#time for the memory hole to expand

[beardedmrbean]

Democratic House Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries is under fire following the resurfacing of a decades-old college opinion article that saw him defend his antisemitic uncle.

Jeffries, who took over the mantle of Democratic leadership after control of the House flipped to Republicans in last year's midterm elections, told The Wall Street Journal in 2013 that he only had "vague" memories of the controversy surrounding his uncle Leonard Jeffries, a college professor in Black Studies who in the early 1990s denounced "rich Jews" as puppet masters of the slave trade and claimed that Jews were orchestrating a "conspiracy" against Black Americans.

"I have a vague recollection of it," Jeffries said during the Wall Street Journal interview. "There was no internet during that era and I can't even recall a daily newspaper in the Binghamton, N.Y., area but it wasn't covering the things that the New York Post and Daily News were at the time."

However, an editorial penned by the future Democratic leader in 1992, when he was an undergraduate student at Binghamton University, suggests he was fully aware of the controversy while it was happening. The article, surfaced by CNN on Wednesday, features Jeffries offering a defense of his uncle and Nation of Islam leader Louis Farrakhan, while largely focusing on denouncing Black conservatives as "house negroes" and lamenting their acceptance by the "white media."

"Dr. Leonard Jeffries and Minister Louis Farrakhan have come under intense fire," Jeffries wrote at the time. "Where do you think their interests lie? Dr. Jeffries has challenged the existing white supremist educational system and long standing distortion of history. His reward has been a media lynching complete with character assassinations and inflammatory erroneous accusations."

Leonard Jeffries continued to make remarks that were denounced as antisemitic by groups like the Anti-Defamation League for many years after his nephew defended him, although he eventually lost his job at City University of New York following a series of legal battles. Other remarks by Leonard Jeffries reportedly include references to Jews as "dogs" and "skunks" hoping to "stink you all up."

Republicans pounced on Hakeem Jeffries following the publication of CNN's report, accusing the Democrat of being antisemitic himself while lashing out at him for previously brushing aside his uncle's controversy and for denouncing Black conservatives.

"Ilhan Omar, Rashida Tlaib, and now Hakeem Jeffries," the National Republican Congressional Committee tweeted. "Why are House Democrats so interested in giving a platform to anti-Semitic voices?"

"For years, House Democrat Leader Hakeem Jeffries has claimed he has only a "vague recollection" of his uncle's antisemitism. But CNN's @KFILE has the receipts — and Jeffries is on record DEFENDING both his uncle AND Nation of Islam leader Louis Farrakhan," tweeted the RNC Research account.

Republican Congressman Byron Donalds of Florida called for Jeffries to "apologize for what he wrote in that article" and take part in a "debate about Black conservatism versus Black liberalism" during an interview with Fox News host Sean Hannity on Wednesday.

Jeffries was also defended by some, with Democratic Representative Dean Phillips of Minnesota, who is Jewish, tweeting, "few Americans are more committed defenders of the Jewish community, and all communities subject to hate, than Hakeem Jeffries."

In a statement emailed to Newsweek, Jeffries spokesperson Christie Stephenson said that "Leader Jeffries has consistently been clear that he does not share the controversial views espoused by his uncle over thirty years ago."

"Leader Jeffries has been in public service for more than 16 years as a state legislator and Member of Congress," Stephenson continued. "His track record of bringing communities together and standing up for everyone speaks for itself."

[nyxire]

wait wait i just thought about this a while ago but just remembered again, but how the fuck does Zelda have Rauru & Sonias powers of light and time?? No children were at any point shown, talked of or even referenced? sonia dies ! and so does rauru not too long after! so its not like its a case of ‘oh well they can still hv children later’ how does the royal lineage work??? how does Zelda have these powers? its heavily implied that the sage powers are passed down through blood/lineage so where are her powers coming from ????

[2kiran]

18+ FTM!LOGAN H. X M!READER | AFAB TERMS USED

There’s no doubt that LOGAN HOWLETT is a certified brat. If you think work is the only thing that gives you stress on a daily, you’re nothing but wrong. He likes to act out; suggestively bending over in front of you, standing too near, roaming his hands needily—all of it. He’s similar to a feisty cat, one that demands high maintenance.

He should’ve predicted it. Should’ve known your restraint would crumble the second he retorted a bit too bitchy, too offensive.

You have LOGAN sitting on your lap, both of you facing the mirror, devoting to memory at how his pretty hole continued to drool arousal as it’s stretched open on your cock. His thighs are quivering, one hand of his clinging onto your nape, and yet he won’t take the fucking hint. “This all ye’got for me?” He grinds his hips down to envelop you in deeper with a tongue-twisted gasp.

His sloppy walls are gripping you tightly, wetly squeezing around your equally leaky length. His clit aches, yearning for the attention he’s dumbly convinced he’s entitled to receive. He reaches for it, meeting your gaze through the mirror. Oh fuck, that heated look he catches - that you gave him, makes his entrance weep of pre.

You slap LOGAN’S hand away, gifting your ears with his objecting whine. “R-really, yer gonna deny me? You ain’t even doing shit.” He’s about to expand on his complaint, tell you how cruel of a man you are, until he’s met with two of your fingers pulling the hood of his nub back. Your other hand pries his thigh wider, the pad of your middle digit directly applying pressure on his clit. He cries out, his attention beginning to fade away from the lewd scene painted on glass as his thighs attempt to lock around your hand.

You don’t give him the time to process anything. Your wrist rocks, roughly sliding your finger up and down. You feel him clench around your length, and you have to remind yourself that you have to resist the urge to pound the attitude out of his system.

“Mfnnnngh! It’s too much!” LOGAN wails, getting wetter and wetter. Slick graces his inner legs, a climax building low within his belly. He leans forward, a fruitless intention on running, really. “Gonna make you cum on my cock first,” you dismiss, pressing down on the glans before rubbing circles. You twitch inside, and he thinks his heightened senses are both a blessing and a curse.

“and then I’ll fuck you.” Continuing on, your pace increased. Wetness pooled on your finger, the sight making you impossibly harder. The intoxicating pull of submission encompasses LOGAN HOWLETT as he listens to you talk. It has him regretting his behavior towards you, a whimper passing through his lips. His mouth falls agape with a silent scream, suddenly creaming on your fat cock because it’s the only ‘sorry’ he’s willing to give you.

[vintagegeekculture]

I remember a friend of mine had some LPs that were Star Wars themed disco albums, and it brought back a very weird memory from back in the 70s (yes, I'm old!) of listening to a Star Wars disco mashup on the radio. What was all that about? I also remember something like that for Close Encounters, too.

You remember correctly, and this went on for a long while. In 1983, disk jockeys around the country played a record that involved an Ewok rapping the plot of Return of the Jedi in Ewokese. This made it to #60 in the Billboard Top 100.

This is hard to explain to people who weren’t there….but in the wake of Star Wars in the late 70s and early 80s, scifi was so beloved and mainstream that the orchestral music for nerdy scifi and fantasy movies about outer space were remixed and sampled into Giorgio Moroder-esque Italo-Disco dance numbers. And the most astonishing thing is, instead of being consigned to convention acts the way “horse famous” Brony dubstep acts are, this received national airplay on the radio, reached the pop music charts, and were played in discotheques. And incredibly, this continued for years and expanded from Star Wars into Star Trek, Wizard of Oz, Black Hole, Close Encounters….

All of this was the work of one specific person: Meco (or Dominico Monardo). The term “ahead of their time” is thrown around a lot, but Meco really was: a combination producer-songwriter and Italo-Disco pioneer in the style of Giorgio Moroder, he did several things that are now absolutely standard: he used remixes and sampling before hiphop made that standard for musicians, he wrote “fandom music” on a Moog synthesizer decades before Bronies turned their conventions into cringey dubstep concerts with songs like “Everypony Dance Now.”

It's stunning to me that Meco has not been rediscovered, considering every single trend in the culture essentially went his way.

The most startling thing about Meco’s Star Wars disco album, the one that got the ball rolling on this trend, is this: I always assumed it was some kind of cash in created by a record label mandate, a label executive’s completely cynical choice to hop on a hot new trend. That isn’t a crazy thing to think at all, since Star Wars is and always has been the most merchandized and sold out scifi property ever. But it wasn’t! You see, it was all the product of a single man’s specific vision: Meco had to convince his record label to make the record because they were skeptical.

When Meco went to see Star Wars in 1977 on Opening Day (what an experience that must have been) with his friend and fellow Italian chest hair/gold medallion enthusiast Tony Bongiovi, he was already an experienced producer-songwriter who had worked with Gloria Gaynor, Diana Ross, and formed DCA, the Disco Corporation of America. If you've ever listened to Diana Ross's "I'm Coming Out," Meco actually played the trombone solo in that song. Seeing the Star Wars movie for the first time, though Meco thought the movie was nothing short of a religious experience. Originally, he wanted to do Star Wars music as a b-side on a Gloria Gaynor album, but expanded the idea into an entire album.

In Meco’s own words:

"When I think about what I did, nobody came to me, nobody said 'Meco, why don't you do this.' Nobody says 'Here's some money go make a record of this movie.' It was just my own... It was magical, it was just out of this world when all that happened."

Not only did this album hit platinum, not only did it actually outsell the Star Wars soundtrack, his remix of the Star Wars theme also went to #1 in the charts. It’s actually the best selling instrumental single of all time. A record, that, incidentally, it holds to this day.

Dick Clark, host of American Bandstand, had this to say about Meco:

"In 1977, Meco Monardo accomplished something no one else has ever done to the best of my knowledge. He was the first one in history to out-sell the soundtrack of a motion picture with his own distinctive version of a film's music. The music was totally danceable, and broke new ground. It's no wonder the STAR WARS THEME went to # 1. I loved his treatment of music from THE WIZARD OF OZ. Again, Meco created something innovative. The fun and the excitement gave a whole new feel to that totally familiar and well-loved music."

Like a lot of studio producers, Meco had an insane work ethic and hit when the iron was hot: he did an album about Close Encounters that exact same year, but also did a Star Wars Christmas Album, one of the strangest pieces of Star Wars kitsch around.

One of the most interesting things about the Star Wars Christmas album is that one of the songs, “R2D2’s Wish You a Merry Christmas” is the first professional vocals by John Bon Jovi, who was Meco’s friend Tony Bongiovi’s seventeen year old younger cousin (he was initially known as John Bongiovi). It's incredible to hear a squeaky voiced teen Bon Jovi on a kitsch album about a robot Christmas.

1978-1979 was really his best year. Meco made an Italo-Disco remix album entirely devoted to Superman, and at this point, Meco had the pull to get access to John Williams's sheet music for the score before the music even came out. In my personal opinion it's the best of them because he has to recreate it entirely with his own instruments, leading to a very unique sound.

He also did an album based on the Wizard of Oz:

And a combination album of Star Trek/Black Hole. It's probably the earliest remixing date of Goldsmith pieces of music: the Motion Picture Theme (which is now associated with the Next Generation - hearing it done in Italodisco is uncanny) and the Klingon Theme:

Incidentally, I think the design here of the Meco Enterprise, which had to be modified for legal reasons, would make a wonderful canon starship if anyone wants to be inspired by it. It reminds me of the same concept that would be used in the very next film for the Reliant-class of ships.

Meco eventually retired from music in 1985, but unfortunately he is no longer with us, as he passed into the next dimension in 2023. I think he showed us that creativity is often about transformation, and was inspired to make his art by a legitimate awe of space, the cosmos, and human imagination that the scifi movies of the 1970s and 80s provoke.

[loveshotzz]

I guess it’s never really over

mechanic!steve harrington x fem!reader exes to lovers

chapter one -

Late arrivals and big asks

A broken down car, a party at Reefer Rick’s, and a bandaid that needs to be ripped off.

warnings: 18+ drinking, smoking, lots of tension, some king!steve angst in the form of a flashback.

wc: 10.1k

series masterlist | series playlist

June - 

The air is sticky, thick with the kind of humidity only Indiana could have at 9:30 pm. An annoyed breath expands into your lungs as you lean against your car that refuses to do anything but sputter. Despite your irritation, your glossed lips twitch with the nostalgia that creeps into your heart because after all these years it still smells the same.

Crossing your arms, your eyes trail over the clear night sky not polluted with the kind of man-made smog that blankets the city and the stars shimmer like diamonds in its absence. The warmth of the overrun engine is still hot on your exposed calves, the light breeze making the bottom of your sundress dance across the tops of your thighs. White beams emerge, cutting through the dark at the top of the hill, followed by the roar only a tow truck can make, and this time, the smile you fought off before spreads wide across your face.

Robin.

Butterflies wake up in a frenzy deep in your gut, with nerves that twitch from your fingertips at the thought of finally getting to hug your best friend after months apart. You push off the side of your car as the truck approaches, eyes squinting to make out the second outline in the front cabin as it pulls over. You recognize the messy mane of hair that could only belong to Eddie Munson in the driver seat almost instantly and his dimple filled smile brings you back to memories you thought you’d long forgotten. 

“Well, well, well, would you look at what the cat dragged in!” Robin sticks her head out of the window with a wide grin as the big tires slow to a stop in front of your car, “are my eyes deceiving me or is my best friend in the entire world actually in Hawkins, Indiana right now?” 

The rasp in her voice sounds just like it does over the phone and despite the roll of your eyes, your cheeks hurt from how happy you are.

“Shut up, don’t act like you didn’t guilt me out here by saying the fate of your future depends on it.” Uncrossing your arms, you open them wide, “I made the ultimate sacrifice for you, so are you gonna hug me or not?”

Dramatic? Yes. But it works like a charm when she flings open the passenger door and charges at you in a mess of honey blond waves and freckles, almost tackling you with the force of her impact wrapping her arms around you.

Too distracted by Robin, you almost don’t notice the creak of the driver's side door or the filled out frame of the man that used to be a lanky teenage boy walking past as Eddie starts to attach your car to his truck. He’s taller than you remembered even bending down, and despite the navy blue coveralls, you can still see that his pale skin is littered with even more tattoos.

“I can’t believe my guilt trip worked!” Robin beams, finally letting you go, her whole body practically vibrating with excitement as she claps her ring clad hands together.

“I really can’t believe it either,” you laugh nervously, the reality of what it means to come back starting to set in after seeing just one familiar face, but this isn’t high school anymore and you’re definitely not the same person you were five years ago either.

“Thanks so much, Eddie,” you break the ice when he stands back up, and the sound of your voice has his big brown eyes warmed with gold light up just like his face when he turns his full attention onto you. Scruff filled dimples poking even bigger holes in his cheeks.

“It’s my pleasure, sweetheart, I almost didn’t believe Robin when she called me. I thought it was a prank.” He beckons you over with open arms, “now that I know it’s not, you have exactly 10 seconds to get over here and hug me before I change my mind.”

There’s zero hesitation about giving into his ‘demand’ and when your arms wrap around his waist, you’re brought back to afternoons in the woods behind the school with heavy lidded eyes and lopsided grins. 

“Your own auto shop, huh?” You smile up at him, pulling away, “Eddie Munson, the business owner.”

He rolls his eyes but the pink tint that colors in his cheeks tells you he appreciates the praise.

“Yeah, something like that.” He chuckles, “Got a soft spot for that old man in the trailer park, couldn’t bring myself to leave.”

Your heart warms at the fondness that drips from his ton. 

“Okay, as sweet as this little reunion is. You’re late, and we have a party to get to.” Robin interrupts snatching your keys out of your hand, dropping them in Eddie’s.

“A party?” You snap confused, and Eddie takes that as his queue to walk away with a knowing smirk.

