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jobean12-blog · 7 months

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Dressed to Impress

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader (Pre/No!Outbreak)

Word Count: 3,057

Summary: You and Sarah manage to convince Joel to dress up for Halloween. He's not too excited about it but agrees anyway. However, once he see's your costume...Halloween jus tmight be his new favorite holiday.

Author's Note: This is part of my kinktober celebration and the PPCU Halloween event. Thank you bunches to Sel @jupiter-soups and Harley @huffle-punk for setting it up! 💕💕love and hugs! I took two prompts; one from fluff: You and Sarah convince Joel to dress up for Halloween. He isn't thrilled. And one from smut: You surprise Joel by dressing up for Halloween as something that he has mentioned finding sexy. For the second prompt I didn't get specific because I figured it would be more fun for the reader to imagine their own sexy costume- whatever you wear- Joel LOVES it. I also want to thank my dear friends @flordeamatista and @mrsmischief209 for helping me with Joel's costume, you're both amazing! ❤️💕Thank you all so much for reading and much love always! ❤️❤️��️

Warnings: it's fun and fluffy, silly and soft, lots of flirting and tension, Joel is sweet but definitely grumpy, reader has some sass, semi-public f-in-g-e-ri-ng, light d-ir-t-y talk, it's a whole ride lol

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

Joel Miller Masterlist

“No.”

His hands land on his hips as he stares back at you.

“But Joel, it’ll be…”

Your words are cut off by his second, “no.”

“Joel!” you whine.

“Darlin’,” he warns.

You stick your bottom lip out in a pout and give him your best sad eyes.

“Still no,” he says.

You change tactics.

With a sweet smile you step into his space and press yourself against him.

“I know it’s not your favorite idea but don’t you want to do it for me? Make me happy?”

His hands falls from his hips and land on yours, pulling you closer.

“Now you’re playin’ dirty angel.”

Your lips curve into a wicked smile. “I can play much dirtier than this if you want.”

You lift your fingers to his hair and comb them through, lightly scratching his scalp before they slide down the back of his neck and trace his jaw.

With a light brush of your lips you whisper, “please Joel. Just this once. I promise it’ll be worth it.”

You kiss him before he can answer and you feel his low growl rumble through his chest as he pushes you against the wall of the bedroom.

With rushed hands you pull at his tee shirt, tugging it up and over his head. Your fingers caress his warm skin as his lips kiss and nip at your neck.

“Joel,” you moan.

He grabs your thigh, lifting it to spread you open so he can settle between you legs.

“Now who’s playing dirty,” you gasp when you feel his hardness press into your stomach.

His hand slides higher and his fingers dip into the waistband of your leggings.

“You started it,” he murmurs.

“Is that a yes then?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady as his fingers tease your skin.

His cell phone rings before he can answer and you both let out a frustrated groan.

“One guess who’s callin’,” he grumbles.

He grabs his phone from his jeans pocket and flips it open, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Hey,” he says which you follow right after with, “hey tommy,” loud enough so he can hear it on the other end of the line.

Joel reluctantly releases you and takes a step back but his intense gaze tracks your every move while you fix your clothes.

As you start to walk out of the room you sing out, “since you didn’t say no that time, I’m going to take it as a maybe!”

Before you get out of the doorway he comes up behind you and smacks your ass, making you squeal. His arm wraps around your waist and he drags your back to his bare chest, his soft breath tickling your ear when he whispers, “a maybe.”

You can hear Tommy on the other end of the line asking what the hell is going and when you look over your shoulder Joel’s eyes are dark, his ‘maybe’ and so much more hanging in the air between you both.

“How many times did he say no?” Sarah asks the moment you walk into the kitchen.

“Only three times,” you smile.

She blows out a raspberry and stabs her eggs with her fork.

“BUT!” you continue. “I think I’ve got him at a maybe now and if you lay it on thick we might be able to convince him.”

Sarah smiles deviously and when you hear Joel’s heavy footfalls on the stairs you both straighten your shoulders in preparation.

“Hey dad,” Sarah chimes brightly when he walks in.

You match her smile and offer him a hot cup of fresh coffee.

He looks between you both, his lips pursed and his eyes narrowed.

“Don’t even try…” he begins.

“BUT DAD,” Sarah interjects, “we all have to dress up. You can’t come trick or treating otherwise!”

“Who said I wanna go trick or treating?,” he says before sipping his coffee.

Both you and Sarah give him a stern look.

“YOU HAVE TO!” you both shout.

He sighs and sits down at the table.

“PLEASE,” Sarah says. “We can think of something awesome for you to dress up as.”

“I already have an idea,” you say, clasping your hands together in excitement. “You’ll look amazing.”

You wink at Sarah and she grins before turning pleading eyes to Joel.

You grab your plate and seat yourself on Joel’s spread thigh, curling into him and grabbing his fork to feed him a bite of eggs.

“Please,” you say softly.

Joel studies your face before he moves his eyes to Sarah.

“Fine,” he mumbles then takes the bite of eggs off the fork.

You and Sarah let out an excited cheer. Sarah hops out of her seat and comes around the table to kiss Joel’s cheek. You do the same on the other side.

He grumbles out something unintelligible but you can see the smile playing upon his lips.

“See you guys later,” Sarah says as she grabs her schoolbag and rushes toward the door.

Just before she’s out of the house she turns back and looks at Joel to say, “your tee shirt’s inside out.” Then she disappears out the door.

You giggle into your hand but quickly press your lips together to suppress any further joy when Joel pins you with a glare.

“Shit,” he says, looking down.

“Oops,” you say with feigned innocence and a shrug of your shoulders.

With a smug smile you hold up the fork again. “You have to eat more before you’re late.”

He looks up and takes the bite but then removes the fork from your hand.

“Oh I plan on it darlin’,” he simpers.

He swats at your ass until you get up and then promptly moves the dishes over and sits you on the edge of the table.

“Joel…” you breathe out as your arms wrap around his neck.

Just as his thumbs hook into your leggings you hear the loud clunk and roll of Tommy’s truck.

“Ah fuck,” Joel sighs, dropping his face to your neck.

You let out a little whimper and cling to him.

“Later,” he promises before kissing you softly.

Tommy barges in all smiles.

“Hey you two,” he greets.

Joel mumbles some form of a greeting and you go give Tommy a hug.

Tommy gives you a squeeze then looks to Joel. “What up his ass?”

“He agreed to dress up for Halloween this year,” you answer happily.

Tommy grins and walks over to Joel, slapping him on the back. “Shit brother, your girls can get you to do anything huh?”

You do a little happy victory dance as you place the dishes in the sink.

“Come on,” Joel says to Tommy, “let’s go.”

“What about my breakfast?” Tommy asks, checking the pan.

“We’ll pick you somethin’ up on the road,” Joel sighs.

You gently pat Tommy on the back. “There would have been pancakes but we’re out of mix.”

Tommy gives you a lopsided smile and then grabs the last piece of toast.

“See you later babe,” Tommy says before he heads back out to the truck.

He takes one last look at Joel, the toast dangling between his fingers as he points and says, “your tee shirt’s inside out.”

With another muttered curse Joel grabs the back of his shirt and pulls it over his head.

He stalks toward you at the counter, caging you against it with his arms on either side of your body.

“You,” he whispers as he leans in and bumps his nose along yours, “are all mine when I get home.”

“Is all this gel really necessary?” he asks as you run your fingers through his hair for the hundredth time.

You stand between his spread legs and look him over, adjusting a piece of hair here and there.

“Yes. It is,” you state. “Eeeeeee Joel!”

After wiping your hands you check his bow tie, pulling on the ends to tighten it before you straighten it again.

“PERFECT! Sarah get in here!”

You grab Joel’s hand and drag him to his feet. Sarah rushes in and immediately gives out a loud ‘whoop’ before laughing.

“Dad this is so good,” she says. “You look just like Gomez!”

Joel turns to look in the mirror, his expression full of his usual grumpiness.

“Well, you’ve already got the grumpy look down perfectly,” you tease.

He just scoffs as he lifts his fingers to touch his hair.

“DON’T!” you tell him. “Just leave it!”

“You look amazing,” you tell Sarah. “Super scary.”

Sarah smiles and does a twirl to show off the full affect of her costume.

“You look great sweetheart,” Joel says before his eyes slide back to you.

“What about you darlin’? Where’s your costume?” he asks.

“Oh, I’m going to get ready now,” you say with a twinkle of your fingers. “See you downstairs.”

You pepper his face with kisses before shooing him away.

You’re just applying the finishing touches to your make-up when you hear Joel coming up the stairs.

“Angel, are you almost rea….?”

His words die on his parted lips as he takes you in, his eyes traveling hungrily from your head to your toes.

“Well?” you ask, smoothing your hands down your body.

The grind of his jaw says it all and your smile grows.

“Joel…?” you purr. “Couldn’t wait for me to come downstairs?”

He walks all the way into the room and shuts the door.

“I wanted to see what was takin’ so long…”

“Well I’m ready now,” you sing with a sweet smile. “Let’s go.”

He stops you with his body, his heat washing over you and his mouth dipping to your ear.

“You think I’m goin’ trick or treating and to some party with you lookin’ like this?”

“Like what?” you ask, your tone demure.

The air between you is charged and disappearing by the inch.

“Darlin’,” he murmurs, his breathe a whisper along the shell of your ear.

You look at him through your lashes, the light scruff of his beard brushing your cheek and making you sigh out his name.

“We’re going to be late and Sarah is waiting….”

You step back and hear his sound of disapproval deep in his throat. It makes you shiver.

His eyes are glued to you as you turn and open the door and when you meet his gaze again it’s filled with heat and filthy promises.

When you enter the kitchen Sarah whistles loudly and grins. “WOW!”

You give her a bright smile and start toward the door. “Time to trick or treat!”

Once Sarah has plenty of candy you usher her off to her friends house for the night. They are having a sleepover with scary movies and lots of sugar.

As soon as Sarah is safely delivered to her new destination Joel settles his hand at your lower back and starts to push you back toward the house.

“Did you forget we have to stop by the neighbors house for the adult party?” you giggle.

He stops walking and presses himself against your back. “Don’t you think I’ve suffered enough today angel?”

“No,” you state, turning to face him. “I don’t think you’ve suffered at all in fact.”

Joel opens his mouth to argue but you press your finger to his lips.

“I’ve seen you smile and I know you love how much everyone is gushing over your costume and it won’t kill you to hang out with some friends for a couple of hours.”

He kisses your finger and then grabs your wrist to pull your hand away.

“An hour,” he growls.

“Two,” you counter.

He stares at you daringly, leaning forward and covering the inches between you, his eyes falling to your lips.

“And it’ll be your fault when I drag you somewhere dark and get my fingers inside you.”

Your breathy sigh is followed by a lick of your lips, Joel’s eyes following the movement with a hungry stare.

You don’t respond, not trusting yourself when your brain and body are consumed by him, and instead take his hand and move in the direction of the party.

“All the beer is still warm so I got you wine.”

You hold the glass out for him then search for a seat. When you see there aren’t any left you situate yourself on his thigh and rest yourself along his shoulder.

He takes a sip of the wine, eyeing you over the rim.

“Any good?” you ask.

Without an answer he curls his hand around the back of your neck and drags you down for a kiss, giving you a taste.

“Mm,” you hum against his lips. “Yummy.”

You chat with some of your neighbors, snacking and sipping your drink.

“You’re pulling off the whole grumpy Gomez thing really well,” you tease when there’s a lull in conversation.

“Who said I’m grumpy?” Joel replies with a smirk.

You dance your fingers up his chest and then lightly scratch them over his beard.

“I want another kiss,” you whisper.

He happily obliges but when you press yourself closer, shifting in his lap, he groans out a curse and pulls away.

At your questioning look he sighs.

“Darlin’…unless you want to stay in this chair for the rest of the night you better stop kissing my like that and wiggling your ass.”

You move again, unintentionally, and the hardness between his legs pushes against you.

“Oh,” you squeak. “Ohhh….”

He tightens his grip, his fingers digging into your skin in warning.

“Behave.”

“I’ll be good,” you promise with a slow blink.

“That’ll be a first,” he mutters.

You kiss him again, giggling when he starts to squirm beneath you.

“Oops.”

“I’d smack your ass right here and now if it weren’t for the creepy neighbor.”

“Creepy…?” you repeat and look around.

You lock eyes with your neighbor from across the street. He’s starting, his eyes blatantly roaming over your curves.

“I’m gonna knock his teeth out,” Joel threatens with a low rumble.

“He’s definitely drunk Joel. Not worth it.”

“He’s starin’ at what’s mine.”

You take Joel’s chin between your fingers, dragging his murderous gaze away from the neighbor until he’s focused on you.

“Come on, let’s go get some fresh air,” you whisper.

You rise from his lap and he takes your hand, keeping you close as you work your way around the crowd of people in the living room. When you reach the back door he holds it open for you and ushers you outside, walking you toward a darkened spot on the side of the house.

He lets out a deep exhale before grabbing your waist.

“Finally,” he says, in a hushed, rumbling voice as he pulls your back against his chest.

His hand slides along your side, tracing the curve of your waist before he closes his fingers around your wrist and lifts your hand to his mouth, kissing softly along your knuckles.

“What a Gomez move,” you tease lightly even as you melt into his embrace.

His free hand brushes along your shoulder and his fingers dance along your neck until he tilts your chin back, exposing more of your skin. With teasingly soft kisses he works his way to the spot just under your ear and whispers, “lift your dress.”

“Joel,” you breathe out, your voice wavering when he nips on your earlobe.

“Angel, I’ve waited long enough, don’t you think?”

His hands wander along your skin, kneading and squeezing as he goes. When he finds your ass cheek he grips it hard. You don’t answer, arching against him, and when he gives you a sharp smack you cry out.

“Is this my punishment?” you ask as you catch your breath.

He smacks you again, soothing the sting with soft caress.

“Lift your dress,” he repeats, his voice low and deep.

Your fingers reach down for the hem and you slowly lift the front, whimpering when his hand leaves your ass and slides across your stomach and between your legs.

“Someone might see,” you gasp even as you spread your legs for him.

“Fuck darlin’,” he groans when he feels the wet patch on your panties.

His finger brushes over the damp fabric and he wraps his other arm around your shoulders to keep you pressed to his chest, his touch torturously light.

When he pushes your panties to the side and slides his fingers through your arousal he lets out hum of satisfaction.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs.

His finger slips inside you easily, pumping slowly in and out as he continues his kisses along your neck.

“You feel beautiful, too.”

He slides a second finger into you and growls, the sound vibrating right through you.

“Joel please…please,” you beg as your legs start to shake.

His grip tightens and he pushes his fingers deeper, pressing on your clit with his thumb. You wiggle and writhe against him, chasing your release as it builds.

“Joel,” you hiss through gritted teeth, trying your best to remain quiet.

He curls his fingers just right and continues circling your clit, the tightening of your walls giving him enough warning to slide his hand over your mouth and muffle your cries as you buck against him.

You slowly come down and sag into his strong hold.

He draws out your pleasure, pumping his fingers with deliberation and whispering praises in your ear.

“That’s my good girl,” he coos. “Letting me to fuck you with my fingers even when someone might see.”

He still has his hand clamped over your mouth, softening your continued moans.

“I’m taking you home,” he states, leaving no room for argument.

He slowly removes his fingers and releases his hold on you. You turn in his arms and watch as he slips his soaked fingers between his lips and licks them clean.

“First I’m goin’ to get a better taste and then I’m goin’ to fuck you good and hard.”

You let out a whimper of want and drag your hand down his chest, palming the hardness between his legs.

He stops you with a firm hold on your wrist and your lips part to argue but he interrupts, dipping his head and brushing his mouth across yours when he whispers, “no, not here angel. I don’t want to miss a single sound that falls past these pretty lips when I’m buried deep inside you.”

