#technically hurt comfort?

[ringingicoral]

Hey guys, any followers I got, anyone who may see this I'M MAKING A FANFICTION/AU THINGY on my AO3 Account "FantasyMoonStarFiction" (yes crazy name ik XD)

And,,,,, I'm so sorry in advance,,,, BUT IT'S BASED ON THE ONCELER

DW DW DONT PANIC

I'm not from 2012 I just randomly got obsessed with the Onceler (honestly forgot how even tho it's only been like a week or 2) to the point where I was like "I want him to be happy, and his friends and The Lorax, what if it didn't end absolutely horribly,,,? BUT STILL HAD GREAT VILLAIN SONGS?"

And to my own question I answered, "what if he didn't chop down the last tree, what if, by using that tree he could salvage the ecosystem?"

Then another question arose "How would he get the money to do so after all the money from his Thneeds sales run out?"

And again I answered my own question "he has guitars,,,, he is literally SO TALENTED??? HE CAN BECOME A MUSICIAN!!"

And then was born the "Musical Remedy" AU! (Title may be subject to improving, it's a work in progress I think maybe but for now it's great!)

In this AU (That will be brought to your viewing pleasure, via fanfiction) The Onceler stops the last tree from being cut just in time, and starts setting things right, and rehabilitating the forest(? Think that's what you'd call it)

Eventually though he has to get more money (since he's using up the money he got from selling Thneeds) once his stash is nearly all used up (after using it to help bring back the forest) and decides that, he has a guitar, he's VERY talented so, he should become a musician!

He ends up writing/producing/etc both "How Bad can I be?" And! "Biggering" as warnings to others about how Pride and Greed can make you do nasty things, in the hopes of making sure what happened to him and the forest he found, doesn't happen again!

There's LOTS more buuut I'll keep it at that for now and save the rest for the fanfiction hehe

So if you're interested VERY very soon (1-3 days or a week AT THE VERY MAX {but I highly doubt it'll take that long}) I will be uploading at least one chapter to my AO3 Account (so again if you're interested and you want to read it go find "FantasyMoonStarFiction" on AO3!)

Don't worry though I'm currently making sure I have at least a few chapters ready in advance in case I miss some days, can't update etc, so I can still put something out!

And now with all that out of the way here's some art my lovely friend Empri made for my fanfic! (And an edit I made of it with their permission!) And my art and all the design choices that went into my AU's design (Have fun with your little sneak peak!)

[stevebabey]

it was supposed to be short n small and now its 3k & its unedited and u all have to just deal with it bcos it was supposed to be SMALL | ao3

The driver's side car window makes a resounding thunk when Steve’s forehead falls against it.

Through the glass, his keys glint tauntingly back at him.

Still tucked in the ignition, locked in on the inside. So close and yet so far from Steve who is, unfortunately, locked on the outside.

I’m such a fucking idiot.

He lets his head raise up a bit just to drop it back against the window again, this time more in punishment. Of course, of course, he coughs up the money needed for a warrant of fitness and then he goes and locks his keys in the car the next day. Like he needed one more cost added to his finances.

Steve steals a glance at his watch. Fuck, if he doesn’t get on the road in the next 10 minutes, he’ll be more than late to work.

His eyes glance across to Eddie’s van, parked beside his own car, outside the trailer home in Forest Hills. Then he looks back at the trailer.

He can ask. He can just go inside and ask Eddie for the lift— and explain that the reason he can’t take his own perfectly fine car is because he’s so goddamn thick between the ears that he’s locked his keys inside, like some kind of moron.

The voice in his head sounds suspiciously like his father.

Something thick grows in his throat. He swallows it to no avail. Embarrassment begins to flush down his neck, hot and uncomfortable.

No, no— he can’t ask Eddie because as far as Steve knows, Eddie hasn’t quite figured it out yet.

Even while Dustin and Mike make their jokes about him being a bit slow, even when Robin says at least you have your pretty face, Eddie brushes them off and laughs. Takes them as jokes with no merit to them. Steve knows though.

So what if he doesn’t want to burst his bubble just yet?

He knows Eddie will figure it out eventually— because they always do. When he asks too many stupid questions and needs things explained twice and— and it’s just inevitable, okay? He knows that.

Fixing his glare through the window of his car at the shiny pair of keys within, Steve wrestles with what would be worse; being late or accidentally tipping Eddie off when they’ve just gotten so close.

Close enough to share a kiss, two nights ago, under the covers. It was barely more than a peck. But Steve knew it had taken a miraculous amount of courage from Eddie to do it— to surge forward and grab Steve’s face, his rings cool against his skin, and press his mouth against his Steve's own.

Eddie’s lips had been chapped but his smile had been pure sunshine and Steve thinks he could’ve stayed forever under that blanket, memorising the shade of pink Eddie’s cheeks turn after a kiss.

They’ve been dancing around it ever since. Each interaction is more charged, more flirty, more gooey. Long lingering looks and pointed nudges that make Steve feel like a 14-year-old with a crush again, in the best way.

So, no. He exactly can’t go ask.

With a heavy sigh and glance up at the darkening sky, Steve is only glad he’s not supposed to pick up Robin today as he begins to walk.

—

One phone call to the auto-shop reveals exactly how much it’ll cost to get his keys retrieved. Which is, to say, entirely too much for one adult living on the wage of a Family Video employee.

And they won’t be able to get anyone out for another whole day.

Growing more and more frustrated with himself, Steve angrily jots the number down into his little notebook, the pen pressing down hard enough to leave indents on the page behind it. Keith is somewhere out the back, snacking no doubt, and leaving Steve to man the front.

Normally, it wouldn’t bother him— especially because he could discretely make the phone call he needed— but now it’s just him, the empty store, and the number in his notebook that stares back at him.

Oh, and it’s raining.

The darkening sky from earlier had transformed into something closer to a thunderstorm, rain lashing against the windows and driving any and all customers away. Which is fantastic— just what Steve needs now, really the fucking cherry on the top.

The phone rings, the noise unusually shrill in the silence of the store. The film playing amongst the aisles has been on mute as soon as he’d gotten his hands on the remote and Keith had disappeared out the back.

Steve stares at the phone, watching it ring once, twice, before he picks it up with a heavy sigh. He dredges up his customer service voice.

“This is Family Video, how can I help?” He greets, putting as much pep into his voice as he can manage—which turns out to be a meagre amount.

“Did you walk to work today?”

Steve straightens up at the sound of Eddie’s voice on the other end of the line. His free hand instinctively smooths down the front of his vest before he quickly remembers Eddie can’t actually see him.

“Eddie?” He asks, instead of answering the question.

“Your Highness, himself,” Eddie responds. His tone is that usual jaunty playfulness that Steve’s come to adore. “Now answer the question, Steve-o. I thought you were one of those smart guys who actually listens when the weather report comes on the radio. Why the hell did you walk?”

Steve’s shoulders curl in, just an inch, and his eyes seek out the open notebook with the quoted amount, underlined and circled, staring back at him. His throat grows a lump at Eddie’s unknowingly poor choice of words.

“Thought I would walk today.” He replies, his voice clipped. “You know, walking, exercise, good for you? Any of these ringing a bell for you, Munson?”

It’s supposed to be a joke but Steve can tell by the end of the sentence, it’s come out way too sour to land that way. He sounds mean.

Steve cringes, clutching the phone a little tighter and screwing up his eyes. He waits for Eddie’s response.

“You know,” Eddie says, sounding a lot duller all of a sudden. “I was calling to maybe offer you a lift through the rain—”

“Sorry, I’m sorry, that-“ Steve cuts in, that same strange embarrassment swelling in his throat. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”

“—But if you’re gonna be a dick about it, you can enjoy the walk.”

Steve grits his teeth and pinches the bridge of his nose because this feels a little too much like a line from his Dad— but it isn’t because Steve is the one digging this hole all on his own. He’s the idiot who fucking locked his keys in his car and walked to work and snapped at Eddie and—

“No, I’m sorry.” He says, still a bit too tense.

