#that with the car metaphor the day my car broke down

[monstermoviedean]

i can't believe they did that. i can't believe that happened.

[in1-nutshell]

Hey it's me again sorry if I'm overwhelming you with my multiple asks what could you do more old Predacon buddy with maybe just hanging out with the kids and stuff along with they're adopted son aka preking (I hope I'm saying his name right) Just some wholesome fluff and possibly make sure ratchet actually recharges and doesn't stay up all night working including the Optimus and the others old Predacon buddy has those sweet old Southern Grandpa vibes or you could do some old Predacon buddy interacting with Megatron during his glory days or something similar to that whatever you choose I'm not really picky also Make sure not to overwork yourself and make sure to hydrate every now and then and eat something at least healthy =]

They are back!

Caution: Grandparent vibes nearby

Hope you enjoy!

Bot Buddy the Old Predacon slice of life

SFW, Platonic, Familial, Cybertronain reader

TFP

It had been a rather busy month on base.

After the latest Decepticon mining activity, all the Autobots were on edge and running around like crazy.

Buddy mainly took care of the humans while everyone was busy on base. They swear if they didn’t have such an eye sore of an alt mode, they would pick up the kids instead of having to remind some of them to do it themselves.

Buddy lumbering around the console behind Bulkhead.

“Bulkhead? What are you still doing here?”--Buddy

“What do you mean?”--Bulkhead

“Bulkhead why isn’t Miko here? Is she sick?”--Buddy

“She at school today.”--Bulkhead

“Bulkhead its Saturday. Miko doesn’t have school.”--Buddy

“…”--Bulkhead

Bulkhead transforms quickly and drives out.

Buddy shaking their helm at Ratchet.

“Kids these days.”--Buddy

“You said it.”--Ratchet

“You count too Ratchet.”--Buddy

Ratchet raises an optic at Buddy and vents a bit.

“You may be old by these young bots but don’t forget I’m the eldest here.”--Buddy

“Yet you try to do things a young bot would. It’s not good for your joints.”--Ratchet

Buddy gentle flicks Ratchet in the back of the helm with their tail.

“My frame allows some extra movement.”--Buddy

Buddy stretches their arm.

SQUEAK!

“…”—Buddy and Ratchet

“…Buddy—”--Ratchet

“Not a word Ratchet. Not. A. Word.”--Buddy

Buddy knew that entertaining the kids with stories was only going to go so far. Especially when their guardians could stay with each of the children for long.

It was frankly getting on Buddy’s nerves.

It finally reached their limit when Movie Night came around.

The kids had gotten permission to spend the night at the base.

The original plan was to have a movie night with everyone.

Just some quality time with one another catching up on everything.

But it looked like most of them had forgotten about it.

Buddy didn’t like this. At. All.

And their spark broke a little seeing their disappointed faces.

Buddy looking down at the kids.

“Kids meet me at the exit with the gear.”--Buddy

“The gear?”--Jack

“Yes, you which one I’m talking about. Meet me over by the exit, we’ll have that Movie Night when we are done with it.”--Buddy

Once the kids came with the gear, Buddy knelt and had them climb on using their magnetic seatbelts.

These were almost light the Earth car seats but they were specially designed to be placed on Buddy via magnets.

Nothing was going to peel them away from Buddy until the end of any trip.

As soon as everyone was ready Buddy shot upwards.

Did they scare the kids a bit?

Yes, but it was worth it.

Buddy flying through the night sky.

“You seem pretty fast for an old timer.”--Miko

Buddy huffs a bit.

“This old timer still has a few tricks up their metaphoric sleeve.”--Buddy

“Buddy.”--Jack

“But you shouldn’t fly too fast, you can pull something.”--Raf

“Buddy.”--Jack

“Oh, my sweet Rafael, I’m spry for my age.”--Buddy

“Buddy!”--Jack

“Yes Jack?”--Buddy

Jack points forwards.

“Predaking!”--Jack

Buddy wasn’t too bothered by the sight of Predaking.

But they might have forgotten how the kids didn’t know the other predacon like they had.

Soon the two Predacon’s were flapping their wings circling each other.

The clouds around them slowly formed around them.

Through a series of clicks and roars the two talked.

‘Buddy.’--Predaking

‘Predaking, how are you? It’s been too long.’--Buddy

‘Fine Buddy. How are you faring with the enemy.’--Predaking

Buddy huffing.

‘They are not the enemy of mine, Predaking. I’ve told you before.’--Buddy

Predaking’s turn to huff.

‘There’s a reason you wanted to talk isn’t there?’--Buddy

‘…You know me too well.’--Predaking

‘I would be an awful ‘grandparent’, as the humans say. At least that’s how I remember the saying.’--Buddy

Predaking huffs.

‘I have been considering… leaving the Decepticons.’--Predaking

Buddy raising their optics.

‘You have?’--Buddy

‘Yes.’--Predaking

‘I can put a good word in with the Auto—’--Buddy

‘No. At least… not now…’--Predaking

Buddy nods.

‘You still need time. I understand. Just let me know, okay?’--Buddy

Predaking nods and flies the other way.

Buddy huffs a bit.

“What.”--Jack

“Was.”--Raf

“That!”--Miko

“Oh yeah I forgot you don’t understand the clicks yet.”--Buddy

“Yet?”—Raf

“I will teach you three one day.”—Buddy

“Sick.”—Miko

“What did he want?”--Jack

“He just wanted to talk, nothing more.”--Buddy

They continued their flight before it was time to go back to base.

As Buddy touched down, they could see some of the Autobots come out of the base to see what was going on.

Buddy simply walked inside with the kids still on their back.

Buddy kneeling down so the kids could get down and take the gear off.

“Where were you four?”--Arcee

“Flying around Arcee. It can get stuffy in here.”--Buddy

“You know that someone could have spotted you?”--Arcee

“I am fully aware of that Arcee. I think with one of the largest alt modes here, I’d keep that in mind.”—Buddy

“Then why—"--Arcee

Buddy stands back up to full height.

“I do believe that there was a ‘Movie Night’ that you all needed to attend.”—Buddy

Buddy stretches a bit.

POP!

SQUEAK!

PANG!

“…”—Everyone

“…I’m old, okay. Haven’t you all heard of joints popping?”--Buddy

“Yes, but not like that.”--Bulkhead

Buddy lays down near the projector.

The kids follow with their blankets and pillows.

“Beep boop bop bep? (Do you need to see Ratchet?)”--Bumblebee

“I’m fine. Now let’s watch the movie the children have chosen.”—Buddy

Team Prime give Buddy a side eye, but ultimately gives in.

The Autobots crowd around the projector to watch the movie into the late hours of the night.

Buddy looks around, just happy to have a family together.

[barleyo]

Nobody Rides for Free.

Shiu Kong X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: look at me posting again :3 anyway writing this was a struggle for me because i didn't know how to stretch it out, but i hope you all like it even though it's shorter than my usual work </3

Tags: fwb, p in v, car sex, quickie, semi-public, sex while driving

Wordcount: 0.7k

"Can't see the road over your head, dolly. There you go, that's better."

Your legs were starting to get tired from riding Shiu. You hated being on top, it was so much work. Plus, it felt so much better to be trapped under him. He was driving, though, so you had to relent and prop yourself over his lap to ride his cock. 

"I told you to pull over," you mumbled, keeping your head tucked on his shoulder to keep the road in his view. 

The last thing you wanted to do was to crash. What an embarrassing scene that would make for the first responders. You could imagine the headline clear as day: 'local woman speared to death on the cock of her boyfriend (?) during fatal car crash.'

"I don't have time to pull over. I've got real clients after this, you know. People who I actually have business with."

"Yeah, well," you pulled back, arms thrown over his shoulders to keep you upright, "I can't imagine you're enjoying this very much. You can't even see me with your eyes on the road."

He bucked his hips upwards sharply, satisfied grin on his face. 

"I'm a multitasker. Believe me, I'm having a great time." His eyes darted to his rear view mirror, eyeing the sparse traffic with a faint smugness. "Especially knowing any of these people could see you like this."

You groaned in discomfort at the idea. Getting a ride to work didn't seem worth all this trouble suddenly. Why did he have to be so fond of teasing you? If his dick didn't feel so good, you were certain you would've thrown yourself into oncoming traffic to end the humiliation of nearly getting caught at each turn. 

You swatted half heartedly at his chest and turned away from him, face flushed. Your skirt was crumpled from how you had to roll it up to fuck him. The hem came above your ass where Shiu had greedily parked his hand. 

"Ah— feels like you're close." He slipped his hand from your asscheek to your hip, assisting you in gliding up and down. Quick, steady sets of bouncing and grinding down on his length. "Don't grip around me so tight, I still have to focus here," he said, jaw clenched as he tried not to cum. 

"Fuck." Your mouth desperately pushed against his. 

You cornered him into a sloppy, spit-soaked kiss, letting your tongue twist against his. You focused only on the hot friction that his cock gave you as it milked the ridges of your messy, stuffed hole. 

He broke the kiss briefly, trying to catch his breath. He didn't dare take his eyes off of you. Besides, he had driven you to work many a time. It was muscle memory at this point, so he was quick to get right back into the heat of the moment with you, joining your mouths together  again. 

As the car turned into the lot of your job, you made rough, speedy movements in an attempt to get both of you off in time. Your cervix was taking a real beating from his heavy tip being jammed against it, but the pain was sweet and completely worth it. 

What wasn't worth it was the way that Shiu—lost in pleasure— hit the curb. 

"Damn it, Shiu!"

You clutched your metaphorical pearls in shock. The adrenaline was kicked out of your system and replaced with annoyance at the man. 

"You scared the hell out of me!" you spat.

Clumsily, you pulled off of his lap, leaving his cock stiff and neglected with your absence. 

"Oh, come on, princess." He stopped the car and watched as you grabbed your things and rolled your skirt back down. "Don't be that way."

You shot him a dirty look but couldn't help the hint of amusement that was in your eyes as you slammed his door shut. 

"I think I'll just walk home tonight." You wiped at the slick still dribbling down your thigh with your sleeve, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. 

"Right. Walking." Shiu watched as you stumbled away into your stuffy office building. Your knees had small bruises already forming on them, and your gait was questionable at best. "I'll see you at six."

[bendeddicksssss]

The Ghost of Family Video

The first chapter of one of my fanfics on ao3 just to give a little sneak peak.

Summary in the shortest amount of words: Steve died after the events of Starcourt, and Eddie is a psychic who can see ghosts. I think you can guess what the fic is about ;)

Chapter 1: Steve Harrington is Dead

Robin Buckley started working at Scoops Ahoy for the same reason every other teen gets a job; she wanted money. Her parents were never the type to ask her to help with the bills, nor did they ever ask her to get a job, but she enjoyed having money stored up for college and emergencies. It was cushioning for both her and her parents if they ever needed it, and, with her brother at college, they needed all the help they could get. She had a job before–started working the ticket stand at Hawkins old theater when she was 15. She was 17, however, when she started working at Scoops Ahoy—working with Steve Harrington.

Robin never had a job that didn’t include a coworker, but Steve was an entirely different concept. He didn’t feel like a coworker, even if they did work together. He felt like an entity more elusive than Bigfoot. She hated Steve, but she didn’t hate him in a normal sense. She hated him because he made her heart grow heavy with comfort, despite the fact that he was a homophobic, dick-bag of a jock. At least, that’s what Robin assumed when they started working together. Steve proved her assumptions wrong within the first week of working together. He brought back coffee whenever he went on his break. He offered his extra breaks to Robin if she looked tired. He insisted on taking in all the heavy stock, and he never let Robin pay for her own dinner or lunch if she forgot to pack one. Even then, she hated him.