@hiddles-rose @lorilane33 @littleseasiren @lizette50 @blackwidownat2814

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller x you #pre!outbreak joel #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #pre!outbreak joel miller #joel miller imagine #joel miller fic #pre!outbreak joel x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #ppcu server event

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bonesandthebees · 3 months

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As someone looking for a new fandom after the DSMP collapse, how do I get into QSMP? I haven't watched any of it but from what I've seen it sounds pretty interesting.

if you were a fan of dsmp I definitely recommend qsmp! it's got similar styles of humor and also some incredibly intense lore that has been so fun to watch unfold. however, it is very hard to get into because, y'know, we have a lot of different creators the majority of whom don't speak english primarily that are on the server so catching up is certainly difficult

if you want summaries of the early days stuff, this channel on youtube has 3 summary videos but it only covers up to I think around may of last year? maybe june?? so like, a lot of stuff is not included in those.

if you want a more isolated event that's easier to catch up on so you can get a feel for the characters/ccs you could watch purgatory 1 vods from whichever creator you're interested in, but also, uh, purgatory was kind of hell to watch. I personally really enjoyed it from a story/character perspective, but so much of it was just miserable grinding and fighting so it kind of sucked to watch live 😭 also it had weird repercussions on all the lore that happened before purgatory so it definitely holds a contentious place in the fandom

if you want a different (and slightly more accurate way of getting an idea of everyones characters) there are plenty of server events you can watch vods for! the ones that pop to my mind as being especially fun was festa junina for a holiday, and the spiderbit wedding was also pretty great

the cc I watch the most of on qsmp is phil, so if you want recs for him I can list some specific vods that I think were really great for his character. but I don't watch a ton of streams so I'm also not the best person to ask. my second main pov is tubbo so I can also provide a few recs for him but I'd definitely be leaving some important ones out unintentionally

then I also try to watch tina and bagi when I can but definitely not as often so my recommendations are limited for those two

the only thing I'd say to avoid when trying to catch up is don't trust the qsmp wiki especially anything written in the relationships section for individual characters. those wiki editors put so much inaccurate info on there just to fuel their own biases and headcanons. just be aware of that if you need to reference it

if anyone else has any recommendations for how to catch up feel free to add them!

#ask #anon

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landinrris · 2 months

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A snippet! Now that I'm finally editing the Witch! AU, I wanted to share a bit of Lando and Carlos meeting properly for the first time. The events as they happen in this 1.1k don't really spoil anything plot-wise. I humbly present, Lando as a witchy shop owner and Carlos as a human tourist stumbling into Lando's shop while on vacation for the second day in a row.

Around ten, Lando looks up as the motion detector chimes and almost chokes on the air he’s breathing. Because Sober Guy is there. Standing in front of him. A hesitant yet hopeful expression on his face if Lando didn’t know better.

He can’t hope for that.

It takes a lot of Lando’s Professional Adult ability to smile normally and greet him. “Oh, hi. Is there something I can help you find?” That’s a normal, professional response, right?

Sober Guy’s smile morphs into something more relaxed— Lando has to be dreaming. There’s no way this is real life.

Unlike yesterday, he isn’t dressed strictly for the beach, but rather in something much worse, in Lando’s humble opinion. No, today, Sober Guy has on a pair of running shorts that ride up a bit higher on one of his thighs and a workout shirt that’s damp to match his hair. He has running shoes on as well, proof that he’s decided to stop back into Lando’s shop along his morning run for whatever reason.

Lando wants to scream at him, ‘You came to the beach and you brought workout clothes?’ He doesn’t, but he could. It would be so easy to.

“Oh, uh no, I’m not here for anything specific you sell.”

“No? Is there something else then?” Lando had thought he’d seemed normal enough in the few minutes they’d more or less interacted yesterday— certainly not one to come and stand in the middle of a shop and stare. Maybe George and Oscar had been right after all.

Sober Guy rubs a hand over the back of his neck and steps closer to the counter. “I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Carlos, I was in yesterday with a group of people. They were a bit drunk. I just wanted to apologize for them again. Make sure you knew we weren’t just another group of annoying tourists.”

It’s a silly thing to say the world shifts upon learning Sober Guy’s name. Carlos. It’s the perfect name for him. Lando suddenly feels like he can breathe easier, like he’s just cleaned his glasses for the first time in too long.

Lando thinks he only misses a beat before responding. “Yeah, I remember. I’m Lando, nice to meet you, Carlos. Your friends were fine, honestly. I’ve dealt with far worse. They had you looking out for them. Someone had to be better at holding their alcohol,” he tacks on, trying to make it sound like he wasn’t watching Carlos too closely. Carlos probably wouldn’t appreciate knowing Lando thought about him all afternoon and night.

Carlos just smiles. “Ah no, I wasn’t drinking, actually. Designated sober person and all that.”

“I guess that would explain how you’re up without them exercising. I’d ask if you’re sure you’re not a local, since who the hell goes on holiday and exercises— no, no, runs— but you’re down here, so I guess that answers that.” Lando allows some of his normal snark to come out, desperate to keep Carlos standing in front of him for even a few minutes longer.

He takes it as a positive sign when the smile on Carlos’ face morphs from something polite to properly amused— like Lando joking with him puts them on a more level playing field. “What, you don’t like to run? But it’s so great— feel the air in your lungs, the breeze in your hair. You wake up early enough and then you have the whole day in front of you.”

The thrill that sings through Lando’s body is pathetic. “More like burning fire in your lungs, sweat dripping into your eyes, and your calves on fire.”

Carlos actually laughs at him, and Lando has to hold himself back from actively preening. “Do you not get a lot of runners who come through here? Maybe they are clearly using a better running area that I should know about.” Lando swears there’s a hidden ‘for next time’ that goes unsaid but can’t figure out why it would be there.

“If only ‘cause all the people I know who live here use the trails in the parks that are around here a lot more. Run into fewer tourists that way. I guess if you’re staying down here though, it doesn’t make as much sense to go all the way out to them.”

“Yeah, we’re just here at the Harbor. It’s nice even if I think some of the amenities are wasted on me for such a short time. The girls like them though, so it could be worse.”

“Are you like the fifth wheel on this trip or something?” Lando doesn’t necessarily mean to blurt out that he’d been watching them that closely, but the words leave his mouth anyway, lulled into a false sense of security by their ease.

Sure enough, Carlos’ eyes go wide, a laugh at least close behind.

Before he can speak, Lando hurries to apologize. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to like, call you out or anything. I just noticed that it didn’t seem like you had a girlfriend or anything. Unless the others weren’t also together. Talk about just assuming.” Lando’s about to magic his own fucking mouth closed so he’ll stop talking even if Carlos doesn’t look mortified.

“No, no, you’re right. You just took me off guard a bit. I have been their fifth wheel for a bit of an embarrassingly long time, I’m afraid. But I don’t mind. It gives me more time to myself.”

If they knew each other better, Lando might reply with something like, ‘forcing yourself to run, even in the May mornings, is not proper time to yourself.’ But Lando is capable of not saying everything that comes to his mind, so he settles on something more mundane. “Oh, well that’s good, I suppose. Hopefully, they’re not too irritating and in your face about it while you’re here.”

Carlos goes to open his mouth when his watch lights up with an incoming phone call that must also vibrate against his wrist by how he startles and turns his wrist to look. Lando can’t read the caller id from here, but he figures there are only so many people it could probably be on a Sunday morning.

“And that would be my friends wondering where I am.” Carlos sighs like it’s the worst possible outcome— a reaction Lando tries and fails not to attribute to himself as the reason. “I should probably go. It was really nice to properly meet you, Lando. Good luck with everything.”

Lando tries to keep the melancholy out of his voice. This will probably be the last time he sees Carlos, and it’s worse now that he actually has a name to his face. “Yeah, you too. Try not to run into a car or anything. They’re not really used to people running voluntarily around here.”

Carlos gives him one last bright laugh that turns Lando’s insides to jelly, and then he’s gone.

#first witch au snippet since august? it's more likely than you think #carlando #husbands™#writing tag #witch au

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steddieunderdogfics · 5 months

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This week's writer's spotlight feature is: @rindecision! With forty-two works on Ao3 in the Stranger Things fandom, they've written thirty-one (!) works with the Steddie ship tag!

Nominated by @skjachukson, they recommend the following works by rindecision:

You Know Where to Find Me — Live Aid

Nectar

Give Me Fuel, Give me Fire

From Hell and Back

Rindecision has been a great friend throughout the Steddie holiday exchange, and their writing is just so fantastic. - @skjachukson

Below the cut, @rindecision answered some questions about their writing process and some of their recommended work!

Why do you write Steddie?

It started when my partner asked me to. I’ve always loved writing, but I never got into fanfics until they asked me to write a specific type of story that led to the creation of The Devil of Hawkins. From there it was a slippery slope!

What’s your favorite trope to READ?

Due to ADHD and the corresponding comprehension issues, I rarely read. Not just fics, but anything really. Although, I do personally enjoy whatever the sneaking around trope is. The characters being intimate in places or situations where they shouldn’t be.

What’s your favorite trope to WRITE?

So far I’ve found that I enjoy FWB to Lovers with Steddie. Most of my fics tend to revolve around that.

What’s your favorite Steddie fic?

I’m currently enjoying ‘I Think I Could Have Been Someone’ by @madaboutmunson

Is there a trope you’re excited to explore in a future work but haven’t yet?

I’m new to fandoms so honestly I don’t really know a lot of tropes by name, but I have a long list of fics I want to write at some point. I have a ‘Through The Ages’ Steddie series in mind that I hope to do at some point.

What is your writing process like?

Harrowing. It’s honestly pretty complex as I’m using writing fanfics as a means to improve as a writer in general so I can be more confident when I get around to my originals. But the short version is: Rough Draft -> Proof Read 1 -> Beta Proof -> Proof Read 2 -> Grammar Edit -> Text-To-Speech Edit -> Final Beta Proof.

Do you have any writing quirks?

Probably, lol. I try to keep my writing concise and leave little up to the imagination. The partner that requested I write fanfics has aphantasia (lack of imagination) and they read everything I write, so I want them to be able to enjoy it just as much as anyone else.

Do you prefer posting when you’ve finished writing or on a schedule?

I’m kind of chaotic on this one. It depends on the fic to be honest. So far, I’ve found I prefer posting ongoing fics without a schedule that I just post a chapter on as soon as I’m done editing it, whenever that happens to be. Other than the ‘You Know Where to Find Me’ series, the only fics I’ve posted on a schedule have been event fics and it’s been a bit more stressful than I expected it to be.

Which fic are you most proud of?

That would have to be my ‘You Know Where to Find Me’ series. Particularly the first one: ‘Valentines ‘85’

How did you get the idea for You Know Where to Find Me �� Live Aid?

I needed something powerful between ‘Independence Day’ and ‘First Day of School’ but couldn’t think of anything that would work. @stardust-walker helped me work out the details. That entry genuinely wouldn’t exist without their help.

When writing Nectar, what was something you didn’t expect?

Managing to stay under the 20k word limit. 😅

What inspired Give Me Fuel, Give me Fire?

A Twitter post about mechanic Steve in cut-off shorts.

What was your favorite part to write from From Hell and Back?

That’s a hard one. I don’t think I have a singular part that I liked the most, but I really enjoyed being able to explore the logistics and lore around Eddie being a shapeshifting demon. In and out of Steve’s bedroom.

How do/did you feel writing Give Me Fuel, Give me Fire?

I was surprised by the reception it got, and I can’t wait to get back to writing it as soon as I’m done with the Stranger Things Reverse Big Bang

What was the most difficult part of writing You Know Where to Find Me — Live Aid?

The time limit. I had 2 weeks to write and edit nearly 30k words. It made me hit burnout HARD, but I got it back pretty quickly.

Do you have a favorite scene and/or line from any of your fics?

I think that would have to be the first kiss in The Devil of Hawkins. It was also the first Steddie kiss I ever wrote. 🤍

“You aren’t stopping me, Harrington.” Eddie’s lips barely grazed over Steve’s as he spoke. “I know,” Steve squeaked. The feeling of Steve’s lips plucking his like a guitar pick was more than he could handle. He leaned forward, finalizing the kiss. They both let out a small groan. Eddie placed his other hand on the back of Steve’s neck, holding his head carefully, yet firmly. Eddie pulled away for a moment and looked at Steve; there was a look of longing on his face. An expression that Eddie was hoping for. He faintly smiled before pushing Steve’s lips to his own, plunging his tongue between them. He could feel Steve tense below him before relaxing into it.

Do you have any upcoming projects or fics you’d like to share/promote?

‘You Know Where to Find Me’ will be coming to a close in March, but there will be at least 5 more entries to it. I will also be posting my entry for the STRBB in March. I hope after those are done I can jump back into my ongoings.

Outside of these questions, Is there anything YOU would like to add?

I just want to say a HUGE thank you to everyone that’s read my work, and a platonic hug and kiss for those who have gone out of their way to leave comments or reblog them. It means the world to me 🤍🖤

Thank you to our author, @rindecision and our nominator, @skjachukson! See more of @rindecision's work featured on our page throughout the day!

Writer's Spotlight is every Wednesday! Want to nominate an author? You can nominate them here!

#steddie fic recs #steddie #steddie writers #writer's spotlight #rindecision #steddieunderdogfics #steve x eddie #steddie fics #steve harrington #eddie munson

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 11 months

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AITA for not reacting/cheering for my aunt and her kids?

I (24F) am in an extended family groupchat. I usually do not have time to actually read all the messages, much less to write anything. I often open it and skim through the messages and everyone can see I've read them. Sometimes I do participate if it is a topic I can help with (I can usually help with plant related stuff, and I often jump right into a debate when I catch my aunties falling for facebook lies about ingredients or things like that)

Anyway, at one point my grandmother said that one of my aunts (35ish? I really don't know, sorry) was really sad I was not interacting with her messages at all. And while it wasn't intentional, it was true. I scrolled back to see what I've said to whom, and I never interacted with that aunt. But it wasn't because I did not like her, it was just... I had nothing to respond. I honestly do not care about her family having a trip to the zoo, what she had for lunch and I really did not watch 5 minute videos of her kid (2nd grade) playing football. So I just did not respond, because I had nothing to say and I wasn't interested. Besides, my other aunts interacted plenty with her, so I never thought I should be obligated to respond.

Anyway, I am usually fueled by spite, and my grandmother pointing that thing out had the opposite effect - I stopped interacting with the groupchat at all, even when I did have the time and something to say. I contemplated just leaving the groupchat, but I was tagged specifically one day to respond to something, so I stayed and tried to be nicer, just by leaving emoji's to that aunt's messages. However, life is life, and my efforts soon were forgotten because I just... don't have the energy.

However, one day, my aunt posted a facebook link to a post from a geography competition. And I was pretty sure my cousin (her son) won something, and I even opened the link, but there was a long list of kids and I just didn't bother to find my cousin's name there, so I, once again, did not react.

A day later my grandmother sent me the same facebook link and said my aunt would be happy if I reacted to the message in the groupchat. Which I think is ridiculous? Especially because the kid isn't even in the groupchat, and only his mother would see it? Anyway, I kind of got in a fight with my grandma about that, saying no one ever praised me as a kid for winning competitions, especially the same aunt who now feels bad for me not cheering her and her son on. So, I did not react to the message and once again went mostly silent in the groupchat.

But overall, I feel like I am the asshole for not being interested in the lives of my relatives and their kids. It really is not that hard to engage in groupchat conversations, right? However, I don't really want to act like I am interested, while I am not at all. Maybe I am cold hearted for not caring about their holiday trips, work/school events and minor health problems (eg someone having a fever).