Idiot, idiot, you’re being a fucking idiot, Harrington.

“A ride would be appreciated. Please.”

A pause. This time when Eddie speaks, he’s a little softer. “You off at five today?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I’ll see you at five.”

The dial tone sounds as Eddie hangs up but Steve stays where he is, phone pressed against his one good ear, with a sinking feeling in his stomach. The rain begins to flood the parking lot.

—

Five o’clock comes around too soon.

The rain has let up, just barely, but enough that Steve can actually see Eddie’s van when it pulls up into the parking lot. It rocks about dangerously in the wind and Steve suddenly feels bad for making Eddie come out to get him.

He could’ve stayed here, taken the longer shift. Told Keith to take off early and just walked back home when the rain let up a little more— or just camped out the back on the couch in the employee room if it never did.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

He’d started doing it more and more when his parent’s visits to home became more frequent. It was easy to pull a few white lies out and Steve far preferred answering questions like: Where were you last night? than Why won't you come out to our event tonight? Show face for the Harrington's? It's not like you're doing anything with your life, right?

The only reason he’d stopped, actually, was because he had become good friends with Eddie.

Eddie, who loved his company almost any hour of the day. Who gobbled up each and every morsel of food Steve cooked up, whether it was good or partially burned on the sides. Who told him he had a place in the trailer, day or night, rain or shine.

Eddie who… was waiting outside at five o’clock exactly, pulled up to the curb so Steve wouldn’t have to walk through the rain for more than a moment.

There’s a sliver of surprise, deep within his chest; like he thought Eddie might’ve not shown up and forced him to walk through the rain, just to learn his lesson. It would make sense, Steve thinks. You reap what you sow.

He clocks out hastily, barely murmuring his exit to Keith who doesn’t look up in the slightest. Steve heads for the door and decides then and there, he’ll happily pay the number in his notebook if he doesn’t have to tell Eddie what a fucking moron he actually is.

Water splashes as he dashes down the steps and Eddie’s leaning across, pushing the door open so Steve doesn’t even have to wait to yank it open in the rain. He slides in, sprinkled with rain, slams the door closed, and instantly gets blasted with heat.

“God, you’re a lifesaver,” Steve sighs, sticking his hands out towards the air vents which are working in overdrive. They whir loudly in complaint. Eddie smiles, the apples of his cheeks glowing in the warmth, and twists the wheel, his eyes on the road before him.

The van groans and the bumper dips, kissing the gutter, as they roll out onto the road and head for Forest Hills. For a moment, Eddie focuses on driving straight before he flicks his gaze across to Steve.

“You know I wouldn’t have actually let you walk, right?”

Steve blinks, unsure of what to say in response, because he actually did think that was a possibility until about 2 minutes ago. He shivers as a stray drop in his hair sneaks under his collar, cold and wet.

“Right.” He answers, giving a hesitant smile back.

They’re driving slower than usual due to the rain. Steve lets himself sink back into the worn seats of the van, comforted by the familiar smells. A tang of tobacco, a stronger hint of weed, and that musky deodorant that Eddie swears by— even if Steve has never heard of the brand before.

But, well, it must be working in some sense because when Steve takes a deep breath, he smells it and feels a sense of calm. He doesn’t even notice he’s begun staring.

The strange weather has made Eddie’s hair frizzier than usual and paired with his rosy cheeks, Steve thinks he looks goddamn delectable. He gets caught up in a daydream about having a hot chocolate when they get back to the trailer, maybe even sharing a blanket on the couch and—

And then, Eddie turns and says, “So, wanna tell me why you walked? For real, this time?”

Something shrivels up within Steve. The tightness in his throat from this morning returns. He turns his head and looks out the window.

“I don’t get why you don’t believe me when I say I walked because I wanted to.” He grumbles, almost too low for Eddie to hear over the rain.

Why are they still talking about this? He thinks of the keys through the driver’s side window, thinks of the number in his notebook and the much smaller one in his bank account, and has to hold back from thumping his head against the glass again.

Something metallic jingles behind him.

Steve whips around, his eyes zeroing in on his keys dangling from Eddie’s hand— clearly just retrieved from his pocket. Something ugly and warm wakes up inside him, his stomach knotting uncomfortably, and his cheeks start to burn in embarrassment.

Idiot, Idiot, Idiot.

He knows, he already fucking knows how stupid you are.

Eddie’s eyes dart off the road to look at Steve. “Cos you’re clearly not telling the truth.”

Steve averts his gaze, turning his face back to the window and the wet pavement rushing by beneath the car. He swallows but the lump in his throat doesn’t move.

“Okay, look I don’t actually care that you walked to work,” Eddie continues, placing the keys down in the cup holder between the seats. “I just don’t get why you wouldn’t tell me that they were locked in your car.”

Steve can’t help it, the way his shoulders hike up. His teeth sink into his bottom lip meanly, nearly drawing blood. He doesn’t get it, he doesn’t get it— Eddie’s still trying to rationalise away what everyone else has already figured out.

“I just—” Steve starts, on the defence, but it comes out a bit too wet. He forces himself to swallow again, thankful there’s no sting of tears in his eyes. “I can fix that shit on my own. That’s all.”

“Well, yeah,” Eddie agrees.

Below them both, the hum of the van begins to dwindle and Steve realises abruptly that Eddie’s slowing down, pulling over to the side of the road. He looks to the side, at Eddie.

“Please, c’mon, I just wanna go home, man.” Steve pleads, not even caring that he’s referred so casually to Eddie’s trailer as his home.

“Wait, just,” Eddie waves a hand as he sticks the van into park, releasing the wheel and properly turning to Steve.

“I just want to understand. You know I can pop the door to most cars in, like, 5 minutes. Why didn’t you just ask?”

“Eddie,” Steve stresses, turning away with a pointed sigh. He runs a hand through his hair, latching onto the roots and tugging at it. “Just leave it, please.”

“Or asked for a lift!” Eddie continues, his hands gesturing out a bit wildly. “I could’ve given you a lift even.”

Steve's eyes slice across the van and he wills back every emotional outburst that wants to lash out of him, to poke the right spot that will hurt to get Eddie to back off.

But Eddie is just staring at him, brown eyes wide, a little furrow between his brows, and is just confused. Concerned.

“If you keep driving,” Steve murmurs, almost dejectedly. He ducks his head low and turns back to the window. “I’ll tell you.”

It works— the engine rumbles back to life and the wheels roll gently back out onto the road, just a couple more minutes from Forest Hills. Steve watches the road and tries to grasp for the right thing to say, each possibility dissolving like smoke. His eyes squeeze shut tightly. The rain dins loudly on the roof of the van, a song and dance of the elements.

By the time they’re entering Forest Hills, Steve still hasn’t said a word. The van crawls up into its usual spot, next to Steve’s own car, and Steve stares down at it. He can hear the soft click of Eddie’s seatbelt as he releases it.

He supposes it’s too late now, anyway. Eddie already knows. He keeps his eyes out the window as he speaks, his voice flat and dull.

“I just... I didn’t want you to think that I’m an idiot, too.”

There’s a questioning noise behind him, a little noise from Eddie’s throat that slips out, unbidden.

“Too?” He echoes. “Steve? Who thinks you’re an idiot?”

Steve huffs loudly and turns back, throwing his hands up. “Jesus, who doesn’t? Would you like a list?”

Eddie’s face twists into a meaner expression than Steve's ever seen before and for once, he properly matches the dark clothes and spooky tattoos he dons.

“Yes. And I’ll go door to door— wait,” He shuffles, shifting up onto his knees so he can stretch over the console and place his large hands on either side of Steve’s face, directing his gaze towards him.

It’s reminiscent of a kiss not too long ago. Despite all the burning self-deprecation that churns inside, the pleasant reminder dulls it significantly.

