#bad luck fic

[kkpwnall]

if it wasn’t for bad luck i wouldn’t have luck at all

part two | rated t | 4k words [ part one ]

all my thanks and love for @fragilecapric0rnn for beta reading again. thanks for your help, and for kindly correcting my silly mistakes 💜

Eddie catches all the not-so-subtle winks Dustin throws him every time one of the kids wheedles details about the next campaign out of him, or Robin gets him going on government conspiracy theories, or Steve cracks him up with a bitchy remark.

The kid’s about as subtle as a train full of cowbells crashing into a packed clown car.

But he makes it seem so easy, to just… be their friend. Too easy. As if Eddie doesn’t have a lifetime of reasons not to.

Against his better judgment, slowly but surely, they’re eroding his finely-honed walls. Growing like moss, like ivy between the cracks.

The kids barge in one day arguing at full volume. Steve trudges in behind them and drops into the crummy plastic chair closest to Eddie’s bed, the one usually occupied by Wayne or Dustin. Well, when Dustin’s not going toe to broken toe with his friends over—

“We can’t split the party under these conditions!”

[ keep reading below, or read on ao3 ]

Steve heaves a ragged sigh, and Eddie watches as if entranced by the complicated movements of Steve’s fingers as he alternates pinching the bridge of his nose and massaging over his eyes.

He looks wrung out. When was the last time he got a decent night’s sleep?

“So someone has to pull double duty. We’ll draw straws and rotate every week,” Mike says, like he’s being the pinnacle of reasonableness. Whatever it is, Eddie’s sure he isn’t.

“That’s not fair! We should just pull someone off and make them exempt. Like Nancy or El, someone we need on more useful things.”

“What the hell are you little gargoyles arguing about?” Eddie reaches for his DM baritone and comes up short. Maybe his diaphragm got rearranged with all the rest of his guts.

It still works to cut through the kids’ argument though. Steve shoots him a grateful look.

“We’re trying to decide what everyone in the party would do in the inevitable zombie apocalypse,” Mike hurries to explain.

“Inevitable..?” Eddie glances out the window he can just barely see from his position on the bed.

It’s been weeks since they wasted Vecna, with no sign of his sorry ass returning. No blood and ash raining from the sky, no earthquakes splitting the town apart, and definitely no zombies.

“Yeah, ‘cause see, if we’ve got El on recon, Nancy and Lucas take point with ranged weapons. Argyle’s in charge of foraging and cooking—”

Steve groans and slumps back in the seat as the kids pick up steam again. He’s so dramatic, Eddie can’t help a snort of laughter he covers with a cough. Steve’s got a hand splayed over his face, from his jaw up into his hairline, like he can block out the whole world. Or at least this one conversation.

With hands like that, maybe he can...

“But someone’s gotta stay back and guard the base! And you can’t have one person on watch, what if they fall asleep or get attacked or—”

A stupid little smile curls over Eddie’s lips as he watches Steve out of the corner of his eye while the kids keep arguing.

“We’re thirteen people now, Mike! There’s no way to divide watch shifts evenly between thirteen people and twenty-four hours in a day! Even Holly can do that math!”

Eddie whips around as reality drops on him like a load of every perfidious brick this group has worn down over the past couple weeks.

“What did you just say?”

Dustin gives him a disappointed look, “C’mon, Eddie, I know you of all people can do this math. Thirteen—”

No way. Absolutely not. That cannot possibly be correct. It has to be a mistake. It has to.

Eddie does a headcount, checking them off on his fingers hidden under the thin hospital sheets to double check their math. Someone got counted twice or not at all.

His three Hellfire gremlins plus Lady Applejack and Red. Nancy and Robin and Steve round out the Hawkins crew. Add in Supergirl and Zombie Boy with their whole “saving the world” schtick for an even ten, and now he’s really starting to sweat. Then there’s Jonathan and that guy Argyle. Plus Eddie makes…

“Oh my god, I’ll do it! I’ll be the designated hitter,” Steve half-shouts. The kids just stare at him blankly, and he sighs dramatically, rolling his eyes so hard Eddie’s surprised he doesn’t black out from it. “I’ll take the double shifts in your make believe zombie apocalypse. Happy?”

Steve’s hand, the one that was covering his face, sits warm and heavy over the sheet covering Eddie’s trembling hand. Eddie has no idea how or when it got there, or if Steve even really registers where it’s landed. Not exactly holding his hand, not with the sheet between them, but definitely there. Something to focus on that’s not how he already died and he’s still being fucking haunted by the spectre of his birth.

So no, he’s not happy, and neither are the gremlins. They immediately start shouting over each other to argue with him.

“Out!” Steve starts to rise from the chair, leaning his weight on Eddie’s hand and points at the door with a snap. “Get out! Go bother Max and Lucas with this shit, or I’m not driving your sorry asses back here tomorrow.”

And just like that, Dustin ushers them out, still grumbling and arguing. He shoots Steve a look, but Steve glares him down with a hand on his hip.

The door slams behind them and it’s finally, blissfully quiet.

“Jesus Christ with those kids,” Steve mutters as he reclaims his seat, “It’s like they can’t shut up for five minutes.”

Eddie is silent next to him in the bed, and he’s pretty sure if Steve’s hand wasn’t on his, it’d be shaking. The rest of him is. This clawing, aching, tingling vibration just under his skin. The tremor is coming from inside the house.

He knows better than this, he knows better, what the hell is he thinking.

He needs to stop fooling around and get his act together, or with his luck, there really will be a zombie apocalypse and all of these people will be casualties of it. All because of him.

“Sorry,” Steve says, sheepishly. “This is like, your room. I shouldn’t’ve kicked them out if you wanted them here. You just... you looked like you needed a break.”

“Yeah, I— yeah, it’s fine,” Eddie says on a rough exhale. Takes a steadying inhale. And judging by the bags under Steve’s eyes, “Looks like you could use a break yourself, man.”

“They’ve just been arguing about that stupid zombie apocalypse shit for hours!” Steve throws himself back in the chair and launches into his own rant.

One hand gestures wildly, digging through his hair and underscoring his words, while the other stays where it’s been planted, gently covering Eddie’s. Twitching and flexing occasionally.

He lets Eddie catch his breath. He gives him enough space that Eddie could slip his hand free, could pull away without making a big deal out of it. He has to feel Eddie’s hand by now, he has to. But he doesn’t move away.

Eddie doesn’t move away either.

He doesn’t have a good reason not to. In fact, he’s got nothing but good reasons to pull his hand back and let them both pretend like none of this ever happened.

But Steve’s hand is warm and solid over his, even through the sheet. And where would he put his hand anyway? Where would it go, untethered? If anything, it’d interrupt Steve’s flow, and it really seems like he needs to get all this off his beautifully hairy chest.

“—And they’re acting like it’s such a problem we’ve got an uneven number now!“

“Well they’ve kinda got a point. I mean, with thirteen…” Eddie interjects.

Steve flashes him a broad, cocky smile. “Hey, thirteen’s my lucky number.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Eddie mumbles, mostly to himself.

Steve hears him anyway. “No, I’m serious! It’s been my jersey number since I was a kid. Like even way back when I was just playing tee ball. Oh, and get this! Somehow, all through grade school, I was number thirteen on the roll call list. Every year! I mean, that’s crazy, right?”

No, crazy is being pulled out of hell itself by the sheer force of will and determination of a guy whose lucky number is thirteen.

This is just too ironic for words. It’s bordering on absurd.

But Wayne’s always tried to tell him truth is stranger than fiction.

Eddie keeps his mouth shut with gritted teeth, holding back a laugh. Or maybe a scream. Either would land him in the loony bin, because once he started, he wouldn’t ever stop.

“And anyway, the way I see it, our luck’s never been better.”

That unsticks Eddie’s mouth.

“What?” he sputters. “Steve, three people are dead, Red and Henderson both have broken bones, and you got chewed on by fucking demon bats!”

Steve shrugs his shoulder loosely, like it’s just the price of doing business. “Yeah, but we actually figured out who’s behind all this shit. I mean like, everything, since ‘83. Since Will went missing and Barb... We finally got answers. And we closed all the gates now, for good. He’s gone. It’s over. And we’re all still here.”

Steve’s eyes slowly trace over Eddie’s own slightly mangled body. Over the tubes and wires snaking out between the bandages wrapped around his arms. Over the one taped across his cheek, until he meets Eddie’s eyes through his lashes. “We couldn’t’ve done it without you.”

Eddie doesn’t have a clue what to say to that. To any of it. The only thing he brings to the table are nerdy references and loud music and a penchant for getting anyone close to him killed.

But Steve makes all that sound like a good thing. Like Eddie is a good thing.

If he keeps this up, Eddie might almost start to believe him.

Steve clears his throat and releases Eddie from the trap of his honeyed hazel gaze, but not before Eddie sees the rosy pink color starting to tint his cheeks. The same heat rising over his own face.

“Sorry man, we’re doing a terrible job of letting you get any rest today. The kids came in here arguing, and then I just went off like that. I can go, if you want some peace and quiet,” Steve pushes the chair back, and Eddie’s fingers twitch under his hand.

Yes. “No, you… you can stay. If you want.” Eddie grabs the remote with his free hand and waggles it at him, plasters on a smile. “Let’s just watch some tv. Put on whatever you want.”

Steve doesn’t look quite convinced, but he does scootch his chair back closer to the bed. “No no no, it’s your tv, man. I know Dustin’s always stealing the remote.”