She hated him like the ocean hates the beach. They were stuck in a constant battle of one metaphorically crashing into the other, but, in a strange way, it worked. Each crash of a wave chipped at the other person’s sandy shore, letting out pieces of shells and hidden creatures in the tide pools. Each wave was a new discovery about who the other person really was. They were the ocean against the beach. Waves in the sand. Forever connected. Steve and Robin. 

That feeling within their “friendship” was even before all hell broke loose and before Robin knew Russian spies hid beneath the mall and monsters worse than the ones under her bed were real. Even with their mutual teasing and stormy beaches, no one could deny that Steve and Robin were connected. No one could deny that they were, at least, friends. Robin tried to deny it. If anyone asked, she’d tell them that Steve was just another schmuck she was stuck slinging ice cream with. A rich kid who was forced into a job by his snooty parents. He was nothing to her, but she was only lying when she said that. Steve wasn’t nothing. He wasn’t nothing at all.

Steve was a walking puzzle missing half the pieces and the guiding picture, yet Robin tried her hardest to figure him out. It was impossible. He was a mystery confusing enough to stump Sherlock. He flinched at flickering lights and dissociated in the cold freezer where they stored ice cream. He kept a baseball bat in the trunk of his car that Robin had only ever seen the handle of, which had a small brown stain on it—one that looked suspiciously like blood. In an expected fashion, he teased Robin about still being in high school, calling her “Freshman” with every other sentence despite the fact that she was on her way to her senior year. Strangest of all, he refused to let Robin ride her bike home after the closing shift; she rode with him nearly every day with her bike in the backseat of his car. Eventually, he started picking her up to be taken to work too. It wasn’t even a conversation between them; he just showed up while Robin was dragging her bike down her driveway. She didn’t try to argue, seeing the dark bags under his eyes and the silent begging within them—a look built more of fear than desperation. She couldn’t have said no even if she tried. Besides, who was she to turn down a free ride?

Steve also had a pack of kids who followed him like ducklings to their imprinted mother. “I babysit them.” He always used it as an excuse, but that never made sense to Robin. To start off, she knew for a fact that Scoops was Steve’s first job. He never mentioned being a babysitter until they started showing up. She also knew that most of the kids have older siblings. Growing up with an older brother, Robin knew that older siblings are usually stuck with the babysitting job. Max Mayfield, Will Byers, Mike Wheeler–they all had older siblings. Why would their parents waste the money in hiring Steve? Moreso, why, out of all the high school students in Hawkins, would they choose Steve to babysit? He was a jock known for getting drunk at parties and flirting with everything with boobs. He didn’t exactly scream babysitting material.

Outside of his role as “Mama Duck”, Steve was also friends with Jonathan Byers, even though the man was known around school for stealing ‘King Steve’s’ girlfriend. In fact, Steve’s face lit up like a Christmas tree the few times Jon came into shop, even when the boy was there without his younger brother or any of the other children. 

Despite her initial shock, Robin could handle these discoveries and odd traits. She could handle Steve being friends with a few kids and with Jonathan Byers, but there was a fact about Steve Harrington that stood out above the rest. The most surprising thing about Steve was that he wasn’t, at all, what Robin thought he’d be. He wasn’t a douchebag. He wasn’t a ‘womanizer’, like her friend, Kate, would always call him. Sure, Steve flirted with everything and anyone that breathed, but he was always respectful. He made eye contact and complemented their hair or their smile. He was even nicer with the customers without boobs, complimenting them even if he wasn’t trying to get laid. Steve Harrington wasn’t Steve Harrington. He was just… Steve. Her coworker. Her friend. Her puzzle that she spent the first half of that summer trying to figure out. 

It wasn’t until she saw a monster bigger than her house that she discovered all the missing pieces of Steve. Why he flinched at flickering lights and why the cold always bothered him. She figured why he prefers cats and smaller dogs to bigger ones. She figured out he was smarter than he let on, having intelligence in things besides books and school. She figured out he was selfless. He threw himself headfirst into danger to try and save a couple of kids, one of whom she was pretty sure he hated because Erica Sinclair was an asshole of a child, but he saved them. He tried to save Robin too, but Scoop's captains stick together, right? She wasn’t gonna leave him alone, and that idea scared her more than anything. Just one traumatic experience together and she was already codependent of a man whose head was more hairspray than brains. 

She doesn’t know how long they were in the bunker for. All she knew was that Steve was nice to talk to. He listened, and he asked questions. She would try and urge him to talk, and he would, but she could tell he was holding back. Sure, she had all the pieces to the puzzle of Steve, but she still needed the bigger picture. 

“You think they’d buy it if I pretended I could only speak French?” Robin asked when they were left alone. The guard's voices were muffled just outside the door, so she talked to drown out the few Russian words she understood– “The boy… blue… spies… bleed.”

“What?” Steve asked a few seconds after her statement. 

Robin shrugged, her shoulders brushing against Steve’s, “I don’t know; it could work. I am fluent in French!” she sighed dejectedly, “I’m sorry. I’m just talking to not freak myself out. I’ll shut up.” she cleared her throat and looked to the ground, deciding that it probably wasn’t the best time to make jokes.

“Talk.” Steve suddenly urged. She looked at him. This was before they were tied back-to-back, so she could still look at him. “You don’t have to talk about them. Talk about anything… you’re gonna be a senior, right?” Robin nodded. “You want to go to college?” 

Robin tilted her head. This wasn’t the first time they had talked about college, but it was the first time the focus was on Robin. In past conversations, talks about school was usually Steve making fun of Robin being in high school and Robin making fun about Steve for not going to college. “I want to go to Chicago.” Robin answered. 

“The university?” Robin nodded. 

“I always wanted to live in a big city; Chicago is at the top of my list.” In all honesty, ever since Robin was young, she dreamed about living in a city, but she dreamed about going west to California–Hollywood. She wanted to be a director or a writer, but Chicago seemed like an easier option. A steppingstone to get to her dream. “Honestly, I don’t want to go to college, but I think a degree would be nice to fall back on.”

“What do you want to do?” 

Robin smiled, “I want to write.”

“Books? Articles?”

“Movies.” she corrected. Steve went on to ask about what kind of movies, and she talked about a few ideas she had for a romantic period piece (leaving out the sapphic details) until the door burst open. Robin had almost forgotten she was in a nightmare. She was grateful for his distraction. 

When they got separated, it was like time stood still. It could’ve been hours–days–weeks–minutes–seconds, and all Robin experienced was an empty mind and a racing heart. There were no clocks and no windows. Just her tied to a chair, and Steve… Steve being tortured. Robin heard Steve’s screams from all the way down the hall. She tried humming Blondie or Queen to drown them out but each one was louder than the last. Robin liked horror movies, sure. She watched thrillers with friends and would challenge herself to not chicken out, but the actors in those films never even came close to the screams Steve was making. They were blood curdling and garbling, as he begged for his life. For a break from the pain. Robin wished she could rip her ears off. Worst of all, she felt useless! Robin heard punches and Russian voices shouting at her friend, and all she could do was listen and hope that he was still breathing. Her parents never really forced any specific religion growing up. She wasn’t sure how prayers were supposed to work, but she tried her best: Please, God, let Steve be alive. I know I don’t believe in you. You probably hate me right now, but please let this scream not be his last. Please bring him back. 

Steve came back bruised and bloodied and unconscious, and Robin tried to feel for a pulse, screaming at the guards for answers. What happened? Fuck… She couldn’t find his heartbeat. Robin always sucked in anatomy class—got too grossed out by the dissections, but she knew it was somewhere on his neck… maybe the wrist? She just had to loosen her binds enough to feel for his heartbeat. She tried to reassure herself that she just had to keep looking, but she couldn’t find it! She couldn’t find his pulse and the guards were watching them, and she knew that she would be next in their sadistic crusade. They tied them back-to-back all while Robin was still panicking. When Steve took a gasp of air, she nearly added her own punch into the mix for scaring her, but the Russian guards were already moving on to the next form of torture. But, hey, Steve was alive. She wasn’t alone. 

Later, they sat beside a once-empty toilet. The stench and taste of vomit lingered in Robin’s nose and throat. The Starcourt bathroom tiles were sticky and covered in a thin layer of dirt and dust. The custodians must’ve not cleaned yet, as the theater was still open and, thus, the mall was open. Her heart stopped when she heard silence coming from Steve’s stall, but he was only thinking and resting. They’d been awake for nearly 48 hours now, and Robin was just waiting for the right moment to pass out.

Coming out to Steve was almost as terrifying as the entirety of the Russian base. He had just told her he found someone for himself (implied it was her), and she told him she liked girls. It was the truth, but you can’t just tell people that! Sure, Steve was miraculously not a douchebag, but straight guys don’t always take rejection well, and people, in general, don’t always take queer people well. But she was high and scared, and she wanted someone to know before she died. Robin should’ve learned by that point to not underestimate Steve Harrington. She should’ve figured out that Steve was as far from a bad person as someone could be. Steve Harrington wasn’t a bad person at all, though his Kermit impression was kind of shit.

“I’m like you.” He told her when they had another chance alone. It was when they were driving back to the mall to help their friends, leaving Dustin and Erica on the hill.

“What?” she asked.

“When I said I found someone better for me—better than Nancy; I was talking about…” he swallowed down the lump in his throat. “I was talking about a guy. His name’s Eddie.”

Robin smiled, “Oh…”

Steve’s face regained its color, and he laughed. “Yeah,” he snorted, “oh…”

Yeah, Steve wasn’t a bad person in the slightest…

He held her hand when they were hiding from the guards. He reached his arm out to hold her when he crashed into Billy Hargrove, so she wouldn’t hit the dashboard. He gave her his last firework to throw at the Flayer. He gave her a stick of gum he found hiding in his pocket when she complained about still tasting vomit. He gave her his shock blanket when she was still shaking beneath hers. He denied medical treatment and insisted they check on Robin and Dustin first. He snuck a few Band-Aids and an ice pack from the ambulance to take care of himself; Robin saw him do it, but she just assumed he had already been checked and was just grabbing extra supplies. Afterall, he told everyone that he was already checked on, “Go help someone else; I’m fine.” he insisted anytime a paramedic asked him. Ever the selfless hero… Steve.

After they were all debriefed and lightly threatened by the US government to keep their mouths shut and sign NDAs, Steve asked Jonathan if he’d be willing to drive them. “My head just hurts.” and Jonathan said sure. On the drive home, Steve was fighting off sleep in the backseat, leaning his head against Robin’s. No one could even fathom resting. Their bodies were still in fight or flight mode, ready to fight a monster that was already dead or guards that were buried beneath tons of dirt, ash, and debris. No one really questioned Steve’s exhaustion, though. They didn’t know the full story, but they knew Steve, Robin, Dustin, and Erica were trapped in that bunker for nearly days. No food. No water. No rest. Dustin and Erica passed out, afterall. Steve wasn’t the odd one out. If anything, Robin was, but she didn’t want to sleep. She just let Steve use her as a pillow.

Perhaps, she should’ve known something was wrong by him fighting off sleep so much. Robin’s not an idiot; she knows the signs of head trauma, but she was so tired. Perhaps, if she had been stronger and fought harder against the guards, she wouldn’t have gotten drugged. She would have had the mental clarity to notice one of Steve’s pupils was bigger than the other. She would’ve noticed him squinting and flinching at every light, flickering or not, and limping. Would’ve noticed he had to lean against the wall at every other step. Granted, she didn’t know if any of those things happened, but there must have been something she could’ve noticed! Something Robin could’ve seen, so she would know Steve needed help, but the man’s stubbornness was bigger than his hair, so, of course, she didn’t know.