“Yes, this is the summer of fun and reckless abandon, this is the last summer of our youth before we have to be adults. Do you understand me?” Her fingers are digging into your shoulders by the end of her rant, with the kind of look in her eyes that you’re absolutely going to have to revisit after a few weeks. 

“This is the part where I remind you that I graduated college last year.” 

Your best friend scoffs at you.

“Just humor me, okay? It’s your grand homecoming.” She pushes out her bottom lip, and makes her eyes big in a way she knows you can’t say no to.

“Fine.” You huff, making her finally let you go with the kind of pleased smirk that tells you she never thought she was going to lose to begin with.

“Great, it’s time to rip the bandaid off anyway.” Robin practically mumbles the last part turning on her heel to head back to the truck.

It takes a minute for her words to stick to your ears and their meaning to ring loud through your head, but when they do it feels like the air is stolen from your lungs. 

“Rip what bandaid off, Robin?!” 

It’s his name tightens in your chest but you refuse to say it, even after all this time it burns coming back up. 

“Since you had to drive for so long, I’ll sit in the middle because I’m just that good of a friend, you know?” She winks with a shit eating grin before pulling herself up and disappearing inside the cab of the truck, ignoring your question, like she’s not asking you to do the one thing you said you’d never do. 

See Steve Harrington again.

I tell myself, ‘draw the line.’

You wonder if Robin can feel the daggers you’re glaring into the back of her head as the two of you walk up the driveway to Rick’s house. Gravel crunching hard under your converse as you keep up with her black combat boots. She looks effortlessly cool in her high waisted jean shorts, and her oversized army green jacket covered in patches. You’d compliment her if you weren’t so mad.

“I can’t believe you guys still have parties here.” You scoff, making your sour attitude known, but your best friend ignores it with ease.

“I can’t believe you forgot to have fun. Don’t you live in the city?” Turning around with a smirk, she can’t help but laugh at the look on your face. 

She stops abruptly, almost making you run into her leaving you both just close enough to the party to hear the bass of the music spilling through the cracks in the windows. The low chatter of people echoes through the trees that surround you and bounce off the lake not that far away. The thought of hearing the calm baritone of his voice mixed in makes your chest tight with the kind of nerves that dare you to high tail it and run.

“It’s been five years.” Robin’s playful demeanor breaks and becomes pleading with a kind of desperation you’ve never seen from her before. “He’s not the person you knew in high school, I need you to understand that. You think I’d call someone like that my best friend?”

“Hey!-“ You object at the title, and it makes her lips twitch despite serious lines that crease her face.

“Stop, you know what I mean,” her painted fingers grab onto yours, squeezing them lightly, “please, just give him a chance. I’m not asking you to get back together or even be friends, just get along enough not to kill each other this summer. I can’t choose between you. I won’t.”

The genuine love she has for Steve is apparent in the way her ocean blue eyes threaten to drown you in their sincerity, and you can’t find it in yourself to say no to her. 

“Fine.” You accept your defeat in practically a whisper, but it makes your best friend squeal nonetheless. The giddiness from before coming back tenfold as she links arms with you, continuing your way up to the house. 

It’s just a summer, right?

The crowd gets bigger as more people start to come into view, between groups smoking cigarettes outside, couples arguing by cars, others making out against them. The smell of beer gets more pungent with each step, the atmosphere a stark contrast to the way the moon glows against the peaceful waters behind the madness of the house. 

Salt N Pepa’s ‘Push It’ plays loud enough for you to make out the words when you reach the front steps, walking through clouds of tobacco smoke to get to the unlocked door. The interior hasn’t changed at all since high school, the smell of stale lime and tequila stinging your nose. The bass of the music vibrates under your shoes as Robin unlinks her arms and you have to fight the urge to yank her back.

“Drinks or …Steve first?” She asks, her nerves about the situation finally showing themselves as she bites at her thumbnail. 

“Absolutely drinks! Is that a trick question?” You half whisper, half yell, looking around as if saying his name out loud might summon him.

“Okay! Okay!” Robin hisses, grabbing your wrist, leading you towards the familiar path to Rick’s kitchen.

Suddenly you wonder what your makeup looks like after a long day of traveling in your car, your fingers tugging at the bottom of your dress before adjusting the front of it so it sits just right. You itch to grab your lip gloss that’s tucked into the side of your bra, but you don’t want to deal with the look you’d get if you went for it.

Rounding the corner to the living room, your heart sinks to the bottom of your stomach before you even have a chance to stop it when your eyes meet that messy head of chestnut hair, and a pair of hot pink nails tangled inside it. 

“Oh - I - god dammit.” Robin groans, when you're met with number two on your list, making out with a pretty blond on the couch.

Despite the years and distance, there’s still a sting that you feel in the corners of your eyes. It’s not enough for any tears to fall, there’s none left for him anymore, but it’s enough for the anger you’ve clung to since the day he broke your heart to boil hot under your skin. It singes the wings of the butterflies that try to take flight when you see the way his frame has filled out, how he’s somehow grown more handsome than the last time you saw him. 

Robin coughs, squeezing your wrist in reassurance.

“Hey, - uh, Steve.” The sound of his name catches his attention, long brown lashes fluttering open to reveal the deep coffee of his eyes that widen when they lock with yours for the first time in years. 

His lips pull from the blond’s with a loud smack, leaving a small trail of glitter on the side of his mouth that he tries to wipe away quickly with his wrist. Black ink you’ve never seen before looks bold on his tanned skin that glows like it’s been freshly kissed by the sun. 

His gaze wanders up and down your body like he’s unsure you’re actually real, and if it wasn’t for the obvious shock of your arrival and the way the color seems to drain from his face, you’d snap at him for the way it lingers over your curves. 

“Um, Robin, what the fuck?” The sound of his voice makes your heart skip a beat, and again when his hand drags through his hair just how you remembered.

“Surprise?” She shrugs, wincing when he scoffs loudly and the warmth that went missing floods his cheeks, turning them bright red. The blond next to him eyes you up while she clutches harder to his waist, and you can’t stop the rise of your brows and the giggle that bubbles past your lips because of it.

Steve’s head snaps towards you, something softening the moss that hides in his eyes when he hears the noise despite the sarcasm that drips from it, and you really get to look at him for the first time since high school graduation. 

God, you wish you could’ve had that drink. 

The jawline that always drove you mad is sharper, peppered with the kind of hardly there stubble that tells you he’s only missed one shaving day. A problem he never used to have, and somehow, it makes him all that much more attractive. 

His hair is a little messier than his carefully crafted look that used to take him a good forty five minutes every morning. It curls wildly at the ends now, tucking behind his ears and fanning along the nape of his freckled neck. It still looks as soft as you remember, though. 

His shoulders are broader, stretching the white cotton of his shirt tight enough across his chest that you can see the outline of a thick patch of hair that had only just started growing when you knew him last. The dark wash of his jeans makes them look almost black, fitting snug over his thighs, cuffed at the bottoms framing the tops of his boots.

Why couldn’t Steve Harrington just peak in high school like he was supposed to?

“So yeah, this is awkward.” Your best friend laughs nervously, “We’re going to get a drink or three because this scenario is by far the worst case and not the way this was supposed to go in my head, but anyway, look who’s here for the summer! We’ll talk later!“ 

Robin grabs your wrist before Steve can respond, pulling you back into the party and away from your ex-boyfriend while the realization of the summer you’ve foolishly agreed to hits you all at once. It turns your body weightless as the two of you weave in and out of the crowd. It tightens in your chest, the music turning muffled hitting your ear drums. Suddenly, you're not the woman who crossed state lines to the one place she said she’d never come back to, happily living the lie that you’d actually forgotten about him to be a good friend.

You’re the girl who let him keep you a secret, and you hate him for it.

Sneakers hit the sticky tile floor that hasn’t changed since 1984, the harsh lighting of the kitchen makes you both squint. It’s calmer than the rest of the house, just a few groups lingering off in the corners, too deep in conversation to care about you and Robin. Letting go of a breath you didn’t know you were holding, your ears start to pop too, Eddie Money’s Take Me Home Tonight coming through crystal clear.

“The band-aid might have been violently ripped off, but hey, it’s ripped off nonetheless.” Robin shrugs, finding the half-drunk bottle of tequila on the counter. “I think we should count this as a win and take a shot to celebrate.”

“A win?! Are you kidding me?!” You hiss, completely bewildered.

“Yes a win - oh no.” Her blue eyes go wide at whatever’s behind you, but it doesn’t take you long to figure out when that familiar spice and cedar of his cologne hits your nose.

“Right so, who’s going to let me know what’s going on?”

His voice comes out close enough to send your lashes fluttering, mimicking your heart. The nerves you’d just gotten over threaten to come back tenfold, but you manage to swallow them down just like in high school, turning around.

“I think it’s obvious what’s going on, Steve,”

It’s not as hard to say his name as you thought it would be, but it is hard to stare at his face from this close. Specifically, the two moles that dot his cheek that you always used to kiss, or the ones on his neck that you hate still taunt you for more. 

“I’m here for the summer.”

Steve Harrington had thought about this moment a lot, but Rick’s house was never the backdrop for it. His eyes take in the features you’ve not only grown into but somehow are even more beautiful than he remembers. Even if they’re twisted in a glare. 

“I meant, why didn’t I know until right now?” He manages to get out with a shake of his head narrowing his eyes at Robin, who’s too busy trying to find clean shot glasses to notice.

“Why would you need to know?” You snap, making a nervous hand card through his hair

“Cause I’ve, uh,  you know, I’ve asked about you a few times,” the last part comes out a little harsher, clearly directed at your best friend, who you know is actively ignoring you both now.

“Why? Why would you need to know anything about me?” Your hostility still shocks him even though he was expecting it. His eyebrows shoot up just like his hands in surrender. “Why didn’t you tell me, Robin?”

She groans loudly, slamming the tequila bottle down on the counter before turning around.

“You said you didn’t want to hear anything about him after you moved, why would I tell you he was asking about you?”

“Wait -“ Steve butts in this time, “seriously?”

“Oh my god, can you two shut the fuck up for a second and take these shots? You’re really putting a damper on the beginning of the best summer of our lives,” Robin snaps before waving a hand in front of three freshly poured shots.

It’s a struggle to tear your eyes from him, your body responding to his presence in a way that feels like it’s turning against you. It has you downing your shot in one quick motion before anyone else can even touch theirs. 

“Wow, okay.” Robin deadpans before shaking her head, wasting no time in following your lead.

“So we’re not cheersing anymore? Isn’t that bad luck?” Steve mutters, shoulder brushing against yours as he leans forward to grab his shot, the slightest touch enough to engulf your skin into flames.

A whole summer? Fuck.

“Robin, pour another one.” You rush with pinched brows as you try to move past the bitter sting of the alcohol going down your throat, taking a step toward her and away from him, you add “and we’ll cheers.”

You refuse to meet his gaze when you say it, but you can feel the intensity of it on the side of your face, begging you to break.

“Rob’s, how are you guys getting home?” Steve finally breaks, giving up his quiet fight for now, and you hate the way his nickname for her softens your heart.

“Huh, that’s a good question, I hadn’t thought that far yet.” She admits, over pouring so tequila splashes against the countertop, looking up at him with a mischievous grin.

“Seriously–

“RECKLESS ABANDON STEVEY!” Cutting him off, she downs her shot in his disapproving face.

“You didn’t cheers again.” Steve sighs, hands finding his hips as you whine an irritated, “We needed to cheers!” At the same time.

Your eyes meet his finally, his knowing smirk twisting the corners of your lips despite yourself. You blame the tequila starting to warm the blood in your veins.

“Well, you need to take yours then if we’re doing another one ‘the proper’ way, or it’s not going to be even.” Robin points at your drink in a silent challenge. 

You know how this game works.

“Fine.” You shrug, downing it with more ease than the last one.

“Oh my god. Stop! Do not pour another one before you answer my question, please!” Steve sounds exasperated, grabbing the bottle from her before she can disobey, “How are you getting home?” 

You try not to focus on how much larger his already big hands are now, or how small the bottle looks wrapped up in his palm compared to your best friends. The second shot takes the edge off your nerves in a way that your shoulders relax. Leaning against the counter, you cross your arms, watching the two of them bicker, catching Steve’s wandering gaze on your exposed legs while he tries his best to keep his focus on Robin. It boosts your ego in a way that has the anger hiding just under the surface go from a boil to a slow simmer.

“I don’t know Harrington, do you know anybody with a car?” She wiggles two thick brows at him, the second shot making her blue eyes glassy, and her smile a little more goofy.

“Why’d I know you were going to say that? And why did I know you were going to do this?” Steve sighs, letting her snatch the bottle out of his hand.

“What? Bring her to the party?” Robin snorts pointing a thumb in your direction, making you gasp.

“Robin!”

“No! What? No. But don’t think,” Steve clears his throat looking at you awkwardly before finishing a little quieter, “don’t think we’re not going to talk about this later.”

“I can still hear you.” You remind him with a sarcastic smirk.

“Yeah, I know you can. Look, I’ll DD for you because obviously tonight is, uhh,” he gestures to you with cheeks that grow pinker by the second, “a big deal. But you gotta stop doing this to me, I need you to get your license you’re out of colleg-”

“Shots! Steve’s driving us home!” Robin whoops loudly, and an irritated Steve pinches the bridge of his nose before walking away. 

Your eyes follow him out the door, shoulder blades flexing under cotton when he runs another hand through his hair before disappearing from sight. You try to push down the small pang of jealousy that makes a familiar home inside your chest remembering the blond girl waiting for him on the couch.

“Okay, okay,” Robin interrupts your inner struggle at the perfect time, sliding an overflowing shot over to you with a giggle that's contagious and it banishes Steve from your mind just like magic. “I’m not going to forget this time, promise.”

“I don’t think I can afford for you to forget again,” you smirk, raising your glass, tequila spilling over the tops of your fingers, “cheers!”

“Cheers!” 

You both down them at the same speed, slamming the empty glasses back onto the countertop with laughter that bounces off the walls and threatens to drown out the music. And for a second you think maybe you can actually do this.

“I’m so happy you’re here!” She squeals, throwing her arms around your neck, doing a terrible job of holding her weight up. Grabbing onto her waist, you do your best to steady her, “Look I just want to say while he’s gone, I know this isn’t easy for you, okay? I know.”

She hiccups before pulling away slightly to look at you as she finishes,“But It means so much to me, and I just wanna say I’m proud of you. I mean, who knows, you’ve changed, he’s changed-”

“Nope, no, you’re done. Where’s the weed? I wanna smoke some weed.” You push Robin away, rolling your eyes at the loud laugh your reaction gets from her.

There’s a long summer ahead of you, but right now, all you need is to find a joint and try not to think about your ex in the next room.

With a few more shots and a couple of hits from a blunt you and Robin you’d stumbled upon being passed amongst a group outside, you start to really feel like you’re back home. Nostalgia hits you hard in the gut as you walk through the crowded living room hand in hand with your best friend, giggling and stumbling back to the kitchen on the hunt for some food. 

“God, I’m so hungry!” Robin practically growls when you hit the harsh lighting again making you both hiss.

An empty bottle of tequila sits on the counter now and red solo cups litter the floor that weren’t there before, and a growing pile of bitten into limes cover the counters in a sticky mess. Alone and left to your own devices Robin begins to raid the cupboards, huffing when she finds nothing behind every door she aggressively yanks open.

“Why is his kitchen always so empty? Like? Do we just always miss the party?” You hiccup, tripping on a tile that’s coming out of the grout. 

You catch yourself on the kitchen island in front of you, a loud laugh bubbling up from your chest, too drunk to focus on how gross the formica feels under your fingertips.

