#this turned out way longer than i intended it to

[harrysfolklore]

christ-max -mv1

summary: you invite your boyfriend max to spend christmas with you for the first time, however, your family doesn't quite believe you're dating a formula 1 world champion. wc: 5.8k

folkie radio: HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL OF YOUUUU! i hope you're having the best day ever with your loves ones. this fic ended up being longer than i intended but i hope you like it!

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

You're nestled into Max's side on his couch, wrapped in the soft throw blanket he keeps specifically for these quiet moments together. The afternoon light filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his Monaco apartment, casting a glow across the room. Your feet are tucked under you, and you can smell the lingering scent of the coffee you both made earlier.

The Netflix show you'd put on - some random documentary about deep-sea creatures - has become mere background noise. Max's fingers are threading through your hair in that gentle way that always makes you melt, occasionally stopping to massage your scalp. .

"I can't believe the season's actually over," you murmur, tracing lazy patterns on his arm. "Feels weird not having to plan around race weekends anymore."

Max chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest where your head rests. "Yeah, but now we have to plan around all the end-of-year events instead. Did you see how many galas and ceremonies are coming up?"

"At least those don't involve you flying halfway across the world," you tease, tilting your head to look up at him. His hair is slightly messy, free from its usual styling, and you resist the urge to reach up and run your fingers through it.

"True," he agrees, then glances at his phone on the coffee table. "Speaking of events, I can't believe it's already December. Christmas is going to be here before we know it. Guess time flies when you're busy winning championships."

Your heart skips a beat. This is the opening you've been waiting for. You've been thinking about this for weeks, planning how to bring it up. "Actually… I wanted to ask you something about Christmas," you start, sitting up slightly to face him better.

Max's blue eyes meet yours, curious. "What's on your mind?"

"Well…" you bite your lip, suddenly feeling nervous despite knowing there's no reason to be. "I was wondering if you'd want to spend Christmas with me and my family this year? I know we've kept things private, but I really want them to meet you, and-"

"Wait, really?" Max interrupts, his whole face lighting up with that boyish excitement that made you fall for him in the first place. "You want me to meet your family?"

You can't help but smile at his enthusiasm. "Of course I do. We've been together almost a year now, and they keep asking why I'm always smiling at my phone." You playfully poke his side. "Which is your fault, by the way."

He catches your hand, intertwining your fingers. "My fault? I'm just being my naturally charming self," he grins, then his expression turns slightly more serious. "But are you sure? I mean, won't they be surprised when you show up with, well…"

"With a four-time World Champion?" you finish for him, laughing. "Actually, my dad might pass out. He's been watching F1 since before I was born. He has no idea I've been dating his favorite driver."

Max's eyebrows shoot up. "I'm his favorite driver?"

"Don't let it go to your head," you warn playfully. "But yeah, he's got your merchandise and everything. It's actually kind of embarrassing how much he talks about you during race weekends."

Max throws his head back laughing, and you can't help but join in. "Oh God, this is going to be interesting," he says, wiping at his eyes. "What about the rest of your family?"

"Well, Mom will probably try to feed you until you burst - she's like that with everyone. And my little sister Ruby, she's seven and she's going to have so many questions. She's in that phase where she wants to know everything about everything."

"I can handle questions," Max says confidently, then hesitates. "What kind of questions are we talking about?"

You pretend to think about it. "Oh, you know, probably things like 'How fast have you ever driven?' 'Have you ever crashed?' 'Do you want to marry my sister?'"

Max nearly chokes on air at the last one, his cheeks turning slightly pink. "You're joking, right?"

"About Ruby? Nope, she has absolutely no filter," you laugh, then soften your voice. "But seriously, they're going to love you. Just be yourself - the you I know, not the racing driver everyone else sees."

He pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I'd love to spend Christmas with your family. I can't wait to meet them." He pauses, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Should I wear my race suit when I meet your dad?"

You swat his arm, laughing. "Don't you dare! He'll actually faint." You settle back against his chest, feeling warm and content. "Thank you for saying yes. It means a lot to me."

"Thank you for asking me," he murmurs into your hair. "I love you."

"I love you too," you respond, smiling as his arms tighten around you. The documentary continues playing, forgotten again as you both start planning for Christmas, trading ideas and jokes about how to break the news to your family.

You're sitting cross-legged on Max's bed while he's in the shower, your phone propped up against a pillow as you FaceTime your family. Your mom's face fills most of the screen, with your dad peering over her shoulder and little Ruby bouncing around trying to get a better view.

"Honey, we can barely see you. The lighting is terrible," your mom critiques, and you adjust your position slightly.

"Better?"

"Much better! Now, what's this important thing you wanted to tell us about Christmas?" Your mom asks, while Ruby shouts "Is it presents?" in the background.

You take a deep breath, trying to contain your smile. "Well, I wanted to let you know that I'm bringing someone with me this year… my boyfriend."

There's an immediate explosion of excitement. Ruby starts jumping up and down, your mom gasps dramatically, and your dad's eyebrows shoot up with interest.

"Finally!" your mom exclaims. "We've been wondering when you'd introduce him. You've been so secretive about this boyfriend of yours."

"What's his name?" Ruby pipes up, her face suddenly taking up half the screen as she pushes closer to the camera. "Is he nice? Does he like Disney movies?"

You laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Yes, Rubes, he's very nice. And his name is…" you pause, knowing what's coming. "Max. Max Verstappen."

There's a moment of silence before your dad bursts out laughing. "Good one, sweetheart. Now, what's his real name?"

"I'm serious, Dad. I'm dating Max Verstappen."

Your mom is trying to hold back her laughter now too. "Honey, isn't that the racing driver you and your father are always watching? The one your dad has all those caps and shirts of?"

"Yes, and I'm actually dating him," you insist, feeling your cheeks heat up.

Ruby's face scrunches up in confusion. "The fast car man? From TV?"

"The very same one, Rubes."

Your dad wipes tears from his eyes. "Come on now, what's next? Are you going to tell us you're best friends with Lewis Hamilton too?"

"Dad!" you groan, running a hand over your face. "I'm being serious! We've been dating for almost a year. I'm literally at his place right now!"

"In Monaco?" your dad asks skeptically. "Prove it."

You swing your phone around to show the familiar view of Monaco through the windows, but your dad just shakes his head. "Could be any apartment in Monaco."

"You're impossible!" you huff. "Fine, don't believe me. You'll see at Christmas."

Ruby presses her face closer to the screen again. "Will he bring his race car?"

"No, Rubes, he can't bring the race car," you say, softening your tone for your little sister. "But I promise you'll love him."

After a few more minutes of your family teasing you about your "imaginary Formula 1 driver boyfriend," you end the call with a mix of frustration and amusement. Just as you flop back onto the bed, you hear the bathroom door open and Max walks out, his hair still damp from the shower.

"How'd it go?" he asks, noticing your expression.

You let out a laugh. "They think I'm making you up. They literally don't believe I'm dating you."

Max raises his eyebrows, looking amused as he sits next to you on the bed. "Really?"

"Really. Dad laughed so hard he nearly cried. And Ruby, my little sister, just wants to know if you're bringing your race car for Christmas."

"Sorry to disappoint Ruby," he grins, then looks thoughtful. "You know, maybe we should've waited to tell them in person. The looks on their faces would've been priceless."

"Oh, don't worry," you sit up, wrapping your arms around his neck. "They'll still be priceless. Dad's going to lose it when he realizes all those times he was rambling about you during races, he was actually talking about his daughter's boyfriend."

Max laughs, pulling you closer. "What else should I know before meeting them?"

"Well, Ruby's seven and obsessed with Frozen. She'll definitely make you watch it and probably sing along too."

"I can handle that," he says confidently.

"And recite all the lines?"

"…Maybe not that."

"And act out the scenes with her?"

Max's eyes widen slightly. "What have I gotten myself into?"

You kiss his cheek. "Too late to back out now, Verstappen. You're stuck with us."

"Wouldn't have it any other way," he murmurs, pulling you in for a proper kiss. "Even if it means playing Olaf the snowman."

"Oh no, you'll definitely be playing Elsa. Ruby's very particular about casting."

The look of horror on his face makes you burst out laughing, and soon he's joining in too. As your laughter dies down, you can't help but think about how perfect this feels - being here with him, planning to spend Christmas with your family, even if they don't believe you yet. You can't wait to see their faces when you show up at their door with Max Verstappen himself.

