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nhoirr · 3 months

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It was the year of spring when you got the most lamest confession you've ever heard.

all from a man you'd never expect—nobody ever did expect that GOJO SATORU had the time and capacity to fall in love.

what a surprise, because he was too.

"go out with me," he states more than questioning.

like a giddy normal teenager that was not the most handsome man in the world—the, gojo satoru asked you out.

infront of everyone; without shame, oh but full of smugness that makes you want to reject him just to see his pride fall.

but perhaps the from shocking event did the thought not come to you that day, not when the pressure was all time high.

"This.." you start and the crowd quivers in their boots, boys and girls alike already demanding their victory from the bet, "this is what you greet me with after ignoring me for weeks, satoru?" the said man stiffens with his posture, and as if the bouquet of flowers he held felt the shift of the atmosphere—it dramatically wilted.

"oh, c'mon that was just—" he knew reasoning was futile when he gulps the words down his throat again, catching the way you glare.

and you spin your heel around. guessing with how he hangs his head low, you think he's discouraged enough to let it go and take the rejection.

but the man you knew was always so annoying, so stubborn.

you hear a call of your name but you don't snap your head like your-all-time-secret-is-out kind of surprise, but it's because the dumbest man spoke the dumbest words you've ever heard.

"I, the heir of the gojo clan, am insanely inlove with you!"

the crowd goes eerily silent, like time was frozen but not in a romantic way. It was embarrassingly awkward that you could hear the sound of a pin drop.

"what?" you spat out in disbelief, not comprehending his words and he takes it as another sign to repeat himself to you.

"I lik—" you stop him from talking by slapping a hand to his mouth, glowing eyes shimmering with the brightest smile known to man, "yes yes, don't repeat yourself!" you exclaim almost immediately.

your breath hitches in your throat the moment you feel his hand grasp your wrist, the one that covered his mouth and he points a finger to speak, muffled by your hand, "dso yu asekpt?" you could faintly make out the words he said—do you accept?

it syncs with the voice echoing at the back of your head ever since he confessed.

and yet, the answer always remained the same.

so you drop your hand from his mouth, catching the way his eyes follow your every move—perhaps enough to notice the hesitation, and he worries for the words you'll speak with such an expression.

quickly he starts before you speak, "Its fi—"

"I like you," he gets cut off, jaw slacked and unmoving in shock.

he blinks once or twice, but the crowd reacts before he can, waking him enough to respond back.

with a lopsided grin and dusted cheeks, he speaks again too—he thinks could be lost to the noise of the crowd, but with how close you were, he thinks you'll be able to hear even a whisper.

"I like you too."

©nhoirr — DO NOT COPY NOR PLAGIARIZE MY WORKS!

thanks for tuning in for another episodic brain riot of mine that goes no where!

want more? check out navigation for latest posts. <33 (shameless self-plug because.)

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lestatlioncunt · 2 months

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James Fitzjames + Caravaggio's Entombment, David with the Head of Goliath, Penitent Magdalene, The Incredulity of Saint Thomas, Death of the Virgin, Bacchus

#the terror #the terror amc #theterroredit #tvedit #james fitzjames #mine #many thoughts in my brain i could write a thesis for each scene + painting i picked for this #penitent madgalene in particular. i'm not going to spam my own tags but the scene & the painting have an interesting tie in my mind #especially if you know about magdalene at all or caravaggio's choice of models. the rejection of vanity detail in this painting...bellori's #comment 'la finse per maddalena' (he (caravaggio) pretended her to be magdalene)..#so much to say i'm normal about characters and art. anyways. this was originally more elaborate but i literally remade it in smth else #posting it so i can stop obsessing over it

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iamfitzwilliamdarcy · 2 months

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anyway, i'm sure this has been discussed ad nauseam at this point but I'll say it again -- the show gives us two scenes of zuko expressing very legitimate worries about facing a father-figure after messing up

The Book 3 opener, with Mai on the boat, where Zuko worries about seeing his father after 3 years and how he's changed/his home has changed

Zuko anxious about facing Iroh again and discusses this with Katara

The conversations go like this:

Mai: Aren't you cold? Zuko: I've got a lot on my mind. It's been so long, over three years since I was home. I wonder what's changed. I wonder how I've changed. Mai: [Yawns.] I just asked if you were cold, I didn't ask for your whole life story. [Zuko frowns at her sarcastic response. Mai giggles and holds his face in her hands.] Stop worrying.

(in interest of fairness, I will include that the transcript i got from atla wiki says this: The two kiss. Mai exits, and Zuko stays there with an expression of relief on his face. We return to the ship where Team Avatar is on -- however, the show just actually shows a close up of his eyes)

and

Cut back to Zuko, who becomes worried and ashamed before walking toward the tent. Cut to Zuko from behind as he approaches the tent before stopping. Close-up of Zuko. Side-view as he sits down. Katara walks up to him. Katara Are you okay? Zuko [Frontal view.] No, I'm not okay. My uncle hates me, I know it. [Katara sits down next to him.] He loved and supported me in every way he could, and I still turned against him. How can I even face him? Katara [Close-up side-view of Zuko.] Zuko, you're sorry for what you did, right? Zuko: More sorry than I've been about anything in my entire life. Katara: Then he'll forgive you. He will.