However, to defend myself, I was actually very busy during the described events. I worked and studied full time (it is hell don't do it) (graduating soon though yeehaw), and most messages I read while walking from one point to another, skimmed through in the evenings before bed or when I was waiting in a queue for something. Moreover, the said aunt never has expressed any interest in my life, so I did not feel any obligation to be interested in her life. However, I never also said to anyone how I was doing, and no one really knew I was dying from exhaustion most of the time, so they probably assumed I was just... specifically being a dick.

So was I? Am I the asshole?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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yakuzacanons · 6 months

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seasons greasons :) if you're up to it, could we perhaps some HCs for how the yakuza guys like to spend the holidays with their S/O? regardless of whatever they celebrate, ofc. the winter season is quite festive for all sorts of stuff. hope you're feeling alright btw! stay cozy and healthy ( ´･･)ﾉ(._.`)

SEASONS GREASONS skskskskskks u have my whole heart for that, also YES you can. Thanks for the well wishes too, unfortunately I have been slain by COVID so the sickness will continue. Doing my bestest though, headcanons below da cut.

Kazuma Kiryu

Lots of Christmas shopping for the kids at Morning Glory. Getting hot drinks and walking around together during a snowfall. He wouldn't expect you to do this with him but he likes to volunteer at events, like soup kitchens for the homeless, during this time of year.

Majima Goro

Him want go see the big fancy holiday lights with you. That's it. He just wanna go see some neat decorations and ooo and aaa. Also just wants to drink hot drinks and eat hot food with you.

Saejima Taiga

Doesn't care for public holiday events so much but he WILL be making a giant cauldron of homemade soup for you both. You don't have to help out but he would love it if you did!

Akiyama Shun

Not much a festive guy, typically spends holidays just sleeping a lot. Would go out for a particularly fancy dinner with you though. Does tag along for Christmas shopping if only to take notes on what you seem to like so he can buy it for you later.

Tanimura Masayoshi

He's pretty new at dating so he doesn't know what couples do for holidays but his personal tradition is making tons of handmade dumplings at Homeland and handing them out to all the families in the international district. He'd love it if you tagged along to help, maybe even tying some cute bows on the baskets before delivering them together.

Ryuji Goda

Big of heart and dumb of ass man Ryuji's favorite holiday thing to do is to make literally everyone in the Omi Alliance decorate the HQ. That includes you. Of course, since you are his literal favorite person, you get first and last say of what goes. It's really fun for the both of you, running around and throwing up decorations, telling grunts to put that there and not over there and what the hell were they thinking putting those lights with that color ribbon.

Nishikiyama Akira

He wants to visit all the cutest cafes and try their seasonal items. Nothing like a cutesy dessert for two... or two desserts. Or three. Also likes to wear matching scarves or matching gloves.

Daigo Dojima

He's also fairly unfamiliar with what couples do during the holidays but he's trying his best. Will take you out for a nice dinner for sure. He tends to prefer attending winter festivals instead of events for more modern holidays so if you're willing to try that, he'd love to go with you! His personal favorite holiday tradition is just enjoying hot tea while watching snow fall.

Mine Yoshitaka

He's pretty inward most of the time so holiday chaos just makes him want to stay home. Usually just decorates inside of his own home, he's not really religious but he likes the appearance of a Christmas tree so he typically goes with that. Would love to shop for some ornaments for you to hang up specifically.

Tatsuo Shinada

Literally all he wants to do is wear a Santa hat. That and probably go bar hopping on Christmas Eve. He's all about just relaxing and having a fun time, so long as he's with you. Would go caroling with you, although be warned he sings a little off key.

Ichiban Kasuga

He's probably one of the few out of all the boys that genuinely isn't picky about doing much during the holidays. As long as he gets to spend time with his loved ones, he's content. If it snows, he's definitely starting a snowball fight though. Would love to check out a holiday market with you though!

Tianyou Zhao

This silly head is making truck loads of homemade steamed buns and drinking a lot of tea and nothing can stop him from accomplishing his tasty holiday mission. He'd love to teach you how to make the buns. Likes watching you proudly place them in the steamer after he's filled them up.

Joon-Gi Han

His ass don't know nothin' about holidays! No, seriously, he's so confused. "Why's there a man in a red suit at the mall today?" Mostly just curious and kind of enamoured by all the activity spiking up all around the city. He's never really had a Christmas or much of any kind of holiday so you'll probably have to show him the ropes. Hot cocoa ends up being his favorite thing.

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poohsources · 5 months

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HELLO EVERYONE! as the year is slowly but surely coming to its end, and i'm now home for the holidays, i thought it was finally time to make another one of these. partially to give a little update on what's been going on in my life and partially as some sort of retrospect for this past year and a look into my plans for next year.

looking back, it's been quite an eventful year — especially when compared to the weird covid years we had to deal with previously. the biggest change was probably my dropping out of college to start a dual studies program in law. i did like my college program just fine ( until i didn't anymore ) but i really feel like law is my thing. and apparently everyone else in my circle of family and friends thinks so as well because i seem a hell of a lot happier than i did before. kinda unfortunate it took me seven years since quitting high school to figure that bit out, but hey, at least i got there in the end. it's been quite time-consuming, and i feel like in those past five months, i've already learned more than i did in all my years of college, but it's fun. i also finally got some new friends my age again. it's also strange to think back that just one year ago i was still struggling financially and just generally dealing with some bad mental health stuff.

i'm actually happy now.

in terms of tumblr and roleplaying, i gotta be honest that i have been sidelining it a lot over the last months. sure, i'm still around but it's not my primary focus, and i'm learning that it's okay not to be online all the time. it's okay to take breaks and focus on other things because as much as i love this blog, the community and tumblr, there are some more important things now. still, i am and always will be eternally grateful to every single person who supports me - whether it is by liking or reblogging posts, sending asks or messages, following me or using any of my stuff. it means so freaking much to me, and i always feel so proud whenever i randomly see my own stuff pop up on my dash because mutuals use it. thank you all so very much! in a similar vein, i honestly still cannot fathom that i almost managed to double the follower count this past year. i'm probably not gonna reach the goal i've kinda been looking at until the end of the year but that's okay. i am so incredibly grateful for everyone here anyway. no matter what.

as for next year - i'm not too sure what i'm gonna do. of course. i'm gonna keep posting memes, and templates and whatever other stuff i feel like doing, but i think my activity is gonna keep on being spotty. i'm also still tempted to do commissions one day ( and we're totally gonna ignore that i've been saying this for over a year now, okay? ) but with the amount of time i don't have, i'm not sure i'm gonna be able to deliver on that. if i do finally build the courage and self-esteem to do that, it will be like an occasional thing that might take some time. however, one thing i do wanna do more of is gifs. i'm not sure what kind of gifs, but i enjoy making them and it's been way too long since i did them so i'm gonna see how i'm gonna incorporate that. or if anyone has any specific gifs they want, always feel free to shoot me an ask or a message. maybe also some aesthetic-y stuff? after all do love making pinterest boards for characters.

maybe i'll also do a blog reveal once i finally set up my multi that i've been planning to work on for months now. since i'm gonna scrap my current main blog ( which i haven't really been active on in a while now anyway ) i'm kinda thinking of coming back to writing and who knows, maybe i'm gonna reveal it here in case anyone would like to write with me.

anyway, this was a lot of rambling, and if you've made it this far, i once again wanna thank you. i know i do this a lot but i really do appreciate you all being here so much, and even after two years of having this silly little blog, it still feels unreal to me that so many people here enjoy what i do.

much love and happy holidays, pooh 🧡

#pooh speaks.#pooh's (ir)regular updates.#long post tw

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o-uncle-newt · 6 months

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Cabin Pressure Advent Day 13: Molokai

(Or shall I say, for some reason, Moloquai?)

It's always fun to listen to a holiday episode during the holidays! By which I mean Chanukah, of course (I listened to Molokai on an hour-plus car trip between two Chanukah parties). Now, as someone who is not a Christmas person I always judge a Christmas episode by how well I'm able to enjoy it despite not being a Christmas person. For the record, most episodes pass pretty easily. But Molokai is an interesting one, because it passes despite being very, very, very Christmassy.

Why does it pass? Well, first of all, it helps that it's on a British show, which means that some stuff I genuinely can't tell whether it's a Christmas thing I don't know about or a British thing I don't know about (what the hell is a sugar mouse?), and the latter is something I basically have to be okay with to listen to the rest of Cabin Pressure to begin with (I'm still not sure what a Wimpy is over a decade after first listening to this episode, after all). So it's just kind of immersing in another culture, except it's really two cultures, English culture and Christmas culture (as, of course, epitomized by The Auspicious Pig and Whistle of Tokyo).

The second (and bear with me, it gets a bit involved) is that it might be very specifically about Christmas, but it's also just about happiness, community, and, best of all for me, ritual and the way that that can make holidays even better. To a certain extent, that's something that I know is subjective- I grew up in a religious culture which values religious and holiday ritual very strongly, and so that's something that I'll always find to be meaningful, even if sometimes that comes from creating your own meaning or emphasizing the parts that mean most for you. But at the same time- lots of the "ritual" that I prize on various holidays isn't religious at all, but just the product of family tradition in ways that bring us all together. Particularly as an adult, I've found that holidays make only as much of an impact as you WANT them to- and including ritual makes that impact stronger, because it forces you to DO something that separates this day from other days, and that, incidentally, keeps you busy and absorbed.

It's why I found Martin's disliking Christmas in this episode, only to get really into it when it comes to creating the rituals of Christmas for Arthur, so interesting. I don't recall any real REASON being given for Martin disliking Christmas- it could be an affectation along the lines of Arthur's attempt at sounding grown-up by calling Christmas over-commercialized, but it sounds more like, as an adult living in shitty circumstances (we don't really KNOW what kind of shitty circumstances yet because we haven't heard Qikiqtarjuaq yet, but still) who isn't super close with his family and for whom any Christmas he has, he'll have to make for himself, he doesn't have much reason to like it! What, indeed, WOULD make Christmas different than a typical day for him? But as soon as he's given a reason to cling to the trappings and rituals of Christmas, he gets into it, and I really do love that.

Now of course, Arthur is really the poster child for the whole above concept. But- I was going to say that that's almost too obvious, but that's not really it. It's that Arthur is the one who does this ALL THE TIME. We know already that he's the heart of this show, and what it seems to really come down to is that a large part of that is creating a life around rituals or practices that bring joy. On the most basic level we have that list of events and holidays that he likes, all of which are defined by ritual in some way (I admit to not knowing much about Lent). But I think it goes beyond that- first of all, he CREATES ritual: while it's unclear who exactly invented the name Birling Day, he's the first one to use it in Edinburgh and he's the one who creates a "Happy Birling Day" song in Paris. Even more than that, though, we know his life philosophy from Fitton- create meaning and happiness from things that you DO (sinking into a bath at just the right temperature) rather than from things that happen to you (happening to be in the moonlight with the love of your life). In so many ways, that's what ritual is- rather than treating a time of year or a life cycle event as a thing that happens to you, you create your own meaning through your own actions. You're active and in control of your own joy.

So anyway, all this to say, Molokai continues the Arthurian tradition of Cabin Pressure which is that we have power over our joy by creating and expressing it, and just so happens to apply it to Christmas as a specific example. Gah. I have no idea if that makes sense written out- it does in my head.

And I've barely gotten to the actual episode!

One thing I'd forgotten til I turned it on- Molokai is the first post-Sherlock episode to be recorded. I'd heard a lot from people that the laughter gets louder as a result, which leads to the show seeming funnier as you laugh with the audience. I was skeptical- and I was SORT OF wrong. I do think that the show gets funnier in no small part because JF becomes a better and better writer, but at the same time... the laughter DEFINITELY gets louder. Oh my gosh. I'm not sure how I'd never noticed it. Like, it's loud in Limerick, but this is another level. And what's nice is you can kind of hear the actors feeding off the crowd energy, which is yet a third reason why S3-4 might seem even better.

(On that note, I don't know how much JF pre-planned his rendition of Get Dressed, but it is note perfect. It would have just been normal-funny if he'd sung it, but the Chri-i-i-i-i-stmas/Chri-hi-hi-hi-hi-hi-histmas Days took it up another level. Kudos to him- and his "you'd better not pout, you'd better not cry" is just as great. Incidentally, as a non-Christmas celebrator I didn't get that joke until way later, but his performance is so funny that honestly it didn't matter.)

Of the two plot lines (each with its own set of Chekhov's Guns) in this episode, I vastly preferred the Secret Santa plot. Not that there's anything wrong with the Mr Alyakhin plot- but the resolution, however clever, is just a LITTLE bit too unlikely and over the top. Which, again, sounds weird to say about Cabin Pressure, a show where in a few episodes they'll be dragging a piano to a pub in Devon, but I do still believe that it's all about proportionality- a crazy antagonist justifies a crazy resolution, and this resolution was just a trifle too crazy for the antagonist (and relies a little too much on him missing some major red flags). But it genuinely doesn't matter, because it's still hilarious and sweet, and ends on just the right outrageous note- in particular, the note in Roger Allam's voice (playing to the audience beautifully) as, after an almost-too-long pause, he says "mulled it." Just beautiful- all of the setup and the pitch-perfect payoff.

There's probably other stuff, but please excuse me, I have some latkes to eat. Tomorrow, we're off to Newcastle, one that I haven't listened to in AGES- and I'm dying to know what I'll think!

#cabin pressure #cabin pressure advent 2023 #cabin pressure advent #molokai #john finnemore

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reptileofdoom · 11 months

Text

Public PSA and Callout Of Hawkshadow/Luna: A Continued Pattern of Hurt and Manipulation PART 2 of 2

If you haven't read part 1, it is linked HERE:

If you have, then where we last left off, I had been guilted into continuing a friendship that was actively detrimental to my mental health; eventually causing a very bad anxiety attack over a small issue, over which I was gaslit to hell and back with Luna's insistence to berate me, causing in me accepting all fault and blaming myself for the incident.

After this, there weren't any large fights until January. This was for 2 reasons:

a) I had received anxiety pills from my psychiatrist, which I started using anytime a conversation with Luna would make me very anxious again

b) During the period of late November - end of December, she became busy on working on her large holiday fic. Our conversations became more sparse as she was, apparently, completely consumed by it.

But we were brought back together as Luna, out of nowhere, suggested working on a fic together.

This was... weird to me. For context: Luna and I had attempted to work on fics before. We'd have an idea in DMs, talk about it, create a shared doc, and then... NOTHING from her. I am not joking when I say I would write up to 4 thousand words in a document without a single contribution from her. This was back at the beginning of our friendship. As a result, I had given up on ever writing anything with her. So for her to just suggest working on a fic together out of the blue was... really weird.

(Side note: Luna and I had a lot of fic ideas in our pinned messages. At the time it completely slipped my mind that the only reason I brought up a/b/o had been because I'd just read a fic and wanted to talk about something similar. So our discussion of the idea happened months ago - it was only after the whole fiasco was over that I remembered, oh shit, it had originally been inspired by something else. So I apologize for the unintended idea stealing.)

I am including the following screenshot as 1 - proof we really did talk a lot about so many ideas; and 2 - as the most likely theory for why she was suddenly up for writing a fic with me.

She wanted to write something, but didn't think she would have time to do it by herself. So she hit me up. This becomes ironic later on because she ended up completely destroying my ability to work on the fic.

Bonus: her changing things I myself had written in the fic and only asking me if it was okay afterward. I... didn't really feel like I could disagree and argue with her.

In the middle of everything, an event occurred which I can only refer to as The Like Drama. This event is going to have its own post because it spans 10 screenshots and is, even more than anything in this whole series of events, incredibly inane, hard to follow, and it's insane it was ever made a big deal in the first place. It is, however, a very fantastic example of Luna's casual manipulation and general obsessiveness with public image.