"Hey," Max says softly, breaking into your thoughts. "What are you smiling about?"

"Just thinking about how Christmas is going to be interesting this year."

"Interesting is one way to put it," he grins. "Should I wear my race suit when we arrive?"

"Don't you dare! Dad will actually faint."

"That's kind of the point," he winks, and you grab a pillow to hit him with, both of you dissolving into laughter again.

"Let me guess, another text from 'Max Verstappen'?" your dad teases from his spot at the kitchen counter, making air quotes with his fingers. He's wearing one of his many Red Bull Racing shirts, completely oblivious to the irony.

"Actually, yes," you reply, rolling your eyes. "He'll be here soon."

Your mom chuckles while peeling potatoes. "Honey, you can just tell us who your boyfriend really is. We won't judge, even if he's not a Formula 1 champion."

"Mom, I've told you a million times-"

"LOOK!" Ruby crashes into the kitchen, pointing at the TV in the living room where they're showing highlights from the last race. "It's YN's boyfriend!" She dissolves into giggles, clearly in on what she thinks is a funny joke.

"Very funny, Rubes," you mutter, but check your phone again when it buzzes.

Max: "Just turned onto your street. Nice neighborhood 😉"

Your heart starts beating faster. "He's here," you announce, heading toward the front door.

"Oh, we're still doing this?" your dad calls after you, amused. "Should I get my Max Verstappen cap for him to sign?"

"Actually, Dad, yes, you should," you shout back, slipping on your boots.

"Sweetie," your mom starts in that gentle voice she uses when she thinks you're being ridiculous, "you don't have to-"

The sound of a car pulling up interrupts her. You open the front door and step out onto the porch, watching as Max's car comes to a stop in your driveway. Your family has crowded behind you in the doorway, probably expecting to catch you in your "lie."

Max steps out of the car, looking unfairly handsome in his dark winter coat and scarf. His face lights up when he sees you, and you don't hesitate to run down the steps toward him.

"Hi," he grins, catching you in a tight hug and lifting you slightly off your feet. "Missed you."

You hear a loud gasp behind you, followed by what sounds like your dad choking on air.

"Missed you too," you murmur against his chest before turning to face your family, keeping one arm wrapped around his waist.

The scene on your front porch is priceless. Your dad's mouth is hanging open, his face pale except for two bright red spots on his cheeks. Your mom has both hands pressed to her face in shock. Ruby is the only one moving, bouncing up and down with excitement.

"IT REALLY IS THE FAST CAR MAN!" she shrieks, breaking the silence as she barrels down the steps toward you both.

Max laughs, crouching down to her level. "Hi Ruby. Nice to finally meet you. Your sister has told me a lot about you."

"You're real!" she exclaims, poking his arm as if to make sure.

"Very real," he confirms, looking thoroughly amused.

"I… you… but…" your dad stammers, still frozen in the doorway.

"Hi, Mr. and Mrs. LN," Max says, standing back up and guiding you and Ruby toward the porch. "Thank you for having me for Christmas."

Your mom seems to snap out of her shock first. "Oh my goodness, please come in! It's freezing out here. I… oh dear… the potatoes… I should… more food… I need to…"

"Mom, breathe," you laugh, as Max follows you inside.

Your dad hasn't moved an inch, still staring at Max like he's seeing a ghost. "You're… you're actually… the Brazil overtake…"

"Dad, no F1 talk yet!" you warn. "Let him at least get his coat off first."

"Right! Yes! Coat!" your dad says frantically. "I'll take your coat! And then maybe… could you… would you mind signing my…"

"Collection?" you finish for him, smirking. "The one you thought I was making up?"

Max raises his eyebrows at you, remembering your conversation about your dad's merchandise collection.

Ruby tugs on Max's hand. "Do you want to see my Frozen dolls? And can we watch the movie? Sissy said you've never seen it!"

"Ruby, let him settle in first," your mom calls from the kitchen, where she appears to be panic-cooking. "Oh God, is the food good enough? Do Formula 1 drivers have special diets? Should I-"

"Mom, the food will be perfect," you assure her, then turn to Max. "See? I told you they'd be cool about it."

Max tries to suppress his laugh as your dad continues to stare at him in awe, your mom stress-cooks enough food to feed an army, and Ruby continues pulling on his hand.

"Very cool," he agrees, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Though I think your dad might need to sit down."

"I'm fine!" your dad squeaks, then immediately sits down heavily on the nearest chair. "Just… just give me a minute to process that my daughter is actually dating Max Verstappen and I've been accidentally talking about my future son-in-law during every race and-"

"DAD!" you exclaim, feeling your face heat up while Max chuckles beside you.

"What? I'm just saying… all those times I said 'that Verstappen boy would make someone a good husband someday' and it turns out-"

"Okay!" you interrupt loudly. "Who wants coffee? Max, come help me with coffee!"

As you drag a laughing Max toward the kitchen, you hear Ruby start explaining the entire plot of Frozen to him, your mom muttering about needing to buy more food, and your dad still talking to himself about racing statistics.

"Still think this was a good idea?" you whisper to Max.

He pulls you closer, grinning. "The best. Though you might want to tell your dad to breathe before he passes out."

"Can we build a snowman after coffee?" Ruby calls out.

"Only if Max gets to be Elsa!" you shout back, earning you a playful glare from your boyfriend.

Looking around at your slightly chaotic but loving family, and seeing how naturally Max fits into it all, you can't help but smile. This is definitely going to be a Christmas to remember.

The initial chaos has settled into a cozy scene in your living room. You're curled up on the couch next to Max, who has Ruby practically attached to his side. She hasn't stopped talking since everyone sat down, and Max, to his credit, is giving her his complete attention.

"And then Elsa makes this huge ice castle," Ruby explains, using elaborate hand gestures. "Can you drive as fast as Elsa runs up the mountain?"

"Probably faster," Max answers with a grin, making Ruby's eyes widen.

"Even in the snow?"

"Even in the snow."

Your dad, who's finally regained his ability to form complete sentences, sits in his armchair trying very hard not to bombard Max with racing questions. He keeps opening his mouth, then closing it again when you give him a warning look.

"It's okay, Dad," you laugh. "You can ask him one race question. Just one."

Your dad looks like he might cry from happiness. "The overtake in Brazil-"

"Which one?" Max asks with a playful smirk, and your dad launches into an enthusiastic discussion about racing lines and grip levels.

Your mom returns from the kitchen with a tray of hot chocolate and cookies, having finally accepted that she doesn't need to cook enough food for an entire F1 paddock. "Here we go. I hope it's okay, Max. YN mentioned you like hot chocolate."

"It's perfect, thank you," Max says warmly, accepting a mug.

Ruby immediately reaches for a cookie, then pauses. "Do race car drivers eat cookies?"

"Only the fast ones," Max whispers conspiratorially, making her giggle.

"Ruby, give Max some space to breathe," your mom says gently, noticing how your sister is practically in his lap.

"It's fine," Max assures her. "I have nephews. I'm used to it."

Ruby beams at this information. "Really? Do they like Frozen too?"

"I don't know, but I'm sure they'd love to hear your explanation of it," he says, and Ruby launches into another detailed plot summary.

You catch your mom watching the interaction with soft eyes, all her earlier panic forgotten. She meets your gaze and mouths 'He's wonderful' when Ruby isn't looking.

Your dad has moved on from Brazil to discussing tire strategies, but stops himself mid-sentence. "Sorry, I'm probably boring you. You live this stuff."

"Not at all," Max says sincerely. "It's nice talking about it with someone who understands racing. YN usually just tells me to stop being a nerd when I talk about tire compounds."

"Because you spent two hours explaining the difference between C3 and C4 compounds!" you defend yourself.

"It's fascinating stuff," your dad says eagerly, and Max nods in agreement.

"Oh no, there's two of them now," you mutter to your mom, who laughs.

Ruby tugs on Max's sleeve. "Can we watch Frozen now? Please? You promised!"

"Ruby, let Max rest a bit," your mom starts, but Max shakes his head.

"A promise is a promise," he says solemnly to Ruby. "Should we watch it now?"

Ruby squeals with delight, jumping up to get the remote. Your dad looks slightly disappointed that his racing talk is being cut short, but you can see him hiding a smile at Ruby's excitement.