“C’mon, seriously…” Eddie thinks for a moment until he lands on, “What did you watch when you were home sick as a kid?”

“Uh no, absolutely not.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“You’re gonna laugh...”

“Cross my heart,” Eddie says, with all the sincerity he can muster.

Steve raises an eyebrow at him, before he blows out an aggrieved sigh. “Alright, look… when I was little, like real little, like younger than the kids, my mom would set me up on the couch with a big blanket with a hot water bottle… And she’d put on General Hospital.”

Eddie presses his lips shut tight to contain his snort of laughter. It still blows his cheeks out though, and there’s a smile he can’t quite keep in.

Steve glares at him, but there’s no heat behind it.

Eddie shakes his head, grinning, “General Hospital it is.”

They surf the channels for a while but can’t find it playing anywhere. Instead, Eddie lands one of Wayne’s old favorite spaghetti westerns, and starts outlining all the tropes of the genre. But it turns out Steve’s grandpa was just as big a fan, and Steve matches him beat for beat as they roast the stilted dialogue.

Eventually, Steve’s eyelids start to droop. His head drops a few times, before he jerks back up, blinking hard. Eddie keeps talking to him, but softer now. Slower. More and more space between each sentence.

Steve’s breath slows and evens out, his chin tucks into his chest and one arm wraps around his stomach. He falls asleep in that uncomfortable hospital chair with his hand still over Eddie’s. 

It’s release day.

It’s finally, finally release day. Marked on his calendar and circled in red. Or it would be, if Eddie had a calendar. He’s never been good at keeping up with those kind of things.

The point is, he’s been counting down to this day for weeks. Weeks. But this is it, today’s the day.

He’s already been denied twice thanks to the government goons.

The first time, he was so out of it on painkillers, he didn’t even realize that maybe he should be taking their questions seriously. That one’s on him for answering everything in character as Samwise Gamgee.

The second time though, he’d bet his remaining guitar on petty revenge. All because he wouldn’t sign their stupid NDA without reading it thoroughly first. Or it could have been his demand for more than a pat on the back from Uncle Sam. Eddie wasn’t about to walk away from this all shit empty handed.

But all that’s settled now. He and Wayne got a modest farmhouse with some land, ready and waiting for them just outside of town. His name’s been cleared and the yokels bought the cover story, hook, line, and sinker. And there’s a stipend coming to a bank account with his name on it every month, as long as he keeps his trap shut. It’s enough that Wayne won’t have to work unless he really wants to.

All the doc has to do is sign his release form, and he’s gone. Eddie is leaving today or so help him—

But it’s not the doctor that comes through the door, or even Wayne.

It’s Steve.

With a “knock knock”, out loud, even as he knocks on the door, peeking around it, and beaming when he sees Eddie.

“Wayne sent me ahead with this,” he drops a hefty duffel bag on the foot of Eddie’s bed. “He and Dustin are just finishing up at the house, they’ll be here any minute.”

Eddie balks a little at that, but Steve chuckles knowingly.

“Don’t worry, Henderson’s leaving with me. I had to bribe him with a trip to the comic book store, but at least it’ll give you and Wayne some time to get settled at the new place.”

“Is it good?” Eddie can’t help but ask. Hates how small it comes out. There’s always a chance the suits decided to screw them over.

Steve answers with one of those soft smiles of his. “Yeah, man. It’s great. You’re gonna love it.”

“Good, good,” Eddie says absentmindedly. He has to tear his eyes away and grab the bag, start rifling through it. All the while trying not to wonder who picked out these clothes and who packed them up and—

“I’ll uh, give you some privacy,” Steve says as Eddie pulls out a heavy red plaid and a pair of sweats.

He pulls the curtain around Eddie’s bed between them, but he doesn’t leave. Instead he asks if Eddie wants the latest (and hopefully last) hospital gossip.

“Uh, duh! I gotta know if Luellen’s made a move yet.”

Eddie wrangles his arms inside the hospital gown and pulls it roughly over his head to throw it in a heap in the corner. Ooo-ing and gasping at all the right moments during Steve’s tales of intrigue.

He has to move slower than he wants to, has to take his time and sit on the edge of the bed, dangling his legs to the floor to shimmy into the sweatpants.

And whoever picked the flannel deserves a goddamn Nobel prize. He’s able to slip it on easily without agitating his remaining stitches or lifting his arms above his head. And once he’s got the buttons done up, it’s loose enough not to snag or cling.

Eddie digs around in the bag again and fishes out a pair of slip-on shoes. They’re not his, not his usual style, and definitely don’t go with this getup. But the worn leather is soft, and at least he doesn’t have to deal with the whole mess of bending over to tie them. Or— god forbid— ask Steve to come over and tie them for him.

That’s an ordeal he’s not sure he’d survive.

Whoever packed this bag is getting a fruit basket.

In a soft purple crown royal bag tucked in on the side, he finds his rings and his necklace, and it makes something in his heart clench. Something slots into place, just by sliding the rings back on his fingers, the pick over his head. Whole, in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Screw the fruit basket, they’re getting a whole goddamn orchard.

Eddie’s been quiet for a long moment, not quite keeping up his end of the storytelling experience.

Steve’s gone quiet too, and Eddie’s not sure how long it’s been since either of them said anything.

On the other side of the curtain, Steve clears his throat, and his sneakers squeak on the tile as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.

“Are you decent?”

Eddie snorts out a laugh. “I’m dressed if that’s what you’re asking.”

He catches the tail end of Steve’s eye roll as he pulls back the curtain. He looks Eddie up and down as he comes around. Smiles softly and gets comfortable on the foot of the bed, one leg folded underneath him.

“Ready to go?”

“You have no idea,” and Eddie has to fight the urge not to throw himself back dramatically on the bed. Damn the stitches.

“Yeah, I don’t blame ya. My longest stay wasn’t even half as long as they’ve kept you, and I was climbing the walls by the end of it.” He rubs unconsciously at the scar running through the edge of his eyebrow.

Eddie does not take his hand and pull it away to soothe the aching memory himself. He doesn’t even think about it, really. Definitely doesn’t have to distract himself with an old habit like sliding his rings off and on his fingers.

“What, unseasoned hospital food doesn’t appease your refined palette?” he teases in a haughty voice.

“If I had to eat one more piece of dry, rubbery chicken…” Steve threatens.

“No way, man, the pork chops are way worse.”

They argue back and forth, ranking the rest of the limited hospital menu on a scale of pudding cups to sawdust, and it’s good, it’s easy.

Until there’s a lull in the conversation, and Steve clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair. Sits up a little straighter, squaring his shoulders like he’s psyching himself up.

“Hey so I was thinking… Maybe once you’re all cleared, I can take you out for dinner sometime? I promise it’ll be better than any of this crap.”

Steve looks so earnest, so hopeful, with that confident damn smile curving his lips and his heavy lidded eyes watching Eddie. His hands flex like he wants to reach for him. But he stays still and gives Eddie his space. Must somehow know Eddie would be even more likely to run if he did.

A tight knot of want and can’t claws roughly up Eddie’s throat and he’s pretty sure he stops breathing.

He has to tell him. Knowing Eddie, being friends with Eddie, it’s dangerous. It always has been. He’s let himself indulge in this fantasy for way too long. He has to put a stop to it, now.

It’s more dangerous than Dustin, than Wayne, than Chrissy. Not just a friend but something— someone more.

“Steve…” who Eddie cannot even begin to think about being anything. He won’t.

Eddie Munson is nobody’s happy ending.

“You don’t want— this,” he chickens out at the last second.

Steve’s smile slowly fades and he blinks a few times. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as his head tilts to the side, considering for a moment. “I think you should let me decide what I want.”

And Eddie wants to scream.

This isn’t about you!

But of course, it is. It’s about him, and every single person that’s come before him, and every one that’s sure to come after him, and everything that has and will go wrong.

The words catch in Eddie’s throat, and he can’t say any of them. So he just sits there, frozen and silent and begging Steve to understand.

Steve looks away and lets out a long breath. Not quite a sigh as he shakes his head. He stands and starts heading towards the door.

He turns back before he gets there though, catching Eddie again in his earnest gaze.

“The real question: is what do you want, Eddie?”

And nobody’s asked him that in such a long time. Every day since he woke up in the hospital has been the same. All of his meals are pre-planned and brought at the exact same time, whether he’s hungry or not, whether he likes the food or can even keep it down or not. His schedule, from when to sleep to when to take his meds to when he does physical therapy, has been out of his hands. And then Dustin shows up with whoever he decides to bring with him that day.

Eddie’s been resurrected, but what choice has he really had?

Part of him, this new part of him born from his death and a second chance at life, is just daring him to see how far he can push his newfound luck. To prove once and for all if the curse really is broken.

Eddie’s never said no to a dare.

Steve turns to leave, one hand reaching for the door, and Eddie scrambles to his feet. Takes a few shaky stiff, baby deer steps forward as he calls him back, “Steve—”

He holds Steve’s gaze for an impossibly long moment, tracing the swirls and whorls and questions in his hazel eyes, his freckles and moles and scars.

Go big and go home.

“How about a kiss?” Eddie asks. “For luck?”

Steve’s face morphs through several expressions so fast, Eddie can’t keep track of all of them. He lands on something incredulous, his lips curving upwards in a smirk even as his eyebrows fall and pinch in the middle at the sheer audacity—

But he crosses the room in two swift strides to stand in front of Eddie. Throws a quick glance at the still-shut door, at his mouth, before meeting his eyes again. Eddie barely starts to nod, and Steve’s lips are on his.