“I’ll go door to door to anyone who ever made you feel that way,” Eddie repeats, now face to face with Steve, their noses nearly touching. His brows are still pull tight into a furious frown. But it's not at him, Steve realises. “And I’ll do something— I’m not sure what yet, but it’ll be foul and like, maybe I’ll put instant mash potatoes on their lawn and— okay the specifics aren’t relevant but this— this is.”

He searches Steve’s face intently, eyes darting around, making sure the message is sinking in. His expression softens out, his eyes suddenly sweeter than before. “You’re aren’t an idiot, Steve. You aren’t an idiot for making a mistake and I’ve never thought that about you.”

Steve blinks. Swallows heavily and god fucking dammit, is the thickness in his throat ever going to disappear? This time it feels different though. He’s not sure how.

“You don’t think I’m an idiot, do you?” Eddie asks.

Steve shakes his head, moving Eddie’s hands with them at the same time. It’s true, he doesn’t. Eddie is… goddamn fucking wonderful. He’s like a warm summer shower through the wretched seasons of Steve’s life. One of the reasons it was worth living through the entire ordeal of 86.

The rain outside continues, pitter-pattering on the roof, somehow softer than it was a second ago.

“Okay,” Eddie says, a small smile on tugging on his lips.

“Okay,” Steve says back. He tries for a smile and it’s easier than expected, though it wobbles at the ends. It doesn’t matter— Eddie is still gazing at him, brown eyes shining and Steve believes what he says.

“Okay,” Eddie says one more time, his smile turning closer to a grin. “Let’s go make some cocoa, yeah?”

He moves to retract his hands but Steve moves faster, his hands darting up to hold them in their place, palms against his cheeks.

“Wait,” Steve murmurs, watching how Eddie stills and keeps his closeness, their noses still a couple inches from touching— and Steve clings to the threads of courage in him tightly.

His hands slide off Eddie’s, grasping lightly at his wrists, and it’s easy to lean forward and connect their mouths in one swift motion.

Eddie squeaks— then melts.

It takes half a second before he remembers to kiss back, equally as enthusiastic and it’s nothing like the first kiss they shared under the covers. The rain dances around them and Steve swipes his thumbs over Eddie’s pulse soothing, feeling the barest jump of his rabbiting pulse.

When he shifts back, breaking the kiss, Steve keeps the closeness, the tips of their noses bumping together. Eddie’s hands feel blazing warm on Steve’s cheeks but when his lashes flutter open, catching sight of Eddie’s glorious pink cheeks, he thinks it might be his face burning up too.

They tumble inside through the rain and with all of Steve’s prayers answered today, they also share a blanket on the couch, ankles linked beneath the rumpled fabric. They make hot chocolate, Steve’s style, and sip it at, making googly eyes at each other over the rim of their mugs— until Eddie laughs too much and spits it down his front.

Steve doesn’t feel stupid again— unless that is, you count feeling stupidly sappy.

(He does not.)

[cirilee]

you're gonna have to wait for @mareeoth 's episode to find out what caused alvin to overheat (AGAIN) — rest assured, isi's got it all under control. yes. definitely

[uriswhumpchamber]

Whumpee who is used to having an extremely strict routine - they go to bed at a specific time, and wake up at sunrise. Their entire day runs on a schedule. They don't need to keep that routine anymore, but it brings them comfort to - or maybe they just haven't gotten to a point in recovery where it feels safe to break it.

They're very much not an early bird: going to sleep so early is almost impossible, and they're used to napping through the day, if they can. Being sleep deprived is not helping with recovery, though.

Their social group does not know why they're like this. Maybe they assume it's part of recovering, and not part of the trauma. Following the above: Maybe there's an inside joke about Whumpee's slight overuse of caffeine to stay awake during social outings/work/clases/etc.

There's a sudden change in their schedule. Maybe they have to stay up late, maybe they cannot have lunch at exactly the time they "have to". Maybe they oversleep. Of course Whumpee panics.

Following the above: someone notices and finds out why Whumpee follows that routine.

Alternatively: someone notices, but Whumpee manages to lie to them. Do they believe the lie?

[chackyxyooj]

Your Grace

╭──────────.★..─╮

Description: You are the Queen and Laurance is one of your several consorts. However, he is less than amused over the fact that you have yet to spend a night with him. || ONESHOT, SMUT HURT/COMFORT(?)

Pairing: Consort!Laurance X Queen!Reader

WC: ~3k

CW: Strong Sexual Themes | NSFW

Series Masterlist

╰─..★.──────────╯

Sexual Content Ahead: If uncomfortable with this type of content, DNI! - Minors & Ageless Blogs DNI!

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It’s not uncommon for Kings or Queens to establish a royal consort when they become the primary ruler of their kingdom. In fact, it’s often encouraged for the ruler of a kingdom to have multiple consorts as a means to ensure the strength of their next of kin. You were no exception to this. Thus, as you ascended to your place on the throne you were expected to have a set of consorts established as soon as possible.

Being a man of great notoriety, Laurance Zvahl had never intended to join your consort. A rogue like him never humoured the idea of living his life at the hands of royalty, but things were different when they came to you.

Laurance’s first meeting with you proved how witty a crown princess could act in the face of danger - his second meeting with you only doubling down on that idea. Despite your wits, Laurance had never really thought you a very interesting monarch until the day he received commission from none other than your very own mouth. To think that a princess such as yourself would risk your position, much less your life, to ensure the prosperity of your kingdom… uncommon would be an understatement.

Much has happened between then and now but your commitment to your kingdom and its people never waivered. For that, Laurance respected you. It might be the only reason why he didn’t immediately kill the guard who came to inform him that you had extended an invitation to become an official figure in your consort.

It’s been over a month since Laurance Zvahl was officially situated in Your Grace’s harem. He’s heard talk amongst the other consorts that you’ve already visited many of your chosen lovers but Laurance has yet to share anything more than simple pleasantries with you. He assumes that a ruler such as yourself would be a busy one, but too busy to even spend a night or two with him? Surly not, right?

For what feels like the thousandth time, Laurance paces from one side of his room to the other. You’d think that a castle as large as this one would grant one privacy but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Laurance feels like he might go mad if another servant arrives at his chambers to ask what he wants for dinner, or when he wants his bath to be drawn, or… or for anything really!

Just as the thought crosses his mind, the incessant sound of knocking fills the room.

Without so much as a by your leave, the door to Laurance’s room creaks open. The boy practically flies over to confront whoever might have the gull to enter his room unannounced but he’s surprised to find that it’s you who stands before him.

“Your Grace!” The boy dips down in greeting without a moment’s hesitation. “For what do I owe the honor of your unexpected visit?”

Your eyes scan the interior of Laurance’s room before they gently land on the brunette. “I sent word to your personal retainer that I would be visiting your chambers tonight, but I see that your retainer is nowhere in sight. Why might that be the case?”

“Oh, them?” Laurance resists the urge to display any signs of contempt at the thought of his retainer. “I sent them away.”

“Again I ask: why might that be the case?”

“I don’t need someone to take care of me. I can take care of myself.”

“Is that so?” Your eyes scan the interior of Laurance’s room a second time before stepping into his chambers and closing the door behind you. After walking a few paces and noticing that Laurance does not follow you, your gaze shifts back to the brunette. Even with just a slight shift in your gaze, Laurance can tell that you do not find any humour in his actions. “I did not assign you a retainer because I thought you needed to be watched or taken care of. I assigned you a retainer because a castle this large can get lonely. Having someone by your side can help alleviate that loneliness.”

“Is that so?” An involuntary huff escapes Laurance. Of course a queen like yourself would delegate the task of keeping him company to a mere servant. “Well I wouldn’t get lonely if you actually came to visit me.”

“Ah… I take it that you’re upset with me?” You attempt to hold Laurance’s hand but the boy sharply pulls away from you.