The Like Drama post HERE:

Back to the fic saga:

A short time after this, after editing my words and only asking permission afterwards, I was scrolling Twitter and an announcement Tweet from Luna popped up on my timeline. (I don't have the capacity to go make an alt and try to search through her account for it, but it was public and many people can certainly remember it.)

It read, in summary: that she was working on an omegaverse fic and to stay tuned. A couple of things to highlight, specifically:

a) there was no mention of me, or any co-author in the tweet

b) this tweet was made without any sort of discussion with me

c) I have an Actual Massive Trigger around pressure; something I would talk about extensively in her server. Both Raelle and Cass (vegaspetesupremacy / sketchyshit) are willing to back me up on this. It used to be so bad that I could not tell anyone what I was working on, otherwise I would be unable to finish it.

(if anyone is wondering about the legitimacy of such a trigger - I used to attend a massively abusive private school for almost 8 years. It fucking sucked.)

Luna knew about this trigger. And not only did she post a tweet like that, in what follows after, she proceeds to stomp all over my boundary.

On January 19th I woke up to the message that a friend had committed suicide.

At the same time, the fic had gone up during the night - but it wasn't what I focused on because I was emotionally broken up. I made a Twitter post about taking some time off to grieve.

After crying, I was left alone with my thoughts. And my email notifications were pinging with people commenting on the fic. So I thought: why not reply? Luna had previously mentioned finding comment replies draining; I felt like I could do something useful.

And this is where things went wrong. As mentioned, I was not in a good headspace. So when some comments featured the typical begging for more ie "please please write a chapter 2!!" I was very blunt with reinforcing my own boundary; telling them quite frankly that it's uncomfortable and if they keep going, I will block them.

Were my replies graceful? No. But I was grieving and did not have the capacity to care.

Here is my final conversation with Luna, after which we never spoke again.

That's it. That's the end of our conversation.

Luna did not reply to me for 2 entire days. During this time, she wrote and published a drabble for one of the commenters.

Formerly, this conversation also had a message or two from me along the lines of "Luna? Please respond, please." I deleted these after seeing that. (That entire conversation, I was waiting on a single "I'm sorry for your loss" from her; at one point I specifically tried to allude to my situation to see if she knew, but she did not acknowledge it.)

After 48 hours, I unfollowed Luna on Twitter and left her server; mostly to see if it would make her react.

In response, she hard-blocked me. She chose her followers and fame over our friendship for good.

During this 48-hour period, I had also thought to message Raelle regarding my general frustration, almost as a last call for help. Because to be clear: this interaction left me sobbing and wailing on the ground. In essence, I had lost two friends on a single day. I could not fathom why she was treating me this way, what horrible thing I may have done to deserve this.

Not to be sappy, but: I really, really want to be clear how much I owe to Rae. She allowed me to vent and show her what happened: I asked her multiple times if I was out of line, because I thought it must be something I had done. She was my first outside perspective on my interactions with Luna; she was the one to tell me "you don't deserve to be treated like this." Without her, I would have probably ended up crawling back and begging Luna to forgive me, possibly trapping myself in months more of miserable friendship.

And here is something incredibly scary: If Luna had just.. given a single reply. Just a single "Wait for me a few days, we'll talk later." I wouldn't be here right now.

Even months after everything happened, I was still wracked by guilt and felt like I would sacrifice anything just to have that friendship back. My friends had to talk me down, sometimes, from messaging her begging her to take me back. After the first few days, I unblocked her on Twitter and kept her unblocked for close to a month - just in case that maybe, possibly, she ever wanted to talk to me again.

I'm not under any illusion as to what this treatment is comparable to. Some people, when shown everything, have told me the word "abuse" could apply - but I hesitate to use it, and am actively choosing not to include it as an accusation; because it is heavy and loaded and I do not want anyone to misunderstand.

Unfortunately, the story doesn't end here.

After leaving the work, something happened: despite me leaving, Luna had not edited the Author's Note to include mentioning me. In fact, it almost seemed like she wanted to avoid mentioning me; since the fic has been deleted, I am including proof through old DMs with Raelle (me reacting to this situation). (I become quite angry in these screenshots. I apologize for the name-calling.)

Quick context for what I mention here: After I became unable to work on the fic, Luna would reassure me "it's fine, you already did so much" when I expressed guilt. So... yeah, seeing this comment was a betrayal. PLUS the fact she froze it.

So, in my anger and frustration I decided to make a Twitter post; SOLELY because of the no-credit issue. At that point, I didn't want to expose Luna's treatment of me because I still had trouble accepting that it wasn't mostly my fault.

Here is the post I made, which turned into a thread as she made her own thread and misrepresented what I said: https://twitter.com/reptileofdoom/status/1616908647048613888?s=20

As a response to this, Luna created her own thread which she started sending to everyone. And not just everyone she knew, but asking those people to share it with everyone they know. (The thread has since been deleted, presumably after people pointed out inaccuracies and/or she realized she was just giving the issue more publicity.) The main piece of misinformation in the thread was her claiming I was credited in the Author's Note: this only became true after my post went public and she did it, presumably, as a way of covering her ass.

Proof, provided by kiwibin (thank you so much):

(shown through discord search because the chat was extremely active at the time and there are a million unrelated messages)

Additional proof of the thread being sent to Rae, her defending me to Luna, and Luna's response (screenshots provided by Raelle, thank you so much):

Bonus points: Misgendering lol. You only have my word on this, but her thread also featured a screenshot of a conversation with one of the "upset commenters" who misgendered me and Luna did not correct them, instead reassuring them she still loved them or whatever. She posted it as proof of how much I upset her followers.

These next images are of Rae crafting her response at the time, but it is what she ended up sending:

(As mentioned before, Rae is an angel.) (Cut off because stupid image limit, so I had to prioritize more important conversation.)

Finally, last of all:

There is a reason I have called all this a "continued pattern." In the time afterward, as I was dealing with my own emotional fallout and had trouble processing everything, I reached out to someone Luna had mentioned to me as a "former best friend (who abandoned her)." The conversation was... illuminating, and gives information about Luna's time in her previous fandom, MDZS.

Thank you so much, lunarwriter, for allowing me to add your voice to this.

As mentioned in these screenshots, there is a pattern:

Luna approaches someone, usually someone with some sort of "value" - either with many followers, or because of their writing/art. (in some ways, I was the exception: she messaged me because we wrote an impromptu threadfic in replies) (this would later be turned into her fanfiction Mortifying Ordeal, once again without credit to me, which I didn't think to question at the time. )

She pulls them into her circle. When we were friends, it was "invite them to the server" - which may be dead now because I was the one usually working very hard to keep it from going dead. But this part features a lot of compliments, asking to sprint together, gushing about how she loves their work, messaging a lot, etc.

Then comes the part where she gets value out of someone. Last I heard, she was doing it through collabs.

Here is where it gets... fuzzy because this part is usually in DMs. But people I have spoken to have mentioned experiencing some form of manipulation or another, usually to satisfy Luna's ego - constantly comparing followers, statistics, etc. Or in my case, becoming a sort of sounding board, someone to be a cheerleader for her and constantly comfort whenever she needs it - but heaven forbid I ask for some comfort back.

Just to be clear: the amount of manipulation used varies person to person.

Since I was vulnerable and easily taken advantage of, she used a heavy hand with me: which is why she was able to completely destroy me in such a relatively short amount of time.

If you are someone who is older, or has more "star power", maybe you haven't noticed these things! Or she hasn't felt the need to use it on you! Or you are special, or I am somehow mistaken about everything.

There is a very good reason why, in our final conversation, I pointed out she would not be acting the same way toward me if I was older and had "popularity."

At the end of the day, Luna is someone who, when allowed power over someone else, uses it to hurt people over and over again.

I expect her response to be something like this: Pick a point or two to focus on, ones where it was harder to find proof, or ones where I did not think to include some related conversation beforehand. Make her entire point around that. Claim I am trying to hurt her; paint herself as the victim. Vent to everyone around it, make very sad posts, share her inevitable "defense" with everyone. (If I'm wrong, I'm gonna donate $20 to charity. Not joking.)

As mentioned before, this isn't a call for "cancelling" or whatever. First and foremost, it is a PSA, a way to show these techniques and to help people guard against them more effectively. Second of all, it is a way for me to heal: the nature of everything made it hard to talk about these things openly without having proof lined up. By making this post, I am allowing myself to open up, to be clear about my boundaries, to be able to be honest with people and say "sorry, I can't follow you because you reblog her stuff sometimes and that makes me have panic attacks." Yes, there is some small amount of petty satisfaction to be made making this post; but that is only its very last purpose.

I want to end the post on some positive information:

I am doing alright now. I was able to move out in March and adopted a kitty in April. I am in therapy and have been able to discuss this whole issue extensively. I have a close friend group within the fandom now, who I have been able to rely on, again and again. Thank you so much, everyone - you know who you are <3

And I was going to end with an image of the kitty but :c hit image limit. So, have a good day, everyone.

#hawkshadow #vegaspete #kinnporsche the series #fandom stuff #fandom drama

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wishingly-mesh · 4 months

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I'm glad I'm not the only one who loves Reiko/Rain, I feel so happy everytime when I see your arts 🙏💖💖💖 you're amazing I love you 😭💞💞

(Do you have some cute headcanons about them??)

(And and do you play the game??)

HIII YEEESSSS, so funny you where the one who got me into it :] looking up rain and seeing your reiko rain stuff and suddenly it was my OTP lmao but yeeessss I DOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! so many

childhood friends since the General brought him in. Reiko as a kid basically attached to Zeffeero like a magnet and Zeffeero became a safe space while he grew up.

they where around like, 18 (or the outworld equivilant) when they first kissed. during some holiday or festival and they left all the crowds to steal some food from the kitchen or something in the palace and it was like a "I wonder what it would be like to kiss." kinda situation

Reiko is a massive softie to zeffeero, and to zeffeero specifically. bro grew up with him bro knows every dumb and embarrassing thing he's done.

vise versa, Reiko still pokes fun at Zeffeero for things hes done when they where kids

Reiko calls Zeffeero "Zeff", if hes upset he'll call him Rain in the most "Fuck you" voice.

Zeffeero fell first but has the ability to tell if he likes someone equal to a goldfish.

Reiko fell second and he couldnt sleep for weeks.

(kinda sad) the last time the two talked before the events of the story, Reiko came to Zeffeero asking for help when polishing his armor. They chatted about the tournament and ended up spending the entire day together. they didnt talk again after that until they ran into each other post story. "why are you following me?" "the general still needs your skill" (not exact quote but yknow)

Zeffeero used to go to Reiko first every time he got injured cause Reiko said he needed to get better at fixing injuries. Zeffeero wanted to help. he ended up with a lot of ugly scars.

Reiko was a troublemaker as a kid, Zeffero had to get him out of a lot of trouble.

the roles switched when they became teenagers. Zeffeeros growing ambition caused him to do stupid things.

Reiko is bisexual, Zeffero is Asexual and Demiromantic.

Zeffeero has a stuffed goldfish (the one mk11 rain gets in his friendship) Reiko called it "Gibby" and the name stuck.

And no i don't play T_T I own MK11 and X but I dont own anything that can run MK1 but the switch (and its not worth $70 for those graphics) that and I'm really bad at fighting games (I like bullet-hell's and platformer's)

I have so many headcannons for them its crazy. I think about them so much :3

mk11 rain is my favorite character in the entire franchise though so im not complaining :3

#I HAVE SOOOOOO MANY HEADCANNONS ABOUT THEM FR FR #mk rain #mk reiko #reiko x rain #zeffeero #mk1 zeffeero #mk1 rain #mk1 reiko #i could literally talk about them for hours #And i will if given the chance #:3

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inevitably-johnlocked · 1 year

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Hey! I was wondering if you know any fic where Sherlock and John have an actual conversation in TEH where they sit down and discuss their feelings? I know that’s not very much like them at all (and that’s why they didn’t do it lol) but I would love to see it to heal by heart a little bit.

Tbh I just needed them to come back slowly to what they were before and I feel like they never quite did *cries*

Thank you! (and sorry for all the long text)

Hey Nonny!

Ahhh, funnily enough, I THOUGHT I did have a list, but apparently not one dedicated specifically to them actually talking, LOL! I think it's because I consider them to be "confession" fics instead :P So let's start a new list! Yay! I just perused for the "communication" tag, so enjoy!"

Enjoy!

COMMUNICATION

See also:

Love Confessions / Slow Burn / Dev. Rel. (Fluff Version)

/ Love Confessions, Slow Burn & Dev. Rel. Pt. 2 /

Love Confessions Pt. 3

Love Confessions Pt. 4

Love Confessions Pt. 5

Christmas-Time Love Confessions

Arguments Lead to Confessions

Arguments Lead to Confessions Pt 2.

Communication (Swissmiss list)

Green Carnation by glenien (T, 2,616 w., 1 Ch. || Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Meta-Fic, Angst and Fluff, Communication, Post-TAB) – John takes Sherlock home. Part 1 of It’s No Longer Eighteen Ninety-Five

Measuring Damage With the Fujita Scale by teahigh (T, 3,548 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss / Time, Vacation / Holidays, Friends to Lovers, Bed-Sharing, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock POV, Angsty Fluff, Scars, Awkward Talks) – John goes back into town, into the storm, and Sherlock realises he forgot to say, “I just want to be alone with you.”

MR# 1430155 by blueink3 (T, 3,560 w., 1 Ch. || Talks of Parentlock, Baby Watson, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Fluff and Angst) – John paces the length of the not inconsiderable hallway and glances at his phone for the tenth time since he exited the hospital room seven minutes ago. Sherlock’s last text was sent at 5:06pm. It is now 5:39pm. He should be here by now. After all, his daughter is 46-minutes-old and if John is going to share this momentous event with someone, it sure as hell isn’t going to be the woman who just gave birth to her. Part 5 of Tumblr Prompts

Stranded by BeautifulFiction (T, 5,798 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss, Communication / Relationship Discussion, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock POV, BAMF John, Doctor John, Case Fic, Drinking, Huddling For Warmth, Friends to More) – When stranded on a derelict barge at high tide, John and Sherlock reconsider their friendship.

Permanent Fixture by vitruvianwatson (E, 18,836 w., 9 Ch || Post-S4, Parentlock, Slow Build, Friends to Lovers, They’re Good Parents, Blushing Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Explicit Consent, Sexual Content, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Big Feelings, Crying, Fluff, Anxious Sherlock, Inexperienced Sherlock, Emotional Communication, Love Confessions) – Now, as Rosie sat curled up against Sherlock’s side, John watched and wondered exactly how he had ended up here. Domesticity had never suited him before, not at any point in his life. His disastrous marriage had been proof of that. But somehow, here in the warmth and safety of 221B Baker Street, here with Sherlock Holmes reading medical jargon to his daughter, Sherlock’s bony feet nudging against his leg, John couldn’t imagine anyplace that would make him happier.

At the Heart of it All by SilentAuror (E, 19,823 w., 1 Ch. || Virgin Sherlock, Post S3, POV John, Domestics, First Time, Kissing, Romance) – John has been back at Baker Street for four months now and thinks it's about time they had the Talk to see whether or not they could be more than friends. Sherlock has a lot of uncertainty about this concept for multiple reasons. Unabashed romance.

LHR-HNL by scullyseviltwin (E, 35,066 w., 7 Ch. || Hawaiian Vacation, Post-TRF, Friends To Lovers, Slow Burn, Just Talk Already, Drinking, Mutual Pining) – In need of an endangered flora sample, Sherlock and John must make a trip to an unexpected destination.

