#that turned out longer than i intend

[kiwikiwiandkiwi]

HARRY BEING HARRY ON TOUR — Love on Tour: UK + Europe Leg, 2023

[livinginadumpster]

One thing I really like in Dead Boy Detectives is the use of blood/gore/horror. With a TV-MA rating, a show with horror themes is obviously going to have some blood and violence, and there are clear instances if this in DBD, but while it's definitely there, it's almost never gratuitous. That's because scenes like the Devlin murders or Maxine's death aren't really about those deaths, rather, they're about the characters' reactions to them and the way the story is shaped by them.

In the Devlin house, the camera focuses not on the girls being killed but on Edwin, Crystal, and particularly Charles reacting to their murders with horror, shock, and anger. The blood splatters in a meaningful way, rather than simply a horrifying one, over the TV and the popcorn and the younger daughter's stuffed rabbit, tarnishing the innocence of everything it touches. While the tragedy of the murders themselves are important, the main focus is Charles' reaction to them as a result if his own trauma. Showing the minutia of the killings would take away from that, so it simply isn't there.

Even Maxine's death, while definitely played off more for shock value than the Devlin murders, serves a purpose. Episode 5 focuses on the failure of romantic relationships, on betrayals from those you thought you could trust, and the Maxine subplot adds to that. It begs the question, who can you trust in this world? At the end of the episode, the answer we are given is your friends, your found family, because love will kill.

It seems to me that the blood in hell represents the guilt of those it touches - Simon's wounds heal when he forgives himself; Edwin loses the blood covering him after Charles turns up to rescue him (albeit by a horrifying cause); the people in the Lust room are drenched in blood and get it on Edwin when they try to drag him down. It's not just there to demonstrate the horrors of hell, but to brand its inhabitants.

There are lots of other examples. The blood when Niko dies is there obviously because that's what happens when you get stabbed, but also (in my opinion) as a visual callback to her saying that red is the color of courage. The cat king's bloody corpse and Monty's blood-splattered face show Esther's ruthlessness and disregard for anyone in her path. Lilith is covered in blood as a symbolic part of her character design. Everything serves a purpose, narratively or symbolically.

(The only example of gore that served no particular purpose that I can think of was in episode one when the WWI ghost drooled blood all over Charles' face, but it was the pilot episode and that whole scene was meant to be shocking, so it can be forgiven.)

Anyway, I really like the way they use blood in DBD, because it shows such a level of detail and care. I enjoy horror but not gore so much, and to me it's refreshing to see it used so tastefully and executed so well.

[buckevantommy]

thinking about: the tension or conflict to come between tommy and buck, how they'll spend time at their own places separately until they figure out what to do, what else needs to be said, what they want, what's going to happen to them...

buck finds one of tommy's hoodies while doing laundry. he doesn't put it on right away, folds it neatly or tosses it aside and goes to work in his own clothes. at the end of his shift he climbs the stairs to his bedroom and is met with the sight of tommy's hoodie on his bed, reminded of his absence. buck ends up wearing the hoodie to bed, missing tommy and hating this fight they're in/impasse they're at.

meanwhile tommy is finding signs of evan all over his house - not just physical items like clothing and books and kitchenware, but signs that he was here in the reorganisation of the kitchen cupboards and additions to tommy's calendar. the herb plants on the windowsill because it's not their season at the moment but evan likes to cook with them so tommy brought them inside; tommy has plans for a small greenhouse in his garden but hasn't had the time.

but it's not just evan, it's everyone connected to evan who is now a part of tommy's life too: the brochures for outings with chris, the drawing jee drew of 'uncle pilot tommy' on his fridge alongside photos of group gatherings next and double dates. it's karen's birthday next week. he has plans with eddie. there's a movie festival him and howie were talking about next month. it hurts to think about losing evan, but it's salt in the wound thinking about losing everyone in evan's life, because even if by some miracle they still want tommy in their lives, the thought of being nothing more than friends or acquaintances with evan would be too much to bear; the only way tommy could hope to move on would be with a clean slate (even if his heart would never recover), take that training gig out of state.

[bri-cheeses]

Fiercely and obsessively (wrapped around your finger) — Part 2

| Rosekiller Soulmate AU | Previous part is here | Word Count: 451 |

-

“Can’t wait for your birthday,” Barty sighed, dropping his head back onto Evan’s knees. Evan was sitting quite comfortably on the couch in the common room, indulging Barty and his whims by allowing him to sit on the floor up against his legs. And thank goodness for Evan and his endless patience whenever it came to Barty, because Evan’s legs were a warm, comforting presence as he sat on the padded carpet.

“Oh? And why’s that?” Without even seeming to realize it, Evan’s hand carded itself through Barty’s hair, tangling itself into the strands. And oh, that was nice. That was really nice.

Barty hummed in pleasure and closed his eyes. “One, because you’ll be of age, and that gives me an excuse to sing Happy Birthday to you louder than I ever have before. And don’t think I won’t capitalize on that opportunity, because I will.”

Evan breathed out a light laugh. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.” His hand ran another pass through Barty’s hair, sending shivers down his spine.

“And also,” Barty murmured, “I’m curious about your soulmate mark.”

Abruptly, Evan’s hand left his hair, sending a jolt of shock through Barty. His eyes flew open to look at Evan, whose face was contorted into an odd expression.

Barty immediately started apologizing, though he wasn’t sure what for. “I’m sorry, Evs, I didn’t—”

“No,” Evan interrupted, “it’s okay.” But his expression didn’t change.

“You sure?” Barty asked, hesitant. Sometimes, it was hard to tell what would and what wouldn’t overstep Evan’s boundaries.

“Yeah, sorry. Just stressed about the whole thing, really.” Evan offered him a smile, and if it was a bit weak, Barty wouldn’t comment on it.

“It is kinda stressful,” he agreed. Because yes, it really was. His soulmate mark had been on his arm for a little over a month now, and everyday his apprehension grew. What if he didn’t find his soulmate? What if he found one and didn’t like them? Or what if they didn’t like him?

Logically, that wasn’t how soulmates worked, considering you’re supposed to be perfectly matched and all, but doubts still found their way into his brain.

“Tell me about it,” Evan muttered. And Barty would’ve tried to unpack that a little more, he really would’ve, but Evan had wound his hand back into Barty’s hair again, and it was more than a little distracting.

Barty’s eyes closed of their own accord. The warmth of Evan’s legs behind him lulled him into a nice sense of safety, and it seemed to him that if his soulmate really was perfectly matched to him, they’d have to try very, very hard to compete with Evan for the top place in his heart.

-

(Part 3 is here)

[messiahzzz]

while it’s perfectly fine to have your own headcanons that are non-canon compliant — by all means, go wild. recognizing pieces of yourselves in fictional characters can be a very healing and validating experience. this is nonetheless a casual, well-intentioned reminder that gale, in fact, does not have bpd.

bpd is a pervasive pattern of instability affecting interpersonal relationships, self-image, and mood. the disorder is marked by impulsivity beginning in early adulthood and is present in a variety of contexts. a diagnosis requires at least 5 of the following 9 criteria to be met:

Fear of abandonment

Unstable or changing relationships

Unstable self-image; struggles with identity or sense of self

Impulsive or self-damaging behaviors (e.g., excessive spending, unsafe sex, substance abuse, reckless driving, binge eating).

Suicidal behavior or self-injury

Varied or random mood swings

Constant feelings of worthlessness or sadness

Problems with anger, including frequent loss of temper or physical fights

Stress-related paranoia or loss of contact with reality

source: [x]

i highlighted the criteria that do apply to gale in one way or another in a pretty purple.

i personally believe that it’s rather harmful to equate his relationship with mystra with her being “his fp”. she is a deity, his goddess, and the source of his powers, who is in in full control of the magic he wields.

gale: mystra commands all magic. salvation, if such a thing exists, is hers to bestow or withhold.

gale has been effectively groomed and conditioned to serve and revere her at every turn since early childhood. imo this comparison really undermines a lot of crucial points in gale’s story that deal with his overall trauma and abuse. after all, you wouldn’t call shar sh*dowhe*rt’s fp either.

gale doesn’t revile mystra, nor does he commit benevolent deeds solely motivated by the secret hope that she will somehow notice and take him back. when you meet gale in the game he has already fully come to terms with the fact that he has been abandoned by mystra with no hope of reconciliation whatsoever. he also had some very fitting lines in ea regarding this topic that i'm sad haven't been repurposed in the full release in some way.

gale: [the tadpoles] don't know that some things are impossible. they don't know that... they don't know. player: what is impossible about what you're being shown? gale: forgiveness. gale: it is mystra i see. and yet it cannot be her. there was a time when i would have believed - but no longer. gale: suffice it to say she would not bestow upon me the favors promised in these dreams. that is how i know they are delusions.

he has already reached the stage of acceptance. moreover, gale only starts to realize that mystra might have been in the wrong for requesting his death once the tadpole squad & tav speak some sense into him. and even then he doesn’t ever show that his emotions regarding mystra are anywhere along those lines. he is instead rightfully angered that she only saw value in his death, after he had been worshipping her loyally for years.

gale: i worshipped mystra loyally for years, and in that time she granted me the barest sliver of the power i was ready to wield. gale: even with the fate of the world at stake, she had little more to offer me than the means of blowing myself up at a more convenient time. she's done nothing to help us.

gale: you abandoned me in my hour of greatest need. i had no obligation to help you in yours. gale: because you had no right to ask that of me. you cast me out, remember?

gale doesn’t display rapid changes in mood either. he is a character who is generally very composed and has been known to remain nonchalant even in the face of utter horror. tim downie himself even commented on this once. source: [x]

the only instance i can think of is his sudden switch from resigned-to-death to utter-eye-sparkling-enthusiasm once he spots the crown of karsus. apart from crucial story reasons that i won’t touch upon in this post, i’d also like to add that it’s a rather common phenomenon for people who have just barely survived a suicide attempt to suddenly be filled with zeal and unbridled energy. he doesn't display impulsivity without thorough consideration when it comes to its acquisition either. he considers this a golden opportunity and is positively enthusiastic and elated that this might prove an alternative to him ending up in a cloud of netherese smoke. nonetheless, he knows what he is doing. evident in him actually succeeding in ascending in one of his endings.

gale: this is no passing whim, trust me. if i can obtain that crown, it will affect us all. it is not a decision i'll take lightly. gale: it's our future that i'm thinking of - we can't rely on anyone else to do it for us. gale: for now - we've learned all we can.

neither are his relationships that we do know of (namely elminster, tara, and morena) frequently changing. they are marked by years of mutual respect, care, and consistency. there is nothing unstable about them. while it's important to note that his relationship with tav is still in its honeymoon stages during the main game, there is no inclination of any push-and-pull dynamic between them whatsoever.

gale isn’t preoccupied with keeping up some sort of benevolent act in order to win (back) affection — he genuinely IS a good person and he proves this at every turn. moreover, to have a tressym become your familiar you must be of Good alignment.