His gentle strong hand around Eddie’s elbow reels him in, pulls him closer. Eddie’s lands on his bicep, and the flex of muscle ignites a frisson of sparks under his palm to race through his bloodstream.

Steve’s other hand caresses Eddie’s unblemished cheek. Like he’s something precious. Something to hold onto, something dear.

As far as kisses go, it’s Eddie’s first.

Soft, sure and confident, the kiss is everything Eddie could have ever dreamed of. Hurried— not as in frenzied. Hurried as in greedy. Desperate to steal the breath from his lungs before he’s even noticed it’s missing.

Eddie kisses Steve back with equal fervor, trying to pour everything he has, everything he wants, everything he fears into the movement of his lips, the sweep of his tongue.

Eddie’s hand joins Steve’s on his cheek, keeping him close. An anchor in the tsunami flooding his senses with everything Steve. Cherry lip balm and hairspray, fresh laundry, and the musky hint of sweat underneath it all. It’s intoxicating. Incomparable. Incredible.

And Eddie’s just gonna blame the weeks-long hospital stay for how fast he goes weak at the knees.

Steve’s sure, steady hand in the small of Eddie’s back guides him slowly backwards until his thighs hit the bed again, and he sits hard, breaking the kiss with a gasp.

Eddie reaches for him, eyes wide and staring up at Steve through his lashes, hooking his fingers through his belt loops. Two steps away is too far but Steve wastes no time crowding closer to stand between Eddie’s legs. He gently tips Eddie’s face up with a featherlight touch and kisses him deeply while Eddie holds him firmly by his hips.

Consuming and consumed, devouring and devoured. Wanting and wanted.

When they come up for air, Steve swoops back in, once, twice, and a lingering third time, like he’s reluctant to stop. And Eddie strains his neck to meet him kiss for kiss.

Steve finally pulls away just far enough to sigh breathlessly against his lips, “Is that all you want, Eddie?” His eyes screwed shut tight.

No. Eddie wants everything. For now though, he’ll settle for– “Somebody said something about dinner and movie?”

“Oh so now there’s a movie, huh?” Steve says, but he’s smiling and nudges his nose against Eddie’s.

“Don’t go thinking I’m a cheap date now, sweetheart,” and Eddie’s smiling too. Smiling too much for more than quick kisses that skate across their lips.

With each peck, Eddie schemes how to get Steve’s lips on his again. How to keep him. Keep him safe.

They break apart when the sharp clack-clack of heels echoes down the corridor from Eddie’s room, heralding the doctor’s arrival.

Eddie was born under a bad sign. But maybe here, in this new life, he can make his own luck. 

[ also on ao3 ]

#steddie #steve x eddie #stranger things #steveddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things steve #stranger things eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #friday the 13th fic #bad luck fic #kk writes

[mellaithwen]

seven sentence sunday :)

I'm fairly certain this is gonna get me yelled at, but uh.... here's seven sentences from the [redacted] fic ;) thanks for the early tags @homerforsure and @renecdote you magical beans <;33

A vicious hand knocks him to the floor and orders him to stay down whilst beside him, Eddie receives the same treatment. More bodies get shoved to the ground around them until everyone’s face-down, lying so very still to keep from getting shot. 

Buck shifts his head ever so slightly to keep his eyes locked on Eddie—who in turn does the same—and for a second that’s all there is. Just Buck and Eddie, not even an arm’s length apart, staring at each other as if to say; “we’ll get through this,” with their eyes. 

It’s a comfort, but it’s also horrifically familiar, and Buck has to remind himself that he’s not watching Eddie bleed-out on the asphalt on a sunny spring morning in downtown LA. The ground underneath him is a cold linoleum, scuffed and stained from years of comings and goings. Outside it’s raining. And there’s no blood.

At least—he thinks as he catches a glimpse of the handgun in the hands of the robber closest to them—not yet.

Tagging: @littlespoonevan @princessfbi @hattalove @henswilsons @buckleyirondad @tripleaxeldiaz @ghosthuntereddie @hopeintheashes @thekristen999 and @capseycartwright mWAH *runs away*

#911 fic #seven sentence sunday #911 fox #evan buckley #hmm this fic needs a tag.... but how not to spoil...... #actually i already said robber.... #mellaithwen fanfic #bad luck fic

[vicsy]

They had an agreement, thing is. 

Lance hadn't forgotten even in the midst of getting his brain scrambled and his body feeling like jelly once the last bits of the adrenaline seeped out of him; evaporated like droplets of water on the heated surface of the Singapore race track, streaked with burnt tyre marks and covered in the debris of his car.

His dad caught up with him at the doors of the med center, tugging Lance in for a mindful hug, away from cameras and those media vultures. The doctors had already cleared him of the worst but Lance couldn't fight a jittery feeling, even with Lawrence's hold steadying him in more ways than one. He powered through it, though, managing a quick foray to catering and finding nothing to his liking. 

Lance's phone was a minute or two away from blowing up, messages and notifications piling up. He called his sister instead of texting her back, gingerly sitting on the side of the hotel room bed, the aftermath of his crash reverberating through his bones, a faint buzzing under his skin. When Chloe picked up with envious speed, as if she's been waiting, Lance cut off whatever she was gearing up to say, his voice steadier than he felt. 

Fine. He was fine. He didn't have to see the pics; he's been there, he lived through it. Saved him from the mockery of it all, for sure.

He set his phone on the nightstand beside a pack of painkillers the doctors prescribed and a half-drank bottle of water, slumping against the headboard, floating on the verge of passing out. It took some time to settle in, Lance diligently cataloguing every painful pang and uncomfortable pull of muscles that made him grit his teeth until he settled carefully on his side, facing the panoramic window. 

He hadn't forgotten, even in sleep, and when Lance opens his eyes, disturbed by a familiar noise of the door opening, something stirs at the back of his mind, a warning flashing before his bleary eyes. 

It was their thing. On media day, Lance found himself chatting away with Esteban when Fernando came up to both of them, discreetly palming Lance's ass, then dipping his fingers in his back pocket to fish out a keycard. Este only looked in horror and Lance barely contained a tiny laugh bubbling in his chest. Fernando's nonchalance as he waved the keycard playfully at him and shot a pointed took Esteban's way earned Lance a nasty smack on the shoulder and a frantic tirade half in French, half in English. 

That was Thursday. Lance ended up spread out on the bed, panting into the mattress helplessly, thighs shaking as Fernando took his fill and they fell asleep tangled with each other, sated. On Friday night, he went down to his knees, Fernando's eyes screwed shut and his back pressed against the door of his hotel room, fingers tangled in Lance's hair, the keycard he stole lying on the floor beside him. Two could play this game.

And tonight, they're not supposed to–

There's a muffled sound of footsteps and then the bed dips. Lance moves to roll onto his back, only to stop short as a hand wraps around his middle, strong and possessive. Fernando presses his body alongside his, sure and steady; warm but out of place. 

"Fernando?" Lance calls out, dumbly, in some sort of dizzy disbelief. 

He wasn't superstitious. It was Fernando's forte. Anyone else would have laughed it off but Lance listened to Fernando's reasoning the night after they raced in Spain, stealing two days out of the schedule to be away from their pressing obligations, media shitstorm and judgmental looks. Lance doesn't remember leaving the bed much but the sunset over Oviedo burned itself in his memory, along with every little quiver and moan Fernando wrenched out of him, sealing their lips together as the sun slipped below the horizon outside an open window. 

"Is bad luck," Fernando had said, propped up on one elbow, mouth curving in an easy grin that pulled a lazy smile out of Lance, almost automatically. "Better we always miss one day and meet after the race, no?"

Fernando kissed the corner of his mouth, gripping the back of Lance's neck, and he'd agreed to the terms, never the one to protest. It didn't matter to Lance much back then, setting a tray with their food aside in favor of pulling Fernando on top of him, chasing what neither of them should have ever had.

And yet.

A day before the race, they stay in their rooms; they don't fuck. No funny business. 

They had an agreement and it shouldn't be broken over Lance's own string of bad fucking luck or whatever karmic debt he acquired; over the hunger he knows resides deep in Fernando's soul. Over the one that flickers within Lance, a trivial thing before the real enormity of it swallowed him whole. 

Fernando's palm slips up and down his thigh, fingers passing over the hem of his sleep shorts and Lance's breath hitches. He's never said no, but he's not in the right condition for anything, let alone lying there and taking it. Usually Fernando rolls him onto his belly and Lance goes, pliant and willing and already breathless with anticipation. Now, his body freezes like he's about to crash again and his mind wanders.

Offhandedly, Lance tries to remember if Fernando had called or texted him but what would be the point of it now? He breathes in shakily, staying painfully still. 

"Hey, I don't–"

Fernando cuts him off.

"Shh," he whispers as if annoyed, softly kissing the nape of Lance's neck once, twice, then splaying his palm across the flat plane of Lance's stomach. "You sleep now. Tomorrow, we race."

It knocks Lance off balance, the way he entirely missed the mark. He feels Fernando burrow his face in his hair, breath tickling his sensitive skin. He holds Lance close, his grip unrelenting, borderline suffocating and something cracks open in Lance's chest, spills out and makes him shiver. The tension eases and he tentatively covers Fernando's hand on his body with his. 

Crawling out of the corner Lance backed himself into, he settles in the bewildered comfort. In his eyes, Fernando is two men at once — the one who who isn't scared of means to an end in order to win and the one who comes up with a different nickname to call Lance in private, making his heart flutter. 

