#platonically event

[chirrups]

it’s them

[beritybaker]

Somebody To Kiss It Better 💖

Rating: T | Word Count: 2,561 | CW: Injury, Language | Tags: Pre-Steddie, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Flirting, Post-Vecna | ao3 For @steddiesportsau week two. Prompt: Sports Injury.

“Oh my god. Oh my god.”

“It’s not funny, Robin,” Steve grumbles.

“You’re right. It’s hilarious,” she says, leaning across the counter at Family Video to get a good look at the stupid mask strapped to his face.

He shoves her away. “My broken nose is hilarious?”

Clearly struggling to contain her giggles, Robin attempts a more serious expression. “Right. Okay. So it’s not funny you broke your nose. But you have to admit that the circumstances are a fucking riot.”

“What, that I tripped over my own feet and fell flat on my face?” He was thinking a better descriptor for his situation might be mortifying.

“That, and the fact that you face-planted because Eddie—”

“For the last time, Rob, stop trying. It’s never gonna happen,” he interrupts, though he can feel his face heating up under his nose guard.

She scoffs. “Only because you’re a huge wuss.” With a smirk, she goes on, “He’s into you, too. I bet if you went over to his place right now and told him what happened, he’d ask you out just because he feels bad.”

“I don’t want a pity date!” Steve snaps. 

“It’s not a pity date if he’s wanted to do it since March.”

“I still don’t get why you’re so sure he likes me.”

“Uh, because I have eyes?” Robin snorts. “And Dustin said so, too—he told me Eddie keeps putting characters in his campaign that sound like super horned-up versions of you.”

“Yeah, well, Dustin doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about,” Steve counters. He’s aware it’s a weak argument, considering the kid somehow managed to clock his crushes on both Robin and Eddie within a couple days of seeing him interact with either of them, but he’s not about to let Robin gain any ground in this discussion.

“Well, regardless…are you at least gonna admit to me that you were distracted, and that’s why you fell?”

Steve glares. “No, I’m not.” He doesn’t need to admit it; she knows the truth already. She just heard from his own mouth that he happened to look over and see Eddie, and that the next moment his legs tangled up under him and his face hit the court. He’d landed on his racket, too, bending it beyond repair and giving himself a nasty bruise on his hip.

He knows now that he shouldn’t have mentioned the detail about seeing Eddie, because Robin’s never going to let it go, and it’ll be added to her list of reasons he should just buck up and go for it (her own Vickie-based hypocrisy be damned). But what he’ll definitely, absolutely, never in his life admit is that what had really caught him off guard was Eddie in shorts.

It makes sense. Obviously he would be wearing shorts. It’s mid-July, and this week’s been a scorcher. But Steve is a simple man, with simple desires, and for months, one of those desires has been to see a little more skin from Eddie Munson. The fact that he happened to see it while he was playing tennis at the park with his dad was just unfortunate timing.

He’ll never forget that moment as long as he lives. It’s bound to be the most embarrassing thing that happens to him in his entire life, seared into his memory as a series of snapshots.

The hollow thwap of the ball against his racket as he returns the serve. His eyes instinctively darting to the parking lot at the short blast of a car horn. Doing a double-take as he recognizes a mop of hair and a brilliant smile a couple feet above a pair of denim cutoffs. And then…

Another thwap. A wide-eyed dive. A painful crunch.

The only blessing is that Eddie didn’t see it. He was ducking into Jeff’s car by the time Steve’s dad called out his name and rushed over. Eddie definitely didn’t hear it, because even if Steve isn’t about to agree that his crush is reciprocated, he knows by now that they’re good friends. If Eddie had noticed Steve wiping out and subsequently bleeding all over the place from a crooked nose, he would’ve sprinted right over, too.

“You’re impossible,” Robin scoffs, turning away from the counter to browse.

“And you’re annoying,” Steve counters. “Even on your day off, I can’t get away from you. Weren’t you and Nance supposed to have a sleepover?”

“I have to find something to watch! She needs an education, and she doesn’t have the privilege of getting one on the job.”

“So you’re holding her hostage now, too? And she’s not even getting paid for it?”

Robin makes a childish face at him. It’s one she knows he can’t return at the moment, wrinkling her nose and sticking out her tongue. He just rolls his eyes and goes back to sorting returns.

That’s where they stay for a few minutes. Both of them are silently absorbed in their tasks, until the bell chimes to signal someone else entering the store.

Steve automatically looks up. And just like he did at the park, he does a double-take.

“Hey, Eddie,” Robin calls from the thriller section.

Steve glances her way. Her eyes meet his, and even seeing only the top of her head, he can tell that god-awful smirk is back.

“Hey, Buckley! Thought you were off tonight,” Eddie replies.

“I am. Just here for the goods,” she explains, raising a couple tapes and waving them where he can see. “And keeping Stevie company.”

“But of course. There’s no separating you two,” he chuckles. Then he turns to Steve and freezes at the sight of him. “Oh, damn. Holy shit.”

Steve tries not to close his eyes, forcing himself to meet Eddie’s concerned gaze. It adds insult to literal injury that he’s wearing those goddamn cutoffs again—and they show off even more thigh than Steve remembers.

“What the fuck happened to you?”

“Broke my nose,” he mutters.

“Holy shit,” Eddie repeats. “How?”

“Fell.”

“You…fell? That’s it?”

“Yep. That’s it,” Steve says. He shoots a warning look at Robin when he hears a derisive snort. She disappears behind the shelf.

“Man, that blows. How long do you have to wear that thing on your face?”

Steve shrugs. “Couple weeks. Doctor wants to make sure nothing knocks my nose out of place while it heals.”

Eddie lets out a low whistle. “Oof. Sorry, man.”

Don’t apologize, Steve thinks, biting back the actual words. It’s not like I fell because you didn’t measure the inseam before you took scissors to your old jeans, or that your legs are way more toned than I imagined they would be, or that I want you to throw me up against the wall like you did in Reefer Rick’s boathouse, or—

“So, what’s new?” Eddie asks, cutting through Steve’s thought spiral. “Other than the broken nose.”

Steve clears his throat. “Not much.”

“Same here,” Eddie sighs. He approaches the counter and slumps against it, leaning forward on his elbows. Pursing his lips, he goes on, “What time are you off? You wanna hang out later?”

“I’m closing.”

“Isn’t Wednesday usually Keith’s night?”

“He’s busy, apparently. Asked me to switch.”

Robin reappears at Eddie’s elbow. She puts a few tapes on the counter and says, “He’s got a date.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows. “Seriously? Good for him.”

“Yeah. At least somebody around here can get one,” she jokes. Then, with a significant look, she adds, “Right, Steve?”

He glares back at her. “Yeah. Lucky guy.”

“I don’t understand how you’re free, Harrington,” Eddie muses. “You got more natural charm in your pinkie finger than I’ve ever seen from Keith. You should be taking somebody out every goddamn night.”

Robin snorts. “You should’ve seen him when we worked at Scoops. He was striking out left and right. It was so bad, I kept a running tally every day of how many girls rejected him. The record was twenty-two.”

This time, Steve is exasperated enough that he does close his eyes for a moment. He’s not sure what’s worse: Robin making pointed comments around Eddie or recounting past misadventures to him.

“Oh, there’s no way.” Eddie turns to him with wide eyes and an even wider smile. “You were striking out?”

“The hat covered up my best feature,” Steve huffs, vaguely gesturing at his own head.

“Oh, in that case,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes. His smile remains, and it even softens after a moment. “Well, those girls didn’t know what they were missing.”

Steve’s lungs seize up. Once again, Robin catches his eye, her brows so high on her forehead they’ve disappeared behind her bangs. He narrows his eyes at her—a nonverbal warning to shut the fuck up—then turns to the computer to add her rentals to her account.

Out loud, he says, “I’ll take the hat over this damn thing.” He doesn’t have to point at his nose guard; he’s learned over the past few days that it’s the only thing anyone sees as long as he’s in the room.

Eddie tilts his head and shoots him a sympathetic grimace. “It’s not that bad.”

“No, it definitely is,” Steve says. His deadpan delivery draws a laugh from Eddie that makes his heart flutter in his chest.

“Look on the bright side. Wearing that thing should keep your face lookin’ as pretty as ever, right?”

“Oh my god,” Robin mumbles. It sounds involuntary.

“What’s wrong?” Eddie asks, interpreting her frustrated outburst as some startled realization.

She confirms that she hadn’t meant to say anything by turning to Steve in a panic and stammering, “I’m…gonna be late! I said I would meet Nancy at six-thirty, and it’s almost”—she looks at her watch and deflates a little—“a quarter to six.”

Eddie’s brow furrows. He glances at Steve in clear is she okay? amusement, then says, “You got forty-five minutes, and you’re worried about being late? Where are you s’posed to meet her, Timbuktu?”

“Ah, no. Her house.” Robin lets out a nervous chuckle. “I just, uh…I have to pick up snacks, too! See you guys.” She’s already halfway out the door before the words are out of her mouth.

Eddie stares after her, looking bewildered. “What the hell was all that about?”

“No idea,” Steve lies.

There’s a quiet moment, where the only sound is the computer’s keyboard clacking under his fingertips. He figures Eddie must be lost in thought, because after spending enough time with him, he’s noticed that those are the only moments where Eddie stops talking—and sometimes not even then. Like with Robin, he finds it endearing. More than once, he’s caught himself grinning like an idiot as Eddie rambled about D&D classes or a Judas Priest album.

When Eddie does eventually speak, he says the last thing Steve expects. “You know, you kinda pull it off.”

Blinking rapidly, Steve looks up from the computer. He slowly turns to look at Eddie. “What?”

“The nose thing. It’s weirdly cute on you.” He sighs a laugh and shakes his head. “Listen to me. ’Course it is—you’re Steve Harrington. You could be wearing a goddamn bunny suit and you’d be able to make it work.”