“There’s literally nothing to eat in here, not even like an old bag of stale chips.” She opens the first cabinet one last time before slamming it shut, officially giving up with a thump of her forehead against the wood. “This is why he’s always at the diner.”

“Wait, Rick actually lives here still?” Another hiccup, you foolishly lean your elbows on the counter, something you’ll regret in the morning as you stare at your best friend with a toothy smile, completely unaffected by the news about the missing food that seems to be ruining her entire mood.

“How can he sell weed and not have any food in his house? What happens when he gets the munchies?!” She throws her hands up, ignoring your question and answering it all at the same time. “I’m gonna find a bathroom, and then we’re gonna find Steve - don’t make that face, he’ll take us through a drive-thru.”

“Don’t be gone long, I don’t know anyone here!��� You whine with a childish drunk stomp of your foot, still sporting that sour look she told you to wipe off. The carefree girl from moments before now gone in the blink of an eye.

“Literally like five minutes, I swear!” She promises, turning around with a smirk as she crosses her heart with a ring covered finger like you used to do as kids, easily earning the smile from you she was hoping for.

You watch her disappear into the party, staring after bouncing honey waves until they’re out of your sight. 

Suddenly alone for the first time in hours, the kitchen feels quiet. The bass of the music is distant, and your thoughts are heavy just like your feet as your last shot of tequila settles with the rest. Your brain wanders to places that you thought you’d banished from the corners of your mind for years. It takes you to the pink fullness of his lips, and has you biting the bottom of yours. Then it’s the freckles that dot the bridge of his nose and explode across his cheeks, even leaving their mark on the bottom of his earlobe.

You’d found that one the night you’d tried to count them all. You never finished.

Then you remember the blond on the couch, and how her pink nails dug into the thick chestnut of his hair that you used to tug on when his kisses got to be too much. She turns into Nancy Wheeler and those stolen looks in the hallways at school, and suddenly, you hate him all over again.

“Jesus, you’re in here alone? Where’s Robin?” Steve’s voice makes you jump at the worst possible time, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scar-“

“Seriously?!” You snap, turning around with crossed arms. Leaning against the counter, you hope that you don’t seem as drunk as you are, but the way his lips twitch regardless of your attitude tells you that it’s not working. “She went to the bathroom and then was going to look for you.”

“So, it just makes sense for me to hang out here then, right?”Steve raises his hands in a silent plea for permission. 

His big boots take heavy steps towards you, and just like on cue, has your body betraying you. The plush dough of your thighs pressing harder together each time he gets closer to closing the gap. 

Cautiously taking the spot a few feet away from you, he keeps his hands up till he feels safe enough to shove them in his pockets. The spice of his cologne smells fresh, and you wonder if he sprayed it before walking in here. It overpowers everything else around you, invading your senses and committing itself to memory despite you.

“I um, I really hope this is okay to say,” he stammers watching the way one of your eyebrows arches up, and it doesn’t take long for his hand to escape from his pocket to run through his hair again, “but it’s, it’s good to see you. I m-missed you, Robin’s missed you.”

“Shouldn’t you be hanging out with your girlfriend?” You ignore him and tuck his words away to unpack another time with a sober mind.

“Cassie? She’s not my girlfriend.” He answers without any hesitation, something sparking alive inside the gold of his eyes that has one side of his mouth tugging up. 

“Does she know that?” 

“I’m pretty sure she does considering she left with another guy not that long ago.” He snorts, the confidence you’ve always known him to have finding its way back, and you don’t miss the way he scoots closer. 

So you scoot back.

“Sucks to suck, Harrington.” You sigh, impressed with how well you’re playing off the victory lap you’re shamefully running in your head at the new information.

“There you are!” Robin rushes in, face flushed and out of breath, interrupting the moment you weren’t ready to have yet at the perfect time “Somehow I got roped into like a keg stand and I think it’s really time for us to go home guys.”

“Robin!” 

“What?!”

She tries to shush you, but even you can see from across the room the way sweat starts to bead across her forehead, the blush in her cheeks going pale before she runs to the trash can. Steve pushes off the island without any hesitation, rushing to the other side of the kitchen, gathering her hair in his hands to hold it back.

“What were you thinking?” Steve scolds her in the softest way possible, rubbing her back as all the beer finds its way out of her body.  

Those big eyes of his that you’re sure are going to haunt your dreams meet yours, and in that moment the room decides it wants to spin. You’re not sure if it’s the night of tequila with nothing but a weed chaser catching up to you or if it’s the onslaught of feelings you’ve successfully suppressed for the last five years coming back to seek their revenge. The deadly combination of both comes to a head the more you watch the gentle way Steve handles Robin and it makes you realize it’s time to go.

You manage to pull yourself together enough to help Steve get Robin in his car, heart almost stopping when you walk up to the same Maroon BMW he took your virginity in. It takes everything inside of you not to abort the mission, run to Robin’s apartment by figuring your way through the woods you used to play in, do anything but sit in those leather seats. But your best friend’s drunk rambles of how happy she is to have her ‘two amigos and how that it makes three now’ while professing her undying love for both of you has you putting on a brave face, and then your big girl pants when you have to sit in the front seat next to him.

It’s in perfect condition, just like the morning he pulled into the parking lot Junior year with it. Your stomach twists in the kind of knots that have you wrapping your arms around your waist. The smell of leather and pine pulling on the back of your throat, and all the memories that come with it. He keeps the radio low, and you can hardly make out the faint sounds of whatever late night talk show was on over the soft snores of a passed out Robin in the backseat. 

“I thought you’d have a different car by now.” You grumble sinking further into your seat, keeping your eyes trained on the trees that zoom past your window.

“You’ll have to pry her from my cold, dead hands, honey.” Steve chuckles, relaxing a little more into his own, a big hand finding a new resting spot on the stick shift.

The endearment sends you reeling, the tequila making it hard to bite your tongue.

“Don’t call me that.” Quickly realizing that staring out the window does nothing to help your already dicey equilibrium, you decide to finally look at him, but you’re not sure if that’s any better.

‘What? Honey?” He asks, fully knowing the answer but egging you on just the same with a ghost of a smirk on his lips.

Narrowing your eyes, you turn fully in your seat doing your best to ignore the way the street lights bounce off his sharp features as you face him.

“What? So you just make out with girls that you’re not dating and get away with it?” 

Steve snorts, licking his lips and meeting your angry gaze with an amused one. 

“I am twenty-four and single.”

Scoffing at his answer, you pause to collect your words that keep getting tangled on the tip of your tongue from too many drinks and how the whites of his teeth start to show in a grin as he glances in the rearview mirror to check on Robin.

“You think you can do whatever you want don’t you?”

“No -“

“What? Because you didn’t peak in high school like you were supposed to, you somehow just got hotter, you think the rules don’t apply to you or something?”

“Good to know you still think I’m hot.” Steve’s face cracks into a smile, turning into an apartment complex you’re assuming is Robin’s. 

“You’re the worst,” you try to deflect weakly, turning back in your seat with a huff.

“I definitely used to be,” he mumbles mostly to himself, putting the car in park, both of you jerking forward slightly. The sudden lack of movement makes Robin groan in the back, lashes fluttering open to look at her surroundings.

“Oh, thank god, I think I’m gonna be sick again.” Her throat sounds hoarse when she finally speaks, but it’s all she can manage before a dry heave has the boy next to you scrambling.

“Not in my car! Not in my car!” Steve’s quick to jump out of the driver's seat rushing to get your best friend out of the back, leaving you alone to fight with your seatbelt. 

Frustrated, you blow a breath out from between your pressed lips tugging on the smooth material while your thumb smashes the release button. It doesn’t budge and the cedar starts to pick at your nerves. An angry noise squeaks from the back of your throat catching Steve’s attention who finally gets Robin on her feet. The spice of his cologne swallows you whole when he emerges back into the car. Leaning over the console he’s gentle when he pushes your hand away. You don’t protest his help this time, eyes tracing the gold chain that slips out from under his shirt. It shimmers everytime it swings from his neck when it hits the moonlight, clicking the button with ease, releasing you from your self imposed trap.

“Thanks,” you grumble, using a wobbling arm to open your door, clambering out less gracefully than you intended.

“Are you good to follow me? I don’t think Robin’s gonna make it up the steps on her own.” Closing the car door, he leans over the top of it, his eyes watching the way you maneuver around his car like you’re walking on thin ice.

“I’m fine,” you growl, right as you lose your footing catching yourself with an open palm on the hood of his trunk.

“Seriously, I can help I just have to take you both one at a -“

“Steve, I said I’m fine. I don’t need anything from you.” You interrupt and if you weren’t so focused on putting one foot in front of the other, you’d see the way the harshness of your words make him wince.

He stares at you for a minute longer before muttering a quiet ‘whatever’ scooping Robin up and tucking her into his side. You follow them at your own pace up the cement steps to the second floor, thankful that her apartment isn’t too far from the landing when you get to the top. Your legs start to feel like Jell-O waiting for him to unlock the door, the long drive from New York and the night finally catching up to you in a way that makes your eyelids heavy as Steve pushes open her front door. 

“Bathroom! Bathroom!” Robin manages to get out when she and Steve cross the threshold first, a string of cuss words spilling out of his mouth as he tries to hurry her to the place she was begging to be taken to.

You use the full force of your weight with your back to the door, closing behind you with a loud slam. The navy blue couch in the middle of her living room begging you to sit down, an invitation your clumsy steps accept, leading you to the fluffy cushions. Collapsing onto them with a satisfied hum, you sink into the foam, lashes fluttering and eyelids getting heavier with each second that passes, and soon you find yourself giving in with a warm cheek pressed into the arm rest.

You don’t know how much time has passed when the feeling of your laces being tugged loose stirs you awake. Trying to focus with vision still blurry from sleep, Steve’s messy head of hair comes clear into your line of sight. Long fingers pull the white strings from the metal eyelets of your converse, a warm palm wrapping around your ankle that sends a shiver up your spine as he slowly wiggles your sneaker off your foot. The white tube socks that cover your feet make him smile with a thumb that dares to rub a small circle on your skin before dropping it to work on the other.

“Steve,” you manage to get out, voice still thick with sleep.

“I’m just tucking you in, that’s all hon- and then I’ll get out of your hair.” He clears his throat after the nickname that set you off earlier burns like acid dying on his tongue.

You grumble something unintelligible, rubbing the mascara off your eyes as he pulls your other shoe off the pad of his thumb doing the same thing to your other ankle making your toes curl. Both his hands find their way to your calves squeezing softly at the muscles before he starts to lift them up.

“Come on, let's get you laying on your side.” He coos, helping you adjust so you’re finally horizontal. You groan a little, reaching out for him on instinct, the softness of his touch making a very drunk you crave more. 

“I’d love to cuddle but I think you’d actually kill me in the morning,” he laughs to himself knowing you won’t remember any of this when you wake up.

You make some more noises that he can’t figure out if they're supposed to be words or not as he drapes Robin’s thick throw blanket over you. Grabbing the material in your fists when you feel it, you pull it even closer, a low satisfied hum spilling from between your lips that still sparkle with leftover glitter from your gloss. He watches the way you curl into yourself, fingers twitching at his side to run his knuckles over your cheek.

“Steve,” his name comes out clear as day, kicking up his heart rate.

“Yeah?” He squats down next to your face, the warmth of your breath hitting his face while your eyebrows furrow in your sleepy state trying to get whatever you want to say out.

“You really broke my heart, you know that?”

Your words punch the air out of his lungs, just like your unexpected arrival. Something he’s fantasized about happening more times than he’d like to admit.

“Yeah, I know.” He sighs defeated, giving into his urges for comfort with knuckles that brush against the warmth of your skin, a familiar burn stings his eyes when you subconsciously lean into it. 

You don’t say anything else to him, the furrow of your brows smoothing out as your face finally starts to relax under his touch. He watches the way your shoulders move with each deep breath that pulls you further into sleep and away from him. 

He takes a selfish minute to stare at you uninterrupted, tracing your cheekbone one last time before he stands up to leave, he knows he won’t get any sleep, and the words you won’t remember saying are already haunting him like a bad dream.

“Do you really wanna love me like you say you do? Give it to me like you say you do? Cause it’s hard enough you gotta treat me like this, lonely enough to let you treat me like this. Do you really love me?”

Steve was late, glancing down at pink the digital watch on your wrist, fifteen minutes late. Five lockers down from his, you wait for him at what’s been your meeting spot for the last eight months. Far away enough from his locker that no one would suspect you waiting for the King of Hawkins himself, but close enough to the janitor's closet for him to steal you away from sight without anyone noticing for the forty-five minutes of study hall. 

Hushed argumentative whispers catch your attention, nerves making your feet move from side to side unsure if you should abandon ship and just go and study for the final in your last period. Nancy Wheeler's eyes meet yours as she rounds the corner with her best friend Barb, the corners of her lips pulling up ever so slightly giving you a small wave which you return as she tries to ignore her friend.

“He’s just trying to get in your pants! Come on, you have to be smart enough to know that.” Barb points at the note Nancy is clutching in her hand so hard that the whites of her knuckles show.

“It’s not like that, I’m just tutoring him.” She argues but the blush that creeps across her cheeks and spreads down her neck gives her away.

I’m just tutoring him.

That simple sentence is enough for your world to tip off its axis, chest tightening at the realization of who they're arguing about. All the canceled plans the past few weeks with the excuse of extra tutoring starts to feel like a knife to the gut. Prince Charming rounds the corner holding and twists the handle with a bright flirtatious smile that used to be just for you, only now it’s flashed at the dainty brunette who melts under it because no one is immune to Steve Harrington. 

It takes him a minute to see you, too wrapped up in Nancy who’s back is pressed to the lockers, caged in by Steve’s big hand splayed against the metal by her head. They’re too far to hear what he’s saying to her, but the confident way his teeth flash and the sweet giggle he earns from it tells you everything you need to know. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing them fall. Fists clenched at your sides, the blunt ends of your nails dig into your palms as you hold in the sob that threatens to give you away as you walk past them, meeting his guilty eyes before you round the corner.  

The pounding in your head wakes you up before the sun that leaks through Robin’s small kitchen window. Your hangover rings in your ears with a vengeance, and has you letting out a pained groan. Everything after the joint you shared outside at the party is nothing but a blur, a scattered puzzle with pieces missing as you try and figure out how you ended up back home and tucked into the couch. 

“Are you alive out there?” Robin’s voice calls out weakly from down the hall in her room. 

“Barely,” you grumble, agitation kicking in from dehydration and the old wounds your dream decided to rip open.

“I’d say I’m never drinking again but we both know that’s a lie,” she says, muffled by what sounds like a pillow.

A giggle tries to escape, but it only makes you wince, clutching your forehead willing the pain to subside.

“How’d we even get home?” You croak, rubbing harshly at your eyes before attempting to sit up, covering them with a cupped palm as your surroundings get brighter.

“Steve,” Robin’s voice comes out right next to you, surprising you by appearing in the entryway. 

Hearing his name out loud sends the kind of rage that scorches through your veins, it burns from your fingertips remembering the look on his face when you broke up a few weeks after that day in the hallway your dreams so sweetly reminded you of. 

It was Pity.

Your best friend ignores your silence and the sour look on your face as you silently take a trip down memory lane while she shuffles into the living room wandering to the attached kitchen. 

“How far is Eddie’s shop from here?” You grimace watching her chug from a carton of orange juice.

“Oh, super close. You can walk from here.” She answers, wiping her upper lip with the back of your hand, “they opened like two hours ago, I’m sure he’s already looked at your car.”

“I think I’m going to shower and go over, do you want to come with me?” Raising your hands above your head, you stretch your sore muscles as a yawn comes out in the middle of your question.