And in the never-ending aftermath of his crash, in the face of those who always turn their back to Lance, the latter man claims his victory. Lulled by Fernando's steady heartbeat against his shoulder blades, Lance slips into fitful sleep, hope nestling deep in his ribcage. 

He wakes with a jolt. Feels like he's fallen into a pit, panicky and sticky with sweat, heart hammering away an uneven rhythm. A heavy weight of Fernando's hand is still slung across his back, a solid point of contact. Some semblance of relief lurches in his throat along with nausea. 

Lance knows something is wrong. He sluggishly gets his hands underneath himself, struggling to lift himself up, and falls back on the bed with a pathetic little noise. His alarm hasn't gone off yet. It's barely light outside. 

His limbs won't cooperate, no substantial strength in his muscles, his t-shirt sticking to his skin uncomfortably. Head pounding, Lance blinks rapidly, suddenly out of breath, like he just completed the race. What a fucking joke. He screws his eyes shut, his mind racing.  

A hand pushes on his shoulder to roll him onto his back in a sick reverse of what he's used to. When Lance blinks his eyes open again, Fernando's sleep-rumpled face swims into his vision. He can't read his expression right, just takes in the lines of worry on Fernando's forehead. He must look like hell.

Lance shakes his head against the pillow, the pinprick of tears in the corners of his eyes. Fernando's shoulders sag as he rasps:

"Is fine, Lance."

It's not. He's not fit to race, a hopeless case at this point. 

"I can't," Lance chokes against the unfamiliar lump in his throat. "Fer, I'm– I can't."

He hurts all over, pain erupting in different parts of his body and then flaring everywhere at once. Lance feels so fucking betrayed, restrained, pitiful. He remembers waking up from surgery, groggy and still half-broken but it feels worse now, feels baneful. Lance moves to swipe damp hair from his forehead, hand wavering, laden. 

Fernando takes him by the wrist, lifts his hand gentle enough and Lance allows to be manoeuvred, guided. Then; a kiss placed over the scar there, warm lips pressed to his clammy skin, grounding him. Lance lets an ugly sob free.

"Is fine," Fernando repeats, a hollow look in his eyes. His fingers tighten around Lance's wrist. "I race for us both this time."

He leaves, soon after; Lance stays behind. 

He almost wishes Fernando good luck, out of habit. Almost. Lately, Lance has been all out of it but he'd spare some for Fernando, unprompted. He promises Lance to wear one of his gloves for the race. For luck. Lance's face twist as do his insides. He's always been dismal at masking how he really feels. 

The last twenty laps Lance watches from the back of the Aston Martin garage, tucked safely away from the reporters. His body still feels sore, like a foreign entity that exists outside of him but it pales in comparison to the feeling of his stomach dropping as Fernando spins on the track and keeps losing and losing and losing. 

Perhaps, it's Lance's luck that does him in. Misplaced blame tastes acrid on his tongue. 

As the celebrations unfold, he seeks Fernando out from a distance. He catches him among the sea of mechanics, race suit undone halfway, the same hollowed look from this morning haunting his features. He stalks forward, past where Lance has glued himself to one of the chairs. He makes no move to follow. Fernando doesn't grace him with a mere gaze. In the background, fireworks erupt.

Back in his hotel room, suitcase laid on the floor in disarray, Lance distracts himself and puts his phones aside, itching to shoot a text or anything, really. Fernando has been radio silent since the end of the race, leaving the debrief earlier than usual. Lance isn't some dumb, love-sick teenager, he knows well enough that after today's debacle Fernando would need space. He waits with patience honed with years.

And waits.

And waits.

Then gives up, momentarily scorned. It's almost past midnight. He should have known better; Esteban would be right to laugh in his face. 

They had an agreement. 

It's unfair to the core since Fernando shattered it himself and the reason why was kept implicit, just beneath the surface. Too many ifs cross Lance's mind like someone opened the floodgates of his thoughts. If he was insignificant, Fernando wouldn't bother right from the very start but they're way past the point of no return. If Lance was wiser or older or not himself, he would not have cared at all and even now, he fucking shouldn't. If isn't good enough of an excuse to feel the skin on his wrist burn with a ghost of a kiss; to crave the safety of Fernando's embrace. To be the sole center of his undivided attention.

It's still Sunday night.

They had an agreement. 

Lance downs the last of the painkillers and drags himself under a thick blanket, the aircon cranked to the max and all the lights turned off. 

The door stays shut, the night passes by. His ache grows stronger and doesn't subside.

Morning greets Lance with a taste of defeat and the knowledge settling deep in his bones. He could race with his heart out on the track but could hardly wrestle a win against the clutches the race itself has sunk so utterly deep into Fernando.

Lance's luck leaves him no chances. After all, he was born to lose.

#vicsy writes #strollonso #i though 'how can i make this day better' and chose to make it worse #singapore was hella depressing for strollonso nation #essentially Nando is like we can't fuck before the race it's bad luck and better not see each other #but lance's crush made him go soft..... #anyway sorry for this half baked nonsense #alonstroll #fernando/lance #lance stroll #fernando alonso #strollonso fic #f1 fic #lancenando #lowkey haattee thiiiissssss #listen to Born to Lose by Des Rocs while reading this #can't believe I have to endure the horrors of both Nando and Lance suffering

[dirtbagdefender]

#the broken hearts gallery #dacre montgomery #movie gifs #( * mine ) #dacremontgomeryedit #okay why tf do these look like he's being interviewed for like a blind date service #you guys know the ones i'm thinking of - like through matchmaker services #something something that panic in the second gif would be like modern!billy getting hit with a surprise mid-interview #'so... we actually have something to admit. we kind of already know some things about you.' him in the third gif: 'why????' #them: 'well we've been in touch with your sister max... who tells us that you adopted her when you were seventeen and she was thirteen?!' #him: 'it's actually because of her that i'm even signing up. so i'm obviously in my twenties now and uh. i dunno. i've had bad luck lately! #ok i'm gonna stop writing a damn fic in these tags <3 here everyone enjoy these

[beanghostprincess]

headcanon that actually sanji's eyes are each of a different color (like, blue and soft brown kind of very yellowish. heterochromia is beautiful like that) and after the time skip, when he changes his hairstyle, nobody actually notices because after 2 years of not seeing each other of course they wouldn't remember his eye color. and he actually prefers it this way because he can't deal with them laughing about it now.

but then, one night, when usopp and him are on night guard together for the first time in ages (they're both pining idiots and lost the chance to confess when sabaody happened) usopp won't stop staring at him, focused on his eye, specifically. sanji takes a drag of his cigarette and he feels himself getting more nervous by the second. "is the smoke bothering you or-"

"no!" usopp replies a bit too fast, blushing and instantly bringing his hand to the back of his neck, looking around to avoid sanji's face for a while. "i was just thinking..." he takes a deep breath, and goes back to looking at sanji. the cook won't stop thinking about how long the sniper's hair is and the way it gently falls over his shoulders as he speaks. he doesn't even notice usopp's lovesick stare when he speaks. "your eyes. i liked the blue one. reminds me of the sea."

sanji's heartbeat stops for a second there, and he almost chokes on the smoke but covers it with a dry laugh. "so this one isn't pretty enough for your liking, then?" he tries to sound sarcastic and prays for usopp not to notice the way his voice falters with fear.

usopp's eyes are wide open. "of course it is! it's- it's pretty. really... pretty." the sniper feels his body shaking as he tries to fix what he said. they're both acting stupid, blushing and trying not to seem too focused on the other. but it's not like neither of them can hold back from staring at each other. silence comes, and somehow usopp has the courage to smile. "it's just like sand. or gold."

"that's the best metaphor you can come up with, longnose?" he says this as if he wasn't on the verge of tears.

the sniper shrugs his shoulders. "why would you cover one? together they'd be, you know, like the beach. sand, gold, the sea... it's- um- cool."

sanji raises his eyebrow at that, and scoffs as he takes another drag of his cigarette. he doesn't want to finish it that early, or he won't have anything to do with his hands later. "i wouldn't hear the end of it if i did."

"but they're beautiful!" usopp insists. they've been sitting closer and closer.

beautiful.

something inside of sanji breaks after hearing that word, looking up at the night sky for a moment with a bittersweet smile. "well, men aren't supposed to be be-"

"why not?" that catches him off guard. usopp's decisive eyes meet his. the sniper's hand is shaking, but he still makes an effort to touch sanji's hair ever so slightly, thinking twice about it. their faces are so close sanji refuses to smoke in case he burns usopp. "can i?"

sanji looks around for a few seconds, and thinks about refusing. about denying him the chance to see his face completely. to witness what he truly looks like. but he nods, anyway. "you tell somebody about this and i murder you. they haven't noticed yet."

usopp hums at that, a tiny, excited smile showing up on his lips. "because they don't pay attention to you. only an idiot wouldn't be able to notice."

"maybe you pay too much attention to me." and it kind of sounds like 'i don't deserve that you do'.

but usopp finally moves his hair to the side, and the way his breathing twitches says 'you deserve everything. you're everything' and the sniper kind of hopes he hears it. usopp takes a deep breath, letting his other hand travel to sanji's face so he can hold it better. the cook grabs him by the wrist but keeps it there.

they're both shaking.

sanji lets out an embarrassed laugh, something that usopp has never heard coming from him. "not that cool when you see both at the same time, huh? the eyebrows are also-"

"you're gorgeous."

before any of them can panic at usopp's sudden comment, sanji's grip on his wrist tightens. usopp notices, looking down at his lips for a second, going back at his eyes again.

they keep looking at each other for a while, realizing that usopp is kind of almost on top of sanji at this point, and that neither of them wants the other to move away. they just want- need each other closer.

sanji is so overwhelmed by his words he isn't sure of what to say, so he just slides his hand to grab usopp's tightly. beautiful. gorgeous. it's breaking him. it's too much. and yet, he wants more.

