bodies is suffocating. He can feel sweat slick his forehead, and his vision goes a little fuzzy along the edges. He pushes past bodies with no regard, ignoring the startled complaints that follow in his wake.

Steve grabs the lapel of Jonathan’s shirt in both fists, like a kid afraid of losing his Mom in the store. And he is; he’s afraid.

“Where’s Will?” he asks, pulling Jonathan’s t-shirt, stretching out the collar around his neck.

Jonathan’s eyes widen. He reaches out, covering Steve’s hands on his shirt and squeezing. “He’s fine,” Jonathan says. “He’s trick-or-treating with his friends.” There are spots in Steve’s eyes. “Breath, dude.”

Steve inhales, ragged and aching. “You didn’t go with them?”

Before Jonathan can answer, Eddie is there, big palms on Steve’s shoulder, squeezing. He leans forward, whispers in Steve’s ear. “Let’s go outside, sweetheart.”

Steve nods, letting Eddie lead him past the throng of partygoers, pulling Jonathan along as well by the hem of his shirt, still clutched in one of Steve’s fists hard enough to hurt.

They emerge out on Tina’s back porch. It’s dark, but the fresh air hits Steve and his lungs finally expand.

“Jonathan?” Steve asks, wheezy and breathless.

Jonathan meets his eyes, quickly pulling something out of his pocket. When Steve looks down, it’s a walkie-talkie, the same kind the party is so fond of using.

“He begged me to go with his friends,” Jonathan says, talking fast like he’s afraid Steve will punch him if he doesn’t get the words out quickly enough. Or pass out on him. “I told him he’d have to radio in every half hour, on the dot, or I’d call Hop.”

Steve breaths in, breaths out, feels Eddie’s hand steadying the small of his back. “And he has been?” Steve asks.

Jonathan nods, slow, like any sudden movements will spook Steve.

“Well, then!” Eddie says, massaging Steve’s shoulders quick and dirty a few times until Steve melts into his hands. Steve’s bereft when he drops his hands to join their impromptu circle. Eddie digs around in Steve’s pocket, pulling out a pristine joint with a quirked brow. “I think some of us could maybe chill the fuck out right about now.”

Steve rolls his eyes when Eddie looks pointedly his way, but dutifully swipes the joint from Eddie’s hand. He slides it in his mouth, feels it stick to the inside of his lip as he leans forward for Eddie to light it.

The first hit sends him coughing. Jonathan claps his back companionably as he passes the joint to him. Jonathan, suspiciously, doesn’t cough at all. Neither does Eddie, but that’s to be expected.

A few more rounds of puff puff pass, and Steve’s so relaxed he flows onto the ground. Eddie laughs, passes the joint to Jonathan, and plops down beside Steve, patting his thigh.

Eddie’s smiling down at him in a way that makes Steve’s stomach populate with butterflies by the handful. He looks teasing, like he’s thinking of the best thing to say. Steve suddenly knows he’s going to speak and then he does. “Are you alright down there, princess?” he asks. “All calmed down?”

He swallows his desert-dry mouth and hopes his voice comes out clear. God forbid he fucks up so badly Eddie invites Jonathan to warm his bed instead. “Yeah,” he says, throat cracking around the word. In a bid to redeem himself, Steve clears his throat, swirling his spit around to help rehydrate. “I can see the future?” he says, voice lilting upward at the end like it’s a question.

Eddie leans forward, hand patting Steve’s cheek gently. It feels nice. Steve leans into the touch. “Are you serious?” he asks. “Is this another superpower thing?”

Steve wobbles one of his hands together in a wishy-washy gesture that his brain gets caught in. It feels nice, the stagnant night’s air smacking against his palm so he does it faster, smiling.

“He’s just high,” Jonathan says, turning just enough that Steve can see the bottom of his chin. He looks weird from down below. Gargantuan.

Eddie flops gracelessly beside him, burrowing the back of his head into Steve’s ribs. “Damn, so you can’t see the future?” he asks, whining. “We could use another Supergirl.”

Steve’s too busy watching Jonathan to argue over not knowing any supergirls again. Jonathan’s leaning against the railing, and Steve knows, suddenly, that he’s going to take another drag from the dwindling remnants of the joint. And then he does.

“I can see three seconds into the future,” he says wonderingly, still smiling.

Eddie burrows his head harder into Steve’s ribs until Steve brings his hand up to pet clumsily through his hair. “Ugh, you got my hopes up.”

“I’m a supergirl.”

Jonathan and Eddie are laughing at him, but Steve’s looking up at the shitty overhang above Tina’s wonderous porch and wishing it was gone. He wants to see the sky, the stars splashing out above him. He wants to pluck them from the sky and put them, still flaming, into Eddie’s hair.

He wants.

Something answers his wishes. The overhang is gone, rotted away from above him so the white specks can rain down on his face. He holds up his hand, hoping it’ll be cold enough for snow. Even with the red sky, even with Eddie gone from beside him, Steve hopes.

But when he brings it down to his eyes, the stuff smears along his palm, just like ash. Maybe he can’t see into the future. He would’ve seen this.

He would’ve predicted the way the shadows stripe themselves across his face, blotting out all the red in the worst way possible. He would’ve predicted the way that thing seems to move without moving at all.

He didn’t.

Steve sobs, just once. And then, Steve does what he does best: he runs.

Part 61

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690 @paintsplatteredandimperfect

[lihhelsing]

(i'll hold on to you)

Gone were the days when Steve would be excited for a party. 

It used to make him feel alive and reckless and independent. It made him feel like he was the king of the world. King fucking Steve. 

It felt like a big fuck you to his parents who never gave a fuck. 

He threw parties because it made him feel likable. 'No, you don't need to bring booze, there'll be plenty there' he would say as he and Tommy hit the store before a party, giving money and free beers to whoever agreed to buy them alcohol. They never left empty-handed. 

Now, everything just felt wrong. 

Now he knew people liked the idea of Steve Harrington. Not so much the person he was. 

Despite being in a weird place with Tommy and Carol, Tommy had asked him about Harrington's New Year's rager and how could Steve say no to that? Especially when it felt like one more chance. One more try. 

Steve had promised himself he would try more. Convinced that the reason why things between him and Tommy felt weird was because he wasn't trying enough and not because he had been feeling some type of way about his best friend for a while now. 

And not because Tommy had kissed him and things had never been the same again. 

So yeah, Steve was desperate to grab whatever piece of normalcy he could have. If he pretended long enough, maybe things would eventually be ok again. 

The party was… What parties at the Harrington's always were. Loud, crazy, bursting with people. Everyone who knew anyone was there and Steve barely paid attention to who they were. It didn't matter. He was just hoping the loud noises would be enough to drown his self-pity. 

They weren't. Amongst the music and the yelling it wasn't even midnight and Steve's head already felt like it was about to split open. He thought maybe a beer would help. Thought maybe he would grab one and go hang with Tommy and Carol and just tried.

As he approached them, though, Tommy seemed to sense he was coming as he grabbed Carol by the waist and pulled her into a sloppy kiss. Steve stopped where he was, feeling his stomach in knots. 