“I think I need to rot in bed for a little while longer before I go walk amongst the living, I promise I’m all yours after I don’t feel like a freaking crypt keeper.” Your yawn is contagious, giving you a view of all her perfectly straight teeth.

“I demand something greasy for lunch when I get back then.” You point at her finding your footing on the carpet, noticing your converse are tucked nice and neat against the couch next to you. The feeling of Steve’s knuckles is a ghost against your skin, details starting to come out clear from the murky waters. 

Heat rushes to your cheek at the memory while your emotions start to go at war with each other over what to feel towards the man who tucked you and your best friend in last night, but also broke your heart in a way you don’t think you’ll ever quite forget. 

“I’m on it boss, god, I wish Benny’s was still open.” Robin interrupts the inner struggle she’s oblivious to you having as she walks past you flinging herself on the couch you’d just won the battle of leaving “But I’ll think of something good, I promise.”

Just like your yawn, the smile she gives you is contagious despite the sharp pain you get in your head from moving too much and you both laugh wincing when it only gets worse. 

Ibuprofen first, then your car.

Birds chirp loudly, mocking the headache that's turned into something more annoying than painful after a handful of ibuprofen. The sticky air is still suffocating even in a pair of black biker shorts and an oversized loose fitting tee, while the sun shines golden against the cerulean sky without a cloud in sight to hide you from its light. 

The heat warming off its rays makes beads of sweat start to collect at the crown of your head and the nape of your neck, while the incline Eddie’s spinning auto body sign sits on top of threatens to take your breath away. Unwanted thoughts of Steve Harrington keep your pace quick, stewing over the last twenty-four hours and everything it’s unraveled.

The small parking lot is empty when you reach it, kicking small rocks with the toe of your sneaker as you cross it. The double garage doors are open, Metallica’s Seek and Destroy echoing loudly, tugging up the corners of your lips. Your Chevrolet Caprice is the only car semi-lifted in the air with a pair navy coverall-clad legs underneath it.

Opening your mouth, Eddie’s name dies on your tongue before you get a chance to shout it, clocking him and his wild curls sitting in the glass office inside. Those big brown eyes meet yours from across the way, a dimple filled grin lighting up his face waving excitedly from his chair before standing up.

“Glad to see you’re alive, princess.” He teases stepping out of his glass case, with coveralls that are gray today.

“Honestly, it’s a miracle,” you laugh, confused eyes darting to the large boots under your car that don’t seem to have any reaction to the sound of your voice.

“Oh, I heard all about your first night back home. In fact my shop opened thirty minutes late because of it,” he chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against the open metal frame where the door should be. Faded bats that you remember when they were fresh dancing across his arm with his movements.

“Wait, what?” You ask, confusion pinching your brows together right as the mysterious pair of legs start pushing out whoever’s under your car.

“I didn’t get back to my place till almost four in the morning after getting you two home and in bed,” Steve emerges flashing you his million dollar smile as he sits up on the dolly, the sleeves of his own coveralls tied tight around his waist and hair wild like he’d just rolled out of bed, “I slept through my alarm.”

The immediate glare that hardens your face when you see him has Eddie's eyes light with obvious amusement. 

“What are you doing here? And why are you touching my car?” You snap, trying to push the worries about what you look like deep under the irritation and the distraction that begs to steal your anger with his arms on full display like this. Or how the patch of chest hair that peeks out the top of it shines with sweat. 

“I work here,” Steve snorts like it’s the most obvious conclusion, because, well, it is, “and I volunteered to look at it, Eddie’s got his hands full.” 

That was a lie, he begged him.

“Since when do you know anything about cars?” Snorting, your attitude makes him roll his eyes, pushing himself off the ground.

It’s a struggle to hold his gaze when he stands at full height, biceps flexing with his movements practically daring you to look. He pulls out a faded maroon rag from his pocket and starts wiping off the fresh black from his hands that’s already stained under his nail beds. The hard bottoms of his work boots making their way across the cement floors of the garage. 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me anymore, that’s what happens when someone leaves for five years.” Steve antagonizes, his lack of sleep leaving him with thin patience.

He stops just close enough for you to smell how the woodsy spice of his cologne mixes with the sweet bitterness of the oil that seems to find a way to leave its mark on every surface in here. Including him.

“I’m going to finish balancing the books, why don’t you tell her the good news first and then the bad,” Eddie pours ice over the tension that threatens to boil over before it can turn hostile, catching the way both of your nostrils flare and shoulders square up.

“Wait, there’s good news and bad news?” Your focus on Steve shifts as Eddie’s words sink in.

“Like I said, I’m going to finish balancing the books.” The metal head reminds you, giving a half salute with two fingers while simultaneously shooting a stern look to Steve who’s mouthing something behind you. “Your mechanic’s going to go over everything with you, we can talk about pricing when it’s all said and done.”

“Seriously?” You bluster as Eddie shrugs with the kind of nonchalance that sends you reeling before sitting back down, tuning the dial-up on the radio in his office. End of discussion.

“Look -“

“How do I even know that you know what you’re talking about?” You interrupt, making his full lips set into a straight line.

“Are you going to be like this the whole time?” Steve sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose before crossing his arms, the tops of his shoulders moving with them. 

A pleading expression softens his features instead of the hard combative one you were anticipating, and it helps your blood pressure return to normal. The realization hitting you that maybe skipping breakfast with a hangover probably wasn’t your smartest idea.

“N-no, sorry, I just feel like -“

“Shit? Yeah, I bet.” He chuckles, and your jaw clicks. Maybe if you count to three…

“Just tell me what’s wrong with my car, Steve.” It comes out clipped, but it's an improvement from your fingers twitching to rip that handsome head right off those shoulders that won’t stop trying to distract you.

“How about you tell me the last time you had your oil changed?” He counters, taking a few steps back to sit on the hood of the rusted baby blue Buick behind him. 

“Uhh, I- I think,” All the blood rushes to your cheeks, warming your skin as you try to wrack your brain and not focus on the way his legs spread wide to keep his balance. “Maybe, like, six months ago.”

“Six months?!” The number must be worse than whatever Steve was preparing for when a dirty hand runs through his hair, “and then you drove it three states to get here?”

“Yeah, I - I mean, hearing you say it out loud,” you grimace thinking of all the weeks you ignored that flashing orange light on your dashboard.

“So then you shouldn’t be surprised when I tell you that your engine locked up.” 

“Is this the bad news?” 

“Kind of,”

“What do you mean kind of?”

“Look, the good news is that I can fix it, the bad news is that I have to order a few parts that could take up to three weeks to get here, then the job itself is going to take me probably another week.” He sighs standing up, starting back towards your car with you quick on his heels.

“That’s the whole summer!” You argue like it could possibly make a difference, frustration pricking at the corners of your eyes watching him pop open the hood.

“More like half of it, but hey, you’re lucky I can even get it running again without having to replace the whole thing.” He meets your gaze from under his lashes leaning over the engine, long nimble fingers unscrewing the cap where your oil should go.

“So what am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to get around?” You know that part isn’t his problem, this entire mess is your own doing but it doesn’t stop it coming out in a whine. You blame your hangover.

“You’re gonna be just fine, city girl,” Steve grins up at you before reaching even further under the hood, muscles flexing with him, “besides we both know I can’t say no to Robin.”

He pulls at a small tube that’s purpose is unknown to you but you keep eyes trained on his movements like you have an idea, anything to keep the focus off the gold chain that dangles from his neck. 

“Or you.” The last part comes out so quiet, a focused look pinching his brows together as he continues his investigation.

“Me?” 

He doesn’t look at you when he shrugs, pulling at something with a little more force that makes you both flinch. 

“How much is this going to cost me, Steve?” Your defeat shows in your tone, as the question slips quietly from between your lips that you wish you’d have put gloss on now.

He grunts at the same time something pops against metal under his hands, muttering a string of curse words under his breath before standing back up wiping his palms on the white cotton of his tank top. Charcoal stains fill the small grooves in the fabric with each swipe of his hands, pulling the collar further down every time. It’s a losing battle not to look at his chest when every motion reveals more of the thick curls underneath. 

Steve clears his throat, letting you know that you’ve been caught and it’s at this moment you wish you could walk in front of the moving truck that drives loudly past the shop, only exaggerating the silence that follows.

“Don’t stress about that today,” he smiles, letting you off the hook for now, something mischievous dancing in his eyes for another time. “Like Eddie said, we’ll figure it out.”

“Don’t stress about it?! Have you met me?” You huff, the money you’ve saved up for the summer starting to dwindle right before your eyes. 

“I have actually,” Steve chuckles, stepping close enough for the tips of your shoes to touch his boots. He feels bold when you don’t make any attempt to move away like at the party or retreat when he closes the gap. A thumb and forefinger finding their way to your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze, “and you’re going to be fine, I promise.”

Your lips part on their own, the full force of his face from this close stealing the breath from your lungs. You can smell the coffee he had this morning and the mint from his toothpaste still lingering on his breath. The stubble that lines his sharp jaw is even more noticeable today, tapering off at the top of his neck making the cluster of moles that live there stand out even more. A pink tongue runs over his full bottom lip and it has your lashes fluttering against the tops of your cheeks.

“Now go get some food, grumpy,” his voice comes out low, a teasing edge to it that reminds you of what it’s like to have Steve Harrington flirt with you. “I’ll call when I get the parts, okay?”

It’s like detention junior year all over again as you turn into putty in his hand. Still too attractive for his own good, all you can do is nod while all the fight you had left inside you disappears as the pad of his thumb swipes soft against your heated skin just under your pouted lip before letting you go. He turns on his heel after that, walking back to the box of tools he has spread out over his workbench before adding,

“Do me a favor and tell Robin she owes me a new shirt.”

beta’d by @sweetsweetjellybean

🌻 chapter two

[thegnomelord]

For the prompt game, maybe 7 with price and m!reader. Price gets pissed off that reader almost got themselves killed on a mission to protect him. Just some lovely old man angst

Tumblr's acting up again and it's deleted my draft like 3 times so fingers crossed this works else I will cry😓 . I saw the old man angst and immediately thought of Rodolfoparras work and this so yeah. Play the game HERE.

Prompt: “Well, I’m sorry I fell in love with you, okay? But it happened and I can’t do shit about it.” “You… What?”

CW: SFW-ish, Omega John Price, Alpha Male reader, mentions of gore, kissing, angst, omegaverse.

When your file had landed on his desk he had contemplated refusing; you were a stereotypical alpha — a loudmouthed meathead with little regard for your own health, headstrong and stupidly stubborn over the dumbest shit, and with a long list of incident reports dating back to the first day you joined the army. TF141 was your last chance before a dishonorable discharge and Price, stupidly, had taken you in like the stray you were.

Safe to say you turned out to be the leading cause of his grey hairs with all the shit you pulled. . . but. . . not to the extent he expected.

Unlike most alphas, you were surprisingly receptive to taking orders from an omega like Price, and carried yourself around the others without attempting to establish the dated hierarchy. After giving you guidance, and learning how you thought, Price had been seeing serious improvement.

'Course, all of that went down the drain when you decided to charge head first into a group of enemies when Price had gotten stabbed.

"What the fuck were you thinking lad?" Price hisses harshly under his breath, eyes boring a hole between your brows. He's standing at the foot of the medical bed, watching your chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm. "What the fuck were you thinking?" You better not die so he can kill you himself.

He doesn't expect you to answer, knocked out as you are with your chest wrapped in fresh bandages after the docs fished out who knows how many bullets from your torso— 16, his inner omega reminds him, 16 bullets he took for You.

He sighs, "You're a lucky muppet." Walking around the bed he places a hand on your thigh, slowly inching up to rest on your lower abdomen, dark red spots denoting where bullet wounds lie. "But a stupid alpha." He growls. It's a good thing military alphas are like walking tanks of fat and muscle, you can take a few hits, though the thought does little to soothe his omega when you lay unconscious.

He doesn't even notice he's making a small distressed sound in his chest until your eyes flutter open, squinting from the harshness of artificial lights before you notice him looming over you; something between a guardian angel and death itself.

"Price?" Your nose twitches, lungs expanding despite the ache in your chest to catch his scent, your alpha noticing the sharp acrid taste hiding his usual pine smell. "What happened?" You ask, achy as you are you manage to tilt your head enough to let out a low chest vibrating purr, seeking to calm your omega.

"What happened, it that you dumb muppet almost died!" He hisses, anger making his scent even harsher, hating himself how his omega swoons at the purr, at how you put him before yourself even when you're knocking on death's door. "Were you trying to get killed?"

You hand your head and look away. You can scarcely recall what happened, the drugs and adrenaline muddling your mind so any memory comes out like an abstract painting, but one detail remains — Rage.

A Deep.

—bleeding flesh neath your fingernails, painfilled screams silenced by your snarls—

Dark.

—the 'crack' of bone against stone as the strength behind your hands forced the skull to shatter, blood and brains splashing against your face—

Animalistic.

—desperate hands scrambling against your head, the frantic pulse beneath your tongue rapidly dwindling once your teeth dug deep enough to tear through the jugular—

Rage.

You don't remember ever being as angry as you'd been when you'd seen Price clutching his side, the bloodied blade of a knife clenched between his fingers, unknown hostiles encroaching towards him. Your omega had been injured. Your omega had been injured. And you didn't think twice, vision turned as red as his blood with a singular thought of Kill Kill Kill banging on your skull you didn't even notice you were bleeding.

Like a proper animal. Like something you've been trying to prove you're not.

"I'm-" You swallow, though cleaned, you can still taste the blood of the enemy whose throat you'd torn out, your teeth still stained red. "-sorry. I'm sorry."

"'I'm sorry' he says, is'at the best you've got?" Price presses on, coming closer and bracing a hand on your chest, his limb vibrating from your purr. It's hard to stay mad at you when you're doing this, his omega wanting nothing more but curl next to you, to share warmth and protect you while you recover. "What was going through your thick skull? Wait, let me guess: Nothing." Still he persists, not showing what he's feeling.

You hang your shoulders low and head lower still, chewing on your lip as you listen him chew you out. Something sits heavy in your chest, growing bigger with every word he says like a snowball, his anger leaving your alpha —dumb creature that it is— confused and hurt; why is your omega angry, when you protected him? When you nearly died for him? When you love him—

“Well, I’m sorry I fell in love with you, okay?" You snap, rough and angry, your gaze fixed on his. You stop purring, leaving the room too cold and silent without it. "But it happened and I can’t do shit about it.”

“You… What?”

You flinch and suck in a breath as pain flares across your body. You expected a lot of different responses, from anger to indifference to being told you're out of the taskforce. . . not that.

"Lad." Price's voice is unnervingly calm, one hand on your scruff, the other holding your chin, the sudden contact of his skin on yours fooling your alpha into letting him tilt your head to meet his eyes. "Repeat that. Slowly."

You gaze into his eyes, so many things swirling in the blue yet you're unable to tell any of it. Slowly you breathe in, "I. . . I love you." You say, open and honest and too vulnerable for an old omega like him.

". . .oh, you stupid alpha." Price almost laughs, dimples around his mouth as he smiles. Like puzzle pieces something clicks in his head.

Before his words can feel like a slap to your face he leans in, your foreheads bonking together before you find the right angle for his lips to meet yours. He tastes like his cigars and black coffee and everything you thought he would, your body melting into his, your nose full of his scent, your brain full of him.

"Could have told me without nearly dying." You separate to catch your breaths, foreheads resting against each other, breathing the same air and only now do you notice Price is purring. It's not the same bone rattling purr alphas can produce, but just as soothing, and you can't help but giggle when your own purr causes his to become louder.

You think, maybe, everything will be alright—

"After you get better." He whispers against your lips, soft and sweet, saccharine pine scent sticking to your nose like amber. "You and I will have a long talk about safety."

