#when i say fluff... i mean fluff

[baronessblixen]

Magical

Yesterday I remembered that I wanted to do the Year of the OTP event. Only took me all of January, eh? So here's the first story. I used the prompts kiss, fake dating and snow.

Set in late season 6, fluff. Wc: 1,144

Tagging @today-in-fic

At first, it was beautiful: A soft, white blanket of snow covering the streets, the trees, and every roof in sight. It was quieter, too, with people smiling, despite the bitter bite of the cold winter air. Now, most of the snow is just slush, barely white, and quite frankly, annoying. At least today it is with Scully rushing towards the bar Mulder begged her to meet him.

It's late afternoon, the sun already set, and Scully just wants to go home. Take off her heels, put her feet in warm, fluffy socks, have dinner, and maybe go to bed at a reasonable time. Those were her plans. Mulder, apparently, has others. She couldn't ignore his texts, pleading with her. Asking her to hurry. If she's honest, she's a bit worried. Knowing Mulder, though, it's probably just a case or something he forgot to mention. But why can't it wait until tomorrow? Why didn't he just call her?

She enters the bar and is not at all surprised at how packed it is. She has to get on tiptoes to look for Mulder, but even then, she can't spot him. Just as she's about to take out her phone and call him, a hand touches her back. She knows it's Mulder before he leans close, his breath tickling her neck, whispering, "it's just me." Heat shoots through her body, making her sweat in her winter coat.

"I'm here," she says, sounding out of breath. "What's so important it couldn't wait until tomorrow?"

"You trust me, right?" The question throws her.

"Of course I do," she says.

"I will explain later, but... please just play along? Oh no, there she is again. Please?"

"Who?" Scully asks but doesn't get an answer, because Mulder puts his arm around her and pulls her close. He's wearing the fakest smile she's ever seen and it's directed at a tall brunette that's walking towards them. Scully gasps, briefly mistaking the woman for Diana. It's not her. For one, this woman is much younger.

"Fox," she says, touching his arm. "You can't just wander off!" She snickers but the sound dies on her lips when she notices Scully. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Dana," he says. "She's my girlfriend." Scully snaps her head in his direction. Their eyes meet and his are desperate. Please play along. Please, please, please. All his texts now make sense. Except... they don't. Isn't this woman exactly the kind of woman he's interested in?

"Richie didn't say anything about a girlfriend," the young woman says, crossing her arms. She narrows her eyes and observes Scully, who puts her hand on Mulder's arm, gently squeezing it.

"Richie didn't know," Scully says. She doesn't know who Richie is, but figures it doesn't matter. "We keep a low profile."

"Whatever," the woman whose name Scully doesn't know says. "He's boring, you know. What a waste of time." With that she stalks off and Mulder lets out a sigh of relief. He doesn't let go of her, his arm still around her.

"Thank you," he says.

"Who was that?"

"Natalie," Mulder explains. "Or Nats, as she introduced herself to me. Langly set this up."

"Richie," Scully says, putting two and two together.

"I didn't know he was going to do it. He's here with a date and neither Frohike nor Byers wanted to come. So he ambushed me."

"Poor Mulder," Scully says, biting her lip. It's no use, though, and she starts laughing. "I'm sorry."

"No, you're not," he says softly, smiling at her. Natalie is long gone but they're still holding each other.

"I owe you. How can I make it up to you?"

"Take me home," she says, much to Mulder's surprise, judging by his expression, "and get us some take-out."

"Done and done." His hand returns to the small of her back, leading her outside, back into the cold. But this time she isn’t cold. Mulder’s hand remains in its familiar place as they walk slowly toward Mulder’s car.

“Hey look,” he says. “It’s snowing again.” Scully lifts her head into the dark blue sky that’s tinged with orange hues. She takes a deep breath and lets the cold air revive her. She smiles when a snowflake lands on her lips. She catches it with her tongue, just like she used to do as a child. That’s when she notices Mulder watching her. She doesn’t know how she missed it. Or why she was surprised by what happened at the bar just now. It’s all in his eyes right now, right here.

“I always thought snow was magic,” Mulder says, his voice as gentle as the snowfall.

“You did?” She asks and he nods.

“If you think about it,” he says, turning to her, “it really is magic. So many conditions have to happen at the same exact time for it to snow. Wouldn’t you call that magic?”

“You know how I feel about magic,” she says.

“Fine, it’s not magic. But it does look magical, doesn’t it? Each snowflake is unique in its form. No two are the same and each is perfect and beautiful.”

“It does look magical,” she concedes. The snowfall is getting heavier, snowflakes catching in Mulder’s hair and his eyelashes. He looks beautiful and she considers telling him so. Instead, she just stares at him and watches him standing there in the snow. Right up until he catches her gazing at him and not the sky.

“Hi,” he says with a grin.

“Hi. So, um, Mulder… what happened in that bar was-”

“I know I should have warned you, but I was desperate.”

“Why?”

“Why?” She nods at him, needing to hear him spell it out. “I wasn’t interested in her.”

“She’s your type.”

“She’s not.”

“Pff, come on, Mulder.”

“Fine, she’s my type. But… looks aren’t everything. I wasn’t interested in her. I’m not interested in anyone who might be considered tall and brunette.” Despite the cold, her cheeks flush. “We were going to get food, right? I don’t want you to turn into an icicle. I think we’ve spent enough time in arctic temperatures.”

“You didn’t even kiss me,” she blurts out and Mulder stops walking again, turning to her.

“What?”

“I always thought that any fake relationship included kissing.” Her heart is thumping in her chest, but she knows she’s right, and she’s not shying away from her feelings, or from his. This time, he isn’t either. He grins at her and pulls her closer to him. Their bodies flush, she has to crane her head to look at him. It’s worth it.

“I hope you know that nothing about this is fake,” he says, lowering his head, his lips so close she can feel his breath against her own.

He steals her ‘I know’ from her tongue and they kiss and kiss and kiss.

It’s simply magical.

[teddybeartoji]

toji is a cat dad. the cat looks so fucking tiny next to him that it's a little comical actually. they spend every morning together – the cat twirls around and between his legs as he's grabbing the food, quietly meowing and purring. toji smiles softly to himself at the little thing's neediness. so cute.

the cat also just loves to follow toji around the apartment. always. he goes to the bathroom? the cat goes to the bathroom. he's cooking in the kitchen? the cat is in the kitchen. he's asleep in the bed? the cat is in the bed. (big man toji stomping around the house with the smallest cat in the world running after him.......... guys i'm melting i'm dying)

ok but he was a little weirded out by the cat's need to be in the bathroom with him lmao. like he's taking a piss and he looks over his shoulder only to find the little kitten just staring up at him with big eyes😭😭😭 toji grumbles under his breath and tries to ignore him but then he ends up looking over his shoulder again, hoping that he left but no. he's still there. sitting like :3 😭😭😭😭

"yer fuckin' weird..." is what toji tells him as he places the cat on the bathroom counter and he just gets a cute meow back as a reply. the cat watches him brush his teeth and toji has to fight the thing because he's now in the sink????? toji needs to spit out the toothpaste but the critter is getting comfortable in the bowl and he actually feels bad abt pushing him away... wahh he's so soft actually guys i can't do this anymore.

if the cat happens to be a big meower, toji's definitely talking back to him. he literally goes "what're ya yappin' about, lil man? 🤨🤨" while looking at the tiny creature. but he loves it, he thinks it's so funny. he picks the little guy up and just stares at him up close O.O (plss the cat is literally like the size of his palm i'm dying it's so cute).

he also likes to carry the cat on his shoulder. i think every cat would actually love toji so much, this is also canon here you cannot argue with me. and i think they'd all find him very comforting? and i think they'd love to sleep on him. so whenever he's cooking and the cat paws at his legs, he just picks him up and places him on his shoulder.

he once did that when shiu was over and he was just ????????? like man what are you doing put the damn cat down ????????? and toji just went. "no. he wants to see." with a blank face. to him it's very obvious. c'mon, the cat is so little, he has no idea what's happening up here, ofc he wants to see??????? smh shiu do better😒😒😒

oh and this was definitely just a stray cat he took in btw. after a long day at work, he was just walking home with a cig between his lips when he heard the teeeniest tiniest little meow coming from behind the dumpster in an alley. and well... the curiosity got the best of him and he went to check it out aaand lo and behold!!!!!!! itty bitty kitty!!!!

big eyes peering up at him behind a thrash bag, he just knew he couldn't leave the poor thing there. he reached out his hand, letting the kitty smell him and he almost dropped his cig when he actually leaned into his touch immediately!!!! that's his baby now!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

he held the cat to his chest as he made his way home and he even stopped by a little corner store to buy him something to eat. the cashier did look at him with a raised brow bc what the fuck this massive man is holding the smallest cat in the world, but toji didn't mind. he didn't care. the cat slept on his back that very same night.