It was just coincidence, was what he told himself even as Tommy detached his mouth from hers and pulled her body close, his hand curling on her ass, fingers brushing right at the hem of her skirt. 

It would be nothing more than a coincidence if Tommy wasn't looking straight at Steve as he let Carol kiss his neck. As he let his fingers dip under her skirt. 

Steve turned around, refusing to look. 

He went back to his room at almost midnight and he drank his beer all alone, the lingering feeling of not belonging swimming inside his aching head. 

Steve listened as everyone shouted a countdown for the new year and he listened as the party went on. No one to notice he was gone from it. 

x

The doorbell rang at 10 am the next morning. 

It couldn't be his parents because they wouldn't dare come back a day early from their vacation to the Bahamas.

The scariest part was that Steve couldn't think of anyone who would be ringing his doorbell at that hour on January 1st, 1984. 

He thought about ignoring it but the idea of not saying a single word out loud that day scared him enough to make him move. He pushed himself from the bed, threw on a shirt, and combed his fingers through his hair to try and not look so disheveled. 

Downstairs he tried to ignore the absolute mess the house was in. He still had a few days before his parents got back and even if they didn't care enough about Steve to worry about him throwing parties, they did care about finding the house spotless. Almost as if it had never been lived on. 

At least that meant Steve would have two days' worth of chores to keep him busy. 

He swung the front door open, ready to send away whatever salesman was standing there - wondering if there could be a girl's scout selling leftover cookies because Steve could definitely go for a pack of Thin Mints - just to be taken aback by a familiar face. 

One he wouldn't expect to see standing in his front door in a million years. 

"Eddie Munson," Steve let the name roll off of his tongue as he looked Eddie up and down. 

He couldn't say he knew Eddie. He knew of him because who the hell didn't? The guy walked on tables and was loud as fuck. He was also always throwing daggers at Steve. 

But in broad daylight, Eddie looked almost out of place. He was wearing all-black, as usual, with his hair tied up in a bun. His cheeks were flushed from the cold and even though it was January, for fuck's sake, he wasn't wearing any gloves. Steve let his eyes linger on the way Eddie kept playing with one of his rings, sliding it in and out of his index finger. 

"Hey, Harrington," Eddie said. Or purred was more appropriate. When Steve looked back up, Eddie was smirking at him as if he had noticed the way Steve's eyes drank him in. 

"Did you need anything?" Steve asked, not bothering to hide the annoyance in his voice. His head hurt and now that he had talked he wished he didn't because it made the pounding even worse. 

"Why? Am I interrupting something?" Eddie said, angling his body so he could look at the dark, empty house. Steve could lie, of course. Say that there was a girl upstairs waiting for him to come back. He could even add some crass detail about it to see if it would get a rise out of Eddie. 

But for some reason, he didn't.  

"Look, Munson, I'm not in the mood for your little games. Either you say what you want or you get the hell out of my face."

Eddie batted his eyelashes at Steve. "Oh, someone's touchy. Would that have something to do with the way those two friends of yours were ignoring you all night yesterday?"

Steve felt his head spinning. Was Eddie Munson at his party yesterday? Had he not noticed him even though Eddie seemed to have noticed a lot of things? 

"Whatever," Steve said, pushing the door closed. He didn't have the time for that anyway. A lot of cleaning to do. 

"Wait!" Eddie said, moving his body so he could stop the door from closing. Steve was beginning to feel very annoyed. "Sorry. My uncle says I never know when to shut up."

Steve frowned at that piece of information. "Well?"

"I, uh… I think I left my lunchbox in here somewhere. Did you happen to find it?"

Steve had to fight his immediate urge to just say no and close the door in his face. It wasn't his problem if Eddie couldn't hold on to his shit at a party. But he could see the anxiousness bleeding on his expression, his hand going back to pick at his ring almost as if he was unaware of doing it. 

"Haven't really looked," Steve said, shrugging. "I'll let you know if I do."

There was no reason for Steve to be nice to Eddie but he couldn't find a reason to not be nice. Now that he was looking at him, Eddie looked almost distressed. 

"Shit. Look, man. It's, uh, important. It's my-"

"Drug lunchbox. I know. I'm not dumb."

Eddie's eyes widened and he rushed his words out. "I don't think you're dumb. Just didn't take the King for someone to know things about his subjects."

Steve crossed his arms, refusing to acknowledge the way the nickname stung. 

"Whatever. I haven't started cleaning, but I'll let you know when I find it. Don't want my parents finding that shit here anyway."

Steve was pretty sure his voice sounded final. He didn't care about the lunchbox, had no reason to fuck with Eddie about it because who would bring weed to his parties if he did? But Eddie was still standing there looking like a kicked puppy. 

"What is it?" Steve asked, exasperated. 

Eddie chewed on his lip and looked down. "I really need it. It has all my inventory and my money in it. Do you mind if I… Can I look for it?"

Steve stared at him but Eddie wouldn't meet his eyes. He wanted to say no, just send him away with the promise that he would give it back when he found it. But seeing Eddie that anxious was doing things to Steve. It was making him want to fix it. 

"Please," Eddie said again, almost a whisper. "I'll help you clean if you want."

Eddie finally looked back at him. His eyes were shining in a way that made Steve uncomfortable. He wanted to push him away. Whatever. He didn't need the freak helping him clean the house, even if he had ulterior motives for doing it. 

But his mind wandered to the empty house. To the quiet, suffocating house. To how pathetic it was for him to be all alone, cleaning the house after a party he didn't want to be at, thinking about whatever shit his ex-best friend and his girlfriend were doing without him. Feeling sorry for himself. 

"Shit. Fine. Come on in, Munson."

Steve wondered if he was going to regret that. 

[lovvelorrn]

i think i’m entering a new hyperfixation and oh man it’s fucking bridgerton

[a-whole-lot-of-things]

i love dead boy detectives to death, and hope with all my being that we can Somehow pull off getting it back (through netflix or otherwise)

but honestly if we cant? if we get stuck at where we are now forever? i honestly think ill miss the potential s2 soundtrack the most

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

"i have to go to sleep" i say

"i really have to go to sleep" i say again, four hours later

[just-here-with-my-thoughts]

Part 1: Seeking to improve their most valuable export, the Kaminoans develop a new breed of enhanced clone. C-9904 Crosshair grows up alongside his batchmates.

Part 2: Crosshair, Wrecker and Tech are each the last of their respective batches, bonded by their unique upbringing as enhanced clones. The introduction of a new enhanced clone cadet threatens to upset that balance.

Part 3: Hunter is untrusting when he is introduced to the Experimental Unit. Can the enhanced clone cadets shake down with this new addition - and will Crosshair ever accept a new brother?

***********

Snapshots of the life of a young enhanced clone as Crosshair meets the others who will become his brothers in Clone Force 99.

[imagineitdearies]

Thank you for indulging me if you’ve already answered this, but, I’ve been re-reading PS and a question came up:

What would a healing potion have done in addition to the rat (chapter 20)?

Hi friend 😊 I don’t believe I have ever shared what was behind Astarion’s question, “Did he give you a healing potion after the rat?” and why he was relieved when Tyrus answered, “Just rats”!