I just think there's a very clear contrast here of dismissive vs supportive. I get what the writers were trying to do- Mai even smiles a little when she makes her joke-- but it just doesn't land for me because I think Zuko's concerns are valid and ought to be treated seriously here-- who wouldn't be worried after 3 years away???? And And Zuko doesn't even disclose his real worries to Mai (he does to Azula though!-- about seeing his dad without having actually recaptured the Avatar! which I think is interesting)

And he's very upfront with Katara in the later scene, which is a very pivotal one for him-- his courage to make amends and apologize to one of the most important people in his life. And Katara doesn't try to lighten the mood or tell him to stop worrying -- she treats his concerns as valid and walks him through it-- he's sorry, so Iroh will forgive him (it probably helps that she has also forgiven him for what he did in Ba Sing Se, she knows what that means)

#zutara #atla #i'll tag this as #anti maiko #to keep y'all all of my back lol even though i don't think it's so much anti maiko as it is....#just looking at these two scenes in contrast? the writing at least

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antariies · 3 months

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#gw2 #guild wars 2 #gw2 fan submission #I CAN FINALLY POAST THISSSSS #THANK GODDD tumblr raised their image limit to 30 or else i woulda been fucked #anyway here is my zine piece on its own! rly wanted it in its entirety on my blog hehe #i might do a whole big post breaking it down later? if ppl want. like notes on a scene #and as alwayssss if u enjoyed reading would u consider reblogging! n telling me ur thoughts in the tags i read every single one of them ;W;#my writing

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seraphiism · 9 months

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𓆩 ღ 𓆪 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬

( can't you come to me now, this instant? i'm longing for you. )

chara : astarion fandom : baldur's gate 3 quote cr : ingmar bergman

astarion is not one for gentle affections, this quiet sense of intimacy a frightening and foreign being to this walking tragedy. yes, there is something he finds all too easy in the giving of himself to another, even if it may be through falsehoods & fatalities, even if there is something terribly lonely and desolate in a touch meant for the fervor. yet there is something so horribly different and confusing in the way he feels towards you-- from something born of deception and sickening sweet words to something more, to something real-- it makes no sense, and he despises this madness in limbo.

it's all too abstract and concrete all the same, and it's made of hypocriticals, but it's made of something so excruciatingly tender and naive, and maybe he thinks there's a safety to be found, somewhere, somehow, in you.

and perhaps that is the most frightening of all.

something weighs heavy on his mind ; something stirs beneath the rot carved into his chest, the hollows of being an ache in existence. it is so pronounced, so known, and surely this must be weakness. yes, that must be it-- nothing more, nothing less. he will admit that much, this fragility, because it's much easier to admit to that than to think of it being anything more.

ah, hells. he's too prideful, chin held high, practiced facade so carefully crafted. too stubborn, you think, to admit that he does find some semblance of comfort in your touch, and in the way his gaze meets yours, that lingering longing drowning in crimson hues, you understand.

you take a small step forward, note how he watches you with a vague hint of wariness. your movements are slow, cautious, but they are made of fondness and something reverent, and he does not know what to do with that.

you lace your fingers with his, squeeze his hand so gently that he almost cannot recognize this kindness you give to him. but he never can, can he? he'll never understand you, never understand why.

"sorry, astarion," you begin, "my hands are cold."

he blinks a few times, brow raised before he tilts his head in that certain, dramatic way you've grown to adore. the quiet joys that rest on the subtle curve of your lips grow the slightest bit at his reaction, and in return, he smiles, too.

"oh, how ridiculous. you always have to find excuses just to touch me, don't you?"

you laugh ; it is such a warm thing to hear, he thinks, and though he has only recently come to understand the sun's warmth, he does not think it could compare to yours.

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion x reader #bg3 astarion #baldur's gate x reader #is tht even a tag . i dont know how to tag this #he is a lil gremlin i am going to throw him into a void !! [ kisses his forehead ] bc i love how they wrote him #and the romance scenes are very :^) my lil heart #.: writing

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da-birb-writes-sometimes · 8 months

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How You Turn My Word; Chapter 2

The day continues, and this time you find yourself in an entire new world... a world called The Underground.

Character; Lilia Vanrouge

Content; Gender-neutral reader, more shenanigans, reader isn't happy

Content Warning; Intoxication (Lilia), swearing

Word Count; 2.7 K

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 |

Don't put my work into AI; I'll make sure you end up in the Bog of Eternal Stench.

Lilia’s night was not going according to plan and he was mentally cursing himself over it.

Thing Lilia did not plan for #1; he got lost. To be fair though, many a thing had drastically changed since the last time he romped around the mortal realm. A few hundred years would do that though. Humans now seemed to live in tall metal boxes rather than the humble cottages of ages past.

Thing Lilia did not plan for #2; a red flower deceiving him and containing something akin to liquor. So he was flying around lost while under the influence, which only worsened his situation. (Lilia did not know it, but the red flower was in fact a hummingbird feeder with sugar water which had been left out in the sun for too long and had fermented. Make sure to change your hummingbird feeder often on hot days so you don’t cause a nectar-loving friend to fly while wasted)

Thing Lilia did not plan for #3; getting himself stuff in one of those tall metal boxes, and he was now stuck inside some cursed metal labyrinth. At least it was not iron or silver, as it did not burn, apparently, humans no longer fortified their abodes with those metals. Perhaps the times have changed for the better?

But Lilia finally escaped the infernal metal labyrinth, perhaps luck was finally on his side tonight after all! He bumped around a few corners. My my, what a small hovel. Perhaps things have not changed all that much from the last time I was here… But Lilia was rudely pulled from his thoughts when something swatted him clean out of the air. And the culprit? A rather rotund grey cat with large blue eyes, which was now carrying Lilia into its lair, most likely to play with him for a bit before deciding that it had had it’s fun and ultimately put him out of his misery.