ALSO. thank u @kentophilia for putting this idea in my head ily<33 during the late hours of the day, toji lays in bed while reading his book with his glasses on – the cat stands on his chest with a determined face. he's already purring even though toji hasn't even done anything. he's just soo comforting and the cat just loves him soooo much okay:((((( toji lowers his book to look at the thing before scratching the top of his head and smiling to himself when the cat closes his eyes and purrs even louder.

the cat ends up trying to make biscuits on him and that makes toji yelp lmao. the tiny little claws dig into his warm skin as the he kneads toji like he's a piece of dough. purring and content – toji doesn't have it in him to make him stop either. it's not like it actually hurts, he was just caught off-guard. he didn't get scared by a cat btw, he didn't. in the end, he keeps reading his book with his one hand while petting the creature with the other. this is their routine. they're family!!!!!!!

anyway. he loves his little kitty cat with all his heart and he would literally kill for him:33333

[revasserium]

Okay okay hear me out Rain: reader watching Sanji cook, just sitting, waiting, maybe reading a book but catching glances at him every so often and he knows they're looking at him and just smiles....sorry I love that man

accidentally in love

opla!sanji; 2,569 words; fluff, banter so much banter, flirting, flustered!sanji, whipped!sanji, no "y/n", confessions, "sweetheart", fem!reader, straw hat"!reader

summary: in which sanji is trying to cook dinner but you're very, very distracting. or, sanji finally meets his match.

a/n: i know i said i might not write for anyone other than zoro but i lied. i guess i'm a sanji bitch now too. fuck.

Sanji’s always liked to say that he can cook anywhere, anytime, given that he’s got something that resembles heat and a smattering of ingredients — like any great artist, he knows how to make do. But, he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t enjoy this — the quiet of a ship’s kitchen, the gentle sway of the ocean, the simmer and pop of fat on a pan, the soft bubbling of boiling water — and you.

You, perched on the counter with your legs hanging off the side, hair piled up and pinned with a chopstick, a book in your hands or on your lap, the early afternoon sun spilling in to caress your skin like so many loving fingers. Sometimes, he’ll glance over while chopping onions or mincing garlic to catch a glimpse of you, and he’d find himself stilling, his fingers slowing, his breath suspended in his chest, caught like an insect in amber: held weightless and perfect.

“You’re staring,” you say, flipping a page without looking up, a smile twitching at your lips.

“Yeah, I know. I’ve found that admiring beautiful things helps me in my creative process,” he says, his grin going lopsided as he lowers his eyes to the ingredients on the cutting board — tiny, plump cherry tomatoes ripe to bursting. He resumes slicing each in half with swift, decisive cuts and relishes in the sound of your laughter.

“Careful with that mouth of yours — someone might accidentally fall in love with you,” you flip another page.

Sanji slides the cut tomatoes into a bowl and wipes a hand on the towel slung over his shoulder.

“Accidentally? C’mon, you gotta gimme some more credit. But if anyone’s fallin’ in love, it’s gonna be with you.”

Another page. Sanji plucks a few zucchini from a large bag and starts to julienne them into thin strips.

“What are you making?” you ask, finally setting the book down in favor of peering at all the ingredients he’s got laid out. He quirks an eyebrow, glancing up.

“What, finished with that book already?”

“Nope — just found something more interesting to look at, that’s all.”

Sanji blushes.

Let it never be said that Vinsmoke Sanji can’t take as good as he gives but by all the gods and monsters and sea kings — you’re a damn good flirt. Almost as good as he is, he used to think. Now, as he covers up his rapidly darkening cheeks with a chuckle, turning away to grab a potato for skinning, he wonders if you might just be better.

“You never answered my question, y’know.”

He looks up again, his tongue feeling strangely swollen and uncoordinated in his mouth. You’re grinning at him, your legs still swinging, but in the few seconds he’d looked away, you’ve inched closer, your outer thigh now almost pressing against the edge of his cutting board.

The first time he’d found you perched up on his long work table with a book in your lap, he’d blinked, crossed his arms, and debated on asking what on earth you thought you were doing. Chefs generally do not take kindly to their prep spaces being treated like free real estate for sitting, but he’d never been able to say no to a beautiful woman, now has he? And least of all you.

“Thought you could use the company,” was your answer to his then-unasked question. He’d laughed, nodded, and gotten on with his breakfast prep. But that was months ago and since then, it’s become something of a habit; a ritual, almost.

“What question was that? I was —” he asks, clearing his throat, his fingers almost slipping on the freshly peeled potato, “distracted by your —”

“What are you making?”

“Oh —” Sanji returns his gaze to the cutting board, now acutely aware of the smell of your skin, creamy and warm. He swallows, trying to focus on slicing the potato.

“Just a cherry tomato and zucchini noodle pasta — not often that we get such fresh produce. But Luffy’d asked if I can make chips from scratch the other day so that’s what this bad boy’s for,” he says, holding up half the potato.

“You sure one potato’s gonna be enough?” you shift your leg to cross one above the other, and Sanji has to swallow passed the thickness building up in the back of his throat at the sight of your soft, smooth thighs.

“Good point,” he says, laughing as he bends down to grab a few more.

You fall into a companionable silence, the quiet only punctuated by the tack-tack-tack of his knife on the cutting board and the occasionally shunk-thump of ingredients being swept into a metal prep bowl.

“You’re staring,” he says. And this time, it’s Sanji who grins, keeping his eyes fixed on the remainder of the herb mix he’s chopping up.

“Yeah, I know. I’m making a habit of admiring beautiful things. I’ve heard that it’s good for me.”

Heat bursts in Sanji’s chest as if he’d swallowed a shot of whiskey or gin or perhaps something even more potent. His head spins, but he steadies himself before letting out a soft, low whistle. He fights the urge to look up just to check if you’re as affected as he is.

“Keep talkin’ like that and falling in love with you’s not gonna be an accident.”

When he finally looks up to shoot you a flirty smile, he finds himself faltering as he meets your eyes.

“Who said I wanted it to be an accident?”

The knife in Sanji’s hand slips and he swears as it knicks the skin of his forefinger.

“Ah, shit —”

“Oops.” You have the decency to look sheepish as he shoots you a mildly reproachful look. But you shift your legs and tug open a drawer that had been tucked beneath where your knee had been, pulling out a small bandage.

“Come here,” you offer, reaching out as he stares at you for a second before moving forward to give you his hand. You gently wipe away the blood before pressing the bandage to the small cut, running a thumb over the edges to make sure it’s sealed.

The air hangs between you like dust motes trapped in sunlight, like first snow caught in the silvery breaths of awestruck children.

“There,” you say, the word no more than a whisper. Your hands linger over his, his skin burning where you’d touched him. Shivers skitter down the length of his spine as he gulps in a breath of air that tastes faintly of fairytale endings and happily-ever-afters.

“Thanks.”

He doesn't pull away. Neither do you.

Like this, he can count every single lash that frames your doe-wide eyes. Like this, he can feel the static thrum of electricity threatening to jump from his body to yours, and all at once, he understands why lightning always tries to reach for the closest thing to its storm-ridden skies.

Perhaps it, too, yearns for closeness — for that infinitesimal moment of connection.

He wants to reach for you.

Your lips hover a kiss’s-breadth away.

An alarm goes off.

“Oh fuck —”

He jerks away from you, the world clanging rudely back into focus as he reaches for the lid of a large pot, his heart hammering something fierce inside his ribcage. He nearly burns himself on the thick fog of steam rising from inside the pot to reveal six flat-face crabs, freshly caught that morning.

Behind him, he hears the distinct sounds of you slipping from the long work table.

“Leaving already?” he asks as he turns back around with a stab at his usual light-hearted cheek.

You lick your lips, grinning, “I feel like I’ve caused enough damage for one dinner service. If I keep hanging around, you might lose a finger next.”

“Small price to pay for the company of a beautiful woman,” but there’s a gravel and grit to his voice that wasn’t there before, and he looks away first when this time your eyes catch. He tries to busy himself with prepping the pan sauce for the crabs.

“I’ll let Nami know that the next time she wants to peek in on you cooking.”

“Hey —”

You pause at the sound of his voice just as you reach the door. You turn.

Sanji’s expression flickers between caution and anticipation as he opens his mouth, his eyes somehow sharper and darker than they usually are.

“We’re not done talking about this.”

You cock your head, “About what?”

But there’s a smile teasing at the corner of your lips and Sanji lets out a good-humored sigh.

“Alright, go. Or else I might lose more than a finger.”

Like a heart, he thinks as you close the door behind you with a soft click.

Dinner is an appetizer of cold zucchini pasta followed by a warm, tangy tomato veloute. Then come the crabs — freshly steamed over a bed of risotto and served with a lemon and rosemary pan sauce so delicious it has even Zoro sighing with satisfaction.

“Wow, special occasion?” Nami asks, looking up as Sanji comes around with a tray full of cocktails, complete with blood orange slices garnishing the lip of each glass.

“Ain’t every day a special one with this crew?” he asks, winking at Nami as she takes her drink.

Everyone laughs, but as he sets down your drink, you notice a tiny note tucked beneath the base of your glass.

You take a sip of your drink, glancing down at the note. It has three simple words written in Sanji’s unmistakable, slanted handwriting:

Kitchen — after dinner.

You tuck the note away in your pocket with a secret grin, taking another long sip of the cold, refreshing drink.

The final course is a heaping pile of home-made potato chips with garlic and cheese dip, and Luffy wastes no time in shoveling half the batch into his mouth, crunching loudly over a series of vague, animalistic hums and grunts that all seem to denote happiness.

You finish your drink and slip away under the guise of going for another.

When you get to the kitchen, it's to find Sanji already cleaning up.

“Need a hand?” you ask, setting your empty glass on the counter before lightly hoisting yourself up onto it.

Sanji shakes his head, turning off the water and wiping down his hands. He pours you another drink from a large pitcher before setting it down and pursing his lips.