And I’m very happy to do so—this fic consumed my life for a whole eight months, I am definitely not ready to let go of or stop talking about it, so ask away friends 🥰

To no one’s surprise I’m sure, given this is the direct aftermath of chapter 19, warning for potentially triggering talk of sexual assault and physical abuse from here on out that I’ll put below the cut:

Tyrus inwardly concludes from seeing Astarion’s relief, “So it could always get worse, then” (a mini theme of this story lol), and that’s a simple explanation in and of itself: he just needed rats to restore his blood, not healing to his body. Chapter 30 can give some more specific context—Astarion is not only being raped by Cazador when Tyrus walks in, he’s covered in bleeding claw marks, and later in the chapter his leg is gouged open, he’s stabbed multiple times, etc.

So Cazador using healing potions implies not just a sexual violence, but an extra brutish physical violence on top of it that even vampiric regeneration would take a while to heal. Rape with extra punishment, basically, instead of rape as a transaction or whim on Cazador’s end.

Needless to say Astarion has experienced both many times in the PS-verse, and hates both. But not the same amount. His relief goes back to his personal threshold for certain kinds of trauma—he has a much lower pain tolerance than he does a tolerance for forced sexual encounters (that’s just another day in his life, isn’t it). So it was a question he asked Tyrus because he feared terrible physical torture had also taken place that he just couldn’t see.

What kind of physical torture? Well, I’ll leave the *super* specifics of this to people’s imagination. There are plenty of horrors Astarion experienced that Tyrus has no idea about, and I think readers can fill in those gaps without my help….though chapter 25 & 30 were a little taste of it, I suppose.

Thanks for the question 🩵 I hope you enjoy your reread!!

[laundrybiscuits]

(FINE I guess this is a series now. whatever.)

“He’s where,” says Steve. 

“Off to see the wizard, my dude.” Argyle passes him a pipe. Steve’s not really sure where it came from or when Argyle packed it, but he’s got manners, so he takes a hit and hands it off to Jonathan. 

“Murray,” elaborates Jonathan, on an exhale. “The…you know. Oh wow, I guess you’ve never met Murray either. That’s weird, right? I mean, you were there, you were just…”

“Babysitting, probably,” says Steve. “Wait, why is Eddie meeting this guy?”

Argyle gestures in a big loopy way. It reminds Steve a little bit of how Eddie waves his arms around. “Eddie’s on, like, a spiritual journey. A dream quest, but…real life. The realest.”

“Not spiritual like church,” adds Jonathan. “Like, gay spirit. Is that a thing? Shit, why doesn’t anyone know Murray.”

“I don’t know Murray either, man,” says Argyle. 

“Is…Murray a real person?” Steve asks. He doesn’t think it’s an unreasonable question.

“Yes! Jesus. He’s real, okay? Nancy knows Murray, we—yeah. Nancy knows him.” Jonathan looks kind of dour and depressed, but he always sort of looks like that. 

“How’s Nancy doing?” Steve doesn’t really want to know, but it seems like the polite thing to say. 

“We’re fine,” says Jonathan. 

“Okay,” says Steve, who hadn’t asked that at all.

“Everything’s fine,” Jonathan repeats. Argyle reaches over to pat Jonathan on the head, then takes the pipe from Jonathan’s hand. 

———

“Hm,” says Murray. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking behind all the facial hair and glasses. “Okay, I don’t usually do this, but…what the hell. Kiddo, you are way too young to be talking like that. Your life’s not over, and if you’re smart about it, it doesn’t have to be over any time soon.”

Murray sits back on the couch, kicking up his feet. There’s a hole in his left sock.

“You think happily ever after only looks like one thing? That’s the thought of a child. If you really want, you can make some kind of picket fence life for yourself, suburbs and all. But you’re a queer, so that means you don’t have to do that shit because nobody’s expecting you to anymore. You get to decide what matters to you.”

“I don’t know any way to be gay that’s not lonely as hell,” Eddie says. 

“That’s because you’re an idiot and an infant,” says Murray gently. 

“You don’t have a—a boyfriend.” It comes out a little too sharp and mean, but Eddie’s feeling cornered. 

Murray laughs. “Kid, what did I just say? I don’t want a damn boyfriend. Some guy coming over here all the time, eating my food? Hell no. We’re degenerate homos, we get to decide what to keep and what to shove down the god damn garbage disposal. I got some arrangements in place, and that’s the way I like it. The whole lovey-dovey romance shit isn’t for me.”

Eddie draws his legs up, wrapping his arms around his shins. His boots are probably leaving marks on the couch, but Murray can deal. “I think it…I think that is for me. I want that to be for me. Um. In general.”

Murray actually tilts his head down to give Eddie a scathing look over the top of his glasses. “No shit, Joan Jett. Your whole ooh please push past my defenses to prove you love me schtick is visible from space.”

“Fuck,” says Eddie, knocking his head against his knees. He closes his eyes, humiliated beyond words, feeling scooped-out and awful. 

“C’mon, it’s not that bad.” Eddie feels a tap on his arm, and when he looks up, Murray’s holding out a glass with about an inch of amber liquid in it. “We all go through something like that. It’s a rite of passage, just like it is to get so wasted you throw up on the stranger you dragged into a club bathroom. You’ll do that too. You’re gonna be messy and embarrassing anyway, so just enjoy the ride. And take the damn Talisker, it’ll help.”

Eddie takes the damn Talisker and knocks it back in one go, just to be an ass. Murray rolls his eyes but pours him another one.

“Ah, practical shit…” Murray scratches at his beard thoughtfully. “Been a while since I had to do this. Poppers are great, don’t overdo ‘em. Splurge on the fancy medical lube if you want but Vaseline or Crisco’ll do the trick just fine. And listen up, kitten, because you can ignore everything else that comes outta my mouth, but you can’t ignore this: always wrap it up. I mean always. I don’t care if he’s your soulmate, I don’t care if it kills the mood, I don’t care if he says he’s a blushing goddamn virgin. If he doesn’t want to wear a rubber, he doesn’t care if you live or die.”

Murray looks down at his own glass. For the first time, Eddie thinks he looks—tired. 

“I know there’s probably a big part of you that doesn’t care if you live or die, either. But you gotta remember there’s people who do. The kid who sent you to me. He doesn’t want to go to your funeral.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. It comes out too quiet; he swallows and tries again. “Yeah. I know. I’ve—been to funerals too.” 

Murray barks out a surprised laugh. “God, you have, haven’t you? Think I was almost thirty, my first time. I’m sorry, Joan Jett, this isn’t a great time to be young and gay. Go make friends with some dykes, they’ll keep you sane.” 

Eddie, who has held Robin’s hair back as she ralphed into a bucket after losing a Peeps-eating competition with Steve, has his doubts, but he just nods.

Murray looks at him for a moment, then takes his face between two big hands and kisses him on the forehead. It feels neither sexual nor familial, but something beyond all of the easy categories Eddie’s known. 

“Now piss off,” Murray says. “Don’t get some crazy idea that this means we’re friends, or that you can start coming around whenever you feel like it.”