"can you- say it again?"

"you're beautiful." he breathes out. "gorgeous. the prettiest person i've ever-"

"oh, shut up!" sanji can't help but laugh at the exaggeration, but usopp is completely serious.

oh, fuck, he's being completely serious. because the sniper is now too close to him, and he isn't smiling anymore. "can i draw you someday?"

and perhaps it's the butt of the cigarette burning his fingertips, but he feels brave enough to lean into usopp. "can you kiss me first?" and it comes out instinctively.

the way the sniper jumps a bit, surprised at his words is endearing enough for the cook to smile right away. "what? yes? yes. of course. yes. yea-"

it's sanji who kisses him.

and he thinks, while all the ashes fall completely on the deck, that he'll keep covering one of his eyes. not because he doesn't think they're beautiful enough to be seen. not because he's ashamed.

he just doesn't want usopp to get used to them. he wants him to draw him and kiss him and hold him like this forever, every time he sees both of his eyes and eyebrows, like the first time. forever. and besides, the sniper is right. the others didn't even notice. perhaps they will after a few more days of being together, but for now?

maybe sanji really, really likes the fact that usopp is the only one that pays this much attention to him.

#no this isn't at all like that pudding and sanji scene shut up #i just had a revelation #i just love sanji being insecure and usopp just loving every part of him #get yourself an artist boyfriend today that compares your eyes to the beach and wants to draw you so bad he starts shaking idk #could've made it a fic but i was lazy and this is only a short thingy #anyway i love them very much they're so cute #daily sanuso post for clear skin and luck #sanuso #sanji x usopp #black leg sanji #usopp #one piece

[the-kr8tor]

It is done

#who's the baddes bitch that wrote 6k in one sitting? THIS MF BITCH THAT'S WHO! #now time to edit and proofread this bad boy #*sees my editing notes that i wrote while writing the entire thing so i can just go back at it* *its a page long* OH GOD #i love it so much!!!!!!! #also pls read the author's note at the end of the fic 😉 #good luck to everyone reading it the second it drops ❤️ #end of an era #drafting this post will be a pain in the ass literally the worst part of uploading a fic #but it'll be worth it #hope you all like it!!! #katy mumbles #katy updates #bdas #update on Saturday???? if i finish early but most likely sunday

[your-not-invisible-to-me]

We'll Hold Hands Until the Sun Comes Out (Matt Murdock x Reader) 

Ship: Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary:

After a horrible week of bad luck breaking you down, Matt is ready to be there and pick up the pieces.

Word Count: 1,494

Warning: none

A/N: Title inspired by one of my favorite songs, "Time Wasting" by Heffron Drive. Listen to it here! It makes the fic better me thinks. Fic itself is for @pastafossa as she deserves all the Matt comfort after some consistent bad luck.

It was too loud. 

Even with the lights off and the tv on mute, the world was just too loud as you continued to bury your head into the pillow. 

It had been an awful week. Just plain awful. 

You should have known something was wrong when it started with Matt telling you he had to go out of town for a few days, some conference upstate that was an apparent golden networking opportunity for him and Foggy.  Who were you to protest? 

But then the power went out in the apartment after they left, and only Matt had the passwords to all the accounts you needed to pay for it.

Did you mention your phone was dead, too? 

Sure you were able to get it charged after going to Karen’s. Sure you were able to call Matt and listen as he profusely apologized for letting the date of the power bill slip his mind. Sure, you were able to get confirmation that it would be turned on by the end of the day, and indeed it was. 

But then your co-worker called out sick the next day, leaving you to deal with an angry boss. Then your lunch got stolen. Twice. In one week. 

And who could forget the lovely cab that skidded to a stop right next to you on the sidewalk? While it was raining? 

So now, as the evening rolled around on Friday night, all you wanted to do was sleep. 

But it was just too loud. Each honk of a Hell’s Kitchen taxi came through the walls as if it were the bricks that fell as it toppled down. The slide of your clothes against the grooves in the silk sheets dug into your brain like nails on a chalkboard. 

So you did what you could do as you dug your head deeper into the pillow, and hoped that sleep would eventually win the battle. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Matt couldn’t exactly complain about the week he’d had. While he always hated being away from you, the trip to Syracuse for a conference was a success. While networking wasn’t either his or Foggy’s stronger suit, as it usually involved kissing ass to lawyers who wouldn’t take a second glance at them, he had felt that this conference was filled with the rare types you only heard of, lawyers who cared. 

He couldn’t help but feel a new hope for the profession he had worked hard to be in. 

So now, on this Friday night, he, Karen, and Foggy sat in Josie’s Bar drinking to their success. He had tried to call you to join them, as he and Foggy had chosen to go straight there once arriving back to the city, but was sent straight to voicemail. But it was rather late, and he assumed you were already asleep. 

Little did he know. 

“You should have heard her, Karen. It was so refreshing to actually listen to a lawyer who actually fought for her client. I mean, sure, Jen doesn’t exactly take on clients with the cleanest records, but you can see she actually believes in their right to redemption.” said Foggy. “Too bad she had to go straight back to LA. She seemed like the type who would be hella fun in a bar.” 

It was the mention of you that pulled Matt back into the conversation. 

“Jen would have to be immune to alcohol if she wanted to out-drink her!” said Karen. She wasn’t wrong, his girlfriend did have quite the ability to hold her liquor. 

“Where is she, anyway?” asked Foggy. “She never misses a night a Josie’s.” 

“I tried calling her!” said Matt. “It went straight to voicemail. She’s probably already asleep. She seemed pretty busy lately.” 

“Well with the week she’s had, I wouldn’t blame her for conking out either,” said Karen. 

Well, that sure did get Matt’s attention. 

“What do you mean?” 

As Karen spilled in detail your trail of bad luck that had followed you throughout the week, the grip on his cane tightened. Both of his friends knew better than to question it as he immediately slipped cash on the table and just about threw himself out the door. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was too quiet.

Usually, when Matt approached his apartment, he’d be able to hear you in some shape or form, whether it would be humming as you danced through the kitchen or the murmur of the television that played softly as you snoozed on the couch. 

But now there was nothing. He would have thought no one was home if he hadn’t finally picked up your heartbeat when he entered the lobby. 

As he opened the door, the scene before him made his heart ache. He could sense everything. Your work clothes were skewed across the floor rather than in the hamper, something you had bought to make HIM pick up the habit. Dishes from leftovers were piled in the sink, and while he was more than guilty of waiting till the morning to clean up dinner, you were always the opposite. 

He made it to your shared bedroom, finding you curled up in bed under more blankets than he realized you owned. 

“Sweetheart?” 

The silence echoed throughout the room, raising his concern as he knew you weren’t asleep. 

He walked to your side of the bed, lowering to his knees as he tried to find your face. 

“Darling, are you all right?” 

“Matty?” your voice came out in cracks. 

“What is it, sweetheart?” 

“Please help me.” 

If his heart ached before, it was falling to pieces now. He immediately crawled up into bed with you, pulling you into his lap as he curled himself around you. Tears immediately started falling from your eyes, soaking his shirt as he tried to soak up your pain. 

“What do you need, sweetheart? How can I help?” He had never seen you like this before, each of your sobs feeling like a stab to his heart. 

“I’m just so tired, Matt. This week was so bad.” 

“Why didn’t you call me earlier? I would have come straight home.” 

“You were working. You were busy.” 

“Never too busy for you.” 

You didn’t know how to respond to that. You knew Matt loved you and were as certain of it as if you could hear his heartbeat too. But you weren’t going to interrupt his week when it was important for work. 

“What can I do, sweetheart?” 

“Make the world quiet, please.” 

This was something he knew all too well. The feeling of the world being so loud that it took over any peace in his mind was something he knew like the back of his hand. You were always the first one to help him. You were always the first to let him lay his head in your lap as he blocked out the bad. You were always the first to pull him into your chest when he needed the shield.

Could he be just as strong for you? That, he wasn’t sure. 

But he was damn well ready to try. 

He maneuvered you so you were curled up next to him, kissing your cheek in apology as you let out a moan at being separated. 

“Just a second, sweetheart.” 

He slipped his shirt and pants off, leaving him in just his boxers before he turned to you. You let him do the same, too tired to do anything as he slipped your own clothes off and threw them to the ground. 

Usually, your side of the bed was the one closest to the window. You liked being woken up by the sun through the blinds and feeling the warmth on your face. But that didn’t matter now as he pulled you back into his arms, skin to skin, turning you so he was blocking the window from your space. 

You immediately felt better. The scrapes on a chalkboard were suddenly replaced by the soft beat of Matt’s heart as you laid your head against his chest.  The itch from the sheets faded away as the feeling was replaced by the softness of Matt’s skin. 

He dug his hand into your hair, giving your head soft scratches like you did to him, feeling your body go slack as each muscle fell loose. 

“Oh sweetheart, I love you so much. Please. Never feel like you need to fight alone when the world seems too strong. I’ll gladly fight by your side.” 

Matt couldn’t help but feel satisfied as he felt you start to relax in his arms. 

“That’s it, darling. It’s okay.” 

Matt curled around you tighter, smiling to himself as he felt you slip your hand into his, holding it like a lifeline to the calm you desperately needed after the storm.