His night went from a jolly and somewhat embarrassing tale he would regale about at the local tavern, to a bedtime story parents would tell their children about the dangers of going places that you really shouldn’t. Should he get out of this sticky situation Lilia would not live this incident down.

The cat placed Lilia in a collection of socks and then sauntered off, calling out at the top of its lungs. Great, it's getting company for supper, and I’m the appetizer. How lovely. But Lilia knew he would have a better chance of getting out of this situation if he stayed calm and waited for an opportunity to escape. Even while tipsy, he could keep his cool.

And the feline was back and yanked Lilia out of the sock hole. Cracking open his one eye he saw that the cat did not come back with its hungry friends, but rather, a human. That was both good news and bad news. Good news; he most likely was not going to be eaten tonight! Yippee! Bad news; the last time he was in bat-form in a human’s abode, he was chased around with a torch, which he really did not want to go through again. So his best course of action was to play dead in this situation.

When the human left the room though, he took his chance and took flight once again, trying to find a way out. The cat was trying to catch him again, but Lilia knew of its tricks this time and dodged every swipe it sent his way.

But he was pulled out of his thoughts when the human screeched at the cat, “YOU CAUGHT A FUCKING BAT?!”

Oh yeah, they did not sound happy, not at all, but it seemed to be directed more at their feline companion rather than him.

As he was busy flapping around, trying to find an escape but to no avail, he also heard the human whispering to him. “Don’t fly towards my head, bat. I’m just trying to get you back outside. You’re a nice bat, right? Nice bat, nice bat.”

Were he not preoccupied and in a better state of mind, Lilia would have been amused by this. Currently, though he was occupied with trying not to be eaten and finding a way out of this cursed place. He was not in a laughing mood. All Lilia wanted to do was get back home, pass out in his bed but he would also be happy with his sofa as well, and pretend that this was nothing more than a bad dream after a night spent tavern hopping. Dealing with a horrid hangover would be better than this… and he was most likely going to have one of those anyways. Tonight really wasn’t Lilia’s night, not at all.

Then the human grabbed the cat, and Lilia was finally left alone. The window was open, but he didn’t know that, as his mind was too preoccupied with you know, not dying, that he hadn’t noticed that the human had opened it for him. So where did Lilia go? Well, he went back into the metal labyrinth (air duct), and fumbled around until he tired himself out. It wasn’t the most ideal of spots to crash for the night, but it was better than going back and possibly being eaten, Lilia would rather avoid that. So this was going to be his bed for the night, a lonely quiet corner of the air duct system, where he could hopefully wake up sober tomorrow. But he yearned for his warm quilts that awaited for him back at home, back in Faerie, or as some call it, the Underground.

Lilia wasn’t even supposed to be in the mortal realm in the first place, but curiosity had won him over, and he even ignored the travel advisory that was in place. Some crow fae had travelled there about a century or so ago and had yet to return back, hence a travel advisory. But yet here he was in the mortal realm, tiny, drunk, and utterly lost. His bad decisions could be looked into further detail once he got some shut-eye. So he wrapped himself in his wings and passed out in the corner of the air vent. Hopefully, when he woke up he could turn this disastrous day around.

…

Upon waking up, Lilia groaned — or rather, in this case, squeaked — and stretched his wings out. So the wretched metal maze and last night's fiasco was not some liquor-hazed dream; how lovely. Utterly delightful.

At least the strange maze echoed sound quite well, so he knew what exits to avoid. Not that one, he could hear a dog barking, and the feline encounter was enough for him. No, not that one either, he could hear children screaming.

Finally, he came to an opening, there was some quiet chatter, but it was far enough away where Lilia felt comfortable enough to explore this potential escape route.

Why does this look familiar? AM I BACK IN THE BUILDING?! Yes, yes he was. At least there was no sign of the ca–

“Mrp?” Speak of the devil.

The cat got out of its den and lept at Lilia, who dodged the attack, and the cat pushed some books off a desk. The cat was also screaming at him, and causing an all-around ruckus. Lilia managed to outmaneuver the feline, but soon a brand new human came into the scene.

The new human took one look at Lilia and backpedalled out of the room. But the human had just created another escape route for him, and Lilia flew, well, like a bat straight out of hell for it. Too bad the next room contained two more humans, including the one he had encountered from last night… maybe they would be nice again and spare him for trespassing on their small abode?

In the midst of the chaos, the human from last night knocked him out of the air with a broom. Okay, that hurt little Beastie. But that swing and the crash landing into a table caused Lilia to shift back into his human form, which also caused sparkles to happen. Did humans still think magic was evil? Well, he was about to find out.

Everyone remained silent, and after the sheer noise of the chaos, it was deafening, even the cat was quiet. And Lilia stared at the human that had knocked him out of the air, you. And you were staring straight back at him, looking utterly baffled. Well, this is awkward… I think I have overstayed my welcome…

Lilia snapped his fingers, and he started to disappear into sparkles yet again, this time going home since he wasn’t able to use his magic when stuck in bat form. And it was happening without a pinch, but you seemed to trip on thin air and crash landed on his feet, disappearing with him; a stowaway coming to Faerie.

… Well this is no good now, is it?

…

When the green sparkles subsided, you found yourself sitting in some sort of bog, and the water had made it into your mouth by some twist of fate. While you were busy spitting the bog water out of your mouth, the stranger was standing by the bank, dry, without any sulfuric-tasting water in his mouth, and looking better for wear.