Steve stares at him for another moment, at a loss for what to say. “Thank you?” he tries.

“It still sucks, though.” Eddie pauses. He’s leaning on the counter again, though now he has his hands splayed across it, fingers drumming idly. “Did they tell you how long it might take for the bruising to clear up, too?”

Shaking his head a bit to clear it, Steve stammers, “Uh, y-yeah. Few days, apparently.” He goes back to sorting tapes, desperate for something to distract him from the ongoing butterfly swarm in his stomach.

“Hm.” Another pause. “Think it’d heal faster if you had somebody to kiss it better?”

Steve fumbles with a small stack of tapes, dropping a couple. He has to take a deep breath to recover before he can lean down to retrieve them.

In that second, though, Eddie has already leapt over the counter. “Whoops! Allow me.” He squats and starts picking them up, and…

Holy mother of god.

This is too much. It’s too much for Steve to handle, having Eddie crouched on the floor in those fucking shorts, right in front of him, with his skin taut over his quads and the denim hugging his crotch, leaving very little to the imagination. All Steve can do is stare as his breath becomes hopelessly shallow.

Eddie doesn’t notice until he lifts his arm to hand the tapes over. When he does, his eyebrows pinch together in concern. “Whoa. Stevie. You doin’ alright?”

Steve swallows, trying to summon an answer.

“Um. Earth to Harrington,” Eddie says with an anxious smile. He waves the tapes across Steve’s field of vision. “You okay, man?”

“I saw you at the park,” Steve blurts. He isn’t sure why. The ER doc told him he didn’t have a concussion, but maybe his brain got a little banged around, after all.

Looking outright worried now, Eddie rises and sets aside the tapes.

“The other day. I was playing tennis with my dad at the park and I saw you.”

“Okay…”

“That’s why I fell and broke my nose.”

Eddie blinks and shakes his head in a startled little expression. “Okay, Stevie. You lost me.”

Finally, Steve has reached his breaking point. He whirls around and starts pacing away from Eddie, raising his hands to tangle in his own hair. “It’s those goddamn shorts.” He turns on his heel to face Eddie again, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Why the hell do you have to wear those things?”

Eddie puts his hands up defensively. “What’s wrong with my shorts?”

“‘What’s wrong?’ You look too good in ’em, that’s what’s wrong!”

Instantly, Eddie’s confused look melts into one of total understanding. A gradual smirk stretches his lips. “Let me get this straight. You’re telling me you fell on your face…broke your nose…because you saw me walk by in shorts?”

“Yes,” Steve hisses.

Eddie lifts both his gaze and his hands to the sky, as if overcome with religious passion, and cries out, “Holy fucking shit, finally!”

“What the fuck do you mean, ‘finally’?”

“Steve. Stevie. Harrington.” Eddie walks over and lowers his hands to rest on Steve’s shoulders. “I’ve been tryin’ to get you to admit to checking me out for weeks. Gonna be honest, I was starting to think your stubborn ass was never gonna cop to it.”

“You—what?”

“Christ. I was worried I was gonna have to break down and ask you out before you did.”

Steve stares for another moment before demanding, “Why the hell didn’t you?!”

Eddie falters. His smirk morphs into a sheepish grimace. “I, uh…I may have bet Henderson that I could hold out until you admitted it.”

Steve closes his eyes and shakes his head. But he’s smiling. “I’m gonna kill that little creep.”

“At least let him pay up first,” Eddie says. Then he clears his throat, which gets Steve to open his eyes. “That said, through…you free tomorrow night?”

Steve meets his gaze, skeptical. “You wanna take me out looking like this?”

Eddie giggles and nods. “Technically it’s my fault. I gotta make it up to you somehow.”

[lady-ashfade]

Could I please have blueberry cookies with Jacaerys for hotd?

Made A Fool.

´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒ Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem!Reader

Bakery Event - closed

╰･ﾟ✧☽ summery: after the betrothal to the Prince Jacaerys, you thought it would be the happiest moments of your life given your years spent with him. Happiest is a sliver of what you feel, after he avoids your every move.

╰･ﾟ✧☽ words: 2.2k

╰･ﾟ✧☽ warnings: Luke never dies, rhaenryas miscarriage is mentioned, angst, jace being dick, jace accusing you because he’s jealous, betrothal, angst with a happy ending, readers family being near the Starks and long family friends, arguing.

⤻ I got carried away so this is longer then it should be.

˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚ 🍪 ˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚

During your young years at dragon stone, you found yourself becoming great companions with the princess’s sons. Rhaenyra took you into her home with open arms, she raised you like her own when your mother was a sea away. But her eldest son was easily the most precious thing you come to love, it started out when he gave you flowers— actually weeds— but pretty nonetheless and warmed your heart like dragon fire.

The both of you glued to each others side as the years went by, no one could deny the smiles and laughs you’d share like nothing else matter. Jace was a gentle man, held no grudge or power over you for being born a woman, even encouraged you to learn the sword with him. His blood was of the dragon so he had tendencies to be hot headed and rash when angered. All it took was the gentle touch of your fingertips on his cheeks to calm the dragon within him. Though, you two never knew of each others true feelings, he knew you cared very deeply for him.

“And what do you think of this?” Her grace looked softly at you, sitting down with a pained expression from the loss of the babe in her belly. The question of if you wanted the proposal to her eldest son, something your father wished for his loyalty to her claim. Throughout the years your father never mentioned that he even liked jace, in each letter sent he reminded you that your only duty was to the princess. So, you wonder is this had been his plan all along? A son for his daughter—Dragons for his grandchildren.

“Your grace, I ensure you that I did not come here for a marriage pa-” her smile and hushed laughter stopped you, and made your head tilt in confusion. Rhaenyra ran her hands along her lap, something was amusing to her and made embarrassment sit restless inside you. “I know, sweetgirl. There was never a doubt you were here for this, you care for my boys and me, that much is very clear.” her words made you relived. Her hands moved to the cushion beside her to signal you over. “Join me,”

You obeyed her wish and walked over nervously, the conversation to come was running in your mind of every way this could go. She didn’t see you fit for her son—not good enough. Or even worse, could call you greedy for being her only for her sons even it wasn’t the truth. Everything was spinning as you took your place next to her. “What I asked was if you wanted this marriage? I am forever grateful for you and your family and the support for the war to come, I will agree to the betrothal— but I believe you should have a say in this.”

Gulping the spit in your mouth to cover the butterflies in your throat you stare for a second to get the right words in your head. Jacaerys was the love of your life for years, your own prince from the story books told to young girls. To imagine actually get to be betrothed to him was a dream come true but also a nightmare to convey out loud. “My queen, I will do my duty if you wish.” You picked at your nails while avoiding her gaze. The queen reached her hand to caress your cheek, while turning your head to face her. There was no greater feeling then her soften gaze, “Do you want this? You’re answer will never hurt me.” and you knew you couldn’t refuse the offer because it made your heart happy.

“Yes, Your Grace. I would be pleased to marry Jacaerys.”

The announcement pleased the court of men, knowing your family’s army wouldn’t bend the knee to aegon, even though jace smiled at you- he walked to the other side right after and began to ignore you. Of course, you put it off as his duties were more important and he meant no offense. As men pushed your house piece along the board, giving your impression of what your father wanted, jace kept his eyes off you as you spoke. And you knew he could feel your staring. Again, at dinner while you took your place beside him— his attention was anywhere but on you. This didn’t go unnoticed by only you, his brother Luke happened to think it strange. He was always all over you and now he can’t spare you one look?

Luke decided to save you from feeling lonely and embarrassed so he decided to turn on his charm, something you always thought was adorable about the boy. He would whisper some jokes only for your ears, and as your cheeks flushed red from the wine served he finally asked you to join him for a dance. Though the dinner was small, and in the middle of a war- it was still a celebration of alliance. Decided to dance with Luke, you had a fun time and forgot about jace for a while. This was supposed to be a good day, so you’ll have to push yourself. Luke was like a brother to you, so it was easy to be entertained by him.

The absence of jace brought you down, it’s been a few days since you two actually had a conversation, or he’d actually look at you without someone else expecting him to. Yes, you understand the war at hand, and how much needs to be done and you can’t have his attention all the time. But he made no efforts to speak with you, or acted like he used to—Acted like your future husband. That’s what sprouted anger within you, and you were annoyed and snapped easily.

“My men with have a easier time rallying in the north, my letters to Cregan-” the words cut from your mouth when jace interrupted. His jaw tighter and a harsh glare made it harder to not burst into a screaming match. He had been giving attitude to his mother with the same expression. He hadn’t looked at you in weeks and this is what he was doing?

“You sent letters to Cregan? Why? I visited him nearly days ago,” his voice raised and made everyone in the room look back and forth wonder if they should cut in. “He offered graybeards.”

You roll your eyes at him, “The Starks have been my friends with my family for years, I convinced him to lend a few, young men. No old bones, no offense my lords, but men with stranger arms.” The way he was looking at you, you’d been dead. Many years you saw him angry, annoyed and ready to fight anything that crosses him. Never did you think you’d be on the end of his temper.

“Tell me, how exactly you persuaded him?” everyone could tell he meant nothing well by his accusing statement. You huff and get ready to comment when Rhaenrya placed and hand on your shoulder while Luke got in Jaces vision of you. “And I thank you for that, any swords are welcome.” She rubbed your skin and moved her head towards the door, allowing you to leave as you were visibly upset. Excusing your leaving, Jace watched you leave and turned his whole body. He couldn’t shake the feel inside when the meeting continued and didn’t speak a word, his thoughts only on you.