"Fair warning," you whisper to Max as Ruby sets up the movie, "she knows every word. And she will sing along."

"As long as she doesn't expect me to sing," he whispers back.

"MAX!" Ruby calls, patting the spot next to her on the floor where she's arranged pillows. "You have to sit here! It's the best spot!"

Max obliges, settling down next to her while you stay on the couch, exchanging amused looks with your parents as Ruby starts the movie, already mouthing along to the opening music.

Your mom leans over to you. "I'm sorry we didn't believe you," she whispers. "He's lovely. And so good with Ruby."

"I told you," you whisper back, watching as Ruby explains to Max why Elsa has ice powers.

Your dad joins in the whispered conversation. "Think he'd sign my mug collection later?"

"Dad!"

"What? I'm just saying, Christmas cards would be sorted for the next few years…"

You're about to respond when Ruby shushes you all loudly. "This is the best part!"

Max catches your eye and winks, clearly enjoying himself despite being roped into a Disney movie viewing with a very enthusiastic seven-year-old commentator. Your heart swells watching him with your family, how naturally he fits in, how gentle he is with Ruby.

"Do you want to build a snowman?" Ruby starts singing along with the movie.

"Later, Rubes," you promise. "Let's watch the movie first."

She nods seriously, then turns to Max. "Pay attention to this part. It's very important."

"I won't miss a second," he promises, and Ruby beams at him before turning back to the screen.

Your mom reaches over and squeezes your hand, giving you a knowing look. Even your dad has stopped thinking about racing long enough to appreciate the moment – his youngest daughter sharing her favorite movie with your boyfriend, who happens to be the F1 driver he's been fan-boying over for years.

It's perfect, you think, watching your family and Max together. Different from how you imagined telling them, but perfect nonetheless.

"Shh!" Ruby whispers loudly. "Elsa is about to sing Let It Go!"

Max shoots you a slightly panicked look as Ruby starts to stand up, clearly ready to perform the whole number. You just grin and shrug. After all, you did warn him about the singing.

Later that evening, you finally manage to steal a moment alone with Max. Ruby had fallen asleep during the third replay of Frozen, and your parents took her up to bed before retreating to the kitchen to finish some Christmas preparations.

You find Max on the back porch, leaning against the railing and looking up at the stars. The winter air is crisp, and you can see his breath forming little clouds in the darkness. Quietly, you step out and wrap your arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek against his back.

"Hey," he says softly, turning in your arms to face you. His hands find their way to your waist, pulling you closer. "Needed a little break from being Elsa?"

You laugh quietly, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead. "You were amazing with Ruby today. I think you're officially her new favorite person."

"She's a sweet kid," he smiles, then adds with a playful glint in his eyes, "Though I didn't expect to watch Frozen two times in one day."

"Just wait until tomorrow. She'll probably want to act it out."

He groans dramatically, but you can see the fondness in his expression. "The things I do for you."

"Mmm, and I appreciate every one of them," you murmur, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him softly.

Max responds immediately, one hand moving to cup your face while the other pulls you even closer. The kiss is gentle and unhurried, full of unspoken emotions. When you finally pull back, he rests his forehead against yours.

"Thank you," you whisper.

"For what?"

"For being so perfect with my family. For watching Frozen multiple times. For not running away when my dad started his racing commentary."

He chuckles, the sound rumbling in his chest. "I like your family. Your dad's racing knowledge is impressive, your mom's trying very hard not to mother me to death, and Ruby…" he pauses, smiling. "Ruby reminds me of Victoria at that age."

You snuggle closer, seeking his warmth in the cold air. "I was so nervous about telling them, and then even more nervous when they didn't believe me. But this… this is better than I imagined."

"Even with your dad asking me to sign his entire Red Bull merchandise collection?"

"Hey, at least he waited until after dinner," you laugh. "Though I'm pretty sure he's in there right now planning which items to bring out first."

Max wraps his arms more securely around you, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I love you," he says quietly, and your heart skips a beat like it does every time he says those words.

"I love you too," you reply, tilting your face up for another kiss.

This one is deeper, more passionate, until you hear the back door creak and quickly step apart.

"Oh!" your mom exclaims, looking flustered. "Sorry, I just… wanted to ask about breakfast preferences… but it can wait… carry on!"

She disappears back inside, and you both burst into quiet laughter.

"We should probably go back in," you sigh, though you make no move to leave his embrace.

"Probably," he agrees, but instead of letting go, he pulls you back for one more kiss. "Five more minutes?"

You smile against his lips. "Five more minutes."

In the quiet of Christmas eve, wrapped in each other's arms, you can't help but think how perfectly he fits into your life, into your family, into your heart. Tomorrow there'll be more Frozen, more racing talk, more of Ruby's endless questions, but right now, it's just the two of you, and it's everything.

The winter sun is just beginning to peek through the curtains of your childhood bedroom, casting a soft golden glow across the room. You're wrapped in warmth, nestled against Max's chest with his arm draped around your waist. His steady breathing tells you he's awake before he even moves.

"Good morning," he murmurs against your neck, his voice still rough with sleep. His lips brush against your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

"Morning," you whisper back, feeling his hand slowly slide beneath your sleep shirt, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin.

"Sleep well?" he asks innocently, but his actions are anything but innocent as he presses closer, leaving a trail of kisses from your shoulder to your ear.

"Max," you breathe, caught between wanting to lean into his touch and knowing you should stop. "We can't… my parents…"

"Then we'll have to be very, very quiet," he whispers, nipping at your earlobe. His hand travels higher under your shirt, making your breath hitch.

You turn in his arms, ready to either give in or properly protest - though the way he's looking at you, eyes dark with desire and that signature smirk playing on his lips, makes you lean heavily toward the former.

"You're trouble," you murmur, reaching up to run your fingers through his disheveled hair.

He leans down to capture your lips in a heated kiss. "You love it."

Just as his hand starts to wander again, a voice pierces through the quiet morning:

"IT'S CHRISTMAAAAS!" Ruby's excited scream echoes through the entire house, followed by the thundering of small feet running down the hallway. "WAKE UP! WAKE UP! SANTA CAME!"

Max drops his forehead to your shoulder with a frustrated groan. "Your sister has impeccable timing."

"Welcome to Christmas with Ruby," you laugh, pressing a consoling kiss to his cheek. "I tried to warn you."

"YN! MAX!" Ruby's fists pound on your door. "GET UP! There are presents EVERYWHERE! And it SNOWED!"

"Five more minutes, Rubes!" you call back.

"NO MINUTES! NOW!" she insists, continuing to knock. "Mom said breakfast is ready and Dad made hot chocolate and I SAW A HUGE PRESENT WITH MY NAME ON IT!"

Max chuckles against your shoulder. "I suppose we should…"

"PLEASE!" Ruby calls again. "I promise I'll let you drink your coffee first!"

"That's quite the offer from her," you tell Max. "She usually doesn't allow any delays on Christmas morning."

"We're coming, Ruby!" Max calls out, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. "Give us two minutes to get dressed."

"TWO MINUTES! I'm counting!"

You can hear her dramatically counting down in the hallway, making Max laugh. "She's serious about this, isn't she?"

"Oh, you have no idea."

The living room is a festival of color and chaos when you finally make it downstairs. Ruby's bouncing by the tree in her Christmas pajamas, while your parents are settled on the couch with steaming mugs of coffee.

"Finally!" Ruby exclaims. "I counted way past two minutes!"

"Sorry, princess," Max says, accepting a coffee mug from your mom. "But I'm here now."

"Max, sweetheart, you really didn't have to get us anything," your mom says, noticing the pile of presents he'd arranged under the tree last night.

"Of course I did," he replies warmly. "It's Christmas."

Ruby's practically vibrating with excitement as your dad starts distributing gifts. "Can I open mine from Max first? Please?"

At your nod, she tears into the elaborate wrapping paper, gasping when she reveals a beautiful wooden chest with golden details. "It's like a treasure chest!"

"Open it," Max encourages, smiling.

Ruby lifts the lid carefully, her eyes widening. Inside is a complete collection of princess dresses, each one a perfect replica from different Disney movies, along with matching accessories and a tiara for each one.

"The chest is magical," Max explains, kneeling beside her. "Every time you open it, there might be a new surprise inside. And look at this…" He reaches in and pulls out a small envelope.