Steve died not long after they left the mall. They had all gone to his house afterwards. No one wanted to be alone, and he had the most available space for everyone in the party. He also had a stockpile of extra clothes, blankets, pillows, and sleeping bags. Apparently, Steve really was a babysitter, or, at the very least, the kids’ honorary mother. After helping everyone find some supplies to go to sleep and some PJ’s, he went to bed early, saying he had a headache and was just going to take some Tylenol. Robin tried to go with him, but he insisted she stay and hang out with everyone. They were watching The Fox and the Hound because it was the only animated ("comforting") movie Steve had. “I know it’s for kids, but it’s one of my favorites.” He explained with a shrug, leaning against the railing for support. 

“Are you sure you’re, okay?” Robin asked. “Did the paramedics give you all clear?” 

Steve only laughed, “Yeah, Rob. I’ll be fine. Go watch the movie. I’ll see you in the morning.” He insisted, waving a dismissive hand. 

Steve’s voice broke when he said that sentence and, after watching him hopelessly lie to impress girls, Robin knew Steve’s voice broke when he lied. Yet, she didn’t say anything. She just assumed it was because he was tired. Surely, Steve wouldn’t turn down medical help. Surely, he wasn’t that careless about himself. Robin wished she knew this would be their last conversation, so she could think of something better to say.

“Okay. Love you, dingus.” She would’ve said, if she knew he wouldn’t actually see her in the morning.

Steve would’ve rolled his eyes. “Love you too, freshman.” She would punch his arm, making him wince and call her an ass. That’s how she likes to imagine their last conversation, but that’s not at all what they said. He still dismissed her and lied about his own health, but she didn’t tell him she loved him like she wishes she did. No, instead she said, “I’m surprised they could hurt your head so much beneath all that hairspray.” She stuck her tongue out between her teeth teasingly, “It’s like your own helmet, Harrington.” 

“Ha, ha.” Steve blanched while rolling his eyes. “You’re just jealous that I came prepared with protection.” he ran a hand through his hair for emphasis, making the sweat coated streaks fall around his forehead. Robin laughed and sent him off to bed with a promise that they’d spend all of tomorrow together, just to talk and heal. 

Nobody knows the exact time of death, as everyone was asleep, but the doctors believe it was shortly after their conversation—a bit past midnight. As it turns out, Steve went to sleep with one of those head injuries you’re not supposed to sleep with. Something got hit too hard beneath all that hair, and Steve simply stopped breathing. “It can happen in patients who have suffered from concussions or untreated head traumas. It’s common in those who have experienced a hemorrhage or aneurysm of some kind.” Nancy had explained, but, truly, there were a number of other variables that could’ve caused that. A bad reaction to that Russian drug, his concussion, a hole in his lung, internal bleeding, or even a really bad fever. In any case, Robin should’ve never let him go to bed alone. 

Another thing she wishes she could change is something she’ll forever be guilty for. Robin wishes more than anything that it was her who found the body. She wishes she wasn’t dealing with a hangover from that weird drug Steve and her were given and that coffee wasn’t the most important thing in the world. Coffee wasn’t the most important thing, but, at that moment, Robin would’ve traded her soul for a mug. Ms. Byers had made breakfast for everyone, and Steve was thought to be sleeping in, even though he was the first one to go to sleep. “I’ll get him.” Dustin volunteered, rolling his eyes and groaning like it was a chore.

The boy walked up the stairs and went to Steve’s bedroom. The door was open a bit, so Dustin didn’t feel the need to knock before he walked in. The first thing he noticed was that Steve’s bed sheets were messy, like he had moved around a lot in his sleep. The next thing he noticed was a Tylenol bottle on the floor; the cap was off, and the contents were spilled across the carpet. Dustin figured Steve had a nightmare and knocked the bottle and his sheets over, knowing nightmares were common for everyone in the party. Hell, there were quite a few nightmares during that night. Dustin had one. It was about Steve not making it back from the bunker. It was about Steve dead on a concrete floor.

At least, a bed is more comfortable than concrete.

“Hey, Steve, wake up.” Dustin nudged Steve’s foot, which was covered by his blanket. He was still wearing his Scoops uniform, being too tired to take it off, Robin supposed, or he passed out. “Steve, come on.” Dustin spoke louder and nudged him harder. 

Dustin moved forward and clapped his hands above Steve’s body. “Steve!” He nearly shouted. He reached forward to grab Steve’s arm with a roll of his eyes, and gasped when he felt how cold it was. His heart jumped to his throat and choked him like a noose. “S-Steve…?” his voice was shaking. Steve’s house always had great air conditioning. He was just cold from the AC; that was what Dustin told himself. It was cold in the house, and all of Steve's blankets fell off of him in the night, so he was cold. “Steve, this isn’t funny!” Dustin grabbed Steve’s arm and shook it. Steve felt stiff, like he was a mannequin and not a person. “Steve!” Dustin screamed this time. His voice echoed out into the hallway and downstairs, alerting the others. “Steve! Please, you gotta wake up!” He grabbed both shoulders, shaking him vigorously. “Steve!” 

Robin was the first person up the stairs despite her headache and poor coordination. The blinds were closed, and the room was gray, so she flicked on the overheads to find a man just as gray as before the lights were turned on. He was pale and his eyes were shut. His lips looked blue, and his veins were prominent beneath ghostly skin. “Steve…?” Robin didn’t scream like Dustin, but her voice cracked. She didn’t run to his side or shake him. She merely stepped out of the way as Joyce and Jonathan ran into the room. “Steve…” she couldn’t tell if she was breathing. Dreaming or having a nightmare. Awake or asleep. Dead or alive. In that moment, there was no difference. 

“Steve—get off of me!” Dustin elbowed at Jonathan, as the boy tried to pry Dustin away from his friend. “Steve! Wake up!” Robin felt tears streaming down her face, but she was confused why they were flowing. She wasn’t there. Her mind was still at Scoops. She was still watching Steve being a dingus and badly flirting with girls. She was in the backroom with him listening to a Russian code. She was tied to his back, and they were laying on the ground talking about where they would be if they became friends earlier. Steve would be in college, and Robin wouldn’t be in a Russian bunker. She was in the mall bathroom talking with him about Tammy Thompson’s bad singing voice. They were in the “Todd-father” discussing the possibilities of going to gay bars in Indianapolis. They were standing on the stairs wishing each other goodnight. They weren’t… he wasn’t… This couldn’t be happening! Steve… Steve was just here.

Dustin screamed and kicked when Murray entered the scene and picked the boy up from beneath his arms. “Let go of me! — Steve!” Dustin screamed. It was the kind of scream that vibrated the walls and shook Robin to her core. A kind of scream she’s only ever heard come out of movies. The boy was pushing at Murray’s arms, trying his best to escape and return to his friend’s side. Tears were streaming down Dustin’s face, and Robin glanced into the hallway at the sound of a thud. Max had reached the top of the stairs, having had to fight her way through a now sobbing Lucas. She was sitting on her knees with her hands covering her mouth. Robin could tell she was screaming, based on her stretched jaw and narrowed eyes, but she couldn’t hear it. Everything was suddenly muffled. Her headache from that hangover switched into a stabbing pain, and the ringing in her ears drowned everything out. “Steve!” Dustin shouted—barely heard. Murray set the boy down besides Max and blocked them both from the room. Max threw herself into Lucas’s arms. Robin looked on as Jonathan started doing chest compressions. She glanced over the balcony to see Mike with his hands cradling the back of his head, covering his ears. His hands were clenched so tightly, that Robin was sure his nails were digging into his scalp. Will was hugging Jane, who was sobbing and clinging to him, shaking her head in denial.

Joyce suddenly walked out of the room. She was gasping and choking on her own tears. “Ms. Byers…?” Robin didn’t know what she was going to say or ask. She just needed confirmation that this wasn’t real. That this was just a Russian drug-induced dream. That this was all some sick nightmare or cruel joke from the universe, and she was gonna wake up to Steve sitting at the kitchen counter with an ice pack to his swollen eye and a coffee mug in hand. “’Bout time you woke up, Buckley.” He’d say with a smile despite the split in his lip, because Steve had the best smile, and he loved to show it. He smiled in the Russian bunker and smiled through tears. He smiled in every picture no matter the context, and Robin used to say he was too happy. He’d just shrug and say, “Better than being miserable.”

“I’m so sorry, honey.” Joyce whispered instead of disproving reality. She wrapped her arms around Robin’s shoulders. It was then that the younger girl felt her knees buckle, like she was made of broken glass and poorly glued back together, and all it took was Ms. Byer’s touch to make her break once more. A scream wrenched its way from her throat, loud and painful. It vibrated the walls and left her vocal cords burning. Joyce caught her as she fell, but Robin collapsed to the ground anyway. Joyce came with her, never releasing Robin from her arms. 

Downstairs, Nancy had called 911. In Steve’s room, Jonathan was still desperately doing CPR, singing Bee Gees beneath his breath and looking at his friend through a teary, blurred vision. Jonathan didn’t tell anyone what happened until after the autopsy had shown that Steve had a broken sternum and broken ribs. Jonathan explained that he heard and felt the man’s chest crack and cave, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. He couldn’t let Steve die. “I can’t get Stayin’ Alive out of my head…” he joked with a wet laugh, but everyone knew it wasn’t a joke. Everyone knew he now hated that song more than anything else.

It was Joyce that had read them the autopsy report. She was friends with the doctor who ran them. It was her that read from the doctor’s note that it was strange Steve died. It was that doctor who predicted that Steve had lied and hadn’t seen any of the paramedics, because even a first-day trainee would’ve seen the obvious head trauma from a mile away.

“That’s ridiculous!” Mike had scoffed, “Why would anyone refuse help from paramedics?”

“Because he didn’t want any.” Max answered. The way they talked about Steve’s death changed after that. No longer was it talking of a friend who died. They were talking about a friend who committed suicide. At least, that’s how Robin interpreted it—the change in everyone’s tone and the anger shown at the funeral. If a friend dies, they get mourned. If a friend kills themselves, especially one as important and relied upon as Steve, they get yelled at.

They had Chief Hopper’s funeral on Tuesday, Billy Hargrove’s was on Thursday, and Steve’s was on Monday. They tried to postpone Steve’s funeral until August for when his parents would be back, but, when Joyce called the Harringtons, they forwarded money and told her to go on with the funeral without them. Joyce ended up breaking that phone after giving Steve’s mother a piece of her mind, which mostly contained curse words and heavy insults. The plastic shattered in her hands after she slammed the phone on the hook repeatedly, cursing Steve’s parents and sobbing about a son that wasn’t really hers.

At Hopper’s funeral, nearly the whole town showed up. There were a lot of funerals the following weeks for a lot of Hawkins citizens, but Hopper was the chief and considered the hero of the fire, so it made sense that he had the biggest crowd to show up. It was so crowded that Robin was forced to stay in the outskirts of the pack with Erica and Lucas beside her. She ended up leaving early. She didn’t know the man that well, anyway.

Billy’s funeral wasn’t as crowded, but a few people from school showed up, including some from the old basketball and swim team. Billy’s dad left early, muttering something about “a waste.” Mrs. Wheeler was there, and she was crying, which Robin found strange. Sure, the woman could’ve been there because Nancy and Mike were, but that didn’t excuse her crying. Max was standing by the lowering casket with her arms crossed, refusing to cry, but she did. Her jaw clenched and her hands turned to fists, as if she was angry at herself for tearing up. Robin was just observant enough to notice these things, and she placed a comforting hand on the girl’s shoulder. Max leaned into her touch without a word. In fact, they didn’t speak at all that day. Robin wonders if she should’ve said something—anything—to comfort the girl more than a touch could, but Steve’s funeral was coming up. Robin couldn’t be bothered to comfort anyone past a touch. How could she when she, herself, was ripping at the seams?