Maybe not.

[yangsharperavery]

my carmy/sydney related thoughts on season 2

i think when digesting this show, it's done more easily when we see who carmy and sydney are as people and how they bring that beingness to their dynamic.

it's interesting to see the takes from people who are troubled by what they saw in this season in terms of their relationship.

i personally thought there was so much fascinating groundwork that was laid.

we knew when molly gordon was cast they were likely trying to introduce a love interest for carmy.

i was not shocked, i was not surprised. i literally expected it.

doesn't mean i wasn't rolling my eyes but i was well aware of what function she would play within the narrative.

but the writing is so sharp that there are a million subtle elements of carmy's character, and what we know about him up to this point, including what was illuminated by the christmas episode.

let's first talk about carmy's choices and behavior where it relates to claire vs sydney and the restaurant.

we know that carmy is awkward, isn't incredibly relationally experienced and has sacrificed everything for his career and specific level of skill.

he'd just been ruminating on expanding his experiences as expressed in the al-anon meeting.

we know this man is intensely grief-stricken and also that he's battling his own mental health.

we also know he's literally been bred from chaos and emotional tumult.

even him not going to his own brother's funeral makes so much sense after that christmas episode.

he couldn't stand to witness what that type of grief had done to his already deteriorating mother.

so he's trying to conceptualize fun.

notice he wasn't trying to conceptualize love or relationships or a partner.

it was literally presented and integrated as fun.

so he runs into this girl he used to a have a crush on and even then, he's not sold because he knows himself, he knows his priorities, his propensities toward self sabotage, etc so he gives her a wrong number.

yet she persists.

so to me, this may seem like a sign to him to give this a chance, do some exterior exploration of something outside of the kitchen and outside of his career and outside of his own neurosis.

so he's just going with the flow. trying to be "normal". not really knowing the content or context of anything. another reason why he wasn't even calling claire his girlfriend.

claire even brings up the fact that they'd hung out so much but didn't actually talk.

which is SPOT on because the audience only actually ever sees them talking about their careers or what they were like as kids/teenagers.

but you know who carmy DOES talk to? hmm, more on that later.

so claire is symbolic of this thing that was pleasant when he was younger, when he was less of this grown conglomerate of anxiety and disarray and sorrow. a part of him that's separate from all of his current worry and fixations and dysregulation.

him saying he loves her so much and that he thinks she's so great actually rings hollow because we, the audience, didn't actually get to see when and where that level of specific emotion or intensity occurred.

so off rip i don't believe him. i don't think about it in the context of if or when he and sydney explore anything, because it feels patently untrue to me.

and completely separate from sydney.

it's not earned. it's not rooted. it's not tacitly valid.

it's fine. it's a good time. it's some laughs and conversation and sex and a nice, normal person he has fond, nostalgic memories of.

and i think it's written that way on purpose!

so him professing this to other people feels like this way to continue digging a hole of his own distraction, his absence, his lack of attention to detail.

i completely understand the frustration that many feel about interpreting this like carmy was essentially choosing claire over sydney.

carmy was trying to have an unfamiliar and different experience and didn't have the depth perception, the self awareness and the internal regulation to recognize he was doing it to the detriment of something so deeply and irrevocably important to him.

as soon as sydney brought it up, he got defensive but then moments later recognized his errors and apologized.

she told him she didn't want to share his attention.

he told her she was absolutely correct and that she deserved his full focus.

what's fascinating about this part is they aren't even explicitly talking about the restaurant.

she says "me" and "i", he says "you".

uh. wow.

now even in the context of JUST the restaurant this is saying ALOT here.

him instantly apologizing and agreeing with her requests means a substantial amount.

carmy isn't an ass because he stood sydney up for the palate cleanser. or even because he went absent when he shouldn't have.

carmy is deeply troubled and wounded and suffering and he was grappling for something else to feel or do or think about besides what he's ALWAYS thought about and done and fixated on.

that's why he's unreliable, that's why he's haphazard and emotionally or energetically messy. he's coping.

that's why he knows he makes mistakes all the time. because he feels like he's a screwup in a lot of specific ways in his life so he's used to it.

he's not being malicious or cruel or even unkind to sydney.

and this isn't an excuse. it's a reason. it's what all the information we have about him up to this point is providing us.

and yes, his timing is godawful.

but he trusts this person so implicitly because he knows how talented and capable she is.

carmy does not know HOW to be a partner, of any kind. where would he have learned that? where would that have been modeled for him?

"this is what you wanted originally and i'm giving it to you."

so let's transpose the way carmy and claire are presented with how carmy and sydney are together.

he literally can't WAIT to hear what sydney has to say. about literally anything.

at any given time.

"say more please."

all he wants to do is listen to her talk. he wants to know everything about her. the personal stuff too, almost especially.

he listens to her so closely. in the first or second episode she loses her train of thought and he repeats everything she just said.

i don't even think it was restaurant related.

he brings up her mother not once, but twice.

he feels like he should have known that sydney lost her.

he wants to pour into and believe in her because he does. he already does.

he's ready to apologize to her because he knows what a mess he can be and often is.

he knows what his anger can do. he knows how he was conditioned and raised in the industry and he doesn't want that at all for her, least of all from him.

especially after she walked out last season.

he's hyperaware of it. he calms down instantly both times she does the sign for sorry that HE taught her.

he has this propulsion to NEED to know what's happening with her in the very moment something occurs.

he did it last season when she quit on the spot and he kept trying to talk to her when she was leaving.

he did it this season when she was frustrated and trying to say goodnight after carmy was actively telling everyone goodnight and to go home, yet he tried to talk to her when she was leaving.

"what?"

"i'm saying goodnight."

he was repeatedly ushering everyone out but because of the look on her face, carmy's like wait, "what's that about, what's happening?"

he can't stand it!

same with them outside last season when he brought her food and asked what was wrong.

if something is up with her, he reacts immediately.

if she's peeved, he wants to know why right away, he wants to know what to do to make it better, how to approach it, what to say, he goes out in search of that information in the moment it's happening.

sydney is his soft place.

he feels very anchored and tethered to her and i believe she feels the same with him.

sydney is his respite. his peace. the thought of her literally calms and stills him.

her being energetically seats him.

we saw it penetrate his seismic and consistent panic in real time.

that was clearly displayed for all of us to witness.

he doesn't want to be cruel or unkind or anything other than present and communicative with her.

i'd venture to say he actually doesn't want anything more than that, besides maybe the restaurant to succeed.

now sydney is in her "i have something to prove" era.

she is so driven and so determined but she's also a realist and is inundated and surrounded by all this proof that what she's doing may be foolhardy.

at the very least, it's incredibly risky. it's a jump.

and someone deeply ambitious and creative and tuned in and focused like sydney has such fear of failure.

because she knows what it often means for someone like her.

that's why she overextends herself so continuously.

she's often had to and she thinks it gets her closer to the opposite of failure.

she was not only aware of the gaps carmy's absence was leaving but also planning this tasting menu with a MILLION things on it because something was gonna be the star because it MUST.

and i think the carmy absence flares a bit of abandonment as well, like he's left her in a lurch.

she has feelings about that.

she finds out why he did, and TRIES not to have feelings about that.

that's confusing and she's already beyond stressed out so she tries to stuff it.

her success is so tied to her identity because she's worked so hard to get where she is and still feels like she's not where she wants to be.

so she wrestles with worthiness and worry and the financial climate of affability for restaurants. she's riddled with what if she can't hack it?

she has evidence of that being true in the past.

she has evidence of her past failures and those are what keep her up at night, not the infinite possibilities of her future successes.

and that's also why she picked carmy.

because she was always going to pick the best.

she was always going to follow the career and moves of the standout in the industry.

of the person that made the best meal she's ever had.

so if he's anal retentive or jumpy or doesn't call about changing the structural elements of their restaurant while it's happening, she deals with it because she picked him.

she chose him. and then he chose her.

(and then she lightweight chose him again when she came back)

so that's why when they're talking he so often checks in by looking her in the face, scanning her expression. he instantly picks up on something being off or wrong or him being "shitty".

or why when they're under a damn table, despite being peeved or annoyed with his disappearing acts, she lets out the most vulnerable, softest admissions about the perceived necessity of her contribution and future failure.

or why he responds with "i couldn't do it without you" so instantly, so rapidly, it's like it's etched in him. that's the quickest response he'd given to anything she said to him the entire season, she barely got the words fully out before he was verbally soothing her.

then he STAMPS this by saying "i wouldn't WANT to do this without you."

there was such an unexpectedly, viscerally aching quality to that exchange.

it's honestly searing.

i'm sorry are these wedding vows or are we talking about opening a damn restaurant?

or the way he says "you love taking care of people" to her when she talks about making sugar food.

that's also a stellar mirrored moment because i've seen a few people, i believe @eatandsleepwell is one, talk a lot about how that's one of carmy's main drivers and internal tenants.

they see so much of themselves in each other.

the buried parts, the unknown parts, the odd parts.

the parts they wanna work on. the parts they wanna exalt.

they are so similar. they are also quite different.

they have reflected one another in the narrative since s1 ep1.

they exist so flawlessly within the others interstices.

she wordlessly hands him pepto for his stomach.

he tells her he won't let her fail.

the pulsing undercurrent of sydney and carmy is pretty fucking palpable.

there's people on social media who weren't convinced or didn't ship them last season that have suddenly completely seen the vision.

whether the writers actually go there or not remains to be seen.

i don't necessarily trust that they will or won't to be honest because i know there are so many moving pieces and variables and factors.

ships get bypassed and messed up all the time.

i don't watch any shows for ship guarantees but i know how writer's rooms work.

i'd venture to bet that at least 1/3 of that room DOES have an interest in seeing something happen between carmy and sydney, (maybe even 1/2).

or at the very least the option to have it explored.

different people write different episodes, the showrunner/creator can scratch or add whatever.

scripts are TIRELESSLY edited and shortened.

yet there is alot that makes the final cut that points to the potent carmy and sydney marrow.

him giving her the captain reigns before they served for the first time, her saying 'let it rip'.

to me, sydney walked into that failing sandwich shop with a mission that day, they locked eyes and immediately fused.

something happened to the both of them in that moment and they largely don't even realize or can adequately reckon with its magnitude yet.

[tacticaldiary]

It Was Never Meant To Hurt

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

It’s been 4 days since she’s seen him last. Four days since they gave into each other and she woke up next to an empty bed. It hurts more than she cares to admit, to be used and discarded.

Masterlist

Four days.

Four days since she woke up to an empty bed, the wonderful memories of the night before, the touches and whispered promises against skin going sour the longer she stared at the empty spot next to her.

He’d taken his boots, the shirts he sometimes left in her army-issued wardrobe, and even the pillow smelled nothing like him anymore.

It was almost like he’d erased every trace of evidence that he might be in her life.

And it hurts like a bitch.

“Stay?” She’d whispered into the crook of his neck, shuddering breaths shared between the two of them as she lay there pliant and sweaty in his arms.

“If you insist, love.” He’d whispered, lips pressed to her temple, a deep, satisfied sound rumbling in his chest. It was the best she’d felt in so long, safe and guarded and blissful just laying there with the person she’s loved for over a year now.

They’d been together for a few months now, shared heated glances during meetings, lingering touches before missions, teasing remarks through the comms. It had been good, they had been good. She thought Simon had come to trust her more with the way he’d taken his mask off for her the first time he kissed her.

She’d tried to convince herself it was all in her head at first. That Ghost just wanted his clothes back. Keeping his boots in his own room was more convenient after all, and scents normally faded away, didn’t they?

It was easy to pretend at first, to go about her day like nothing was wrong, like there wasn’t a gaping hole in her chest expanding with every step she took, every dark corner she glances in hoping to see a glimpse of that mask of his.

She’d lost hope on the third day when she finally spotted Ghost in the hallway for the first time since that night...

And he’d walked right past her.

Not even a glance.

She remembers standing there for a moment, stunned at the blatant ignoring, the soft footsteps fading away indicating his departure.

So was she just...another notch in his bedpost?

Was he just playing with her to get her in his bed? It made sense. He’d gotten what he’d wanted and if that really was the case, there was no reason to talk to her and keep her around other than for their missions, was there?

She wants to laugh, or cry? Scream, maybe? Would that make it feel better, loosen the tightness in her chest at the indignation of being used and discarded like-like she was someone cheap?

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she forces her feet to keep moving to Price’s office. This feeling could stay lodged inside her, but it didn’t mean she could disregard her duties for it.

Still, hot, angry tears prick at her eyes, ones she refuses to let fall lest they show the world her inner turmoil, her embarrassment, and anger.

                                · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·  

Four days.

Four days since Ghost last felt anything close to content.

Clenching his jaw, he focuses on the methodical movements of the pistol in his hand, checking the capacity, reloading and firing off a clip.

One, two, three.

Head, neck, heart.

Three lethal shots.

Three days since he last felt her touch.

Taking a deep breath, he lowers the weapon a fraction, trying to get his thoughts together. Ghost was a cold man, he knew how to push things aside and focus on the task at hand, but he never could seem to push her out of his mind.

Even now, in the middle of practicing in the base’s shooting range, every time there’s a moment void of the bang of a shot fired, his thoughts drift to her as if his mind needs her to fill the physical absence left behind.

“Fucks sake.” He mumbles under his breath, switching out the bullets.

He loves her too much.

The day Simon Riley loses her is the day he fears he’ll lose whatever’s left of him. The shattered, broken pieces of a man that she had somehow stitched together into something worth loving in his eyes.

All his broken pieces are jagged and sharp, nicking and cutting the fingers of anyone who tries to piece them back together.

Her hands are bloody with the effort.

It’s why he needs her to understand, needs to stay away from her because Ghost is not someone who is easy to love. Inevitably he’ll put her in harm’s way, taint her with his darkness to a point where even she may consider it unforgivable.

Avoiding is easier than giving it a chance.

Ghost calls it a tactical retreat.

The door opens, and he doesn’t hear it creak but it’s through pure instinct alone that Ghost spares a glance to it, catching wide eyes with his own.

His body hums with anticipation, with the itch to reach out and touch, grab, feel. She looks...tired, he registers. They’re still staring at each other, his gaze impassive, hers surprised and...was that a flash of anger and hurt? They stay exactly where they are.

She’s expecting him to say something, Ghost knows. Maybe to break the silence between them that’s been lasting the past half week, maybe to explain and clear the air.

He turns away from her silently, fires off a couple of shots at the nearest target.

It was for the best.

Ghost was a selfish man, but not selfish enough to cause someone he loves harm. Being with him was a liability, he’d realised that when she’d drifted off to sleep in his arms, an action so full of trust it made his cold heart twist. He has no doubt she can handle herself. She was part of the 141 after all, handpicked by Price.

But at the end of the day, she was still human. Not immortal.

So was he, if the painful ache in his heart was anything to go by.

He half expects her to leave, so he’d be mildly surprised and frustrated when she plants herself a few feet away from him, bringing up her own weapon. She fires.

Three shots.

Heart, heart, heart.

There’s nothing but the popping of bullets for the next few minutes, though Ghost never seems to look away from her for more than a couple of seconds. Her movements become more agitated, more jerky like she’s getting progressively more antsy.

It’s only when her gun clatters to the floor and she lets out a pained groan that he snaps his head towards her instinctually.  

Clutching onto her hand, she glares at the gun underneath. She’d touched the hot barrel, her fingertips an angry burning red.

“What?” She snaps, the frown on his face deepening when his eyes flicker to her face. “Finally got something to say?”

“You should get that to medbay.” Is all he says, turning back to his own weapon.