Ruby opens it to find a letter with the Disney castle letterhead. "Dear Princess Ruby," she reads aloud, her voice getting more excited with each word. "You are cordially invited to spend a royal weekend at Disney World, where you will have a private breakfast with all the Disney princesses…"

She doesn't even finish reading before launching herself at Max, nearly knocking him over. "Thank you thank you thank you! Can I try on the Elsa dress right now?"

"After presents," your mom laughs. "Let's see what else Santa brought."

Your dad opens his gift next, finding an envelope that makes him pause. "Son," he says, voice thick with emotion as he reads the contents. "This is…"

"VIP passes to the British Grand Prix," Max confirms. "Including garage access, grid walk, everything."

Your dad has to sit down, clutching the passes like they might disappear. "This is… I can't…"

"And this," Max hands him another package, "is just a little something extra."

Inside is a vintage racing jacket from your dad's favorite driver from the 80s, signed and authenticated. Your dad actually tears up.

Your mom opens her gift next, despite protesting again that Max shouldn't have gotten them anything. She unwraps a beautiful pair of earrings.

"Oh, Max," she whispers, "This is beautiful."

Ruby, who has been surprisingly patient, tugs at Max's sleeve. "Can we do my princess breakfast now?"

"After we finish presents," you laugh. "And maybe we should have real breakfast first?"

"But I'm a princess now," she declares. "Princesses have special breakfast times."

Your mom shakes her head fondly. "How about pancakes fit for a princess?"

"With chocolate chips?" Ruby negotiates.

"With chocolate chips," your mom confirms. "Max, honey, how do you like your pancakes?"

"However they're made is perfect," he assures her, but your mom is already heading to the kitchen, muttering about making sure she has enough chocolate chips.

Your dad finally finds his voice again. "Max, this is too much…"

"It's not," Max says firmly. "You're… you're family now. Or at least, I hope…"

He glances at you meaningfully, making your heart skip a beat.

Later, after pancakes and multiple princess dress changes from Ruby, you manage to steal some time alone with Max in your favorite spot on the back porch. The morning sun has warmed the air slightly, but there's still a crisp winter chill that gives you an excuse to stay close to him.

"Your turn," Max says softly, pulling out a small wrapped box from his pocket.

Your hands tremble slightly as you unwrap it, revealing a velvet jewelry box. Inside is a delicate silver necklace with two intertwined pendants - a heart and a tiny racing helmet.

"Max," you breathe, touching the pendants gently. "It's beautiful."

"Look at the back," he says quietly, his voice carrying a note of nervousness you rarely hear.

You turn the heart over to find an engraving: "You're my biggest victory. -MV"

"I love you," you whisper, pulling him down for a kiss. His arms wrap around you, holding you close as if you're the most precious thing in his world.

When you finally part, you hand him your gift - a wrapped box that makes him raise his eyebrows at the weight.

Inside, he finds a handmade scrapbook filled with your personal moments - sneaky paddock kisses, quiet mornings at home, victory celebrations, and candid moments no one else has seen. The final page holds a photo from yesterday - Max on the floor with Ruby, both laughing during their third viewing of Frozen.

"This is…" he starts, voice thick with emotion.

"Wait," you say softly, reaching into your pocket. You pull out a key on a simple keychain. "I thought… maybe… if you wanted…"

"Move in with you?" he finishes, breaking into that brilliant smile that never fails to make your heart race. "Yes. Absolutely yes."

He pulls you into another kiss, deeper this time, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other holds the key carefully.

"MAX!" Ruby's voice carries from inside. "I need help with my Cinderella shoes! And then we have to build a snowman! A FROZEN snowman!"

You both laugh against each other's lips.

"Duty calls, Elsa," you tease.

"Only if you'll be my Olaf," he grins, pressing one more quick kiss to your lips.

"Always," you promise, letting him lead you back inside where Ruby waits, already changed into her third princess dress of the morning.

Your dad catches your eye as you pass, "If you don't marry this boy," he whispers, "I will."

"Dad!"

"I'm just saying," he shrugs, then heads outside to join the snowman-building committee.

Your mom appears at your other side, wrapping an arm around you. "He's right, you know. He's perfect for you."

You lean your head on her shoulder, watching Max let Ruby direct him on where to place the snowman's arms. "I know," you smile. "I know."

"Best Christmas ever?" she asks softly.

Looking at your family, and Max in the middle of it all, belonging there like he's always been part of it - you smile.

"Best Christmas ever," you agree.

[meazalykov]

woman at the bar

ellie carpenter x reader

summary: why does the woman on the field look so familiar?

the bar is alive. the clinking of glasses, and the low thrum of music vibrates through the dimly light space. 

you’re seated at a table in the corner, nursing a drink that’s gone lukewarm in your hand. your sister and her friends are immersed in their usual routine—flirting with men, laughing at jokes that aren’t particularly funny, and tossing their hair in exaggerated movements meant to catch attention. 

this isn’t your scene. it never has been. it’s not that you hate being here, but the dynamics of the night are predictable and, frankly, uninteresting to you. you’re a lesbian, after all—there’s no thrill for you in the possibility of a man’s attention.

still, you came along for your sister’s sake. it’s her city, her life, and you’re here visiting from halfway across the world. the least you can do is play along.

you lean back in your chair, scanning the room, your eyes flitting over faces without much interest—until they land on her.

a unfamiliar woman who is sitting at a booth by the bar, her posture lazy and confident in a way that demands attention. her legs are spread wide in a deliberate manspread, one arm draped over the back of the seat while the other holds her phone. the blonde hair catches the light, a messy halo that frames her sharp features. 

she looks so at ease, like she owns the space without needing to try.

you can’t stop staring. there’s something magnetic about her, something that makes the noise of the bar fade into the background. her friend, another blonde (lindsey horan), stands up and heads toward the dance floor holding hands with a brunette man, leaving her alone in the booth. 

she doesn’t seem to mind. if anything, she looks even more comfortable now that she has the space to herself.

your gaze lingers longer than you intended. her eyes lift from her phone, catching yours. for a moment, you panic, ready to look away, but she doesn’t give you the chance. she holds your gaze, her lips curving into a small, knowing smirk. 

it’s subtle, but it sends a jolt of electricity down your spine.

it feels like permission.

before you know it, you’re standing, setting your drink down and weaving through the crowd toward her. each step feels heavier than the last, nerves building in your chest, you don’t stop though. the pretty eyes stay on you the entire time, her smirk widening just enough to keep your courage alive.

when you reach her, you clear your throat, suddenly unsure of what to say. 

“salut,” you manage, your french smooth but slightly accented. 

“puis-je m’asseoir ici?” (can I sit here?)

she raises an eyebrow, her smirk turning into a grin. “you’re australian, aren’t you?” she says, her voice lilting with an accent that mirrors yours.

you blink, caught off guard laughing as you took a seat beside her. 

“uh, yeah. how’d you know?”

she leans forward slightly, resting her elbows on the table. 

“your voice. it’s all over your french.”

you laugh, the tension in your chest easing. 

“guess i’m not as convincing as i thought. mind if i still stay here anyway?”

“be my guest.”

the leather is cool against your legs since you’re wearing a skirt. up close, she’s even more striking. her features are sharp and defined in a way that makes her look like she stepped out of a painting. 

she’s effortlessly beautiful, and it’s almost intimidating.

“what part of australia are you from?” she asks, her voice casual as she leans back again, her arm brushing yours.

“melbourne,” you reply. 

“and you?”

“cowra,” she says, the corner of her mouth quirking up as she waits for your reaction.

you grin. 

“cowra, huh? small-town girl in the big city.”

she laughs, a sound that’s warm and rich and makes your stomach flip. 

“something like that. what brings you all the way to lyon?”

you explain about your sister, how she moved here a few years ago for work, and how you decided to visit for a few months. she listens intently, her eyes never leaving yours, and you find yourself relaxing under her gaze.

“what about you?” you ask. 

“what’s a girl from cowra doing in lyon?”

she shrugs, a playful glint in her eye. 

“just… life, i guess.”

her answer is vague, but you don’t push. instead, the conversation shifts to lighter topics—home, travel. there’s an ease to it.

at some point, you end up sitting closer to her, your thigh pressed against hers. her arm is draped over the back of the booth, her fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder as she talks. every touch sends a spark through you, and you wonder if she feels it too.

when her hand lands on your thigh, resting there like it belongs, you know she does. 