Steve’s funeral had the least amount of people to show up. Tommy and Carol showed up to the ceremony, but they left before the burial. There was exactly 13 in attendance at the burial once the preacher and the graveyard men left. There was Robin, Dustin, his mom, Lucas and Erica, Mrs. Sinclair, Mike and Nancy, the Byers, Jane, and Max, who caught a ride from Lucas’s mom because her mom was working that day. 

Steve’s gravestone was tall but simple, with little flowers carved into the border and floral vases at the sides. Everyone pitched in to add to the stone what Steve’s parents weren’t willing to pay for.

Steve Harrington

April 12th, 1967 — July 5th, 1985

Beloved Friend, Hero, Babysitter

“Anyone want to say a few words?” Joyce asked once the dirt was place over their friend. The woman’s face was red, and tissues were clenched in her fists. Thinking back, Robin realized that Joyce hadn’t cried at a single funeral, not really. At Hopper’s, she teared up, but she was so busy comforting Jane that she didn’t allow herself the breakdown she probably needed. At Billy’s, she comforted Max, taking over for Robin when the older girl had to leave early. At Steve’s funeral, Joyce Byers didn’t cry, because she had to be there for the kids, but it proved difficult. The tissues in her hand had little splotches of blood from her nails digging into her palms. It took Robin a long time to figure out why Ms. Byers was torturing herself, but the answer hit her like a train. Joyce is a mom; moms can’t cry. Never in front of the kids. They keep themselves together and cry when the lights in the house are off and the work for the day is finally finished. They let their tears build up inside of them until they explode. Robin wonders if any dishes were broken in the Byers’ household that week. No one, not even Joyce Byers, could survive that long with that many bottled tears without breaking some glass.

Robin liked Joyce, but she was too busy staring down at the patch of dirt that was once her friend to really hear Ms. Byer’s question. The small crowd stayed silent when it was asked, save for a few sobs, sniffs, and gasps for air. Max stepped forward, staring down at Steve’s grave with a red face and swollen lips. “Fuck you.” She gasped through a sob. Robin was surprised she didn’t bite her bottom lip clean off when she used it as a method to stop her tears.

Max then leaned down to drop a bracelet on the grave. It’s one of those braided ones, made with string, beads, and yarn. “El and I made you this at our sleepover. We were gonna give it to you, but I didn’t have it with me at Starcourt. I-I guess it’s useless now. What kind of friend are you? Y-you fucking asshole.” She spoke only after her sobs were subsided into small cries. She wiped her eyes and looked at the rest of her friends before walking off. She went and sat at her brother’s grave, and everyone knew it wasn’t because she loved Billy more. It was because she hated people seeing her cry, so they looked away once her shoulders began to shake, and her hand flew to her mouth to deafen the sobs and gasps. Her hair was pulled over her as a curtain to hide her own disgust—her emotions. Robin leaned over to look at the bracelet. “#1 Babysitter” it read in those little lettered beads. The string was blue and yellow–Steve’s favorite colors. The colors were recently poisoned for Robin. 

Mike went up next. “I, uh, still think you’re a dumb jock, but you’re a good person. Y-you saved our lives more times than I can count. You saved my life more times than I can count. Thank you…” Mike stepped back and stared at the sky, anywhere but the ground. “I wish you were still here, so you could tell Dustin to stop being an asshole. You were always the one to keep his ego in check.” Mike laughed wetly, “He’s gonna be awful to deal with now that you’re… now that you’re gone…” Mike took another step back, like Steve’s grave was suddenly a demodog ready to pounce instead of a mound of dirt and stone. “Why’d you have to leave us, man? You were supposed to lead us—teach us about surviving high school and dealing with other dumb jocks. You—you’re a fucking jerk, you know that!?” Nancy grabbed his arm before he could storm forward. Mike leaned against his sister and turned his eyes away from Steve’s grave completely. Perhaps, he believed that, as long as he didn’t see the newly dug dirt, it wouldn’t be real. Nancy wrapped her arms around her brother, as he hid his crying face in her black dress. To Robin’s surprise, the girl owned three, and she wore a different one to each funeral. This dress was Robin’s personal favorite, as it was mostly tool with a tight waistline and a small shawl, like a 50’s prom dress. Steve would’ve liked it.

“He was supposed to teach me basketball.” Lucas spoke so quietly that Robin was sure only she heard it, as she was the only one to look his way. “We were supposed to practice all Summer, man. You still haven’t taught me how to properly do a lay-up.” He laughed until he cried, and then he laughed some more, “I promise you; I’ll get on the team. Hell, I’ll make it to varsity—the big leagues, the NBA. I don’t care if they don’t let freshmen on V; I’ll find a way. I’ll practice every day, and I’m getting your old jersey number, okay? You better come to my games. I’ll be looking out for you, got it?” he was smiling through his tears, and Robin had to look away. Lucas was always the type to put on a brave face, but Robin saw the way his smile cracked his façade. It was too forced; it was disturbing to watch. She could hear the slow transition of his laugh turning into painful sobs. She closed her eyes and waited until she heard a noise other than a sob.

Lucas dropped something on Steve’s grave, and she looked down to see his old jersey folded and placed neatly on the dirt. Lucas wiped at his eyes and glanced around at his friends. He clenched his jaw and tried to stop the tears from falling, but they wouldn’t stop. “I-I’m sorry.” he walked away to join Max, stopping at his mom to grab tissues from her purse. The mothers, besides Joyce, were sitting far away on a bench to give everyone space to say goodbye. Robin realized as she watched Lucas walk over to them, that, technically speaking, only 11 people attended Steve Harrington’s burial. They were just bystanders.

Lucas approached Max like a wild animal, but she merely patted the ground beside her. It made sense. They had matching wounds. Both lost a brother, and Robin is not including Billy in that statement.

“You saved us.” Erica spoke next. “I was so scared, and you protected us, like a knight. You’re an idiot for doing it, but you did it. And now you…” Erica furrowed her brow before reaching into her skirt’s pocket. She pulled out a My Little Pony figurine. Robin didn’t know which one it was, but it must’ve meant a lot to Erica. The girl sobbed as she placed it beside Max’s bracelet. “You better not lose this. It’s my favorite, okay?” she pointed to the grave like she was giving Steve a lecture. Robin couldn’t help but smile at the gesture.

“What pony is that?” It was Will who asked, talking for the first time since they lowered Steve's casket.

“Twilight Sparkle.” Erica answered quietly, embarrassingly. It wouldn’t be for another three months that Erica would explain why she chose Twilight Sparkle. It was when the girl had wandered into Family Video to rent The Last Unicorn. Robin asked why she chose that character, and she told the older teen that it was because Twilight was a leader who valued friendship and loyalty. Robin sobbed after Erica left the store. She sobbed so hard that she nearly threw up her lunch and had to go home early. She doesn’t know why she cried so hard. Steve talked about being forced to watch My Little Pony with Erica, so she knew that Steve knew who Twilight Sparkle is. She laughs at the thought, because he would surely insist, he was a different character, but Erica’s right. Steve was a leader. He loved his friends, and he was as loyal as a dog to its owner.

Erica and Lucas left after that, bringing Max along because she didn’t want to stay, even if she was supposed to ride home with Nancy. Nancy dropped a teddy bear and a rose off at Steve’s grave. “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.” She sobbed through a tight mouth. Steve used to say that Nancy would call him an idiot the same way Robin calls him a dingus. “It’s affectionate.” he said, but Nancy’s tone was dripping with venom. The girl walked away, shaking her head and clenching her fists. Mike and she left, and she peeled out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell. Anger fueled the vehicle more than gasoline, in that instance.

“When it rains, this will be destroyed, but you’re a real barbarian, Steve. Even if you don’t know what that is.” Will placed a drawing of Steve in a suit of leather armor that looked suspiciously like a Scoops Ahoy uniform. His weapon was a spiked bat, and he was smiling and looking at the sun. The next day, Robin stole that drawing to make a copy at the library’s printer. She returned the drawing the same day, but she had the copy hanging up in her room next to a polaroid Jonathan took of the ‘Scoops Troop’, as Dustin called them: Steve’s bloody yet smiling face, Erica’s tired eyes, Dustin’s bright smile, and Robin in her vomit and blood-stained uniform.

“I forgive you, Steve.” Jonathan said next. “I know I told you that a long time ago, but I don’t think you ever stopped blaming yourself for what you did. You’re not a bad person. You never were. I don’t hate you. I would never hate you. You’re… you’re my best friend.” His voice was shaking with his hands. He had nothing to give but a small photo of him, Steve, and Nancy on the Byers’ couch. Steve’s face was bloody and bruised (not from the Russians—apparently Jonathan throws a powerful punch), but he was smiling the brightest. Always the optimist, Robin supposed.

Joyce didn’t say anything. She was too busy comforting Jane, who kept trying to speak but came up short every time. The Byers and Jane left, leaving Dustin and Robin.

“I thought he was asleep…” Dustin whispered. He removed his ‘Camp Knowhere’ cap and placed it on the corner of Steve’s grave. “Sorry, it’s not Farrah Fawcett, but I don’t think they let hair spray into the afterlife.” Dustin joked. He laughed before he suddenly broke into sobs. He clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. “You…” his voice broke, and he bit his quivering lip. “I hate… I hate you so, so much, Steve.” He shook his head. “Our deal was you die, I die. Not you die, I keep on living without you. What made you think I could do this without you?! Why would you leave me like this?! All you had to do was let them look at you! They were going to get to all of us eventually! They were paramedics Steve. It was their job to help you, and you sent them away! You insisted you were fine, you, fucking asshole. Why was it so hard to let someone else take care of you for once?! Why are you such a “hero” that you couldn’t… you…” his voice cracked, “you may think that was selfless, but this is the worst thing you’ve ever done. You weren’t helping us; you fucking killed yourself, and now I’m alone, Steve! Who’s going to drive me around? Who’s going to teach me how to talk to girls and do my hair? Who–Who’s supposed to be my dad now? Did you hear that? You were my dad, Steve. You weren’t my brother. You weren’t my babysitter or mom, Steve; you were my dad, and now you’ve gone up and left me too. You should’ve—you should’ve let them look at you! How hard was it to get help, you, fucking asshole!” Robin rushed forward to stop Dustin from kicking the dirt, grabbing his arms and yanking him back. “Let go of me!” Dustin shouted, shoving Robin away.

“Dustin, this isn’t what Steve would’ve wanted— “

“Don’t tell me what he wanted!” Dustin snapped. “You knew him, for what? A few months?!” He pushed forward, gesturing to himself. “I’ve known him for years, Buckley. He saved my life more times than I can count. We have been through hell together; you don’t get to tell me what he would or wouldn’t want!” He pointed an accusing finger to Robin, who held her hands up in surrender. “You didn’t even know him.”

“Dustin, I— “

“Just forget it.” He spat. He left before Robin could say another word. She watched him storm past his mom, who offered a comforting hand, but he just ignored her and shoved his way past. He marched to her car and yanked at the door to get in. They drove off with nothing but a sparing, apologetic glance at Robin from Ms. Henderson. She smiled back and waved.  