Jace marched through the halls with haste to your chambers, he saw no reason to knock so the door opened with him already flaring his nostrils. The surprise of the door opening with forced and quickly made you jump from your table, the ink dropped onto your skin from the quill in your hand dropping as you stood up from the chair. “What’s the meaning of this? You can’t just-” Jace walks towards you, making you back up at his pace.

“Me? It’s I who should be asking same question, what in the seven hells was that? Back in the war room?” he yelled at you. You stood only a few steps away and could practically could feel heat from him caused by his seething anger.

“What, are you accusing me of starting it? I simply stated my opinion with my houses army. You couldn’t handle me disagreeing with you?” You head twists and turn with your words, and eyes look all over the room.

He groaned and his eyes darkened, he stood closer to yell in your face. “I have a problem with my betrothed making it known she sends letters to another man. You must want me to look a fool. Have you and him been sending letters for years?” your mouth drops in disbelief at his ignorance words, “He told me he only could give old men, but you somehow convinced him to give us more? Has he declared his love for you, do you swoon in the letters for him?”

“You idiot, you think you have the right to ask me- To think that of me?” You push his chest back away from you, then walk away with a annoyed laugh.

Standing with your hands arching your back on your hips, you look back at him, “It has been you who ignores me frequently, pasted nights without a word from you other then small formalities.” rubbing the skin on your forehead, you breath heavily. “All I have done is be there by your side, never let my feelings get in the way of our friendship. I’d think you’d at least honor that, but somehow you hate the thought of marriage to me so much you pretend I cease to exist.” only now was he knocked off thoughts when your eyes became slightly glossy. Jace couldn’t tell if it was in sadness or anger, or both.

“So no, Your Grace. If you speculate I ever did anything to make Cregan think he’d fight for me, or give him the idea I wanted him. You’d be deadly wrong. Because I have spent years hoping, that one day, you’d care about me that same why I do for you.” turning around to hide the tears escaping, you grab the chair to calm yourself down. He deserved no tears from you or to see you broken, so you had to collect yourself before him.

Brown orbs stares at the back of your head, arms wanted to reach out and comfort you like he did before. Jace never meant to make you feel like this nor that he hates the idea of being with you, romantically. The one things he could never truly show was weakness and when he heard you’d be his, that’s all he felt. Knowing that his enemies would target you. That if you were in trouble you and hurt? It would be his fault.

“Seven hells,” he whispered and tugged at the skin own lips. “Forgive me, for being a jest. I never thought about how you would feel.” straightening yourself and whipped off the tears from your cheeks, you keep your eyes on the wall ahead with your back still turned.

“This betrothal…It brings me joy. From a little boy I have always thought you were a beauty, wanted to fight for your attention against my brother.” the memory of his youth made him smile, “I thought that if I distance myself from you— You’d be safer from the dangers from the greens. I would die if something happened to you just because I love you.”

Spinning around towards him, your brows frown, “You love me?” he nodded his head.

“I do. I have since our youth when you loved the flowers i brought you, even though you knew it was weeds, but you put them into your hair, and placed the prettiest behind my ear.” he admitted. The distant laughter filled both of your minds of that wonderful day, the same day you had also fallen for him.

“You have a strange way of showing it.” You mocked with a growing smile. Jace was hesitant to walk closer, he was unsure if you wanted him to after everything. Your eyes drew him close, and let him get so close that you placed your hand on his chest.

“I am at a threat with or without our marriage, let us face the dangers together. I don’t want either of us to be alone.” taking his heated cheek into your palm, you looked into his eye’s wishful for him never to pull away. The touch was simple, but it had him caving underneath you and wanted more. Licking his lips he stared at yours, hoping you would give him the consent to close the gap between the both of you. One small agreement of a nod he was pressing his lips against yours, his hands resting themselves onto your hips. First kisses are soft, gentle but he was passionate and a little edger to finally get his wish. His hold on you tightened protectively as if someone was threatening you in the moment.

Pulling away from the kiss, both your mouthes covered in wetness, and cheeks heated with hormones. “Are you sure cregan hasn’t declared anything for you? He’d be a fool if not-” you took his lips onto yours to shut him up and his playful jealousy.

A dragon protects what is theirs, and as his future queen consort, he was nothing if not overprotective over you.

[solxamber]

ougghrhehhbebf this valentines event is so cute!!!!!! I’m gonna be feasting on sol writing again nyehehehe

Malleus, platonic, with 蛍はいなかった/Fireflies never came by Harumaki Gohan please! do whatever you think fits the vibes :)

it's a little similar to the silver one but I hope you like my take on it <3

"Fireflies never came" || Malleus Draconia

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: Fireflies never came by Harumaki Gohan

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 760

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Angst with a Happy Ending, Reincarnation, Platonic Malleus x reader

Malleus Draconia had spent a lifetime watching the world from the outside.

It had always been that way—noble and powerful, a prince of the night, but forever set apart. The people whispered his name in reverence, in fear. They saw him as something more, something untouchable, something other.

And then you arrived, and the world changed.

You weren’t afraid of him. You never hesitated, never bowed your head in trembling obedience. Instead, you smiled at him as if he were simply Malleus. Not a prince, not a legend, just a friend.

And that was dangerous.

Because Malleus had never truly had a friend before, and he did not know how to hold something so precious without breaking it.

He remembers the first time you told him about the fireflies.

“They only shine for a little while,” you had said, your voice soft with wonder, eyes reflecting the night sky. “But that’s what makes them special. They live knowing their time is short, so they glow with everything they have.”

Malleus had listened, entranced by the warmth in your voice, by the way your fingers traced idle patterns against the grass.

“If they are so fleeting,” he murmured, “then we must go see them before they are gone.”

He had promised. And when he made that promise, you beamed at him—bright and beautiful, like starlight made flesh.

That moment had been so simple, so small. And yet, Malleus had tucked it away in his heart as if it were something sacred.

But the fireflies never came.

That night, the field was empty. The air was still, heavy with disappointment. He remembers how you had stared at the darkness, lips pressed together, and then—

You laughed.

“Guess we’ll have to try again next year,” you said, nudging him playfully. “I’ll hold you to it, Malleus.”

He didn’t know then how much those words would come to haunt him.

Because there was no next year.

One day, you were there. And then—

You were not.

Malleus had lived lifetimes, had seen kingdoms rise and fall, had watched stars burn out and turn to dust. He should have known that humans were fleeting things, fragile and brief, just like the fireflies you loved so much.

But knowing did not make it hurt any less.

For centuries, he walked the same paths you once did. He visited the places you had taken him, traced his fingertips over the carvings you had left on tree trunks, sat beneath the same moonlit sky where you had once whispered stories to him.

The world moved on. Time erased your footprints, wore away the echoes of your laughter.

But Malleus did not move on. He carried you with him.

And then—

One day, in a world far removed from the one you left behind, he finds himself walking toward the place where you had once promised to meet again.

He doesn’t expect anything. He never does anymore.

But then, he sees someone sitting in the grass.

A human.

A stranger.

And yet—

Malleus does not hesitate. He does not stop to think, does not allow himself to drown in uncertainty.

He walks forward, drawn by something old, something endless, something familiar.

You turn, and—

Oh.

Oh.

It is you.

Not just someone who looks like you. Not just a distant echo of what once was.

It is you.

His breath catches in his throat. His vision blurs. He does not know if it is from disbelief or the sting of unshed tears.

And then—

You smile.

And Malleus runs.

He doesn’t remember ever running before, not like this. Not as if his entire existence depends on reaching you, not as if the weight of centuries is finally lifting from his shoulders.

He stops just short, afraid, uncertain, and yet—

You laugh—soft, warm, real—and it is the most beautiful sound in the world.

“I told you we'd see the fireflies together,” you say.

Malleus swallows against the lump in his throat. He wants to speak, to tell you everything he has held inside for so long. But the words get stuck, tangled in the overwhelming tide of emotions that threaten to pull him under.

So instead, he kneels before you, his hands trembling as he reaches out, as if afraid that you will disappear if he touches you.

But you do not disappear.

You take his hands in yours—warm, solid, here.

And Malleus knows.

This time, there will be a next year.

And this time, the fireflies will come.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[itsmebeff]

they're going to a formal event

the queen and her weird ugly partner

[smokebombsandspotlights]

"The Lucky TikTok"

Pairing: Platonic!Lando Norris x Twin!Reader x F1 Grid WC: 1,020 Genre: Fluff, humor, slice of life Warnings: Swearing, chaotic Gen Z energy, TikTok references Summary: Y/N Norris has a habit of pulling F1 drivers into her pre-race TikToks. At Silverstone, she ropes her twin brother Lando into one — and maybe, just maybe, it has a little magic in it.

[TikTok | @yn.norris ✨🎬]

🎶 “Good luck charm, you can do no wrong—” 🎶

[video shows: Y/N dragging Lando by the sleeve near the McLaren garage] Y/N: "Come on, we're doing one. You’re at your home race. We gotta manifest the win." Lando: groaning "Y/N, people are gonna see—" Y/N: already hitting record

[They do a quick dance mashup to a trending audio, ending with Lando doing a completely unserious hair flip and pointing at the camera.]

🎶 “POV: you just made your brother a race winner 💅” 🎶

caption: he better win or I’m switching siblings w Max lol 🏁 #BritishGP #McLaren #TikTokBeforeTakeoff #LandoWinManifestation #F1sClownPrincess #TwinPower

— Race Day - Silverstone Circuit, UK Sunday - 1:30PM

You’re practically vibrating from the energy around the paddock. The buzz of Silverstone is unmatched. Your phone’s already blowing up with notifs from the TikTok you posted this morning — the one with Lando. You’re pretty sure it hit over 500K likes already and it hasn’t even been 24 hours.

"Y/N, what the hell did you do to your brother?" Oscar Piastri grins, leaning on the pit wall as you pass.