He felt the grip of your hand lessen as you finally fell asleep as the darkness of the night took over, but he knew he’d force himself to stay awake if it meant holding it till sunrise. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: I hope you enjoyed it! As always, let me know if I missed any spelling or grammar errors. I tried my best to catch them, but I'm not the best at it.

Feedback always appreciated too!

I hope you enjoyed the Matt comfort, @pastafossa. I adore you always, friend!

To the person who sent in the Matt x Jen phone sex request, it will be here soon!

#Matt Murdock x reader #daredevil x reader #Matt Murdock x f!reader #daredevil x f!reader #daredevil #matt murdock #fic #fanfic #reader #reader insert #reader fic #fluff #hurt/comfort #matt murdock my beloved #bad luck #cuddling #foggy nelson #oc #Matt Murdock x oc #Matthew Murdock #Matt Murdock fanfiction #Matthew Murdock fanfiction #Matt Murdock fanfic #Matthew murdock fanfic #no use of y/n #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil fanfic #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic

[palskippah]

Luigi, a plumber from Brooklyn, after suddenly crashing against a brick wall with his brother Mario, comes back from unconsciousness laying in a huge bed, in what appears to be a very fancy room, akin to royalty... with a giant dragon-turtle at his side, worried and exclaiming how happy it makes him to see his sweetheart awake again, and how worried he was.

Luigi, Queen of the Darklands, after accidentally falling into a river of lava and being certain that he drowned, wakes up on the hard floor of what appears to be a building, cold and leaking with piles of broken bricks scattered around, with his brother Mario crying from happiness at seeing that he's not dead, holding him in a very tight hug, as he apologizes again and again.

Both are feeling lost and confused, but will have to do their best to adapt to the new reality they are faced with, while still trying to figure out how to return to their rightful universe.

---

Hi!

I wrote this thing the other day and wasn’t sure if to share here since it’s too silly pipipi it’ll be like kinda short and all :’y and I know I got two other fics going on (that I’m yet to update) but- yea  🧍

#super mario bros #my fics #bowuigi #the other day someone posted a prince and the pauper au fic on ao3 (which btw is pretty cool so far go check it out) #and I though omg what if- and then wrote this #this is the kind of idea you keep to yourself ngl #but to your bad luck you'll be aware of it #apologies in advance

[crybaby-bkg]

sorry I’ve been on such a Dabi high lately but I almost croaked earlier at the thought of being his college gf and just being so opposite of each other!!!!!! you’re all good grades and perfect attendance, easily approachable and sweet smiles. and he’s all grumpy faced and dark clothing, makes people nervous whenever he stands outside smoking right by the doors.

who the hell would’ve thought you two would end up together? it just didn’t make a lick of sense seeing you two from the outside. but when they get a glimpse of you guys together, alone, everything just falls into place.

he’s so supportive of everything you do, no matter how dumb or nerdy he thinks it is. he keeps count of your stitches for you when you crotchet, doesn’t mind being your model for a cropped hot pink sweater you’re creating, wears the knitted beanie around campus that you made for him. he hates not having your attention but he takes some of the same classes you take so that he can help you study, quiz you when you’re not too sure of the subject, maybe even help you cheat if you want (you don’t, but he always offers).

he buys you your favorite drink at the cafes and always carries an extra laptop charger in case you forget. he helps you pick out your outfits when you’re unsure, and loves the opposite aesthetic whenever you stand hand in hand with him. he praises you when you succeed, and comforts you with your failures. he looks like a dirtbag that hangs around campus to be a creepy bum, but he’s there for you through and through <3

#sorry I just cannot get enough of him #I wanna write another fic for him which is terrible #bc I already have like 8 on my list :( #but he’s just so :((((( #I want him to be my opposite but so supportive bf so bad #he’s all cigarette smoke and I’m all strawberry scented lipgloss :( #why is talking about self shipping so hard for me AKSJDKDJDJ #I changed I’m to yours and back to I’m like nine times lmfao #BUT SERIOUSLY I need him so bad or else I’ll combust #I don’t need to write another college bf touya au I DONT!!!!!!!(?) #I’m being tempted……..he is my temptress in my hero journey……….and I am weak…… #okay bye I wrote this at midnight but didn’t think anyone would see it until this morning anyway lol #I will attempt to do my own cluster lashes so wish me luck #if they fuck w my sensory issues then they are immediately coming AWF #—new treat in the streets! 🍫 #dabi treats! 🍬

[tennessoui]

April Ko-Fi! Superhero Anakin & Obi-Wan AU

hello this beast almost defeated me if i'm being honest i've had weird real-life-being-busy and then brain-not-working-when-it's-writing-time writer's block but i'm super happy to post the superhero anakin au fic on ko-fi to all the monthly ko-fi supporters :D

in this bad boy, based on this root post of mine, anakin is a mechanic by day and a vigilante by night - everything's going normal until he starts noticing the same face at his crime scenes, over and over again. then things take a turn for the worst when that same man shows up at his auto repair shop. too many coincidences means only one thing can be true: obi-wan kenobi is a criminal mastermind and also anakin's arch nemesis. if only he'd drop the stuttering, softly spoken civilian disguise and act like it.

here's a snippet!:

“You,” Anakin breathes. The first time they’d met, the man had been in the middle of a bank robbery. As a victim, mind, looking roughed up and kneeling on the floor of his bank, checkbook still sticking comically out of his front pocket. His lip had been busted. He hadn’t been wearing glasses, and his right eye had been swelling rapidly. Out of all the bank hostages, he’d been the only one hurt. After the robbers had been tied up with their own grappling hooks, threat successfully neutralized, and actual police on the way, Anakin had stopped to examine the civilian’s wounds.  “What did you do, try to escape?” he’d said, tilting the stranger’s chin up to get a better look at the cut across his upper lip. The stranger’s breath had been warm across the exposed half of Anakin’s face. He had quite startling eyes, Anakin couldn’t help but notice. “No,” the man had replied. “But I’ve been told I’ve got a smart mouth. Suppose they weren’t fans.” “You…did you, the hostage, give lip to the hostage takers? The ones with the guns?” Anakin had asked. “Sir,” he’d added, because he’d never be a cape but he was a goddamn professional.

quick rundown of these kofi fics: to see the posts in my gallery on kofi, you’ll need to be a monthly supporter. BUT at this point, there are 8 ficlets on there, all 4-6k, that you can read if you subscribe and then you can cancel that subscription immediately (i hold nothing against you for doing that tbh) (it should go without saying that i also hold nothing against you for not subscribing at all) and still have access for the whole month (which means you'll likely also have access when i post May's because I try to post them within the first week of each month!)

#kit's kofi fics #obikin #oh to be clear: obi-wan is not a supervillain #anakin keeps getting butterflies in his tummy around him and thinking that's his #spidey sense (aka his 'bad feeling') about being in danger #it's butterflies because he's attracted to obi-wan #obi-wan meanwhile is a reporter but not on the superhero beat #he's a weird mix of bad luck leaving him caught up in crimes as an innocent bystander #and also seeking out crimes cause he has a lil crush on vader

[auroramoon-draws16]

Okay, so not a crossover, buuuut….

Reverse time travel Assassin’s Creed AU

Instead of Desmond, it’s one or a few of the ancestors coming to the modern day

Why?? Isu bullshit probably

Is Desmond alive??? Maybe

Okay I’ve only seen a few fics of this idea and I want more, I’m a greedy bitch, so gimme

I just want some Assassin family bonding because Desmond’s family consists of one pretty shit dad, a couple friends he’s known for a handful of months, and a son he never knew about. Give my boy some form of happiness you cowardly fucks. (Pointed at Ubisoft, not y’all)

Or some romance with said ancestors, because I know how some of y’all (cough Teacup 👀 cough) are. (Not complaining, just saying, lmao)

Hell, you can throw in some more of the protagonists of the games for more chaos. Y’know, like the Fryes, Arno, etc.

Have fun with this, give me some out-of-their-time-period murder birds. Make ‘em curious and confused, throw some technology and food they’ve never seen before, give them access to the internet. I wanna see some drama.

Great talk team, lets go!

#assassin's creed #desmond miles #connor kenway #ezio auditore #altaïr ibn la'ahad #someone write a fic #not a crossover #but i still want it #time travel #yay desmonds not the one time traveling #bad news is that he has to deal with them #good luck buddy

[kkpwnall]

fics on ao3 | my writing | writing tag | my art | rant tag | about me | asks

current wips

🚘 driving in your car [ fic tag | read ch5 on ao3 ]

posted fics

🍀 if it wasn’t for bad luck i wouldn’t have luck at all (t | 5k) eddie was born on friday the 13th in october and has brought bad luck to everyone he's gotten close to ever since. but after he dies in the upside down and gets resurrected in the hospital, his luck might finally start to turn around [ tumblr | ao3 ]

🕶 wanted: pool boy at the vampire mansion (t | <1k) steve answers an unusual ad in the classifieds that’s pretty sparse on the details...

🔥 where's the spark? (t | 6.4k) steddie-focused spicy six + the corroded coffin boys fic, with pouting, pining, and unexpected presents around the bonfire. written for lex's winter-themed spicy six fic challenge

📚 love is like ghosts (m | 7.8k) steddie ghost hunters au! featuring eddie the skeptic, steve in glasses, and sticking it to a homophobic ghost.

☔️ just a little rain (t | 1.2k) steve helpfully offers to walk eddie to class under his umbrella, with just a slight detour. slice of life, established relationship, flirty steve / flustered eddie.