Robin turned back to Steve’s grave and sighed. “Hey, Dingus…” she greeted with an awkward smile, “I hate wearing dresses, you know.” She looked down at the black dress her mom forced her into, as dad’s suit was just on the side of too big. She looked back up at Steve… Steve’s grave. “I tried to convince them to let me write Dingus on your grave, but they weren’t having it. They said something about insulting the dead, but they don’t understand what it means to us.” She licked her lips. “I’m surprised Tammy Thompson didn’t show up. I bet her singing would have woken you right up.” Robin snapped her fingers and began singing a “Kermit'' rendition of ‘Candle in the Wind’. She laughed and snorted, before she frowned and paused. “I should’ve woken you up. I shouldn't have let you sleep. Fuck, I—I shouldn’t have let you go alone.” She took a shuddering inhale. “I fucking hate The Fox and the Hound, Steve! You call that shit comforting? That movie’s your favorite? It’s depressing as shit, Dingus, and it makes me cry every time I watch it! A-A-And we were both scared. I should’ve forced you to sleep on the couch or-or gone with you. We should’ve been there for each other! I should’ve…” Robin interrupted herself with a gasp, like she was in pain. Then again, she was in pain. The kind of pain where there’s a stab in your chest from a knife that you can’t get out. No matter how much you claw at your skin and rip away your clothing, that knife stays. It’s not heartbreak. It’s not jealousy. It’s not rage. It’s guilt. It starts in your chest, and it spreads to the rest of your body like a slow building wildfire. And similar to a slow wildfire, you don’t notice it until the trees are all burning and there’s more smoke than clouds in the sky. “I should’ve saved you.” she glanced at the word ‘hero’ carved into his stone. “It should’ve been me.”

Robin went home after talking to Steve’s grave for another hour. She talked until the faucets in her eyes went dry and the numbness felt like a lump of burning coal in her throat. “I’m not hungry.” She muttered to her mom on the way to the bathroom. They had one bathroom in the house, but Robin didn’t give a shit. She spent nearly three hours there, staring at the mirror. Staring at her bruises. Staring at the dark circles and large, purple mark on her neck from where they pressed that needle into her skin. Staring at someone living. Someone who didn’t deserve to be.

In movies, it always rains at funerals. It didn’t rain. Of course, it didn’t. Steve hated the rain. “It ruins my hair, and it’s miserable and gray.” Instead, it was a cloudless day and hotter than the fireworks that burned the Mind Flayer. Robin was left sweating in her funeral outfit, so she got into the shower sometime during hour two of crying. She sat down in the tub instead of standing and cried with the water. Turns out, she hadn’t run dry, she just ran out of excuses to cry at Steve’s grave instead of going home where her parents would do nothing but pity her and care for her. She didn’t want pity; she wanted Steve. “I wish you were here, Steve.” She whimpered, calling out to her lost friend.

Her friend, who was sitting outside the bathroom door. Steve, who was still in his Scoops uniform and wishing he changed his clothes before he went to sleep. Steve, who had his elbows resting on either knee as he held his head in his hands. Steve, who was sobbing and crying along with Robin. “I’m right here…” he repeated. He lost how many times he had said the sentiment, but he was sure it was in the thousands by now.

“I’m right here.”

[sitp-recs]

Hey Liv,

My friend had the most chaotic day today. She left on holiday and ended up packing at the last minute. Cue bags overflowing in every room, a dog to get into the car, a kid to pick up at daycare and no time to spare.

THEN her husband’s car broke down so she had to go pick him up almost two hours away with both dog and baby in the backseat….

All this so say: she might need a pick me up.

Do you have a Drarry rec where either of them (or both) are absolute chaos/ are under a bad luck spell /…?

Love love love ❤️

Omg your poor friend! 😱 I’m sorry things have been wild for her, that sounds super stressful and overwhelming! I hope everything was okay in the end. This story actually led to a really interesting ask, I did a mix of curses, pranks and bad luck with a touch of angst at the end - hope they work for what you’re looking for!

Humor/Fluff:

Bad Luck, Red Pants, and Broken Washing Machines by @the-starryknight (T, 2k)

After his five year sentence of magical suppression, Draco Malfoy got used to working without his wand. It's just days like today when nothing seems to be going right that he regrets his life in the Muggle world.

Special Affinity by @skeptiquewrites (E, 4k)

Auror partners Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy seem to have a special affinity for getting into convoluted accidental bonds. Once is a mistake, twice is bad luck, and five times...well five times seems like carelessness, doesn’t it?

Bubbles, Baths, and Bad Luck by manixzen (E, 5k)

A poisonous potion covering Professor Potter nearly head-to-toe would normally be a pretty big deal. It should be as bad as his day gets. But that’s before he’s informed that the cure involves a steamy, hot bath with an unrequited crush.

Then Comes a Mist and a Weeping Rain by Faith Wood (E, 21k)

It always rains for Draco Malfoy. Metaphorically. And literally. Ever since he had accidentally Conjured a cloud. A cloud that's ever so cross.

At the Crossroads There We’ll Meet by firethesound (E, 24k)

Potter keeps dying; Draco keeps saving him.

Rarely Pure and Never Simple by birdsofshore (E, 28k)

Harry never thought taking a job as Draco Malfoy's bodyguard was going to be easy. Add in a curse that makes Malfoy even more of an obnoxious git than usual, and Harry's got serious problems.

The Four Ds of Apparition (or: Destination, Determination, Deliberation, and Dicks) by @eidheann, @firethesound (E, 36k)

After transferring to the Apparition Department, Harry's life becomes one big dick joke. And all his friends are arseholes. So is Malfoy, but what else is new? AKA Harry Potter and the eighteen twenty dicks.

Draco Malfoy, It's Your Lucky Day by Faith Wood (E, 38k)

Even though he's unarmed, injured, lost in the Forbidden Forest, and facing a possible murder charge, Draco Malfoy gets lucky.

Skybound by @xanthippe74 (T, 61k)

No matter how much Harry Potter wanted to believe he’d left danger behind when the war ended, it found him again anyway. All he had to do was step out his own front door on a Tuesday morning. A Drarry re-imagining of Howl’s Moving Castle.

Tea and No Sympathy by who_la_hoop (E, 70k)

It's Potter's fault, of course, that Draco finds himself trapped in the same twenty-four-hour period, repeating itself over and over again. It's been nearly a year since the unpleasant business at Hogwarts, and Draco's getting on with his life quite nicely, thank you, until Harry sodding Potter steps in and ruins it all, just like always.

Angst:

Super Rich Kids by @thusspoketrish (E, 81k)

Draco Malfoy has become disillusioned by the glitz and glamour of the scandalous lives of the Post-Second Wizarding War Pureblood Elite. Enter: one existential crisis, one group of thieving cynical friends, and several terrible, terrible decisions.

Nor All That Glisters by @sweet-s0rr0w (E, 110k)

Lonely and frustrated on house arrest, with no prospects for the future, Draco begins brewing Felix Felicis in an attempt to improve his lot. Just in the short term, of course. He isn’t a total idiot.

[dumbassalex]

Ok, as someone who sorta defended The Crow 2024 reboot, and now that i've seen it, i have thoughts about it and i wanna share them... (More under the cut, spoilers ahead)

So firstly i liked the action, it was clear and you could see what's going on and the gore in those scenes was good, so no real issues with the action scenes. I really dug the soundtrack, the songs they chose to play were good and something i'd listen to.

I also like that Shelly had more screentime and got to be more of a character, that was fun and FKA twigs played her well in my opinion. Bill Skarsgard gave a good performance, as basicly always, with his Eric too.

Now my biggest issues is with the story itself, and especialy the pacing, it was SO slow, we spent like half the movie on Eric and Shelly while watching the villians look for Shelly, while also barely any real time has passed for Eric and Shelly, or at least it didn't feel like much of a time has at all passed between Eric and Shelly running away and being murdered.

And even once the couple gets killed by the villians, it takes us like another third of the movie for Eric to really become the Crow, for most of the movie he's just Eric with healing powers, and only becomes The Crow right before the opera scene, whitch is way too long for something based on a comic that's mostly just Eric being The Crow and hunting Shellys killers.

Another thing i dislike is the villians and their story, the original idea for the villians was just a group of street criminals coming across Eric and Shelly on a random day in the rain as their car broke down and deciding on a whim to do what they did, that was the tragedy, that it was random, senseless and didn't have to happen if a single thing happened differently. And changing it to a group of rich people hunting Shelly specificaly due to an incriminating video is such an odd change, along with the change to give the main villian superpowers.

Another thing that i feel like is a big difference between the comic and the movie is that the movie is very literal and very open about Eric coming from the death, healing super fast and there being supernatural entities and superpowers, while in the comics it was all more lowkey with Eric not feeling pain and healing slower than what the movies show, with his walking around wounded and scarred, the crow talking being in his head, same for the skeleton cowboy and the vision of the white horse that was a metaphor for the conflict of the story, it was a random senseless act that Eric had no control over yet he couldn't leave it be and blames himself for what happened.

In the movie it's a literal thing that happened to child Eric and doesn't set up his character arc and personal conflict of not blaming himself and moving on. Whitch was WHY he came back for revenge, because he was angry, blamed himself and couldn't move on, something he was only able to do at the end when he died at Shellys grave.

Whitch brings another change i disliked, the ending, the original ending of the comics is about Eric finaly being at peace and being able to move on and die, joining Shelly in the afterlife. But in the movie the reason he keeps going on is from pure love (somehow he felt such love after such short time) that can waver and make him loose his powers until making a deal for Shelly soul and becoming The Crow, bringing Shelly back to life while Eric stays dead. That just kinda misses the point, there wasn't no coming back and living again, it was about Eric having to come to peace and move on, it was a bittersweet ending but it was fitting the story and the themes, but just like the white horse methaphor, the movie ignores that.

So all in all, as a movie it's alright, but as a Crow adaptation it's overall kinda awfull in most ways. If you enjoyed the movie, good for you, but i personaly didn't really like it as a Crow adaptation and think it could've been much better. One thing i will give the movie for sure tho, is that it skipped Shellys assault, something i think wasn't entirely neccecary to motivate Eric to do what he did.

[spade-riddles]

"She's a crook who was caught" isn't even difficult, anon. Taylor and her lover are both cowboys and con artists, "telling the rich folks anything they want to hear". But behind the lies is their true love, which they would do anything to protect. "Forever is the sweetest con."

Karlie is "a crook who was caught" because she got "caught" or trapped in the con. Karlie's beard seemed like the safe choice initially. I don't think Karlie or Taylor realized how toxic that association would become, when they decided to go down the lavender marriage route to protect their relationship. They wanted certain things the lavender marriage could give them cover for, and Karlie paid the price for that.

Also, jumping on the Karlie hate wagon because of this lyric is truly mind boggling, when you consider how many times Taylor refers to HERSELF as a criminal, in her own body of work. Cowboy Like Me we've talked about, but Fresh Out The Slammer? "I did my time"? Marking the end of the Toe relationship, which Taylor introduced to us with the lyrics, "He can be my jailer" years before?

Who gets jailed? What type of person? What is Taylor saying about herself with that line? Criminality = bearding in Taylor's world.

She keeps using this as a metaphor. How about the entire conceit of Getaway Car? Who drives away in a getaway car with a bag of money, being chased by sirens? A criminal. Who flees to Florida waiting for the "heat" to die down, because outlasting scandal is the only way to "beat the charges"? A criminal. Who has a boating license and knows "how to cover up a scene"? A criminal. Who "masterminds" and does "vigilante shit"? Who sinks men's bodies into the swamp???

If "she's a crook who was caught" is such a Kaylor kill shot, then Taylor should probably stop writing songs that cast her as a criminal too.

The fact is, Taylor isn't casting judgement on Karlie with that line. She's lamenting the loss of what they had together. She's SAD her fellow crook was caught, not angry at her. She wishes she could go back to a time when the whole world thought Karlie was just "a twin from [her] dreams". Aka when they could glass closet together. Now the truth about Karlie - that she's "not what she seems", aka, not any of the things the PR narratives claim she is these days - can only be shared in whispers. The true story of who Karlie is and what she sacrificed for Taylor, can only be hinted and whispered at. And in the meantime, Taylor has to "go". To move forward without Karlie.