Pulling yourself out of the bog water — eugh, you smelled like eggs now, great — you pointed an accusatory finger at him, water dripping from the end. “Where,” you spat out some extra bog water from your mouth, “am I? And why does it reak of eggs?!” You would have looked and sounded more imposing, but you were sopping wet, covered in mud, and spitting out coughs trying to get the bad taste out of your mouth; which wasn’t really commanding any sort of respect.

The stranger, Lilia, snorted before letting out a cough, trying to hide his amusement very poorly. He waved his hand, green sparkles surrounded you and you were now dry, still covered in mud, but dry. “Faerie, although some call it the Underground.”

You opened your mouth, but he wagged his finger at you. “And before you blame me for bringing you here, you have no one to blame for this but yourself!” Despite the cheeriness, there was something cold and off putting in his eyes, like he was calculating something. But that moment passed, and the almost annoying cheerful facade came back in full. “As for the smell? That so happens to be The Bog of Eternal Stench!”

“Like eternal eternal?” You really didn’t need to smell like rotten eggs for the rest of your days.

The stranger just chuckled, “Fret not, Beastie, I decided to return the favour, since your feline friend decided not to eat me. But it is indeed ‘eternal eternal’ if you don’t have the means to get rid of it.”

Beastie? “Uh, okay.” not the most eloquent of things to say, but really, could anyone blame you? You just fell through some kind of portal, magic(?) was real, and oh yeah, so were fae/faeries or whatever the hell they called themselves. So ‘Uh, okay’ was perfectly fine in this situation.

Mr. Sparkles — if he was going to call you Beastie, he deserved a dumb nickname — just gave you a smile, exposing the barest hint of his fangs; despite his small frame, he was still dangerous, and the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. It was as if he was assessing you, to see if you would be worth the trouble to help. You didn’t know if either option would be good by the way his magenta eyes twinkled with mischief.

He let out a huff and started walking away, and you followed. “I wouldn’t recommend following me, Beastie,” he hummed, and you tripped over a rock, vines keeping you to the moss. “The court would not take kindly to you.”

You glared at him and tried ripping the vines off of your feet, but they didn’t budge. “And why should I listen to you?”

Mr. Sparkles booped you on the nose, “Well, it would ensure that you made it out of here alive, which I believe you would find beneficial and all.”

Obnoxious prick. But he did have a point, you would rather make it back home alive rather than fucking around and finding out (aka dying). “So what? Are you going to just leave me here? No welcome brochure? Thanks.”

You were being sarcastic, since it was either sarcasm or having a full-on existential crisis, since hey, magic wasn’t real in your world! Dimension? Galaxy? Where the fuck was this place?! How the hell did you end up here?!

“Hmm good point…” he snapped his fingers and there was now a book sitting in your lap. “This should suffice, do be warned though, Beastie, I may call on you later to return the favour. For now though,” he started to turn into green sparkles, “toodaloo!~” And he turned into a bat, flying off into the sunset, leaving you alone at the edge of the swamp with the only things to your name being the clothes on your back and a book in your lap.

How to Survive the Underground; For Humans! … Did he just give you this world’s equivalent of a For Dummies book? What the fuck? Was this kind of sick joke to him?

…

Once some of your ire had subsided, you decided to sit down on a boulder and read a bit of the book while there was still some sunlight out, but it was dipping into the horizon fast.

How to Survive the Underground; For Humans! By Yelworc Erid Preface …… i - iv Chapter 1; Surviving Your First Night…… 1 - 10 Chapter 2; Edible Food for Humans …… 11 - 31 Chapter 3; The Basics of Fae Etiquette …… 32 - 35 3.1; Species Specifics …… 36 - 146 3.2; Government Specifics …… 147 - 169 Chapter 4; Help! I Have Been Indentured to a Fae! …… 170 - 200 Chapter 5; Adjusting to Fae Social Life …… 201 - 224 Chapter 6; Transmittable Illnesses & Diseases …… 225 - 261 Chapter 7; Fae Courting Practices …… 262 - 264 7.1; Species Specifications …… 265 - 366 7.2; Government Specifications …… 367 - 389 7.3; Accepting a Courting Proposal …… 390 - 393 7.4; Refusing a Courting Proposal …… 394 - 401 Chapter 8; How to Handle Fae Children …… 402 - 452 Chapter 9; How to Leave the Underground … 453 Chapter 10; Adjusting to Life in the Underground …… 454 - 482 Acknowledgments …… 483 - 485

Looking back up to the horizon, you quickly turned the pages to Chapter 1; Surviving Your First Night.

“If you are unable to find yourself some suitable shelter, one should find themselves safe by camping out in a rowan tree. These trees can easily be found by their vermillion clusters of berries. They keep away all native species of the Underground,” you read out loud, turning your attention to the trees nearby, searching for those berries. “Rowan tree, rowan tree–”

A loud screech coming from the undergrowth only pushed you further.

Nope, I do not want to find out what THAT was! Nope! NoPe! NOPE!

Finally, you found a tall enough tree and you hauled your ass up it like there was a fire below you, and you were up in the canopy, far enough up that nothing could reach you, but also high enough where you needed to be careful, since you didn’t want to meet an early death because you made a wrong move. But for now, you were safe.

“Nice try buddy,” you muttered to yourself, trying to get comfy. Wood wasn’t the comfiest thing in the world, but you weren’t really in the position to be complaining. “I am not on the menu.”

The screech came again, this time closer; yeah, you weren’t sleeping tonight. The sun was now beyond the horizon, and there was no moon, the only light coming from the stars above; it was very pretty, but you could see jack shit. This was going to be a long night… and not a fun one, since you could also see the glowing eyes of unknown creatures which were, quite frankly, freaky as fuck. So yeah, no sleep for you.