You blink. "What do you mean?"

"He’s unusually... hyped. And I caught him humming that audio. You brainwashed him."

"Don't blame me if the power of social media and sibling manifestation works better than data analytics."

From across the garage, Lando flips you off, grinning. You throw him a double thumbs-up and make an exaggerated heart with your hands.

"He's gonna win today," you declare confidently, swinging your TikTok ring light in one hand like a trophy. "And when he does, I expect a thank-you shoutout."

"You really think it’s that easy?" Oscar snorts.

"Try me. You’re next if this works."

He looks alarmed. As he should.

[Race Results | British Grand Prix 2025]

🥇 P1 - Lando Norris (McLaren) 🥈 P2 - Charles Leclerc (Ferrari) 🥉 P3 - Max Verstappen (Red Bull)

Fastest Lap: Lando Norris Driver of the Day: Lando Norris British Crowd: Goes Absolutely Feral

Sky Sports F1 Interview - Post-Race Pen Lane

Lando is drenched in champagne and still visibly glowing from the win. His curls are slightly matted, his race suit half unzipped, and his grin? Unstoppable.

The interviewer laughs, “Lando, congratulations! That was a phenomenal win in front of your home crowd. How does it feel?”

"It feels unreal," he says, breathless. "I mean, it’s something I’ve been dreaming about since I was a kid. Silverstone, home race win? It doesn’t get better than this."

“And people are already talking about a lucky charm you had today... Care to elaborate?”

He throws his head back and groans. “Oh god. My crazy sister.”

The interviewer perks up immediately. "Ah yes, the TikTok?"

"Yeah. She made me do one of those stupid dances before quali and said it would ‘manifest’ a win." He air quotes dramatically. "And now here we are. So I guess I’m legally obligated to thank her."

He looks directly into the camera. “Y/N, you're a menace. But apparently a lucky menace. Thanks, I guess.”

[TikTok | @yn.norris ✨🎬]

🎥: [Stitched clip of Lando’s post-race interview] 🎶 “You’re welcome~” from Moana plays in the background 🎶

caption: you may now refer to me as McLaren’s lucky charm. DMs open for manifestation services ✨🏁 💅 #BritishGP #LandoWonBecauseOfMe #SisterMagic #TwinClowns #F1ManifestationClub

Monday - Paddock Chatter Group Chat

Group Name: Y/N’s Chaos Grid™ Members: The Entire 2025 F1 Grid + 1 (Y/N Norris)

Carlos Sainz: So Lando actually won Y/N: You're welcome 😌 Charles Leclerc: I came second. Do your TikTok magic next time for me Y/N: Only if you learn the dance Charles: I regret this already George Russell: What kind of sorcery did you do??? Y/N: Gen Z witchcraft and Target leggings Max Verstappen: I don’t dance Y/N: You will if I say so Oscar: Save me Yuki Tsunoda: I want in Lewis Hamilton: …honestly I respect the hustle Alex Albon: Why am I afraid Y/N: Because I already have the next audio lined up 😈

Wednesday - McLaren Factory

You waltz into the HQ like you own the place — which, after Lando’s win and the social media explosion, you kind of do. Someone even stuck a printout of your TikTok on the fridge in the break room with a sticky note that says “Manifest Queen 👑”.

"Lando!" You call, skipping down the hall. "I’m booking your next dance session. Leclerc wants in."

He groans from the engineering bay. "I should’ve never let you post that."

"But look at the results!"

"You’re going to turn the grid into TikTok backup dancers."

You tilt your head. "Not a bad idea."

The Red Bull interns look slightly alarmed when you say that. You flash them a wink.

Later That Week – Ferrari Hospitality

"Are you seriously going to make me do this?" Charles asks, holding your phone like it's about to explode.

"Yes," you say sweetly. "It’s for your own good. You said you want P1 next, right?"

He sighs dramatically, then pulls you into the frame. "If I end up on the podium again, you’re officially hired."

"Say less."

Carlos joins halfway through the dance, and Lando walks by, muttering, “There’s no escaping her.”

You’re already adding hashtags: #FerrariDancePower #CharlesDeservesIt #SpanishSmoothOperator #TikTokGP #YNLore

Comments Section - @yn.norris TikTok

🔥 @mclarenteamofficial: Can we sign you full time as performance booster? 💬 @landonorris: this is out of control 🤣 @charlesleclerc: i never thought i’d be doing this 😭 @alex_albon: i fear what’s next 👑 @lewishamilton: Queen behavior. Respect. 🏁 @f1: next world champion energy

Sunday - Austrian Grand Prix

Charles gets P1. Carlos gets P3. The TikTok gets 2M views.

Your phone explodes with texts.

Lando: "You created a monster." Y/N: "A winning monster 😌" Charles: "When’s our next session?" Max: "You’re not dragging me into this." Y/N: "You’re next."

[Final TikTok Scene]

🎥: Compilation of all the F1 drivers doing dances with Y/N 🎶: “Started from a TikTok now we here” remix 🎶

Caption: I just wanted to make silly videos and now I control the podiums. Stay tuned for Spa 🇧🇪 🏁 #Y/NMastermind #TwinPower #F1Dances #SheRunsTheGrid

[twstyuna]

Uninvited

Notes/rambling below cut.

This takes place post Book 7. I am not entirely sure I grasp the specifics of Silver's UM in the identifying dreamer with a bird sense and the logics of darkness characters and dream outfits. Just assume some kind of lucid dreaming here and roll with it if I broke canon haha.

This be one of the ghost! Skullys.

He's not keeping Yuu asleep in the Malleus sense, just helping Yuu dream of something happy since they get stress dreams and Overblot nightmares a lot. Their idea of happy is apparently their friends being fellow human schoolmates in their world and never having been isekaied. (Grim is a sassy but otherwise normal cat they own at home. It functions more like high school than college because Yuu isn't sure what a normal world college experience is like). Yuu wakes up, forgets Skully's existence and their dreams, lives the day, goes to bed, and Skully helps set up their boring slice of life dreamscape again

Overall benign but Skully's vibes are still too suspicious for Silver though lol. I think Skully would have kept the schoolmate/just a dream character guise if Silver didn't immediately try to fight him. In Silver's defense, Skully did glare.

Had this thought before I read book 7 but I like to think this is validating. From Book 7 Ch 111. Ghostly Oneiromancy go brr.

Skully's relationship with Yuu is platonic.

I think Silver's stumbled in Yuu's dreams before Skully came around but they both forgot

I think the 6 panels with Silver and Yuu are fun. Either Yuu sees Silver and greets him first or they're parallel which means Silver smiles first.

Left a little longer and Yuu might realize "Oh Silver's here" means "Oh I'm dreaming" and immediately wake up.

I imagine that Skully lived a whole life then died, but looks like a student because he really wished he could have been friends and had a fun school life with the NBC event boys . So I suppose him crashing Yuu's dreams/helping Yuu dream of a normal life may not be entirely altruistic then, but I would still like to think that is secondary to giving some comfort to the kid who was your friend lifetimes ago and who has not been having an easy time since getting spirited away to twisted wonderland

Alternative possible reasons for him looking young/relatively the same:

I do not know how to draw an older version of a character

Ghosts may be kind of immortal but their memory isn't. The Ramshackle Ghosts are blobs. Skully's painting was of him still relatively young so that's the appearance he assumes.

Actively trying to monitor Yuu in their dream and the easiest way to blend in is to just look like that so he's in their classes and such. Somewhere in Yuu's subconscious, Yuu remembers Skully being a friendly presence so there being another member in the friend group doesn't stick out.

[king-k9]

here for u <3

[calcifiedunderland]

Perhaps bullet points for professor Trein with 18 and 16? Thank you for your time

🐱📚💌 request received! Thank you for your message!

Professor Trein, ft. Atlantis & Nudibranch

Notes: *chanting* sea slug sea slug sea slug—

📚 You’d learned a lot of new things since you enrolled in NRC. Everything, from magic, to not pissing off students, to the weird and wonderful history of this world.

📚 Trein could say that, despite you being magicless, you were one of his most passionate students. While you had very little knowledge on this world’s history, and asked the most rudimentary questions, it was still nice to see you express interest while others slept through his lectures.

📚 “So Atlantis exists?” Your eyes shone at his words. You were particularly interested in merfolk history, he observed. He nodded slowly, “yes, it does, but ‘Atlantis’ is an older term for modern-day Atlantica. Now, onto the next topic…”

📚 You couldn’t stop vibrating in your seat with excitement. Atlantis (albeit the new version) actually existed! Your seatmates next to you looked at you like you were crazy but you didn’t care. This was incredible!

📚 You were even more excited following the events after Azul’s overblot when you actually got to visit the place. After asking the authorities around the Atlantica Museum, you decided to purchase a conch replica from the gift shop. You left it with the rest of your friend’s stuff, deciding to give it to Professor Trein for all his help with your studies.

📚 You held the little conch in your hand, humming. The conch still had seawater in it, since the ‘bag’ you got from the gift shop was basically just a bubble with water in it. Cultural differences were really interesting when it came to land versus sea.

📚 Still, you were beaming by the time you came to Trein’s office. Trein was grading papers, while Lucius curled around his elbows. He purred when he saw you, and Trein straightened. His eyes drifted to the strange bauble with the shell, curious.

📚 You smiled at him, explaining what happened. You avoided talking about Azul’s overblot, deciding to tell him about your ‘new Octavinelle friends’ who took you to the Atlantica museum. You gushed about all the cool stuff you saw (“they even had the Mermaid Princess’ comb! It really was a fork!” “Hmm, I see. How interesting…”)

📚 As you were chatting, Lucius seemed very interested in the conch shell. Namely, that it seemed to be moving. “Mrow…” he batted it, rattling the shell.