I don't see "you know when it's time to go" as a final goodbye, but a "goodbye for now" representing how Taylor can't stay stuck and wait out Karlie's sentence, without making PR moves of her own. She has to beard as well. She has to appear to move on too. Go on with the show. Even if she hates it, it's time to suck it up and leave behind her fantasies of how it all should have been. The simplistic interpretation is "they broke up", but so much evidence defies that, that it seems obvious to me the song is in fact a metaphor for Kaylor's pretend estrangement.

If Karlie had genuinely wronged Taylor, then lyrics like "soldier down . . . looked up at me with honor and truth" or "put you in jail for something you didn't do" or "your integrity makes me seem small, it's like I'm wasting your honor" would be pretty confusing. Unless we're talking about an honorable person whose only "crime" is bearding. To protect Taylor. Then it all fits just fine.

[kellshaw]

Entropy impacts your fantasy world

Entropy infects all systems. Things wear down, and either collapse or shake apart into new configurations.

Fantasy worlds are divided into a series of ages, where myths are split apart from legends and history. They might look like this Middle-Earth inspired history (at least my high school D&D campaign world did):

First Age - Gods walk the earth, or make the world. Evil gods are dealt with or bound.

Second Age - The great civilizations flourish, items of remarkable power of crafted and legendary battles occur. Famous institutions like kingdoms, and bloodlines are established.

Third Age - Not as epic, as the first or second age. The hero grows up on a farm or distant location and learns about the age of magic. Perhaps they’ll inherit a sword or learn lost secrets. There are ruins everywhere. Some dark threat left over from the second age will return and be dealt with. Perhaps the hero will reconnect with one of the elite institutions established in the second age.

Fourth Age - The age of magic ends, and everything changes. Elves sail away, gods leave the world, and hand it over to people, who, live in wisdom and peace and tell stories about the good old days to the kids.

This is also a metaphor for human life. The first age is childhood when you believe impossible things and dragons, the second age is when you’re young, fighting for your passions, the third age is when you get your job and learn how the systems of the world work. And the fourth age is when you’re paying off the mortgage, and you don’t have time to play D&D anymore or read books, but you’ve got fond memories of those days and will tell your bored family members about the good old days.

Let’s cut to 2020, COVID era. I’m in the fourth age of my life. During lockdown, I work through a bunch of intense personal stuff. One of them is that my epic fantasy novel series is doomed not to be finished in its current state—it’s lost in a muddle of endless rewrites. The book had lots of POVs, good character work and world building, but not much of a plot apart from an expedition across a continent. Time to recognize that it would never be done. I’ll never be Brandon Sanderson. (At least with that book.)

I get out my shotgun, place the barrel against the malformed, beating dreams of finishing that series, and pull the trigger.

Time to reboot. Start something else. I need to create I can finish. Shorter, less epic. Except, being one of those eternal gamemaster types, I can’t tell stories without a world.

Yeah, I could build any world I want and—my subconscious wants to design a setting in a fantasy world’s fourth age. When I was younger, the concept of the fourth age horrified me. Who’d want to tell stories in a world where the magic went away, and everything was about modern life, office workers and cars? 

Now, I find that interesting. Because the past is a magical one, right? How would that influence the modern day? And how did the magic leave the world? What if something went wrong with the final epic battle between light and darkness? What if losing magic was a last ditch strike? A nuclear option. Not a gentle fading of magic like in Middle-Earth—a planned obsolescence—but a catastrophe mess that broke the world.

And what if magic survived, but became hidden, messy and complicated?

So that’s the key idea I had when designing my world. Modern, yet with a hidden layer of magic.

Now to figure out what that looked like. And what sort of stories would it drive?

How about you—did you build your world by thinking about this sort of thing to start with (themes) or did you start with some other idea? Or even a sense of a character or a vision of a scene? (I love the story by CS Lewis how his initial idea for Narnia was simply a mental picture of Lucy and Mr. Tumnus walking arm-in-arm through a snowy wood...)

[heartsbind]

❤️ + ✈️ + 🧶 !!

shannon yaps about themself time!

❤️ — what are some of your best qualities?

i see you making me be positive about myself -- DKJFSNKJSD 🥺 anyway okay so i would say... my sense of humor and i am good at making myself look physically calm under pressure and organized (at work) even though i never feel that way DKFDSFDSF like at my mother's wedding this weekend. like... ok story time DKJFNDSF so i have three sisters, all younger, the youngest two are twins and the one in the middle is the one who just had a baby. the older twin is engaged and the younger twin has a bf. so older twin's fiance was standing by my brother-in-law and the baby and when he saw us starting to file out for like the procession or whatever the walk to the altar is, he starts like gesticulating and pointing at the baby and giving a thumbs up, but my sister could not tell what he was doing and was like starting to get anxious and asking us like "what's he saying, what about the baby-" and i, who had just been in a 2 hour long car ride with him and just know what he's generally like, could calm her down bc i knew they were positive gestures like "hey i see your baby! she's all good!" and then at the exact same time my mom was getting nervous bc the youngest twin was singing and we'd rehearsed walking according to what verse she was on and like nobody in our lineup could hear her from the building we were coming from EXCEPT i guess another good quality is that i have good hearing (my husband also can't hear for shit so i'm always hearing shit for him me vc oh that car is playing seven nation army i can hear the bass / him vc WHAT are you talking about / ANYWAY--) bc i could be like "ok she's on first verse. ok she's on the chorus. ok second verse is coming up. ok time to go" so anyway i hadn't considered much about any of it until the hostess that was helping us run the event that night came up to me later and was like you did really great!!! and all that and i was like oh! i did nothing!

i am also very humble and yap a very normal amount ---

✈️ — ever traveled anywhere interesting?

ok i can keep this one short bc i haven't gone too many places! i cannot drive and am broke and rarely have the chance to take more than a few days off at once so i've never left the country nor traveled very far across the country. i've pretty much stayed on the east coast u.s. but!! i got lucky enough to go to savannah georgia for a couple days for my sister's bachelorette party a few years ago and that was really fun! they had this place where they did brunch and they would put rubber ducks in your drinks. i think i still have mine somewhere

🧶 — any non-writing hobbies/interests?

video gaming primarily! beyond the games that i have muses for i really like all kinds of different sims. all sorts of farming sims that i just keep collecting, i have like gas station sim and powerwashing sim, supermarket sim, house flipper, pool-cleaning, crime scene washing... i'm currently juggling two/three bg3 runs, early access fields of mistria, just completed the demo of metaphor re:fantazio last night (the gameplay was so fun and it looked so incredible oh my gosh!)

i am god awful at watching things, tv shows i'm the worst at and movies i'm hit or miss - i just have soooo many things i want to do that it's hard to pick what to do next haha! but i have a background in scriptwriting and media studies so i really enjoy watching movies when i have the time!

i used to play the alto saxophone for a symphonic band at a local college that was open to community members! i miss it, but the last place i moved to it was just too far of a drive to justify doing it, plus covid put them in limbo for a bit and i don't think i ever got an email when they started in-person up again, probably because i wasn't in a position to do online meetings with everyone and practice at the time. i'm hoping to move back into the city next year, and maybe i can try to go again!

anything else... i like doing puzzles with my husband, we love tabletop mystery games (we used to have a hunt a killer subscription), and i love collecting even though i am too broke to really do it DKFSDJFDSFS and have no space to put anything. oh and i did start to practice drawing but i haven't done that in a while DFJDSFDSF

[waratah-moon]

24 with Joey where you used to date before he got famous?

24. My mum asked about you again. You and I are on the same wave length anon. This is my first Joe piece! and i broke my own heart writing it. 🎂 bday prompts list 🎂 masterlist / send me a message Warning: Big time angst, HEA as always (no broken hearts on this blog)

You didn't think you'd see him here. He hadn't shown up to the last few parties your friends had thrown, so you thought it would be a safe bet that he wouldn't be at this one either.

The two of you had ended on okay terms, mutually agreeing to breaking things off before he'd started the press tour. It had been hard enough being long distance while he was filming in the states, and you weren't prepared for him to be gone for even longer. He'd tried to compromise, asked you to come with him, but you couldn't leave your life behind for him.

It had been difficult seeing him everywhere since then; you couldn't go on the internet without seeing his face and the love you still had for him hadn't lessened in the months you'd been apart. Seeing him tonight for the first time since he'd collected his things from your apartment was absolutely heart wrenching.

"I can tell him to go," your friend followed your eyes across the room to where he was chatting with a small group.

"No, that's not fair. These are his friends too," you sighed, downing the rest of your drink in hopes that the alcohol would numb the stabbing feeling in your chest. You weren't suppose to feel this way. You'd been the one to suggest the split after all, so why did seeing him make you regret it?

He caught your eye, subtle pain passing over his features as he quickly looked back to the girl he was talking to. Okay, so he wanted to play it that way. If he could ignore you, you'd ignore him right back.

You didn't see him for the next hour, and resigned yourself to enjoy the company of your friends and the free alcohol. As the night was almost coming to an end, you stepped out into the empty courtyard for a breather.

"I wasn't sure if you'd be here tonight," he was hidden in an alcove outside, cigarette hanging off his lips.

"Unfortunately I am, sorry 'bout that."

"No, I was hoping you'd be here. Jordan said you usually come to Claire's parties so I thought there'd be a good chance you'd show up."

"Well you found me," you watched the smoke curl upwards from the lit end of his cigarette.

"How've you been? You look good."

"I've been alright. Not as good as you it seems."

"I've been absolutely miserable," he took a drag, his hand shaking slightly. "I hear congratulations are in order, for the promotion. I know how hard you were working for it."

You kicked the edge of a loose paving stone, "oh, thank you. How'd you know?"

His head fell back against the brick wall. "Mum asked about you again, so I asked Claire how you were doing and she told me about it. Mum says congratulations too, by the way."

"Tell her thank you."

You were both silent, the only sounds coming from the cars driving past and the soft thumping of the music playing inside the house. "I never should have let you go so easily. There's not a day that goes by that I don't regret fighting for you."

You sighed, "it wasn't working. You know that."

"We didn't try hard enough. I didn't try hard enough."

Tears stung in your eyes and you instinctively went to rub them, completely forgetting about the hour you had spent perfecting your smokey eye. "You did try, though. We both did. Do you know how much it hurt being away from you while you were filming? It was agony. I couldn't go through that again."

"It was torture for me too. But at least back then there was something to look forward to at the end of it. I eventually got to come home to you. Now it's just," he huffed, throwing his hand up in attempt to grasp the words. "It's like walking through one of those stupid mirror mazes with no way out. There's no light at the end of the tunnel."

"Been thinking about metaphors a lot, huh?" Your laugh was emotionless, as mascara tears stained your cheeks.

His frown was heartbreaking. "Baby."

The pet name went straight to your stomach. "Don't."

"Please," he pleaded. "Just tell me I'm not the only one suffering here. If you tell me you've over me then I'll go. I'll try to move on."

"I-" you started but the words wouldn't form. Your heart couldn't lie to him. "I still love you. I tried not to, I tried so hard, but I can't stop loving you."

"Can we just go back to how things were?"

"But it didn't work-"

"We can make it work. We can facetime every day, and I'll try to stay in London as much as I can and-"

"Slow down," you placed your hand on his forearm and he stilled under your touch. "If we're going to try this again, we need to talk about it. Can we get breakfast tomorrow morning?"

"Yeah. Alright." He dropped the cigarette, crushing the butt with his shoe. "Uh, can I ask you for a favour?"