(taken from tumblr user galedekarios's post.)

there is never a moment where his ideals or alignment suddenly change. in fact, i’d argue that he and wyll are most consistent in this regard when compared to the rest of the companions. gale makes his moral standpoint very clear from the beginning on and also explicitly states that he believes that in order to survive this entire ordeal it would be selfish of him if he wouldn’t be willing to compromise on his morals. this isn’t a sudden bout of ✨muahahaha wizard hubris✨ that he barely contained to hold in before, this is yet another act of selflessness — it is what he’s willing to do for the group and subsequently, the welfare of faerun.

player: i love unsavoury things. don't feel guilty on my account. gale: that's good to know. although i should say i do what i do out of a sense of utility and pragmatism, not a love of the unsavoury. gale: we're up against the greatest threat faerun has ever faced. i don't mind getting my hands dirty if it gives us a better chance of surviving. gale: whatever advantage i can gain for us. i will. and i refuse to feel guilty for it, no matter how much mystra's chidings might echo in my skull.

this is him, once again trying to be useful in whatever way he can. to give them an advantage, a slither of hope against seemingly impossible odds, so they might make it out of this in one piece. gale wouldn’t approve of those actions under normal circumstances, but their predicament is as far from any definition of “normal” as it can get.

gale is no fool, he realizes this is essentially about survival. he knows that he has no option left other than to tolerate, which is why he can be convinced to not immediately depart tav’s company even if they choose to commit atrocities. this is no character flaw of his or him displaying a previously dormant openness for cruelty, this is about recognizing the necessity.

player: you don't stand a chance alone. you're free to go. i dare you. gale: gods damn you - you're right. few things are more powerful than the will to live.

gale: i thought the orb to be the greatest of my sins, but i see now that there are darker depths to which i might yet sink. you may be content to sink into that abyss, but i assure you - i am not.

gale doesn’t lead a split existence. he has a very strong sense of identity. he knows what he wants, what he doesn’t want and he isn’t shy in expressing his boundaries either. which he has especially shown when it comes to his relationship with tav. i originally had intended to touch upon this in another post entirely but: i firmly believe his entire Gale of Waterdeep™ persona is more of a performance than him struggling to find a sense of identity and trying them on for size. it is an intentional decision to separate gale dekarios from the great wizard of waterdeep, to create distance and make sure his family name remains untarnished in case things should ever go sideways.

gale: i agree. and on the plus side, if i get myself into any truly cataclysmic straits during the remainder of our journey, my family name will go untarnished.

there is also a deep-rooted feeling of unworthiness and his firm belief that love and praise are conditional resources that he will only be granted through his talents alone, naturally. presenting himself as gale dekarios, the man, would mean highlighting his shortcomings and very human flaws, while distracting from the aspects of himself that are deemed praiseworthy, the ones that actually matter: his magical prowess.

i personally believe that part of the beauty of gale’s story is him realizing just how “little” it takes for him to be truly content. he gets his happy ending, with someone at his side who truly sees him, understands him and unabashedly commits to him. they worship and adore him in return — and it is well deserved. he isn’t reduced to be constantly and restlessly searching for some unattainable ideal to fill the gaping void within himself. he doesn’t secretly thirst for more power still or believes that in being with tav he is settling for something. instead, he is finally happy to just be. be and be accepted. teaching a class of unruly wizards and coming home to his spouse each day already fulfills him.

gale: that's how i feel with you - content. it's a rather unfamiliar feeling, i must say. not something gale of waterdeep ever craved.

even if he doesn’t pursue a romance with tav, he reaches a realization of “oh, it appears i am not irredeemably flawed and only able to reach true redemption through my own death. what i needed was actually with me all along.” throughout their journey and through his friend's support. i think that’s a very powerful and comforting message. he is very well capable of finding peace within himself.

devnotes: his default state is that he returned to waterdeep and became a professor of illusory magic at his former school, blackstaff academy. general vibe here is that this is a gale who's found peace with himself - he's a great teacher, one his students are mostly in awe of.

to repeat myself: sharing your headcanons is all in good fun, nor should you ever be discouraged from doing so. this is your personal tumblr experience, after all. but i personally think we should be mindful of unintentionally perpetuating negative stereotypes, such as narcissism being a general indicator or being deemed a classic depiction of bpd. i think we can all agree that the continuous longing for acceptance, connection, praise, and approval is something we all have in common deep down, regardless of whatever disorder we may have. [insert victoria justice meme here]

gale may be many things to many people, but he is no entitled narcissist.

[fandom-puzzle-peaces]

Just a Thought About Cale Part 2

It hath been requested, so here is a sort of continuation from my last post. Today I am gonna talk more about what I believe Cale embodies:

HOPE & LOVE

In my first post I already talked about hope a bit, and ya’ll can read that if you want my full take on this, but I will continue where I left off. Last time, I mentioned that something was missing when I listed out what it is exactly that Cale hopes to have in his “slacker life.” Said list is:

A nice house

A peaceful place to have said house in

A ton of money

After looking at this you may be wondering what is missing, since it looks like everything Cale has stated time again to want is already there. However, we all know how unreliable of a narrator he is and that he never actually fully says what he wants unless it’s money. What is missing is his hope of having a family living there with him in that nice peaceful house.

It’s so obvious that he misses having others around him, regardless of how many times he denies it. He’s just scared of losing them again, and for a time I do genuinely believe he had given up on that hope of having loved ones. But over the course of his new life as Cale Henituse you can slowly but surely see that hope being rekindled. It also helps when he learns that the “curse” that was accidentally placed on him due to white star shenanigans is now gone.

So now he actually has a chance to be able to keep his new family around, and you better believe he will do anything in his power to do so. We have already seen plenty of his self-sacrificial stunts to know this fact already. Cale’s list of hopes, of course, has continued to grow from just those beginning 3 that encompass his “slacker life,” and most likely will as time goes on to most likely include the simpler pleasures of life he can indulge in with his family.

A true family man I would say!

Now, regardless of how many hopes he has (or how small they may seem), Cale is someone who is full of hope and in turn fills others with it as well. So where does Love fit into our beloved idiot you may ask? Look at all of the people he has surrounded himself with and how he interacts with them. He may say he's "trashy" and a "bad person," but we all know he isn't with how he acts. Cale is highly perceptive of his family’s condition, their wants and needs. He goes out of his way, all the time, to make them happy:

He gives the children sweets and cuddles all the time

He gave Raon his name

He gives Rosalyn whatever she needs for her research and is helping her become the Magic Tower Master

He visits Alberu all the time and just hangs out, which must be such a relief to shed the royal persona (even if Cale does steal his cookies)

He lets Ron mess with him even though he hates it and helps him take back his ancestral home

Always eats everything Beacrox gives him and compliments it (probably also gives him new kitchen tools and ingredients to mess with as well)

He gave Eruhaben a reason to live longer and extended the dragon’s lifespan—and went through one hell of trial to do it—so he could do so (said reason being to live with them for as long as possible)

He gave Mary the world to experience and explore to her heart's content

Took in Lock and his siblings and just lets them be kids, albeit very violent ones

He got Choi Han a new sword (which he treasures), as well as a new home and family (which he treasures even more)

That's not even counting all he does for the others and his allies. But most of all, Cale protects them:

He never puts the kids in a situation where they can be hurt

Even when one of them was in harm’s way (Raon), he bodily shielded them not once but twice

He carried Rosalyn (with his weak noodle arms) when she couldn't stand out of harm’s way

He keeps Alberu's heritage a secret and helps him politically

He literally blew up an island for Ron

I don't think he's had a big moment for Beacrox yet, but he has saved him from the fate of living in a world without his father

Has shielded Eruhaben before from the White Star

Like the kids, Mary is almost always out of harm's way and he also protects her politically

Has shielded Lock during the Battle at the Gorge of Death

He protected Choi Han from completely losing it, as the biggest danger to Choi Han is Choi Han himself

Cale loves his newfound family so much he speedran the war with White Star in UNDER A YEAR!! And that's just for his family! You cannot tell me he hasn't also fallen in love with his new (well what was supposed to be his really) home world. He is literally tracking down and annihilating the Hunters who are in other worlds because they keep going after his in part 2. Don't tell me that isn't love! It also doesn't help that, no matter how much he denies it, Cale gets attached fairly easily. He wants people around him to love who love him in return.

GIVE THIS MAN SOME HUGS!