“This afternoon —”

“I meant what I said —” you say, cutting him off as you look away, eyes fixed on your knees as you swing your feet away from the table’s edge, “if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Oh, yeah,” Sanji clears his throat, reaching into his pocket to grab a cigarette and a lighter, if only to keep his hands busy. The thing in his chest that he’d been so convinced was his heart for most of his life now feels very much like a ticking time bomb. Or perhaps a hand grenade, with the pin held precariously between your teeth.

One word from you and —

“So? What about you?” you ask.

Sanji sucks in a long breath of smoke, holding it in his lungs before letting it out. The familiar sting grounds him as he looks at you and wonders if you know all the things he’d do for you. All the things he’s already done.

“Me?” he asks.

“Yeah — did you mean it?” And for the first time since he’s known you, you sound uncertain, “All… all those things you said? All the things you’ve been saying?”

He takes a few steps forward, finally allowing himself to breach the delicate circle of your personal space, his free hand coming to rest on the counter next to your thigh, his palm pressing flat to keep himself from going too far, too fast.

“Three guesses,” he says, letting his eyes flicker down to your lips and linger there, “You guess right… and there might be a prize involved, hm?”

A small, knowing grin spreads across your lips even as you quirk an eyebrow.

“Three guesses to a yes or no question? C’mon, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re losing your touch.”

Sanji leans in and you can almost taste the smoke on your tongue.

“But you do know better, don’t you, sweetheart?”

You suck in a breath, reaching up to tug the cigarette from his lips.

“Yes.”

You catch a flash of his smile a second before his lips find yours. He tastes of salt and tobacco and lemon-rosemary sauce.

“That’s one,” he says as the pair of you break apart. The cigarette lies forgotten on the counter.

Somehow, his hands have found their way to the bend of your waist, settling there as naturally as the tide might settle against its favorite stretch of forgotten beach.

You smile as you reach up to tug him closer, “Yes.”

Another kiss.

Sanji notes with a satisfied grin that your cheeks are just as flushed as his feels when he pulls away this time. He nods, trailing long fingers up your side, one hand reaching up to cup your cheek, the other pressing at the small of your back.

“That’s two.”

You nudge his nose with yours and he feels his hand-grenade heart leap into his throat.

“And…” you hum, letting your head lilt to one side as you ghost your lips over his, “Hm, lemme think about this one…”

Sanji rolls his eyes, tugging you forward by the back of your neck, crushing your mouth to his. It’s more insistent this time — the kiss, the breath, his fingers, your hands — more desperate and fumbling, fueled by the ever-growing heat bubbling at the base of his spine.

“Yes —” you hiss, panting as the pair of you pull apart, your pupils blown wide and dark in the dim kitchen light.

“And that’s all three,” he says, his smile going wide with warmth, “See? You’ve got it. Knew you’d get there.”

“Did you ever doubt?”

Sanji shrugs, taking half a step back to admire the sight of you, with kiss-swollen lips and heat-flushed skin. Perfect might not be strong enough a word.

“There was a moment here or there,” he says, to which you respond with a light shove to his shoulder as you hop off the table.

“Oh, I meant to ask you — what’s for dessert?”

Sanji laughs, “What? Did my garlic-cheddar chips not satisfy?”

“Really? Chips for dessert? And here I was hoping for something sweet.”

You make to leave the kitchen but Sanji reaches forward, pulling you back all too easily, spinning you around and pinning you against the door. His eyes are soft with mirth but as he leans down, you can’t help but shiver at the promise of something more lingering beneath the smoke of his breath.

“Well then, sweetheart, I think I’ve got my dessert picked out already now, don’t I?”

recs r technically closed, but... if you have an opla!sanji one... send it here.

[sp0o0kylights]

12:45 pm on a lazy Saturday, Steve dropped one of the shirts he was folding. With an eye roll at himself at his own clumsiness, he bent down to pick it up and refold it. 

 Of course, just grabbing one shirt wasn’t possible-this was Eddie's room after all, even if Steve had practically moved in. Instead he somehow managed to snag three--and something else, along with them. 

For a second Steve thought it was one of Eddie’s chains, the ones he attached to his belt for reasons Steve was positive had to do with the noise they made and that it gave Eddie something to play with.

Except it was stuck. 

Quickly abandoning the shirts, Steve followed the chain to one end, clothes and random items erupting like miniature volcanoes until he found the end looped around the leg of one dresser. 

Steve blinked.

Turning carefully on his heel, he proceeded to chase the other end of the chain, disrupting more piles until he unearthed a spiral notebook with a small lock attaching the chain to the metal rings. 

Steve gave it a few experimental tugs before he looked at the open bedroom door. 

"Hey Eds!” He called, one hand falling automatically to his hip. “Why do you have a notebook chained to the dresser?"

“What?” Answers him, followed by an immediate; “Oh!” Then; “Hang on!” all of which is punctuated by a series of bangs and shuffles. 

Eddie trots through the door a moment later, eyes narrowing as they land on the notebook in question. 

His face abruptly flushed red as recognition hits, face rearing up and--

oh.

His boyfriend was embarrassed. 

"Is this thee secret D&D planner the kids talk about?" Steve teased playfully, raising the book above his head right as Eddie darted forward to make a grab for it. 

“Steve!” Eddie yelled, launching himself upwards in an effort to grab it.

 Unfortunately for him Steve was prepared, and simply dropped his arm back down and behind his back with a grin. 

“Give it!” 

"Not until you tell me why it’s chained up." Steve replied with a waggle of his eyebrows. “Are monster’s gonna jump out of it?” 

 Eddie cursed, arms reaching and wiggling as he tried to snatch the notebook back.  “

“Oh fuck you-!” He growled, trying to fake-out Steve with a feint. 

Once a jock, always a jock, as Eddie loved to say. Which meant Steve saw right through his boyfriend and simply leaned away, the taller man stumbling into his chest.  

“Dammit!” Eddie howled.

With a laugh, Steve offered the notebook to him, grinning when Eddie snatched it out of his hands and clutched it dramatically to his chest. 

See, he’d kept ahold of the chain, and tugged at it teasingly as a pointed reminder that holding the notebook wouldn’t do Eddie any good. Not with the  lengths he’d taken to securing the thing. 

Eddie glared at the chain for a moment and Steve waited patiently for his boyfriend to realize he’d been out maneuvered--until Ed’s eyes caught his. 

The look he wore wasn’t playful, or even frustrated. 

It was fearful, and even though he tried to hide the emotion a moment later by shaking his hair into his face, Steve dropped the chain immediately. 

“Hey.” He said, humor falling into seriousness with a quickness the Upside Down had drilled into him. “I didn’t open it, I promise.” 

“It’s not--that isn’t--” Eddie clutched the book to his chest tightly with one hand as he reached up to grip his hair hard with the other, a behavior Steve knew instantly meant that he was upset. 

Shit. 

“I’m sorry.” Steve apologized, unsure of where this all went sideways but aware he’d overstepped. 

Eddie shook his head, using the motion to put more hair between his face and Steve. 

“S’not your fault. M’not mad.” He responded, voice small and quiet, the Wayne-like twang he got when he was truly upset coming out. 

Steve’s hands had come up automatically, hovering over Eddie’s shoulders. He didn’t know if touch was wanted just then, and so they stayed frozen in the air. 

Waiting. 

Eddie’s shoulders had hunched, but with a breath that kicked out a section of curly hair, he straightened back up and took a step forward. 

"You can open it." He said, practically throwing the book at Steve. It smacked the younger on the chest, and while Steve peered down at it, he didn't take the bait. 

"Not if you don’t want me to." He replied firmly, refusing to hold the book.  

Secrets had a tendency to make their entire extended group edgy, and with good reason--but people also need their space. 

Steve knew that better than anyone, given that he and Eddie weren’t fully out to the whole group yet. 

That time would come, and along with it would be things like this. Secrets that were shared over time, or boundaries set that a good boyfriend wouldn’t cross. 

If Steve Harrington prided himself on anything, it was being a damn good boyfriend. 

"I want you to. Just--don’t laugh.” Eddie muttered. 

Steve leaned in, reaching up a hand to caress Eddie's arm before pressing a kiss to his forehead, over all the hair. 

“I won’t.” He promised.  

A small, sweet smile bloomed on his boyfriend's face, visible even through the curls. Eddie's body swayed towards Steve, a bird angling for its home, looking to find the shelter it craved.

Steve opened his arms, welcoming, and Eddie stepped right into him, finally moving his hair out of his face. 

"It's okay." He said softly, pushing at the notebook Steve now held.  "Read it, handsome." 

After one last look to assure himself this really was what Eddie wanted, Steve moved so they could both see the book as he went through it. 

He flipped it open to a random page, positive he was about to read Eddie’s journal or even a story he’d been writing.

Or song lyrics. 

Steve winced internally, knowing instantly he’d feel horrible if this was full of Eddie's personal songs. The ones Steve knows aren’t ready to be seen. 

Thankfully, the words lining the page have nothing to do with music at all. 

"Stevie’s favorite things." He read aloud, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. 

Looked at the next page, and found it just as puzzling. 

"What to do when Steve has migraines?" It wasn’t supposed to be a question but Steve asked it like one. 

Turned to face his boyfriend for an answer and is halted by Eddie hiding his face again.

This time, in Steve’s neck. 

"Are these instructions?" He hazarded, trying to make sense of the words laid out before him. 

"They're lists." Eddie responded, voice muffled. 

Steve grinned. "Yeah, I figured that part out.” He teased gently, tilting his head to lean it atop the metalheads. 

Eddie let out an embarrassed whine, but stopped hiding so he could talk. 