“How could I not be upset with you?!” Laurance scoffs, his pent up resentment slowly and surely bubbling up to the surface. “After the whole dinner fiasco, you left me behind without so much as a goodbye. Then after weeks of no contact your guard is the one to hunt me down and offer me a place in your consort. It’s bad enough to be treated like an outsider by everyone in your court, but the fact that you treat me this way too? It makes me wonder why you even brought me here in the first place.”

Laurance watches with a heavy gaze as you slowly reach forward and grasp his hands. They’re gentle and delicate compared to Laurance’s hands, but compared to that of a regular noble there’s no doubt that your hands are rough and calloused.

As if afraid to make any sudden movements, you gently pull yourself closer to Laurance until the boy can feel the heat of your body against his own. Have you always been this warm?

“I truly apologise for any hardships I’ve caused you by asking you here. If you truly do not desire to be my consort I will not hold you here. However, that is not to say that I do not want you here, because I do. I want you, Laurance.”

Laurance doesn’t realise that he’s turned his eyes away from you until you’re gently pulling his attention back. Your grasp on the boy’s jaw is so soft but your demand for the boy’s attention is anything but. If not a remarkable queen, you are most certainly a remarkable temptress - always knowing exactly what to do or say to get what you need out of the boy.

“Do you really think a few pretty words are enough to make me forgive you?”

“Of course not…” You chuckle softly to yourself. Your voice becomes softer as you gently lean in toward Laurance, moving forward until your lips just barely hover the shell of his ear. “Tell me, Laurance, what can I do to win back your favour?”

Laurance Zvahl had never intended to join your consort - a rogue like him never humoured the idea of living his life at the hands of royalty, but things were different when they came to you.

You always made things more difficult than they had to be.

“I…” Laurance’s breath catches in his throat as your breath trails down his neck. It makes Laurance shiver from both the feeling and the proximity, his heart thumping in his chest as a testament to his own desires. He'd have the nerve to call it irritating if it wasn’t so intoxicatingly addictive. “I want you, Your Grace.”

“What was that?” You gently press your lips against Laurance's jaw with an amused hum.

“Don’t-” Laurance swallows and shivers at the feeling of your lips on his jaw. A quiet, shaky exhale escapes from his lips. He can feel heat rising to his cheeks as he realises he’s already starting to lose this battle of wills. “Don’t play ignorant. You know exactly what you’re doing.”

Pulling away from Laurance’s neck, the boy is able to catch the expression on your face. There’s hints of satisfaction in the way your lips curl into a pleasant smile, but your eyes hold nothing but affection. A sound of amusement bubbles up from your lips when you notice just how deeply Laurance stares at you, but you relent all the same.

“Come now, Laurance.” You whisper, trailing your hands up Laurance’s torso and coming to rest on his shoulders. “Wouldn’t you like to experience the full extent of being a consort in my court?”

“You’re playing dirty, Your Grace.”

“Is that too much for a rogue like you to handle?”

Laurance closes his eyes. He refuses to give in and insists on trying to ignore the heat that's spreading down his neck and across his chest. Though he is neither a noble nor a knight of high status, Laurance is not some helpless little doll to be teased and played with like this. Even as his hands find their way to your hips to grip them just a little too tight, Laurance can feel his stubborn resolve melting away.

”…Shut up, Your Grace.”

“If you insist, My Love.” Without another word you lean in toward Laurance and close the distance, your lips gently pressing against his.

Laurance can’t stop the small gasp that escapes him at the feeling of your lips against his own. He’d fantasised of this moment; of having you close and holding you to himself. He was losing his strength to keep up this tough-guy facade when all he had wanted for so long was for a moment like this.

The boy pulls you even closer to him, his grip on your hips becoming even more firm. His heart was practically racing in his chest as he returned your kiss.

In a heartbeat Laurance deepens the kiss, his tongue brushing over your bottom lip before nipping at the skin. He felt like he’d been starving for this - for you, for your touch. He was so wrapped up in this singular moment that he hadn’t even realised that you were slowly guiding the boy toward his bed. By the time he realises what you’ve done he’s already flush against his bedsheets.

The bed is cool against Laurance’s back, but it’s nothing compared to the feeling of your hands against his torso. Everywhere you touch leaves a fire of desire in its wake.

As you slowly use your fingers to push his shirt up, you continue to kiss him. Laurance can’t help the sound of pleasure that slips past his lips and he lets go of your hips to help you remove his shirt. He wants to feel the warmth of your skin and to have you as close as possible.

Once the fabric of Laurance’s shirt is removed, you take a moment to admire the sight of his now bared chest. His breathing is slightly ragged but it’s not nearly as obvious as the flushed look on his face. The heat across his cheeks and across his torso was hard for Laurance to ignore as well - especially with how easily flustered he is because of you.

Though his mind is slowly becoming hazy with thoughts of you, Laurance shivers under the weight of your gaze. “Stop staring…”

You can’t help the short laugh that pushes past your lips. Though at first the action serves to make Laurance feel more conscious of himself, his worries fade away as you swiftly pull your robe off your shoulders and discard it somewhere on the floor.

He’s seen you this way once before, but that was nothing compared to now.

Laurance’s breath hitches in his throat at the sight of you half-naked on top of him and he can’t hold back the small, sharp gasp at the feeling of your bare skin against his own. Every inch of his skin feels like it’s burning and it’s hard to get words out when his mind is so focused on you.

“You-” He swallows, his hands shakily gripping your hips as though the moment he lets go you would disappear. The boy’s eyes dart across your form, trying to commit every inch to memory.

“Who’s the one staring now?” Your voice comes out playful, snapping Laurance out of his daze. For a moment your gaze bears into Laurance’s own desperate expression, making you realise the exact effect you have on the boy.

With a smile you lean down and kiss Laurance once more. Rather than allowing Laurance to kiss you in the feverish way he had before, you prolong the kiss. Your movements, your touch, heck, even the very breaths you take have become gentle. Everything about you has seemingly softened in all but a moment, yet you’re just as intoxicating as ever.

“Your Grace… Fuck…” Laurance moans out against your lips. He can hardly hold back his voice as you grind down against his hips. He can only imagine the kind of expression he might be making right now - how you might revel in evoking such a reaction in the first place - but he doesn’t have the time to worry about such things. Right now, all Laurance wants is you.

Laurance wants, no, needs you. He needs you more than he’s ever needed someone before. How do things always end up this way with you?

“I’m your consort, aren’t I?” Questions Laurance, earning a slight hum from you. With as much charm as the boy can muster, Laurance cups your face and gently rests your forehead against his own. “Then please, won’t you take me?”

With a quiet laugh you utter your response. “Of course.”

What little clothes remained between you and Laurance quickly come off in a mess of hurried hands and sweet nothings. Every word you whisper sends adrenaline pumping through Laurance’s body. He can only hope that his roaming hands might be doing the same to you.

His eyes watch your face intently as you slowly lower yourself onto the boy’s now hardened arousal. He takes pleasure in the way your head tilts back and how your sounds of pleasure freely fall from your lips. The feeling of being wrapped in you; it’s euphoric, but it’s not enough. Laurance wants more.

As you continue to shift against Laurance he begins to move in time with your movements, his hips jerking upward as he attempts to drive himself deeper into you.

He wants to feel your touch; to hear his name fall from your lips and to see your pleasured expression every time he shifts his hips in time with your own. It’s not enough to simply feel good at your hands. He wants you to feel good, too.

With whatever strength hasn’t been sapped away at the sight of you, Laurance sits up and holds you close against his chest. In an instant his lips are against yours, stealing kisses as if this is the only time he’ll ever get to kiss you again. You, on the other hand, feed into every single one of the brunette’s greedy impulses.

“Can I call you by your name? Please?” Laurance mutters against your lips. He knows he shouldn’t ask such a thing of you, especially since he’s nothing but a rogue, but when his mind is already swirling in thoughts of you and you alone he’s bound to make impossible requests.