A beat of silence, then a huff of frustration, and suddenly she’s right in his face, standing so close if he breathed in deep enough their chests would brush. It jars him on the inside, being so close to her after so long but outwardly he pins her down with a calm, blank stare.

“So that’s it then, Simon?” She says, eyes narrowed. “We’re back to this now?”

He clenches his jaw but says nothing. It’s the wrong move because it seems to irritate her further. “You just-you left me.” She exclaims. “Acting like I don’t exist, actively ignoring me? What the fuck, Simon?” Mixed in with the fire in her eyes is a layer of hurt which he spots easily.

How does he explain himself?

She doesn’t give him the chance.

“I mean, fuck-” She exhales sharply, turning her head to the side for a moment. When she turns back his heart drops at the light sheen of dampness in her eyes. “If I knew you just wanted to sleep with me I wouldn’t have gone along with it.” Her voice is the barest bit less angry now, more...defeated. “You led me on for five months. Five months. Just to get me in my bed and call it a day.” She barks a laugh that makes a chill run down his spine. “You’re a heartless bastard, you know that?”

Her voice cracking at the end makes reality crash back down to him.

Muted horror creeps into him as he takes in what she’s saying, what she’s assumed.

She thinks he used her. Just wanted to get into her pants and toss her aside.

For the first time in years, Simon Riley feels dread.

“What was it? Was I not good enough for Ghost?” She mocks, but it’s almost like she’s talking to herself, reflecting in some sick way. “You saw someone who was easy on the eyes and took it as a challenge, is that it? For what, some kind of intrinsic satisfaction?” She runs a hand in her hair, briefly pulling at the roots before letting go. “You shouldn’t have pretended it meant anything to you when-”

“You don’t know anything.” He cuts her off with a low voice.

“I think I understand enough.”

“You don’t.”

“Then explain.” She exclaims, shoving him hard. The man doesn’t budge, hands snapping up to grab her wrists and keep them pressed to his chest. “Try and talk yourself out of this once you mangy-”

“It’s for your own good.” He says.

“Who the hell are you to decide what’s good for me?”

“I’m not easy, love.” He says, tightening his grip when she tries to pull her wrists away. “This was never going to be easy.”

“Don’t call me that.” She hisses, and damn if Ghost was a more emotive man it would have made him wince. “I was ready for that.” She clenches her fists. “I knew it would never be easy, but you’re making it fucking impossible by avoiding me.”

“You’ll get hurt.” He sighs, frustrated that she just doesn’t seem to understand.

“You’ve already hurt me.” Her voice breaks.

He blinks, her words rattling around in his mind for a second.

He has.

Simon has hurt her. Perhaps more than any physical injury probably could. Tears prick at her eyes, just barely about to fall, and he’s never seen her look so tired, so exhausted, and shaken even after some of their toughest missions.

Simon has seen her get shot in the leg and walk it off without a trace of tears, yet here she stands in front of him on the verge of breaking down because Simon made her feel used.

Worthless.

Because of him.

Shit.

Releasing a shaky breath at the realisation, Ghost lets his hands travel up her arms until they graze her shoulders, grabbing gently. She lets him.

It’s more than he deserves after what he’s let her believe for the past four days.

Dread, loathing, and anger churn through his gut. Not at her, never at her. At himself, for thinking that pushing away someone so strong-willed could ever result in anything but catastrophe for the both of them.

Screw him and his attempts at being selfless.

Simon Riley is a selfish man at heart.

He pulls her into his chest, sighing in muted relief as she pressed her forehead against his chest. Like she used to.

Like it belongs.

“Thought you’d be safer if you kept your distance.” He says low and accented into her temple, brushing his lips against it through his mask like he did the night he left. “I realised it that night.”

“So you left?” She whispers shakily, hands clutching onto the back of his t-shirt. “Instead of talking to over with me, you just fucking left?”

His throat tightens uncomfortably. “Thought it was best.”

“Well, it wasn’t.” If he feels her tears soak through his shirt, he doesn’t bring it up.

“I see that now.” He tangles a hand into her hair, and the familiarity of it nearly knocks the breath out of her lungs. “Didn’t know it’d hurt you this much.”

“I didn’t think-...” Her breath hitches, and she pulls away to try again, meeting his gaze with tear-stained eyes but a demanding, soft gaze. “I didn’t think it’d be that easy for you to leave.”

Screw him. His hands tighten around her and he shakes his head firmly.

“You think it was easy to leave you?” He scoffs, disbelief painting his voice. “You’re out of your mind if so.”

She blinks, stilling as if it’s new information and he’ll admit to feeling the slightest bit remorse that he’d led her to believe that he’d have no problem leaving behind one of the only good things in his life just like that. Without a second thought.

“It was harder than any goddamn op I’ve been through.” He rumbles, watching her eyes widen. “Didn’t think I’d get past your door before turning back.”

Her silence unsettles him, because she doesn’t speak for a moment, just takes him in. Weighing him, weighing his words and his actions. Five months of progress against one night of fucking up.

Simon won’t admit that he holds his breath, knowing that her next word would be a declaration of where the both of them would go from here.

Her answer comes in the form of her wrapping her arms around him, pressing her face into the crook of his neck.

The relief that hits him is unlike anything he’s ever experienced before.

“I’ll fix it.“ He mutters, rubbing circles into her waist. “I’ll fix this, sweetheart.”

“You better,” she whispers into his skin, her eyes fluttering shut.

Requests Are Open!

(30/06/2023)

[fanaticf1fan]

I - Back To The Past

A/N Hello, this is my first fanfiction. please be welcome to give any criticism to help me make my fanfiction better. :)

Also, this fanfiction ay not follow IRL timelines and Rules for the Formula series franchise.

Emilia Schumacher was born to Michael and Corinna Schumacher February 2006, from the moment she was born Emilia had been the apple of her family’s eyes. From the moment she was born the restlessness and need for adventure she undoubtedly inherited from her father. From a young age she was constantly following her older brother Mick around and bonding with her older sister Gina.

She was fortunate to spend a lot of time with her father during his brief, temporary retirement from 2006-2010. Due to this she had stuck herself to her father like glue, expressing her constant want to be exactly like him in any way she could.from a very young age she was set to follow in his footsteps, just like her brother.

When her father returned to racing in 2010 with Mercedes, Emilia was overwhelmed by new people surrounding her, her family now expanding into a grid full of fun uncles and aunts.

When she started Karting at 5 years old, she noticed a few oddities around the track. The first was the lack of other girls there, to the point she seemed to be the only one on the track. The second was the constant whispers and glances that other people had sent her and her family's way. The constant, nagging whispers of her peers doubted that loomed over shoulder everywhere she turned. Her father had sat her down one day and explained that she shouldn't listen to them after he found her crying one day after a meet, huddled under the table tucked into a ball.

“Don't listen to them Shatz, you are my daughter, I will be forever proud of you for whatever you accomplish, don't let anyone make you think any differently.”

When she was 7 her life was thrown into chaos, her father as she knew him was no longer with her or her siblings, he was now just an empty corpse-like shape, lying in a hospital bed relying on machines for life. She spent her 8th Birthday in the hospital sitting around his bed with her family, it had been the first birthday that her father hadn't gently held her as she woke up. There were no birthday pancakes or special songs this year. Just the sound of beeps, the smell of disinfectant and the feel of tears streaming down her face.

A few weeks after her birthday, she started karting again, now under the direct guidance and mentoring of one of father’s close friends, Sebastian Vettel. The two had began getting close after her father rejoined formula 1 with mercedes. He became an older brother figure to her and became her crutch when her father got injured.

She had achieved multiple victories under the mentoring of Sebastian, yet every time she stood on that ever important top step, trophy in her arms, her heart yearned for the one man she had been missing for months. Sebastian of course tried to help heal that hole in her heart, taking over quite a bit of the responsibility over her and her brother while they both competed. Mick and her had formed an inseparable bond, leaning on one another for support. 

Her father had been released from his prison coma in June 2014. She had expected her life to return to normal, however as she looked upon her father, she almost didn't recognise him. He was nothing like the person he was before, their relationship wasn't the same. This broke her heart so bad she decided to simply sink into the shadows of her childhood home.

She had risen through the ranks quickly, she was competing in levels above her age, spending most of her free time practising her skills to help her on the track. She won many races which angered many people but she didn't care. She was fueled with the memory of her father and what they used to be like, her biggest wish was to be just like him, and she was going to ensure she would get there.

By the time she had reached F4, she had gathered quite the ruckus in the media and on the circuit, she had multiple karting championships and wins and the number was only increasing, she had become a number one competitor for many of her fellow races. In 2021, after a well earned win in F4, she was approached by one of her father’s previous teammates, Nico Rosberg. He had kept in contact since the accident but the two hadn't spoken in a while. 

After a few months, Nico became another mentor for the girl, working well with Sebastian to help the girl progress and keep her managed. While Sebastian had stayed as her primary mentor, Nico took the role of her manager, organising deals and sponsors to ensure the girl only raced with the best of the best with the goal of helping her reach her life goal.

In 2022, she entered F3, winning the championship before being almost snatched up by F2 team Prema Racing the next year. Her brother had graduated the team two years prior before going into endurance racing, dominating the field. She had become good friends with her F2 teammate Oliver Bearman. She had begun helping him any way she could, attempting to meteor him the way she had been mentored for the past years.

She was ready to make her dream her reality, and she was so close to the first step in the next stage.

[ozzgin]

Hi! thank you for my matchup and I really enjoyed it. You made all of my matches sound like they want to marry me, hehe (especially with Izuku). BTW, get well soon! Also, this isn't a request (just something I imagined): Izuku who absolutely loves the reader. One day, he randomly brings them a gift. As appreciation for his gifts, reader kisses Izuku all over his face.

Very glad to hear you enjoyed the results! I was somewhat nervous it’d be a hit or miss because I had never written anything BNHA related, but I had a lot of fun. Turns out writing for Deku is a surprisingly pleasant and cozy experience. So I certainly don’t mind expanding on your idea if that’s alright with you! :)

BNHA Headcanons: Midoriya Izuku as a loving boyfriend

Featuring Deku and a reader on the receiving end of his acts of love. Just some fluff ideas.

Once Deku finds a source of interest, he will research it to exhaustion. His humble notebook of rushed scribbles or detailed documentation is a black hole of information with no visible end in sight. Naturally, this habit of his will extend to his loved ones. Especially you. Knowing everything about his significant other is only common sense. Your likes, dislikes, hobbies, opinions…All the traits that you’re comprised of have been dutifully compiled on paper, and Deku will treat this manuscript like his own little Holy Book.

It is to be noted, however, that he’s not just a hoarder. All these facts are not kept around out of mere idleness. More than anything, Deku loves to see your smile. It’s particularly addicting, more so if he’s the cause of it. Thus he will do everything in his powers to entertain you and guarantee a bright expression on your face.

His main love languages are acts of service and gift giving. He doesn’t need special occasions to shower you with little gestures of affection. It’s not even an active effort per se. He will be shopping for groceries and notice your favorite soda is back in stock, swiftly adding it to his cart. He’ll learn your favorite artist is in town, so he’ll carefully check your schedule and buy tickets ahead. He knows you have an upcoming exam that stresses you terribly, so he’ll arrange a review session shortly beforehand with handmade flashcards and summaries to help you remember key aspects.

One could say it’s his nature to be attentive. For the longest time he’s been an outcast, standing in the audience and solely observing the others. The heroes on stage. Even as his turn came to step up into the spotlight, his introversion and introspection have continued to polish his skill of reading people to perfection. The slightest twist of your mouth will offer him everything he needs to know about your mood.

Safe to say Izuku, of course, doesn’t expect anything in return. He’s doing it out of his pure, unadulterated love for you. Although if he must be honest, your reactions to his surprises do leave him chasing for more. Last time it happened, he almost teared up wiping the lip stains you left on his face. Gazing at his reflection in the mirror, Deku couldn’t help the pride swelling up his chest. He would’ve loved to parade U.A. like this, letting everyone know about his undeniable bond with you. Sadly, he’s much too anxious for that kind of attention. Worry not, they shall live on in his memory.

[mylonelylittlestar]

XAVIER: THE SUN

Xavier is the sun, but not in the way people think. People hear "sunshine character" and think of clear skies during spring. Of flowers and beaches and singing birds. But that's not Xavier. Xavier is the sun in a different way.

(This is all based on my own knowledge/memory of stars, and it's probably not perfectly accurate because I tend to forget things quickly. I'm also oversimplifying and heavily romanticizing this. This is not an academic paper. It's a silly little post about Love and Deepspace!)

The sun is an average size star compared to other stars in the universe. There are billions of smaller stars and billions of larger stars. Compared to stars like Rigel and Betelgeuse, the sun is just a speck of dust in space, and stars like Teegarden's Star and other red dwarfs are grains of sand compared to the sun. It's not particularly special in size.

It's classified as a yellow dwarf star. Yellow dwarf stars don't "go supernova". They don't turn into black holes or neutron stars. They are simply too small.

They burn out of their hydrogen supply over millions of years, collapse, then expand, turning into "red giants". They stay that way until they become unstable, shedding their outer layers in form of large clouds made up of dust and gas (called planetary nebula).

What is left afterwards is the core, a white dwarf. White dwarfs are very dense and do not produce heat. Instead they spend millions of years slowly cooling down. When they completely cool down they turn into black dwarfs, but we will never see one because the universe isn't old enough for a white dwarf to completely cool down and actually turn into one.

It's not special. Even its death will be slow and anticlimactic. It won't collapse into a supermassive black hole after a giant supernova. It will just fade away slowly and quietly after its life as a red giant is over.

What makes the sun special is not itself, but its perfect proximity to earth. The sun makes life here possible because its mass and distance to our home planet gave us a chance to exist and observe it. Nothing else. It is perfectly average in its size, luminosity, and mass.

The sun is also lonely. More than half of the stars that we have observed share a solar system with at least one other star. They orbit each other as they travel through the universe. We can also observe triple star systems (the nearest star to the sun, Proxima Centauri, is part of a triple star system as far as I remember), quadruple systems, and possibly even septuple star systems (Nu Scorpii and AR Cassiopeiae). I've even seen things about possible octuple and even nontuple star systems.

But the sun is alone. It has a lot of planets surrounding it, but no other stars accompany it. There's a chance that it has siblings though, stars that formed in the same nebulae/gas cloud, but we have trouble finding them because we don't even truly know in what nebulae the sun was "born" in.

We have theories, but it's hard to do anything except guess because our sun is quite old and therefore far away from its birthplace (which has probably stopped existing by now). We're looking for stars with similar compositions and ages as our sun, and we look at their orbits and compare them to the orbit of our sun to see if they could be related, all in hopes of finding out more about our star through them, but the search takes a lot of time. We might never find its siblings. Maybe they're just too far away. Or there are no siblings. Maybe the nebulae only gave birth to one star, our sun, and no others.

Maybe our sun was always destined to be alone, from the very beginning of its life to its end. And maybe Xavier is destined to be alone too.

[intuitive-revelations]

As I've mentioned in a previous post, I've been thinking a lot about the exact chronology of ancient Gallifrey, and specifically I've put a lot of attention on the Caldera and the Citadel, plus related things like the Eye of Harmony, the Crevasse of Memories That Will Be, the Untempered Schism etc.

All these things seem to be located in the same place on Gallifrey, albeit some at different times, and often overlap in nature. After some thinking, I think I've worked how everything goes together, as well as the order of events. At some point I want to create a fully history, but for the sake of this we'll focus primarily on the subjects above, with some other major events sprinkled in for context.

A Very Brief History of the Capitol

[ID: Surviving parts of the old Capitol, in an illustration from Lungbarrow. Crystal-like towers and walkways stand over a waterfall. The TARDIS, in pyramid form, dematerialises.]