“you alright there?” she asks, her voice low, teasing. her fingers flex slightly, a deliberate movement that makes your breath catch.

“yeah,” you manage, though your voice betrays you with its shakiness. “just fine.”

her lips twitch, and before you can overthink it, she leans in, her mouth capturing yours in a kiss that’s as confident and deliberate as everything else about her. her hand moves to your waist, pulling you closer as your hands find their way to her shoulders.

 it’s intoxicating, the way she tastes, the way she feels under your touch.

you’re so lost in her that you don’t notice the world around you until someone calls your name. you pull back groaning in disappointment, your lips tingling, and turn to see your sister’s friend standing a few feet away, looking frazzled.

“i’m sorry but it’s your sister,” she says, her voice urgent. 

“she’s outside, and she’s not doing well.”

you glance back at the blonde and see the understanding in her eyes. “go,” she says softly. 

“she needs you.”

“do you… live here?” you ask quickly, desperate to hold onto some thread of this moment since you hope you will get to see her again.

she nods. 

“yeah. do you?”

you want to say more, but your sister’s friend is tugging at your arm, pulling you away. you barely have time to throw the blond an apologetic look before you’re swallowed by the crowd, the warmth of her touch fading with every step.

the olympics come around a few months later. your sister, ever the planner, scores you tickets to australia vs. the united states in paris. the seats are incredible—close to the field, where you can see every detail of the game.

when the australian lineup is announced, your heart skips a beat at the sight of the woman from the bar.

you had to do a double take, rubbing your eyes carefully. there she is. the same blonde hair, the same confident posture. it’s her.

your phone is in your hand before you realize it, googling her last name you see on her shirt when you see her turn around with her back facing yours from the field. 

“ellie carpenter.. defender for the matildas. plays for lyon”.

it’s her. you’re not sure whether to laugh or panic, your heart racing as you watch her move with the same ease and confidence that captivated you months ago.

the game is intense, but australia loses, their olympic journey ending in disappointment. as the players begin to disperse, you can’t take your eyes off her. she lingers on the field, her expression somber as she hugs her teammates.

 then, her gaze sweeps over the crowd and lands on you.

for a moment, she freezes. then, slowly, a smile spreads across her face. she starts walking toward you, weaving through the crowd until she’s standing just a few feet away.

“fancy seeing you here,” she says, her voice light despite the weight of the loss.

you laugh, shaking your head. 

“i could say the same to you.”

“what, are you stalking me now?” she teases, her eyes sparkling.

“hardly,” you reply, though your cheeks flush. 

“this is the first time i’ve seen you since… well, lyon.”

her smile widens. “so, you remember me.”

“hard to forget,” you admit. 

she leans against the barrier, her gaze softening. 

“i also forgot to get your name?”

“y/n.”

“pretty name,” she says, her voice dipping slightly. 

“you back in lyon anytime soon?”

“yes, tomorrow actually,” you say. 

she goes over to her jacket on the australian bench, pulls out her phone, then jogs back to you and hands you her phone with much confidence. 

“put your number in. we’ll make sure this doesn’t take months next time.”

you do as she asks, your hands shaking slightly as you type. when you hand it back, she glances at the screen, then back at you. 

before you can anything else, your sister calls your name, telling you that the driver is here. ellie steps back, giving you one last smile. 

“see you around, y/n.”

masterlist

[lemonlimestar]

timmed konne 18?

ignoring the date on this ask for my own sanity. merry crimah rimi…

18 | “Can I join you?”

Tim adjusts the bow on his tiny package for the umpteenth time, trying to think up an excuse to linger outside of the door longer. ‘He’ll either like it or he won’t,’ he tells himself, ‘Get over yourself, Drake.’

Tentatively, he raises two fingers to rap at the door. “Come in!” Kon’s voice rings out before his hand even makes contact. Of course he would know Tim was standing out here all this time. Accepting his fate, he shuffles inside.

Kon is sitting at his makeshift vanity (a funky-looking mirror propped up on his desk) surrounded by various makeup products Cissie “let him borrow” and earrings that have no matches. They’re only going to a small holiday get-together with their friends in a few hours, and Kon has been making a desperate attempt at seeming nonchalant about the whole deal; Tim knew as soon as he slipped off to change his outfit that something was up.

“Hey.” Tim greets.

Kon finishes smoothing out the color painted on his lips with a ‘pop’ sound. He frowns at his reflection. “Sup.”

Tim knows his kneejerk response of ‘what’s wrong?’ will only be deflected. So instead, “Can I join you?”

Kon meets his eyes in the mirror. “Go ahead.”

A beanbag chair pulls itself over from the corner of the room for Tim to sit in. He sinks into it with a sigh, making sure his package isn’t jostled. He taps Kon’s foot with his own. “You look nice.”

Turning around in his chair, Kon squints at him. “Don’t lie.”

“Why would I?” Tim asks, smug as he deliberately trails his eyes down Kon’s outfit—a bulky sweater that cuts off to reveal the bottom half of the dress that hugs his hips in a way that forced Tim to rely on discrete breathing exercises when he first saw it. He makes a face in response that tells Tim that his ogling worked.

“Well,” he clears his throat, “Thank you. I just—I can’t get the makeup right. I can’t tell if it’s too neat or whatever.” He pauses, taps his fingers against the desk. “Yeah, I’ll blend more.”

Tim rises out of the beanbag to scoot in closer, sets his chin beside Kon’s arm. “More glitter usually makes you feel better.” He reminds him. The box—still in hand—almost begs to be gifted, but he can wait a little longer; he needs the perfect moment.

“It’s not about me feeling better, it’s about me looking better.” Kon mumbles. He faces Tim again. “So, how do I look now?”

Peering down at him, haloed by over-bright lamp light, eyes adorned with faded, pale blues, Kon’s even more of a sight than usual. Tim’s never been a flowery language guy, so he goes for blunt. “You’re gorgeous, you know that.”

Kon sputters, stutters, and presses his lips shut. If Tim touched a hand to his face, he’s sure he’d be burning up. “Oh. That’s… nice.” He eventually gets out, rather than a typical “Aw, Robbie, you gotta crush on me?” That’s how Tim really knows he got him.

Tim sets his free hand on Kon’s thigh, massaging the tension there. “Uh-huh.”

“Good. Great. Awesome.” Kon sets his hand atop Tim’s, squeezes. Then, his tone sheepish as he questions, “You’re not just saying that, are you?”

Tim scoffs. “When have I ever ‘just said’ something?” He reaches up to cup Kon’s cheek, smiling when Kon melts into the touch.

He really does look stunning, his curls—venturing toward chin length—framing his face, his broad shoulders still defined through the heavy material of his sweater. Kon seemed uncharacteristically anxious as he explained that he wanted to try something new earlier today; Carefully, cautiously, he’d placed his heart in Tim’s hands in an entirely new way, and Tim intends to put his all into taking care of it.

“Although… I will say, the look is missing something.” Before Kon’s expression can fully shift, Tim drops the box in his lap.

At a snail’s pace, Kon undoes the ribbon. The top is gently set onto the desk, then Kon pulls out the pair of dangly, dropped-shaped, turquoise earrings. He rotates them back and forth, completely silent. Kon is almost never silent. Shit.

“One is a clip-on,” Tim starts up,” If you ever wanted to wear both. Or, you can wear neither. Uh. It was just something I randomly thought of. And I know how you feel about your earring, so if you don’t want it—“

“Tim.”

“—I totally get it! It’s not a huge deal. You’ve just, y’know, been trying new stuff and I wanted to be supportive—“

“Tim.”

“—I should’ve asked first. Final. I shouldn’t have sprang this on you; I knew I should’ve just kept it at that deluxe Wendy boxset—“

“Tim.” Kon grabs him by the shoulders, now level to him on the floor. He has the earrings on, Tim notices. “Stop talking.” Then he kisses him.

It’s more passionate than expected, but he’s not complaining. One of Kon’s hands tangles in his hair as their heads tilt to better slot their mouths together, and Tim wraps his arms around his waist. After a few seconds or several, the hand buried in Tim’s hair pulls him back to break the kiss. Tim almost complains until he sees the look on Kon’s face.