🍷 wine & dine (or: the quickest way to a man’s heart (and parts beyond)) (t | 2k) tooth-rotting domestic fluff. it's date night, eddie almost burns down the trailer, and steve helps him make dinner (in that order).

#hello it's a pinned post #and not just because i couldn't navigate my own blog #kk writes #bonfire fic #untitled ghost hunter steddie wip #love is like ghosts #diyc #friday the 13th fic #bad luck fic

[mellaithwen]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you for tagging me @rewritetheending and @henswilsons <333

Usually I can barely manage Sunday’s sentences, buuuut I randomly started working on [redacted.fic] the other day and it actually helped me work on my other fics too sO that’s why you get a snippet of it hehe :)

With a loud juddering lurch, Buck’s jeep gives up the ghost before he’s even left the station. It’s not the first time it’s happened, and he doubts it’ll be the last, but it’s no less annoying when he’s already running late.

He tries the key in the ignition again, silently praying under his breath that the last time was just a fluke and now his car will start if he just wishes hard enough—

—aaaaaaand nothing. Nada. Diddly squat.

The jeep doesn’t start, it just sputters and stalls, and now the smell of gas is stronger than it was a moment ago. His exhaust leaves a thin trail of smoke in his rearview mirror, and Buck resists the urge to scream.

“Car trouble?” Eddie asks from the passenger side, leaning in through the open window with a grin that says he already has his answer.

Buck’s only response is to groan dramatically as he drapes himself over the steering wheel.

“That bad, huh?”

And I shall tag my darlings @littlespoonevan @homerforsure @princessfbi @renecdote @hopeintheashes @like-the-rest-of-la @kananjarus and @fcntasmas :)

#911 fox #911fic #911 fanfic #bad luck fic #<which is hilariously vague #maybe it should be called bank rob—*sniper shot*

[duskandcobalt]

wip wednesday 💕

i'd like to take a brief interlude from my depressive spiral to present a small excerpt from the slutty elriel fic i'm working on, still hoping to get this out this week but taylor swift put a pin in my plans and i've been wallowing in bed for like 96 straight hours.

no warnings here bc im saving the actual slutty content for the full published piece.

hope everyone's having a good week 💖

Elain blindly wandered down the dark hallways.The echo of her heels on the stone floor was menacing, causing the already frantic beat of her heart to rise to an almost worrisome crescendo. It didn’t help that she could barely see and was relying solely on the occasional flickering fae light and the cool, insistent shadow pressed to the small of her back to guide her towards her mystery destination.

It felt like she’d been walking for hours, turning this way and that in the labyrinth that made up the various chambers of this unfamiliar place but finally, the pressure of the shadow on her back eased as she approached an arched door right at the end of the seemingly never ending hallway. She paused in front of it, unsure what to do until the shadow slid up her arm and along her neck, wrapping itself around her ear. 

Go.

Elain swallowed, her gloved hand reaching out for the doorknob. 

Subconsciously, she knew where that shadow had been guiding her. Knew that the neat, dark interior of this room was the perfect match for what she’d always imagined in those salacious dreams of hers.

She’d been ready to see him. Aching to see him. But to open the door and get her first glimpse of him… she hadn’t quite been ready for that. 

Azriel was reclined in a leather chair behind his desk. The jacket he'd been wearing earlier had been discarded and left to drape on cabinet at the far end of the room. The first few buttons of his crisp white shirt was undone, providing a glimpse of the tantalising tattoos hidden underneath. He had one long leg folded over the over, one ankle resting on his knee. And on that knee, cradled by his large, scarred hand, sat a short glass of amber liquid that perfectly matched his honeyed eyes.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

#elriel #yes this is the under the weeping willow follow up hehe #elriel fic #wip wednesday #my writing #anyway if you're reading this pls tell me what your favourite ttpd song is #or what the one you relate to the most is #my fave is guilty as sin? for obvious reasons #the one i relate to the most is the prophecy lmao #hence the depressive spiral! #but also the bolter so good luck working out how both of those things can be true #ALSO down bad is a bop and i really do be crying at the gym teenage petulance and all #ALSO loml but i actually cant discuss that one yet for the sake of my sanity #thanks for coming to my taylor swift ted talk im going to bed now

[volturissideslut]

𝖁𝖔𝖑𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖎 𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 (𝕻𝖔𝖑𝖞)

Meeting their mate under unusual circumstances

_________________________________________

You were on a streak of bad luck

After having moved to volterra for this job opportunity, you moved into a small apartment

but it was way smaller then you originally thought it would be

but it was too late now so you were out and about looking for food

now, volterra it's a relatively small area compared to the big bustling cities you were used to which means all the shops and food areas were closed considering how late it was

I mean it was ridiculous

3 shops and some take away places, all closed before 8:30 pm on a Wednesday

it's wasn't funny, not really, but you couldn't help but laugh at it as you tried to find your way back to your apartment (for 40 minutes might I add)

Aro, Caius and Marcus were on the way back to the castle after checking up personally on the cullens when the wheezing laugh of someone reached their ears

You were walking toward them, about to finally cave in and ask someone for directions home and chose them

now in hindsight, a dark street, being alone and lost, and approaching three suspicious looking guys may not have been the best decision you made in your life

also in hindsight, it was the best damn decision you ever made in your life considering these three men were your mates

I digress,

upon approaching them you were awestruck. Seeing their face as you moved closer instead of just shadows- you were entranced, and judging from the gobsmacked look on their faces they were too

"Mia cara..." the blond one whispered

awkwardness over came you as you struggled to ask directions

just as they were about to try and postpone you leavimg your stomach groaned obnoxiously

embarrassingly, too, might I add

and much to their relief

aro, being the smooth talker he is, roped you into coming into their castle, and now you were in some library?? and. suddenly vampires are real?? and you can't have that job?? and suddenly your soon to be in training to be a queen??

Marcus was the first one you warmed up to and he became a comfort and companion very early on (omfg I love him)

Surprisingly, Caius was the second you warmed up to, bonding over mutual loves for arts, hatreds and aiding his rants about the people he didn't really like

And last but not least, Aro, who after the intital distance because of his intrusive gift you fell hard and fast for because of his eccentric personality

Let's be real, you want for nothing now you've met these three as they just love to spoil you

also, that night you ended up just eating the secretary's leftovers

she was also promptly killed for her dislike of you (not that you would ever know, you didn't even know it was her food or that she existed)

#the bad luck streak was mostly based on me today #twilight #volturi #marcus #caius #headcannons #hc #volturi kings #poly fic #aro volturi

[bi-the-wei]

A Stay of Execution

Prologue

Wei Wuxian had always thought that it should rain on the day he died. That the sky might see fit to open up and weep for him seemed the very least it could do. Instead the small breath of wind that trickled through the narrow slit in the stone that functioned as his only window brought with it the scent of warmth and sunlight. He imagined he could almost hear a bird chirping somewhere, trilling a merry tune. Honestly, it was almost insulting. Though, he supposed, if the sun had deigned to come and watch his final moments... Perhaps he truly was as rotten as they all said.

Either way, there was no longer a soul alive who would weep for him now.

In the end, he hadn't fought being captured. He'd gone rather quietly. In fact, he still hadn't said a single word. Not to anyone. He hadn't spoken as they stripped him down to brand his skin . He hadn't spoken when they'd sheered off his hair, sawing at fistfuls of dark locks with a dull blade that ripped more than it cut. Or when they bound his hands . When they spilled his meager rations on the floor. When they taunted him. Insulted him. Beat him. He didn't speak when they closed the door to the dank cupboard that would be his last home. When they told him that he would be executed for his crimes. Not a word. Not a sound.

Wei Wuxian stumbled a bit as he was dragged out of his cell. It had been months since he'd been able to fully extend his legs and torso at the same time, the chain that bound his arms to the floor too short for him to stand at his full height, and the room too narrow to extend them while sitting. The three guards assigned to take him to whatever fate awaited him laughed and tried to make him stumble again, spitting at his face when he didn't.

"This is more than you deserve," one of them grumbled bitterly. His voice was like a fuse and flint stone, clicking on hard consonants and hissing his S's. "A quick, clean death is more than you were willing to give." "I guess no one else is twisted enough to do what you did though," sneered the second guard. This one almost sounded like a whine, thin and nasally and pinched. "No one else could be as monstrous as you."

The third guard said nothing, but his boots still fell heavily on the stone floor. His grip on Wei Wuxian's arm was the most painful. ' That'll bruise by tomorrow' , Wei Wuxian thought dully. ' Well, it would have anyway .' As they began to climb up a narrow staircase, the cloth they had kept over his eyes slipped just enough that he could almost make out the color of his drab, rough robes, as well as the sinister design that adorned them. His foot caught on a rough stone, but he didn't stumble again.

~*~

In the end the guards had to half-drag Wei Wuxian for the final length of their journey. After months of abuse and disuse, his legs just couldn't carry him the entire way. They trembled to bear his weight, and it was a challenge just to keep them moving one in front of the other.

In the end this was fortunate, because if he had been in charge of supporting himself alone he may have collapsed the moment his face hit true sunlight.

The gentle warmth of the sun felt like a scalding brand on his cold skin. The light was blinding even through the cloth over his eyes. His first breath of fresh, clean air after months and months of smelling nothing but wet, rotten dirt and stone made him so dizzy he nearly retched. And the noise- oh the noise- so much noise.

He took in every overwhelming sensation with careful attention, cherishing the pain it brought him. It was as if knowing that his final breath was drawing near, he thought he could take in the rest of his natural life all at once if he tried hard enough. It was okay that it hurt. He welcomed the burn.