You Have Drawn Red From My Hands by J_Baillier (T, 67,085 w., 17 Ch. || Three Garridebs, Heavy John Whump, Hurt / Comfort, Pining, Heavy Angst, Case Fic/Adventure, Slow Burn, Sick Fic, Injury, Guilt & Depression, Just Talk Already Please, Medical Realism, PTSD) – John getting injured leads Sherlock on a path of guilt and revelations.

The Bang and the Clatter by earlgreytea68 (M, 137,049 w., 37 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Baseball AU || Slow Burn / Developing Relationship, Possessive/Obsessive Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Mutual Pining, Body Appreciation, Depression, Closeted Sexuality, Family, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Ogling Each Other, Anxious Sherlock, Panic Attack, Drunkenness, Talk of Forever, Big Feelings™) – Sherlock Holmes is a pitcher and John Watson is a catcher. No, no, no, it's a baseball AU. Part 1 of Baseball

MARKED FOR LATER

Everything by glass_rose_paperweight (G, 1,603 w., 1 Ch. || Post-T6T, Angst, Pre-Slash, Communication) – Sherlock is devastated after Mary is shot and John's world falls apart. He is devastated further by Molly delivering the news that John has decided to cut Sherlock out of his life. But what if Sherlock didn't just take it? What if he got justifiably angry and burst into the flat to give John a piece of his mind?

The Norwood Bewilderment by Long_Time_QT (G, 4,128 w., 1 Ch. || Early S2 Fic, Asexual John, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Romantic Fluff, Communication) – Sherlock was strangely quiet for the cab ride home, and John wasn’t about to break the oppressive silence before they reached the privacy of their own flat. Instead, he went over the moment in his head, playing it on repeat. There was no mistaking it. They had definitely and irrefutably kissed. Or rather, Sherlock had kissed John. But it was a kiss nonetheless. A sudden, passionate, heat-of-the-moment kiss. And he’d liked it.

Never Been Better by LoloLolly (G, 4,913 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TSo3, Missing Scene, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Drug Use, Oblivious John, Concerned John, Communication, Alternation POVs, Angst) – John gets married. Sherlock leaves the wedding reception early, but he’s fine. Fine. The seven percent solution? It helps him think. If only Baker Street didn’t seem so empty. But he’s perfectly okay. Never been better, in fact. Never been better.

Stranded by BeautifulFiction (T, 5,798 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss, Relationship Discussion, Communication, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock Whump, Doctor John, Huddling for Warmth, BAMF John, Case Fic, Drinking) – Do you think we’re less than that – best friends? Or more?’ John’s head pulled back, and the look he received suggested John was seriously wondering how someone so intelligent could be so stupid. ‘Well, definitely not less.’ When stranded on a derelict barge at high tide, John and Sherlock reconsider their friendship.

Olivia by poechild (T, 6,446 w., 1 Ch. || Post S3/Mary, Mary’s/Baby’s Dead, Caring John, Crying Sherlock, Emotions, Talking, Communication, Protective John, Friendship, Past Child Death) – John discovers something about Sherlock's past that brings up many much needed conversations.

The Rainbow Connection by honeybee_motorcyles (M, 13,161 w., 7 Ch. || Post-TRF, Autistic Sherlock, American Road Trip, Understanding, Communication, PTSD Sherlock, Regression, Aspergers, Angst and Fluff) – A Road Trip is the best cure for Sherlock and John's relationship.

Hot Water Bottle by khorazir (T, 18,436 w., 1 Ch. || Post TLD / TFP Doesn’t Exist, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings, Communication, Demisexual Sherlock, Bisexual John, Autumn, Bed Sharing, Developing Relationship, First Kiss) – A case in one of the remotest corners of the Lake District, a storm, an inn, a broken boiler, a room with two beds but only one hot water bottle, and two men who have a lot to sort out between them – all of this makes for a night to remember.

Loosed Reins by AggressiveWhenStartled (E, 35,095 w., 11 Ch. || Fighting, BAMF John, Explicit Consent, Safe Sex, Power Dynamics, Arguing About Feelings, Communication) – “You’ve stuffed an entire body into the fridge this time,” John accused. “What happened to the milk? The leftover risotto? My bloody jam?” Sherlock opened his eyes at that. “As a doctor, it should be readily apparent to you that there is only a partial body in our refrigerator. Popular horror stories notwithstanding, it’s rare for an entire corpse to fit into one this size. I had to cut it up into several parts to pack it in, and there is still only seven eighths of it there.” John stared at the ceiling. “That’s... not better.” Part 1 of Arguing and Corpses

In Bed by Ellipsical (E, 46,922 w., 12 Ch. || Autofellatio, Vibrators, Rimming, Blow Jobs, Coming Out, Liminal Identities, Christmas, Sex Toys, Sexual Fantasy, Fingering, Jealous John, Therapy, Flirting, Texting, Fluff, Sherlock’s Violin, Anal, Est. Rel., Semi-Public Sex, Harry Watson, Communication, Coming in Pants, Spitroasting, Double Penetration, Dirty Talk, Internalized Homophobia, Self-Acceptance, Happy Ending, PTSD John, Coping Mechanisms, Angst, Hurt/Comfort) – It’s almost Christmas, John thinks, and this, this is bullshit. The epilogue to Guilty Secrets. Part 2 of Guilty Secrets

The Night Is Darkest by missselene (E, 48,461 w., 8 Ch. || Post-TLD, Extremely Dub Con, S4 Rage Monster John, Insecure Sherlock, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Exploration, Healing, Self Care, Self Acceptance, Sexual Exploration, Casual Sex, Gentle Sex, Sherlock/OMC, Threesome with 2 OMCs, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Communication, Internalized Homophobia, Relationship Negotiation) – Sherlock Holmes would do anything for John Watson... and that includes letting John do whatever he wants to him. What would it take for Sherlock to stand up for himself and finally start taking care of his own needs?

The Noble Heart by All_I_need (E, 98,574 w., 27 Ch. || S3 Fix It, Minor Character Death, Slow Burn, Grief, Pining Sherlock, Bed Sharing, Hurt/Comfort, Communication, Fluff, Mary is Not Nice, Massages, Friends to Lovers) – When John's wedding gets horribly derailed on the big day itself, it falls to Sherlock to help him pick up the pieces, even if it means letting others do the sleuthing for once. But as the police embarks on what looks like a simple murder investigation, the case soon turns into something else entirely as more and more details about Mary's life emerge. But Mary wasn't the only person keeping secrets and Sherlock knows it's only a matter of time until his own will come to light.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #my fic recs #communication fics #love confession fics

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cellythefloshie · 1 year

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;; 12 Days of Kinkmas Day 11 - Road Wife Holiday Special - New Years Eve

Summary: The organization throws a hell of a New Years party, but you struggle to find your place in a room full of coworkers, players and their wives - and a new years party is never complete without a new years kiss. Notes: This oneshot is written as an independent piece and has no influence on the main plot of the Road Wife series. Featured Players: Anthony Cirelli, Mathieu Joseph, Alex Killorn (mentioned), Brayden Point, Ross Colton Kinks & TW: alcohol, excessive drinking, anxiety/depression type themes, loneliness, mentions of sex work and infidelity. Word Count: 3379

TAGLIST : @wingedwheelprxncess @mitchymainer @equallyshaw @starshine-hockey-girl @beccaiscold @samanthasgone

Unlike the holiday party, which was very much family-friendly, the Tampa Bay Lightning organization liked to go all out for New Year's Eve. They hadn’t just set up entertainment and an early dinner this time, no, they had rented a hall to ring in the new year. Complete with catering, an open bar and a semi-formal dress code you instantly felt out of place. You walked in through the doors without a date on your arm, your clutch bag held tight in your hand as the room consumed you. In an instant, you felt as if your dress was constricting around your chest - even though you had bought it specifically for the event, and the dress fit your body perfectly - and all you could do was tell yourself that the feeling would pass as you moved further into the grand room filled with strangers.

Sure, you were more than acquainted with the players, but tonight they were accompanied by their wives. You would not be needed, nor would the wives want you around, and so you were left to the wolves. Also known as, your colleagues: the media team. The team was great, welcoming and always excited to have you tag along when they would go out to explore the cities the team was playing in during a long road trip - but you weren’t as close with them as you could be. Not when you had obligations to the team that they didn’t know about.

As you approached the table the team greeted you with smiles, if they had any suspicions of the role you helped with the team they hid it well - hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if they all knew as the players weren’t often discrete on the plane ride from one city to the next. And you could vividly remember a time you were sure Gabby Shirley had caught you with your clothes dishevelled as you left an appointment at the back of the plane. She had only smiled at you then, and it was the same smile she was giving you now as you approached the table - but this time it was paired with a welcoming hug.

“We were thinking you were going to bail on us!” Gabby spoke into your hair, her arms wrapped around you effortlessly, before s she pulled back and introduced you to her fiance. Then, her gaze wandered, her petite form looking around you as if someone has hidden behind you. “Where’s your date?”

You could feel your stomach sink at her words, your grip on your clutch sending your knuckles white as you forced a smile. Your words were more of a question than a statement once you found them, “I don’t have one?”

Taking your lower lip into your mouth, chewing it slowly and smudging your lipstick, you let your gaze fall on the table of your peers and their partners. They each wore the same look, caught somewhere between awkwardness and pity as they didn’t quite know how to feel about your situation - not that you could blame them, in the moment neither did you.

“No shame in that,” Gabby was quick to fill the silence as she found her seat at the table once more, “still so young, you have lots of time to find someone.”

As if you could taste her words, your tongue slid over the back of your teeth trying to rid your mouth of the sourness. It lingered as you tried to find just the right words to say, your gaze going astray to take in the sight of what all surrounded you, but instead of putting you at ease, it added to the reeling thoughts in your mind. Everywhere you looked you seemed to see one thing, and one thing only: one of the players and their wife or girlfriend. It stung, and not because you were jealous. No, you were never jealous of the relationship the players had with their wives. You respected it and were thankful that you had been a part of it. What you were was lonely.

As long as your name was inked on the contract, and you held the title of Road Wife, you wouldn’t be able to maintain a real relationship with anyone. Not a player, and definitely not an outsider. You would never get to show up at a team event on somebody’s arm, and tonight you would ultimately be ringing in the new year alone.

Forcing a smile, you settled into your seat and tried to ignore the empty seat beside you that was meant for your plus one that didn’t exist. It was then your eyes settled on your wine glass, and your smile became genuine if only for a moment for you knew that come diner service, your night was going to become much more enjoyable.

By the time the plates of dinner and dessert were cleared, you were pleasantly buzzed. It was enough to have you content with people watching from your seat - that was until the DJ started his set. The music flooded the room and it was met with cheers, including those from your own lips. You loved dancing, and you had consumed just the right amount of wine to want to be out on the dance floor in a room full of coworkers.

“That’s my queue,” you told your table as you drained the rest of your wine from your glass and placed it down on the tabletop beside your purse.

Your words earned cheers of encouragement from the media team as you stood up from the table, and kicked off your heels so they sat toppled against each other beneath your chair. The walk to the dance floor was almost dreamy, maybe you were a little more than buzzed, eyes falling on you as you pushed between crowded tables. When you took to the floor there had only been a few couples to have taken to it, their dancing subtle, almost lazy - especially when it came to dancing next to you. You danced like there was nobody watching when most of the room undoubtedly had their eyes on you. You didn’t hold back - for tonight you didn’t have to. You had no obligations, and zero worries about being hungover on the flight to New York come morning.

And apparently, neither had Tony.

You sobered up the moment you spotted him through the crowds. He was slumped over in his seat at his assigned dining table, wearing that same dead look he had last worn back at the boat parade when he had let the alcohol get the best of him. The whole room seemed to go quiet around you as you became still, even if the party was still raging with life, and you left the dance floor behind you. Careful strides took you back to the tables and you didn’t stop until you had dropped to your knees in front of Tony. You spoke his name in a gentle voice, one that was joined by the gentle touch of your hand over his thigh. You watched as he looked down at you, his dark curls falling down into his face as he managed a smile at the sight of you.

When he spoke your name, no matter how sweet he was trying to sound, there was no hiding how he slurred and how his breath stunk of alcohol. “Tony,” you sighed out, almost disappointed as you reached a hand out to stroke over the paled flesh of his cheek. He was so far gone, not even the pitcher of water on the table could save him. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that he would be ringing in the new year with his head in a toilet bowl and you were determined to be the one to take care of him.

“We need to get you home, Tony,” you told him gently, and you watched his lips curl up at the idea of taking you home.

“Killorn’s outside with the cab-” Mathieu speaks up from behind you, drawing your attention away from Tony for a moment.

You offer him a thankful smile, you could always count on them to take care of each other. “Let me just grab my things and I-”

Mathieu said your name softly, offering you a hand to help you up from the floor, “you don’t have to do all this,” his words made your stomach knot and your lips parted to insist but he was quick to silence you with his own words, “you do so much for us already, and Tony’s not going to remember this night in the morning - but if he wakes up and sees that you had to spend the night taking care of him instead of being here celebrating with everyone,” Mathieu sighed, shaking his head as he looked down at his closest friend, “he wouldn’t want that for you. Not when you could be here having fun with everyone,” and then his voice dropped so that only you could hear, “looking that good shouldn’t be wasted on his bedroom tonight.”

“At least let me help take him out to the cab,” you spoke out, your words desperate as Mathieu leaned in to slide an arm under and around Tony to hoist him up from his seat.

“You don’t have shoes on,” Mathieu told you firmly, offering you a sorry look, “he’s in good hands. I’ll take good care of him.”

Knees aching against the floor where you knelt, you watched Mathieu leads Tony off and through the party with his staggered steps the only thing holding them back. You remained there, watching them as they went until they had been lost in the crowd and had fallen out of your line of sight - and suddenly the party seemed all the more overwhelming now.

Your focus had been drawn back to reality, the music no longer backgrounds noise for your mere moment with Tony. The dance floor was crowded now and was much more intimidating than it had been when you had walked onto it fueled by the confidence only wine could have given you. With the confidence having faded, there was only one logical thing to do: Get another drink.

The lines around the many bars stations around the hall were winding as many of the guests in attendance had migrated from the dinner tables to mingle with coworkers, friends, and family over drinks. You blended right into them, the conversations and music around you a symphony in your ears. You didn’t listen to any one thing in particular, not the lyrics of the song, or the conversations behind had in front or behind you as you shuffled forward with each passing drink order. That was until you felt the touch of a warm hand against your back and the sweet breath of words against your cheek.

“You look stunning, darling.”

You tensed slightly as you cast a glance to the right, taking in the sight of Brayden as he stood with his hand on your lower back as if it weren’t something out of the ordinary. His dress shirt was already loose around the collar, his jacket and tie were already lost, and his hair was already falling into the shaggy mess you were used to seeing.

“Something tells me you just didn’t want to go to the back of the line,” you teased him, taking in a slow breath to try to put your body at ease.

Brayden smirked, his bright eyes dropping to the floor as his hand slipped down a little lower on your back to stroke over the expanse just above your ass casually. When he let his gaze rise again, he leaned in close and let his voice drop down to a whisper, “can’t a man just want to enjoy a drink with his wife?”

Your cheeks grew so hot that you were sure you were blushing and your lips parted as if to chastise him for saying something like that surrounded by people - for touching you like that when someone could so clearly see but you were rendered speechless as you came to the bar. It felt as if you were tripping over your tongue as you leaned up against the pop-up bar and ordered another glass of wine.

Your order left Brandon scoffing as he too pressed up against the bar. He leaned up against it with one arm, his hand resting over yours so causally it almost looked like an accident as he ordered two shots of Canadian whiskey and his favored drink to take back with him to his table - but Brayden wasn’t going to retreat until you had taken the shot with him. He held it out to you with a wide grin, his gaze narrowed yet playful.