“So, just Tuesdays, Thursdays, and every other Sunday,” says Eddie, and ducks out before Murray can start cussing at him.

———

See, Eddie’s little crush on Steve is meant to be purely recreational. It’s fun to crush on unavailable guys he knows—way more fun than celebrities or whatever. It’s just nice, to feel his heart speed up a little when Steve’s around, safe in the certain knowledge that he’s never going to do a damn thing about it. It even feels good to hurt a little bit over it, achy and sharp, like pushing on a bruise. 

Yeah, Eddie knows he’s a little fucked up. But he figures this is harmless enough: a secret little vice that nobody’s ever going to know about.

Apparently, everybody knows. 

“Um,” says Jonathan, wide-eyed. “Was it…supposed to be a secret?”

“Yes,” hisses Eddie. “Because this is Hawkins, Indiana, and I don’t want to fucking die. Did we or did we not just have a conversation about the many and various perils this whole thing entails.”

“My dude, if you don’t want it to be, like, public knowledge, maybe don’t flirt with him so much?” 

“Betrayal!” Eddie gasps, staggering around like he’s been stabbed in the back, because he fucking has. “An unjust hit by Argyle the Assassin.”

“Argyle the Assistant,” says Argyle. “I’m assisting you, bro.”

“I don’t flirt with Steve!” Eddie screeches. “We’re friends! I flirt with you two dickwads more than I do with Steve, because I don’t flirt with Steve!” 

“You really do,” says Jonathan apologetically. “Kind of…a lot. Remember when we were out by the quarry, and you kept calling him princess.”

“As a joke!”

“Ohhh yeah,” says Argyle. “That was the day you, like…took his jacket, right?”

“I was cold!”

Jonathan grins. “Is that why you kept asking him how it looked on you?”

“As…a joke,” says Eddie, weakly. He’s starting to remember that it might’ve been even worse; the words do I look pretty in your clothes, Stevie may or may not have been uttered. 

“Hey, man, it’s no biggie. That was a million years ago and he didn’t say anything, so you’re free and clear. Totally righteous.” Argyle throws an arm around Eddie, who curls into him sulkily. Argyle’s tall and solid and kinda hot, so it’s a real shame Eddie can’t crush on him instead. 

Eddie sighs. “If Jonathan weren’t here, I’d ask you to make out with me until I felt better,” he says. 

“What,” says Jonathan. “You can’t—I mean, you can, and I, uh—support you? Should I leave?”

“Aw,” says Argyle, and ruffles Eddie’s hair. “That’s sweet, dude. If Jonathan weren’t here, I would.”

“What is happening,” says Jonathan. “I’m gonna—should I leave? I’m gonna leave.”

Eddie whines, “No, c’mon, stay, we’ll do that seance. That’ll make me feel better too. Maybe we can resurrect my deceased heterosexuality.” 

They don’t manage to raise any ghosts or any heterosexualities, but it does make Eddie feel a little better anyway.

[leavingautumn13]

I'll bite, would my url inspire? I'm not sure who in Fallout would have a mudkip or swampert, though.

it sure does inspire. sometimes it's nice to have company on watch.

y'think dinky is a good name for a mudkip, because i kinda do now

[loosingmoreletters]

Snippet of a fic where the gang meets a KDJ from a different universe. Spoilers for idk everything past chapter 400.

The other Kim Dokja grinned up at the monstrous cat of Grimm’s Märchen, seemingly paying no mind to his damaged story fragments. “You really should’ve killed me directly.”

Han Sooyoung cursed. There was no telling what would happen to their Kim Dokja, stuck in the other world, if this idiot died right here! She considered the distance, but even if she invested the coins she had, there was no way to reach that idiot quickly enough—

And then something strange happened. Darkness deep like the great depths of the sea and as bright as a star opened up above the cat and a man holding a familiar dark blade descends on the Constellation, bisecting it at once.

[■■ has used the stigma Eternal Companionship Lv.???]

“Kim Dokja!” the man snarled and didn’t hesitate to cross the distance to him. Stupefied, Han Sooyoung watched as yet another Yoo Joonghyuk pulled the other Kim Dokja up by his collar. He looked almost like their world line’s Yoo Joonghyuk, only his hair a little longer, and on his otherwise black shirt, the number [438] stood out in bright white.

“What is this?” that Yoo Joonghyuk hissed. “What have you done now?”

“I didn’t do anything,” the other Kim Dokja protested as his collar was let go off. Curiously enough, Yoo Joonghyuk simply moved his arm to hold the other Kim Dokja by his waist to steady him unnecessarily. “And why are you here? I expected [999].”

“Would’ve eaten too much probability,” he answered. “An arm and a leg if we got lucky and Demonic Judge of Fire pitched in. Now, tell me where we are.”

The other Kim Dokja sighed. “You are too impatient.”

“And you are too reckless.”

Their bickering continued, a strange mirror to the arguments Han Sooyoung was used to seeing from her world line.

“—of course we treated him well,” Yoo Joonghyuk [438] interrupted the other Kim Dokja’s rant. “He’s just as much of a fool as you, even if your identities do not match entirely.”

The other Kim Dokja paused. “I noticed. I don’t fill the gap he left here perfectly either.”

And then he smiled. “So let’s end this quickly, yes? I’m sick of following along the story of The Evil Queen.”

Yoo Joonghyuk [438] only rolled his eyes, but did not let go of the other Kim Dokja either way.

He didn’t need to.

[Giant Story An Outer God’s Beloved screams out.]

[fagmegumi]

generally beginning to realize that most people who thirst for the jjk men are doing so incorrectly and for the wrong reasons like just making up a generic archetype of a really cool hot guy from those het smutty self published amazon novels and pretending theyre the jjk dudes. when you can say anything about gege akutami but he gave us such a diverse & fascinating cast of hot dudes who are losers in such specific and different ways but always so devastatingly that none of them get any hole whatsoever

[rotisseries]

every time I get on tiktok and am reminded how popular the attitude of not reading incomplete fics is I'm just so sincerely confused cause there is so much joy in just. watching something be created over time idk

[readingbythestreetlights]

(x) psst hey guys let me in on the joke

[sabraeal]

to all the ghosts still standing in this room, Chapter 3

[Read on AO3]

For all that His Former Majesty pretends to eschew the trappings of power or whatever, he sure doesn’t have any compunctions about bossing her around. Lili’s barely stretched a finger toward that purse of his, but he herds her right over to a low wall, insisting she sit before he lets her get a word in edgewise. Barely lets her get a glimpse of all that fluffy ricey goodness too before he sets out a bit of cloth between them, like this was one of those little tea parties Father would strong-arm her into, as if turning ‘good neighbors into good allies’ could make those girls more interesting.

“Street food’s meant to be eaten standing up.” It’s not that she’s pouting over this whole business. It’s just that spoiled little kings sometimes need a reminder of how things work. Like how people don’t go to market just to sit around and kick rocks. “Since you’re, you know, supposed to be walking.”

Soowon’s not a man of many expressions —not ones he aims at her, at least— but to call the one he settles on her skeptical would be generous. Accusatory, more like, as if something about this stupid sit-down snack situation was her fault. “It puts me more at ease to keep you where you can be seen.”