“It was Nancy’s suggestion. I was upset I couldn’t remember shit about you. About us. Important shit.” 

Steve stoked his thumb over Eddie’s hip, a soothing gesture for both of them, while he tried to turn the page of the notebook with his other hand.

“She suggested I start making lists.” Eddie continued, reaching out to help Steve. “Write down the stuff I wanted to remember.” 

“You were worried about losing it.” Steve said, suddenly realizing  what the chain was for. 

Eddie tipped his head in a small nod, jostling Steve’s chin. 

“Yeah.” He admitted quietly. “That uh, that was Robin’s idea.”

Steve chuckled at that. “Sounds like Robbie.” 

Quiet descended for a brief moment, as they successfully turned the page. Steve’s eyes took in the writing, this time under the title of ‘Brain Help.”

‘Confuses left and right sometimes, pointing helps.’ 

‘Encourage cooking--Nancy says helps w/ memory.’ 

‘’Don’t point out mispronounced words, he gets upset.’ 

‘Kiss lot’s when frustrated w/ math or spelling, no teasing.’ 

“Are you crying?” Eddie asked suddenly, twisting in Steve’s grasp when the first, choked noise escaped Steve. “Why are you crying?” 

Steve hummed in answer, before carefully setting the notebook down on the bed and wiping at his face with his freed hand. 

“You’re amazing, you know that?” He said, half choked, smiling at Eddie through his tears. 

Eddie just stared back at him. “I’m amazing for constantly forgetting things?” 

Steve shook his head. 

“You’re amazing for wanting to remember.” He corrected. “I’m so lucky to have you, Eds.” 

Turned fully, to envelope Eddie in a crushing hug. 

“I think it’s the other way around but,” Eddie smiled, a soft private thing meant only for Steve, “just this once I’ll agree  

Steve snorted, a wet ugly sound, gripping his boyfriend harder. 

“Asshole.” He grumbled fondly, before he pulled him into a deep kiss. 

(A handful of minutes later and both are startled out of their impromptu makeout session by Wayne, who spoke so loudly he might as well have been shouting.

 “I realize their cars are in the driveway, Dustin, but I’m sorry ta’ tell ya I dunno where they went. Why don’ you n’ your buddy there go visit Max? Ya’ll can come back in a few minutes.”

“Fucking kids.” Steve muttered angrily into Eddie’s lips, prompting the other to cackle. 

“Hey you had them first man. I’m just their step-dad.” He teased, and nearly gave the both of them away with a shriek when Steve pinched him.

“Nice try Munson.” Steve responded with a low growl in Eddie’s ear. “They’re just as much your kids as they are mine.”

“If you say so, oh’ wife of mine.” 

And if that little nickname prompted another heated makeout session, then that was between them and God as far as Steve was concerned.) 

***I base all of my Eddie has ADHD ficlets on my own behaviors but this time I also gave Steve a traumatic brain injury as well. Cause I am 99.9% sure that boy has one, and as someone with a TBI from a kinda sorta similar car crash alongside having more than my fair share of concussions and various injuries, the migraines are like ⅓ of the worst things about ‘em. Thankfully I have never got into a fight or gone toe to toe with supernatural creatures, but I have been lawn darted a few times by my baby horse so I figure Steve and I are even on that front lmao

[jemmo]

i don’t want to jump the gun, but i think hwang daseul might have just done it again. two episodes in to let free the curse of taekwondo and i am obsessed. more than obsessed. transfixed. this show feels special in a way hwang daseul’s touch only can give, and just using these two episodes to compare to her previous works, i love that i can already spot the continuity in the kinds of stories she tells, the messages she portrays and how she portrays them. she just knows how to let her characters exist in harmful and difficult places and show how their experiences affect them while also just showing them as normal human beings. it is so so easy to overdramatise these kinds of stories that have these difficult topics and have it be so surface level, but she has never done that. instead, she shows how those experiences shape a person and how they go about living in spite of them. all the way from where your eyes linger to now, she gives us characters that are wholly themselves and not just the traumas they have gone through and i just adore that. i can’t remember what i was talking about specifically, but i remember talking about this sentiment and how it actually helps to build empathy in an audience as opposed to just showing a difficult topic at the most surface level bc you think that makes it accessible and easier to understand and hence empathise with. i don’t think that ever works. it’s only when you do what hwang daseul does, when you give us characters we can get to know and fall in love with and care for that you help us to empathise with their experiences. it’s hard to understand the weight and the hardship of experiencing something traumatic, but when something bad happens to someone close to you, a family member or a friend, you understand and feel that pain astronomically more. that’s what hwang daseul manages to do. and more so, she makes you feel that while also seeing these people as people. you get to see them away from the hurt, you see them smile in moments of happiness and you see that too with people you’re close to, and you feel even more how special and important those moments of happiness are.

and that’s why, whenever hwang daseul is at the helm of something, i will be seated from start to end with endless boxes of tissues ready. i can’t wait to see what else this show has in store.

[yuseirra]

a family bigger than 4! part 6.

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / side story 1 / part 5

On weddings. I feel like I can come up with something every day...

[triglycercule]

hhhhidea...,,,, CUTE idea (kinda?) dust reading to phantom papyrus during night to lull him to sleep,,,, but really its just a way for him to pretend that everythings not really that shit (as if phantom paps isn't just dust's denial incarnate) and to help him NOT wake up because of a nightmare again or something

(and just because i can't resist now im imagining this with mtt. not that dust stopped reading to paps in place of killer and horror (because he wouldnt he simply wouldn't) but now the two join them for storytime. horror knocks out pretty damn fast and eventually dust falls asleep too after he makes sure that paps is satisfied with the amount he read and then killer's just left to sit there. maybe he tries to fall asleep maybe he doesn't,,,, maybe he picks up the book and continues reading but EITHERWAY,,,,,, this scene in my head so 💥💥💥😇😇😇)

[henke-penke]

Morning.

"Alejandro always woke up first."

A fluffy little drabble I wrote based on a one word prompt (of which there were many that sparked inspiration)

[dootznbootz]

Don't get me wrong, I hate the telegony with every FIBER of my being. HOWEVER!! I feel like there's so much yummy angst potential with Odypen.

Like?? Imagine Penelope holding Odysseus' dead body. And it reminds her so much of when he'd fall asleep in her arms, in their bed holding an infant Telemachus. Because little baby Telemachus wouldn't stop crying so he had to be held in his papa's arms :3

But he's still crying to this day,, crying in the background, sobbing, hugging his mother from behind as she's holding her dead husband. Her husband that she waited 20 YEARS for. Her husband that's literally been threw hell and BACK, yet who never gave up because he wanted to see HER and their SON!!

He could've stayed with Calypso, he could've stayed with Kirke, he could've. But he DIDN'T. And I know damn well the moment he came back, and she saw him, she SAW on his face he's been threw shit. And imagine that, imagine the pain of someone you love more than the Sun experiencing that. Imagine that, and they did all of that, to see you.

People undermine that Penelope loves Odysseus just as much as Odysseus loves Penelope. It's been 20 years. She had every right to assume he's gone or get remarried. But she didn't. She had faith the entire time.

And she waited so long, and he went threw so much, just for him to get killed by some borderline (Not fully) rapeling. That's so heart-wrenching.

And for Telemachus, who never even KNEW his father. To suddenly see him again, to see how happy his mother is, how happy he is. Just for some bastard he has to call his half-brother to kill him. Telemachus knew so little of his father, only the stories Penelope told him. And now, sadly, it'll stay that way.

Telemachus and Penelope would fucking despise Telegonus. They've been waiting so long for this man, and this man has waited and had to go threw so much. All three of them did not go threw all that just for Telegonus to kill him. I don't care if it was an 'accident'. It doesn't matter if the killer didn't want to do it, it matter's that the victim's family lost someone they FUCKING LOVED.

Penelope would NEVER marry Telegonus, and Telemachus would never marry Kirke.

But Odysseus death gives us some JUICY angst. I hate it. But good god it scratches that angst-loving part of my brain SO GOOD. 😼

Feel free not to answer since this is a rather long ask/ramble :'D And ye, take care Mad! <3

Oh, also, just so it's not ALL just angst, a few Penelope and Baby Telemachus headcanons/shenanigans? They mean the world to both Odysseus AND me 🥹

So, this is a really fun ask...But I don't think you're going to get the answer you'd like from me :')

As many folks know, I am a big lover of fluff and very soft stuff. I have angst but even then I would consider it more hurt/comfort in a way as I do plan for the "comfort" to be what's most important :) I also just think of "angst" as just the "something that makes sense storywise".

The Tele-GONE-y to me, is just blatent whump. Not really my cup of tea.

Also the Tele-GONE-y has the whole bullshit about Odysseus doing fuck all in random war, getting married and having children with a random af woman, before coming back to get killed. So that's just...ew. All of it is ew.

And I don't even like the idea of Telegonus existing in any form. At most, Telegonus would only exist in my mind as Polites' son. (not based on Epic at all. This Polites is my own special guy. He's my lil weird goober of my own design reeeeee) My dear friend thehelplessmortals is the only person who I feel explores it in a way that makes sense to me and seems canon.

As you put it into words:

"And she waited so long, and he went through so much, just for him to get killed by some borderline (Not fully) rapeling. That's so heart-wrenching."