“You’re the best, Rob. I love them.” He traces Tim’s bottom lip with his thumb, kisses him again for a moment.

“I’m,” he takes a deep inhale, “I’m glad to hear that. I was hoping you would.”

“Are you kidding? These are sick! I’ll never take ‘em off.” Kon decides, nodding. Tim raises an eyebrow at him. “…Okay, that’s probably unrealistic. I’ll add one to my uniform.”

Tim mentally fist pumps. Knocked it out of the ballpark with this one. “Sounds great.” Tim leans back in, eager to test the longevity of that lipstick.

So what they end up being half an hour late to the party, and Tim gets heckled for the lipstick stain he couldn’t get out of his shirt, all that matters to him is the smile stuck to Kon’s face.

[im-so-normal-iswear]

helloooo, can we have shadow x a reader who tends to get sick a lot maybe?

A/n: I really wanted to make this angsty, but then I remember I'm really bad at writing angst 💔💔

Shadow x reader who gets sick often

"Hmph, you ahould take better care of yourself"

Shadows voice rang as he turned the corner with medicine and water in hand. You got sick often. Today you were immobilized in bed from how sick you were.

"I try to." Was all you could say before going into another coughing fit and sighing.

He set the water down, opening the medicine and shaking some out onto his hand.

"Take this"

He handed them to you, shakily you took it with one hand, grabbing the glass of water and taking a sip as you swallowed the pills, before slumping back on the bed.

He gave you a short glance before turning away, muttering under his breath.

Not that he would ever admit it, but he really did hate how you seemed to always be sick. Sure he cares enough to help you out but it irritates him.

It reminds him too much of her. Maria.

Don't get it wrong, he doesnt view you as her, but he cant help but note how similar you are to her in those ways. Small comparisons here and there.

Its not even you getting sick so much that truely bothers him, its how nonchalant you are about it that irks him. Thats the real similarity he makes internally alot.

When your sick, wether or not its on the more serious flus, or just a common cold, youre always insisting your fine, waving off any and all questions, or concerns unless you cant get out of bed. It really irritates him.

He knows. He knows that not a single time your sick will amount to how serious marias illness was, but he still finds a bit of comfort in being able to take care of you when your like this. Being able to help you get better, something he couldn't do for Maria.

Shadow sat down on the chair beside your bed, arms crossed and his gaze fixed firmly on the floor. He wasn’t one for lingering, but he wouldntvoeave, not yet at least. The sound of your heavy breathing filled the room, and despite how many times he’d heard it before, it still made something in his chest tighten uncomfortably.

He told himself it wasn’t a big deal. You were stubborn, yes, and entirely too casual about your health, but you’d get better. You always did. He was here to ensure tthat though in the back of his mind he saw Maria there in that bed, just for a moment.

It was Maria all over again. The way she’d insist she was fine. The way she’d laugh, even as her hands trembled. The way her light was slowly extinguished while he could do nothing but stand by and watch.

His fists clenched.

"Shadow?"

Your voice broke through the haze of his thoughts. He looked up, startled, and immediately schooled his features into something neutral. You were watching him with a tired expression, your head tilted slightly.

"You’re zoning out," you murmured, pulling the blanket up higher as a shiver ran through you. "What’s on your mind?"

"Nothing," he replied curtly, his tone sharper than he intended. "Just… rest."

You didn’t argue, though your brows furrowed in concern. Closing your eyes, you nestled further into the covers, your breathing steadying as exhaustion overtook you.

Shadow watched you for a moment longer before standing abruptly. He needed air.

The hallways were quiet, the faint patter of rain against the windows the only sound accompanying him as he paced. His mind raced, memories he’d long since buried clawing their way to the surface.

"Shadow, it’s okay! I’m fine, really.”l"

Maria’s voice echoed in his ears, so vibrant, so full of life despite the context. He remembered the way she’d beam at him, even when confined to the cold, sterile walls of the ARK. Her insistence that she was "okay" had been both infuriating and inspiring, her strength something he admired and resented in equal measure.

He knows your not maria. But seeing you in bed sick and unmoving...

He couldn’t let the past repeat itself.

[gilbertscurls]

christmas (baby please come home) — matt sturniolo

summary: when a twist of fate reunites you and matt at a holiday gathering, old wounds resurface, forcing you to confront the love you thought you'd buried years ago.

The first snow of December blanketed the town in a pristine white sheen, softening the harshness of the biting cold. You adjusted your scarf as you pulled into the driveway of the charming, snow-dusted cabin, your heart pounding more from nerves than the chill. Beside you, Paul grinned, completely oblivious to the storm brewing within your chest.

“Ready to meet the family?” he asked, his voice warm and inviting.

You forced a smile, nodding. “Of course. I’m sure they’ll love me.”

The words were meant to reassure him, but you were the one who needed convincing. The holidays with Paul’s family should have been exciting, but an unshakable anxiety had clung to you since the moment he mentioned the gathering.

“They’re really great,” Paul continued as he unloaded your bags from the car. “You’ll love Julie. She’s the sweetest, and her boyfriend Matt is a good guy. Quiet, but cool.”

The name struck you like a thunderclap. You froze, the winter air suddenly suffocating. Matt? Surely, it couldn’t be…

“Matt?” you echoed, your voice tighter than you intended.

“Yeah,” Paul said casually. “You’ll meet him inside. I think he and Julie already got here. Come on, let’s head in. I can’t wait for you to meet everyone.”

You followed reluctantly, your feet heavy with dread. Five years had passed since you last saw Matthew Sturniolo—five years since your love story had crumbled into silence. You hadn’t heard from him, hadn’t tried to reach out, hadn’t dared to look back.

The cabin door opened to a wave of warmth and chatter, the smell of pine mingling with cinnamon and nutmeg. Paul greeted his sister, Julie, with a hug before turning to introduce you.

And there he was.

Matt stood by the fireplace, his eyes locking on yours the moment you walked in. Time hadn’t dulled the intensity of his gaze. If anything, it made it sharper, weighted with unspoken words. His hair was longer than you remembered, and he carried himself with a confidence you didn’t recognize. But it was him.

“Y/N, this is my sister, Julie,” Paul said, oblivious to the tension suddenly thickening the room. “And that’s her boyfriend, Matt.”

Julie extended a hand, her smile radiant. “So nice to meet you!”

You shook her hand automatically, murmuring a polite response. But your eyes flickered back to Matt, who hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken.

“Y/N,” he said finally, his voice low, laced with disbelief.

Paul glanced between you two, frowning slightly. “Wait… you two know each other?”

The air crackled with the weight of the truth neither of you wanted to say. You swallowed hard, forcing a tight smile.

“We… grew up together,” you said lightly, as though the memories of your shared childhood and the heartbreak that followed weren’t threatening to choke you.

“Oh, small world!” Julie beamed. “This is going to be such a fun week!”

Matt’s jaw tightened, his eyes never leaving you. You could feel the questions in his gaze, the ghosts of your past clawing their way to the surface.

And as the snow continued to fall outside, blanketing the world in a deceptive quiet, you realized this holiday was about to be anything but peaceful.

The cabin was alive with the warmth of laughter and crackling wood, but you had never felt more cold. Dinner was a blur of introductions, family stories, and clinking glasses. Your polite smiles were automatic, but your focus wavered each time you caught Matt’s eyes across the table. He sat beside Julie, their hands intertwined. Paul sat next to you, his arm draped over the back of your chair. The perfect symmetry of their group didn’t feel perfect at all.

“So, Matt,” Paul began, breaking your thoughts, “how did you and Julie meet?”

Matt hesitated for the briefest moment, his fork pausing mid-air. “Through mutual friends,” he said, his voice even. “It just… clicked.”

Julie leaned into him, smiling. “He was so shy, but I thought that was cute. He’s not as quiet as he seems, though—he has the driest sense of humor once you get to know him.”

You swallowed hard, forcing a bite of your mashed potatoes past the lump in your throat. That used to be your discovery, your secret treasure. You could still remember the way Matt used to make you laugh when no one else could, his wit sharp but never cruel.

“And what about you, Y/N/N?” Julie asked, her question dripping with unintentional irony. “How’d you and Paul meet?”

You blinked, startled by the use of the nickname you hadn’t heard in years. Matt’s head tilted slightly at the sound of it, and your stomach twisted.