Anyways, I think I have rambled long enough. Hope ya’ll enjoyed this!

Brief interest check: how would ya’ll feel if I posted some creative prompts for writing, drawing, etc.? Lemme know however you want.

@elaemae hope you liked it!

[kirasworldofwords]

Webbonso + 55. Mutual Pining (+ Oblivious)

The Webbonso crowd has found me- Ngl though, although I'm not the biggest fan of Mark for obvious reasons (I'm more of a Seb person, lmao, and yk what happened with them), I do love myself some Webbonso. 🫶🏻

Prompt 55: Mutual Pining (+ Oblivious)

How many more times did Fernando want to watch as they created a disaster situation for PR through just... existing together, knowing what the fans screamed was a deep and personal wish on his part?

How many more times was Mark willing to let it all happen without going absolutely batshit crazy at the prospect of being seen as someone more than a friend to Fernando?

How many more times would they be able to stay silent? Unknowing if the other reciprocated their feelings or not?

Fernando had tried a few times - or, well, at least attempted to try. Whenever it got too serious, however, he backed out, afraid of Mark's reaction. And the Australian would just brush it off as Fernando being Fernando - he liked to bullshit around here or there, both on and off track. That was just his personality.

But he, too, had tried spilling his feelings to Fernando at least a few times already, too. Yet every time he even so much as thought of actually doing it, bile rose in his throat and he had to physically turn away, so as to not throw up on whatever was ahead of him at the time.

In short, Mark's pride literally made him sick whenever he tried to be vulnerable with the Spaniard.

Many nights, Fernando would stay up until the early morning hours, staring at the ceiling, journaling. He had found out not too much prior to him realizing he had a thing for Mark that journaling really helped him with his emotions.

Likewise, many times, Mark would stay awake as well, writing poems pleading with the world to finally give him the mental as well as physical strength to overcome his pride and finally say what he knew he needed to say to Fernando - or he'd write love letters to the Aston Martin driver, yet he'd always stuff them away immediately after proof-reading and correcting them, for fear Fernando would make fun of him if he ever found them.

One such letter, however... made its way into the wilderness that was Mark's bedroom one fateful day. The same day Fernando happened to be over for a beer or two.

His mind had been all over the place, uncertain and confused, scared on top of it all, too. Yet it was just as lovesick as it was terrified, the secret love he held for Mark soon overpowering the fear in the very core of his heart, to the point where he'd randomly cry to himself.

If Michael had been there, he'd have told Fernando to man up already and finally tell Mark.

If Sebastian had been there, he'd have told Mark to face his fears and let Fernando know, for his own sanity as well as the Spanish driver's, who must've already noticed by then - and he must've been so worried for his friend, too.

"But he doesn't see me like that" they'd both tell themselves, trying to think in relative terms whenever thoughts of confession so much as briefly came up.

Until Fernando found one of Mark's letters.

Under the guise of needing to use the bathroom, he snuck the piece of paper with him, locking himself in and sitting down on the closed lid of the toilet to read what the former Red Bull pilot had written there.

Only when his eyes finally fully registered a few wet spots on the paper, Fernando realized that he was crying. And his heart was racing, and it ached so much, and everything was unbearable and he felt so stuffed and trapped and-

"Nando? Are you okay in there? Do you need any help?"

Out. Out, out, he had to get out, right now...!

The door to the bathroom clicked and swung open, so suddenly that it almost gave the older Australian whiplash. What did give him whiplash, however, was the sight he received immediately after his brain finally adjusted to the sudden occurrences, eyes going wide in shock.

There, Fernando stood, tears rolling down his cheeks as he held a piece of paper in his left hand, in a way that almost screamed at Mark that Fernando wanted him to see it.

The Aussie's heart dropped, down to his smallest toe.

"Fernando... I... I can explain-"

But the Spanish man was quicker, rushing towards Mark and pressing their lips together in a kiss that took both of them by surprise - so much so, Mark couldn't even respond to it in any way there was, causing him to just stand there, pale-faced and absolutely horrified one minute before blushing like crazy the next. The paper Fernando held was long disregarded, having floated to the ground already, somewhere next to Fernando's feet. The younger man held Mark's face in his hands instead, in a slightly tighter grip than intended of him, as he glared at the Australian through glistening tears.

"Cállate, cabrón."

Before he could attempt to kiss Mark anew, the adrenaline and emotions in his system running as high as they never did before, Mark held him in place, pushing his hands against Fernando's chest to hold him back and looking at him worriedly.

"Nando, you know I don't speak Spanish..."

The wildly emotional look on Fernando's face softened at the sound of Mark's voice, which was barely above a whisper at this point, one last tear of high emotion betraying the Spaniard as it rolled down his cheek.

"I said shut up, asshole. ... And let me kiss you instead."

The tone of which Fernando made use was enough to cause Mark to smile gently, yet his words only deepened it, and he retreated his hands from the Aston Martin pilot's chest to reposition them on his waist instead.

"Gladly."

This time, both went into the kiss with clear intentions and expectations, both of which were met and fulfilled, executed perfectly, one might say. To them, it felt like an eternity and a half - though in reality, it was more like two minutes of them just standing there, in front of the open bathroom of which the light was turned on, still, both of them having forgotten the world around them and simply focusing on each other and themselves as they kissed without a care.

Once they did gently break apart again, however, Mark brought their foreheads together, nosing at Fernando's nose with his own.

"I thought you didn't see me in that way..."

The Spaniard chuckled brokenly, closing his eyes.

"What a coincidence... I thought the same of you."

They fell silent. For about five minutes, all they did was breathe in each other's air, reveling in the other's sheer presence. Soon, Fernando murmured almost inaudibly.

"... So... both of us had feelings for the other all this time..."

Mark didn't do much more than nod at this, maybe he hummed in tow, he couldn't quite tell. There was a noise, yes, but his mind was so far out of it, he couldn't tell who or what it came from. Could've just been a random outside noise for all he cared.

"Does that mean... I get to call you mine...? I've been hoping and praying for so long for a miracle like this to happen someday, and for us to find our ways to each other soon..."

Fernando smiled gratefully at the carefully curated words that left Mark's mouth, pecking his lips again shortly.

"Call me whatever you want... So long as I get to call you mi amor, I'm all fine with it."

The sight of his favorite Spaniard smiling like that was contagious, Mark had to admit - because he found himself smiling just the same way Fernando was.

"You got yourself a deal there, Nando."

[sorinethemastermind]

16 & 20 for Sorvus🙏🏻

 Corvus had really tried to keep an eye on Soren. He had promised Claudia, after all. She’d made it very clear what would happen otherwise. But in the mass of gyrating bodies, roaring music, and strobing lights it had been far too easy for him to slip away into the crowd. Corvus cursed under his breath as somebody bumped into him, sloshing part of their drink down his front. They didn’t even notice in whatever haze they were in; just continued dancing. He swerved around them, ringing whatever it was from his shirt as best he could. He hated parties.

 The only reason he had agreed to come to this one was because Soren had asked. Corvus had to admit he’d been surprised. They’d been playing on the Katolis Crownguards together for years and the other boy had never seemed to show any particular interest in him. But something about Soren had changed recently. And whatever had changed had also brought him waltzing across the locker room after practice to ask Corvus if he wanted to go to the New Year’s Eve party. And for some stupid reason Corvus had said yes. Even though he hated parties and he’d already made plans with Gren and Amaya. She’d rolled her eyes when he canceled on them, but Gren had tried to be supportive and offer words of encouragement. That might have been worse. It was certainly more embarrassing.

 And then he’d shown up, and Soren’s sister had been there, ducking out the door giggling with boyfriend in tow. She’s drawn up short when she saw him, then thrown her arms wide and grinned, swallowing him in a gigantic hug. 

 “Corvus!” she’d cried. “Thank god you’re here. Can you keep an eye on Sor-bear for me?”

 Her breath had reeked of alcohol and mistakes about to be made. But he’d just nodded, even as she warned him that for all Soren might boast, he couldn’t handle his booze and that Corvus was under no circumstances to let him have more than three drinks.

 “How many has he had already?” Corvus had asked.

 She’d thought for a moment. “Five!”

 Corvus had been about to ask how that was supposed to work, but she was already skipping down the drive and away, dragging Terry with her (he at least gave Corvus an apologetic smile before allowing himself to be pulled behind a bush). Corvus had sighed, rolled up his metaphorical sleeves (it was too cold to actually do it) and gone inside.

 He had caught sight of Soren several times over the course of the night, usually by the cooler, often surrounded by the other members of the Katolis Crownguards. But by the time that Corvus had fought his way through the crowd, he had vanished, melting back into the throng of celebrating teenagers. That was how Corvus ended up with drink spilled down his front. 

 Giving up, he pushed frustratedly through to the bathroom. It was occupied, but the door was open, and he took that as an excuse to kick out the pair of lovesick seniors who clearly weren’t using it correctly. They ran off giggling and he was able to close the door behind them and block out some of the noise.

 Corvus took off his shirt and wrung it out over the sink before slipping it back on, wrinklier and still smelling strongly of vodka. He should never have let himself be this stupid. What had he been thinking? New Year’s Eve parties are always like this. They’ve always been like this and they always will be like this. And he was stupid to think that he could like one, no matter who had invited-

 Corvus opened the door to find Soren standing there. Alright, standing was a stretch. He had very clearly had more than three drinks (and probably more than five) and it looked like he probably would be on the floor without the support of the banister. And yet there was still a plastic cup in his hand, newly filled by the looks of it. 

“Corvus!” Soren exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air and sloshing the contents of the cup onto the floor. “You made it! Guys, look, Corvus made it!” 