Laurance’s chases after your lips in a desperate manner as you pull away. He hardly even registers that you’re contemplating his question as his lips latch onto your neck and leave behind barely visible marks all the way down. In your attempts to get him to look at you, you have to pry the boy from your body.

Has Laurance ever told you how pretty your eyes are? Or how beautiful you look when your hair is undone like this? Hell, does he even have enough of himself left to tell you how good you’re making him feel? Do you feel good, too?

“Laurance.”

The boy’s attention snaps right to you the moment you call his name. “What?”

“You may address me by my name.”

“R-really?”

Your lips curl into an amused smile as you admire the boy’s drunken state, using your hand to brush back loose strands of the boy’s hair. “Yes, really.”

And that’s it. You have him hooked.

With every thrust of his hips, your name all but falls from Laurance’s lips. It feels so foreign, yet so very right. Like it was always your name that he was meant to call. That it was only ever your name that he wished to speak. Laurance is not here with some royalty figure he’s bound to, he’s here with you.

Laurance can feel himself coming to his wit’s end, but it seems that you’re one step ahead of him. Your body convulses slightly against Laurance’s, the walls of your pussy taking him in oh so greedily. But that’s not to say that Laurance isn’t being greedy, either.

The brunette savours as much of your reaction as he possibly can. The smell of your hair, the sound of your voice, the feeling of your body pressed against his; everything. It’s all for him to have, so he’ll remember it as thoroughly as he can. But fuck, it’s hard to stay focused when you’re holding onto him this tightly.

As Laurance can feel himself coming undone beneath you, he attempts to hide his expression from you by tucking his face into the crook of your neck. You’ll have none of this though, and you pull back to hold Laurance’s face in your hands.

“Don’t hide away now, Laurance.” Despite coming out between shallow breaths, your voice is as firm as ever.

Laurance can’t help but want to shy away under the subtle amusement in your expression. “I can’t help it. You feel too damn good. I’m gonna- fuck.” Laurance’s words are cut short as a wave of euphoria washes over his entire body. That feeling is only heightened when you lean forward and steal a kiss of your own.

Your lips are firm yet gentle at the same time. You truly are something of a temptress, but right now that’s hardly a bad thing.

When Laurance can finally feel himself coming down from his high, he rests his forehead against your shoulder in bliss. For a moment, the world is quiet. The only thing that matters is the warmth of your body pressed against his, and the feeling of your gently rising and falling chest. It’s perfect. 

You’re perfect.

Laurance slowly opens his eyes and looks up at you, drinking in all that you have to offer. You’ve always been really pretty, but right now Laurance thinks that you are enchanting. And when you finally peek open your eyes to meet Laurance’s gaze, he all but knows that you’re his.

Even if it’s just for this moment in time, you’re his.

[valoale]

Sketch Saturday or me trying to be more active here with art

Q: Harry has ran after him in the pouring rain and is calling for him; what is he saying?

[shadedheart138]

You Don't Have To Be A Hero To Save The World

Wind has always known that he doesn't have the "Hero's Spirit" or whatever religious mumbo jumbo the older Links have talked about. He wasn't "Chosen". He'd wanted to save his sister and got dragged down to hell because of it.

Wind never liked talking about it. He didn't feel like he belonged when he did. So if you block it out, it doesn't exist, right? He was so so wrong.

The Links had a penchant for storytelling around the fire, and the topic of tonight's ramble was adventures, as always. But specifically, what started them. Wind pulled uneasily at the scars on his palms.

"What started your adventure, Four?" Hyrule asked, mouth half full of dinner. "I drew a sword and Zelda got kidnapped." Four said, adjusting their headband. "Figures." Legend mumbled quietly. "My adventure was st-" Warriors was cut of by Twilight. "We know it was some lady who was obsessed with you and started a war over it, Wars, we hear it every night." Twilight wasn't mean, just tired.

"What about you, Wind? What started your adventure?" Four asked, smiling encouragingly. Wind never really talked about his adventure (and for good reason.) "Did your Zelda get kidnapped too?" Legend's voice was joking.

"Um. No. My sister did, though. She got carried off by the Helmaroc King and I had to go save her. Tetra told me not to but Aryll's my sister. I couldn't just let her die there." Wind said quietly, still scratching at his scars.

The conversation ebbed and flowed, as Wind sort of lost himself in his head for a little while. He remembered meeting them all, not too long ago. Sky had been handing the Master Sword to everyone, to learn their hero titles. Wind had gone pale and refused to hold it, immediately making everyone suspicious. He had reluctantly given in in the end, and took the sword to hear his title. He'd nursed the burns on his hands in secret, for days after.

XXX

Later that night, as Wind was getting ready to go to bed, he heard the last remnants of conversation. "Who sent you on your journey, Time?" Time gave a small laugh and then said quietly, "A fairy." ...

"I volunteered." Wind called from across the clearing, pillow in his hand. Multiple heads turned to look at him. Why did he say that??? They weren't asking him. "You. What?" Legend asked, confused. Maybe Wind just felt the need to get it out there. "Volunteered. The King Of Red Lions needed me. I wasn't just going to leave him. Besides, the Wind Waker was kind of fun to play with." Legend came close to Wind and grabbed him by the shoulders. "You. WHAT." "Volun-?" "I heard you the first time! I meant why. Why would you volunteer for something like this??? Are you insane? Wind, why?"

"I told you! The King of Red Lions needed me! Outset needed me! I wasn't just going to sit there and twiddle my thumbs while people died!"

Legend gripped his own hair, eyes wide. "But kid, why? Was it just some wish for adventure, or some adrenaline kick? You coulda saved your sister and been done-?"

Wind stood up, little hands curled into fists, pulling at his scars.

"I volunteered for the rest, why are you so pent up about it? It was my own choice! I stepped up when no one would and went through hell to save my fucking sister and everyone else that mattered! It's not my fault your life sucks, because you're such an asshole half the time!! I'm not some dumb kid!" Wind kicked a rock and it ricocheted off the pot still over the fire. Legend flinched. And Wind turned on his heels and took off, screwing up his face and trying not to cry.

XXX

Wind was later found, sitting against a tree, by Sky. Wind was picking at his hands as Sky sat down, the crickets chirping everywhere.

"Are you alright?" Sky asked gently. "Legend is an ass." Wind mumbled, sniffling. "Sometimes. He means well. His adventure was very, very hard on his soul. He doesn't want you to have the same fate." "Still an ass." Wind mumbled, wiping at his eyes.

"It's a defense mechanism, if you will. Here, do you want Fi? She always makes me feel better." It took two seconds for Wind to scramble away, Legend momentarily forgotten. "No, no. No thank you. I don't want to touch that sword." Wind said, shaking his head. "Why not? Maybe she has advice for you- "I SAID I DON'T WANT TO TOUCH THE FUCKING SWORD!"

Wind slapped a hand over his own mouth, and then the other. His eyes welled with tears again and before he could get out any sort of apology, Sky was putting a hand on his shoulder. "Okay. Why, Wind? Why are you so against the Master Sword?" Sky asked, voice quiet. Ready to listen. Fi was his closest friend, so he wanted a reason. Wind shook. "She burns me." He whispered softly, clasping his hands together tightly. "And it hurts." "She what?" Sky's voice was incredulous. "Fi would never! She'd never burn someone with the Hero's S-" "I don't have it." "... What?" "The Hero's Spirit. I don't have it, because I'm a volunteer. I'm no one's successor, I don't have the bonds you guys do. My Hyrule is flooded, and I'm alone." Wind's voice cracked, and the words were not two seconds out of his mouth before Sky was bodily hugging him to his chest. "Hero's Spirit or not, someone's successor or not, you're still our brother, Wind. You always have a place here." Sky whispered, and Wind fisted his hands in Sky's sailcloth.