📚 “Oh!” You noticed something wriggling around, and Trein’s eyes widened. He chuckled, “it seems you brought a visitor back from Atlantis.”

📚 When you were walking (swimming?) around the museum, a little creature crawled into your conch shell, and when you were leaving, it got trapped in the bubble-bag. You gawked at the creature. “What is it?”

📚 Trein let out a small laugh, “these are common in the Atlantican waters,” his eyes sparkled, “they’re nudibranches. Also called ‘sea slugs,’” he hummed fondly. “They’re also symbols of good luck, historically speaking.”

📚 You grinned mischievously, “does that mean I have good luck for the upcoming test, then?”

📚 Trein merely hummed, stroking Lucius with a wry smile while fondly looking at the nudibranch, “perhaps, indeed.”

Thank you for your request anon!! I had fun writing this!! 🥰

ALSO Faceclaim for the sea slug!

they’re so cute!!

Until next time, xoxo ~ calci

[lavenderstobins]

The third year of platonic Stobin Month is almost upon us!

Here are this year's prompts well ahead of time. I've included a bonus prompt for each week* based on this tweet:

(*ish. Every 8 days or so.)

As always, use the tags #stobinmonth and #stobinmonth2025 when posting your pieces. There will also be an ao3 collection that writers can add their works to. The previous collections can be found here.

All kinds of fanwork all welcome! Have fun, and I hope to see you all in March! <3

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiebingo.

Novel Movements

Countdown to Midnight Prompt: Eddie Munson | Word Count: 2684 | Rating: T | CW: Medical Emergency (Not Steddie), Language | POV: Eddie | Tags: Gym AU, Modern AU, One-Sided Enemies to Lovers, Misconceived Notions, Platonic Stobin, Steve's Flirting, But Eddie Doesn't Know That, Oblivious Eddie Munson

"Eddie Munson."

His name is said with such sarcasm that Eddie turns his head to look.

Of course.

Just what he needed today.

"Steve Harrington," Eddie mimics in the same mocking tone. He doesn't know very many names in this place, but Steve Harrington has made sure Eddie knew his, even if it was totally against Eddie's will.

Now, Steve's standing there, grinning at him.

He's not going to put up with him. Not today. 

Eddie hates this dude more than anyone else at the gym. And there are lots of gym bros here to choose to loathe. He honestly barely knows him. But Steve Harrington is always prancing around in his little shorts, with his hair stretching towards the sky, like he's not preparing to teach a workout. Eddie isn't even sure what class he teaches. All Eddie knows is that he never seems to work up a sweat during them, as far as he's ever seen.

If he's not standing around taunting Eddie, he's leaning over the front desk, harassing Robin. She's a lesbian, Eddie is sure of it, and if Steve Harrington can't see that and know to leave her alone, he needs his eyes checked. He's always just a step too close to her, and about two steps too close to Eddie.

It's frustrating, infuriating, and Eddie hates him.

He might not sign a second contract with this place. He was asked, as a favor, to take over some classes short-term, and he's enjoyed the extra cash. But it clearly comes with a cost. 

He's gonna kill Gareth for assuring him this was a cool place to work. It's not cool. Well, it's cool. Except for Steve Harrington.

There were more than enough Steve Harringtons in his high school that he doesn't need to work alongside any more of them now.

Eddie looks away, and watches as his own kickboxing students filter in. When he was younger he needed an outlet for his teenage rage, Wayne signed him up for a kickboxing class at the local gym. At first, he hated the idea. Exercise? A sport? No fucking thanks. But he gave it a try. For Wayne. 

It was just him and some weird older dude that really preferred karate in that first class, but Eddie quickly learned to love it. The release. The pounding of his heart. How the stress would seemingly just melt away, one kick, one elbow, at a time. How the resistance, heavy and thick, would ground him. 

It was a good idea. But Wayne's ideas usually are, Eddie damn well knows that. 

And now, years later, he's the one teaching the classes to help others maybe find their love of it, too. Eddie's no sports guy. Not at all. Kickboxing is his main form of exercise. Sure, he'll use the rest of the gym every so often, since it's a perk of working here, but overall, this is his only thing. 

Nothing else has ever appealed to him in this same way. 

Steve saunters down the catwalk, the sun reflecting through the huge pane glass windows, illuminating him as he's bouncing with every step. The motherfucker always gives off main character energy, and that's true today as he glows while Eddie watches him go.

He'd much rather see him going, then coming, that's for fucking sure. He's too goddamn chipper.  

Eddie's already soaked, hair clinging to his neck, so he just as well run for a bit. It's not his favorite thing, not by a long shot, but it's necessary evil sometimes. 

The wall of treadmills is blissfully empty, and he picks one, and gets to work. Feet hitting, over and over, as he counts down the time he needs to spend on this thing. He doesn't enjoy it, but he'll do it. Occasionally.

Then he catches movement beside him.

Jesus H. Christ. 

The place is a ghost town and Steve Harrington still feels the need to set up camp right next to him. 

Eddie ignores him. Pretends he doesn't even realize he's got unwanted company, and pounds along the belt. Eddie can see him in the mirror though, unfortunately, and Steve smiles. He looks graceful while running, of course he does, especially compared to Eddie's heavy stride. 

When Eddie's cooldown begins, Eddie's grateful. He's ready to hit the showers and get the hell out of here.

Steve's still running, like it's easy as can be, even after Eddie's showered and dressed, bag slung over his shoulder. 

He's gotta get home. Tomorrow is his early class day. He's not a morning person, but he conceded to having at least one class a week before nine.

Eddie rolls in, coffee cup in hand. He hears the commotion, the frantic buzz of something is happening echoing through the open gym, bouncing down the catwalk, from room to room, like it's seeking help it just can't quite find.

"Okay, everybody, give me a second. Get a drink, stretch, I'll be back and we'll get started then," Eddie says, telling his class. They are all huddled in groups discussing what might be going on. 

He jogs down the catwalk, then peeks into every class on the other side of the split structure as he passes by, looking for the right one. Most of them are empty. When he turns the corner, he sees a crowd gathered at the end of the hall, and jogs that way. Someone's on the phone with 911, thankfully, because inside Steve Harrington is performing CPR on an older man, while everybody is just standing around watching. 

Eddie ushers them away from the door, and then starts gathering up the rest of the class Steve was teaching. A room filled with senior citizens, all in their matching sweatsuits and white New Balance shoes. Standing around, looking lost.

He's not sure where to move them. He could just send them home, but thinks they need time to unwind, process what they've witnessed, and maybe that's better done here than off somewhere else, possibly alone. He sees Gareth down the hall, and snaps his fingers, waving him over, getting Gareth to take all of the now shaken students to his classroom. No, they probably aren't gonna join in on his cardio drumming class, though Eddie knows he's offered one for seniors in the past.

Then Eddie runs back in, and it's just Steve Harrington, working his ass off on this poor guy.

Eddie counts for him, like he's been trained. 1, 2, 3, over and over and Steve follows the beat of Eddie's cadence until he looks worn out.

He's sweating now. Bangs clinging damp and limp to his forehead, and Eddie hates it. It looks unnatural.

"We'll switch, in 3, 2, 1," Eddie says, and Steve lifts his hands and Eddie takes over. 

"I got…I started, fast. I think, I think, maybe," Steve breathes out in short bursts, clearly exhausted. Out of breath and shaken.

Then, Steve counts for him, while Eddie listens for sirens.

It doesn't take long before he hears them, screaming up the road, and they switch off again as Eddie runs to the main stairs to guide them in. 

The professionals take over, and Eddie stands next to Steve, watching as they shock the guy back into a normal rhythm. Maybe they did it. Maybe Steve did it. Time is the most important thing, and Steve started right away. There's a chance.

Steve gave him a chance.

Hopefully, the guy will be okay.

Hopefully, Steve will be okay.

After they wheel him out, Steve looks around, "My class."

"They're fine. Gareth's got 'em. Probably turning them into the next Ringo's as we speak."

Steve cracks a grin, but it's small, and not all there.

"C'mon," Eddie says, "you can watch me teach my beginner class, if you want, and then we'll go get something to eat. You look like you need it."

After checking in with his class first, Steve agrees, and that's how Steve Harrington, enemy number one, ends up sitting on a fitness ball, watching Eddie prepare to teach his kickboxing for beginners class.

There's an empty bag, and Steve nods towards it when Eddie circles past, "Can I?"

Eddie grins, "You want to?"

Steve nods, and Eddie nods back, helping him get set up. 

He's a natural, Eddie thinks, as he helps him make small adjustments, and then just lets him follow along. 

Maybe he's never done any kickboxing before, but he's clearly athletic. He follows Eddie's instructions well, is very flexible, and definitely not afraid to get to work. For a beginner his kicks are high, strong and confident. He's comfortable behind the bag, as he seems to be getting all his frustrations from the day out on the bag. Good. That's what he's supposed to do in here.

When the hour is up, he's dripping sweat, exhausted.

Steve's wiping his brow with the tail of his shirt, letting Eddie get a glimpse of his hairy belly. Not the right time, not the right person, Eddie has to remind himself. 

"Still want that breakfast?" Eddie asks.

"Hell, yes. I'm starving. That was a workout."

Eddie laughs, and follows him down the stairs and towards the locker room. 

They both shower, and today Eddie's not annoyed that he's in the stall next to him, not like he was on the treadmill. 

It's funny how a moment or two can change your whole perspective that you just assumed was set in stone.

They pass the front desk, scanning their keycards to sign out, and Robin stands, looking at Steve, clearly concerned. She's fidgeting, worrying her hands. 

"Are you okay? Chrissy said–"

"I'm good," he says, interrupting, reassuring her, and Eddie watches them interact. She comes around the desk and throws her arms around his neck, squeezing him tight. 