Her face scrunches up, a persimmon left too long in his sun. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

This is where he’s supposed to say, ‘Nothing.’ Where his stupid pale spider hands should wave between them, as if that might help him climb out of this hole. Where he squints into his fakest smile, playing the role of harmless prince down to the dregs.

But instead, he says, “Because when you are left to your own devices, you always find trouble.”

“That’s not true!” At least, it doesn’t feel like it should be. Not until he cocks his head, just how he had on that street in Senshi, both of them soaked to the bone. Both of them alone, no Ayura, no Tetora, no Judoh. And her on her knees, grateful and fearful both, saved by—

Her teeth grit hard enough to ache. “Trouble finds me, thank you very much.”

His shoulder lifts, more consolation than concession. “As you say.”

She could strangle him. Put her hands right around that elegant neck of his and just squeeze. She’d be half tempted to try right now— witnesses and all— except…

Except he finally pulls out that pouch, dumping all the cakes onto the cloth between them. One bounces off an uneven bit of wall, doomed to tumble to the dirt until Lili snatches it midair. “You stand could be a little more delicate about it!”

One brow hikes beneath the sweep of his hair. “Didn’t you just tell me you’d rather be walking?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I want them to roll around in the dirt.” She blows across the cake’s spongy surface, hoping to banish whatever invisible bits of grit had settled there. “It’s about the experience. Lady Lili can sit down and call for fancy little cakes whenever she wants” —not that she made a habit of it, recently— “but walk around some foreign market? Not without a half dozen guards to protect me from peasant elbows, and another one to hold the purse strings.”

With careful precision, she sets the cake back on the cloth. And with equal delicacy —and ignoring Soowon’s slack jaw— she picks up another, twirling it between her fingers. Lili can’t fathom why he bothers to look so shocked; it’s not like she dropped it. It’s not her duty to eat it.

“These are pretty fancy.” There’s little dried jujube flowers steamed into the surface, with rock tripe slivers as stems and leaves of halved seeds. “I think I’ve seen them at parties before.”

“During the summer, typically,” he agrees, lifting a cake between his fingers. It’s pink, not white like hers, with a different spray of flowers across the top. “There’s something about the rice wine that makes them keep better in the heat.”

Lili’s never heard anyone speak with such authority about rice cakes, let alone a man with so little business in the kitchens. Hell, she wasn’t even convinced he liked food, considering the way he picked at most of his meals, pulling crackled skin from perfectly crisped chicken and plucking the melty fat off his pork. He didn’t so much eat rice as push it around in his bowl, making it look like he’d had more than a mouthful.

Does His Majesty have a sweet tooth? she’d love to tease, or maybe, I didn’t figure you for a dessert guy, but instead she blurts out, “I can't believe they sell these right out on the street like this. It must cost a fortune.”

His head snaps up, both his brows jumped up to his hairline, and— and, sure, Lady Lili’s never been in the practice of thinking about cost, or even wondering how her meals made it to her table, but Water Tribe Advisor Lili has to. “The rice wine,” she stumbles out, “it’s only made when the pear trees blossom. So—”

“It’s the same stuff farmers drink.” There’s a lilt to his voice, a hitch at the corner of his mouth. Oh, of course, it’s amusing that An Joon-gi’s precious daughter is so sheltered. He couldn’t scrounge up a thimbleful of good humor the past week she’s been trapped with him in that stuffy little box, but she mistakes cloudy wine for luxury and it’s a laugh riot. Insufferable. “The real expense is in the time it takes to make them.”

Lili glances down, long enough to find not two colors of cakes but three, the yellow so subtle it only stands out next to the white. Three colors, three doughs. And every single one is painstakingly decorated, not just with jujube flowers, but with fireworks made of slivered nuts, or small waves made of dried seaweed; half-snack, half-art. “You’d think they’d serve them more often in the palace. Those people just love to make fussy food.”

“Xing is more temperate than Kouka.” He lifts a shoulder, as if tutoring generals’ daughters were an everyday occurrence. “There are some things that grow more easily here, and for longer. A summer delicacy for us might be their standard fare— after all, few of our usual treats would keep well in the heat.”

“Oh.” That sort of thing never crossed her mind— climate and locations and the logistics of what might grow between them. A general’s daughter hardly needed to know where her tea snacks came from, only whether it would please her or the guests that had been foisted upon her. But the Empress’s Water Tribe Advisor— that’s the way she should think. Supply line should dance behind her eyelids when she closes her eyes, the local price ready to drop from her lips at a moment’s notice, but instead she just squints down at the jujube flower and wonders, “Do you think Kouka made them first, or did we adopt them from Xing?”

Soowon hums, considering. “Hard to say. I don’t suppose any of its ingredients are particular to either place. It’s not out of the realm of possibility that we came up with the idea independently— forestalling food spoilage is a constant concern, after all— but with a shared border…”

A border that ran right at the end of the Wind Tribe’s territory. Fuuga was known for their mountainous highlands, their capital hidden between a copse of intimidating peaks, its people dressing in their distinctive layers to keep the winds and cold at bay. But it was their lowlands that abutted Xing, the fertile shores of its river forming what her Father had always called Kouka’s breadbasket. But as they had rattled along the trade road, escorted by an improbable amount of Hak’s cousins for a man who claimed to be orphaned, Lili could not pick out where Kouka ended and Xing began, the farmlands all running together, crops and houses indistinguishable from one another, no matter which side of the border they had traveled on.

“Maybe…” She tests the word on her tongue, weighing it the way old women did melons in the market, trying to divine whether the flesh inside was ripe or gone to seed. “…There’s never been much difference between us.”

Soowon blinks down at her. “Perhaps.”

Heat simmers right beneath the skin of her cheeks, threatening to let the world know the way pride flushes through her, and she can’t stand it, not with him sitting there, just staring, like she’s never said a smart thing in her life—

She shoves the cake in her mouth. Not a delicate bite, the way Lady Lili should, but the whole thing, her cheeks ballooning out to balance the crumb between them.

“Oh,” she mutters around it, disappointed. “Ours taste better, though.”

Soowon smothers a grimace between his own bites. “The flavor is quite…delicate.”

“I think you mean ‘not there.’” She reaches for another one anyway, nibbling at an edge. “You like these?”

“The texture is…pleasing.” At her withering glance, he admits, “I had hoped the flavor would be more pronounced, yes. But they are…inoffensive.”

That’s one way to put it. Bland would be another. “You shouldn’t have distracted me, I was going to get us those pastry fish, the ones with red beans in them. Now that would have been a snack.”

“I distracted you?” His mouth tugs toward a frown. “I believe you were the one who tried to get into a physical altercation in the middle of the market.”

“Me? It was that guy who kept trying to pick a fight. I was just—!”

His palm stifles her protest; a single hand that pressed against her mouth, trapping it between words. Not that she has any; surprise scatters her wits, shattering her thoughts like a teapot knocked from a shelf.

“You’re being too loud,” he informs her, as if she’s the one that’s the problem here. “It’s drawing attention.”