Wind pulled at the scars on his hands again, and Sky watched. He gently took Wind's small hands in his own, much bigger ones. "Are these the scars from handling the Master Sword? When you had to defeat Ganon?" Sky asked gently.

Wind nodded. "Stabbed him straight through the noggin." He laughed without any humor.

Sky pressed a kiss over each palm, like kissing a boo boo for a young child. Wind almost snatched his hands back. But before he could, Sky said, "We'll make sure it doesn't happen again."

fin.

[oborofollower7]

Yall dont know how happy I am that we got ONE LAST TOKOYAMI AND HAWKS PANEL

those two are such an underrated duo. I wish there were more fanfics of them

[socially-anxious-wizard]

Dad.

[2nd2ndalto]

Broken

Here's something angsty. Will loses a patient. Nico comforts him.

___

“Hey Will? I’m coming in to brush my teeth,” Nico calls, pausing with his hand on the knob of the bathroom door.

The boy in the shower doesn’t answer. Nico opens the door a crack.

“Will?” he tries again.

“Yup. Okay.”

Nico closes the door behind him, hesitating. Will sounds… off. But then, he’s allowed. It’s been an especially rough day. Three new campers arrived around lunchtime, all of them badly injured. Two survived.

Will might want to talk about it later, Nico thinks. He sometimes does, once they’re alone, curled together in Nico’s double bed. Guilty sentences choked out in the dark, Will’s breath against his neck. I should have been able to do more. It’s my fault.

Sometimes Will doesn’t want to talk. Sometimes he just wants to be held, no words exchanged. It’s messed up, honestly, forcing a kid to become a field medic at age ten. But that’s the nature of demigod life.

The worst is when Will doesn’t want to stay the night at all. Sometimes he goes back to his own cabin, sometimes he finds an empty bed in the infirmary. Nico aches at the thought of the other boy keeping his hurt to himself - he only does that when things are really bad - but they’re learning to give each other space.

Nico finishes brushing his teeth, spitting into the sink. His heart swells a bit at the sight of Will’s toothbrush in the cup next to his. A spare, for the many nights Will stays over. They’ve shared a bed for months now, many more months than they’ve actually been together.

The being together - that’s new - fresh and green and blossoming, stolen kisses and fingers twined together. Nico’s well aware that most of the camp probably thinks there’s more than that going on. Let them think what they want. He’s never been happier.

Nico pauses in front of the steamed-up mirror, realizing he hasn’t heard any signs of life from the shower for a few minutes.

“Solace? You okay in there?”

Silence.

“Will?” Nico’s pulse picks up speed.

“I can’t - I feel like I can’t get it off my hands.” Will’s voice is cracked, broken, words choked out between sobs he’s clearly been trying to mask under the running water.

Shit.

“What do you mean? What can’t you get off?” Nico steps closer, one hand pressed to the mottled glass door of the shower, as close as he can get to the other boy.

There’s another long pause.

“Will?” Nico can hear the rising panic in his own voice. Should he go get Austin?

“Her blood,” Will gasps out. “It won’t come off.”

Nico’s heart sinks. Will’s hands had looked clean when he arrived at Cabin Thirteen. Will is notoriously diligent about hand-washing.

Nico keeps a hand pressed hard to the shower door, as if he can offer some modicum of comfort that way.

“Hey. Will, it’s - it’s not real, okay? It’s just - it’s just in your head. There’s no blood on you.” Nico can just make out the form of his boyfriend huddled on the floor. What the fuck is he supposed to say?

He stands there in the steamy little room, helpless, just the heartbreaking sound of Will’s sobs and the rush of the water.

“Will, do - do you want me to get someone?” Nico’s own voice nearly breaks and he frowns, swallowing hard. This is not the time.

“No, don’t.” Will’s answer comes immediately. “I don’t want - please don’t tell anyone.”

“Okay, but - Will, tell me what to do,” Nico pleads. “Please tell me how I can help.” He tries to keep his voice steady, tries not to blurt out, you’re scaring me.

“No. I’m fine,” Will chokes out, and Nico would laugh if it wasn’t all so awful. Will’s always fine, isn’t he? That’s his job. That’s the problem.

Nico can only manage another moment pressed against the shower door before he’s in motion, because gods, he can’t bear another second. All he wants to do is pull the other boy into his arms, soothe him any way he can. Offering platitudes with a door in between them isn’t helping anyone. He spares only the briefest moment for embarrassment before he’s pulling off his pajamas and letting them fall to the floor.

He pauses then, hand on the shower door, because they haven’t ever done this. And though he can’t stand to be separated from Will for the space of another breath, he still needs the other boy to have some say in the matter.

Moving to the bathroom door, he flicks off the lights, plunging the little room into complete darkness.

“Nico?”

Nico stumbles back to the shower. “I’m coming in,” he says, doing his best to hide the way his voice is shaking.

“No, you -”

“Please, Will.” He pauses, fingers tight on the door handle.

There’s a long silence and then, “okay.” Will’s voice is just barely audible over the water.

Nico steps into the steamy little space, dropping to the floor and reaching for his boyfriend in the darkness. His hand finds Will’s shoulder, and in the next second Will scoots into his arms, pressing his face into Nico’s neck, clinging, his body shaking with deep, aching sobs. Nico gathers him in, desperately hoping that maybe if he holds on tight enough he can fix this. One of his bare knees is pressed into the pebbled floor of the shower and one arm bent at an odd angle, but he doesn’t loosen his hold. His own tears fall fast and silent, washed away in the spray of the shower.

It’s several minutes before Will’s tears begin to ease and he takes in a gasp.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come here. I thought I could hold it together. I wanted to see you, but I should’ve -” The words fall out in a rush, desperate, like Will’s trying to push them out before the tears start again.

“Will. Stop. I want to help. I want you here. Please let me help.”

“I don’t think anyone can help me.” Will’s voice breaks again, and he pulls in a gasp, convulsive

“Then let me hold you,” Nico says, trying for sure, steady. He doesn’t think he manages it.

Will doesn’t answer, but Nico thinks he softens a little further into the embrace. He’s pulling in sharp, quick breaths, his shoulders heaving.

“Hey. Breathe with me, okay?” Will nods against his head and Nico closes his eyes, counting, doing his best to calm his own breathing the way Will taught him to do back when he first arrived at camp three years ago. It’s pure relief when he finally feels Will match his breaths, and they spend the longest time wrapped together in the dark under the falling water. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Finally Will’s hold relaxes the tiniest bit and Nico pulls back enough to kiss him, desperate, again and again. It’s not heat, not passion, just love. Wrenching, bone-deep sadness for the other boy. He cradles Will’s face tenderly and Will kisses back just as hard, melting into it. They finally part, foreheads pressed together.

“I love you,” Nico tells the other boy. It’s not the first time he’s said it, but he tries to pour his whole heart into the words, this time.

“I love you too,” Will whispers. “You - I - I’m such a fucking mess. I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to see me like this. I’m too much, I know I am, you shouldn’t have to deal with this, I just don’t want to lose you -”

Nico’s stomach twists. “Will, what?” He pulls back enough to look Will in the eye, though it’s really too dark to see anything but the vaguest silhouette.

“I don’t - I can’t -” Will’s voice breaks again.

“You are not gonna lose me, okay? Is - is that what you’re saying? You think I’ll leave when I realize what - how fucked up you are?” he asks, incredulous.

Will doesn’t answer.

“Will.” He pulls the other boy closer again, rubbing his back, his shoulders, anywhere he can reach. “Will I already know who you are. You’re not - I already love you. I know who you are and I love who you are, okay? All of you.”

“Are you sure?” Will gasps out between hiccuping sobs.

“Yes, you idiot,” Nico half-laughs. “I can’t believe you thought you were hiding anything from me.”

Will laughs too, a short, relieved sound.