“Uh, at a bookstore,” you said, managing a smile. “He asked me for a recommendation, and we just… started talking.”

Paul grinned, nudging your shoulder. “She’s underselling it. I walked into that store looking for a novel, and I walked out with a date.”

Everyone laughed, except for Matt, whose expression hardened almost imperceptibly. You pretended not to notice, but the tension followed you even as dinner wound down.

The forecast had warned of heavy snow, and by morning, the world outside was a swirling whiteout. Paul and Julie were busy in the kitchen, preparing lunch, while the others scattered around the cabin. You found yourself in the living room, staring out the window, lost in thought.

“Still hate the snow?”

The voice behind you was low, familiar, and entirely unwelcome. You turned to find Matt standing a few feet away, his arms crossed.

“Some things don’t change,” you replied, your tone colder than you intended.

He nodded, his gaze dropping to the floor. “You haven’t changed much, either.”

“Neither have you,” you said, sharper now.

A bitter laugh escaped him. “I think we both know that’s not true.”

You looked away, the unspoken weight of your shared past pressing on your chest. “Why are you talking to me, Matt? We’re not kids anymore. We don’t owe each other anything.”

“I’m not trying to stir things up,” he said, his voice softening. “I just—being here, seeing you—it’s… strange.”

“Strange?” you repeated, your voice trembling. “You think strange covers it? After everything—” You stopped yourself, taking a deep breath. “You have a girlfriend. I have Paul. Let’s not make this harder than it has to be.”

His jaw tightened, but he nodded. “You’re right. I’ll leave you alone.”

And just like that, he walked away, leaving you to the silence and the storm raging outside.

By the fourth night, the cabin’s family festivities had culminated in a bonfire behind the house. The fire’s warm glow illuminated the whole group as you huddled under blankets, sipping hot cocoa and sharing stories. But you felt like an outsider looking in.

You sat beside Paul, who was animatedly recounting a funny story about his childhood, while Julie leaned against Matt, her laughter filling the air. It was all so picture-perfect, so maddeningly normal.

“I need some air,” you murmured to Paul, excusing yourself before anyone could ask questions.

You wandered a little away from the fire, the cold biting through your jacket. You weren’t surprised when Matt followed you, his footsteps crunching in the snow.

“Y/N—”

“Stop,” you said, turning to face him. Your eyes glistened, reflecting the firelight. “Why are you doing this? Why are you making it so hard to forget?”

“I’m not trying to,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I just—I can’t pretend you’re not here. I can’t pretend like seeing you doesn’t hurt.”

Your breath hitched, your resolve crumbling. “Do you think it’s easy for me? Seeing you with her, pretending like we didn’t spend half our lives planning a future together?”

“Then why did you leave?” he asked, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “Why didn’t you fight for us?”

Your eyes filled with tears, but you held his gaze. “Because you didn’t ask me to stay.”

The weight of your words hit him like a freight train. For years, he had carried the blame, the bitterness of their breakup. But now, the truth was laid bare between you, raw and unforgiving.

“Y/N…”

“I can’t do this,” you whispered, shaking your head. “Not here. Not now.”

You turned away, walking back to the bonfire, leaving him standing alone in the dark.

The week passed in a blur, tension simmering just beneath the surface. By the time the last day arrived, you were eager to leave. You packed your bags with shaky hands, avoiding Matt as much as possible.

But fate had other plans. You found him outside, leaning against your car, his expression unreadable.

“You’re really leaving without saying anything?” he asked, his voice quieter than before.

You hesitated, glancing around the snow-covered driveway before stepping closer. “What do you want me to say, Matt?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “I just… I think we should talk.”

Your stomach tightened, but you nodded, leaning against the hood of the car beside him.

“I’ve been thinking,” you started, your voice steady despite the storm in your chest. “About Paul. About Julie. About us.”

“Me too,” he said, looking straight ahead, avoiding your eyes. “It’s not fair to them, is it? The way we’ve been acting this week.”

“No,” you agreed softly. “It’s not.”

Silence settled between you, the kind that spoke louder than any words. Finally, you turned to face him, your breath forming small clouds in the cold air.

“Julie’s good for you,” you said, forcing the words out even though they felt like glass. “I can see it. She makes you laugh. She looks at you the way I used to.”

He flinched at that, his jaw tightening. “Paul’s good for you, too. He seems like the kind of guy who knows how to take care of someone. He’s… steady.”

“He is,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “But he’s not you, Matt. And maybe that’s a good thing.”

He turned to you then, his eyes filled with something between regret and longing. “I feel the same about Julie. She’s amazing, and she deserves someone who can give her everything. But I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to do that—not completely—not with you still in my head.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you just stared at each other, the weight of your words sinking in.

“So what do we do?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Matt sighed, running a hand through his hair. “We try to be better. For them. For ourselves. We made choices, and it’s not fair to drag everyone else into our mess.”

You nodded slowly, tears welling in your eyes. “Maybe we don’t get a second chance. Maybe this is just… how it has to end.”

“Maybe,” he said, though his voice was thick with doubt. “But if there’s anything I’ve learned this week, it’s that I still want you to be happy, even if it’s not with me.”

Your tears spilled over, but you smiled through them, a bittersweet expression that mirrored his. “I want that for you, too.”

You stood there for a moment longer, the snow falling gently around you, before you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him in a brief, fierce hug.

“Goodbye, Matt,” you whispered.

“Goodbye, Y/N/N,” he replied, his voice breaking.

As you got into your car and drove away, leaving the cabin behind, you felt a strange sense of peace. You weren’t meant to be, not now. But maybe that was okay. Some endings weren’t about closure—they were about choosing to move forward, even when the past still lingered.

tag list:��@stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @matts-myloverboy, @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut, @lizzymacdonald06, @asherrisrandom, @sturniolowhore69, @faith5drpepper, @emely9274, @psychologyloverfr, @lovetaylorrussellgrr, @conspiracy-ash, @helpimateenagerinlove, @ghostlythinggoingaround, @sturmatt, @chris-hallelujah, @goingtojohnkramershouseee, @wurlibydominicfike, @straw8berry, @shadowthesim

[kirasworldofwords]

Webbonso + 55. Mutual Pining (+ Oblivious)

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

Prompt 55: Mutual Pining (+ Oblivious)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until Fernando found one of Mark's letters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Cállate, cabrón."

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

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

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

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

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

"Gladly."

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

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

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

The Spaniard chuckled brokenly, closing his eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You got yourself a deal there, Nando."

[livinginadumpster]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[messiahzzz]

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

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

Fear of abandonment

Unstable or changing relationships

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

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

Suicidal behavior or self-injury

Varied or random mood swings

Constant feelings of worthlessness or sadness

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

Stress-related paranoia or loss of contact with reality

source: [x]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(taken from tumblr user galedekarios's post.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[afewproblems]

A Clear and Present Threat of Tongue

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

Enjoy!

It’s all Gareth's fault in hindsight. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Eddie didn’t beg.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eddie should have listened to the old man.

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

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

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

Go for it man! 

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

Nowhere near Megan.

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

"Truth or Dare?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. He is so unfairly pretty. 

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

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

Oh yeah, Eddie’s a goner. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No one says a word for a moment. 

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

He absolutely refuses to look at Steve. 

The only person sitting beside him. 

He should have listened to the old man. 

***

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

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

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

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

This was stupid and awful, damn everything.

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

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

Eddie nearly feels himself short-circuit at the words. 

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

Focus.

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

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

He can’t do this. 

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

Steve scowls, “No”.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s Eddie’s turn to stare.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That didn't stop it from stinging.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eddie just can’t take it any longer.

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

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

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

Oh Fuck.

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

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

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

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

“Where are you going? Eddie!” 

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

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

About two feet from the open ground above.

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

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

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

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

It all happens fairly quickly after that. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve, meanwhile, is steadfastly staring at the floor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve thought Eddie had been stuck with him? 

Steve thought Eddie had been stuck with him?

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

Oh God…

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey Stevie,” Eddie says softly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just, different”. 

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

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

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

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

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

Enough is enough.

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

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

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

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

He feels Steve stiffen slightly in his arms. 

Shit.

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

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

It's Steve.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe his Uncle Wayne wasn’t always right.