“I shouldn’t-” You started to protest, but then your eyes settled on the deep amber alcohol in the small, disposable, plastic cup. You knew better than to mix your alcohol, but if you already planned on being hungover come morning, there really was no harm in it. “Yeah, okay. Okay, give it here.”

Your fingertips seemed to tingle as they brushed against his to secure the cup in your hold. You took it between two fingers, raising it up to him in a silent toast before bringing it to your lips and knocking it back in a single motion. As you sipped it, and Brayden sipped at his own, you held one another's gaze. The whiskey burned down your throat, and his stare sent your entire body ablaze. The feeling struck you, right through to your core and it left you choking - or maybe that was the alcohol? It left you smiling all the same as you lowered the small cup and abandoned it on a nearby cocktail table.

Brayden reached a handout, laughing as you coughed, and pat your upper arm with an endearing touch, “atta girl.”

His touch lingered as he retracted his hand, his coy smile wavering for a moment as he heard his wife calling out to him from a nearby table. “I was supposed to be getting her a drink,” he recalled, his head shaking as he realized that it had completely slipped his mind.

“I won't keep you,” you assured, stepping back so that you stood just out of his reach - and you smiled a little wider trying to hide how your lips threatened to falter into a frown. It was the second time you had watched someone walk away from you all evening and it sent your mind into a spiral. You hadn’t meant to be a distraction, especially with his wife in attendance. It sent your stomach sinking and your palms grew sweaty against the glass of wine in your hand. Then your skin was crawling and your chest became heavy with guilt. You needed a refuge, but it wouldn’t be found with the players, their wives or your colleagues. No, you needed a moment alone.

You found your solace outside where night blanketed the sky and the humid air had crisp and fresh on your face. The concrete was cool beneath your bare feet, but you paid no mind to it as you took slow, pacing steps up and down the length of the patio outside the venue. Time was lost as you enjoyed the patio, your eyes fixated on the city skyline beyond and how its lights glimmered brighter than the stars in the sky - but soon even they would be outshone as the time was winding closer and closer to midnight and fireworks would soon kiss the skies.

Sipping your wine, you settled along the railing. The winds raised goosebumps over your flesh and sent chills down your spine. It had you contemplating going back inside for your coat, but you dismissed the idea. If you were going to enjoy one thing, it was going to be the fireworks even if you have to enjoy them alone-

Breaking your thoughts was the opening and closing of the patio doors behind you. At first, you didn’t look back, expecting a group to be coming out for some air or to prepare to watch the fireworks from the patio instead of through one of the many windows - but you only heard one pair of footsteps behind you. Curious, you cast a glance back, a curtain of hair falling over half of your face as it was caught in the wind, and your eyes settle on a familiar face.

“What are you doing out here, sweetheart?” Ross’ voice was as soft as the night sky as he abandoned the party behind him and approached you by the railing.

Biting your lower lip, you look back out over the city skyline, your shoulders giving off a lazy shrug in response to his question. You wanted to be able to tell him, or anyone really, how you felt - but you knew that there were only two people that would understand what you were going through: the road wife in St Louis, and the former wife of Tampa Bay. So you forced a half smile and didn’t let your eyes meet his as you heard the countdown begin inside. The new year was upon you.

“It seemed like a good place to watch the fireworks,” you told him, but he could hear the dejection in your voice and the sigh that followed.

Stepping forward, Ross spoke your name just loud enough to pull your eyes from the city and the skies. It was then you noticed just how close he was, and how he continued to steal the space between you. His hand reached up, stroking away the hair that had fallen over your face before his warm, gentle tough settled over your cheek. He stroked it slowly with his thumb, over the angle of your cheek and down over the length of your chin before grazing over your lip that had begun to swell oh so slightly from the own bite of your own teeth. The pad of his thumb against your lip had them falling open in the slightest of gasps, your eyes wide and glassy as they met his crystal gaze.

“Ross,” you muttered, his thumb falling to your chin as the countdown inside grew loud, and closer to one.

With his free hand Ross quickly found your hip, the silken fabrics of your dress wrinkling beneath his touch as he took hold of you. He drew you in with the smallest of steps until your body was flush against his, and then the countdown stuck the new year and the final breath between you was stollen and filled with a kiss. Ross’ lips descended down on you in a kiss that was far from something sweet. He was always someone who had kissed you with intent. There was not a single ounce of shyness in how his lips moved against yours with such familiarity and passion. He didn’t draw back to join in with the cheers, and neither of you flinched back as the sky was filled with the fizzling color of the fireworks. Instead, his thumb was pressing against your chin, drawing your mouth open to invite the stroke of his tongue. You near groaned at the flavors of him, a sweet mix of citrus, vanilla and vodka flooding your taste buds before he drew back, leaving you breathless.

You stood in front of him, lips parted as you found your breath, and you watched the colors of the fireworks as their light was cast over his face. He wore that same cocky smile you had given you the very first night you had met during his rookie season as he stripped off his blazer. Reaching out, he draped it over your shoulders to keep you from the night’s breeze. You couldn’t help but admire him for a moment. With just a single action every feeling of doubt, and loneliness had faded. A small, thankful smile blossomed over your features because of him, and you welcomed the warm touch of his hand lacing with yours. You welcomed it’s hold, giving his hand a careful squeeze, and together the two of you stood and watched as the fireworks painted the night sky.

#ross colton #anthony cirelli #mathieu joseph #alex killorn #brayden point #;; the road wife - holiday special #;;kinkmas2022 #hockey smut #hockey players #hockey imagines #hockey rpf #nhl rpf

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elijahlittle · 1 year

Note

dad julian hcs? :)

Sorry I haven't been answering requests as much lately, work has been hell. Even so, I wanted to answer this one because I think about dad!julian a lot.

I think that Julian isn't as hard of a dad as he pretends to be. I think he's a big softie. I think if he had the money, he would buy things for his child. I don't think he'd buy everything the kid wanted, because Julian is always in the business of saving money, but I think he'd spoil his child a bit - boy or girl.

I think, though, that Julian treats boys differently than girls. I think that's just in his nature. I think he'd be very overprotective of a girl, because he knows how terrible boys can be (he was one of those terrible boys) but I also think he'd be equally as stern with a boy. Either way, he doesn't want his kid going down the same path he did.

Julian stresses the importance of school all of the time. He wants his kids to go to college and even has a savings jar for them. I think that he'd actually kind of be a hard-ass and push his kid towards a more lucrative career, something like a doctor or lawyer. If his kid wanted to do something less lucrative, like art, it'd be a really big fight. I think Julian is the kind of person to be like "either you're going to go to a career that can make you money or you're going to make your own career." I think it'd cause a big fight between you and Julian honestly, but eventually you'd probably convince him to just support the kid no matter what they wanted to do. "If they're going to be an artist, at least let them be an artist without crazy debt." Despite how ardently against art he is, if he had a child that was an artist he'd keep every painting and show up to every art showing.

Julian is the kind of dad to show up to every event. He strikes me as the guy who just didn't have parents who were present in his life.

Julian would definitely give their kid a bit of daddy issues, I'm sorry. A man like that doesn't just change overnight. I think he's quick to punish and ground his kid, specifically for misbehaving in school. He just desperately wants his kids to be successful.

Julian is a very affectionate father, I feel. He likes to hug and kiss his kids and isn't afraid to express fatherly affection. Throughout the series, Julian has always openly held his partner's hand, hugged them, or kissed them in front of others. I think that dad!Julian would be disgusting affection with you to the point where his kids would be like 'ew, gross'.

It doesn't matter what school event there is, Julian is always there. He's literally at every single: holiday party, open house, meet the teacher, choir concert, art showing, sports event - you name it, he's there.

He's the kind of guy to like to take his kids on trips. I actually like the idea that Julian is finally able to take that cruise with everyone like he intended before he landed in jail. I think going on a cruise with his kids, partner, and chosen family is actually a really big deal for him. It's a big fucking mess and everyone traumatizes the cruise ship but it's fun.

Dad!Julian taking his family to Disney Land. I just imagine this big fucking muscly guy in fucking Mickey Mouse ears because his kids wanted him to wear it. Excellent.

On a more emotional note, I think the only way Julian would stop drinking would be if he became a dad. I think his kid would ask him about the glass he always carries around and that simple question would rock him so much he'd work on putting it down. It'd be a long time before he finally kicks it (alcoholism is a bitch), but he'd do it for his kids. (Edit: someone wonderful in the comments mentioned julian would carry around a cup of coke instead and I love it so much, I’m going to add that thought up here to read)

Christmastime is a fucking nightmare, but I think he'd go from hating Christmas (I feel like Julian has Christmas trauma) to enjoying to take his family to see all of the Christmas lights and shit. Everyone goes to Julian's for Christmas and he's kind of sick of it, but also secretly loves it.

He'd definitely chew out his kid for getting caught smoking pot and doing drugs. He won't tolerate it.

Dad!Julian crying when his kids move out of the hosue

Dad!Julian always loading his college-aged kids down with food to take back when they come to visit.

Dad!Julian letting his kids help Bubbles fix up shopping carts

Dad!Julian losing his shit on Ricky because he left his kids with Ricky for literally five minutes so he could take something to a neighbor across the street and he comes back to an absolute shit-fest in his kitchen

Dad!Julian grilling all of his kid's prospective boyfriends/girlfriends/partners regardless of gender

LGBT Dad Julian has the pride flag in his lawn for gay kids. He doesn't exactly understand the pride flag but it's important to his kids.

Dad!Julian rubbing his partner's feet after a long day of walking and working :(((((( so sweet :))))

Julian definitely gets in trouble with the law for threatening a teacher who was bullying his kid, fr.

LMAO DAD!JULIAN IN THE PARENT TEACHER ORGANIZATION. All of the parents think he's really hot and he finds it annoying because he just wants to spend time with his family, not be oggled over by parents and stuff.

Dad!Julian dressing up as Santa LMFAO

Are these okay? I have some more, but these were my favorite ones I thought of.

#julian x reader tpb #tpb julian #trailer park boys x reader #julian jules #julian x you #trailer park boys x you #tpb x you #julian x you tpb

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imaginejamesandsirius · 2 years

Note

Good ole fashion fake dating turning into getting together fic? Any other details are totally up to you!

When James suggests it for the first time, Sirius bursts out laughing.

It’s self-defence; the words James and dating, as far as Sirius is concerned—and he is, in this specific scenario—should not go together.

Or well, they specifically shouldn’t as long as the small but painfully annoying adjective ‘fake’ prefaces the ‘dating.’

So Sirius laughs, and James doesn’t, and it dawns on him that this stupid bloody mission Moody is sending them on has just got a whole lot more dangerous.

“You can’t be serious,” he says, because sure, James clearly has warmed to the idea enough already that talking him back out of it will be a pain, but what the hell. “What kind of sense does that even make?”

James shrugs, and it should look stupid with how he is stretched out on the floor of their living room, but of course it doesn’t. “Think about it; a couple would be far less suspicious than two strangely co-dependent friends—”

“We’re not co-dependent; we’re—”

“Sirius. Do you really want to go there?”

He grimaces. “Yeah, probably not. Not like we’re going to tell a bunch of Death Eaters about that though, are we?”

“Not yet Death Eaters,” James says, wriggling his long fingers at Sirius. “That’s the point, after all, or at least part of—”

“I know what the point is. I also know that it’s one of the most dangerous missions the damned Order has ever come up with, which is the only reason we got it because no one else would be stupid enough to agree to five days on a boat with the Dark Lord’s recruiters and those interested. The point is—”

“You were the one to say it would be fun.”

“I’m still the one who thinks it’s going to be fun,” Sirius says, incredibly patient if anyone were to ask him. “It’s going to be far more fun, though, if we do not have to be a sickeningly sweet couple that, for some fucking reason, thinks that a romantic getaway includes megalomaniac fantasies about world-domination and genocide.”

Pushing himself up, James rolls his eyes. “No one said anything about being a sickeningly sweet couple, it’s just easier to explain why we have to stick together that way. You don’t have to snog me, you prick; why does this even bother you so much?”

Well, and that’s the fucking question, isn’t it, the one that Sirius can’t answer no matter how badly the words are pressing against the back of his teeth. “It doesn’t,” he lies, and it should have become easy by now, after five godforsaken years of it, but it still feels like someone is crushing Sirius’ heart beneath their boot.

He lets his head loll on the backrest of the sofa and drags up a smirk. “If you wanted me to be your boyfriend so badly, you could’ve just said, babe.”

James tosses a pillow at him, a flush working its way up his throat. “You’re going to be so lucky if I don’t throw you off that boat myself.”

So, the first time James suggests it, Sirius laughs. Unfortunately but not that surprisingly, he also agrees; it’s likely that he’ll be the one to fling himself off the fucking boat.

As it turns out, the boat doesn’t leave from Sweden but from Denmark, and it isn’t a recruitment event for the Dark Lord posing as a holiday, but it’s a recruitment event, full stop.

The arm James has wrapped around Sirius’ waist, fingers curled almost possessively around his hipbone, makes it rather difficult to focus on any of that.

Which is just fantastic, because between the two of them, keeping secrets and being subtle aren’t exactly known to be their biggest strengths.

Or well, that’s probably more true for James. Sirius has grown up with secrets treated like currency, has tucked them away into the spaces between his ribs and has worn them like armour for everyone to see. Sirius knows secrets, and even with his family long since behind him, they cling to him as if they know him, too.

Sirius knows how to keep secrets; the big ones, the important ones. He has never had to test it, would rather like to keep it that way, but he doubts that there is anything anyone could do to him that would make him spill the ones that matter—about the Order and its business. The hiding place of his brother.

Sirius can deal with secrets if he has to, but it makes him careless with the rest. It is easier to keep them if people think he is a bad liar, yes, sure. It’s also exhausting, and so he spills what won’t cause an inferno of destruction, lets people smile indulgently or roll their eyes in exasperation, and get passed over on undercover missions.

Generally, it’s for the best, because the thing is, James can’t lie for shit, not in a way that doesn’t make it obvious that he’s lying. McGonagall might have pretended a few times, and the actual Death Eaters themselves know that they’re all lying, anyway, and so for the most part, it doesn’t matter if anyone knows that he does.

Which brings Sirius back to how he really should not be getting fucking distracted by James’ hands on him. As they step onto the boat, he forces himself to find at least three different ways to get out of here and reiterates the spell to create a portkey inside his head.

He trusts James, more than he trusts himself; he knows that this can either go horrifically well or horrifyingly wrong.

James' fingers dig into his hip, and Sirius smiles at the undescriptive man welcoming them without hearing a word he says.

It’s going to be a long, long week.

Their room is, of course, not actually a room but a fucking cabin. It has one bed. It’s ridiculously small.

“We’ve shared a bed at Hogwarts more than once. Don’t be such a snob,” James says, rolling his eyes. He looks fucking ecstatic to be here, which is the cherry on top of just—everything, really.

Sirius is the one who gets off on too much danger and stakes so high you could tie and burn someone on them. James is supposed to be the—arguably only slightly—more reasonable one. That’s how they work.

He’s not supposed to be excited to share a bed with Sirius, is the thing, because there are lines Sirius has drawn a long fucking time ago to keep himself sane, and those coincide with the time he stopped sharing a bed with James at Hogwarts.

Not that he’s going to explain that to James any time soon. Or ever, really.

“Whatever,” he says instead, kicking his bag out of the way so that the path between the bathroom and door is free. You never know. “Come on, we should probably go and mingle, as the kids call it these days. Do you have your ring?”

Sirius can easily admit that he isn’t the most careful person, but the rings are what allow them to be here and blend in at all. It’s some complicated bit of magic that James, Sirius, and Lily had come up with on Dumbledore’s orders. It basically combines a glamour for the wearer, a counterspell for glamours and other disguises on everyone else, and a very mild Confundus that will keep people from questioning the wearer’s identity too much.