“Idiot,” Nico repeats softly, sliding his hand into Will’s wet hair, stroking. He rocks them back and forth as best as he can until Will’s breath starts to settle again.

“I’m sorry I made you get in the shower,” Will murmurs.

“You didn’t make me do anything,” Nico says. “Now. Just hold on. Don’t move.”

He rises carefully, cautiously feeling around on the shelves in the shower stall until his fingers encounter what he’s looking for.

“Here.” Nico sits back down. “Give me your hand.”

Will does, and Nico takes the other boy’s hand between both of his, soaping carefully over each of his fingers, then reaching for the nail brush, gently, methodically scrubbing around Will’s nails.

“Nico.” The other boy’s voice is soft, sorry. “You - you don’t have to. I know there wasn’t really blood, I just -”

“I know you know,” Nico says, continuing his gentle scrubbing. He sets down the nail brush after a moment, turning Will’s hand to the spray of the water, carefully washing off the soap. “Give me your other hand,” he instructs, quiet, and Will does. Nico thinks he can feel some of the tension drain from Will’s body along with the water and soap. He carefully washes Will’s arms, up to his elbows, soaping, rinsing. He can’t see what he’s doing, but he imagines he can, running his fingers tenderly over freckled skin, soft blond hair. Firm muscle, familiar scars.

Will sighs. Nico finally brings Will’s hands to his face, pressing kisses to the back of his hands, then his palms. He leans in to press his lips to Will’s forehead.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. Will nods, taking a shaky breath.

“I’m gonna get the shampoo,” Nico tells him. He’s not sure how much cleaning Will managed to do before Nico entered the shower, but Will doesn’t protest, just sits there quiet and compliant as Nico carefully shampoos his hair and rinses, then reaches for the conditioner. He touches the other boy with all the care and love he deserves, hoping Will can somehow soak it up in these moments, that maybe it will help him in harder moments tomorrow. Nico massages the conditioner through Will’s wet curls, fingers careful on his scalp, finishing with a wet kiss to each cheek before leaning back, guiding Will into the spray of the water.

They hold each other afterwards, still sitting on the floor of the shower, until the water starts to cool. Will is quiet, his breath slow and even. He must be exhausted, Nico thinks.

“I’ll grab towels,” Nico says, standing and pulling the door open. “I’m gonna turn the light on, okay?”

He quickly dries off, wrapping a towel around his waist. The shower door opens and Will’s hand reaches out. Nico pushes a towel into his grasp and Will emerges a moment later, similarly wrapped. His gaze flickers to Nico and then back to his bare feet, his eyes puffy and red.

Nico can’t imagine he looks much better himself. He steps forward, winds his arms around Will’s neck. Will lets out a long sigh as he returns the embrace, his hands warm on Nico’s bare skin.

Nico pulls back after a long moment, reaching for another towel to rub over Will’s shoulders, his chest. He lets his fingers linger over Will's tattoo, then carefully presses his hand to the other boy's chest. Warm, damp skin, steady heartbeat. He glances up to meet Will’s eyes. The intensity in the taller boy’s gaze makes Nico want to cower a little, but instead he rises on his toes, pressing a soft kiss to Will’s lips.

“Hair,” Nico instructs, raising the towel to Will’s head, and Will ducks his head so Nico can reach. “You’re so fucking tall,” he complains under his breath, hoping for a smile.

He gets a half-one at least, Will’s eyes welling a bit with the action.

“Thanks,” Will says, his voice hoarse.

Nico shrugs. “Any time. How many times have you put me back together, Solace?”

Will swallows, nodding mutely.

Nico gazes at him. He looks particularly vulnerable, barefoot and towel-clad in the little bathroom. Tired. Defeated. It makes Nico's heart ache.

“I’m glad you came here,” Nico says.

Will nods. “Me too,” he whispers.

“You’re staying, right?”

It’s weirdly not awkward at all, both of them standing here in this tiny room in only towels. Nico can feel an echo of warmth - Will’s bare skin pressed to his own. It’s just comfort. It’s just them. He wants them both to curl up inside the feeling and forget everything else.

Will glances away. “I don’t know.”

Nico’s heart drops.

“I should - I should probably… I’m pretty sure I’m gonna have nightmares. I don’t want to bother you with that.”

Nico scoffs. “Don’t be an idiot.”

Will won’t quite meet his eye.

“Hey.” He grabs Will’s hand. “Do you really need some space? Because I get it if you do. But if you want to stay - I want you here. I don’t need any space from you right now, nightmares or not. I’m gonna wrap around you like velcro and cuddle you all night,” he threatens.

Will smiles, a real one this time. “Okay. That sounds nice.”

Minutes later Will joins him in bed and Nico tucks them both in, cozy under pajamas and blankets. Will curls into him, tucking his head under Nico’s chin the way he only does when he’s feeling particularly broken. Nico holds tighter.

“Do you… do you wanna talk about it?” Nico asks after a long moment.

There’s a pause and then Will shakes his head.

“Okay. That’s okay,” Nico murmurs. At least he’s here.

“Hey,” Nico says after a long silence, nervous. The thought has been lingering on the edges of his mind, and he suddenly realizes he wants to get the words out before they both succumb to sleep. “You, um. You remember when I went to see Reyna last week?”

“Yeah?”

Nico presses his face into Will’s damp curls. “She um. She started seeing like… a therapist. In New Rome.”

Will doesn’t answer, but there’s a certain tension in his body that tells Nico he’s listening.

“She said it was really helping her, and she thought - well. She thought it might be good for me to try that. Too.”

Nico hasn’t allowed himself to think about it too deeply. The prospect is terrifying, honestly. But maybe something does need to change. Maybe he and Will can do a bit better than spending the rest of their lives patching each other up.

“And what do you think?” Will asks. Nico can feel the words breathed out against his sternum, the movement of Will’s jaw.

Nico lets out a soft laugh. “I - I dunno. It sounds… kind of awful, actually. But I was thinking maybe… maybe I should… look into it.”

There’s a long moment of quiet.

“If you go…” Will says eventually, soft, “maybe… maybe you could tell me how it is.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

Well, I guess I’m going to therapy, Nico thinks to himself.

Nico shifts a bit, tries to make them both a bit more comfortable. He tucks his nose against the crown of Will’s head.

“Look,” he murmurs, because he wants to make sure he made himself clear, earlier, “it’s always cool if you need space, okay? But don’t stay away because you think you’re too much for me. You’re not. We can be fucked up together. Or we can take turns. Whatever. I just wanna love you.”

Will nods. “Okay,” he says, his voice breaking just a little.

Will falls asleep almost immediately, his breath slow and steady against Nico’s chest. Nico’s mind spins for a while longer before it finally settles into the now-familiar comfort of the boy in his arms, their shared breath, the smell of Will’s hair.

He wishes he could do more for Will. None of this is easy. But they’re here. And they’re together. And maybe that’s enough for tonight.

___

Thanks for reading! Reblogs are always appreciated and I love reading the accompanying tags - I never know how to respond to comments in tags, but I do read them & appreciate you taking the time to write them <3

[eldritch-ambrosia]

you kiss me and it stops time

❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿

Merlin is frozen.

He’s stiff and warm and his hands are spread in the air and he thinks he’ll be stuck like this forever. Arthur’s lips are soft, though, and his hands are gentle against Merlin’s cheeks so there really were worse places to be stuck.

Arthur doesn’t seem to think so, leaning back before Merlin can gather his thoughts–and lips– to respond, still cradling his face. He goes to pull away but Merlin finds it in himself to reach out, grasping at Arthur’s wrists to keep him close.

The prince swallows, his lips parted and beautiful, searching Merlin’s face with his crystal clear eyes.

“Merlin… I’m…” He pauses, his brow crinkling. “Do you hear that?”

For a moment, he thinks Arthur can hear his heartbeat, echoing through his ears and through the stables. He can’t hear anything but the rapid beating in his chest and the heavy breaths that pass between them, the world silent around them.