“This fucking sucks,” you grumbled, and a chittering from the bog seemed to mock you. “This really fucking sucks.”

…

Tags; @busycloudy, @eynnwwyjth, @identity-theft-101, @ithseem, @krenenbaker, @lucid-stories, @ryker-writes, @twistwonderlanddevotee, @xxoomiii

~~~~~~~

Author's Note; This chapter is shorter, but it felt natural to end the chapter like this. This chapter, and the previous one, were both rewrites of an old WIP, so from here on out I don't have to rewrite! YIPPEE!!! Rewriting takes me forever, so we shall see what I come up with next.

If you liked this, do check out my masterlist for more content!

#twst #twst x reader #twst x gn reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x gn reader #lilia vanrouge #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia vanrouge x gn reader #still building up that aspect; yeah it's gonna be a while but that allows for some yearning #got another labyrinth mention in there #i decided to be nice to reader where they don't end up smelling like rotten eggs for their entire stay in the underground;#; it would be funny but reader has been through enough without needing to smell bad on top of that #twst labyrinth au #gilf enjoyers rejoice #why does rewriting take me so damn long? i even deleted scenes that i didn't feel like keeping #writing is pain and suffering yet it brings me immense joy... not gonna elaborate on that #not a bunch of fun stuff hidden in the tags this time but oh well

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flowercrowngods · 11 months

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based on this concept of steve and mike coming out to each other

🤍 also on ao3

The sun is setting in beautiful hues of pink and purple, tinging the town of Hawkins, Indiana, in a light of serenity and beauty it doesn’t really deserve. Steve’s hands are gripped tight around the steering wheel as he carefully scans the road and the houses he passes.

He almost misses the bike where it’s lying on the curb, carelessly discarded by the looks of it, and a tinge of worry shadows his frown. Worry that doesn’t quite dissipate when he spots the figure sitting on the roof, almost black against the lilac colour of the sky, but he breathes a sigh of relief. He considers grabbing the radio to let the others know he found Mike, but decides against it. Something tells him that maybe they’ll take a while. Something tells him there’s more to Will’s stunned silence and Mike’s sudden departure from where they were all hanging out at Steve’s after another successful Hellfire session.

With a sigh, Steve cuts the engine and gets out of the car, keeping his eyes on Mike the whole time — ready for him to take off again, ready to go sit a while and wait for him to come back. But Mike doesn’t move, even after he shuts the door and approaches the Wheelers’ house. He doesn’t acknowledge Steve when he pulls himself up to the roof, easier this time than the first time he did this.

There’s a snide comment in the air between them, a version of Mike that would have lashed out at him, made fun of and insulted him. But this one just sits there, hands in his lap, frown on his face, and stares ahead.

“What do you want,” he asks eventually, though it doesn’t have the kind of heat that Steve expects. He barely even sounds like a teenager. Just sort of… dejected. Steve aches for him; just a little bit.

“Just making sure you’re alright,” Steve says, shrugging, looking ahead as well so Mike doesn’t feel watched. Or seen, maybe.

Because the thing is, Steve does see him. He sees the way he looks at Will sometimes, and the way his eyes fill with something that can only be described as yearning, or aching, followed by regret and fear. Which always, always turn into anger. Into frustration. Into snide comments and rolled eyes and walls that keep getting an inch added to them each day. It’s never directed at Will, that anger, and rarely at the rest of the Party, but Steve still sees it. Gets the worst of it and takes it, because he knows something about how that feels.

He knows something about looking at someone like that, about feeling that fear, that regret, that worry that come with it. He knows something about never really daring to meet someone’s eyes for fear of what they would see.

“I’m alright,” Mike says, sounding anything but. There’s a bitterness in his voice. Frustration in the way his thumb is picking at the skin of his fingers. Confusion in the tension of his shoulders, and Steve feels like he only needs to make one wrong move, say one wrong word, make a single sound that’s off key to the melody of this moment, and Mike will jump off the roof and take off again with his bike.

So all he says, after a moment’s consideration, is, “Cool.” Like he believes him. Giving Mike room to breathe, room to pretend. He knows something about that, too.

He knows and he sees and he feels.

And suddenly he wants to say something he’s never said before, something he didn’t even get to tell Robin because she knew and saw and felt, too, taking something from him that he hasn’t yet been ready to reclaim for himself.

And maybe it’s because he sees something of himself in the way Mike holds himself, in the way he snaps at anyone willing to listen, in the way he frowns in regret and barely meets anyone’s eyes except when it’s in challenge — and, most of all, in the way he never, never meets Will’s eyes. In the way he looks away when the other boy turns to him, and in the way his eyes will snap back and take in everything about his best friend when he’s not aware of it.

Maybe it’s because the sky is pink and lilac and purple above them, allowing for a certain magic to happen, allowing for a bravery that doesn’t come easy to him; but as he sits on the roof next to Mike Wheeler, the only one of the Party he never really connected with, he closes his eyes against the breeze that catches in his hair and opens his jacket a little further, slithering beneath the fabric as if in a brief embrace, a nudge, a sign to take this leap, and takes a deep breath.

His heart is picking up its pace inside his chest, taking this leap along wit him, and pulls up one of his legs to wrap his hands around it — just to have something to hold onto.

He opens his mouth once, twice, three times, but the words never really come out. They don’t know how, and he’s beginning to tremble a little with it, tension building in his chest where the words are still locked away, hidden among layers of truth.