He hugs her back, "Thanks, Rob. I needed that."

"You sure you're okay? Do you want me to find someone to cover–"

"Eddie's taking me to breakfast," Steve says, and Eddie does not miss the little widening her eyes do before she schools her face back to neutral. 

"Well, that's nice of you, Eddie," she says, and Eddie realizes he's been very, very wrong about whatever their dynamic is. She adores him, obviously. 

They hit the sidewalk, "So, Robin. Is she your…"

"Best friend. She's my best friend."

Eddie nods. That checks out. Steve was annoying her, but on purpose, mutually agreed upon nuisances, without a doubt.

They're best friends. He wasn't trying to pick her up against her will.

That's interesting.

Very interesting.

"Functional fitness," Steve says, sitting across from Eddie in the booth at the diner down the street from the gym, "it's for anybody, but I mainly teach seniors. It helps keep them mobile longer, and that makes me feel like I'm making a difference, you know?"

Eddie didn't know. Eddie had no idea what Steve was doing across the building, and had clearly assumed the worst, instead of the best of him.

He was wrong about Steve Harrington, he's pretty sure.

Steve keeps talking, "It helps them with everyday tasks, you know? Push, pull, carry. That kind of thing. So, I'll get younger participants that are rehabbing injuries, or that have chronic illnesses. But it mainly skews older, for sure. I never expected one of them to go down. I don't have them do novel movements over their hearts or anything, I swear."

Eddie nods. He's not sure what a novel movement is, not really.

"What a novel movement?" he asks.

"Well," Steve says, "it's like, something that you don't do everyday. A change. Shoveling snow. Shoveling snow is a novel movement, and that's why so many people unexpectedly die doing it."

Steve makes the motion for slinging a shovel full of snow over his shoulder, "So, like, I'm not making them do things like that."

"No shoveling snow in the gym, got it," Eddie says, teasing him a little, and Steve chuckles.

"You know what I mean," Steve says.

"I do," Eddie agrees. 

"I've never had that happen before," Steve then says quietly.

"And hopefully never again," Eddie comments. "It's not your fault. It's probably lucky for him he was with you. Best possible outcome if it had to happen."

Steve runs both of his hands down his face.

"Maybe."

Steve Harrington really isn't so bad, he supposes. He clearly cares a whole lot about what happened today.

The server puts down their plates, and they eat in silence, but it isn't uncomfortable.

Then Steve speaks again, "Thanks for helping, I was surprised to see you."

"Why?"

"You always seem so annoyed when I try to chat you up," Steve says.

Eddie can't really deny it. He has been annoyed. 

Wait.

Wait.

Was Steve trying to chat him up, chat him up? Like, flirting? Eddie wasn't reading flirting from him, that's for damn sure. 

Maybe he needs to pay better attention. That's been a common theme in his life, but usually about school, not attractive men that may or may not be interested in him.

"My bark is worse than my bite," Eddie settles on, and offers him a smile.

Steve laughs, his mood finally lifting, just a little, "Well, I hope not."

Holy shit. 

Eddie is such a goddamn idiot.

He's being flirted with. He's been being flirted with, for all the time he's known Steve Harrington.

Steve sits there for a minute, stirring his drink with his straw, knocking the ice around, "Do you think any of them will show up again?"

It takes Eddie a minute to parse his meaning, "Your class? Of course they will."

Steve rolls his shoulders in a non-convinced way.

"Steve. They know how old they are. You didn't do anything wrong."

Eddie doesn't know that. Not for sure. But he believes it to be true. He's just not sure how to prove it to him. Steve clearly cares too much to have done anything risky. 

Instead, Eddie asks, "When's your next class?" 

"Tomorrow."

"For the same people?"

"Some of them. Not everybody comes everyday."

"But some do?" Eddie asks.

"Some do," he confirms. "Usually, anyway. I have regulars. Vincent was a regular."

"Well," Eddie says, "I'll come. Then we'll know at least one person will be there. You took my class, so I should take yours. It's only fair."

Steve laughs, "It's not gonna be nearly as exciting as kickboxing."

Well, Steve's gonna be there. So, that sounds pretty exciting to Eddie.

The next day the class is as full as ever, Eddie suspects. And they're all kind to Steve, patting him on the back for saving their fellow classmate. He's stable in the ICU, and things are looking positive. Steve did good. He did real good.

The only discourse is a few of them trying to figure out how they're going to figure out the scheduling to take both Steve's functional fitness class and Gareth's cardio drumming. Eddie's pretty sure the kid is gonna have to add a senior class to his schedule again now that everyone got a preview of something they may have never tried on their own.

Eddie sidles up to their conversation, "I know Gareth. I'll make sure he schedules it so you can do both."

And just like that, he's won them over as well.

Steve gets started, and Eddie follows along with the routine Steve's leading. There are chairs for some of the less stable to hang onto, when needed, and it's just a thoughtful experience, honestly. Steve's kind, and funny, and they very clearly adore him.

He might not break a sweat, but he's really doing something special here. 

Eddie really hopes he'll get to tell him that later, over dinner, or drinks. Anything he wants, as long as Eddie can make up for lost time and for being a judgmental asshole for no good reason.

Steve grins, and Eddie smiles back as they get in place for the next rep in the set.  

Now, Eddie is certain that he wants to get outside of his comfort zone, outside of the box, when it comes to Steve Harrington.

Novel movements, indeed.

If you want to sign up for a future bingo event or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiebingo and follow along with the fun!

Notes: I didn't know where this was going, but I knew I wanted to use "Eddie Munson" the prompt as his name being said by Steve. So I got as far as, "Eddie hates this dude more than anyone else at the _."

Where? Where are they? I wondered if I could find a randomizer for jobs, and just...see if that would produce an idea. I did, right here, and spun the wheel and got "personal trainer" which isn't exactly where this led, but it got them in the gym, and the rest of the story fleshed itself out from there.

[sorry-not-feeling-it-right-now]

A sequel to this post

Oooooooo vulnerability ooooooo comfortable slience oooooo mutual emotional understanding oooOOOooOo

[jumpedthenfell-13]

Thinking about Robin not having many friends before everything and ouughhhhhhh

Do you guys think she ever like. left without telling the group because she thought they wouldn’t notice or would be happier without her there. Do you think she almost started crying the first time Steve got her a gift because nobody ever knew her like he does now

Because. I do

[cloversnstrawberries]

For your christmas catalouge, the nightmare one with age range 3-5 years for alastors kid? If kidnapping is the plot maybe the child could cry for their papa Alastor and his Shadow to save them?

"dream / nightmare" plantonic!father!yandere!alastor & young child!gn!reader ! !

[2024 christmas/holiday event, entry 1]

event post ! | event masterlist !

description; You don't remember a lot about you and your papa's life before this, before you were confined to a mansion that looked like something right out of a fairytale. Not while you're awake, at least. And when you're asleep, what memories do surface, you think are so twisted and disfigured that they're hardly memories at all-- just nightmares, nightmares that your papa is more than happy to comfort you about, even when they become more and more frequent.

additional notes; helloo!!! i don't have much to say on this one, but i really like how it came out, and thank you so much for participating in my event!! :D

warnings; possessiveness, overprotectiveness, nightmares/night terrors, extreme fear and distress, manipulation, gaslighting, induced amnesia, Reader is very unaware of what's happening to them, kidnapping, very brief mentions/implied child death (of reader), mentions/descriptions of serial killings, murder, violence, dead bodies, and if i missed anything, please let me know !! i hope you enjoy :]]

w/c; 3.9k

You don't remember having these many nightmares before. Sometimes, you would have nightmares, but they were barely anything in comparison to what you experienced now.

Maybe it had something to do with you turning into a fairytale creature-- something you used to dream about so much as you read your storybooks. You were a little deer, a fawn, papa says it's called. With white spots covering your shoulders, back, and face like little freckles-- and big, fluffy ears with a big, fluffy deer tail to match.

Papa says you're a faun-- with a U, not a W. It's like a satyr, something you read about in a few storybooks before-- but with a deer instead of a goat. It was confusing, you don't know why the words had to be so similar. It made it confusing to learn the difference.

It's not... you don't hate being a faun, but you miss what you had to leave behind when you became this fairytale creature. You miss going to school, and your friends, and walking around the French Quarter with your papa holding your hand.

You can't go outside at all anymore, no matter how much you beg, no matter how many times you cry and whine and scream that you just want outside for a minute! That's all you need! You just want to feel the sun again, or see the moon, or-- or feel the wind against your hair,

There were no windows. You'd explored as much as you could of the mansion-- you have no way to tell if you've explored every possible nook and cranny, but you're pretty sure you got most of it explored.

It was pretty-- like something out of a dream, your room was so big and had a loft and stars hanging above you; they twinkled like they were real. You had all the toys you could ask for, and could do whatever you liked-- no longer needing to go to school.

But... every single hallway, every room (that wasn't locked, which got further and fewer between as you got to higher and higher floors. The mansion seemed to go on forever...), and any possible place you'd assume there to be a window,

There just... never was. It felt wrong. It made you stressed and anxious. Papa says it was to protect you from 'prying eyes', mean people that would steal you away from him because you're just that special.

"Papa, can I ask you something?" You said, tugging on his sleeve as he read a big fancy book without a pretty picture on the front, resting on a big fancy armchair in the... uhm, parlor room, you think he said it was. It was just a big, fancy living room is how he explained it. You never understood why you two's new house had different types of living rooms. It felt like a waste.

Papa looked away from his book and down at you, one of his own big, fluffy deer ears went down, and he tilted his head. You would've giggled at it-- usually you did, but you had much more important things to focus on. You think papa noticed it, that you didn't giggle when he tilted his head. He looked a little worried, but still tried his best to smile as he responded, "I don't know, dearest. Can you?"