Silent.

Merlin blinks, Arthur stepping back toward the door to the stables, leaning his head out. The servant follows, still holding onto one of his wrists, and gazes out to the castle grounds.

The sun shines brightly overhead across all of Camelot and, at a glance, seems completely ordinary. However, the knights across the field are stopped completely in their long strides, one of the riding horses’ head is turned, its mane circling its muzzle suspended in the air, and one of the servants’ hands are outstretched, a pot of water spilling over but not flowing in the slightest.

Camelot is frozen, trapped in time.

His heart drops, nails digging into Arthur’s wrist, the aura of magic surrounding them familiar. An extension of his own magic, gripping his chest, and a sickly feeling settles in his stomach.

“What…?” Arthur mutters, reaching for his blade, placing a hand on the hilt. “Who could’ve done this?”

His tone is accusatory and asked to the air, not expecting a response and Merlin’s eyes burn from tears. Squeezing them shut tight as he reaches out with his magic, with his very being, he begs anything that could hear to make it all okay. To make time move again and take them both back to that moment Arthur approached him in the stables.

He’s not ready.

❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿

(psst you can read the rest of this on ao3 by clicking the link at the top!)

[babybirbb]

i need more carmy stuttering fics. i need more richie taking care of carmy fics. i need more adhd carmy fics. i need more hurt/whump carmy fics

[backpackingspace]

Hey can yall help me find a fic? Pretty please? It's one of my favorite and I swear I bookmarked it but I can't find it now.

Its a post order 66 stars wars fic. I think there's two in the series? But the premise is that padme gives birth on the way to mustfar so she and obi ean go on the run and meet up with Rex and ahsoka. Everybody is having a bad time in their grief and lashing out at obi wan who slowly stops talking. Eventually obi wan goes off on a solo mission and ends up rescuing Cody and a few other clones. They continued to go off on missions together and continue to save more clones. Eventually everybody starts to heal and make up.

[olrinarts]

Day 16: Confess Your Sins

Narinder attempts to hide in the Lamb's tent. The Lamb tries to help. Narinder benefits from this. The Lamb? Not so much. (7k, hurt/comfort, can be read as romance or QPR)

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1205

Submitted by Anon - thanks!

Whumpee crying into caretaker’s shoulder, completely overwhelmed by emotion and anxiety. Eventually they fall asleep after tiring themselves out. 

Bonus points for caretaker being in an uncomfortable position and being forced to stay still so as to not wake whumpee up.

[a-little-unsteddie]

abstract

ok we all listened to Hozier’s new album, right? so we all know what comes next.

tw: hurt/no comfort, post-break up

wc: 1.1k || AO3 Link

Eddie groaned as he rolled over to check his phone, unsure who would be messaging him so early in the morning. Chrissy. Of course. He smiled vacantly, and then immediately frowned when the phone unlocked and revealed the message.

Eddie!! Watch this right now!!

Eddie clicked the link that was attached to the message and flinched reflexively when he saw the title of the video.

Exclusive!: Steve Harrington Opens Up About Last Relationship!

He instantly closed out of the video before it had a chance to start playing and messaged Chrissy back furiously.

explain to me why i should watch an interview that steve did? what do I care if he talks about our relationship? he’s allowed to.

Eddie chewed on his thumb nail anxiously as he stared down at the three dots indicating that Chrissy was replying. He was glad that she was, because he wasn’t sure if he would have been able to handle it if she didn’t. He thought it was fair of him to not want to watch an interview of Steve talking shit about him and their relationship, because there was no doubt in his mind that the interview could be anything but that. The relationship hadn’t ended particularly well, and Eddie knew that he was partially at fault for it. They both had their own problems, which eventually culminated in a massive fight that they couldn’t get past. The only thing that Eddie could really remember from the fight was Steve leaving at the end and immediately regretting letting him leave. He couldn’t even remember the reason of their fight — not that they really needed a reason to argue, near the end.

Eddie often replayed the memory of the slamming door and the following weeks spent isolating himself from everyone, eventually Chrissy had come barging in to drag him out of bed and into the shower and forcing him to be a functional member of society. Which, to be fair, was quite important given the fact that Eddie had a band to write for. Chrissy was the only reason he was functioning now, even. She was his rock through the aftermath of Steve Harrington.

Eddie was startled out of his thoughts by his phone buzzing in his hand, and focused on it to read the message.

I love you so much, and you *need* to watch that interview. Trust me.

Eddie swallowed thickly and tapped the link again. Steve looked amazing, because of course he did, his hair perfectly styled, wearing a yellow sweater that Eddie remembered being one of his favorites to wear. Eddie almost backed out of the video again, but it began playing at the timestamp that Chrissy had linked him to.

“So,” the interviewer began, a curious look on her face, “any new relationships?”

Steve let out a huff that could have been considered a laugh to anyone who didn’t know him like Eddie did, and he watched with a heavy heart as he answered with a gentle shake of his head.

“No, and I’m not looking for a new relationship.” Steve smiled crookedly at the interviewer, and Eddie’s heart pounded in his chest as he turned up the volume on his phone, desperate to hear more of Steve’s voice. “Still recovering from the last one,” he said, as if it were a joke, but Eddie was surprised to hear how genuine it sounded.

The interviewer leaned forward, “Oh? Eddie Munson, right?”

Steve nodded, fidgeting with his sleeves. “Yeah.”

“What can you tell us about that?” The interviewer asked, and Eddie held his breath as he awaited Steve’s response.

Steve shifted in his spot, and despite how uncomfortable Eddie knew he must be, he looked completely at ease with the interviewer. He looked contemplative as he seemed to mull over his next words.

“I think we were just…both in a really rough point in our lives. You’ve heard that saying, ‘right person, wrong time’?” At the interviewers nod, Steve continued, “Like that.”

“Did you love him?” The interviewer asked, quiet and open to the answer. Eddie blinked rapidly, knuckles almost white from how tightly he was gripping his phone. Steve looked sad, staring down at his hands for a moment before he appeared to gather himself and return his attention to the interviewer.

“Yes.” Steve paused, smiling sadly, “Still do.” Eddie paused the video to take a deep, shaky breath. He sniffled, and only then did he realize that he had started crying. It felt as though his chest was on fire. He took another deep breath and forced himself to press play.

“Can you remember when you first realized you loved him?” The interviewer asked as a follow up, which Eddie thought was a touch insensitive, but nontheless thankful that the interviewer was pushing forward, for no reason other than he wanted to know. Before today, he may have thought Steve would have scoffed and said no, but now he wasn’t sure.

“It wasn’t really.. one specific moment,” Steve started, “but the moment that I realized I wasn’t going to be able to do anything except love him was a rainy day. We were walking through the city, and we heard tires squealing and then Eddie was off,” Eddie was surprised to find he couldn’t remember the day that Steve was talking about. He sniffled and tried to focus on what Steve was saying. “Someone had hit an opossum,” Steve laughed, eyes shining with unshed tears but they didn’t fall, “and Eddie was devastated, and held it so gently. I just remember thinking I had no choice but to love him. He almost caused another car accident, but luckily the person driving saw Eddie dash into the road and stopped…Eddie held the opossum until it died in his arms.”

And Eddie knew with sudden clarity exactly what day Steve was talking about now, because Steve had been so scared that he could have gotten hurt, but all Eddie had been concerned about was the creature he had been holding, because he couldn’t let it die alone and scared. Eddie hadn’t realized that there was another car coming and was lucky that it had stopped in time. He remembered Steve berating him until Eddie looked up at him, tears in his eyes. ‘I can’t let him die alone,’ he had said. Steve had sighed, but smiled as he sat down to join him until the opossum died.

“Do you regret it?” The interviewer asked, “Loving him, I mean.” Eddie waited with baited breath for Steve’s answer.

“I am still glad to have been able to love him. The memory hurts, but does me no harm.”