"Depends, what is it?"

"Can I kiss you?"

You caved, answering his question by cupping the back of his neck and bringing his lips to your own.

[tomatoluvr69]

yayyyyy @sonic-fizz tagged me to answer these 15 questions this is so old web core slayyyyyyyyyyyyyy love it thx <3

1. are you named after anyone

eh i was named after a grandparent in a slapdash way. like they just chopped off half the name and called it a day...

2. when was the last time you cried?

literally probably like 24-48 hours ago in the car thinking about how doomed i am (this is not true.). or maybe it was reading a sad article...i don't know. I tear up a lot but full on sobbing bawling was in mid-Dec and a more sustained sniffle crying was when i was hungover and miserable about my tortured loneliness and doom for the future on new year's day lol

3. do you have kids?

omg...no...the microplastics in my womb and doom in my genome and also i'm broke and single and american

4. what sports do you play/have played?

i swim but it's like in the way that other ppl take walks around the neighborhood a few times a week. sports were so fucking abysmal for me growing up that i feel i am unlikely to ever return

5. do you use sarcasm?

occasionally...i've grown out of it for the most part though. there are better ways to be funny in a lot of situations...i am silly goofy mostly, or use observational humor and wacky metaphors etc

6. what is the first thing you notice about people?

i'd love to be like 'a warm smile :-)' but if i'm being totally honest i'm scanning their clothing/hairstyle/grooming etc to scan for anyone likely to judge me based on my failure to conform to gender and modern consumerism...which isn't fair to others, i know......but sometimes you just see someone in like salon highlights barrel curls full makeup suburban drip and you're like hmmm eeeeeek scary! I think this is a vestigial defense mechanism from my relentless failure to dress right and be liked growing up. need 2 keep an eye out for the freaks and geeks and allies you know (but i'm so lucky to be in circles where everyone is dressing androgynously, having full on body hair everywhere, no makeup is the norm rather than the exception, funky used clothes and practical work/outdoors gear is the norm, etc. ok i'm getting off track...). i also notice people's height relative to my own bc i'm a bit insecure about towering over some people even though i'm not that tall.... :-( this stuff says way more about me than about anyone else... :-( i will say though that i'm pretty good about ignoring these first readings and giving people a chance once i get to know them. this is just the knee jerk first impression stuff

7. what’s your eye colour?

pale blue/grey. sorry :-/

8. scary movies or happy endings?

i like SAD ENDINGS of LOVERS' DEATHS and UNREQUITED PASSIONS and FAILED DREAMS and SCARRED MEMORIES....

9. any talents?

nothing like above and beyond. but there's a number of things i'm pretty sufficient at without trying too hard which is nice i guess. gardening, cooking from scratch w/o recipes, stringing together a sentence or a laugh...

10. where were you born?

my beautiful steel city...kisses 2 her majesty.......

11. what are your hobbies?

swimming gardening fermenting cooking writing reading going to indie films with friends of discerning tastes attending potlucks oh and LAYING FACE DOWN IN MY BED.....

12. do you have any pets?

i wish :-( renter problems......

13. how tall are you?

5’11" or so i have not been to the doctor in so many years LOL....

14. favourite subject in school?

hated school but hated the humanities the least...i loved my filmmaking class in college the most probably

15. dream job?

MOVIE DIRECTOR...FAMOUS AUTEUR NOVELIST...HOMEMAKER...

I tag @fieryphrazes, @iwrotemrtambourineman, @chriselliottfanblog, and @chekovsphaser from my notes recently...and literally anyone who wants to and is bored you can say i tagged you. in fact i would love to read it i think tag games are so fun and i love to read them ok yay byeeee

[triforce-of-mischief]

Train Whistles and a Raging Fever

Febuwhump Day 11: Fever

Rating: G

Whump count: fever

Word count: 550

Summary: Spirit doesn't realize that he's sick.

Characters are from Train Whistles and Wedding Bells, a Linked Universe AU by my awesome friend @socialc1imb!

AO3

Reblogs > Likes!

“Spirit, why don’t you take a break? You’ve been up front all day.”

The conductor startled at the voice, which was nearly yelling to be heard over the train. He dumped a final shovelful of coal on the fire, then turned to see who had entered the cabin.

It was Wind, who was doing a poor job of hiding his concern. “Come on, I know you’re excited to be back home but you haven’t eaten all day.”

“’Cause I’m not hungry. Go enjoy the view,” Spirit said, wiping sweat from his brow. It had been too long since he had worked with his train; he was hot and tired after only an hour or so.

From the corner of the car, Wild waved to get Spirit’s attention. ‘I think I’ve learned the metaphorical and literal ropes by now,’ he signed. ‘Go get some food.’

Spirit pointed an accusatory finger at Wild. “I know you just want to abuse one rope in particular.”

Wild only gave him a gremlin-like grin, and Spirit sighed and followed Wind out of the car. Behind them, Wild leapt to the control panel and made the train’s whistle sound long and loud.

“He’ll be fine. You will be too, as soon as we find some food for you,” Wind assured him, pulling him through car after car until they found an empty one. Wind instructed Spirit to sit on the nearest bench, then left to track down Wild’s food stash.

Spirit sat without hesitation, wondering why he was so exhausted. He pulled off his thick gloves and wiped clammy hands on his overalls. The passenger car was cool, but Spirit’s head pounded from the residual heat of the locomotive. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to close his eyes until Wind came back…

“Ha, I knew it! You’re too tired to even think about driving a train right now.”

For the second time that day, Spirit jumped when he heard Wind’s self-satisfied voice. He struggled to open his eyes, blinking blearily at the sailor.

“You should still eat something, though. I found plenty of food a few cars down.” Wind dumped a pile beside Spirit, who turned his head away.

“I said I’m not hungry.” The smell of food reached Spirit, and he choked back a gag. Even the thought of food was suddenly making him nauseous.

“Hey… are you alright? You’re acting really weird.” Wind pressed his hand to Spirit’s forehead, only keeping it in place for a moment before recoiling with a hiss. “You’re burning up!”

“Yeah, I’m just hot from the fire. Don’t worry about it,” Spirit mumbled.

“No, you’re really hot. I think you have a fever,” Wind said.

Spirit hummed. “That would explain it.”

Then, despite Wind’s surprised and frantic attempts to prevent it, Spirit’s consciousness slipped away.

He wasn’t aware of much after that. Somebody laid him across the bench and wiped sweat and soot away with a damp cloth. A blanket was tucked around him, kicked off, and replaced when he immediately started to shiver again. Worried voices, deeper than Wind’s, spoke above him but he couldn’t make out any of their words.

Spirit drifted in and out of a fitful sleep, surrounded by concerned brothers and the sound of his train taking them to whatever destination he would find himself at when his fever broke.

[sniffanimal]

.

it's really weird trying to find space for myself in online autism communities that I've basically just stopped trying

I don't really "fit in" with other adult diagnosed/late diagnosed autistics because while I was 26 when I was "officially on my medical record diagnosed" it's been kind of an open secret my whole life? like I've known I was autistic since I was 8 but it wasn't really anything a doctor said or did anything about. I don't even remember how I found out, if I ever did. I've just like, always known I was "on the spectrum" or whatever growing up. so it's not like "ohhhh autism explains so much!" kinda feeling most late diagnosis circles have when they discuss stuff, like everything about me has always been informed by the fact that I'm autistic.

and so surely you'd think I'd fit in with other early diagnosed adult autistica, except those tend to, online, be grouped into either previously-diagnosed-aspergers-people or caretakers of people who are not afforded an online presence. and the former tends to stray into aspie supremacy a lot ("I'm not like eating crayons or whatever I'm just some guy who likes airplanes a lot ok?") and I shouldn't have to explain why the latter can be equally exhausting

and plus in my day job I'm often in a position where I have to advocate for autistic teens who are just learning self advocacy in the first place, so I'm super picky about what kind of autism circles I run in. while I guess I fall into the caretaker category for work, I'm also autistic myself.

and online, god forbid I talk about the fact that I'm medium support needs. the fact I have a degree and live away from family obfuscates that, but I also don't/cant drive and require lots of small interventions through my day to be functional in public (lots of lists and visual reminders, avoiding triggering things, heavy rehearsing and pre planning things that are upcoming, sensory interventions, PT, etc). I may be hyperlexic (I've been speaking in full sentences since I was like 18 months old and can talk circles around anyone I know), but that verbally =/= functionality. someone who is completely nonverbal could get through their days easier than me!

but no one wants to talk about how autism is a spectrum in the broadest of senses. I like the salad bar metaphor, but I think there's even better ones. maybe autism is like getting dressed.

assume everyone wears clothes. some people wear clothes they're most comfortable in at all times. some people can wear formal wear for a little while but will eventually get uncomfortable and put on comfy clothes. some people wear suits or fancy dresses every day because it brings them joy. some people wear under wires and lacy G strings because it makes them feel good regardless of how it sensory feels, and other people can't even fathom wanting to wear them because of the sensory feeling, and in either case no one will see what you're wearing because it's underwear.

okay maybe this metaphor only makes sense to me, but the idea is that everyone is putting on different articles of clothing every day. Some days the clothes are comfortable (sensory needs met, able to participate in social gatherings fully, using AAC, having access to comfort items and preferred topics), and some days the same clothes could be uncomfortable (too quiet today, same social gathering is overwhelming, iPad is dead, no one wants to talk about Pokemon). Or maybe you're wearing the wire bra (loud rock concert, crowds, people smoking, had to take an Uber pool because your car you usually drive broke down so plans changed), but someone else can't fathom that experience being tenable at all. Maybe they wear a sports bra and cotton undies (staying in predictable settings, practicing ordering at restaurants, stinking to self soothe, wearing earplugs, not embracing spontaneity) but other people might find that unsexy (socially inappropriate). Sometimes we might put on costumes like a ball gown (spend weeks preparing for a trip, going over itinerary and lists and watching videos to prepare and ensuring you will have space and time to decompress and calling ahead to the venue to check and double check and making sure your friend is okay driving the whole way and renting a car that's the same model you're used to driving in and wearing the lotion with the smell from home so that the new car won't smell as different and ) because you know you'll look cool as hell while you're wearing it, but that the sweat pants and cotton undies are waiting for you after. And sometimes while you're in the ball gown you carefully constructed, you realize you know what fuck this and have to strip down to your bloomers! and everyone hates when you do that because they expected you to wear the ball gown all night

I was going somewhere with this post. but anyways. I'm autistic and it's exhausting to be one online so I just look at funny images instead of trying to build community

[asterdisaster06]

Something In The Orange

simon "ghost" riley x john "soap" mactavish

Pt 1. Pt 2. Pt. 3

summary > “I’m tired of you disappearing for weeks and then waltzing back into my life like it’s nothing.”

“Better than me disappearing for good.”

“Is it?”

. . .

word count > 1.8k

warnings > simon riley pov

a/n >  hi guys, i think this one will really grind some gears (: although, it's shorter chapter because I’m not sure there’s much to say here. . .

ao3

Ghost had received the call; he had looked down at his phone, seen the caller ID of ‘my love’ staring back at him, and he still chose not to pick up. If you had asked him why he had done that then versus now, his answer would probably have changed significantly. Although, he’s not entirely sure he could tell you his motive. It wasn’t born out of malice though, that he could be sure of. Nonetheless, he knew damn well that he had fucked up as soon as Price refused his call. He had never done that in all the years Simon had known him. If that wasn’t enough, so did everyone else.