And it's just TOO heartwrenching for me :') I can't do it. It's honestly such a horrifying scenario that I got nauseous the first time I heard about it. (that's not even getting into the gross out of character marriage circle and Odysseus fucking around away from his family)

For me, I cannot see Circe (my Circe definitely) as a mother regardless. She wasn't made for motherhood. Also Odysseus and her only have sex once in my writing in exchange for his men to be turned back into humans. (as it's only stated explicitly once in the Odyssey)

The Odyssey also says that Odysseus' line only has one son each. That's Telemachus. (OdyPen can have a daughter though! >:3 Girldad Odysseus is very tasty for me)

If you're just into the angst of Odysseus' death, I got a bit of that though :'D

Penelope being 75% Naiads will live a long life. And Odysseus, being her husband, gets the advantages of having a magic Water wifey and that affects him in how he will live a long life as well (Calypso also gave him ambrosia/nectar to keep him alive. as he was nearly dead when he washed up.)

BUT. He is mostly mortal. He lives way beyond what is normal for Mortals but still.

His hair now fully gray. His breathing raspy and slow. He's slow to move...

Penelope lives a bit afterward. Sleeping and taking comfort in their nest that cradles her as she sleeps. She feels him everywhere. She grieves him endlessly.

Their nest starts to wilt. Only when she goes too does it come alive again.

And for some random Penelope and Telemachus headcanons :P

Nereids have lined bioluminescence, while NAIADS have spots. Like the black spots on the beloved rainbow trout 🥹 (they don't have the black spots. they just have spots that glow in their own control lol)

Telemachus gets "spots" from both his mama (naiad scales/glowbit) and his papa (freckles) 🥹

It's what they use to communicate underwater. And it's nice because even if you're not full naiad and don't have as many scales, you can still communicate as it's about the flickers :3 (Odysseus can understand these to a degree)

Very rarely do they "just randomly glow" as you know, don't wanna give away your thoughts. But it's cute because Odysseus will occasionally have a lightshow when one of them is dreaming.

I know a lot of people have Penelope see Odysseus in Telemachus constantly, and while she does to a degree, she is actually one of the few people who really emphasizes that he's his own person. You don't have to be good at whittling, you make such beautiful pottery. You like green, not orange. You don't have to pick that color when it's not your favorite and because other people simply get excited about you being like your dad sometimes. That type of stuff.

You take care too, Dear Anon! :D

[mamawasatesttube]

i have to speak my truth. i think timkon clone baby aus fucking suck

[clover-46]

the writers on here making the miguel fics need to remember his fangs inject paralytic venom hes not a real vampire it was just a joke in the movie 😭

oh but i still want him to bite me don’t get me wrong idgaf if they have venom 🤷🏾‍♀️🤷🏾‍♀️

[teddybeartoji]

please don't be mad if i don't read your angst (esp if it's without comfort) i really can't fucking do it lmao you're all just godly fucking writers and i kinda wish you guys sucked more bc you're all breaking my heart:((((((((((((((

[allfortzu]

hand in hand

-- nayeon / tzuyu. 2.7k, fluff, slightly suggestive ; celebrity!tzu. MEN DNI

to be in love is to know love.

nayeon loves being in love. 

she loves that fluttering feeling in her chest; loves how it makes her heart soar and skip and all of the stupid things that come with it.

how her mind ever only wanders to one person now, and how she tries to distract herself from it only to be distracted by it. 

really, nayeon loves knowing that she's in love. 

kookeu must feel it too, because he huffs and leaps off her lap, unable to ignore her tapping foot. 

if it were any other day, she'd pout and wail for him to come back — but right now, she's brimming with so much giddiness she can barely fathom any emotion that isn't pure excitement. 

when tzuyu texts back, nayeon's heart bursts. 

tzuyu

almost done with the shoot :)

call her lovestruck or smitten; deeply infatuated, even — nayeon is all of these things at once. 

she grabs her keys in one hand, her racing heart in the other, and sprints out the door. 

i'm here, i'm here. 

she probably breaks every speed limit on her way over and then some, and when breaking speed limits is no longer an option, she risks a parking ticket and runs the rest of the way. 

the path is dark and they’re all covered up, but nayeon wouldn't be nayeon if she didn't know what true love looked like. 

“tzuyu.”

she's clad in a cap and mask, hidden from prying eyes. though, nayeon couldn't possibly miss that familiar shine. 

“unnie!”

she isn't sure how many steps it takes for her to reach tzuyu because her legs move before she can start counting. nayeon pummels into tzuyu with a puff. they both stumble with the force, but tzuyu keeps her stance steady enough to engulf nayeon just as forcefully right back. 

they don't kiss, not yet; nayeon throws her arms over tzuyu's shoulders, and tzuyu gathers her up in kind, laughing, chest fluttering. 

she inches down the brim of her cap when nayeon presses eager lips to her cheek, over her mask. the polyester is cold and rough, nothing like tzuyu's skin, much to nayeon's dismay, but it is enough. tzuyu giggles, shy and slightly wary; nayeon nuzzles in anyway. 

“hi to you, too, stranger,” tzuyu muses. “were you waiting for long?” 

nayeon buries her nose into tzuyu’s neck. it was a little long, but she'd be willing to wait longer if need be, if it was for tzuyu, so — “not at all,” she says. “you finished early today.” 

tzuyu's eyes curve, crinkling adorably at the corners. “well, i had very important things to do after.” 

“that so?” nayeon beams. “what kind of important things?” 

“you know…” tzuyu drawls.

“do i now?” 

“yeah,” tzuyu drops her voice. “like… kissing my girlfriend, and all that.” 

nayeon laughs. “you make it sound so scandalous.” 

“some people think it is,” tzuyu says, and nayeon knows she's right. at this point, they've been standing here hugging for so long even this might be scandalous. “i do really want to kiss you now, though.”

nayeon grins her bunny-toothed grin, affection blossoming under her skin and a giggle bubbling in her throat. if anything good could come out of being apart for longer than either of them want, it's that tzuyu's always terribly needy by the end of it — the kind of needy nayeon knows tzuyu only feels for her; the kind of silly attachment she can't say she doesn't adore or absolutely love reciprocating. 

“what happened to taking me out on a date first?” nayeon jabs playfully. 

tzuyu tightens her embrace, a little pleading, but still complying. “okay, dinner date first. then kisses…… then i’m staying over at yours, right?” 

nayeon's expression softens. “i could stay over at yours, too — if it’s easier,” she suggests. 

tzuyu has been talking about this since the day she left for her overseas shoot, but nayeon always feels like her place is lacking. tzuyu’s penthouse is bigger and nicer, and she can't bear keeping her away from her home any longer than work has. 

“you probably miss home.”

“no,” tzuyu insists. “i missed you. and i like your place much, much more.” 

nayeon laughs. “my dingy little one-bedroom apartment?” 

“it's not dingy,” tzuyu frowns sharply. “It's cosy; much cosier than my empty shell of one.” she leads them on their way, walking in the vague direction where nayeon came from and trusting nayeon to guide her if she strays. “and it smells like you.” 

“it smells like me?”

“yeah,” tzuyu says. she slips a hand into nayeon's, then tucks them into her coat pocket. “like home.” 

it's a little too warm for the weather, but nayeon thinks tzuyu is wonderfully lovely for it all. 

//

in the car, tzuyu gets a call. 

nayeon watches her face fall, and she knows why it does.

“it's my manager,” tzuyu announces. she picks the call up anyway. 

nayeon has never been around to hear tzuyu speak to her manager before — they're always talking in hushed voices and different rooms when nayeon's around. she's met her manager briefly, in between dropping tzuyu off at her place or picking tzuyu up from a shoot, but never any longer. 

in the span of two minutes, nayeon realises why tzuyu has never tried introducing them, and why tzuyu never talks to her manager when nayeon's around.  

“i don't care if you think i shouldn't be dating anyone right now,” tzuyu hisses into her phone. “i told you i'm taking a break this week, so i am. you can waste your time waiting for me outside my door, i don't care.” 

nayeon can't hear the other side of the conversation, but by that point, she decides it might be in her best interest to simply tune out the rest. 

when tzuyu hangs up, she tosses her phone to the backseat. 

nayeon debates saying something, but tzuyu speaks up first. 

“sorry.”

at this time of the night, the roads are empty, so nayeon chances a glance at tzuyu. “what for?” 

“you shouldn't have had to hear that,” tzuyu says. “you know i love you, right?” 

nayeon wishes she had more comforting words, but all she can think to say back is: “yeah, i know. and i love you, too.” 

she takes tzuyu’s hand and hopes it’s enough. 

“do they… do they know you're with me?” 

“i’m sure they could tell.” 

“you don't have to force yourself to meet me if it gets you in trouble, you know?”

the grip on nayeon’s hand tightens. “don’t say that — i want to do this. and i don't care if it gets me in trouble.” 

nayeon squeezes back. “but i worry.”

it's not like she never knew this was going on behind the scenes — it was something that was implied the second tzuyu decided to enter this line of work, anyway — but she didn't think it would be so prevalent; that there would be people pestering tzuyu and watching her every move, even those who were meant to be on her side. and she didn't realise the extent tzuyu went to to keep these issues from her, to make sure these problems weren't as big as they were. 

“you don't have to,” tzuyu huffs. “i care about you much, much more than them; i'll always put you first, i don't want you to think otherwise.” 

“i know that,” nayeon sighs. “it's them i'm worried about. i know you want to keep our relationship private, but who knows what they could do?” 

she sees tzuyu open her mouth to refute, only to close it before any words come out. 

they fall into silence until tzuyu breaks it again. 