Pythian Era - The capital city is built near the Mountains of Solace and Solitude (likely, in antiquity, a stronghold against the Gin-Seng cats to the south). Beneath the Pythia's temple, in the centre of the city, is the Cavern of Prophecy. Within the cave is a deep, deep opening known as the Crevasse of Memories That Will Be, which holds, in the astral plane, something known as the Gate of the Future, a tear into the time vortex far greater than the similar natural rifts that occur elsewhere on Gallifrey. Time flows out from it, from the future, to the past Gallifrey. In times of meditation, the Pythia sits in a hanging cage above the Crevasse, breathing in the rising vapours, which aid her in her clairvoyance.

[ID: Gif edit made by me, featuring the last Pythia sat in a small cage slowly swinging in a chasm as a mist slowly rises around her.]

The Intuitive Revelation - The Neotechnologists, led by Rassilon, bring a revolution. The Pythia curses Gallifrey with sterility and cuts the ropes holding her cage, falling into the abyss. The Gate of the Future inverts, forming the Gate of the Past. Visibly, the Doppler-effect like colouring of the vortex changes - no longer red, flowing towards the viewer, but blue and flowing away (ironically directionally the reverse of the real Doppler effect). Time from the new future flowing into the chaotic past.

The new government take control of the Capitol. A new age of space exploration arises, with the Shobogans taking on the name, for now, of "Space Lords". One of these first individual explorers, semi-authorised predecessors to future Time Lord renegades, is a woman named Tecteun.

The First Attempt - The stellar engineers, including Rassilon and Omega, make their first attempt at capturing the energy of a collapsing star, recieving the energy on Gallifrey using an obelisk, like that later used to channel energy from the Eye of Harmony, in the middle of the city, using the nature of the Crevasse.

The experiment is a catastrophic failure. A hole is punctured into the Spiral Yssgaroth, unleashing Vampires through openings throughout the universe, fracturing out from the experiment.

[ID: From The Book of the War, an illustration of the "Eyes of the Yssgaroth", human-like eyeballs looking through holes punctured into spacetime.]

Part of the Old Capitol is destroyed in a great blast, destroying the Cavern of Prophecy and opening up the Crevasse, leaving a giant crater: the Caldera. It is likely that many are killed. Left behind in the middle of the crater, is the Gate of the Past, now manifest in the physical world: an open gap in reality. In this form, it becomes known as the Untempered Schism.

(I also suspect this is when Rassilon is forced to regenerate for the first time, to the shock of on-lookers, having secretly previously recieved Tecteun's genetic modifications - I plan to expand on this theory in a future post.)

The Vampire War / Rebuilding of the Capitol - The exact circumstances of the experiment are covered up. Rassilon, leaving to fight the Vampire hoard, swears Omega to secrecy regarding the project during the Arcalian High Council's investigation.

[ID: A gif, rotating around the Citadel is constructed over the Caldera, from part of the (likely partially-symbolic) time-lapse in The Timeless Children.]

Though some of the city survives, including parts of the Pythian temple, a new colossal city-complex begins construction in the place of the old one, suspended over the Caldera, the centrepiece of the new Capitol: the Citadel. It is built as a defensive structure, both for the war, and to protect the new, growing elite, surrounded by a great circular wall named "Rassilon's Rampart". The "core" of the structure, on which the towers rest, reaches down deep into Caldera and the deeper Crevasse.

Meanwhile the Untempered Schism is taken out of the city by those fearing further destruction, to a place in the nearby hills that will one day be known as the Weeping Field, where prospective Time Academy students are initiated.

[ID: The Untempered Schism in the Doctor's time, as seen in The Sound of Drums. It sits in a stone frame on red grass, with the Seal of Rassilon in front of it, and flames on either side. Within it, the blue "past" variant of the RTD1-era time vortex flows away from the viewer. The Citadel's lights are visible in the background.]

(Side note: it's possible the Untempered Schism's 'ring' is deliberately designed to evoke the Caldera. Note how it's lined with pieces sticking out. Look a bit like the battlements on Rassilon's Rampart, don't they? Surrounding the hole into the vortex just as they surround the crater.)

The Anchoring of the Thread - Several centuries later, once the Vampires are more or less defeated, Rassilon returns home. He coups Pandak I, forcing him to resign, and takes the Presidency.

By now the Citadel is more or less completed, though for the next few centuries it still lacks its characteristic dome, likely added during a later founding conflict.

[ID: Gallifrey, around the time the first TARDISes are grown, from The Lost Dimension. In the background past a small outsider village is the Citadel, new and gleaming, but undomed.]

The Triumvirate retry their experiment at Qqaba / Polyphilos, attempting to capture the collapsed star. When the experiment goes wrong once more, Omega's ship falls inside, as spacetime threatens to crack open again. With temporal energy flowing though him (a la the Bad Wolf), Rassilon reshapes the laws of physics, forming an event horizon, and black holes as we know them.

The black hole is dimensionally captured and suspended in the moment it collapses and the event horizon is formed, creating the Eye of Harmony, controlled using the Obelisk of Rassilon storied in the Panopticon Vaults. Meanwhile, the black hole itself is suspended within the temporal singularity of the Caldera, deep below the Citadel.

Harnessing the power of the Eye and the Caldera rift, Rassilon "anchors" chronology around Gallifrey, creating the Web of Time and placing it under the control of the Gallifreyans, now Time Lords.

Future Developments - Over the years, many changes come to Rassilon's Gallifrey.

Over the years, the more and more of the old city is replaced with new towers, forming the new Capitol around a now domed Citadel. Interweaved with these buildings over 28 square miles is much of the new Time Academy, such that the Academy is sometimes considered a whole city itself annexed to the Citadel.

While the remnants of the Pythian Temple are eventually torched by Rassilon, hunting down dissenters, many old buildings remain intact. These continue to be inhabited far into the future, in a community known as "Low Town" or the "Lower Len", as opposed to the "upper" city above. Shanties surround the surviving buildings, some climbing up Rassilon's Rampart.

Another such community is based around the "Old Harbour", whcih once sat on the coast of the now recessed Sea of Time. Nowadays, it likely sits on the shore of the small (possibly designed) lakes near the Capitol, where streams from the mountains presumably once drained directly into the sea.

[ID: From Hell Bent: a screencap as Rassilon turns from looking out the window from an Inner Council chamber high above the Capitol. In the background can be seen some lakes between the mountains, with some signs of what might be buildings on their shores.]

(Side note: I reckon this shot above might actually give us a glimpse of Old Harbour. I might just be imagining things, but there's some small features around and on the lakes I reckon could be docks or buildings? Interestingly, this also comes as Rassilon asks about the Cloister Bells ringing, and Old Habour is well known for the bells in its clocktower, which might explain why Rassilon was looking out at it from the window.)

In the space around the Eye in the Caldera, the Cloisters, the core of the APC net and later the Matrix, are constructed. The structure itself is, externally at least, relatively small, but it generates an entire 'micro-universe' on the Astral plane once accessed by the Pythia. Indeed, just as the Crevasse once allowed the meditating Pythia to see the future, so does the Matrix create its own prophecies.

[ID: From Hell Bent, the Doctor and Ohila converse in the entranceway to the Cloisters, a dark space with glowing optic fibres running across cobwebbed columns.]

In the Matrix is a "womb-like" null-space is where most TARDISes are grown, taking advantages of the Caldera's spatio-temporal properties. Budding within the Citadel Cloisters, a TARDIS's "Cloister Room" is one of the first parts to grow.

By the time of the Time War, though possibly earlier, the sealed Caldera also forms the resting site for many dying Battle TARDISes, the Under Croft, where they presumably decay and fertilise the growth of new time ships.

[perlelune]

I love literally everything you’ve ever written! Could we get an update on the reader in hunger? Maybe on the day of or after poor Henry’s execution

“I want you to see exactly what happens when you don’t do as I say,” Coriolanus whispers, warm breath fanning over your temple as his fingers painfully squeeze your chin, guaranteeing you don’t miss a second of your husband’s execution.

The noose is tied around Henry’s neck, a look of utter confusion and helplessness painting his features as he’s being dragged over the stage.

Adrenaline pumps through your veins, your pulse thrumming beneath the president’s palm.

The peacekeepers tug on the other side of the rope and a void opens under Henry’s feet.

It’s quick. Horrifyingly so. One second Henry’s quivering on the stage, claiming his innocence once more. And the next, he’s hanging lifelessly from the rope, his body limp as his feet dangle in the air.

A shaky breath slips from your mouth.

As you try to look away, Coriolanus’ grip on your face tightens. His body encases yours from behind, his other hand resting on the swell of your waist. He made sure you got the clearest view, on a balcony high above the crowd.

“Watch, dove,” Coriolanus urges softly. Your lips shudder, a hole ripping inside your heart as he forces you to gaze upon Henry’s corpse for long, tortuous minutes. His calm, low whisper against your ear raises goosebumps on your flesh. “I want this image burnt into your memory. So that each time you think of crossing me, deceiving me or leaving me…” His knuckles drag over your tear-stained cheek as he articulates, “You always remember dear, poor Henry.”

Following the execution, the crowd scatters and he nudges your reluctant frame inside the presidential car.

Your tearful gaze lifts to meet his face.

“Can I give him a proper burial at least?” you mumble, still in denial of what you just witnessed. Henry’s dead. Your husband is now a corpse lying on the ground.

You feel as if a sinkhole opened under your feet and swallowed you. None of this can be real.

Coriolanus’ icy stare strays from the tinted window to settle on you.

“Traitors do not deserve one.”

His frosty reply summons chills across your back.

“But he isn’t…Henry’s not a traitor.”

A wicked glint dances in his sea orbs.

“He was to the world, dove.”

“You’re a monster,” you hiss, all the hate you harbor for President Snow bleeding through your tone.

A lopsided smile blooms on his lips.

“Perhaps. But I’m alive, he’s not.” He bends over you, pushing his mouth against yours in a bruising, possessive kiss while holding your chin. “I can do this,” he mutters against your lips. Your breath catches when his other hand creeps under your skirt to tease your folds through your panties. Your appalled expression expands his smile.”…And this. He cannot.”

“Can I please go home?” you beseech.

Coriolanus snickers. “You’re not returning to this shabby place. In fact, I think all of it should burn.” You gasp. “There’s nothing of value there. The only valuable thing, I already have…right here. You will be staying with me, dove, in my house and in my bed.” His thumb sweeps over your parted lips. “Tonight and every other night.”

[bigmpregnm]

A Small Bite - Part 4

[Story Collection] | [Part 3] [●]

“Joey, please, slow down. There are too many babies,” Matt said behind me, but I couldn’t find any words to reply as my body wasn’t under my control. I knew the babies were coming out too fast, but there was nothing I could do to stop it. I didn’t even know why more babies kept coming out of me. My mind was blank and babies just continued coming.

I loudly groaned as I felt how big the babies were as they went through my birth canal. It wasn’t only their size, but since they were coming out so fast, it hurt me more than I ever expected. The pain and pleasure were overwhelming. My hole was on fire, not having a break between babies, but my dick was fully hard below my still-big belly. I didn’t know what to do. There was actually nothing I could do.

I got my hands on my belly, and I felt it slowly deflating. That sensation was a tiny light of hope at the end of the long and painful tunnel I was going through while giving birth to a ridiculous number of babies. I could feel a head crowning, but it continued sliding out. In just a second, the head popped out of my body, soon followed by the shoulders making me feel more pain than ever before. Soon, the baby finally slid out of my body, only to be replaced by the next one in less than a second.

I panted heavily as my hole stretched over and over again to let all the babies out, like what must’ve looked like a baby cannon. I couldn’t control it; I could barely stay conscious, and I could barely hear Matt’s voice behind the multitude of babies crying. It was all surreal, but I couldn’t even decide if it felt like a dream or a nightmare. The pleasure and the fact that we were having more than one baby made it feel like a dream. But at the same time, the pain and the fact that we were having more than one baby made it feel like a nightmare.

I groaned more as my body won’t stop pushing kids out. I was almost out of breath, even though the pressure on my belly was slowly decreasing. I tried my best to focus my attention on the few parts of my body that didn’t feel like they were about to explode, but it was really hard because the pain of several babies coming out of me one after the other was simply too much. My pecs, my belly, and even my dick felt like they were about to explode, and I could barely stand all the sensations happening at once.

“Matt, I... can’t,” I managed to say, in addition to more babies coming out of me, I felt a massive rush of milk pouring out of my nipples all of a sudden, making it feel like I had two geysers in front of me. I moaned out loud while everything around me got coated with milk. Then, I felt enormous pressure around my crotch, making me groan in discomfort, soon followed by the most intense orgasm I had ever experienced. My dick shot a river of cum, landing on my underbelly and the mattress beneath me.

“Joey… hey… Joey. What’s happening, Joey?” I heard Matt’s voice, but I couldn’t reply. My eyes started getting dark, and my mind collapsed under the intense sensation taking over my entire body. My eyes slowly closed, and everything around me just disappeared.

****

As I woke up, I immediately felt soreness all over my body. It felt like a truck had run over me, but somehow I felt relieved. The memory of my belly expanding and the intense orgasm taking over my body before I passed out flooded my mind, but it all felt so distant that a part of me wondered if it had been a dream. However, the fact that I felt so incredibly sore and tired made me realize that at least part of it had been definitely true.

I slowly opened my eyes and realized I was lying in bed, looking at the ceiling I knew very well. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I heard a weird sound that felt very close, but I couldn’t recognize it. It took me a few more seconds to finally figure out the source of the sound and realize that it was related to my pecs. I felt something around both my nipples and something else touching me around them.

I looked down and was surprised to see a wall of flesh before my face, soon realizing it was my chest. Each of my pecs looked enormous, like small beach balls, and the skin looked so tight that I wondered how it had stretched so much. I couldn’t see anything around me. Additionally, my pecs were pressing tightly against my chin, leaving my head almost locked in place.

“What in the…?” I shouted, trying to sit up, but the weight of my pecs and the soreness of my entire body made it impossible. “I… what’s… what’s happening?” I managed to say this as I tried to lift my upper body from the mattress, realizing something was definitely wrong.

“Hey, hey, calm down. Joey, just calm down.” I heard Matt’s voice, and it somehow calmed me down a bit. I felt him taking the babies away from my chest, but I still didn’t have the strength to move off the mattress. “Give me a second, and I’ll help you sit up. Just let me place these big boys on the mattress,” Matt added, and I sighed, looking at the ceiling.

“What happened, Matt? I had the weirdest dream ever. Now I feel like a truck hit me; I didn’t know labor could hurt so much,” I said, slowly moving my hands to feel my enormous pecs. Even though my arms were sore, I needed to find out if what my eyes had seen were really my pecs. “Why are my pecs so big?”

“Joey, you… Just relax and take a deep breath, okay? You were out for about half an hour after the last baby was born, so I get that you must be confused. Look, you…” Matt said, but was interrupted by some babies crying. At first, I didn’t mind the crying because I knew it was normal, but then the cries multiplied and grew louder, making me realize that there weren’t just two babies in the room with us.

“Matt, please tell me it was all a dream,” I said, trying to sit up, barely able to concentrate due to the multitude of loud cries surrounding me. “There’s no way that dream was real,” I added, as I felt Matt’s hand holding my hand and his other hand giving my back some support to pull me up. Immediately, I felt the enormous weight of my pecs straining my back. I only gasped in surprise, but everything around me was too shocking to think about my sore back for long.