 Corvus looked around, but the announcement had been made to a mostly empty hallway. Certainly not to anybody he recognized.

 “How many of those have you had?” he asked, pointing to the cup in a desperate attempt to live up to Claudia’s (drunken and most likely misguided) trust.

 “Oh, uh. I don’t know.” Soren mused, taking a few lopsided steps forward. “Seven-”

 “That’s not so bad.”

 “-ty four?”

 Corvus was about to explain why that number was highly improbable, but decided it would be breath wasted. 

 “Let’s get you some water.” he said instead, guiding Soren over to sit on the edge of the tub even as he plucked the plastic cup from his hand and dumped it’s contents into the sink.

 Once he was satisfied that Soren wouldn't fall backwards and hurt himself, he rinsed the cup out a few times (just to be safe) and filled it with water from the tap. Soren didn’t even seem to notice that the cup had been absent by the time he’d slipped it back into his hand.

 “You’re so perfect.” Soren said as Corvus sat down next to him, one hand steadying him. “Did you know that? You should know that. People probably tell you allllll the time. How can anyone be so perfect?”

 “Soren, drink your water.” 

 “Maybe you’re just a dream.” he continued, but afterwards he did take a sip. 

 “But not like a nightmare. No, not like a nightmare.” Soren shook his head violently, something he seemed to regret immediately after. “Like a good dream. A good, good dream.”

 Corvus tried to ignore what he was saying. Sure, if he hadn't of been drunk, then this would probably be a scene right out of one of Corvus’ own dreams. But he was drunk. Corvus reminded himself of that several times. He was drunk, so none of this was real. It might as well be a dream, for all the truth in it.

 “Wait no.” Soren said after a moment of silence, holding up a finger as if to ask for pause. “This is not a dream. I think. Cause in my dreams, we’re usually kissing.”

 And that did catch Corvus’ attention despite his best efforts.

 “We’re usually… kissing?”

 “Yeah.” Soren nodded, a little more gingerly this time. “Yuppers.”

 Corvus ignored the word yuppers. “Do you… do you like me?”

 “Why wouldn’t I like you?” Soren asked, perplexed. Corvus wasn’t sure if it was because of the amount of alcohol in his system or if it was actually a stupid question to ask. “Of course I like you. You’re Corvus.”

 “Then did you… did you invite me…” Corvus glanced around, and even though it was just them, he still whispered the last bit of his question. “As a date?”

 “What? Nooooo.” Soren said, and Corvus' heart dropped to his stomach. His face burned as Soren continued; "You're Corvus.”

 “Yeah. I’m Corvus.” he agreed quietly, feeling silly. Of course Soren didn’t like him back. He’d invited all of the Crownguards. And after all, like Soren had said, he was Corvus.

 But Soren wasn’t done yet. “You’re Corvus.” he said again. “You’re so cool, and classy, and you play the giant violin-”

 “Cello.”

 “That’s what I said. You’re just like so… Corvus.”

 “And is that… a good thing?”

 “Duh.” Soren slapped him on the back so hard Corvus nearly fell forward onto the floor. But he was laughing, and then they were both laughing. After a moment Soren fell silent, and he stared into his little plastic cup the way people stare into shot glasses in movies.

 “And I’m so… Soren. You’re all cool and cute and confident and I’m all… not.”

 “What are you talking about?” Corvus asked, genuinely confused. “You’re one of the most confident people I know.”

 He didn’t add that Soren was also definitely cute.

 Soren snorted, and though there was still a bit of a slur in his voice as he spoke, his expression was downcast. “I’m so not confident. I’m like… I’m like stupid, and not smart, and worthless.”

 Corvus wasn’t really sure what to say to that, so instead he just looped an arm around Soren’s shoulders, which did seem to successfully distract them both from anything else that had been happening. So they just sat there for a moment, until eventually Soren freed his own arm from where it was trapped between them and looped it around Corvus’ shoulders in turn. 

 “This is nice.” he said. “Why don’t we do this all the time?”

 “Well-” Corvus began, but he cut himself off. “I don’t know.”

 “We should. I think I’d like that.” And then Soren ruined the moment by winking at him and adding; “Dream boy.”

 Corvus could just imagine Amaya rolling her eyes. But he banished her spectral presence, feeling heat rising in his cheeks. Which Soren then proceeded to poke. 

 “What are you doing?” Corvus asked, startled.

 “Making sure you’re real.” Soren replied, poking him again. “See. You are real. So that’s cool.”

 “Yes. Very cool.”

[sponfawn]

Ok, look. Looklooklooklooklook.

Im feeling dense af and you wanna know why? I have read mth at LEAST 10 times start to finish. And I never noticed the parallel between the scene where Brick rejects Blossom and his dream about Blossom until today???

Like???

??????????

Nskzz xprh dksinq ekcwjnc

Like obviously I knew the dream is his subconscious desire taking over to the point where he doesn't realize it's a dream, and desperately wanting to be with her but in a passive way. But it's not just his desire for her and his general regret, it's also his desperate wish for a do-over of that specific first conversation. Where instead of having a "talk" with him saying he can't be with her, she makes the choice for him and he gets to surrender to it. I'm not really sure how to word it but the fact that he finished dream!Blossom's sentence with "To talk" really seals it for me. Like there could've been other ways to end that sentence, but he chose those specific words, kind of steering the dream back to that conversation in a choose your own adventure kinda way? And they are the only words he says in the entire dream that actually align with his thoughts - the only honest ones (the only other line he says out loud is in direct contrast with his thoughts). At the party, Brick says he wanted to talk to Blossom but doesn't know what he would even say to her. Our "mature" dumbass just really wants "to talk" and get an alternate ending where they close the distance. But he has no idea how to get that through his own volition and agency.

I have no doubt that a bunch of other ppl saw this years ago, but it's making me emotional and I had to get it out

(edited a bit for clarity)

[disorganised-bagel]

hello hello :) here is my rtc secret santa for @kittycatsfromzolar :D i didn't know what you'd want so i wrote some spacerap because you said you liked them :D i really hope this is okay :')

happy holidays :D

@rtc-secret-santa-event

Ricky looked down at the piano before him, gently running a fingertip over the keys.

Choir practice had just wrapped up for the day, the other members all saying their goodbyes and getting ready to leave. As she did every time, Ocean had briefly stopped by him on her way out to remind him to practice (wasn't that what these meetings were for?), and compliment his skills at the instrument.

It had been a surprise to the others that he could play the piano, having not had a chance to bring it up before being relegated to tambourine, but they had been more than happy to allow him to switch instruments if he wanted to, as a part of helping to include him more as a part of the choir.

The group had become much more tight-knit following the Cyclone, and as a result that meant that he was actually being treated as part of the team, which was nice.

"Yo! Ricky!"

Ricky looked up, blinking, having been broken out of his stupor by a voice addressing him (he still wasn't used to people interrupting his thoughts by actually talking to him, though he couldn't say it was unwelcome).

Misha had apparently lagged behind the others, remaining stood in the middle of the room, backpack slung casually over one shoulder.

Smiling, Ricky waved.

"Hi Misha," he said using his AAC device, which sat on his lap.

Misha grinned as he approached, looking between Ricky and the piano.

"You play piano madwickedawesome!" he said with a starry-eyed expression, bouncing on his heels. "Almost as dope as squeeze-keys."

"Accordion," Ricky corrected, flushing a little at the compliment. "And thank you! I love playing music."

Misha nodded enthusiastically, and Ricky noted the way he was fiddling slightly with the cuffs of his sleeves.

"You okay?" he asked, tilting his head a little towards Misha, who continued nodding.

"Yes, yes, I just... have a question," he gestured towards the piano. "I have been working on my next sick track, and I thought it could be epic to have some piano instrumentals, if you would be down?"

Eyes widening slightly, Ricky nodded eagerly, grinning.

"Sure!" he replied, eliciting a quiet 'yes!' from Misha. "But also, if you wanted, maybe I could try and teach you some piano? Since, y'know."

He waved a hand at the piano he was sat at.

Misha gasped, hands flapping slightly in excitement.

"Dude! That would be so dope! Thank you so much!" he said. "Only if you are sure, though?"

"Of course!"

At that, Misha quickly grabbed a chair from a nearby desk, pulling it up beside the piano bench that Ricky was sat on.

With Misha's permission, Ricky gently took his right hand and laid it across the keys, putting it in the correct position, before copying it with his own and beginning to go through the basics.

Misha proved to be a quick learner, easily mimicking Ricky's movements and picking it up - even attempting the sheet music that had been left in the stand (though he struggled to read the annotations that Ocean had scrawled around the staves).

He was also a good listener, encouraging Ricky to tell him about himself and his interests as he copied his playing.

After a while of this, upon finishing the general summary of Zolar lore that he had been giving Misha (there was nowhere near enough time to get too far into the intricacies of Zolarian society, but hopefully at a later date. Misha seemed invested, at least), Ricky realised that he had been rambling slightly, and decided to encourage Misha to talk, too.

"I'm interested how the piano will fit into a rap song," he raised his eyebrows, curious. Misha looked up from the C key he was pressing repeatedly, eyes lighting up.

"It is actually not rap!" he said excitedly. "I have been branching out into new genres, yo! Nobody can put Misha Bachynskyi in a box! Have you heard any of my new stuff?"

Ricky frowned slightly, as he shook his head.

Admittedly, he'd been meaning to keep up with Misha's 'BadEgg' YouTube channel, but it kept slipping his mind.

Misha didn't seem to mind though, smile remaining wide.

"I have been trying guitar," he switched to repeatedly pressing the D key. "Sounds sick."

"I should check it out, then," Ricky nodded, typing with one hand as he absentmindedly played a simple melody with the other.