You huffed, cheeks puffing out as you crossed your arms across your chest. You gave your best effort at glaring at papa, trying to make him realize that you were being serious. That you weren't in the mood for joking right now.

He waited for a few seconds, before his big grin-- with big, sharp teeth that he said he had so he could protect you-- dropped to a small little smile. You don't think he looked very happy, but he kept smiling anyways. He straightened his neck and pulled his ears back to their usual position. "Alright, alright. What is it that has you so cross, my dear?"

"Why aren't there any windows?" and papa's eyes went wide, but he tried to laugh it off. He plucked his bookmark from the side table right next to him, placing it in his book before shutting it and placing it on the side table. He leaned over, arms outstretched. He would do this, when he had to have hard talks with you, he'd pull you up into his lap and cradle you. Softly tell you, in the gentlest terms possible, why things are the way they are.

You weren't having it that time around, taking a stop back and holding your arms tighter over your chest. Your cheeks puffed out more-- you're sure you looked like a chipmunk by that point, and it must've looked really funny, but papa didn't seem to notice it.

He looked hurt when you backed away from him, and you instantly felt bad. You wanted to quickly apologize and jump up onto his lap, let him hold you and comfort you as he told you the cruel truth.

Papa sighed, then leaned back in his chair. He looked tense, his shoulders held straight, his hands resting in his lap-- grabbing each other rather hard, enough to where his fingers were pressing indents into the skin of his other hand.

"Well," Papa started off with, and you knew he was trying to stall. Trying to make you change your mind-- either on the question you'd asked, or whether or not you wanted to stay standing.

You didn't give in, willing all possibly stubborness to rise to the surface. It was so hard, looking up at Papa when he looked so sad-- and because of you,

But you needed answers, and the best way to get the most out of him was to make sure you knew you were really, really serious on this.

You can draw him a picture later, as an apology. He always loves when you make him art, anything-- even if it's just a random house you'd never seen before, or a little cat you wish you had named Lola.

"I told you it's dangerous outside, didn't I?" And you nodded slowly, trying to figure out what he meant "I'm not going to run out of the windows! I'm not that dumb!", and papa laughed a little. He shook his head, before focusing his entire attention onto you again, softly saying "No, no, I know you won't. I never said that was the problem."

You tilted your head this time, little ears flopping along with the movement of it. There was no need to ask another question, because papa quickly continued-- he leaned forward a little, but didn't make a grab for you.

"Windows aren't one sided, my dear. That means people can look inside, just like you can look outside. You might not even know they are, and that's when they'll strike."

You swallowed the lump in your throat... you didn't like this tone, you didn't like how papa's smile was growing to a grin again-- but it was wrong, really, really wrong. For the first time, you felt on edge around your papa. "...Who will? Who will strike?" You squeaked out, and papa leaned closer-- he looked so mean, with that big, scary smile of his.

At that moment, for just a split second, the man before you didn't seem like your papa. You'd grown used to his new ears, and his sharp teeth and bright red hair-- but something was really off, but it wasn't obvious enough for you to be able to point it out for sure.

"The hunters, with their big, scary guns. Or trappers, with their constricting nets-- they'll creak open the window, or break the glass-- and then," Papa shot his hands forward, closed fists opening in a sudden movement that made you stumble back, and fall on your butt.

"Bam! you're trapped in a snare, or a bullet lodged into your arm." You started shaking. Papa... you'd never seen him act like this before-- but as soon as it came, this new, scary papa left and the papa you knew and loved was back.

His eyes soft as he looked down at you, and gingerly extended his arms again, beckoning you forward and into his embrace. You were in no position to deny it, quickly scrambling up from where you'd fallen on the floor, and all but jumping onto his lap.

He wrapped his arms around you, large and warm and comforting-- and held you close to his chest as the waterworks began, tears just falling and falling and falling from you eyes as your sniffled and hiccupped, finally able to get out a little "Pl-please d-don-n't do that ag-g-ain... It scar-red me," before devolving back into shapeless sobs, tremors wracking your tiny frame.

Then, a soft, gentle hand brushed the hair from your eyes, and settled under your chin; tilting your head up, making you look papa in the eye. He was back to normal, no trace of that scary man who'd replaced him for a little bit. "I know, my dear. I'm sorry for scaring you, but I need you to understand that, no matter how extreme it may seem, everything is to protect you." He gently tapped your cheek three times, signaling you to pay closer to attention to his words "You understand that, don't you? That all I want to do is protect you?"

Without any other possible reason to why he does what he does, you nodded, and he tucked your head back against his chest-- hand now smoothing through your hair, calmingly. "There we go. What I do may seem silly and useless to you, but trust me, I have my reasons... I just don't want you hurt, little fawn."

You weren't sure if you were supposed to respond to that, but you did anyway-- a timid, small little nod against his chest, that he acknowledged with a soft little chuckle. You two stayed liked that until you fell asleep, cradled against his chest.

After that, you tried you best not to ask any questions about why most of the rooms upstairs were locked, or why you never say anyone else but you two-- things you'd thought over a lot, and always came up empty-handed. But never dared to ask papa, not after that time you asked about the windows.

Sometimes, when you have nightmares, you're back to how you were when you lived in New Orleans. You're not a fawn-- or a faun, anymore. You're just regular, plain old you,

And sometimes, you're how you are now. A mythical creature that hunters and circus ringleaders and scientists all want to capture for their own bad purposes. Nightmares where you're a mythical creature aren't as prevalent at the ones where you're back in New Orleans,

The New Orleans were always so much scarier, because they always felt so much more real. Like they could've actually happened-- you feel the hands around your throat, hear the woman screaming at you that her baby was dead-- that her son was gone, and if she couldn't have him, then the one who took him couldn't have you.

It felt more like a memory, more than the ones where you were a little fawn with pretty, shimmering white angel wings-- and a glowing halo. You had won. You were always called a winner, but you don't really know what you had won,

Those nightmares always ended with one of two things-- black, inky tendrils sprouting from the cloud-like ground below you, and wrapping around your torso; grabbing you, pulling you down. You screamed, but no one around knew what to do, and then-- right before your head was pulled below the cloud-like ground, and someone was reaching for your outstretched arms, you'd wake up.

You never knew the ending of that dream, if you were pulled down or helped up. You don't know if it matters much either way.

The second one, you couldn't remember very well. You never did, all you knew is that it was different. That a big, big monster with scary eyes and long, razor-thin limbs was hunched over you. Black drool dripping onto you as you tried to melt into the clouds below you. Its voice was distorted, and you never remembered exactly what it said.

It sounded relieved, you think. Saying something about... about how he'd never lose you again, how you were his precious little child, and how you would never go a day without... without whatever it was, again. It hurt to try and think about what exactly it called itself. You think it started with a "P", but you were never sure.

But this night, you had a new dream. And this dreams was so bad. It was so awful-- you weren't really... apart of the dream. You were like a ghost, but you couldn't fly. You didn't look like a ghost-- didn't feel like one, but nobody seemed to notice you.

Voices whispered into your ear, begging you to run, to leave-- you couldn't turn your head to look at them, maybe frozen in fear; you'd catch glimpses of what you think the whispers belonged to. Long, stretched out faces stuck in a forever scream. Some of them looked like animals, or toys, or something like that-- and some looked entirely human.

They whisper that they will try as best they can to help you, that you were just a little baby. You didn't deserve this, you deserved to be back in heaven-- with your wings fluttering on your back and your halo hung above your head. Urging you to run, to escape the Radio Demon;

There's a demon after me? you tried to say, but you found you couldn't speak. Couldn't move your mouth, couldn't vocalize anything-- couldn't so much as twitch a finger.

You'd never had a nightmare like this before.

You hope you'd never have it again.

"No, but he's with you." The voices whispered, as if they heard what you had to say-- but you hadn't spoken. Can you read my mind? You asked, but they don't reply to it.

"Look, look over there." A voice calls, and it sounds... familiar. It sounds like one of your friends older brothers, the one that'd tease and terrorize you when you came over-- he'd even cut your hair once.

He was 13 when he left. You didn't think people could move away without their family when they were that young, but no one ever explained more. They just said he wasn't with them anymore.

They held a party, where everyone dressed in black and brought flowers to a special place-- like a park, your friends mom had explained to you. She looked like she was about to cry.

You weren't invited to the party, and neither was your friend. She stayed at your house that night, and neither of you really knew what'd happened.

Without any input of your own, your head turned to the side-- someone was walking down the street, a woman with clicky heels and the really fancy see-through tights that Papa said you could wear when you got older. She had a mink on, you never liked when people wore them. But it must've meant she had a lot of money...

She was walking quickly, glancing behind her a lot. You don't know why, not until someone else came into view-- a man, a man with a big overcoat and very quiet steps,

A woman's voice called next, saying "Look closely. Look very closely at the man." She sounded a little... snobbish, you think Papa called it. It's when someone thinks they're better than you for no real reason, and they usually aren't.

It was really dark, the woman started walking faster, she kept looking back-- she couldn't run very well in those heels. She tripped over a crack in the road. You remember that crack very well, having tripped over it yourself a couple times-- but papa was always there to catch you before you fell onto the pavement.

The man didn't speed up-- he walked really fast anyways, he had really, really long legs; you still couldn't see his face, but you saw, as he got closer, he pulled a knife from his pocket--

"Oh, come now Marjorie, don't be like that! Didn't you want a walk through the bayou? So we could bond?"

It was your papa. His face came into the light as he held the knife to the woman's throat and grabbed her by the hair-- it looked like it hurt a lot. He pulled her up by it, and kept the knife at her throat. "No--!" She cried out, sounding like the snobby voice that told you to look very closely-- but the man-- papa, held the blade closer to her throat. You saw red beading up around where the knife touched her neck.