Oh, she could just— just lick him. No— bite him. Let him see just who can keep their head then.

He removes his hand before she can even try. Just lets it drop right back into his lap, like he had never moved in the first place, that annoyingly neutral smile pulling his mouth too thin.

“You’re not going to be able to do that to your wife, you know,” she warns him, shoving another cake in her mouth. Eugh, pink doesn’t have much of a flavor either. “She’d take your hand off if you even try.”

His brows rise. “Ah, so my cousin did send you to make me Xing’s consort.”

“I-I didn’t say it had to be Kouren.” Though Yona had insinuated it would be preferable, right before Hak snorted, sure, dodging a headman's axe seems like a great hobby for him to pick up, gods know he needs one. “Just…that’s what any woman worth her salt would do.”

Soowon’s mouth twitches, nearly a smirk. “If it could be ‘any woman,’ I doubt I would have been sent with a babysitter to make it happen.”

“I’m not your babysitter,” she snorts, hopping onto her feet. “Judoh is your babysitter. I’m your wingman, because you have all the appeal of a block of tofu.”

His wide eyes track her as she stands, jaw falling just slack enough for his lips to part. “I…” His mouth closes, curving into something sly. “I suppose you would be the expert of such things.”

“I am,” she huffs. “I have amazing taste. You look better just being seen with me.”

“How lucky,” he drawls, not looking at her, but just over her—

“Lady Lili.”

A broad hand clamps around her shoulder, rooting her to the street. A trembling glance up catches on a scarred cheek, rucked up in a scowl. “We’ve found you.” Judoh’s brow furrows, taking in Soowon’s perch on the wall. “Both of you, it seems.”

“Oh my.” Soowon squints into a smile, only deepening his bodyguard’s glower. “It looks like our playdate is over.”

*

It comes as no surprise that Judoh declines to dress them down right in the middle of the marketplace. Perhaps if they were in any less public a place, or any less important personages than the empress’s own advisors-- certainly, if Soowon were a child still, the man would hardly hesitate to let loose bellows that would shake the market stalls down to their struts. But as it was, he was too much the professional to cause a scene... at least where there might be witnesses.

Which means that all his ire is saved for the moment he has them firmly ensconced at the inn. With his dark hood pushed back to his shoulders, it’s simple to see the familiar vein throbbing at his temple, to take in the almost nostalgic twitch of his jaw as the doors slide shut behind Lili’s attendant.

Three years as Kouka’s king might have inured him to most attempts at intimidation, but when the Sky Tribe general glares, it’s reflex that drops him to his knees.

“What,” he bites out, “exactly were the two of you thinking?”

Only it’s not his cousin who trembles next to him now-- nor Hak, using his hair to hide his grin— but An Lili. Joon-gi’s half-wild daughter, who may know how to bow, but refuses to be broken. Who hasn’t been on the other side of one of Judoh’s lectures enough to know to keep her mouth shut.

“What happened?” she mutters, words muffling beneath her sleeves. “I thought you were going to distract him?”

It’s not until her attendant sighs, “I tried,” that Soowon realizes the question wasn’t for him. “He just wasn’t very…distractible.”

Ah, well, that gives quite a different context for the flush to the man’s face, and to why his gaze is both hunter and hunted.

“A member of the royal family and the water tribe advisor running around a foreign market without a single guard.” If a man could breathe steam, Judoh would, pacing across the breadth of their room. “I expected better from the both of you. What if something happened to one of you? Both of you! In one of our vassal states! And I’d have to tell the empress and her…”

Consort. Even now the general can’t bring himself to say it. Bad enough when Hak merely usurped his place as Yona’s bodyguard, but now that the upstart has become an authority he has to answer to— well, a less prideful man might have seen that was his uncle’s plan to begin with.

“We were incognito,” Lili informs him, unaware of how she is only prolonging their punishment. “No one noticed us.”

“Don’t,” he mutters, too late. Judoh’s flush deepens to a painful red, scars standing out in stark relief.

“That,” the general growls, “is half the problem, Lili-sama. Your title is as much protection as your honor guard. A scoundrel might think twice about picking the pockets of the Empress’s Advisor, but some silly young girl in the market…well, she could be easily led astray! Brought to some back alley where…where…”

Judoh has faced dragons on the battlefield, seen sights that would turn most men mad, but one glance down in An Lili’s guileless eyes, and he falters.

“It is useless to convince the general that anonymity conveys safety, Lady Lili.” Soowon lifts his head, ignoring the betrayed glare she spears him with. “Where we might instead focus our arguments is on the fact that we were almost certainly being followed from the moment we stepped into the city.”

“What?” Now it’s Judoh who suffers the honed point of her ire. “You had people watching us the whole time?”

“My lady, that is beside the point,” he snaps, desperately grappling to keep the ground beneath him. “Just because I had men in position this time, does not mean there will not be a time where the two of you slip out when no preparations have been made—”

“You two?” Lili shrills, hands hooking at her waist. “I did not sneak out with— with him! I did it all by myself, and he copied me—”

“Is this really what you want to fight over?” Soowon sighs, fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose.  At least Yona had the sense to let them all get in equal trouble. “Who thought to break the rules first?”

She swings around to him, well on her way to a pout. “He needs to know we don’t come as a unit.”

“I don’t think anyone is confused on that point.”

“You don’t—”

It’s a miracle that he hears it— the quiet shush of wood sliding along its track, just over his shoulder. The pommel of his dagger finds his hand before he finishes his turn, one foot braced against the floor and poised to pull, but it’s Judoh who moves faster, little more than a blur of black linen and a flash of steel as he flies across the floor.

The man at the door is cloaked and masked, no more than a strip of skin and dark eyes uncovered, but they widen as Judoh meets him with blade bared. The general is by no means his quickest sword, but even Soowon would have been hard pressed to answer that attack, so it can only be preternatural reflex that allows this man to manage it, stumbling back a step.

One that would not have saved him, had Judoh been allowed to press his advantage. But another figure reaches through the gap, gripping Judoh’s wrist hard enough to send his sword clattering to the tatami. It’s with a speed that Soowon feels rather that sees that the general is driven to his knees, arm wrenched behind his back as the intruder forces him prone, one knee braced on the floor and the other on his back. Lili’s attendant is already on her feet, a wicked knife glistening as she flings herself with purpose toward the other man at the door—

“Baram, please.” The figure that steps into the room is dressed dark like the others, tall enough to be a man— but it is a woman’s voice that comes from beneath its hood. A mature one; confident even in this room full of naked steel. Familiar, barely. “That is hardly the sort of treatment we should show our honored guests.”

His stomach drops before her hood, but it does not reach bottom until Judoh gasps, “Your Majesty.”

Kouren, Queen of Xing, First of Her Name, strides across the room until she stands before him, taking in the sight of him on his knees. The way his father must have, when her beloved guardsman knelt before him on the battlefield.

“Lord Soowon.” The smile she shines down on him is warm, welcoming, the kind one royal might give another. A pity none of it reaches her eyes. “We do not need ceremony between us, do we?”