In short, they are a wet dream for anyone on an undercover mission and, considering that both he and James have become a bit infamous amongst the Death Eaters, their life insurance for this week.

“Of course,” James says, rolling his eyes. He steps in front of the door before Sirius can leave, crossing his arms over his chest. “What is up with you anyway? You’ve been… off, the last week.”

And that’s really not fucking fair, because yeah, Sirius has been off, and he has good reasons, but if there is one thing he has always been utterly, ridiculously helpless against, it is James all serious and concerned and bloody earnest.

It’s tragically pathetic how easily he folds as soon as that small crease appears between James’ brows, his eyes warm and intent on Sirius’ face. Honestly, he is half-convinced that none of this would be a problem in the first place if James wasn’t so goddamn fucking caring beneath all of it; Sirius would have been fine then. He can handle pretty people; what he can’t handle is James being James.

He tips his head back and stares at the low ceiling of their cabin. It’s a horrible, boring beige. The least the Dark Lord could do would be to offer some unique decoration, really, but even Grimmauld Place has more charm than this place.

“It’s nothing,” he finally says, looking back at James. “Or well, not nothing but—you know. Ship full of Death Eaters. Important mission—war-changing, one might say—”

“Stop lying to me,” James says, and he says it like a fact. Says it without accusation but not without hurt, and the latter is enough to punch the air right out of Sirius’ lungs. “We both know that this isn’t you being nervous about the mission; if you don’t want to tell me, don’t tell me, but don’t be a fucking prick about it.”

They’ve been here for less than an hour, and the desire to fling himself out of the next-best window is already strong. Or a drink; a drink would be a great alternative.

“I don’t want to tell you,” Sirius says, and it feels cruel, feels like crossing a line he has never had to cross before. He has become great at side-stepping or withdrawing, at distracting James from how he keeps careful boundaries between them that assure he can keep his best friend without losing his sanity to some godforsaken misplaced pining.

Of course, it would be a boat belonging to the Dark Lord that would finally get him to fuck up. Of course, it would be.

James’ mouth twists unhappily, but he tilts his chin up, and attempts a smile that looks so horribly out of place, Sirius wants to—

Well, it’s better if he doesn’t go there. It looks horrible, is the thing, and James has never been able to lie for shit, and coming here was the worst decision Sirius has ever made.

Which is saying something. It’s really saying something.

He could apologise—should, most likely—but what’s the point. He’s not sorry that he won’t tell James; he is only sorry that he had to admit it in the first place.

Or well, that is only part of the truth, he supposes. He’s sorry that he had to go and fall for his best friend, and that five fucking years have done shit to resolve that. He’s sorry that for all his recklessness, he’s too much of a coward to either admit it or move on.

“Alright,” James says, and he is watching Sirius closely, using that tone of voice that tells Sirius that it is, in fact, very much not alright.

James has always been able to read him like an open book, and it has taken Sirius years to figure out how to lock pieces of himself away from him. Sirius has always been able to read James like an open book, too; he’s not sure whether James has ever tried to hide anything from him.

Isn’t sure whether he wants to know if James did either, because that would say a lot of things about their friendship that Sirius never allowed himself to think about.

It’s hypocritical, and the hurt gleam in James’ eyes is almost enough to make Sirius spill his guts because, again, pathetic. He mentally shakes himself and grins. “Doesn’t mean we’re not still on a mission; come on, if we’re lucky, we might even find a drink in this godforsaken place.”

James smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes even as he moves away from the door. Sirius slings his arm around his neck and hopes that there is either alcohol or a fight waiting that he can drown the guilt in.

If either of them had expected maniacal laughter and blatantly evil plotting at every corner, they would be sorely disappointed. Luckily, they both know better.

At first glance, the spectacle playing out in the dining room, with its tacky decorations on the stained tablecloths and mismatched silverware, reminds him more of a coffee party meant to bridge generational gaps than anything that could be remotely related to the Dark Lord.

At second glance, it is obvious, though. Everyone in attendance is so painfully a Pureblood that Sirius wants to retch, and the atmosphere in the air makes the hairs at the back of his neck stand up. Small groups are whispering amongst themselves in the dimly lit corners, and he already has at least four people on his radar to keep a closer eye on.

If he was an idiot, though, it would look like a coffee party. And everyone seems to treat it as such, too, which is probably the worst part about it.

“You two are so darling,” an elderly lady tells them—Albury, Sirius knows, because he has been trained to remember names before he could write—and it is that specific brand of condescension that only homophobic Purebloods can pull off. “It’s so admirable to keep it amongst the right families, you know, even if it means to compromise.”

The fury in Sirius’ blood boils so brightly that he cannot speak. James' fingers curling around his wrist equally do and do not help.

It goes like this; some don’t care that they are—supposedly—a couple. Sirius likes those best, which isn’t saying much because they’re still bastards, of course, but he has left any claims to pickiness at the gangway. And so what if he’s playing favourites. Sue him.

Then there are those who clearly carry that specific kind of Pureblood paranoia in their blood that Sirius is, unfortunately, far too familiar with. They are the ones who affirm James’ claim that the two of them are considered with far less suspicion once people notice the possessive hand James presses to the small of Sirius’ back or the way Sirius leans in too close when he points something out to James, brushing his lips against the shell of James’ ear.

Fuck him, he’s only human. He had been against this for a reason, and even Sirius has only so much self-restraint. Now James’ hands seem intent on always finding a part of Sirius to touch, and suddenly Sirius is allowed; suddenly he is expected to reciprocate, to not constantly question every single touch he bestows on James, and it’s—

Well, it’s heady as fuck, and disappointingly boring pensioner ship aside, the Dark Lord has at least provided proper whiskey and wine, which really does not help.

Fuck him, Sirius is only human, and so he curls his fingers around James’ wrist when he presses his hand to Sirius’ hip and counts the beats of his pulse. He leans into James’ side as he hasn’t allowed himself since fifth year, all careless arms slung around shoulders and temples pressed to temples. He turns his head in when he whispers into James’ ear and allows himself to breathe; the scent of his shampoo and his aftershave, a hint of sweat underneath that makes his throat go dry.

In short, Sirius is digging his own fucking grave because he has spent five years keeping an ironclad grip on his yearning, and now it’s like James has been spread out before him, all the parts Sirius has denied himself offered with a smirk and a wink. Saying look, here is your excuse; you can finally indulge without feeling guilty about it, without the risk of giving yourself away.

It’s part of the game that James seems to be playing; look at him, he’s doing it, too. Look at how his fingers bury into your side, and how his body curves around yours. Look how his nose brushes along your jaw as he tells you about the men who keep disappearing, whispering amongst themselves. Look at how his ankle tangles with yours even though it’s out of sight, and how he sucks in a breath as you touch him, and how—

Yeah, Sirius is fucked. He knows this. Hell, he has known that before this started, but the skin of James’ arm is warm beneath his fingertips, and James’ breath is hot against his ear, and Sirius has always prided himself on his restraint, but this—

Well, it’s only been a few hours, so he is pretty sure that this is the week that will unmake him.

When the night is winding down, Sirius makes sure to down three glasses of whiskey, flashing his teeth in the mimicry of a smile at one of the older women when she watches him with distinct disapproval, and amuses himself by whispering into the skin behind James’ jaw, “Let’s go to bed, babe.”

The way James’ eyes glaze over slightly is a work of art, and also not at all what Sirius expected. He steps away before he can do something truly stupid, smirking for good measure.

He crawls into the narrow bed half an hour later with his heart in his teeth and exhaustion dragging at his limbs. He would be lying if he claimed that a small, traitorous part of himself isn’t looking forward to having James this close for an entire night.

Or maybe that is the whiskey speaking. Sirius has a hard time telling at this point.

He turns towards the wall and ignores James when he comes out of the bathroom, getting into bed behind Sirius. He ignores it when James’ hand hovers above his hip as if he is getting uncertain now, of all times.

When James does touch him, hesitant, Sirius' entire body tenses, every nerve ending firing up as if they haven’t just spent the last few hours testing out how far they could go until one of them finally breaks.

It would be a fun game, Sirius supposes as he inhales a slow, careful breath and tries to ignore the heat of James’ palm through his thin shirt, if it wasn’t their friendship and Sirius’ heart on the line. Not that he could separate the two, really, which might just be part of the fucking issue.

“Sirius,” James says, and it’s that unsure, questioning tone of his that Sirius can never stand because James isn’t supposed to sound like that, ever. Sirius would quite willingly severe one of his own limbs to make it stop.

He knows what this is about, though, and the one thing he cannot do is fucking talk about it.

So he turns back around, dislodging James’ hand from his hip but grabbing it in a tight grip. He rearranges them with a raised brow that just dares James to protest until they are curled into each other, James’ head on his shoulder and Sirius’ arm wrapped around his waist; as if they were still fourteen years old and could just do this without Sirius’ heart cracking and splintering along all the lines that loving James has left on it.

It's fine. He has always been a fucking idiot when it comes to James, and the uncertainty has bled out of James’ shoulders again, his breathing evening out. Really, what the hell does it matter if Sirius is more awake than he has ever been in his life.

Sirius does get some sleep, not even his bonfire heart able to keep sputtering wildly when beneath all of it, James has also always meant peace, even at the worst of times. He still feels like he has been run over by the night bus the next morning.

James merely smiles at him, not that devastating bright grin that Sirius knows all the dimples and flash of teeth of, but that small, private one that in his weaker moments, Sirius likes to believe to be his alone.

He has had a lot of time to take a painstaking inventory of all of James’ smiles, and this is still the one posing the biggest threat. It is still his favourite one, the one that makes him want to press his fingertips to the corner of James’ mouth, trace the line of it, climb its ridges like the steps of a temple and pay his worship at the altar that is James’ open mouth.

Sirius has always been horrible about not worshipping the ground that James walks on, and ever since he has fallen in love with him, he has been horrible, too, at not making James his religion.

There is an irony in this somewhere. Something about worship and people like him carving beliefs out of a person, in the face of gods that Sirius doesn’t care to examine too closely because his own world is fucked up enough, and he doesn’t need to add what the Muggles consider blasphemy to the record of his sins.

But James is sleep-rumpled and soft, his dark hair spilling over the pristine pillows, fingertips like brands against Sirius’ collarbone. Perhaps damning his own soul if only to be allowed to trail the tips of his fingers along the sharp edge of James’ jaw just once would really not be such a horrible price to pay.

James is James, and beneath the thin covers, their legs are tangled, and he looks at Sirius with that raw kind of affection that Sirius has never been able to stand.

It is all a bit much, Sirius’ heart punching against the constraints of his ribs from the inside, and James’ fingers like a caress against it from the outside. It is all too much, and Sirius can’t quite bear it because all his lines are blurring.

This is why he had erected boundaries between them, had carved them from iron and stone, one inch at a time so that James wouldn’t notice. So that Sirius could make sure that he wasn’t spiralling out of control faster than he could wrap his fingers around James’ wrist to prevent him from leaving.

It is all way too much, James’ smile soft and almost knowing, and Sirius pushes himself out of bed before he can so much as contemplate concepts as fatal and perilous as hope. Before he can give in to the urge of slipping his fingers into James’ hair and pulling him in, daring to find out, finally and for good, what would happen if he pressed his open mouth to James’ lips.

There are a lot of ways that could go, Sirius knows as the bathroom door slams shut behind him. None of them are going to end with his heart left in one piece, and their friendship intact.

Which in turn means it isn’t going to happen at all, no matter how badly Sirius’ heart seems to be devouring itself, burning and burning and burning.

Most of the day passes with presentations and speeches that seem to have been written with the sole purpose of boring Sirius to death. It is saying something, because the fucking Dark Lord is many things, but boring is not usually one of them.

The issue is that it is all predictable. It is all the same old droning on about Pureblood bullshit and the need to preserve traditions. As always, Sirius has to keep himself from asking what kinds of traditions beyond marrying your cousins and abusing the same house elf that your grandparents had abused people are even talking about.

It’s predictable. It could be coming straight out of the third-year Slytherin common room. It’s not nearly enough to warrant going to the trouble of chartering a ship and inviting thirty people on a trip, in the hopes of finding a handful of mediocre recruits.

Loath as Sirius is to admit it, it isn’t exactly like the Dark Lord is struggling to fill his ranks. Which means that this is a cover, which means that Dumbledore was right, which means that Sirius and James are exactly where they are meant to be, and things are finally about to get interesting.

James slips his hand into Sirius’ own, tapping a slow, lazy rhythm against the palm of his hand. Despite the way Sirius’ entire arm is tingling, he still recognises it all too well; back when they hadn’t yet created the map, before the two-way mirrors and becoming Animagi, they had come up with a basic way to communicate wordlessly.

Not even Remus and Peter knew about it, not that he and James ever had a good reason to keep it from them. It didn’t even start on purpose, started with James’ hand resting on Sirius’ neck, and an aimless rhythm tapped against his shoulder. It started with Sirius curling his hand around James’s wrist, pressing an acquiescence against the steady drum of James’ pulse and somehow, instinctively, both of them understanding.

The memory of it is old but sharp, almost overwhelming, and Sirius moves his hand until James’ fingers slot between his. He is aching for all the things they have lost because he couldn’t help but love James in the wrong way, because he couldn’t help but let go, hiding behind glass and parchment and a war that has never once made him want to step away from James but has always served as a marvellous, ugly excuse.

The boat lands in Germany the next day, and most of the guests leave to explore the city of Hamburg.

Sirius would love to follow their example, sees it in the tense line of James’ shoulders that he does, too, and swallows down the bitterness that comes with it.

This is not a vacation. This is not the climax of the story where everything suddenly gets resolved. This is still the Dark Lord’s mission parading as a recruitment event, and Sirius and James are right in the middle of it.

They are far more likely to discover what the hell is going on here if they are not getting lost within the winding streets of Germany’s harbour city, and so Sirius makes a note at the back of his mind to return someday and knows that the odds are stacked wildly against it.

It doesn’t matter, not really. Or well, it does, in the way that it burns through his chest, and how he hurts at the strain of James’ smiles when he explains with placid words to Albury, who had roped them into a round of bridge last night, that they are going to catch a few more hours of sleep instead of visiting the city.

Sirius hates it, hates it so much that it is all he can do to keep himself from giving up on all of this. Screw the ship and the war and fucking Dumbledore, and disappear to travel the world. It is all he can do not to choke on the fact that they are both twenty-one years old, and letting the war eat away at their lives as if they both have a spar tucked away somewhere.

“Well,” James says, his smile nothing but a mirage. “Let’s see what we can find, yeah?”

And well, that’s what they are here for. The sooner they find what they are looking for, the sooner they can get back home, and everything can return to normal.

Or as normal as shit ever gets for them, anyway.

“What are we even looking for?” James asks, his voice low as they slowly move along a corridor that they should most definitely not be in.

Sirius has no fucking clue; he is just glad that there is some distance between them, and that they are finally doing something. The last two days are nothing but a godforsaken blur of James’ skin and James’ scent and the endless droning on about blood purity bullshit. Frankly, Sirius is surprised that he retains a single fucking shred of sanity.

“There has to be an office somewhere, right? Or—I don’t know, a team meeting room to reflect on the tosser’s greatness and consider in which order to feed the guests to the sea monster we’re all going to be sacrificed to, in the name of world domination. Maybe we can set up a monitoring charm if we’re sneaky there; I’d just love to know if I rank before or after old Miss Albury—”

“Shut up,” James hisses, reaching for Sirius’ wrist, and really, that’s just great.

Sirius hasn’t spent five agonising years building walls around himself so high that no one ever touches him, only for James to dismantle them in the span of forty-eight fucking hours, but apparently, that is exactly what is happening. There is a spark of anger surging through him that is all hurt and frustration and the feeling of the noose around his neck slowly but surely drawing close.