"As I recall, you said you wanted to get to know me, yes? So you could mother my child-- because, obviously, I'm not doing well enough on my own?" He sounded so mean. It didn't sound like your papa. It sounded like whatever had replaced him that time you asked about the windows in your new home.

His hand curled tighter around her hair, and she started to cry, as the fake-papa leaned closer, and he looked like he was about to kiss her-- but he stopped right before doing it. "What was it you said, thinking you'd make it into my good graces? That every child needs a mother? Hm?"

The lady, Marjorie, shook her head. Maybe she was refusing to answer, or denying she ever said that. Fake-papa's eyes got crueler, and he started dragging her away. "Oh, it's too late for that. You can't just shake your head and think you'll get out of this! How childish."

You wanted to cry, but not a single muscle in your face would-- could move. The voices cried out "Follow, you have to follow--" and your feet began moving on your own, but finally-- you could move a little. Clamp your eyes shut and scream in your head, yell No! No, this isn't real! I wanna wake up! I want my papa!

The things around you began to panic, and when you opened your eyes-- you finally saw them in full.

You never want to remember them. How they looked, how their bodies were contorted and all wrong, how wisps of shadows flew off of them; like the little helpers papa uses sometimes.

"I want my dad! I don't want to be here anymore!" You yelled-- finally able to speak, and the world around you seemed to crumble in on itself. The things shrieked, afraid-- screaming at one enough, all scrambling up into the sky,

Or where the sky would've been, had been a few moments before.

"We're gonna be in so much trouble..." One of the younger sounding voices wailed, and another screamed at them, saying "Shut your trap and get up! We have to be out before he comes and--"

You woke up, already crying-- papa was shaking you awake, he looked so scared. That made it even worse-- his eyes so wide, wider than you'd ever seen before. He looked... he looked angry, but not at you-- he looked like he was worried for you, but under that, was the anger.

You were smart enough to realize the anger wasn't at you.

He was calling your name, and as one big, shuddering sob fell out, you jumped at him-- wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your face to his chest. Terrified.

"I-I had, It--" You could barely think, barely put together your thoughts on what nightmare you just had-- much less talk about it. Papa shushed you, and pulled you close. "It's okay, you're alright. Nothing will hurt you, not while I'm here."

Usually, that helped a lot. But you cried even harder-- your tiny hands fisting his silk sleepshirt as you wept against it. Silk was so delicate-- you were definitely staining it with your tears and snot, but papa didn't seem to care.

He picked you up, then got up on your bed, resting his back against the headboard, he laid you on top of himself, your head resting atop his chest. One hand absent-mindingly played with you hair, smoothing it, fixing it, whatever was his fancy in that moment-- and the other was resting on your back, and he pat your back every so often to bring you back to the now-- to the fact you weren't in that nightmare anymore, that he was with you.

You were safe.

Half of you didn't feel like you were, the half that believed the nightmare to be true-- but your more logical side won out. Papa wouldn't do that. It was just... just your brain messing with you. It's worrying for you, that you dreamt of such violence.

It made you feel guilty, like your own mind had turned against the man who single-handingly raised you, with such loving, despite having such a busy life; he always made room for you.

Once you'd calmed down enough, you tried to speak again. Usually, especially with dreams this bad (though, this is a new record-- but there'd been very bad ones before), he'd ask or encourage you to tell him about it, even if it was vague.

This time, when you tried to do it out of your own choice, he hushed you. He'd never done that before-- but all he said was "You don't need to tell me, it's alright. If you still want to, you can tell me in the morning. Just relax for now, I'm here. You're safe." His hand stopped so much playing with your hair as it was pushing your face to his chest, and you got the point.

You didn't know why he'd really done thought-- other than for comfort, your darling, innocent little mind couldn't even conceptualize the very idea of your father having any ulterior motive,

that he would've hide your face in his chest, so you wouldn't happen to look up and catch the way his grin stretched inhumanely-- how his pupils were shifting between dials and not, before he finally gave in and just let them stay as dials. You could see the slight green glow out of the very corner of your eye, but you didn't question it. Didn't even notice the heavy, menacing sounding static--

You were just about to fall asleep by that point, and when you did, Alastor continued to hold you. As he held you, he thought of ways to punish those fools for what they'd tried to pull, scaring you so badly. Acting like they were trying to help you.

You didn't need help, especially not from them. You had him, after all-- and he'd protect you, forever and always. There was never a moment where he wouldn't do so, wouldn't drop everything to come rescue you-- or comfort you in a time of need.

In part, he supposes it's his fault for giving the Shadows such lax restraints... little more than his words and threats holding them from interacting with you on a deeper level than he explicitly allowed;

He'd be sure to fix that, but after you wake up. And after he's made you breakfast, your favorite-- he believes this situation drastically calls for it.

[ft-platonicweek]

Platonic Week 2025

It's time for another Platonic Week! Whoo! Thanks to everyone who voted for the prompts.

The event will be June 23-29, and all forms of submissions are welcome: art, fanfic, video edits, mood boards, etc. Anything at all. Please see the rules for more information.

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Prompts

Each day features multiple prompts, but only one prompt is necessary to fulfill the day. Or choose multiple! (It can be part of the challenge.) Combining days and prompts is welcome as well. Participate as much or little as you like.

—Monday (6/23): Childhood Friends | Sleepover | Pillow Fort —Tuesday (6/24): Memories | Photo Album | Laughter —Wednesday (6/25): Goodbye | Hugs | Sacrifice —Thursday (6/26): Naps | Pets | Inside Joke —Friday (6/27): Cross-Guild Friendships | Secret Talent | Poison —Saturday (6/28): Training | New Skill | Unlikely Pair —Sunday (6/29): Rescue | Burns | Reunion

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Rules / Event Information

—Submissions: Platonic week is to celebrate all types of platonic relationships, so as such, the focus of the work must be platonic in nature, be it friends, family, queerplatonic relationships, found family, etc. Any romantic relationships must be relegated to the background only and not be integral to the work, so as to not steal that platonic spotlight. Other than that, anything goes! Submissions may be any media type you can fathom, so long as the entry is original and not previously posted in any manner. (i.e. chapters of previously posted stories will not be accepted, but newly posted installments of a series is fair game.) Works can be canon compliant or AUs or anything in-between; OCs can be included, but for the sake of the spirit of fandom events, at least one canon character must be present/focused on. Late submissions are welcome too! While it is a dated event, there is no time limit. (Seriously, it can be a year later. As long as the post is tagged according to the instructions below, it's all good.)

—Posting: Please mention ( @ft-platonicweek ) the blog to help ensure the post is visible and it will be reblogged. Include the tag #ft platonic week 2025 within the first five tags as well. If there are any necessary content warnings or mature content, please tag those accordingly.

—AO3 Collection: Fairy Tail Platonic Week 2025 (ftplatonicweek2025)

—Generic Rules: Please, keep it friendly between submitters, and no blatant character bashing. No ships should be the focus, and no ships involving incest or adult/child romances should be included at all.

If there are any questions, please feel free to send an ask!

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banner art by @pencilofawesomeness

@ftguildevents

[apcqlypse]

hear me out marauders as (canadian) high school students

james:

one of those kids who wears pyjama pants and crocs to class regularly

had a vaping in the bathroom phase

takes gym as an elective. willingly.

on the hockey team w/ sirius

i think he would be really really good at physics too

joined mock trial because lily runs it and ended up being really good at it like he wins awards at competitions and everything

tim hortons farmers wrap and iced capp combo every single day

cafeteria poutine + nestea enjoyer

soundcloud rapper. dedicates his tracks to lily (not a fan)

CANNOT drive like he is a danger behind the wheel

"wait we had homework?"

turns in assignments three days late and still gets a 90

sirius:

huge music snob. "i only listen to REAL music" and then its like. nirvana

really good at math. he def does those national math competitions for fun

on the hockey team w james

also on wrestling. the one guy who manages to make that spandex outfit look good

takes auto tech/repair

drives one of those obnoxiously loud cars with the exhaust modded. but he's the only one with his license and he's their ride to tim hortons so none of the guys complain

i think he would vape in the bathroom w james

has tried to sell his half-empty cart to a ninth grader

orders the french vanilla at tim's to be different

HATES the cafeteria poutine

has been suspended for giving stick n pokes in the bathrooms after school

somehow manages to hand in every project at 11:59 exactly

remus:

history/philosophy as electives

he'd take the city bus to school and get there like forty minutes early. so he just sits in the library until first period. sirius would get to school early just to keep him company

and then they both stay late too because remus's bus comes at like 5pm

lowkey a music snob too. do NOT play drake around him

score keeps for the wrestling team. he swears up and down it's just for volunteer hours but everyone knows he just wants to watch sirius's matches

rolls his eyes when sirius and james vape in the bathroom "u know those things are bad for u right?"

definitely does peer tutoring

gets the chocolate croissant from tims! and he always orders an iced capp and hates it after three sips. at which point he trades with sirius

he would do the morning announcements after o canada. definitely would have been a co-conspirator when james and sirius and peter hijack the speakers to play one of james's soundcloud tracks

peter:

band kid. plays saxophone

visual arts club as well

keeps watch for teachers when sirius and james vape in the bathroom

i think he would have had a different spare/lunch than the rest of the guys one semester and end up knowing EVERYBODY

^^ not popular exactly more like he knows a lot of people and he's in all of their business

thus he runs the school's anonymous instagram confessions account

tim hortons boston cream donut fan

takes green industries/horticulture

also music as an elective

baggy jorts wearer....

does NOT play about o canada like he freezes and puts his hand over his heart and mouths the words and everything. will glare at people (sirius and james) trying to sneak past teachers in the hallway

him and sirius run one of those snapchat accounts where they resell knockoff hoodies and shoes

doing homework as the teacher's collecting it