Simon “Ghost” Riley was well aware that how he acted was not what his love deserved. He knew that he should have tried harder, done things differently, called him back time and time again. He didn’t know how to though. It was similar to riding a bike - something many people knew how to do by being taught by their parents. Simon was never taught; whether that was riding a bike or how to have a healthy relationship with someone that he was supposed to show love and affection to every day of every month of every year.

The fact that he could never break the cycle ate at his bones and drove his young mind crazy. He wanted so desperately to get help, admit he needed it, grovel at Soap’s feet like he deserved. To worship the very ground MacTavish stood upon and kiss all of the scars left on his heart and soul. All that he was able to do was hold Soap’s head between his collar and jaw, well aware that there was no weight at all. There was no intimacy in the very essence of what used to be love and devotion that would’ve driven the two to the ends of the earth for one another. The gesture had been empty for far too long.

Simon awoke in the front seat of the car that he had parked off in the middle of nowhere. If he was being honest with himself, he had no clue where he had driven to. All that the broken man knew was that he was running away from the very thing that has kept him semi-stable all this time. He regretted it with every fiber of his being, knowing it wasn’t the life that he had promised his beloved. Far from it.

To Soap he was just a man, to Simon, Johnny was all he is. There was no identity separating Ghost from Simon beyond the person he had left in the dust. If Simon could change all of this, he would. It was a slow and steady decline into how exactly the two had gotten to this point; one that Simon wasn’t aware of until the straw that broke the camel's back. It sent a jolt of pain down his spine that he no longer remembered what the fight was even about. To think, this is what it culminated in. He had poisoned himself again, and something in the orange sunrise told him Soap was never coming home into his arms again.

Staring down at his scarred, rough, and dusty hands stained with the metaphorical blood of his once beautiful relationship with the Scot. What he wouldn’t give to be taken back to dancing in their bar on the corner where the wood used to creak. The memories he once held in such regard were tainted by the light shone upon them by the laughter of Soap. The very same laughter that was carved into the ribs of the British man who felt it stab him every time his heartbeat. Something that he wished sometimes faded into nothingness, the very same way that his connection with Johnny did.

Where the hell was he supposed to go? A part of him wanted to run back and beg for forgiveness from someone who sure as hell deserved ten times better than him. Wanted to prove that he could be better and heal the cracks with time and patience one day at a time. Wanted to find hope that his life could be any better than it seemed at that moment. The other part of him forced pride to choke its way up his throat, presenting as a lump that made it hard to breathe. Stones in his lungs wanting to keep him exactly where he was and start anew. Shame erupting from his soul that told him he deserved to be shunned like a dog out on the streets. A life destined to live off scraps and die from getting hit by a car.

He needed to hear Soap’s voice again, the very same one that had been waiting all night to hear back from a living man that haunted him. It sent a flash of regret and humiliation through Simon’s veins. Although, he knew he deserved all of it and more if he truly was going to attempt to make it up to the love of his life. Who was he kidding about moving on and establishing a new life? It would never compare to the one he had built from the ground up with the foundation set in blood and unbroken promises. He would rather die than never, ever see Soap or feel the gentle touch of him again. Simon was damned if he went back, and damned if he didn’t, but he wasn’t one to give up. Not again. Not ever again.

Simon RIley wasn’t a man to back down from a challenge. He was a flight risk, that’s for sure, but he was willing to fight tooth and nail when it came down to it. He didn’t care how long it took, how many years, whether or not Soap would even hear him out. His mind was set on bandaging the wounds that had been inflicted on the relationship and left to fester for far too long. Infected with inflammation running rampant and flies buzzing all around the necrotic flesh. It had been done from the moment he had left the shared apartment with the last view of Soap being one that tore at his heart. A view of the Scottish man with tears running down his tired features; features that Simon knew damn well were so very close to giving up. He wasn’t stupid, well, maybe he was, but he knew that he had to clean his act up.

It’s the exact reason why his first stop after revving his black truck up - a truck that held so many memories of star gazing in the bed of it with his lover - was to a small town. One that he had visited many times before; one that he had befriended an old woman after preventing her from getting mugged. An old woman that owned a small pawn shop where Simon had spent countless hours staring up at the cracked ceiling while pouring his heart out to her. Maybe it was a tad unorthodox, but she had always made the best tea and encouraged him to speak his mind.

Soap had always accused him of never getting help, never talking to anybody, never trying. And it’s not like Simon blamed him, especially with the damning evidence of a torn-up letter from the facility Price had recommended them for therapy specialized for ‘people like him.’ There was an entire argument with his little spitfire about how Simon didn’t want to be looked at with pity. Didn’t want to speak to someone who was paid to identify issues that Simon already knew he had. He had tried it before, both specialized and not. Neither one felt like it was enough, and Simon never was all that interested in an acting career. That’s why he stopped going, stopped the medication that made him throw up everytime he took it - and the doctors didn’t do a damn thing to help that symptom - and why he tried to act better for Soap. Wanted him to be able to depend on someone that wasn’t so broken, but being confronted like that felt like he was being told he was fragmented and unable to be what Soap wanted. He tried, so fucking hard, but he couldn’t do it. Having to face that thought head on alongside it being thrown in his face was too much.

He couldn’t even tell his lover how much it pained him, because he knew they would keep trying like they always had, and it wouldn’t get them anywhere. Soap was like that, always determined to help Simon in a way he never could himself. Simon supposes that’s why everything had built up this far. Piled under the carpet until it couldn’t be ignored. Sometimes all Ghost needed was patience and silent comfort. Sometimes Soap was impatient and loud in his attempts to help. He could tell that it was breaking his sweetheart more than he would let on. Simon could always read him like that. Simon wanted Soap to stop pouring his heart and soul into someone Riley felt didn’t deserve it. He supposes he could’ve been nicer about getting that across, but he’d add it to the list of things to explain and apologize for.

Simon suspects that he never told Soap about him talking to the old woman because it would mean admitting that running away helped him. It wasn’t something he was proud of, and he was less proud that a pure stranger was able to aid him more than his own boyfriend. It would’ve made Soap feel like he should let Simon abandon him like that, which wasn’t something he wanted to let happen. It was a roundabout way of trying to protect Johnny. Or there was another theory in his mind that he wanted to keep it to himself for selfish reasons. To have something to himself away from the military life and taskforce that Soap had conquered easier than Simon could even imagine. Both in the tactical, domestic, and social way. He admits to being jealous there, but he didn’t want to seem it. This ‘him’ time was his way of protecting the one aspect of his life that was truly his own. What therapy was supposed to be as Soap said.

He acknowledges how stupid his actions were despite the complex reasoning behind everything. He should’ve been able to open up and explain his little quirks and behaviors before it had gotten to this point. However, he was going to try. If it was too late, he couldn’t tell. But the older woman encouraged him to do so. It was the least he could do after putting Johnny through hell and back as she said. As she said right after handing over the complexically designed ring that he had ordered the day he had left the shared apartment. The same fateful one two weeks ago to the day.

Simon Riley stared down at the engagement ring clasped tightly in his hand, hoping that he could turn this all around before it was too late.

[levriem]

When you died I was mad

I shouted at the sky until my throat started to burn and there was no noise left except for the echos in my head

The unbearable dizziness that reminded me that I wasn’t only metaphorically losing the ground under my feet

The weeks before, where every vibration that came from my phone made me go into panic mode

Breakdowns in the ICU

Turning the music in my car up so loud in hopes it would drown out my thoughts

Forcing myself to function and stay positive

Holding your hand in the hospital bed, controlling the way I was breathing in hopes it would magically help your body function correctly

Survival mode

I knew you lost your fight when I was awaken by my phone that morning

How I stumbled through the apartment to my moms bedroom door, my lungs felt like they were filled with cement and my body felt so weak when she met me in the middle of the living room and silently wrapped her arms around me

„I know, it’s okay“

No noise

And yet everything was so loud

The beating of my heart

The nurses at the hospital

Family members who cried

The funeral director while I tried to arrange everything

My spiraling thoughts

And I had to grieve for myself

I had to put on a mask to function

I had to go into survival mode again, forcing myself to eat while I cried at every bite

I broke down in silence

Because my friends arms felt too heavy on me

I slept in my moms bed for the next few months because I couldn’t sleep in my own where I took that call

Because I was afraid of being alone when my sadness hit me

Ignoring my friends because my sadness was MINE and grieving you was something I didn’t want to share with anyone

And I occasionally still seem to fall back into it and suffer in silence

Because talking about it won’t bring you back

I still can’t bear the smell of hospitals and Covid masks

They trigger my fight-or-flight and cause an instant panic attack

I was waiting at your house so often

Sitting down in the kitchen waiting for you to come home

Swallowing down the knot in my throat

I broke down at your grave months after you died

In the middle of the night when I stopped to say goodbye and the whole drive home is still a blur

To this day I can’t stand in front of it for more than a few minutes

My legs are restless and I feel like getting away because seeing your name engraved there makes everything feel too real

I still catch myself dialing your number when something exciting happens and silently put my phone to the side

„The number you��re trying to call has been disconnected“

Yet I still smile when I see a pink sky

Colors melting into each other knowing you’re trying to paint pictures up there

But when you died I was so mad

I shouted at the sky until my throat started to burn and there was no noise left except for the echos in my head

I was mad at a world that took something away from me I couldn‘t bear to lose

And I pictured all the stars falling down on my head burying me under them

„Grief“ is a short word but a heavy feeling

[alarrytale]

Anon mentioning Ricky Martin´s She Bangs, just yesterday I watched that video after like 22 years(?) and I remember when I was a kid and Ricky Martin was sold as hot sex god and I also had crush on him a bit because of his image and I how remembered that video was very hot and full of sex. Okay, those years takes toll on that video especially when it comes to effects haha but still, he´s so ripped there and sexualized, it´s full of sex, hot bodies and obviously he´s making out/dancing there only with women. Maybe Harry doesn´t have to do this (thank God) but still the fact as his image is sold is equal to that RM´s videos full of sex.

Second thing when you mentioning how harries and antis should realize that closeting exists - amen to your answer! I don´t have time now but one day I would like to share my story how I met 2 closeted gays - they are long time friends of my dad and my step mom - who both have families ( you know, real grown-up children, one is still married and probably won´t get divorced because of safety), they are over 50 and if I didn´t know about closeting thanks to Larry, no way I would notice it in my real life when I met them during one family event. And I and them live in Europe and yet they have to hide from society and most friends and my dad+step mom are one of those who give them safe space. So yes, closeting EXISTS and you don´t even have to be world known singers.

And third thing, Marte, please don´t take it in offensive way but how you write that you find lyrics analyzing pointless, how do you know then that most of Harry´s songs are about Louis?

Hi, anon!

I haven't watched that music video in ages! Did you notice him trying not to giggle when the women are roaming their hands over his naked chest? H or L could never pull something like that off.

To your last question. I don't think that most of H's songs are about Louis, but many are. Just because i don't care for lyric interpretation and analysis doesn’t mean i don't do it myself. It just means we'll never come to a consensus. I don't think us larries disagree on Sweet Creature or Two Ghosts being about Louis for example. I usually agree with general themes, but when you break down the individual lyrics to mean this or that to me it's comparable to finding meaning in an abstract painting or cloud watching. Some see elephants and some see cars. Some see dispair and some see happiness. A song can be a happy song for some and a sad song for others.

For this reason i also have a huge problem with people using lyrics as evidence for this or that. They broke up because that lyric in that song implies it. They hate each other because the car in that song is a metaphor for a fight. Larry is real because Louis wore something yellow and Harry wrote Golden. I see things like that everyday. Then it turns out that song was about Kid Harp*ons wife forgetting her wallet in her car or something. When it comes to H's songs if you think it means something, it most likely isn't what you think it means. The metaphors are layered too deep to get real meaning out of it.