Mike looks over with a frown and eyes him warily. It makes Steve want to laugh, this sudden change of pace, but he just keeps staring ahead; even when Mike asks, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. And then then dam is broken and breaking further, and with another deep breath, still not meeting Mike’s eyes, instead focusing on the tree tops in the distance that shine in hues of purple, he finally says, “I’m kind of dating Eddie Munson.”

And just like that, it’s out. He’s out.

He doesn’t know if the world still spins, if time still passes, if he still breathes, because for a moment there is only silence. Mike stops picking at the skin of his fingers, Steve stops trembling, and neither of them moves.

It’s both anticlimactic and momentous, this silence between them when their eyes meet. When the words unfold and grow wings, when Mike understands, his eyes growing big with something that Steve can’t quite read with how tense he is despite his best efforts.

The silence stretches between them, surpassing comfort and overstaying its welcome, and suddenly it’s Steve who feels like he’s about to take off if Mike so much as twitches his brows.

“You… What?”

Forget it, Steve wants to say. Nothing.

But also, I’m in love with Eddie Munson. And I used to be in love with Nancy. And that’s okay. Both of that, it’s okay.

He ends up repeating his words, though, because they know what it’s like to be spoken now. “Eddie. I’m kind of dating Eddie.”

“But…” It’s Mike now whose mouth is opening and closing without saying anything. Mike who’s blinking, trembling a little, twitching, picking at his skin again, moving further along his hand this time to pinch the skin between his thumb and pointer finger. Steve almost reaches out to stop him, but he doesn’t really dare to.

“But?” he prompts after a while, not quite comfortable with this loaded kind of silence.

“Eddie’s a boy.”

But Tammy Thompson is a girl.

“I know,” Steve says, his tone carefully neutral, wanting to see, to wait where Mike takes this, to hear what’s on his mind, to watch the wheels turn and the gears shift. He feels awfully raw and open, vulnerable with someone who hasn’t been treating that with care yet. But there’s something about this moment that feels bigger than his own fears, bigger than the light nausea settling in his gut; far more important than the way he wants to run and hide, away from the scrutiny.

“And…” Mike continues, still battling the words inside his head. Steve wonders if there are too many or none at all. “But you… You loved Nancy.”

Ah. Smart boy. “I did,” Steve says with a small smile. “And it was never a lie. But I found that… Yeah, I can kinda like boys, too, y’know? And that’s, like, okay.”

A beat. A frown. A confused, hopeful, small, “It is?”

Steve just nods, smiling in reassurance and relief at equal measures. Silence settles once more, now that the sky has darkened into a deeper, darker blue; but it’s not as loaded this time, not as tense. It’s an invitation. An offering. A promise of I’m here, I’m with you, you can take as long as you need. To get down from the roof, to come back, to come out of wherever you think you need to hide from the world.

Mike takes it. He stays, pulling up his leg, too, mirroring Steve’s pose and staring ahead, but not as far away. He seems alert, seems to be thinking rather than dwelling, seems to be gearing up for something. Steve watches and sees and knows, remaining patient beside him, his chin resting on his knee as Mike learns to deal with this new world that has been presented to him. This new world that comes with opportunities and chances and possibilities that are scary and big and difficult to make.

“Y’know,” Mike starts at last, interrupting the silence, playing with it, his voice hushed and quiet to keep it from disappearing completely. “Lucas, when he had that championship game? He told us, Dustin and me, that we didn’t have to be the losers this time. The nerds. The outcasts. Different. And all I wanted was to scream at him, because…”

Mike swallows his words, keeping them from tumbling out of his mouth, and Steve aches for him again. He wants to reach out, wants to say it’s okay, tell him it’s alright, to take his time. But he waits in silence, lets Mike find the bravery he needs on his own, and waits.

“Because how could he say that, you know? How could he, when… Will wasn’t there. And all I did, all I ever did anymore, was miss him. And I loved El, I knew I did. And she was gone, too, but…”

He trails off again, and this time Steve picks it up. To let him know he’s not alone. To let Mike know he understands what he’s saying. He understands. “But she’s not Will. You needed Will.”

“But I shouldn’t!” Mike explodes suddenly, riled up because Steve adds fuel to the fire, because Steve has that same fire, too; and because they are so, so similar when they want to be. “And now he’s back and it should be fine, I shouldn’t be feeling like this, it doesn’t even make sense! How can I…”

Steve looks at him, at his expression that is nothing but lost — completely and utterly. He’s seen it on the bathroom floor at the mall; high out of his mind as he was, he’ll never forget the way Robin looked at him, the sheer crestfallen expression. All that confusion, all that fear and frustration and, in the end, resignation. He’s seen it in the mirror, and he’s seen it in those pretty brown eyes that he just can’t get out of his head anymore.

He offers, gently, “How can you need him when he’s right there? How can you love him when a year ago you loved El?”

And Mike just looks at him before he deflates completely, his shoulders falling along with his face. He nods. Shrugs. Looks away and hides his face behind his leg.

Steve sighs softly, watching the boy and speaking the words he wants to say the sixteen year-old version of himself. “I don’t know,” he says truthfully. “I really don’t, and it sucks sometimes, having this need to, like, decide. Or understand. Or stop and be like the rest of them.” Like Robin and Eddie, or like the rest of the world. “But I like to think, sometimes, that maybe it’s a good thing. That there’s just… I don’t know, it sounds corny as hell, but like, there’s just so much love to give, we can’t even stick to only boys or girls, y’know.”