Which is to say, he pulls his wrist out of James’ grip and knows that he will regret the next words out of his mouth. “Merlin, James, you can’t just—”

Before he gets any further, James presses his hand over Sirius’ mouth, his eyes flashing in the dim corridor. Sirius struggles on instinct, until James shoves him up against the wall unceremoniously. The wood panelling digs into Sirius’ back. Alarm bells are making a fucking racket inside of his brain. This—

This is not something he can survive. His blood is rushing in his ears so loudly, it takes him way too long to hear the voices wafting down the corridor, clearly coming in their direction.

He is still struggling to process the looming danger of it, simply because James’ body is pressed all along his front. James’ hand is still pressed tightly over Sirius’ mouth, and his face is close enough that Sirius can make out the flecks of gold in the brown of his eyes despite the shit lightning.

Every single nerve in Sirius’ body is burning until he can taste ash at the back of his throat, his mouth dry, and he stares at James and thinks that this is how it ends.

Apparently deciding that Sirius has got the gravity of the situation, James removes his hand. “What do we do?” he hisses, and Sirius wants to laugh until it finally stops hurting like Bella’s fucking Crucio.

The voices are getting louder, and there is no way for them to go but deeper into the ship, meaning there is nothing but a dead end waiting for them.

Sirius cannot tell anymore whether the violent rhythm of his heart is the threat or James, or maybe those are the same thing. His mind is blank, and he shakes his head, trying to figure out how likely it is that they can fight their way out of here unscathed.

At least they are not out on the open sea. He knows the spell to create a portkey, and neither of them has brought anything of importance, but—

The voices are close enough now that Sirius can make out words, no matter that his brain refuses to process them.

James looks at him, his eyes very, very dark. He says, “I have an idea; don’t punch me, alright?”

It is all the warning Sirius gets before James’ hands are on his face, before James presses his mouth against Sirius’, and everything goes utterly, agonizingly still.

Everything except for Sirius’ heart, thrashing in his ribcage like a starved animal that has finally been thrown a scrap of sustenance and is doing whatever it takes to finally, finally sink its teeth into it.

James’ mouth is hot and insistent, his fingers digging into Sirius’ jaw. If Sirius ever knew how to breathe, it must have been a long time ago because now this is all there is; the heat of James’ body and his skin, and the way his tongue curls around Sirius’, audacious and so fucking perfect that it hurts. The low noises coming from James that sound as if punched out of him, desperate and a little broken. He sounds like Sirius feels on the inside, and his hands clench into James’ robes without his permission, white-knuckled fists to hold him there.

James pulls back slightly, pupils blown wide and colour high in his cheeks, and says, “Will you kiss me like you mean it?”

It snaps every last, frail thread of self-restraint that Sirius has still been clinging to.

It’s all rough fingers and careless teeth and staccato breath from there, his savage heart leaping up his throat and onto his tongue with every intention to devour what it cannot get to stay on its own merit. It’s drinking up the noises James makes, pushing his fingers into James’ hair and pulling until his head is angled just so. Until Sirius can lick into his mouth the only way he knows, which is with the looming, inevitable knowledge that this is the first and the last time he will ever get to do this, that this is what will finally destroy him, and so he better make it count so that it will quieten at least a fraction of the inevitable guilt and regret.

He sinks his teeth into James’ bottom lip and soothes the spot with his tongue, only to do it all over; finds that James likes it, his fingers spasming where he is scrambling for purchase on Sirius’ shoulders, and knows that this is what damnation tastes like.

His head is swimming, the pent-up longing of years upon years leaking out of all the crevices and hollow spaces between Sirius’ bones that he had pushed it into, flooding the cavity of his ribs, the place his heart once occupied, and threatening to burst open his chest to spill yearning all over the nondescript carpet beneath their feet.

He pulls James impossibly closer, thinks of the soft flesh of James’ throat and whether he wants to attach his teeth to it and if it is really worth stopping to kiss him for that, and it takes him a few moments too long to process that someone is shouting at them.

In Sirius’ defence, James looks as startled as he feels by the two men standing at the end of the corridor, their faces the kind of enraged that says they have been trying to get their attention for longer than three seconds.

James is saying something, an apology or a lie or something that is a bit of both, which is the kind Sirius is most familiar with. He doesn’t catch the words, not a single one of them, but their faces turn from furious to annoyed, and James has always had this effect on almost everyone.

Sirius has never hated him more than in those few moments where reality crashes back into him like an entire armada of Bludgers, and James isn’t even fucking looking at him, unruffled enough to convince a pair of fucking Death Eaters that he is oh-so-harmless.

The two guys roll their eyes and turn away, and then it is only the two of them left in the corridor and the barrage of horrible life choices that have brought Sirius to his very moment.

James looks at him, something fragile to his expression, and says, “Sirius.” It sounds like ‘I’m sorry.’

Sirius lets his head drop back against the wall and closes his eyes. He hits his head against the wood panelling a second and a third time, tries desperately to remember how to breathe, how to ignore the fact of James’ knuckles still pressing into his stomach where he hasn’t let go of Sirius’ robes yet, and decides that he cannot fucking do this.

“Sirius,” James says again, his grip tightening, and this time, Sirius does laugh, choked and rough and scraping like sandpaper against his throat.

“Save it,” he says, voice soft. He looks back at James, still standing in front of him as if they haven’t just wrecked something that should have been sacrosanct, and knows, knows with a bone-deep certainty that he cannot do this. That there is no coming back from the imprint of James’ lips on his, that he cannot hope to rebuild the walls around him, stone by stone, and keep parts of James on the inside, and others out.

Sirius curls his fingers into the front of James’ robes and brushes his lips against the corner of James’ mouth, one last fucking hurrah before he has to face the consequences of his traitorous heart.

He is halfway down the corridor before James has so much as moved. Sirius has always been exceptional at ignoring his own name being shouted at his back.

Generally, Hamburg might be a pretty city. It’s all weathered, majestic buildings and flumes leading away from the harbour, and it strikes just the right balance between resemblance to London and being completely unlike it that Sirius might find some distracting solace in the uneven cobblestone streets.

As things stand, he barely takes notice of anything around him. He needs to get away, is the one thing drumming through his skull, from James and the ship and everything that remotely reminds him of anything that has happened in his life since he was eleven years old.

It’s a fool’s errand, of course, but Sirius is nothing if not full of spiteful stubbornness. He knows nothing about this city so he can’t apparate, but he walks until his feet ache and the light is bleeding out of the sky.

For all that he thinks he should feel like his insides have been scrubbed raw, he mostly does not feel anything at all.

It would be nice, really, if it didn’t feel like the calm before the storm, like that thing Lily has told him about, her pale hands pressed to the gaping wound in Dorcas’ stomach while Marlene looked on, that Muggles call shock—your body shutting down any pain response until you’re either dead or the bleeding stops.

Sirius always thought it sounded as horrible as it sounded logical. He always imagined it would feel like this, like a spark of Fiendfyre beneath his skin, licking at his bones. Like a static, buzzing noise inside of his head that stops him from considering anything but the following step; one foot in front of the other, uphill and downhill, everything around him a blur.

It’s just about the only thing Sirius can manage because if he stops, he might have to consider that James had kissed him as if it meant something, and that Sirius had gone and left him behind on a ship full of Death Eaters and those keen to be one. That all of it had been a game except that to Sirius it wasn’t, and he doesn’t know what his life is supposed to look like from here on out, but his best option is probably to join Regulus in exile and make sure that James will never find him.

Yeah, he’s being dramatic; some parts of heritage are more difficult to burn out than others.

But he is also not dramatic at all because the fact of the matter is that James has been the one solid, remaining certainty in his life despite the aching longing of it, and Sirius has no idea how to go on with that crumbling to pieces, too.

He ends up on a vast plateau that overlooks the river the city is famous for, the sun dipping into the water in the distance.

Sirius’ feet hurt, his heart hurts, and walking any further won’t fix shit either. He sits down on a bench that is mostly out of sight and pulls his knees to his chest, and when the stillness makes it hard to breathe, he presses his forehead against his knees and counts back from hundred.

The worst part about all of this, as it has always been, is that above everything else, James is his best friend. Sirius cannot go back to pretending, cannot look at him and take all of it back. Hiding isn’t necessarily better than lying, but Sirius has done the former all his life, could do it because it was necessary.

Now, though? Now he would have to lie. He would have to tell James that it didn’t mean anything, and he knows without a sliver of a doubt that he could not get the words past his teeth without choking on them for good.

“Hey,” someone says, a hand settling lightly on Sirius’ shoulder. “Pads.”

If the voice hadn’t been enough, the nickname would have done it; they’ve mostly shed the habit of it once they got past sixth year, but sometimes, on rare days, they make a reappearance. Right now, it is all Sirius can do not to cry at the use of it.

“Come on, look at me; you can’t ignore me for good. I mean, I guess you could, but I would really prefer it if you didn’t.”

James sounds so fucking shaky, Sirius can’t bear it. A part of him is itching for a fight, is boiling blood and acid-soaked words cloying at the back of his throat that want to set fire to whatever fickle foundation remains of them.

But Sirius has also always loved James more than anything, and he has had a lot of practice in locking away the parts of himself that want to dig their claws into the best thing that he has ever come across and tear it apart.

He looks up and finds James’ face pale, finds his eyes red-rimmed and his jaw set stubbornly, and whatever little determination he scraped together in the last few moments blows away with the next gust of wind.

“How did you find me?” he asks because he might as well stall for time. It’s over anyway, and they both know it, so Sirius might as well put off the inevitable a little longer, and James might as well pretend that he doesn’t notice.

Tilting his head, James studies him carefully. “You always end up close to the water when you’re upset, and you don’t know this city any better than I do.”

It’s a shock, the sharp pain of it, searing through the sinew and muscles of Sirius’ chest until burying itself into his heart. It had been easy to forget sometimes that for all his hiding and careful concealing of secrets, James still knows him better than anyone else does.

“Sirius,” James says, and it is that uncertain, soft voice, but now there is also steel. No distraction or avoidance will work this time. “I’ve been patient about this for a long time, but will you finally tell me what the hell is wrong with you?”

You left me behind, James doesn’t say. We’ve been friends for half of our lives; are you really going to burn it all down?

He doesn’t need to voice any of this for Sirius to read it in his eyes.

Pushing up from the bench, he paces three steps and whirls around, only to be met with James right in front of him, face contorted and so fucking furious as he wraps his hand into the front of Sirius’ robes.

“Do you really think so little of me that you believe that whatever the fuck is going on with you could be worse than what is happening to us right now? I don’t know what I’ve done to make a part of you hate me like this, to shut me out and—”

“I’ve been in fucking love with you since fifth year,” Sirius snarls, and something hard and unrelenting finally snaps in his chest, makes all of it spill forth without the fear and shame standing a chance to hold it back. “I’ve watched you pine after Lily, and then I watched you move on and date whoever came your way. I was your friend long before I was anything else, and you might have thought all of this a game, might have thought it amusing, to press your hands to me and find me shaking, but I cannot find the fucking punchline because I have been in love with you for so long, I can’t even remember how it feels when—”

James fists his hand more firmly into Sirius' robes and pulls. Their mouths clash, harsh and uncoordinated, and the noise wrenching itself out of Sirius’ throat is a horrible, distorted thing that he wants to shove back down until he forgets that he has ever been capable of making it in the first place.

“You’re so fucking stupid, I don’t even—” James presses out, the words bitten off and unsteady, but Sirius puts both of his hands to James’ chest and shoves until there is enough space between them that, if this was not James, and he was not Sirius, he would be able to breathe again.

He has lost track of the scale to measure his hurt, and his voice is low and shaking when he spits, “You have no right to do this to me; I’ve made it this long, and I’ll make it another five years. Don’t play the self-sacrificing hero now, when all—”

“I’m in love with you,” James says, and his voice is flat, annoyed, so fucking certain of it that Sirius takes an actual step back. “Have been, in fact, for a good fucking while but you have been pulling further and further away from me for ages, and so I kept it to myself, and then I was a goddamn fool about this whole pretending to be a couple fuckup, but you—”

“You don’t—”

“But you kept touching me as if you couldn’t stop, and when you—"

“Stop.”

“No, I’m not—Sirius.”

James says his name with a weight to it that he cannot ignore, a request and a promise and Sirius has always been helpless against anything James asked of him.

His hands are shaking so badly that he doesn’t know what to do with them. “What the fuck do you want from me?”

James loosens his grip and curls his hand around Sirius’ shoulders instead. He licks his lips, and his voice is rough when he says, “Tell me the last time I’ve successfully lied to anyone.”

“What the fuck are you on about, you—”

“Sirius,” James says, fingers pressing into Sirius’ muscles. “When was the last time you’ve seen me deceive anyone successfully?”

Sirius stares at him, and there is a horrible, unsettling sense of vertigo as hope spills through him, rooting his heart back into his chest, because the thing is—

Well, the thing is that James cannot lie for shit, not to save his own life, and certainly not to Sirius.

“There we go,” James says quietly, stepping closer. He shifts his hand to Sirius’ neck, slides his fingers into his hair instead. His eyes are dark in the waning light, and he looks at Sirius with so much uncertainty still that Sirius vows he will repent for the rest of his life. “Admittedly, I’ve had a horrible way to go about it, but—”

Sirius kisses him, but this time it is all tentative brush of lips, all careful fingers climbing up James’ spine until he can pull him closer, fitting them together until Sirius forgets what has ever kept them apart, forgets that his hands are still shaking. It no longer feels like flying or falling, no longer feels like the second before the impact.

“I’m sorry,” he says, presses it into James’ open mouth and against his temples, presses his forehead to James’ shoulders and clings to him as the sun sets around them.

“Don’t lie to me again,” James says after a while, his mouth close to Sirius’ ear. “I get why you did it but—no more secrets. There is nothing you could do that would make me turn my back on you, but I’m not—I cannot bear it. I can’t handle the distance you put between us when you do.”

Sirius forces himself to look at him, and brushes his lips against the corner of James’ mouth as he vows, “I’ll try.”

James snorts lightly, his eyes crinkling with humour, and Sirius knows that he will never let go again. That he can’t.

“Come on,” James says, reaching for Sirius’ hand. “Let’s find a place to stay.”

The hostel is small and cheap, but it’s out of season so it’s mostly empty. There’s a bed where they can curl into each other, which is really all Sirius cares about at this point.

“Moody’s going to have a conniption at the fact that we blew the mission,” Sirius says, but it is little more than an idle observation.

Beside him, James is miles upon miles of smooth, brown skin, all pliant beneath Sirius’ fingertips. In the sanctuary of this bed, in this small hostel, somewhere in Germany and far away from England, the war feels unreal; like something that cannot reach them as long as some part of them is still touching.

“Yes, well, I doubt that we would have found anything,” James says, shrugging lazily. He presses his mouth to the side of Sirius’ throat and says, “Right now, I also really don’t give a fuck, to be honest.”

Sirius hums in agreement and rolls on top of James, linking their hands together until he can press them into the mattress above James’ head. He looks down at James’ open face, the warmth of it and the way his lips curve around a smile as he says Sirius’ name, over and over like a prayer. For the first time in five years, he believes that he can make himself a home here that does not constantly slip blades beneath his skin.

In the end, they stay another three days in Hamburg. It’s less a vacation than a defiant escape, but James’ hand fits perfectly into Sirius’, and at the end of those days, Sirius knows the shape of James’ body as well as he knows his own.

Moody’s lecture lasts over an hour, and Sirius is rather certain that they will never be sent on another undercover mission again, but James grins at him across the table, his ankle warm against Sirius’, and he really cannot bring himself to care at all.

#prongsfoot #fanfic #sirius black #james potter #marauders #filled #first war #getting together #fake dating #queerofthedagger

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