“what should we do, then?” she whispers, and it's so hesitant it's as if she's already predicted an answer and didn't like it. “i don't want to stop seeing you, if that's what you're suggesting.” 

“i'm worried, not out of my mind,” nayeon gapes. “what i'm saying is that… if you need us to lay low or something, just to get your managers off your back, i'm okay with it. and if i can't pick you up from work everyday, that’s fine, too.” 

tzuyu's fingers tense. “absolutely not. you're the only thing i look forward to after work, how am i supposed to get through the day if you're not there at the end of it?” 

nayeon softens. it's an achingly romantic sentiment she can't bear to ruin. 

“would you just promise me you'll be careful?” 

“i will,” tzuyu assures. “but i'm also ready for whatever they could throw at me, okay?” 

it's a type of determination and courage that nayeon admires, but sometimes she does fear for tzuyu, especially when it begins inching into stubbornness. 

“you could lose your job,” nayeon warns gently. “they could take everything.” 

“that would barely amount to losing you,” tzuyu says. “you're my everything. so — as long as you're here, i'm not scared.”

nayeon's never been strong enough to stay away from tzuyu, anyway. 

“okay,” she says. 

she knows only this one other thing as earnestly as she knows her love for tzuyu. 

“then i'm not scared either.” 

//

tzuyu makes sure her cap and mask are fitted snugly over her face before they leave the car. 

“i can go get the food — it's dangerous for you,” nayeon had told her, but it only made tzuyu want to go with her more. 

“i'll be careful,” tzuyu reassured. she simply winked and pointedly pulled her cap down further. “you're always doing these things for me — let me.” 

nayeon still worries, even though the cashier acknowledges them with nothing more than a tired smile when they walk in.

now, tzuyu squats with her in front of the cold foods rack. she already has two ramen bowls in her hands. 

“should i get a rice ball or ramen?” nayeon ponders. 

“you know a rice ball wouldn't be enough.”

“but i’m craving rice,” nayeon pouts and pokes at the plastic. “and i’ve never seen this malatang chicken flavoured one before.” 

tzuyu tilts her neck back, angling just enough to peer through the tiny slit she'd left between her pulled-down cap and pulled-up mask. she's quiet for a bit, then she takes the rice ball before nayeon has to decide. 

“we'll get both.” 

“both?” 

“yeah, my treat.” 

“... and chuu-hi?” 

“and chuu-hi.” 

nayeon beams. she grabs two cans and holds her arms out to retrieve the rest of their things from tzuyu. it's usually how it goes in places like these — she’ll speak, pay, walk in front, for fear tzuyu might be recognised if she ever does any of those things in public. 

but tzuyu picks the cans from her hands instead and keeps whatever she’d been holding. 

“i'll do it this time.” 

she watches in stunned silence as tzuyu makes a stiff beeline to the cashier. in the middle of an anxious thought, nayeon realises why tzuyu had insisted so adamantly to come along. 

i'm not scared. 

tzuyu shifts in place at the end of the line, but her hands are balled into fists.

for a while, nayeon keeps her distance, cautious to be seen around tzuyu herself — cautious of tzuyu being seen around her. maybe tzuyu had been looking forward to this moment, or at least gearing herself up for it, but nayeon hadn't.

yet, tzuyu’s fingers begin to fidget. 

nayeon can't help herself despite the obvious foolishness. 

she hastily grabs another rice ball and can of chuu-hi, and rushes to the counter. maybe she’ll come off as another unassuming customer. for tzuyu's sake. 

she can't see tzuyu's face, and she's not even sure if tzuyu has any peripheral vision left with the way her cap is pulled down. she worries. 

she tugs on the hem of tzuyu's jacket as subtly, as gently as she can. 

below the counter, tzuyu curls a quiet finger around hers. 

nayeon’s heart settles. 

//

tzuyu doesn't forget to give nayeon a kiss. 

in between bites of ramen and rice balls, after countless careful glances around, she leans over and dips her head until their lips meet.  

nayeon hums, pleased. 

“in public?” 

“i said i wasn’t scared,” tzuyu tells her. 

they sit by a river near her apartment, the same one they've sat at since they met. ramen has always tasted better outdoors, and their lips have always been particularly irresistible when they weren't allowed to kiss them. 

nayeon pulls the brim of tzuyu’s cap back down, readjusting it after their kiss had pushed it back. 

tzuyu chuckles. “i'm sure anyone who wanted to see has seen already.” 

nayeon wants to cover tzuyu's hand with hers, but after that stunt, she decides some cautiousness is due. “when did you get so brash?” 

tzuyu smiles. she brushes a finger against nayeon's pinky. “you make me want to do stupid things.”  

nayeon hooks her finger around tzuyu's, relenting. 

she feels something emanating off tzuyu in quiet waves, an uncomfortable uncertainty and restraint in her speaking that she’s never enjoyed. that bashful tone always meant more than it did on the surface.

“you can tell me what's really on your mind, you know? what was the kiss for?”

tzuyu's eyes shift downwards, though her pinky remains still in nayeon’s. she's silent for a long while, long enough that nayeon gets nervous, but she waits for tzuyu to speak first. she's always needed time to collect her thoughts, and nayeon knows tzuyu is still thinking about her when her pinky curls tighter around her finger. 

when tzuyu speaks again, her voice comes out as a whisper, in thoughtful, carefully picked words. 

“i’m thinking about coming out.” 

nayeon’s brows raise, startled. “what?” 

“yeah,” tzuyu says. “i want to kiss you wherever i want, and i want to tell the world about you eventually. we can do all that when i do.” 

nayeon can't help the silly grin that spreads across her cheeks. they’ve talked about it before, in stray comments and idealistic dreaming, in impulsive moments, but even then — only in ifs and imagines, never wants, never when, never with so much certainty. 

“you must be going mad.” 

tzuyu laughs with her. “maybe i am; maybe for you. i’m greedy.”

“you really are going mad.” 

“i know i am,” and she keeps laughing. “but doesn’t it sound nice?”

“it sounds wonderful.”

//

at home, nayeon kisses tzuyu. without reserve, without caution. 

tzuyu sighs into the kiss, melting into her touch. her fingers latch onto the collar of nayeon’s hoodie, tugging her in eagerly.

“i’ll do it next week,” tzuyu says. “i’ll tell everyone then.” 

nayeon pulls back slightly, eyeing the brim of tzuyu's cap. she lifts the cap off tzuyu's head and tosses it to one side. “i suppose there’ll be no need for this anymore, then?” 

it seems like tzuyu takes it as a sign to hold back a little less as well. 

“not at all.” 

she pushes in further, desperate, longing. tzuyu swallows all the air in her lungs and settles all the noise in her mind. she covers nayeon's lips in soft saccharine pecks, then slower, longer kisses, ones that fill her chest with so much warmth it makes nayeon wonder if the cages of her ribs are deserving of such heaven. 

tzuyu reaches over to clutch onto her waist, pulling at the hem of her hoodie to bring them closer. her kisses grow hungrier, fingers eventually dipping under nayeon's clothes to touch skin. 

nayeon can sense the eagerness; the tugging and fumbling and impatient grasps, the recapturing of her lips when she leaves for air, all of the waiting from before spilling over in this singular, infinitely intimate moment. tzuyu breathes out like every kiss is a new revelation; love in its most honest, most earnest, most raw. 

nayeon kisses back with equal fondness, as much as tzuyu deserves. 

she kisses her until tzuyu hums, and tzuyu giggles like she’s in love, like she’s kissing nayeon for the first time all over again, like she’s everything; she smiles and laughs and breaks the kiss between moments she can’t help breaking, and nayeon does too. 

“i want you,” she whispers. 

“you have me,” she whispers back. 

between their mingled words and encapsulating touches, between steps to a bedroom they share and backs to sheets that smell like them — nayeon knows this must be all of love, right in her two bare hands, tender and real and kind.

okay so what if the plot is just abt two people being in love??? that is not a crime! it's been a while since i wrote just absolutely mindless fluff (i always say this but i'm sure it hasn't bc what else do i write) it feels that way at least! i love writing about love

anyway! thank you for reading and interacting! it means the world <3

[thevegandarkelf]

Finding Myself, Finding You: Chapter Eleven

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Story is 18+ for mature content/themes, minors do not interact please

TW/CWs for this story--implied/referenced past rape, canonical violence, non-canonical violence, blood, gore, referenced past suicide, swearing, surgery, excessive drinking, nightmares, panic attacks, mention of scars, vomiting, amputation, medical procedures, non-con medical procedures, referenced past medical torture, referenced past drugging, attempted sexual assault, panic attacks, mental health struggles, referenced sibling death, referenced parent death

Each chapter will have its own TW/CWs listed

This story, Lydia Vector, her family & bestie (c) me, TheVeganDarkElf

TWD & its characters (c) AMC & Robert Kirkman, the writer of the comic series

Sleeping Beauty (c) Disney, Wednesday Addams (c) Charles Addams

TW/CWs for this chapter--swearing, mention of scars, canonical violence (walker killings), a sex toy is used as a weapon

Word count: 2.7k

It was bright and early the following morning when Daryl came knocking on my bedroom door, insisting that we get moving early to make sure we got back before his afternoon watch. “Ok, gimme five minutes,” I croaked, my throat dry from mouth-breathing in my sleep. I grabbed some clothes out of one of my drawers and tossed them on my bed. There was a fitted jacket, one that would likely be used as workout attire, that I decided to wear as a shirt, another pair of black workout shorts, and my leg holsters for my weapons. I grabbed my backpack and packed my remaining weapons, my notebook, my water bottle, and some medical supplies.