[unknownmusing]

Adoribull Fanfic: 'When a Thread of Fate Brings Two People Together'

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

Plot Summary:

A story of how a Mage and Qunari who are both of different races slowly over time as they spent having adventures together begin to develop something more between them.

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

Prologue - 'The Beginning of a Thread of Fate Weaving between Two Different Races to Join Them Together' (Part 1 of ?)

Location - Un-named river some distance from Redcliffe Village - Hinterlands, Ferelden - Late Evening

In an area surrounded by meadow grass and wildflowers, while a river winds it way through mountainous region a few feet away, Dorian Pavus flicks through the tome he picked up on his travels using the light from the crackling camp-fire to illuminate the pages so he can read them - some of the writing is faded over time with other parts missing paragraphs but the diagrams helped understand the spells being mentioned.

So absorbed in his reading of the tome he doesn't hear his second companion travelling with him approaching the camp, until a thud of something heavy lands close-by making him lift his head to see some kind of wild boar lays there - though looking more mutated and hybrid-looking - then flicks his gaze up to his large companion who's reached for a large carving knife to sharpen it with a whetstone.

"Don't worry, I know which cuts to get that won't make us ill." Iron Bull - a Beast of the the Qunari - states to Dorian who's wondering if should decline in eating but his stomach betrays him by choosing to grumble indicating he's hungry.

This makes the large Qunari chuckle at him, standing up to pick up the wild boar's body to take it over to the branch of tree to begin skinning it - removing the fur; other parts which are inedible and finally cutting it so effeciently and effortlessly that Dorian forgets for a moment Iron Bull has murdered various people in similar ways as he watches the sight of the minotaur working away.

The slope of the large muscles shifting, every soft way the hands slide over the dead boar's body testing to see which way to cut and turning it to check the other side of it that gulping slightly, Dorian shuts the tome to place in his travelling pack and getting up heads down to river needing some space.

His mind begins to flood with so many images, he quickly places a clenched fist in his mouth to silence any sounds - this was frankly embarassing, he's acting like a young randy male seeing a female they like but don't want to admit - when he reaches the beach-area nearby the river curve so that Iron Bull can't pick them up, his other resting over his abdomen close to his groin.

"Control yourself, Dorian…..Control yourself…..you hate his Race…..remember….." He mutters under his breath, only for sudden image of him and the beast embraced in such a way his clenched fist moves away from his mouth to grip his shoulder and other cup himself between his thighs arching slightly when unexpected heat floods through him at it.

He moans breathlessly to his shame, horror and embarassment knowing that the Qunari would pick it up with their acute hearing only to sink down onto the sandy ground lying back to begin to rub himself through his breeches, thighs quivering intensely and mind flooding with so many images, whispers and sensation of being embraced he can't help but let out mewling breathless gasps, pants and whimpers.

What is happening to him?

Why was heat flooding throughout his system like his body had realised he was compatible with the Qunari when records stated it wasn't possible for a Beast of the Qunari to be compatible with a Human and other species and only their own.

Was it because of when they met that fateful rainfall night the touch from the Qunari had left an imprint and somehow they both become compatible?

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

 PART 1 - 'How the Thread First Formed Between Two'

Location - Tevinter Imperium - Nothern Thedas, Minrathous - Approaching Late Evening 

2 Years Earlier

Rain is falling down heavily on the streets of Tevintar Imperium in Northern Thedas, Minrathous, drowning out the sounds of scuffle going on between four people – the fourth trying to make dash for it, an alleyway between two large buildings briefly becoming illuminated by an eerie light which fades away when they are knocked over before can get out of the alleyway where curses in native Tevene begin to fill it.

“Maybe we should gag him for good measure. This….fucking mage as a mouth on him doesn’t he.”

“Just remember his….the Magister Pavus I mean wants him alive.”

“Heh, yeah good coin being paid for escorting this….”

Dorian Pavus – son of Halward Pavus and Aquinea Thalrassian – finds him struggling in vain to get away from the larger of the Hired Thugs pinning him down onto the alleyway ground mostly grinding to his vain his face into it, discussing with the other two thugs debating on what do with him.

It is a handful of days since he run away from his home and for good intentions and reasons, he never wanted to set foot there again. Surrounded by something which had started to become the equivalent of a gilded cage which he begins to wonder would ever be able to get out of.

“Heh, seems our Mage here is being a little too quiet.” One of the Hired Thugs notes, squatting down in front of him to reach out to grab hold of the back of his head by his hair wrenching it upwards to force him to look at harsh, unforgiving cold eyes. “What you thinking about? Way to escape?”

Glaring back, Dorian refuses to answer resulting a hand immediately slapping him across the face so hard it leaves his ears ringing and splitting his lower lip in the process allowing blood to trickle down the side of his lip and chin closely followed by a hand grabbing hold of his chin to dig their nails harshly into his cheeks when they say their next words.

“You know I always hated Vint’s like this, Pompous, arrogant and vain. Only thinking about themselves.”

Brought up onto his feet, Dorian wonders if can summon a quick spell – one that will get rid of the Hired Thugs - when a gruff, deep voice interrupts it sends prickles up and down him in a such a way it felt like when one meets their Soulmate for the first time and their coloured Soul Threads connect.

“And does that count for yourself as well."

A very large, tall figure stands there at the entrance to the alleyway wearing a faded hooded cloak looking straight at the Hired Thugs surrounding him.

"So......Did you miss me?" Is the first words from the large hooded figure - who after the brief glimpse Dorian had seen of their face when they were fighting is a Qunari who looks oddly familiar and bringing back a memory of night at a Masked Party, an embrace in large arms and so much unexpected overstimulation it was feat he managed to get up to leave in the morning - as he leans against the alley brick-wall with his arms crossed over his chest and staff back in its holder on his back.

Sighing heavily with one hand up coming to pinch the bridge of his nose he wonders how he answer the Qunari - the hulk of a beast who he had a one night stand with, before escaping from the guest bedchamber lest fear of scandal of being discovered bedding a Qunari - whose name he doesn't know, who is busy going through the Hired Thugs until finds one still alive.

"I...Don't have a clue what you mean by 'Did I miss you?' because 1. I don't know who you are and 2. What are you doing?" Dorian replies, watching the Qunari turn their hooded gaze to him before gets up, just after bounding their prisoner in tight ropes so the singled-out Hired Thug cannot escape, walking up to where he stands.

A hand slams beside his head onto the alley brickwall allowing for the hooded cloak to slip off slightly revealing one ash-grey hand covered in snaking ink-black tattoos at the sametime the Qunari presses closer to him it forces him to turn his face to one side to not look at them.

"You have to understand....you felt the sensation didn't you?" The Qunari asks him, referring of course to the feel of a Soul-Thread connecting him to their's making Dorian, blush so heavily it's no doubt showing on his face even in the dim moonlight alongside the promixity of them against his body.

"Vishante kaffas!! I have no idea what your talking about!!!? Now if you'll excuse me....I like to get on....mmfffff!!!?" Dorian begins to say, only for lips to smash into his before he can even protest or cast a spell sending a throbbing wave of something through the forming Soul Thread making him slump against their large body, feeling one hand slide around to embrace him and the other come up to cradle the back of his head.