"Yes!" Misha nodded, before gasping, eyes wide with excitement as he suddenly pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Actually! I should have the song I have been working on here somewhere..."

He began scrolling through his audio recordings, which, from what Ricky could see from where he was sitting, were named things ranging from words in Ukrainian that he didn't understand, to stuff like 'orphan a hole diss track' (Ricky remembered that one. Ocean had been horrified at all the colourful language Misha'd managed to use in the chorus).

Eventually, he stopped at one titled 'BADEGGS NEXT SICK DROP YO' with several fire emojis, and pressed play.

Immediately, despite what Misha had been saying, Ricky was still caught off-guard at the extreme shift in genres from his other music. True to his word, it was very different to the intense, overly-autotuned rap that he had otherwise been creating.

Instead, Ricky was nodding his head along to the gentle strumming of the guitar chords, Misha's low voice singing in Ukrainian over it. Admittedly, the audio mixing needed a little work, but Ricky found himself smiling softly as he listened, this moment suddenly feeling oddly intimate, despite the fact that he couldn't understand the words being spoken.

Despite how different it was from the other things he'd heard from him, it felt very Misha. Just... passion, not rage, he supposed.

Glancing up at Misha, he saw him already looking back at him, eyes softer than he'd ever seen them (Ricky wasn't used to being looked at that way. He thought he might like it). He was smiling too, tooth gap on full display, and Ricky almost found it comical, that this was Uranium's alleged 'bad boy' he was sitting beside.

Eventually, the last few notes of the track played out, and Misha shoved his phone back into his pocket, eager grin back on his face.

"So! What did you think?" he asked. "I would like your feedback. You know this stuff."

Flushing a little, Ricky signed a quick 'thank you', before thinking for a second.

"I liked it," he nodded a little, watching as Misha pressed down a chord on the piano again. He really was picking it up quickly. "It was different, but in a good way."

"Yes!" Misha pumped a fist in the air. "That is what I was going for. Thank you, Space Jesus!"

Ricky beamed at the nickname, one that had managed to stick for a while now, and still managed to fill Ricky with warmth every time he heard it.

"I think that piano would really take it to the next level, you know?" Misha added, leaning his entire elbow on the keys, before grimacing slightly at the discordant noise it made. Ricky nodded. "Dude, this is gonna be so sick! BadEgg and Space Jesus' epic new collab! The world is not ready, man!"

"Hell yeah!" Ricky grinned in response, raising a hand, which Misha eagerly met with a fistbump.

At that moment, however, Ricky's eyes caught on the clock hanging from the classroom wall, and he almost had to do a double-take. How had they been in there for nearly two hours?

Noticing his sudden shift in demeanour, Misha turned quickly in his seat (almost causing it to topple over), following his gaze to the clock, before sighing.

"Ah," he said, and Ricky nodded, suddenly feeling a wave of disappointment washing over him. "Time passed so quickly, yo. Should probably be getting out of here, huh?"

He stood up and began moving the chair back over to where it came from, rearranging the classroom to how it had been before practice (though he was careful not to disturb Ricky's crutches, which were leaned against a desk nearby).

"Thank you for helping me out, man!" Misha added, grabbing his backpack from where he'd dumped it on the floor and slinging it back over his shoulder. "You are very wise."

Ricky felt the corners of his mouth tugging up as he began packing away his sheet music, stopping for a second to type a response.

"No problem," he thought for a moment. "If you want, maybe you could come over to mine sometime? I have a keyboard at home." A pause. "Though... my cats chew on the cables a lot so I'm not entirely sure how functional it is anymore."

"Dude, that would be so sick!" Misha gasped, bouncing on his heels as he beamed at Ricky. "Thank you so much!"

Ricky returned the smile, and for a few beats they both remained in silence, before Misha suddenly leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

However, Ricky barely had a chance to process it, his face flushing bright red as Misha cleared his throat, suddenly avoiding eye contact.

"See you tomorrow, dude!" he said, pointing finger guns at him, which Ricky dazedly returned as Misha turned on his heel and left.

Then, after a few seconds, he smiled.

Maybe he was a bigger BadEgg fan than he thought.

[afewproblems]

A Clear and Present Threat of Tongue

Sooooo this idea shook me like a rag doll and wouldn't let me go until I got it all out, this is a Steddie Stranger Things New Girl AU taking place during the first kiss episode between Jess and Nick. But its waaay longer and more angsty than I anticipated. So.

Enjoy!

It’s all Gareth's fault in hindsight. 

As his best friend and confidant, Gareth really should have taken Eddie’s feelings into account when he suggested a party out loud in front of everyone.

Not that the party was a particularly bad idea, parties had been prime money making opportunities in the years before - although that had certainly dwindled, what with the murder accusations and earthquakes. 

And Eddie was trying to make it a point of avoiding dealing around the kids or Hoppers disapproving glare.

So no, it wasn't so much the party.

Steve had taken it upon himself to host, as per usual, and everyone had been invited. The gremlins, Nancy and Jonathan, Argyle, Gareth, Jeff, and Robin of course without question. Gareth brought Megan Walsh with him while Robin brought another underclassman, Vickie something, she seemed cool - a little quiet for Eddie's taste but that wouldn’t be the only reason she didn’t do it for him.

Nah, Eddie was looking for something a little taller, louder, with big brown eyes and plush pink lips he wanted to sink his teeth into and an ass that wouldn’t quit even if he begged. 

And Eddie didn’t beg.

It was an end of summer pool party that had extended beyond the warm sunshine and moved into the main house when the last few rays had swapped for the cool twilight of the evening. 

There had been no shortage of food and drinks and a few tokes in the garage from the decent Cali strain Argyle had brought with him. The kids had gone to bed one by one leaving the rest of them to move down to the basement as Steve had put it, ‘to keep the noise to a minimum while the little shits sleep’.

The combination of weed and beer had them floating in the sweet-spot, not that everyone had partaken - Argyle and Jonathan stuck to weed only while the girls nursed their beers.

Eddie, Gareth and Jeff were the only three that were on the floor and feeling alright by the time midnight had rolled around. 

“We should play a game,” Gareth says, blurting out the words from his place on the floor, he’s grinning a little with glazed eyes and wild hair splayed around his head like a halo.

And this, this should have been Eddie’s first warning. 

Now Uncle Wayne had a great rule, a fantastic rule, ‘Nothing good ever happens after midnight kiddo, remember that’.

Eddie should have listened to the old man.

Jeff hums lightly from the floor and Megan perks up at the idea, shifting up to the edge of the couch, trying to catch Gareth's glazed eyes.

"What kind of game?" She says, her voice lilting and curious, Eddie smirks and elbows Gareth in the side.

Gareth huffs out a groan at the contact and rolls slightly to level a glare at the metal-head, Eddie raises his eyebrows and darts his eyes from Gareth to Megan before raising a single eyebrow. 

Go for it man! 

Gareth cocks his head, a confused expression pulling at his brow as his red eyes pan from Eddie to the other side of the room and back again. 

Nowhere near Megan.

Just as Eddie makes to turn to wherever Gareth is looking, a small grin blooms on his best friend's otherwise lax face, the bassist sits up with a groan and shakes out his own wild mane of curls.

"Truth or Dare?"

"Choice game brochacho," Argyle laughs from the loveseat he's laid out across, Jonathan nods with his eyes closed. Everyone seems pleased with the situation if the chorus of 'sure's', and  'sounds good,' is anything to go by. 

Even Steve - who Eddie can’t help but notice has also stuck to beer most of the night and seems slightly tipsy as he wanders over from the far side of the room and drops onto the floor beside him. 

Steve says a quiet, 'cool,' as he brings his one knee up to his chest to lean on.

He smells of spice and pine tonight and Eddie fights the urge to curl against him.

Nancy volunteers to go first and picks dare, surprising everyone except for Jonathan and Steve, who laugh as Robin stumbles her way through crafting the perfect task for Nancy to perform.

Vickie whispers into Robin’s ear which elicits a delicate blush that settles over Robin’s cheeks and ears as she settles back against the couch with a soft smile.

“We dare you to do a cartwheel!” Robin crows, laying out her palm towards Vickie who immediately gives her an unapologetic high-five, Eddie rolls his eyes and nudges Steve beside him. 

“I expected better than that coming from Buckley,” he says just slightly over a whisper level if the death glare Robin shoots at him is any indication, Steve snorts and takes another sip of his drink.

“She’s just warming up Munson, you better watch out or you’ll paint a target on your back,” Steve stage whispers back, winking as he turns his attention to Nancy who has cleared a pathway next to their little circle to attempt her cartwheel. 

Eddie swallows and tries to fight down the blush that threatens to creep over his face. 

Fuck. He is so unfairly pretty. 

Steve's hair is remarkably untidy this evening, and his ears are slightly pink from the alcohol, and his stupid perfect jawline makes Eddie want to bite something - preferably Steve. 

He’s wearing one of his little polo’s, a light yellow number that accentuates his bright brown eyes and the dotting of moles and freckles dappling his face. 

Oh yeah, Eddie’s a goner. 

Nancy manages to half somersault and land on all fours before jumping to her feet in an Olympic pose that draws a mix of laughter and applause from the group. Eddie watches as Steve puts down his drink and politely claps as he smiles indulgently at Nancy, Eddie frowns slightly as he tamps down a flicker of jealousy that builds in his chest. 

He misses Robin stand up and stride towards Nancy before leaning in to whisper in her ear with a predatory grin. Nancy’s eyes drift from Robin to Eddie and back again, she nods once and turns back to the group, her facial expression betraying nothing. 

“Oh dude, you’re in for it now,” Steve murmurs to Eddie as Nancy and Robin resume their seats in the circle.