“That does sound real corny as fuck, man,” Mike says, and back is that long suffering tone of his, back is that eye roll and the twitching elbow, ready to nudge Steve in the side. It’s still tinged with that vulnerability, not quite Mike yet, but it’s an offering.

One of many tonight, it seems.

Steve grins, a bit lopsided and raw, shoving Mike gently as he remembers something he overheard once. “Sorry, mister Heart of our group, but I don’t think you have any leg to stand on here.”

That makes Mike freeze, though, and he stares at Steve wide-eyed; caught. Exposed. Reminded.

“What did you say?”

“Uh,” Steve falters, not sure where he went wrong — or if he went wrong at all. “I overheard Will calling you that, talking about you to, uhm. Someone. I don’t know. Why, what’s— What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Mike says, way too quickly, pulling away again with everything he has, hiding behind those walls once more, and Steve feels whiplash from it.

“Mike,” he says, his voice quiet and gentle as he turns to face him completely.

“No.”

“It’s okay,” Steve says. Promises, as much as he can.

“Shut up!”

“You’re not wrong or bad or broken. It’s okay, you’re okay.”

“I said, shut up, Steve.”

“You should see the way he looks at you, too. You should go talk to him. You—“

Mike lashes out, finally coming out from behind those walls again, only to shove at Steve, to push him away — hard enough for him to lose his balance and almost fall off the roof, clenching one hand on the edge, the other in the rainwater gutter with a bitten-off curse.

“Shit, I’m sorry!” Mike reaches for him immediately, snapping out of whatever anger Steve caused, and pulling him back until he’s safe again, apologising over and over, dead to Steve’s promises that it’s alright. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, Steve, I’m so—“

He pulls Mike against his chest, finally reaching out to hold the boy who always pushes people away when they get too close — quite literally, too.

But he doesn’t shove this time, doesn’t move out of Steve’s grasp as the mumbled apologies become heaving sobs.

“It’s okay, you’re okay, you’re so okay, Mike,” Steve tells him over and over as he holds him. The sky above is almost black now and Steve lets Mike cry into his chest.

It takes a while for Mike to calm down, but Steve just holds him through it, ready to let go whenever Mike wants to pull back and snap out of it again — but he never does, and Steve feels a certain kind of affection for the boy that is usually reserved for Lucas or Dustin.

At last, when he’s calmed down, Mike pulls back a little. “Do you really… Does it… Is it really okay?”

Can it be okay? Can I really like both? Is that not just me, being broken and wrong and bad? Will I get the chance to not be alone?

Steve swallows hard, and his voice is hoarse when he says, “Yeah. It’s really okay. ‘N’ I’m with you, yeah? If someone gives you shit for it. Or if you need a reminder.”

And Mike — puffy eyed, snotty nosed, so, so young — looks at him with those trusting eyes and nods, like he believes Steve. Like he trusts him. Like he hopes.

“Just don’t fucking shove me off your roof again.”

Ans just like that, the spell is broken, the tension is lifted, and silence has left them, as Mike almost chokes on a laugh and shoves at him again, lightly this time, before jumping off the roof so Steve can’t retaliate.

“Asshole,” he mutters, shaking his head as he, too, jumps off the roof, dusting off his pants as he watches Mike grabbing his bike. “Hey, Micycle,” he calls, cackling when Mike flips him the bird. “You want a ride back?”

Mike stops, considering as Steve casually flicks his keys into the air and catches them expertly. “What kinda music do you got?”

“The Clash, ‘cause Eddie hates them.”

“Yeah, that’s because they suck!”

Steve snorts, opening the driver’s side door. “Y’know, they’re one of Will’s favourites, actually.”

He watches Mike freeze with a grin on his face, knowing there’s no way the boy would take the bike.

“You’re so annoying,” Mike sighs as he brings his bike close to the garage and carefully lays it on the grass this time before hurrying over to Steve, getting in on the front, rolling his eyes when Steve cackles. “I don’t know why Eddie would date you—“

His words are drowned out when Steve turns up Train in Vain, drumming along on the steering wheel with a shit eating grin. Though the atmosphere is wildly different now, the spell broken and the bubble burst, it’s undeniable that something happened between them. Something big, something important.

Something that makes Mike’s annoyed, long-suffering expression be broken by the smile he’s trying to hide. It makes Steve laugh, elated and feeling something that’s much, much bigger than he himself ever could be.

It’s going to be okay. So, so okay.

Before they know it, they’re pulling up to Steve’s and he turns off the car, is about to get out when Mike makes him still again.

“Hey, Steve?”

“Hm?”

“I think it’s cool. You and Eddie.”

He smiles, relief and fondness washing over him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks.” He reaches over and ruffles Mike’s hair — a wild mane these days, but they could make it work with some care and some products. “Now go get your man, lover boy.”

“God, you suck so much, you’re so annoying!”

Steve’s cackling again when the passenger door slams shut and Mike lets himself into his house.

He spots a figure in the dark, their face lighting up when they take a drag of a cigarette — and Steve’s heart stumbles in his chest. He scrambles to get out, attempting to look calm and collected, even though Eddie always manages to see right through him.

“Hello, stranger,” he says, leaning against the wall beside Eddie, hiding away in the dark, where the world won’t see their shoulders touch, or their fingers tentatively playing with each other before they can’t take it no longer and lace their hands, holding on tight.

“Hi,” Eddie breathes. “How’d it go?”

“Fine, I think. But, uhm… I told him. About me. About us. That, uh. That okay?”

Even in the dark, Steve can feel eyes on him, but he just stares ahead, opting instead to give his warm hand a squeeze. He smiles when Eddie’s thumb begins to draw patterns on his palm.

“Hmm. Very. You think they’ll be okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, stealing Eddie’s cigarette from his mouth and pulling it between his own lips. “Yeah, I think they will be.”