His fingers twitch heavily, hands spasming before manages to wrench free stumbling down the alleyway to compose himself.

Dorian brings up to his slightly swollen lips a shaking hand - the Qunari had just kissed him!!!? Without even a warning, just did it to him.

Angry at the forcefulness of it he forms a lightening ball in one hand, turning fully around to face the Qunari standing there watching him to send it hurtling towards them choosing not to hang around to check if worked or not. 

His mind beginning to flood with a memory of a masked party, the mysterious large Qunari and everything else that had happened that fateful night as he keeps on running and running through the weaving alleyways and down empty streets passing by houses, shops and market stalls until out of one of the many large city gate's into the wildness of a land unknown to him. 

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

Notes:

This chapter deals with introducing the characters called Verikas - an elf who doesn't want to be an Inquisitor - and his friend Ku'rac who is a Qunari who in next chapter will soon meet Dorian and Iron Bull

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

Part 2 – The Beginning (1 of ?)

Location - The Fade also known as The Beyond - Location of Realm Unknown 

It is an quiet, eerie stillness of without sound which makes Verikas flutter his eyes open, faintly seeing the blurred large figure of his close friend Ku’rac – a Qunari who had become exiled from his people due to disagreements with them – lying close-by then his vision fully clears to reveal he is in the Fade.

Around wispy emerald mist raises in different areas, structures of crumbled elvish ruins float in the air way above - some facing upside down and others dissembling - then hears a pained groan coming from Ku'rac making him get up, stumbling slightly forwards swaying due to experiencing the Fade for the first time trying to remember what happened but all he is getting is fractured memories of group of people talking; a cloaked hooded figure wearing a mask with liliac vines on it and then a explosion of raw, untimed magical energy originating from somewhere.

"Ku'rac....Ku'rac...." Verikas reaching his friend calls out, trying to rouse the Qunari who gives pained groan with both his hands twitching - unclenching and clenching - until flutters his eyes open, gaze soon focusing on him with Ku'rac allowing him to help him to sit up

"Verikas, what.....the Maker just happened?!! Last thing I remember was watching you from the balcony about to state you don't want to be an Inquisitor then nothing afterwards!!" Ku'rac asks him so many questions he cannot give his friend any of the answers to, because even himself doesn't know them.

"I....have faint memory but will have to discuss it later. We need to get out of here." Verikas replies, his keen hearing picking up that they are not alone with him helping Ku'rac to stand up, followed by noticing a bright light in the distance.

Both agree that they should head towards it to investigate what it could be, quickly making their way across crumbling platforms; clambering up floating islands above them and coping with walking upside down or even sideways until finally reach a flight of stone-carved steps.

"Verika, spiders!!!?" Ku'rac calls out to him, pointing to mass of them skittering across over to where they are located he begins to run up the stairs only to trip over a step when a sudden and unexpected sharp, lightening-like pain radiates from his hand through every nerve ending he finds himself giving out a bloodcurdling scream.

His legs give out on him with Ku'rac sweeping in to grab hold to cradle in his large arms, running up the stone-carved steps where the light of the figure waiting seems to enamate outwards that Verikas doesn't remember what happens next.

Just the words 'You'll will live. The both of you' closely followed by blackness.

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[luvuomi]

an excerpt from my unnamed & heavily unfinished lyney fic:

Thin, frail hands reached out to grab hold of the brass knob that was cold to the touch, slowly twisting and pushing open the grand doors. Their deafening sound disrupts the unperturbed silence of the other room. At first, Lyney is hesitant to continue further in. The lack of human presence indirectly urged him to turn back and find Lynette.

However, as his curious eyes wander across the hall that appears to stretch on for what seemed like several miles, he unknowingly finds himself walking forward. The plush carpet below softening his footsteps as he gazes in awe at the room’s emanate opulence: pedestals where pristine ceramic vases sat upon holding flowers, modest paintings of pleasant fields or mountains of solitude, and the array of tall windows that filter in ample sunlight through draping curtains.

Though he walks a good distance away from such novel furnishings, he continues to remain careful for the unknown fear that he may accidentally knock something over. Forget damaging—he may as well leave a stain on this place with his own breath.

Wavering footsteps eventually recede to a halt as his eyes catch sight of a particular painting.

Gilded in gold, it depicts a woman elegantly sitting upon a throne. Her black gloved hands rest leisurely upon her lap, contrasting her straight and refined posture. Rose gold hair styled in a loose braid that falls seamlessly down her shoulder, complimenting her poised sea-green eyes. Though she displayed a cordial smile akin to that of a loving mother, something about her gaze unsettled Lyney. Like it held a glint of rancor that most would not perceive.

Stationed beside this painting, was another more distinguishable portrait. It portrayed yet another woman of equal eminence, if not more. But even at a mere glance, it was obvious she held more eccentricities about her. She sat upon the throne as though it were any other seat: one leg crossed over the other and cheek languidly resting upon her hand, further emphasizing her impartial demeanor. Layered black and white hair that extends almost down to her shoulders on one side and—her eyes.

They are not ones Lyney has ever seen before. Black as a moonless night with striking red pupils shaped like “X’s.” Compared to the previous woman, this one evidently held a more daunting presence, even within the confines of a painting. Yet despite such looming authority, something about her held more sincerity. For what exactly, Lyney has no clue.

All he knows is that should he ever come face to face with such a woman, he would undoubtedly take her words as they are, without question.

Gradually peeling his eyes away from the paintings, Lyney’s gaze then landed upon another item of interest, one that stood at the center of the room and that he’s surprisingly failed to notice until now—a grand piano.

Approaching the instrument, Lyney’s eyes examine its spotless condition. Free of any marks or scratches as his fingers gently grazed along the black and white keys before taking a seat. He plays one note, and then another, the soft sound managing to echo throughout the entire hall. He definitely shouldn’t be touching this, his mind tells him. Though his actions speak otherwise. Slowly positioning his hands on the keys, Lyney begins to play.

It’s a melancholic tune that plays, but one so cathartic it brings the world to a standstill. He was never one to find great enjoyment in playing such an instrument. Lynette had often told him to put such talents to greater use, perhaps performing in the grandest of stages like the Opera Epiclese, but Lyney never indulged those possibilities.

Such an opportunity should only be granted to those who have a true passion for playing a beautiful instrument like the piano. Not someone like him who only used it as a means to get by.

“What are you doing?” A stringent voice cuts through the somber melody, immediately making Lyney’s hands flinch away from the keys and head dart at the person standing a few feet away. Their expression mirrored their tone of voice: cold and apathetic. Had they been here this entire time?

Upon receiving no response, their eyes narrow at him. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

“Lyney!” He blurts out immediately, shooting up from his seat that almost knocks over the stool behind him. He winces a bit at the commotion he’s now caused. “I mean–my name. My name is Lyney…”

“...Lyney?” The person repeats, voice dripping with doubt and ready to suspect him of hiding his true identity. But then there’s a pause and Lyney watches as their face morphs from a look of ponder to a scowl before they speak again. “Oh. So you’re the one “Father” talked about bringing in.”