“What?” Eddie says as Nancy clears her throat and smiles at him, it's cutthroat and shark-like and Eddie is suddenly reminded why he’s always found Nancy intimidating.

“Eddie, truth or dare?” Nancy says in a silky voice, Jonathan seems to freeze at the tone and attempts to catch his eye, shaking his head like a mad-man and slicing a finger across his throat again and again, while Steve laughs softly beside him.

“Uh, Pft, Dare Wheeler,” Eddie says with a scoff and a wide grin, he stands up and starts stretching his arms across his chest, before cracking his neck and shaking out his shoulders, “just need to loosen up first here,” he claps his hands together, “okay what sort of gymnastics you got for me miss Nancy?”

Jonathan smacks his face into his hand in the corner while Robin giggles to Vickie, Eddie catches a few muttered words, but nothing concrete. Judging from the red face and ‘O’ shaped mouth that Vickie sends his way, it's definitely not good. 

Nancy clears her throat and waves her hand to catch his attention again, “eyes this way Munson,” she says slyly, and Eddie is suddenly sweating. 

“Eddie Munson, I dare you to take the person sitting closest to you into the spare bedroom for seven minutes in heaven. 

No one says a word for a moment. 

Eddie wishes for the basement floor to open and swallow him whole. He stares at the plush fibers of the rug, wondering if it would be at all possible to smother himself by pushing his face into the carpet. 

He absolutely refuses to look at Steve. 

The only person sitting beside him. 

He should have listened to the old man. 

***

Eddie paces the small space again and again, its five steps from wall to wall and it does nothing to ease the tension in the room. He tries to figure out how to tamp down the seemingly permanent flush that has stained his face since the two of them were pushed into the room. 

The door has been unceremoniously slammed shut behind them and a chorus of eight voices chant, ‘Kiss, Kiss, Kiss!’ over and over outside their temporary prison.

Damn Gareth for suggesting this stupid game, damn Nancy and Robin for conspiring against him and damn himself for his ridiculous delusional fantasy. 

Steve Harrington would never want to kiss someone like him, even if he did swing that way.

This was stupid and awful, damn everything.

Steve scoffs from his position on the foot of the bed, startling Eddie slightly.

“What is the big deal,” Steve sounds much more sober, and a lot more tired now that it's just the two of them, “lets just suck it up and french a little?”

Eddie nearly feels himself short-circuit at the words. 

He resists the urge to smack his head into the door and slowly turns on his heel to face Steve. 

His expression is bored, if slightly irritated to be stuck in this situation, but his arms are draped loosely on the bed and his shoulders are relaxed.

Huh. Not nervous then, but there is something else…

Eddie sighs and scrubs a ringed hand across his face, "Okay fine, but don’t say suck it up and french a little--"

"Do not complain to me Munson," Steve grumbles, his voice suddenly tight, "this is your fault. Let’s just do this," he shakes his hands out, Eddie notes the slightest tremor that runs over his left hand but it disappears the longer Eddie's gaze remains on it.

Fuck.

"Okay, okay, no, Steve this is not a big deal," Eddie says, his tone is light but gentle as he crosses over to the bed, he holds out his hands for Steve to take. 

Steve's eyes travel from his hands to Eddie's face, and back again. His expression flickers once before shuttering into the same bored expression from earlier. Steve clasps his hands once and squeezes them briefly before letting go and standing up to face Eddie.

"Right…not a big deal, let's just do it," Steve mumbles as he breathes out, he closes his eyes briefly and Eddie's never been this close before, he can count the freckles on his nose, "just do it Eds".

Oh god, oh god, he’s about to kiss Steve Harrington, this is fine, it's fine. It’s just a stupid party game, he can do this, he can be cool.

Eddie takes a deep breath, and raises his hands to grasp Steve by the shoulders before smoothing them down his arms, he leaves them loosely wrapped around his biceps, and Okay who the Hell gave him the right?

Focus.

He licks his lips and swallows his nerves, he can do this, he can do this!

Steve frowns, “Why are you licking your lips?” his voice pitched with confusion.

He can’t do this. 

“Should I not?” Eddie manages to say without stuttering, he coats his voice with false bravado as he rolls his shoulders and widens his stance, “you want dry lips Harrington?”

Steve scowls, “No”.

“Then I’m just licking them to make them better!” 

A pinched expression blooms over Steve’s face at the sudden rise in volume in Eddie’s words, he resists the urge to wipe the clammy sweat from his hands and instead lifts them from Steve’s biceps to his shoulders before placing his hands on the sides of Steve's face. Eddie’s fingers curl up into his hair behind each ear and Eddie swears for a moment he can feel Steve tilt his head into his hands -just slightly. 

“Ready?” Eddie murmurs, the earlier bravado gone as his eyes dart back and forth between Steve’s own. He’s looking just slightly up at Eddie, the barest hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“Ready,” Steve affirms with a small nod that jostles Eddie's hands.

“Okay,” Eddie breathes out through his nose slowly, “1, 2 -- I’m actually not going to do a count,” he lets go of Steve’s face, it’s too much, it’s ridiculous and Eddie feels as though he’s about to fly apart at any moment.

Steve doesn’t move but his eyes trail after Eddie's hands as they fall from his face before coming back up to meet Eddie’s gaze, “Okay?”

Eddie swallows, it feels like glass going down, this is not how he saw his night going, “That's not my style, when I kiss, I don’t, I don’t count down…”

Steve snorts and smiles slightly, biting his lip as he says, “Okay”.

Eddie breathes in sharply as Steve releases his lip to speak, he shakes his head once and reaches out with slightly unsteady hands, to grip Steve’s face once more, “Ready?”

Steve nods again, “Yes,” he’s looking up at Eddie with those warm brown eyes and long lashes and Eddie feels like he's going to faint.

Just move, he thinks to himself, just kiss him and then he can leave, never darken the door of the Harrington house again. He can pretend this never happened and go back to pining from afar. 

Eddie steels himself and tilts his head as he leans in slowly, he sweeps his thumb across Steve’s cheekbone, he can do this, he can do this. He continues moving forward as Steve suddenly rears back with a gasp.

There’s a slight tremor in his voice, as Steve says, “I’m, I’m sorry, you can’t do that…”

Eddie jerks backwards, “What did I do?” he cries out, he flings his hands away from Steve’s face, holding them up in something akin to surrender. He wracks his brain, running through the last thirty seconds, trying to think of what could have freaked Steve out this badly.

“Your fa-” Steve starts before clamping his mouth shut with a sharp click. He’s curling in on himself now, one arm slides up from his side to grasp his other arm.

It’s Eddie’s turn to stare.

“Were you, were you going to say my face?” Eddie says quietly, stepping back from Steve entirely, his now empty fists clench and unclench at his sides. There’s a flicker of anger an hurt in his chest, what the fuck did that mean?

They stare at each other for a moment, Eddie waits for Steve to elaborate but all he gets is a silent grimace.

“Yeah,” Steve says weakly, after a beat, his eyes anywhere but Eddie’s own, “you just…you can’t do that with your face dude”.

"Don’t call me dude right now," Eddie growls, breathing in deeply through his nose, this whole situation has been fucked from the start and he can't take it anymore. He's done.

“Okay, yeah, okay,” Eddie mutters before crossing the space to the closed door and pounding the flat of his palm against it, “Let me out of here!”

Behind him, Steve sighs as he moves over to the wall of the spare bedroom and slides down it until he’s seated with his legs splayed out. 

But Eddie doesn't care, he doesn't. He had prepared himself for this, he knew Steve wouldn't possibly feel the same way and now it was definitive. 

That didn't stop it from stinging.

Eddie growls as he tries for the handle again and the brass does nothing but rattle rather than turn.

“Why does this door lock from the outside? That can’t be safe,” Eddie mutters to himself as he turns away from the door to face Steve once more, he leans back against it and breathes out a sigh as the chorus of, ‘Kiss, Kiss, Kiss’ renews itself with vigor just outside.

Steve sighs again and raises both hands to rub down his face before dropping them heavily to the floor on either side of him, he stares at the wall for a moment before his expression flattens again. 

He looks up at Eddie with determination in his eyes before bringing his legs up to stand. 

“Okay,” Steve says softly, as he steps towards where Eddie is leaning against the door, “let’s just do this already, just kiss me--”

“No.” Eddie firmly huffs, he crosses his arms in front of his chest and nearly knocks his head against the door as he realizes there is nowhere else to go, “I don’t--I’m not gonna kiss you”.

Steve pauses in his approach, he seems so much smaller than normal, and Eddie hates every moment of this.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” Steve says quietly, he reaches up to pinch the tip of his nose and clears his throat, “you said it yourself, it’s not a big deal. If you don't want to do this that's, it's fine, you know how stubborn they are, I don't think they meant to lock the door--”

“I can’t--” Eddie cuts across him but Steve is still talking.

“I’m sorry that you got stuck with me,” Steve bites out, running a hand through his hair as he steps backwards now, away from Eddie, and sits on the end of the bed, “and I’m sorry that I got all weird just now, but--”

Eddie just can’t take it any longer.

“No Steve,” he says shrilly, not caring if the assholes outside the door are listening, not caring if the Loch Nora neighbors can hear him, not caring if the kids upstairs wake up, “It's, I just can’t, not like this!”

It takes a second for the words to register, they seem to float between them for a moment before each man registers what’s been said.

Steve stills on the bed, he doesn’t even look like he’s breathing, “What,” Steve says softly, “what, what does that mean?” 

Oh Fuck.

“Nothing,” Eddie blurts out, his heart is racing, the air is stale and thin in the basement bedroom and Eddie feels like he can’t breathe, “I didn’t mean it like, I just, we can’t like that because it's not, you know?”