“Joey, it was not a dream. I have no idea what happened, but all of a sudden, you started giving birth like a machine gun. You only groaned and moaned. Joey, I thought I was going to lose you, but you did so great, and you filled my world with happiness and fear,” Matt said as I finally sat up and looked around at a crowd of babies moving and crying everywhere in our room. “You gave birth to 40 babies. I-I’m still not sure if I’m dreaming, but... I saw you getting enormous, and then babies just came out of you one after the other, and you passed out, and I was so scared,” Matt said with teary eyes, and I didn’t know how to respond.

At least 20 babies were lying in bed next to me; there were at least 10 in the crib we had bought for the only baby we knew we were having, and the rest of the babies were in a bassinet, a stroller, and a hand carrier we had also bought for our big baby boy. We had all that baby equipment for one baby, so it was barely enough to fit the 40 babies Matt said had come out of my body.

I looked at the babies in bed next to me, and they looked exactly like the big boy I fed while giving birth to the second one. They were all like copies of each other, and since they looked a lot like Matt, they were like copies of him. Even though the sound of their crying was overwhelming, a smile spread on my face when I realized all those babies had been inside me. They were all ours.

“Shh, hey, big boys. Easy there… Daddy’s awake, and he’s going to take good care of you all,” I said out loud, and the crying slowly stopped. It seemed like my voice calmed all the babies down, so I continued talking to them all. “I know you must be scared. Believe me, I’m super scared, but I promise I’ll... We’ll take good care of you all.”

“I think some of them are still hungry. I fed the ones in the stroller, the hand carrier, and the bassinet, and was halfway through the ones lying next to you. That means there are ten babies left for you to feed,” Matt said as he picked up two babies from the mattress and slowly placed them in my arms.

“What do you mean? How did you feed them while I was out?” I asked while Matt helped me lean back against the bed’s headboard and get the babies in position for me to breastfeed them. It was pretty difficult because my pecs were so big that I couldn’t see anything past them, the babies included. I could feel their tiny mouths around my nipples and their tiny hands touching my skin, but I couldn’t see anything but my milky pecs.

“I held them against your pecs while you were sleeping. I knew they were hungry, and your pecs were there, so... it just made sense. Your nipples were leaking all along and there were 40 hungry babies. The entire room was a mess already, but I preferred that milk go to our babies’ tummies rather than getting on the mattress, which feels and looks more like a water bed... or milk bed more than a normal bed,” Matt said, chuckling and giving my pecs a soft pat.

“You… are you really listening to your words? 40 babies? It can’t be real,” I said, looking around again, trying to convince myself that those 40 babies were actually there. “And you said they all came out of me? Do you understand how crazy that sounds?”

“Oh, believe me, I know how crazy that sounds. I was right behind you, catching baby after baby, after baby after baby. With the first ten babies, it was clear you had to push and all the regular stuff, but after the eleventh, they just kept coming without giving me a break. Then you passed out around the 25th baby and they just... didn’t stop coming. More and more and more kept coming, and I didn’t know what to do. I was so scared, and... well, don’t hate me, but... it turned me on a bit,” Matt said, blushing.

“You gotta be kidding me? I passed out, and my body was literally collapsing under all the pressure and effort, and you just got horny?” I said harshly, making Matt blush even more. “You’re unbelievable, Matthew.”

“No, you’re unbelievable. You gave birth to more babies than anyone else, and here you are. You’re amazing,” Matt said, kissing me and giving my massive pecs some careful rubs.

“How sweet of you, Matthew, but I can’t stop thinking that this is somehow your fault,” I said as he kissed me again. “You were the one who wanted to have a huge family, and look, now we have too many kids.”

“Oh, there’s no such thing as too many kids. But I swear this is not my fault, at all. I didn’t do this,” he said as he started bringing all the babies to our bed to have them all in one place. “If anything, that man from the bakery shop is the one to blame. He gave me the cupcake and said it would help your fertility in your next pregnancy. Well, now it sounds like it’s my fault, but I never thought this could happen,” Matt said as he continued bringing more babies to our bed.

“The cupcake and... the cookie,” I whispered, finally remembering my conversation with the other man at the bakery shop. More memories of the moments before the birth started flooding my mind, and I looked at Matt’s crotch to find out if that had also been real. “Matt, your... dick,” I said when I saw the size of his soft dick, just as big as it had been when it was hard the last time I had seen it, along with grapefruit-sized balls.

“Oh, yeah… that… So, I was waiting for you to notice. I can’t blame the cupcake on that, but I thought that, maybe, it has something to do with the cookie.” Matt asked, and I blushed.

“Well, yeah. I wanted something for you to get hornier. I wanted you to fuck me hard, and... well, I never thought you’d get a 16-inch-long dick. Not that I’m complaining,” I said, winking at him as he placed the last baby in bed with me. With 40 newborns, our king-sized bed barely had enough space, but it was a really cute scene.

“So, you’re the one to blame for this huge dick, and I’m, somehow, the one to blame for you giving birth to 40 babies?” Matt said, kneeling next to the bed, right next to me.

“Oh, there’s no comparison. But I should’ve told you that it was only...” I said, and he completed my phrase: “A small bite.”

We laughed, and he helped me change the babies to feed the next pair. It was incredibly overwhelming, but the more I got to hold the babies, the more I fell in love with them, and the fear faded away, at least momentarily. I knew we had many challenges ahead of us because 40 babies were simply too much to handle, but looking at them made me feel at peace, and seeing Matt care so much for them made it all better.

Half an hour later, I finished feeding all the babies, and they were asleep. Matt helped me get up from bed to give the babies enough space to take a peaceful nap. Getting on my feet made me realize my pecs weren’t the only significant change my body had undergone. My belly was still pretty big, but completely soft. Even then, I still looked like I was nine months pregnant with at least twins. My ass and hips had grown a lot, forcing my thighs to thicken, so I still had to waddle instead of walking. Everything felt strange, but somehow I loved it, and Matt was clearly madly in love with my much thicker body.

We made sure that all the babies were safe in bed and that no one would fall off the edge, and we slowly went to our bathroom because I needed to clean my lower body. Matt was so gentle as he helped me get in the bathtub and started giving me the best sponge bath I had ever received. He was incredibly careful, which I appreciated because I was sore, and at the same time, he made me feel so good.

He paid close attention to cleaning between my legs, resulting in me moaning in pleasure, and my dick getting instantly hard. I still felt like I wasn’t in control of my body, but I couldn’t deny that I was enjoying his touch. Looking at him, I noticed his massive dick was slowly getting harder too, and I couldn’t resist the urge to get my hands on it and stroke it. His dick was at least 20 inches when it reached full hardness, and I couldn’t encircle it with my hands. I had just given birth to forty babies, but I couldn’t help but desire to have his massive dick inside me once again.

“I know that look. I know what you want when you look at me like that,” Matt said, carefully moving the sponge around the spot between my balls and my hole.

“If you know... then... what are you going to do, big guy?” I responded and reached lower to fondle his huge balls. “I don’t know if we’ll ever have the chance to be alone again with so many kids,” I added as he moaned thanks to my touch.

“You’re crazy, you know that?” Matt said as I started turning to get on all fours in the tub. Simultaneously, he carefully got inside the tub with me. “But I can’t deny that the big ass cake you now have looks so delicious,” he added as we got right behind me and squeezed my huge cheeks with his strong hands.

“Well, this cake is yours, so... enjoy it one last time before we get too busy with our kids. A quickie won’t do any harm,” I said as he leaned forward and kissed my shoulders and neck, with his hard dick tightly pressed against my back. “Just a small bite of cake, and nothing will happen,” I added, and we both chuckled. I was ready to be a full-time daddy for our 40 babies, but I needed to feel my big man inside me one more time.

The End

[citronverveine]

xie lian and identity issues

this is something i'll probably want to expand on more as i give it more thoughts later but right now i'm just. thinking.

i'm thinking of xie lian in book 2 who has to realize that he is not as invicible as he thought. he is powerful yet he cannot do enough. he is not enough. he cannot save his country, he cannot help the common people, if anything he makes it worse.

i'm thinking of xie lian in book 4 who has to get used to a life with no title, no riches, no priviledge. he has to live as no one, and if people find him out he will not be celebrated like he used to be, he will be captured, beaten, or worse, who knows.

i'm thinking of xie lian after being stabbed 100 times, so disconnected from his destroyed body that he can't recognize himself. i'm thinking of xie lian becoming white no face, hiding his face and seeking revenge, turning his back on everything he was before.

i'm thinking of xie lian after wuming's death, after changing his mind and not cursing the Yong'an people but causing the death of his last believer in the process. the distance between what he would have wanted to be and what he ended up being, doing.

i'm thinking of xie lian in mount tong'lu learning about the past of white no face and starting to think they're the same person. thinking maybe he was the one doing all this. thinking this was all meant to be.

it's just, like. young xie lian was so ambitious, and rightly so; everyone told him he could achieve anything, be anything, he ascended so early, was so powerful and so loved so early on. he started high, only to jump from heaven and land terribly low, in a 6-feet deep hole, unable to crawl out of it. the distance between what he was and what he ended up as. i know the war took a couple years to end but the change was still probably very brutal for him.

especially during his first banishment. at first it could have been alright. he had his parents. he had feng xin. he had mu qing. everything was new and unfamiliar and wrong but he had them, he knew them, they were familiar at least. even if xie lian had failed they were still with him, they still loved him.

and then mu qing left. and xie lian's view of relationships started to shatter. and then he was against mu qing on the land of cultivation and he was the one being humiliated and rejected. and then he was losing himself with the stress of white no face, becoming crazy with anguish and despair. and he couldn't provide enough for his parents, and he was afraid feng xin would leave, and he couldn't recognize himself. how had he fallen so low? how had he failed so much?

and then the temple. he wanted to fight white no face, to get rid of him once and for all. but white no face broke him without even lifting a finger. he shattered his faith in the goodness of the world by showing him how cruel it could be. and afterwards...

just think. being tortured for a whole night, used by hundreds of people for their own benefit, left torn open and raw without care. but you heal and you recover and your body hides any trace of that event. did you really go through it? did it really happen? did it happen like you think it did? was it really that bad? was the pain that severe? your body hid it all. you'll never know. the only thing you have are you memories. but can you trust them?

anyway. after that, xie lian comes back to his parents and feng xin. he steals. he doesn't care. he's angry, he's raw, he's weak. feng xin leaves. his parents leave. he's alone.

he's completely alone. he doesn't even have himself anymore. his old self is dead, his old self was nothing, his old self was naive and stupid. xie lian trying to kill himself even though it's useless is symbolic of him completely leaving his old self with his parents and what was familiar, to become someone else entirely. to abandon this part of himself.

it's explicit as white no face that xie lian completely rejects his previous identity of crown prince and god. he does not want to be called that. he does not want to be reminded of it. he hates this past self so much that being associated to it makes him feel humiliated and ridiculed.

only that old part of him is not entirely dead. xie lian still hesitates, deep down, to release the spirits. a part of him still wants to believe. he wants to be proven wrong. he wants the world to give naive xie lian another chance. it's the bamboo hat man that does that for him.

i just think the distance between xie lian, his body, and his mind, is very interesting. i didn't mention how he is completely disconnected from his body even 800 years later because i feel like it's more dissociation from the self than an identity issue (struggling to connect your thoughts to your actions and/or associate them with your perception of self, or even simply not having any definite perception of self especially when you are traumatized) but. i'll definitely make a post about that some day.

that was a bit long but i just. wanted to put some thoughts down. thx for reading up til here ??

[sungie]

“Stop wasting your time.” 

Scaramouche has never been a liar. Yet there’s something so jarring about the way it leaves his mouth. When what he really needs to say is something so disgustingly vulnerable he can’t bear it. He’s just said, stop wasting your time, when what he really needs to say is ‘on me’. Stop wasting your time on me.

So why won’t his lips move? Why won’t he say those words he knows will wipe that hurt expression right off your face? 

He feels your back tense against his. And it's so preventable. If only he just ... spit it out. Said sorry. Explained himself.

“What?” You say.

It’s such a quiet sound. Even though you’re there, right beside him. So close, it feels like he holds the tremors of your voice inside that small, empty space gouged within his chest. 

“You heard me,” is what he says instead. His gaze drifts to the senbei you tried tossing in your mouth and missed. A half-hour earlier and there'd been laughter screwing up your face in a way he hadn’t known softened him. Not until he’d raised a hand to his aching cheek to realize he’d been smiling. And now, because he's an ass, he keeps going. “I know you did.” 

“No,” you say. “No, I heard. I just don’t understand why you ... why you always.” There’s a pause. It’s too long. Seconds too long. 

Before he knows it, he's glancing at you. Just to check, he convinces himself. And god dammit.

He swallows. His chest feels so hollow. Like, he’s carved it out himself. 

“I just wanted to," you say, then stop.

Just shut up already, he thinks. He's not stupid. Like, do you really think he can't tell how hard you're trying to keep your voice steady? That he can’t see the way your nails dig crescent moons into your skin? That he can’t see the way you’re sucking in your left cheek so you won’t cry?

“I just … want you to let me in.” You say at last.

And it’s why you invited him over, he thinks. To try and get him to smile. Which, you succeeded with, he guesses. To try and get him to learn relationships aren’t give and take, but build and build.

Like that stupid analogy and that stupid board game. You beat him at it earlier that night, and he swept the rest of the wooden blocks aside to slump and gaze at your ceiling in defeat. Later, you’d laughed and slumped on top of him, pressing your nose to his.

Now did you succeed in that second part? Scaramouche scoffs.

So pathetic. Pathetically naive.

Because he doesn’t think you’re right. People never stay. Never.

But when he glances back at you, your gaze burns a determined hole into him. Despite him having been a total dick all evening. And there it is again, that unfamiliar feeling in his chest. Expanding. Making it hard to breathe.

Well, if he’s honest. He hopes you’re right. Even though you're not.

Scaramouche sighs. He leans forward, his thumb lightly grazing the top of your cheek to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “It fell into your face. That’s all.”

He knows his touch lingers. What he really wants is to cup your cheek. He wants to hold you. But his hands move back to his sides like he can't control them. Another reminder he’s more puppet than human. 

“You want me to let you in,” he says, repeating your sentiments. “And what good will that do? I relive my god-awful memories, just for you to cry your pretty little eyes out? I don’t think so.” 

He’s thankful you don’t dwell on it. He supposes he should reward you, until he hears it.

“You think I’m pretty?”

Is that even a question? Of course he does. 

Not anymore, is what he’s about to say, but it dies away once he notices just how he’s gazing at you.

And it must be tender, or as tender as someone like him can manage, because he watches you press your lips together to hide your smile. Stubbornly withheld tears wobble beneath your waterline.

“Don’t cry,” he says, just to balance it out. “You look ugly.” 

It makes you laugh. “I hate you. So much.” 

God, Scaramouche loves that laugh.

He cracks a smile. “Good.” He reaches for your hand and brings it to his lips. A kiss against your knuckles. A kiss against the jut of your wrist. And the words fall from his lips into your ear like your judgment can repent a guilty conscience. “I meant it, when I said to stop wasting your time. You want me to let you in? So listen. Stop wasting your time. On me.” 

He pulls away, only to see your eyes flash open. That’s when you bite back a sob.

You blink, and tears fall down your cheeks in a race to gather beneath your chin, just to dribble down the sides of your nose. “I want you. How many times do I have to say it? You. I want you. I know you don’t think you deserve love, but you do. You do.”

There’s a moment where he thinks he might ruin everything. He can feel the words building behind his throat, the way everything feels tight and tense and like he can’t breathe. But there’s also something smaller, something gentler. It’s a strange feeling, one that’s been building in his chest and kindling every time you speak.

“Typical,” Scaramouche says, but he’s reaching to cup your face, thumbing away at the tears and pressing his lips to the corner of your eyes.