The wind scraped against his skin, his chopped hair, now grown back nearly past his shoulders, making his neck itch - a neck that he was lucky to still have.

All this in only a moment before he was pushed forward again - up uneven stairs and onto some sort of platform. The heavy chains that still bound his raw wrists were grabbed and yanked so violently he had no choice but to fall hard to his knees. When he tried to catch himself with his shackled limbs, the chain was wrenched again. He only just managed to keep his face from smashing against the ground and received a hard kick in reward, causing him to fall backwards instead. All his breath left him and he couldn't help but curl in on himself, coughing and rasping to get it back.

In the end it was the third guard who graciously helped him back up onto his knees. With a helpful hand grasping him by the hair, he was pulled unceremoniously upwards. With just as much care, his blindfold was ripped away. He cried out at last, flinching as the unfiltered light from the sun assaulted him again. He heard screams as he blinked out in the vague direction of a crowd. A crowd that shrank back away from him, terrified of him even now. Even in the state he was in.

"Have no fear!" called a familiar, booming voice next to him. "We took great care before bringing him here before you today. See the symbols on his robes! He has been bound and sealed. I have cut him off from his heretical magic. I have stopped his murderous ambitions and denied him the joys of his evil. His eyes can do you no more harm. He is contained and you are safe at last!" It was then that Wei Wuxian realized that some of the bright, flashing gold that blinded him was not just from the sun, but rather the illustrious gaudy robes of a tall man standing beside him. Of course, after what he had done to his son, it would only make sense for his long over-due sentence to be overseen by the great Jin Guangshan himself. Even Wei Wuxian had to admit that was only fair, even if it meant he had to listen to the man postulate his own magnificence and blather on and on and on.

In all honesty, he'd really rather they just get on with it. The showmanship seemed a bit redundant.

"This man. This devil. This Demon of Yiling. You all know of him. He haunts our children's stories; a tale of caution to those who seek power!" he expounded. Wei Wuxian stifled a scoff. "He who started as a servant, who used a terrible war to greedily climb rank and assert his will over the lives of innocents. A parasite who manipulated the very life force of the world to do his bidding so that he may claw his way into society. So that he may fool us into believing in his consequence. This evil creature who corrupted the dead with his black magics! Who stole the life energy of my only son! I bring him now before you so that you may know his crimes."

The silent guard gripped him again, yanking him up forcefully by the hair once more and bringing him closer to the crowd, where all could see him in his shame. His neck strained with the effort of supporting a body his legs still could not hold. "See him now, his hair shorn in his shame. His honor cast aside with it. See him now and judge him guilty!

I lay before you the record of his evil. Hear me now and know them."

Jin Guangshan preened under the attention he had commanded. He basked in the silent anticipation of his next words, pausing to let them sink in further before listing the numerous crimes in question.

Really the true list wasn't THAT long. Yes it was true that Wei Wuxian had found a new form of magic - one that manipulated life force instead of spirit. But he hadn't used any of the life force of another living human. He drew a firm line in the sand that he swore he would never cross. He could steal only the life forces of plants and trees. The last breath of a fallen soldier. Himself.

And he kept that code. He hadn't stolen life directly... not until... Until he'd been face to face with true evil - with Wen Ruohan himself.  It was heady watching the light leave his eyes. Here was a man who used his wealth of spiritual power, cultivated with such care, who had hoped to use that power to obtain true immortality - who had thought that it gave him the right to force his will upon the world.   To watch as all that power came to nothing, as all that power was not enough to stop Wei Wuxian from draining his life away. The surge of power that rushed through his meridians - the full life force of a living human... It would have overtaken a lesser man. Heady and instantly addictive. But he'd pushed through it. Pushed it back out and dispersed it into the air. What use did he have for such power? The war was done. He'd saved them all. He'd done it. They were free and now he could finally pursue his own desires. His own freedom. His own life. His own...

He had broken his code, yes, but surely this end justified those means? As long as he never did it again, it would mean that at his core he was still a good man. He wouldn't have said it felt good, but he could at least live with himself. He had fought harder than any other soldier. Protected more than any other soldier. He had won countless battles and finally, finally ended this pointless war.

Wei Wuxian and Wen Ruohan had fallen to the floor in tandem. It wasn't until he'd woken a week later and noticed how people flinched when they saw him, how they skirted away when they could avoid him entirely, that he realized he'd had an audience to his horrors. And even then, none of that could be called a criminal, despite the tale being twisted now. No, nothing he'd done in the war could be truly held against him... But what happened after...

"Unsatisfied with the killing, no longer able to slake his thirst for violence with a war, this monster sought out his next victims! The poor innocents, guilty only of a shared name, were hunted down like sport! He took their very souls simply to sate his own blood lust!   "And when my Zixuan, my precious son... When he tried to stop this senseless slaughter - to try to reason with this deranged creature - to show him mercy and compassion! When he tried to put an end to the blood and death, this demon stole his soul as well! And now my grandson grows without a father. My daughter in law without a husband. My wife without a son." Again he paused, letting sympathy and anger stew in the crowd's hearts. "See now as we give him more than he would have given them; a trial! He may have decided to bring about his own twisted justice, but see now that we shall not! A demon he may be, but let none say that we judge him unjustly!   "Speak, demon! And tell us of your guilt!"

Wei Wuxian's hair was tugged again, drawing the crowd's focus back to his gaunt form. His eyes, finally adjusting to the harsh daylight, searched through the mass of people. He wasn't sure what he was looking for. Sympathy? Familiarity? Sadness? Of course there would be none - he was guilty and had no intention of denying it.

"Did you or did you not create black magics, evil and heretical, and use this power to slaughter thousands?" "I did," Wei Wuxian said. His voice, rasping with dehydration and disuse, did not waver.

"Did you or did you not hunt down remnant factions of the Wens, men and women that should have been brought to trial, only to cut them down instead?

"I did."

"Did you or did you not, when my son tried to stop the violence, to plead with you to stop the fighting and lay down your wicked ways, steal away his precious life?!"

"I did."

"He admits it! You hear now from his very mouth - the plea of guilt! You hear now the sins against his soul! The evils of his actions!" There was no silence now. The roiling anger of the mob before him was like the agitated buzzing of a hundred angry wasps.

"For this crime, I would have his head!" Jin Guangshan bellowed. Wei Wuxian was once again forced to move. This time he was half dragged to a solid block of wood. Stained red and jagged from use, he was pulled forward until its sharp splinters dug into his neck. A mirror was angled carefully so that he could see the executioner take his position behind him. Ah, so that's why they let him keep his eyes.

"Tell me now, would any of you here speak against this judgment? Tell me now if anyone would speak against this justice? I stand before you in grief and anger and ask you now will anyone claim this man?"

Wei Wuxian had never known true silence before this moment. It was as if the world itself had decided to hold its breath. He watched as the executioner grasped his axe. He watched his muscles tense to pick it up. He watched as--

“I will speak for him."

The silence was cracked by a cold, even voice. Wei Wuxian tore his eyes away from the reflection of that sharp blade and searched desperately for who had spoken.

Lan Wangji.

His voice had been firm and matter of fact. His golden eyes hadn’t even flickered in Wei Wuxian's direction. The maddening silence took on an almost desperate tone now, all eyes passing between the two men.

He spoke again.

“I will offer my hand to save him from this sentence.”

Lan Wangji finally looked at him then, his expression as unreadable as it had always been. He seemed to be waiting for something

“Wh-What?” he wheezed. He didn't understand what was happening. This couldn't be real. Maybe this was just a delusion he'd conjured to comfort himself before the ax finally fell.  Maybe it had already fallen.

"Lan Wangji, you speak for this man?"

"I do."

"Despite his crimes, which he himself admitted before your very eyes, you would spare him?" "I would."

"You would tie yourself to this monster?"

"Yes."

The crowd was anything but silent now. Cries of shock and outrage poured from every direction. The righteous Lan Wangji was sparing the Demon of Yiling? The man who knew only justice and virtue, the hero of the war, would take that evil man into his home? Marry him?

Somehow, through the clamorous noise, Jin Guangshan made himself heard once more. He spoke through gritted teeth, as if each word came at a great cost.

"Wei Wuxian, Demon of Yiling. This man has offered himself to you. Would you accept his hand? Or do you accept my ax?"

The pressure holding him against the block was released, letting him sit up to consider which fate he preferred: to bind himself in a loveless marriage, or to regain what little honor he had left in death. How kind.

Lan Wangji stood straight and firm and unyielding before him. Wei Wuxian had loved him for so long - since they were children. He had always dreamed of being wed to this man... But not like this.

Lan Wangji thought he owed Wei Wuxian a life debt. That's why he was doing this. Out of duty. Moral obligation. Not love. Wei Wuxian would be truly cruel indeed to accept this. To force Lan Wangji into a marriage with a man he couldn't stand....

"I, Wei Wuxian, accept your hand, Lan Wangji. I will marry you."

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #wei wuxian #lan wangji #wangxian #fanfic #Fantasy au #A Stay of Execution #asoe #I decided that I like posting the fic's chapters here as well as on Ao3 instead of just linking it. #I do HAVE the link to the fic on Ao3 though if anyone wants it. #Please tell me what you think #good or bad #I'm desperate for feedback #It sustains me #since it's harder for me to stay motivated for writing #but I do love this story #I've got the chapters all outlined and I think there should be 18 chapters total including prologue and epilogue #so wish me luck