Steve stares at him from the bed, “...what?”

Eddie has to leave, he can’t be in this room anymore, pinned to the door by a pair of soft brown eyes that have pinched in the middle into a confused and terrible frown.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Eddie says quietly, briskly walking past Steve and the bed as he moves towards the far wall with the single window.

“Where are you going? Eddie!” 

For the second time that night Eddie finds himself wishing he had listened to his old man. 

Attempting to climb out the window of the basement spare bedroom may not have been his best plan; as he hoisted himself up to the ledge, which was already up a good five feet at least, and popped the screen off, deaf to whatever words Steve was hissing at him, Eddie found himself sitting halfway in a window-well. 

About two feet from the open ground above.

And that was before his studded belt caught on the window ledge. 

“Fucking hell,” Eddie grits out as he shifts backwards only for the belt to wrench him back into place, no, no, no, this couldn’t be happening.

He hears a sigh behind him along with a low string of curses as quiet footsteps move away towards the far side of the room. Seven knocks sound on what he can only assume is the door in a strange pattern that halts the chant from the basement sitting room. A muffled voice he can’t quite make out says something that Steve responds to.

“Open up the goddamn door Buckley or I’ll never cover another morning shift again, we have a situation in here,” he says in a small, defeated voice. 

It all happens fairly quickly after that. 

Between Jeff, Nancy, and Argyle’s careful maneuvering they manage to extricate him from the window and lower him back to the floor. Nothing had prepared Eddie for the hot, tight feeling that would fill his chest as Argyle and Jeff snicker and high-five once he is back on solid ground. Nancy is smiling but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes as she looks from Steve and back to Eddie, expression slowly morphing into one of concern.

Robin is standing with Steve, both of them lean against the far back wall by the now open door. They seem to be having an intense whisper fight that ends with Steve storming out back into the main sitting room. 

Argyle knocks into him, suddenly draping an arm over Eddie’s shoulders and snatching his attention away from Robin and Steve. He herds Eddie forward on slightly unsteady legs to follow the rest of his rescue party as they all make their way out of the spare bedroom.

“That was freakin’ hilarious dude,” Argyle says with a warm laugh and bright, slightly hazy eyes,  “I mean Steve, Steve, he tried to climb out the window instead of kissing you, can you believe that?”

Steve stiffens from his new position on the loveseat but shakes his head after a beat and laughs; the sound rings hollow, a pale imitation to his usual beautiful laugh, “Eh, Robin just gets to add another tally to the ‘You Suck’ board, that’s all man”.

Argyle laughs and claps Eddie’s shoulder lightly one last time before moving towards Jonathan and Jeff, the trio grab a lighter from the coffee table and head back upstairs for another toke.

Robin and Nancy go back to join Vickie on the couch, their heads bent together in conversation, both girls looking up at Steve from time to time. 

Steve, meanwhile, is steadfastly staring at the floor.

I’m an idiot, Eddie thinks miserably to himself as he takes a seat on the floor next to Gareth who doesn't seem to have moved since his suggestion of Truth or Dare. 

"Hey man," Gareth says, turning his head slightly to see him better, "how'd it go?" 

Eddie says nothing, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers; he wants to tell Gareth about how much of a disaster the night was, how he's ruined everything way more than he could ever dreamed of and he still didn't get a kiss out of it.

"That well huh?" Gareth hums as he sits up and brings his legs in to sit cross-legged. 

The party has wound down significantly at this point, Steve has disappeared from the basement and Nancy has loudly announced she is leaving if anyone needs a ride home. Robin and Vickie trail after her with Megan not far on their heels, she sends an irritated glare their way, most likely directed at Gareth more-so than himself.

"Weird," Gareth mumbles, dragging his arm across his eyes clumsily, "I figured that would'a worked, with all the puppy-dog eyes he's been givin' you lately".

"What, uh, what?" Eddie says sharply, he must have heard him wrong or the weed has finally gotten to them, Gareth did not--

"Oh man, yeah I figured the Truth or Dare would totally give you an opening dude, you seemed on board?" 

Eddie's heart is racing now, his palms sweaty, what the fuck is he talking about?

"I mean you should've seen Harrington's face when you went in, all sunny an' shit, it's that Doe face you're always talking about--" 

"Gareth!" Eddie hisses, his face burning and shoulders tight, he stands up startling the other man as he paces the now empty sitting room.

He takes a deep breath and then another, bringing his hands up to press into his eyes roughly. 

"Okay, okay, so you're telling me," he says slowly, dropping his hands to his sides, "that you think Steve, Steve Harrington," he points a shaky finger to the ceiling, "is in to me?"

Gareth blinks, his eyebrows slowly climb into his wild curly hair, "Uh yeah dude".

He says it like it's the simplest thing in the universe. One plus one is two, the sky is blue, and Steve Harrington has feelings for one Eddie Munson. 

And suddenly, the words from earlier, the brittle broken sentence Steve uttered in their temporary prison, makes much more sense.

"I’m sorry that you got stuck with me". 

Steve thought Eddie had been stuck with him? 

Steve thought Eddie had been stuck with him?

The soft looks, small touches, and blinding grins, each tiny moment over the last few months tumble and fall together.

Oh God…

"...I am an idiot," Eddie whispers as he turns on his heel and makes his way to the stairs.

"Yeah! Get him dude!" Gareth calls after him as he flips back into the plush carpet with a laugh. 

Eddie wanders the dark main floor, tiptoeing through the living room, avoiding a sea of sleeping bags and pillowed heads of the kids as he goes, there is a faint light ahead of him coming from the staircase to the second floor. 

He makes his way up, careful to avoid the fifth stair as, 'it always creaks,' and the last thing he needed was Dustin, or Max, or, Ozzy forbid, Mike, interrupting.

Eddie maneuvers down the familiar hallway, and halts when he gets to Steve's room. The door is slightly ajar and, at last he’s found the source of the soft yellow light spilling down the hall and stairwell.

Eddie tips the door open, wincing at the piercing creek of the hinges as it slowly swings open revealing Steve sitting on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands. He doesn’t look up as Eddie steps into the room. 

“Hey Stevie,” Eddie says softly. 

He stuffs his hands into his pockets, suddenly unsure how to proceed, and awkwardly stands in the doorway, the wall to wall plaid threatens to burn his retinas but he holds firm. 

There are a few things in here Steve has clearly placed himself, the plush area rug covering up most of the chic parquet flooring running through the rest of the house. A new yellow duvet that clashes with the red plaid wallpaper, but it's Steve's choice for once. The picture of the car has been replaced by a small cork board, it's covered from top to bottom in Polaroids of Steve and the kids, candids of Robin and Eddie, posed silly pictures of Jonathan and Argyle after a smoke session, and a few of Nancy and Jonathan sitting in the Byers kitchen at Thanksgiving, almost collage like but for the pins holding them in place.

The room has transformed over the last few months, and it never ceases to make Eddie smile.

“Hey Eds,” Steve sighs after a long beat.

He looks up to meet Eddie’s gaze, that same blank expression from earlier tonight painted on his otherwise handsome face. 

Eddie swallows, his heart rate ticking up once again as soft brown eyes hold him in place, if he chickens out again he swears he'll fling himself down the stairs, creaky step be damned.

He opens his mouth only for Steve to speak, slowly, quietly.

"I'm sorry," Steve murmurs, his voice cracking around the words, "if that was weird today, for you".

Eddie manages to keep his face impassive as he nods, but his heart aches at what he hears, “Yeah, I mean, no it wasn't weird, just…”

Steve sits with his shoulders squared and his spine straight, stiff and still even in his own bedroom, but with each word that leaves Eddie’s mouth the line of his body slowly begins to curl in on itself.

“Just, different”. 

Steve nods as his arms come up to wrap around himself again, he swipes his right hand up his bare arm up to the sleeve and down again and Eddie wants nothing more than to wrap him up in his own arms. 

Steve eventually puts his hands on his knees with a muffled clap and stands up, padding across the carpet towards the door, towards Eddie. 

"Well that's not the worst thing someone's called me so I'll take it," Steve says with a smirk, his big brown eyes pan between Eddie's own as though searching for something, he nods to himself.

“Oh yeah?” Eddie ventures, leaning against the open door frame, linking his ankles together as his weight shifts to one foot. 

He can’t have this, someone as kind and funny and good as Steve saying these things, thinking that Eddie thinks them too. 

Enough is enough.

Steve snorts, tipping his face down. A lock of hair falls into his eyes and once again, Eddie's fraying resolve finally snaps.

He pushes himself off the door frame with his shoulder, stepping into Steve’s space, and reaches out with one hand to card his fingers into Steve’s hair, pushing it out of his face.  

Steve freezes at the sudden touch and proximity, "What, Ed-"

The words are lost as Eddie leans his head down and captures Steve's open lips for a kiss. 

He feels Steve stiffen slightly in his arms. 

Shit.

Eddie moves to pull away, cursing his own stupidity, but as he tries to pull away, Steve curls his arms around Eddie's neck and tilts his head, stepping closer into his arms.

And it's fireworks. It’s hearing Dio for the first time all over again, it’s finding out he was going to be staying with Wayne permanently. It’s jamming out with Gareth and Jeff and losing themselves in the music.

It's Steve.

Eddie brings his hands up to curl over Steve’s cheek and into his hair once more, he brings his fingers into tangle with the soft waves and gives them an experimental tug, startling a small moan out of Steve.

Eddie smiles into the kiss and takes the opportunity to lick into his mouth, letting his tongue slide over Steves, he tastes slightly like beer but Eddie doesn’t care because he’s finally kissing, and kissing, and kissing him. 