I fluffed my hair a little and tied it up into a high ponytail. Even tied up, my hair still reached down to my mid-back. Having long hair gave me more confidence and made me feel more feminine, but since the world fell, it was more of a nuisance than anything. And it was cumbersome when it was wet. I often debated on just chopping it off, but I liked it far too much to do that.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” I said as I came down the stairs. Daryl was putting his boots on by the front door, his crossbow slung over his shoulder and a tumbler on the floor next to him. I went over and joined him, and he picked the tumbler up off the floor and handed it to me.

“This yours,” he said, holding the tumbler of what I presumed to be coffee out to me. I reached out and grabbed it, our fingers lightly touching as I placed my hand below his on the cup. I let my fingers linger there for just a moment and made sure to brush his as I pulled away. I felt electricity shoot through my body as my fingers graced his.

“You’re sweet. Thank you.” This time, I know I saw a very faint shade of pink appear on his cheeks. I set the cup down long enough to put my boots on and follow him outside.

The air was crisp, cool, and I was thankful I had worn long sleeves. The path was damp, like it had rained the night before or this morning. And one of my favorite things—the dew that clung to the grass nearby—sparkled in the sun like glitter. Rosita was walking up the dirt path, carrying a basket of food from the garden in her arms.

“Good morning guys,” she said as Daryl walked past her. He just gave her a nod and a small “hey” and kept making his way to the front gate. She reached her arm out and grabbed mine to stop me. “Vector, can I talk to you for a second?”

“Uh, yeah, real quick 'cause I gotta skedaddle. What’s up?” She looked over my shoulder to make sure Daryl was far enough away and dropped her voice to a whisper.

“What’s going on here?” she asked, beaming. I rolled my eyes and huffed at her.

“I guess Rick wants us to go out on a run. At least that’s what Daryl told me. Also gonna try to find a prosthetic foot for Aaron for when he needs it,” I explained, also dropping my voice to a whisper.

“Sounds like you two have a long day ahead of you,” she replied, “are you excited?”

I looked down at my feet and smiled, a faint blush of pink gracing my cheeks. “I am. I just hope being stuck with me all day won’t annoy him, y’know?”

“Well if it does, you’ll know. So if it’s not obvious, you’re fine. Now go, you have a handsome archer waiting for you.” She started to turn away, then turned back. “Be sure to tell me all about it once you’re back.” I nodded and jogged off to catch up with Daryl, who was already at the front waiting on me.

“So what did Rick want us to go out for?” I asked as I buckled myself into the car.

“Said there’s some big ass grocery store nearby. Wants us to get what we can,” Daryl explained as he drove us out the front gates, “stock up ‘fore winter sets in and we can’t grow nothin’.”

“Ah, groshrees and a prosthetic foot. How exciting.” I could see him make a face in my peripheral.

“The hell’s “groshrees?” Ya don’t sound like no east coaster.” I stifled a chuckle and pulled down the sun visor in front of me, shifting it to the side window to keep the rising sun out of my eyes.

“That would be my Midwestern accent. I grew up in Ohio, close to the Michigan border. I say groceries like “groshrees” and wintertime like “winnertime.” Med school took me to the east coast.” I thought this would be a good segway into trying to get to know Daryl a little better. “What about you, Daryl? You sound like you’re from deeper south than Virginia.”

“Georgia,” he said, then quickly changing the subject back to me, like he already had his next question lined up, “what’s Doctors Without Borders?”

“Hmm?”

“When ya got here, ya told Rick somethin’ ‘bout wantin’ to join Doctors Without Borders, an’ he seemed impressed.” Of course, I was happy to answer just about any question he had, and I liked that he seemed to take a genuine interest in me and my life. But damn, he couldn’t even keep the subject on himself for two seconds, and it was starting to get a little frustrating.

“Oh, yeah, it was a non-profit that sent doctors around the world to provide medical care in areas where people needed it. Places with rampant diseases they couldn’t keep under control, war-torn countries, places where people had experienced natural disasters and such.”

I looked over at him and studied his features as I kept talking. He had his eyes focused ahead of him on the road, but I could picture them perfectly, those gorgeous pools of cerulean blue. Even though he was paying attention to the road, as he should, I could tell he was actively listening, genuinely curious and taking in every single word I said. He always did. “I wanted to get a few years of practice in after residency before joining. But instead, the world fell. Guess I was destined to end up in a war zone regardless.”

“Selfless as hell. Not somethin’ most people’d do,” Daryl replied, this time turning to me for just a second, gracing my face with his beautiful eyes, followed by a very, very tiny smile that tugged at one of the corners of his mouth. Our eyes locked for just a moment, and in just that one moment, my knees became weak and my heart rate increased. He truly was beautiful.

“Thank you.” This time, I was determined to get something out of him. “Alright, enough about me. You gotta give me some more info about you,” I said, propping my right foot up on my seat and wrapping my arms around my leg.

“Why?”

“Because you have asked me a million questions about myself in the last few days, and I’m gettin’ real sick and tired of hearing my own voice,” I explained, offering him a soft smile, “you are one mysterious human being, and I want to get to know you. We’re friends, right?” I scratched at the side of my thumb with my index finger. “I hope. Plus, I don’t wanna be a nuisance by just going on and on and on.”

“If I thought ya’s annoyin’, I wouldn’ta kept talkin’ to ya or brought ya along,” he said in an attempt to offer some reassurance.

“But still, I would like to know more about you. So let me do the asking, and you do the talking. Please.” To my surprise, the car slowly rolled to a stop, and he turned once again to meet my gaze, this time for longer. New butterflies in my stomach were starting to break out of their chrysalids. “I won’t get too personal I promise. Unless you want me to.” I gave him a flirtatious smirk, and I saw that small smile pull at the corner of his mouth again.

“Fine,” Daryl said, breaking eye contact and starting down the road again, “only cause ya asked so nicely.”

I had to take a second before I started speaking again. What had just happened? Was there tension in the air there? Did I imagine it? Was he being flirtatious back? Or was I imagining that as well? My head was spinning, and I had to take a couple of deep, but quiet, breaths to slow my heart rate down.

“What did you do before all of this?” I asked, then remembering that I had asked that question on our first run and he didn’t seem very receptive to it, “oh shit, I asked you that before. If it’s a touchy subject, you don’t have to answer it.” My rough-and-tumble redneck companion was quiet for a moment, and I was trying to come up with my next question when he answered.

“Nah, you’re good.” He pondered for a moment, choosing his words carefully to perfectly craft his answer. “I was just existin’. Floatin’ through life. Wake up every mornin’, and whatever Merle said we was doin's what we did.”

He mentioned someone’s name. Progress.

“Who’s Merle?” I asked. I continued scratching at the side of my thumb with my index finger in an attempt to quell my anxiety. It was never painful, never enough to break skin, but it was enough to be a distraction from my feelings of unease.

“He’s mah brother.” I didn’t know whether the “he’s” was supposed to be he is or he was, but I decided not to prod further on that.

“Is he like you?”

“Whadaya mean?” I hadn’t quite thought this far ahead.

“Y’know, like…easy to talk to, pleasant to be around, things like that,” I said. He scoffed at my remark.

“Guy was a jackass. Righteous prick. Bit of a creep. You wouldn’ta liked ‘im.” The “was” clarified for me that he was either dead, or Daryl didn’t know where he was.

“Do you think he would've liked me?" I bit the inside of my bottom lip. Jesus Vec, why’d you ask that? What does it matter?

"Merle? Yeah, he'da liked ya. Probably a lil' too much,” Daryl replied. I felt my body fight to physically recoil at the thought of what that could’ve meant, but I kept still.

"I could've taken him,” I said rather confidently. Daryl scoffed at me again.

"That's a lotta big talk comin' from someone so tiny,” he teased. I stuck my tongue out at him.

"Oh please. I've taken on people bigger than me before,” I elaborated, digging through the recesses of my brain for one of the stories where a man tried to fuck around with me and found out. I stretched my legs out and put my feet up on the dash, crossing one ankle over the other. “I once caught a man spiking my drink at a bar."

"What'dya do to ‘im?"

"I broke his nose...and his jaw...and his collarbone. Poor bastard didn't know whose drink he was messing with. Mama didn’t raise no bitch,” I said. Even though I could only see his side profile, I saw Daryl’s eyes widen just a little, and he had the tiniest smile on his face, like a proud parent.

"Nice. Didn't get arrested or nothin'?"

“Well, if he went to the cops to press charges on me, they’d eventually see the bar footage of him trying to drug me. Guess he didn’t want any smoke.” He took a turn down a random road, and I could see a building off in the distance with a tall sign in front of it, like the ones you see for gas stations on the side of highway exits. "Plus, he had like half a foot on me. I don’t think he wanted to admit that he got his ass beat by a woman much smaller than him.”

“Jackass had it comin’. Glad nothin’ happened to ya,” he said. I pulled the sleeves of my jacket up just a little and subtly rubbed at the scars on my right wrist.

“Me too,” I said, biting the inside of my lip. Nothing happened that time, sure, but what would he think if he found out about the time that something did? “But we’re going back to talking about you now. Your crossbow’s really cool. How did that become your weapon of choice?”

“Learned it when I was young. 's quiet, deadly, bolts easy ‘nough to come by."

“Did Merle teach you? Or your parents?” I saw his arms flex slightly, like he squeezed harder on the steering wheel for just a second, then stopped. Ok, no more bringing up Merle or his family. Got it, I said to myself, making a mental note of it.