#steve & mike #steve harrington #mike wheeler #steddie #byler #pre-relationship byler #real hesitant to use the pairing tags tho 🥺😭#this kinda ran away from me i feel like i’m gonna have to try again with better words but here’s what i got for a first try #i write this whole 3.2k words thing tonight it is 2am i should proofread this but i have a lecture early in the morning i get 5h of sleep #(but only if i fall asleep right this instant which. ain’t happening chief. anyway uh depression era words?#dio words #and yes the bisexual light of this whole scene is important thanks for asking

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c0mbatchameleon · 2 months

Text

@jegulus-microfic March 12, prompt: retire, words: 953

Aka optometrist reg au (part 1? maybe) loosely based off of this post

James is having trouble breathing.

The problem is, he can’t quite remember how to do it right now. His brain, rather impressively, emptied of all of its contents the moment the optometrist opened the door.

Right off the bat, the man had been straight to business; swift stride into the room, eyes glued to the clipboard in hand, a curt “hello” and introduction before he sat down and uncapped a pen with his goddamn teeth. James could only stare dumbly, mouth agape as he stumbled over half-sentient responses to the all routine eye exam questions (“See okay with your current prescription?” A black curl falling over the doctor’s otherwise perfectly framed face, cheekbones carved by the sea, like stones.

“Uh huh.”

“Taking any current medications?” Beautiful silver-blade eyes meeting his expectantly.

“Uh-“ James coughing and clearing his throat, “no. No medications.”)

Now, he's at least regained his ability to form sentences. But as James watches the doctor fiddling with machinery, silver rings glinting in harsh, sterile lighting, he is finding immense difficulty in breathing like a normal human being.

“So,” James begins, leaning to rest his elbow on the table and swelling his chest ever-so-slightly. He does his best to smooth out his voice as he speaks, going for casual with just a sprinkling of something sultry. “Dr. Black, did you say it was?” He may not be able to fully function but God help him if he can’t still flirt.

The doctor's eyes flick up for only a split second, but James counts it as a win. “That’s correct.” He maneuvers what looks like an avant-garde torture contraption towards where James is sitting. “Rest your chin on the platform.”

James does as he’s told, holding back from an absurd urge to respond with a Yes, sir. He's definitely not conjuring a medley of alternate scenarios in his head in which Dr. Black orders him around. “And what might your first name be?”

“It might be of no relevance to the matter at hand, Mr. Potter.”

“Call me James, please.”

Regulus sits on the other side of the torture-machine and begins turning dials. “You should see a red X on the right side, James,” he replies flatly. Still, the sound of his name on the man’s tongue is fucking intoxicating. It's echoing around his skull--James James James JamesJamesJames--he wants to hear it a million more times, every minute of every day until his last.

James usually hates these appointments. Hates the big machines he has to stick his face in, blowing air and shining bright lights in his eyes. Hates that stupid picture of the house that they make him look at a million times over while some old man who looks just about ready to retire asks “One or two?”

But Dr. Black is not some old man.

He’s new—James has been coming here for years and has certainly never been graced with the sight of this angel-fallen-to-earth before. He's young, too; despite the way he carries the poise of a man with years of experience under his belt, cool and confident and collected, there’s no way Dr. Black is old enough to be more than a couple years out of school. All sharp edges and smooth skin.

And god, his skin. It looks impossibly soft, stretched over slender hands and freckled cheeks, strong nose and cut jaw. As James runs his eyes hungrily over the landscapes of peach-pale skin--hills and valleys spanning the doctor's face and neck and fingers and knuckles--he considers how easy it would be to reach out and touch it, find out for himself if it's really as smooth as it looks.

“James,” Dr. Black's voice cuts sharp through his fantasy, one brow raised where he's clearly caught James drooling over him. “Please look into the eyepiece.”

It’s not like James can help it. He’s a bit entranced by the way the doctor maintains such a stoic expression, posture rigid and cold eyes unwavering, especially now. It’s all the beauty of a pointed blade, glittering in the sunlight, begging to draw blood.

But James doesn’t miss the light blush now in full bloom across the man’s cheeks. Silver-clad fingers have begun tapping a sporadic pattern on the table as storm cloud eyes sweep down and back up James' face, quick as a flash of lightning, and isn’t that just curious? Suddenly, James wants to know what it would take to get that stone-cold cast to crack.

He shoots back a sly grin. “Sure thing, nameless doctor.” He looks into the contraption. “Oh would you look at that. A red X.”

The doctor lets out a muted sigh. He fidgets some more with the dials and buttons on the other side of the machine as James watches the X shift in and out of focus. He breaks the silence only when it's stretched for just a moment too long. “My name is Regulus. There’s gonna be a bright flash now.”

Immediately, a blinding white light flashes directly into his eye, burning a goddamn hole into his field of vision. He swears he can see the inside of his pupil for a moment.

But James doesn't care. Once the shock subsides, he finds himself grinning ear-to-ear.

Now we're getting somewhere.

He looks back up from the eyepiece to where the doctor, Regulus, is still intently focused on the computer and equipment. Evading James' gaze. Cheeks still pink.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Regulus.”

#I can’t get them out of my head #so here’s a small little thing #didn’t even rlly finish the scene so might continue it some time #laughing at james trying to puff out his chest and strike a pose at this eye exam #james potter #regulus black #jegulus #starchaser #jegulus microfic #james potter x regulus black #jegulus fanfiction #jegulus fic #sunseeker #marauders #james x regulus #writing stuff and things #microfic tag

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