Eddie breaks away after what feels like an eternity, leaning away just far enough to place a small kiss on Steve’s nose and both cheeks, which have slowly turned a pretty pink, the arms wrapped around his neck tighten slightly at the contact and Steve’s eyes flutter closed. 

“I meant something like that,” Eddie whispers before leaning in again, swallowing a laugh that escapes Steve with another soft kiss to his smiling lips.

"I thought," Steve mumbles, chewing his bottom lip with harsh teeth, "I thought I messed it all up downstairs," the words are wet as Steve sniffs once and tips his head onto Eddie's shoulder.

Eddie slips his hands down from Steve's face to bring him in closer, wrapping his arms around his waist, "you didn't mess anything up, I've been wanting to do that for a long time,” he whispers in Steve’s ear, earning a hitching laugh. 

“Me too Eds,” Steve mumbles into the fabric of his shirt, he pulls back slowly and tips his head up to meet Eddie’s gaze, “I think, I’ve been wanting to do that since you woke up in the hospital”.

“Sorry I took so long sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs against his lips, a smile tugging at the corners of his own.

Steve hums and closes his eyes before running his nose back and forth against the tip of Eddie’s own, “Well,” he says softly, “I can think of a few ways you can make it up to me”.

Eddie laughs brightly and kicks the bedroom door shut with a snap.

Maybe his Uncle Wayne wasn’t always right.

[splickedylit]

I know most of my new followers are for Homestuck but I just reread the entirety of Eyeshield 21 and: football manga good. So you'll have to forgive a brief interlude of "Splickedy's favorite minor character (and guests)" haha. Anyway do you think any of the gangsters Agon canonically cuckolded ever mistook Unsui for his twin brother and beat the shit out of him?? Ignore me.

...also tho relatedly I made a post about college Hiruma/Unsui in January and now I'm 26,000 words in, because,,, idk I've lost control of my life? Because "I realized in college that I'm queer and I have a million tons of repressed emotions behind a very cracked dam" is a big mood and maps onto Unsui too easily for me to resist? Because I'm still incredibly amused by the thought of how pissed off Agon would be if his brother started dating Hiruma? All of those things, lmao.

[cringefailvox]

finishing up this chapter either tonight or tomorrow but g-d willing it WILL be out this weekend

[hotheadedhero]

I really don't know how to react when people absolutely love on my stuff. For those of you who know, you know. Judge, allow me to speak my peace because it's gonna be lengthy boyos

'Like 'em Big' and 'First Date' continue to get so much love and I am just FLOORED OMGGGG YOU GUYS 😭😭😭❤️

Truly, I am just... lost for words by how popular these two stories have become and continue to be. This isn't just a one-and-done deal either, I want- NEED to write more about our red angel because he deserves so much attention and love. Genuinely, if I had the ability to draw, I would have already made art related to these stories because it's so so clear in my mind, CHRIST

I think, yes, I think I have once again been inspired 😤 Merely wip ideas that I'm hoping to develop and flesh out completely for your reading and my writing pleasure; two ideas mainly that I want to treat with a lot of care and attention because I think it's so important to get it right for him. I love him so much and I know so so many of you do, too

Yes, I will essentially make it a series as many of you have asked heheh because I've noticed how the reader in those two fics appears to be very coded to a lot of you guys (it's me, lol! you guys are like me, I love it). Plus, I think it would be nice to expand on that relationship, the journeys taken etc etc

Just so I can be clear about why it may take a while to get these stories out, all I shall divulge about these ideas is that one will touch upon his ptsd from the movie and the other will be an 18+ story. Again, two areas I feel need a lot of time devoted to them because I want to get them right

To finish my little love rant, I want to thank all of you. Reading the comments and tags that are now so beautifully associated with all of this makes me wish there was a way I could thank all of you individually. A lot of my inspiration for my writing feels very personal and is often the product of whatever daydreams bless me but to be inspired purely by the appreciation from everyone on this platform is truly, truly special and means so much to me

I can't thank you guys enough and the best way I can do this is by doing what I can to make more stories and sending out virtual hugs!! I love ALL OF YOU ❤️❤️❤️ Don't forget to give yourselves some love too because you deserve it!!!!!

Okay, I think I'm done :)

<3

[glass-noodle]

I'm curious Connor in you're au looks quite malnutritioned and tired what would Hank do if he became exceptionally sick or weak from kamskis experiments on him

He can tell that something’s off the minute he walks into the enclosure. Connor is lying half on the deck, half in the water, his tail hanging limply off the ledge. He barely lifts his head at the sound of Hank entering, eyes half-lidded and hazy.

Hank rushes forward, dropping his lunch bag on the deck and grabbing Connor by the shoulders. “Jesus — Connor! Hey, you okay?”

Connor looks worse than he ever has; purple shadows under his eyes dark as a bruise, skin sallow over protruding bones, grip weak as he reaches up to place a heavy hand on Hank’s arm. Hank feels anger simmer to life in his gut, the urge to storm straight into Kamski’s office and punch his teeth out for allowing Connor to wallow in this state (and likely causing it) rising like a maelstrom; but he manages to reign himself in for Connor’s sake, guiding him into a more comfortable position on the deck. “Hold on, kid,” he says urgently, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over the merman’s thin, pale frame. He turns to rummage quickly through his bag. “Here, what do you need? Food? Water?”

He holds out his daily catch to Connor. Connor looks blearily at the fish, eyes cloudy, then drops his head back onto the deck, murmuring insensibly.

Hank raises his head back up. “C’mon, kid, you need to eat,” he says, trying to keep his voice low despite his rising panic. He palms the kid’s face gently, noting how it’s burning up as he sits cross-legged by the water’s edge, guiding Connor’s head into his lap.

Connor barely reacts to the change in position. His eyes are closed, and his bony ribs rise and fall quickly, shallow breaths puffing past cracked lips. Hank decides it’s probably best to start with water. He reaches back into his bag to retrieve his bottle, uncapping it and placing it against Connor’s lips. “Come on, come on,” he mutters.

Connor does respond to that, at least, throat bobbing with difficulty as he sips slowly at what’s offered. Hank’s relief is short-lived, however; Connor’s eyes slip shut when Hank pulls the bottle away, and he murmurs a low, wounded sound as he turns his head weakly into Hank’s lap.

Hank hisses a curse between his teeth. He puts a hand on Connor’s burning forehead, pushing his sweat-soaked locks out of the way. He’s just about to consider running to get help — Kamski’s wrath be damned — when the enclosure door opens.

Hank turns quickly, stiffening. One of the scientists, the small blonde one, is standing in the doorway, holding several objects in her hands — one of which looks like a syringe filled with a pale blue fluid. She gives him a strange, lingering look.

“Mr. Anderson.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Hank growls. He doesn’t give a damn that he’s been caught breaking the rules. He eyes the syringe in her hand suspiciously as she walks towards them, clutching Connor tighter. “The hell are you gonna do to him?”

She stops a short distance away from them. “My name is Chloe,” she says, soft and careful. She holds out her hands placatingly, showing Hank everything that she has in her grasp. “I work directly under Dr. Kamski. Connor is sick. I have medicine for him.”

Hank eyes the syringe suspiciously. The girl doesn’t seem all that aggressive, but he doesn’t trust anyone in this place, least of all the fuckers who put Connor in this situation in the first place. “Right. How do I know you’re not just gonna shoot him up with more weird shit?”

Chloe’s hesitates, looking away. “I understand your concern,” she murmurs finally. “But I want you to know that I really don’t mean Connor any harm. I — I don’t like seeing him suffer, either.”

Hank snorts darkly at that. “Then set him free.”

Chloe says nothing; just gives him another long, considering look. On top of feeling pissed, her light-eyed stare is starting to make him feel uncomfortable, like she’s staring into his soul and grasping at his deepest, most guarded thoughts. Weird girl.

Connor stirs in his lap, dark eyes flickering open to peer hazily beyond Hank’s hovering form. He seems to recognize Chloe; he doesn’t shy away as she approaches them, at least. Rather, he shifts, and — to Hank’s surprise — holds out one pale, scarred arm.

Chloe kneels down, keeping her eyes on Hank. “May I?”

Hank would honestly like nothing less, but he’s not stupid. Connor needs more help than he can provide, and for whatever reason he seems to trust her marginally more than the other scientists Hank’s seen him interact with. “Whatever,” he grunts, keeping a tight grip on the merman. If she got the smart notion to try anything, Hank would be there to swing his weight around, anyhow.

Connor watches her as she swabs his skin delicately with alcohol, and Hank watches him in turn. His face pinches when she inserts the needle, but he seems no less uncomfortable than he was before; no trace of the anger or fear that normally twists his expression when the scientists enter his tank. In fact, he seems almost…relieved. His eyes slip closed when Chloe retracts the needle, and he lets out a shaky sigh, curling into Hank’s warmth.

Hank strokes a hand through the kid’s hair, watching Chloe discard the needle into a little yellow container and tape a piece of gauze over the puncture site. “You done now?”

Chloe shakes her head, looking regretful. “I’m afraid we’ll have to move Connor to the sick tank. He’ll need more than a single shot to recover, and he’ll need specific environmental conditions to help him heal properly.”

Hank feels that familiar anger ignite in him again, raising his hackles and knotting dark and tight in his chest. “He wouldn’t be sick if you would just stop doing this to him,” he growls, fixing the girl with a hard, baleful stare. Whatever she’d done to help Connor just now, it didn’t make up for everything she’d helped enable up until this point. It didn’t make up for all the suffering she and her team had put Connor through.

Chloe doesn’t speak for a long moment. “I’ll pass that on to Elijah,” she says eventually, tone soft and unreadable.