“Taught m’self,” Daryl said, pulling into the tiny parking lot of the abandoned store that we’d be scavenging, “had to learn to hunt, quietest weapon I could find. Saved my ass more than once.”

“Well, it’s sick. Makes you look like a bonafide badass,” I complimented, swinging the car door open and letting myself out, “my brothers taught me how to fight, but that was it. Guess they figured it’d be the only skill I needed when the world was…normal.”

“I could teach ya,” Daryl responded, rather quickly, “I mean, if ya wanted. Should know how, just in case.” I folded my arms on the car's roof and rested my chin on them.

“Yeah, that…that would be cool. Thanks.” He was hunched over in the car, reaching for what I presumed to be his crossbow. I slung my bag over my shoulders. “Don’t think we’re finished here. I have more questions for you.” I shut my door, and he lifted his head back up and rolled his eyes at me. I gave him a smirk in response.

“Whatever,” he said, shutting his door and locking the car, shoving the keys in his back pocket. I swung my backpack around to my side, rummaging in it for a second. I could finally put my most unique weapon to use.

“Here we go,” I said, pulling the black vibrator out of my bag, “I can finally show you how I kill walkers with this thing.” He scoffed and pried the sliding glass doors open, stepping in first in front of me, crossbow ready to fire.

We tiptoed in slowly, waiting for the shuffling sounds of any walkers or people. At first, there was nothing, but after some more tiptoes from us, there were some walker moans and groans echoing from somewhere inside the store. We carefully scanned each aisle, rounding each corner with extreme caution. Daryl got one walker as we came around a corner towards the far end of the store, hitting it right between the eyes.

Even when he was doing something as grisly as killing walkers, he was still the most beautiful human I’d ever laid my eyes on.

We hit the opposite end of the store after cutting through the back area to check for people and make sure we were completely alone. There was one more walker, stumbling around in the back corner of the store, chomping its teeth at us as it sauntered closer. It was wearing a priest's collar.

“Well go on,” Daryl said, stepping out from in front of me to my side, “go get the Father.” I let out a small chuckle and approached the creature, vibrator in hand, the top piece fixated to smack it in the temple.

“‘Sup Daddy?” I joked, swinging the vibrator like a bat and smacking the thing upside the head before it could even try to reach for me. The side of its head was caved in. I leaned over next to it and gave it a few more good whacks in the skull until the moaning and groaning stopped. I wiped my weapon off on its pants and slipped it into the holster on my leg for my knife before looking back up at Daryl, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Told you it’s a good weapon.”

[steorransaluki]

feral creature that lives in my house

[hitlikehammers]

almost out of time

rating: t ♥️ cw: boys being very unserious ♥️ tags: established relationship, featuring the party as supporting cast, also featuring shootouts! (with the most negligible stakes), post S4, slice of life, softness

for @steddielovemonth day twenty: Love is saying "I love you" even when you're scared (@quinns-shadowy-arts)

early 90s rockstar husbands, baby ♥️ this is apparently what happens when you say 'oh I'll skip day 20 because I have no ideas' and then ideas come for you because you were arrogant ♥️

“Stevie,” Eddie’s breathless, and he is, in fairness, often breathless around that name but this…

Not like this.

“Shh,” Steve bites out, hisses low through clenched teeth as he presses Eddie into the wall a little harder, chest heaving against Eddie’s; “quiet.”

“Steve,” Eddie pants, looking over his shoulder in the dim, there’s fog too, from where Eddie has no fucking clue but it cuts his line of sight to only just beyond Steve’s reach; he’s no use, and he tries to listen for the approach, for footsteps, but his heartbeat’s too loud; “Steve, we’re—"

A finger presses hard, jams his lips up against his teeth as Steve glares out the corner of his eye.

“They’ll fucking hear us,” he leans so close Eddie can feel the dampness of his words when he speaks, then the full drag of his lips; feels the instruction more than hears:

“Stay quiet.”

And Eddie’s trying, he really is, but they’re…this is fucking hopeless, isn’t it? They’re outnumbered, they’ve been running for fuck knows how long. Everyone else is already gone, it’s just them, and they…they can wait it out as long as they want and Eddie would take forever with Steve, he would, but not like this, and fuck, fuck—what good is it, what’s the point when it’ll change nothing—

“But Steve,” Eddie whispers, but his breath catches it and threatens to whine through his words; he nearly chokes trying to rein it back but Steve’s got his whole hand against his mouth, now: not hard, but present. Like a bolster. It feels protective. It feels safe where there’s no safety left.

The red flashes in the dim and fuck; fuck

“Stay down, and don’t fucking talk, okay?” Steve breathes harsh right against Eddie’s ear, and Eddie’s shoved up against him so close, so close that his warmth is Eddie’s warmth in the chill, so close he can feel Steve’s pulse inside his own; they’re, it’s—

They’re almost out of time.

“St—"

And then Steve’s lips are on his, insistent, demanding, claiming, keeping, his tongue in Eddie’s mouth and sure, it’s a very effective, tried and true way to shut Eddie up, but this: this feels like so much more; it’s all passion and feeling, adrenaline and that tip-of-a-knife feeling, that plunge-before-the-plunge and Eddie’s heart feels bold for it, and he sucks at Steve’s lip and kisses once with force of his own before he breaks off and cups Steve’s cheek, reaches to cradle his face full-on and steals one last kiss before looking him square in the eye, decision made, though—

There wasn’t really a decision to it; there’s no choice to be had when it’s him, or Steve.

“I love you, baby,” Eddie tells him fierce, with all the feeling in him; “so fucking much,” which is always true, not just here at the end. He hopes Steve knows that.

“Eddie, what the hell—"

And Eddie’s scrambling up, creeping out from their hiding place and toward the shuffling approach incoming.

“What are you doing?” Steve rasps, lunging to grab at Eddie’s ankle but Eddie’s determined, he’s got momentum, he’s already up and clearing the corner and—

“For love!” he cries out as he leaps into the open, arms wide and asking for the hit—

And it comes, it fucking comes almost immediately.

Eddie drops to the ground, gasping.

And then they’re on top of him.

“Fucking drama queen,” Dustin, Dustin of all of them has the goddamn audacity to say to him as he walks over his prone frame and takes aim at Steve who, in fairness, does take out Mike before Dustin takes three pulls to hit him and win the game to screeching digital fanfare through the speakers.

“You could have just stayed down, man,” Steve huffs with a roll of his eyes as he stands up and unbuckles his vest.

“We were almost out of time!” Eddie gapes a little, sitting up and pointing forcefully toward the big red numbers counting down how many seconds they had left in the arena. Less than three minutes.

“We could have made it, these shitheads still don’t have any aim,” Steve purses his lips with so much of that…that glorious bitchy judgement Eddie loves most to lick off of him, he wonders where he can drag him to—

The flickering of colors next to him catches his attention and: oh. Right. They dragged the kids here. It’s fucking sweltering, they’re all back from school, and the options were swimming or something air-conditioned. And the new releases at the movie theater were all kinda shitty.

And Eddie cannot risk getting them thrown out of here for public indecency at the minimum: the laser tag’s connected to the best fucking arcade in town.

And frankly, yeah: it’s been years in the plural now since they shut the Upside Down…y’know, down, but he’s kinda proud of the guys, extra proud of his Stevie, and actually, yeah, kinda proud of himself, that what with the dark, and the lights, and red and the guns: they were fine. They were safe.

It was fun. It was just a game.

“I mean,” Eddie picks back up his defense, gesturing at the at the kids with their little chest plates all blinking a celebratory red-blue-white-blue-red that feels either very patriotic or very law-enforcement-themed while his and Steve’s remain dark; “they were on their way to our location, one of us had to draw their attention,” and it was going to be Eddie because…

Because: for love.

“We weren’t gonna look there,” Lucas deadpans as Mike snickers and high-fives Dustin a little…a little too triumphantly and okay, fine, he thinks he’s starting to get why Steve had been taking this so seriously: to keep the shitheads from this kind of ego-inflating victory; “we were headed the other way.”

Eddie doesn’t even have to turn to feel the weight of Steve's stare, the vindication and self-congratulation in it's just…tangible in the air.

“Oh,” Eddie bites his lip, tries to think of an angle; “umm,” he twirls his hair and then Steve’s at his side, bumping his shoulder and he can’t really hide, or delay any further—and it’s Steve, next to him, so: he doesn’t exactly want to that bad, anyway, so he turns and gives the softest, widest-eyed look he can muster:

“Good intentions?” he sells it for as much as he can gather up, and Steve?

Steve just snorts, and bumps his shoulder, pretty fucking hard.

“You’re unbelievable,” Steve chuckles a little, shakes his head but doesn’t rush to follow the boys to the armory; he glances that way, but turns back quick, and then he’s grabbing the back of Eddie’s neck and: oh.

Yeah, this was more what Eddie’d been going for with the farewell-forever-my-most-beloved kiss he left Steve with before his grand-though-arguably-unnecessary sacrifice.

“And you’re buying lunch,” Steve breaks off with a nip to his lower lip before shoving his target-vest at Eddie’s chest and making for the door.

And Eddie’s a little breathless again, as he whines Steve’s name—so fucking often, just, breathless around that name—before he struggles a little to unhook his own vest because he’s actually hungry, now that Steve’s landed him with the bill for lunch, but really: it’s a fucking empty threat, either way.

Like: they share a fucking bank account.

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson

♥️

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