[splickedylit]

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

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

[cringefailvox]

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

[glass-noodle]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mr. Anderson.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[fights4users]

Sending him away

How would Yori react to Tron getting transferred? (For the sake of the fic he wasn’t copied)

Tron regrets it the second the words leave his mouth, but she had to hear it from him. He has made a choice he’s come to regret once realizing it will mean leaving her.

Touchy, angsty but they ultimately have great communication skills.

-Comments encouraged-

[ctl-yuejie]

hello im the same anon as before i just learned about the new attack which was indeed premeditated. i thought the post was talking about what happened with the soccer fans. im very sorry!

tbh i considered ignoring this and obviously do not know who you are anon + i am leaving out the first message i got, because i do not want to drag any other blogs into this:

do not come into my ask box and tell me that i shouldn't reblog xyz's posts because they are a zionist

if the current posting trend on tumblr wasn't so particularly dire i'd use the "woman putting box on shelf meme" with the word zionist on it, but as it stands

i obviously do not vet all blogs in a reblog chain when i agree with the content of a post; i do not mind people coming to my dms/ask box to tell me that someone i reblogged from has posted heinous shit and that i should check whether i want to reblog them

however, that means pointing out that they actually said something specific (e.g. having no compassion for the people in gaza) and not just sending a dm with "btw blog xyz is zionist"

10 times out of 10, the people who contact me like that have first heard of zionism a year ago and have never done any reading beyond the english wiki since then +

any time i have seen posts like that on my dash they weren't even directed at zionists but jewish bloggers talking about the antisemetic bs going down on this website and in general

as for amsterdam:

it boggles my mind (not really) that people cannot comprehend that making fun of dead children in gaza is vile stuff but also doesn't justify people going on a 'jew hunt' in the streets.

i am beyond making presumptions, but i cannot help but feel that the activism in support of palestine by people who message me like this extends to just that - messaging me or others - and then never engaging in actual activism.

it is calling out racism and antisemitism when you encounter it, especially among your peers, giving money to organisations that actually try and provide help to people in gaza, it means calling and writing to politicians to make your voice heard (i've decided to mainly post on tumblr about the antisemitic attacks going on in europe etc. because i feel like some people on here do not want to accept the fact that antisemitic hate crimes are globally on the rise. as for the support for palestine: i do that offline, because i do not believe there is anything helpful i can achieve on this platform).

so, i reblogged that post not just because of the "new" attack, but also because of the attack from the day before.

[total-drama-brainrot]

Hello hello ophe 👋😇

I’m doing somewhat ok these days how about you? I hope you are getting better 😇

Anyways I got a crack idea and it sounds kinda stupid but hear me out

Bank robbery or crime gang au

You get Alejandro who is the one in charge

Noah the brains

Justin the distraction for the police and just the attractive distraction

Tyler is the “athletic” one really he’s also part of distraction the other one they shove in the vents

Wayne (don’t ask no one knows why he is even here) is the getaway driver

Cody the hacker and the one they shove into the vents

Trent is the second getaway driver is Wayne is knocked out and he’s also helps Cody when he is shoved in the vents (Trent tells where Cody need to go when Cody is in the vents)

Owen is also part of the distraction team and somehow supplies the group with firearms of all things?

Harold is the main hacker

Duncan is I guess the Jack of all trades?

Anyways yeah I don’t know why I thought of this….

-Ass Stars anon

Hello hello, A.S. Anon! 👋😄

I'm slowly getting better by means of an excessive amount of decongestants and painkillers! 💊

Total Drama Bank Heist AU sounds like a fun little crack idea, I'm on board.

If I could suggest something, I'd like to offer both Noah and Harold as the groups' 'Guy(s) In The Chair', with Noah using his canonical hacking abilities to scout out their chosen heist area using it's security cameras and/or downloading the bank's blueprints digitally (pretty sure he did something similar to this in Dramarama?) and Harold utilizing some of his various Mad Skills to plan the group's course of action and probably man their comms. I say this because Noah can't stand Harold, so making them work together as the groups' off-site organizers would/could be hindered by the two of them bickering instead of actually working. (Also because I can't imagine a world in which Noah would willingly do something as physically straining as robbing a bank. Mission intelligence, however, is right up his alley; he and Harold absolutely fight over who gets to be called 'Q'.)

Having Alejandro as the main group's de facto leader just feels right, and I don't think they'd need someone dedicated to being the 'Brains' with him around (though that title would go to Harold and Noah technically). He's quick witted enough to think up plans of action on the fly and devious enough to charm his way through a tough spot, all whilst being physically capable enough to fight his way through trouble- if anything I'd say Alejandro is the 'Jack of all Trades', thought 'The Leader' is probably a more appealing moniker to him.

Justin as 'The Eye Candy' also feels natural- it's his best (only) talent! He's been shown in canon to be a bit of a schmoozer, so complimenting/flirting his way through the banks' guards/employees and working as a distraction is perfect for him, especially since I doubt Justin would want to do any dirty work and risk damaging his 'perfect face/body'.

Duncan and Tyler would be 'The Brawn', with Duncan actually being an effective physical threat whilst Tyler is... Tyler...

Though Duncan could also be 'The Wildcard', since his loyalty isn't exactly assured at any given moment. Whilst I doubt he's ever rat the others out for his own assured freedom/safety, abandoning them at the scene while he makes his escape? That's a total Duncan Move (he learned it from Courtney in TDDDDI).

I honestly can't see Owen as a heister, unless he was somehow tricked/blackmailed into tagging along, but if he was he's be similar to Tyler- though his title would be something along the lines of 'The Beefcake'- just some extra muscle who's not particularly good at being extra muscle.

Cody would be the safe cracker. He's small and "quick on his feet" (his words), he's literally built for crawling through vents and cracking open safes! He's smart enough to be a code breaker, though he rarely shows it, and I also think it's a nice nod to his bomb diffusing fear- it's a similar course of action.

Trent as the getaway driver also just feels right. He's laid back enough to be contented to just sit and wait for the others to finish their heist, and his poker face is pretty good so one one really suspects him to be involved in the others' ongoings. He probably plays indie rock songs from the 80s as they speed away from the scenes of their crimes, and he absolutely owns a pair of mirrored shades that he only wears when it's Time To Go- he thinks they make him look cool (they don't, but no one has the heart to tell him).

I could see Cody as a secondary getaway driver as well, if Trent's unavailable, utilizing his baby face and unassuming demeanour to divert suspicion from himself. "No officer, I'm not a getaway driver. I'm just a baby, don't you see the learner's plate on my Vauxhall Corsa?" He has a terrible poker face though. If they were ever pulled over or caught he'd admit to everything without prompting.

I can't really think of a way of including Wayne, given the canonical age difference, unless said age difference is lessened in this AU. If he's, say, 16 whilst the rest of them are in their early 20s, I'd suggest that he's Owen's younger cousin who's tagging along because the group couldn't find a way to dissuade him from joining without him (either intentionally or inadvertently) tattling on their whole schtick. He's got no idea what's really happening- he's aware that they're heisting but Wayne doesn't have the, uh, cerebral constitution to connect "Bank Heist" to "Committing Actual Crimes"- but he's having a Great Time regardless! Alejandro has him on lookout duty (read: Wayne sits outside of the bank, oblivious to the legality of the situation) which Wayne takes very seriously... until he gets bored and hangs out with Trent/Cody in the car.

Now for extras!

Their main opposition is a specialised group of investigators who are assigned to their case- since they mark each heist with their group's name but have yet to be caught (They probably get Duncan to tag the side of their hit banks with a crudely drawn Bull Head or something in bright red spray paint). They're not cops, but they do work with them (ew) to try and finally catch the heisters.

Heather, alongside Courtney, Gwen, Leshawna, Lindsay, Beth and Sierra, work in this special ops. group; they're all specialised agents who are dispatched to the scenes of the heists to try and catch our boys in the act.

(I think Sierra would make a really good intelligence operator, given her canonical ability to run ~22+ blogs simultaneously and dig up private information on people. She'd direct the others towards whichever bank she finds Harold and Noah hacking into.)

They occasionally enlist the help of Izzy and Eva for the extra muscle, but the duo are too temperamental to be a full-time part of their operation.

(Yes I added my girlies as a rival group. It's Gender Wars Time. S1E14 all over again but this time there's less gross food and more LITERAL CRIME‼‼)