#but it's all separated into ficlets???

[shares-a-vest]

Wayne shuffles to the door, desperate to answer the incessant knocking that sounds like whoever is on the other side is going to beat the exterior fly screen straight off its hinges. He is greeted by Claudia Henderson, clutching her handbag strap tight across her chest and looking very serious.

Although it might just be his sleep-deprived inability to gauge the emotions of chipper 9-to-5 receptionists who wear cosy sweaters. He checks his watch. He’s only been asleep for about an hour after getting home from night shift - what with waiting for Hurricane Eddie to finally head off for the garage.

“Hello, Wayne,” Claudia nods and purses her lips.

He scrubs a hand over his face but steps back nonetheless to let her in. Claudia is one step in the doorway anyhow.

“Coffee,” he not-so-much asks as he moves to the kitchen.

“No, thank you,” Claudia says politely, “I usually wait for my morning tea break.”

He looks over to find her pulling out his assigned chair at the breakfast table. She looks nervous, if a little pissed off as she gathers her handbag up on her lap. He blinks harshly and pinches his nose enough to press his forefinger and thumb into the inner corners of his eyes. He really needs to wake the hell up a little more, it appears.

“What did Eddie do?” he sighs, looking over the drying rack on the sink for one of the mugs he has in his rotation at the present time.

“Oh, Eddie hasn’t done a thing!” she insists, a smile evident in her voice, “I’m here about Steve.”

Cubs mug it is then...

He frowns again and turns back to Claudia, confused. And the woman looks like she was expecting such a reaction because she huffs and straightens up, looking like she is readying herself to give a sermon on the kid.

“I need you to help me convince that boy to move in with Dustin and me,” she explains, promptly holding up a defensive hand, “Now, I know he stays here, mostly This isn’t about anything to do with you… Or Eddie…”

She tacks that last mention of his nephew on with a tone and a knowing look.

Wayne clears his throat. It’s certainly far too early in the morning for the ins and outs of that conversation. He flicks the kettle on to drown out the awkward silence between them.

“Have you uh...” he hums and scratches the back of his neck as he searches for words, “Have you talked with him about this, at all?”

Claudia squeaks out a noise he assumes is a negative as he quickly spoons coffee into his mug. He’ll settle for black coffee for now - he really cannot be assed to stand up for much longer, even if he did have the sense to quickly step into his comfy slippers when Claudia came a-pounding on the door.

“And you want my help specifically?” he says, raising his voice above the steaming kettle that is whistling away in boiling readiness.

“Yes!”

He waves a hand in the air, “Well, what about Robin?”

“Oh, gosh, no! I can’t talk to that girl,” he barks a laugh that makes Claudia startle in her seat, forcing her to clarify, “I mean she is a steel trap about that boy!”

Wayne smirks and nods as he heads for the table with his piping hot - and hopefully, heavily caffeinated - beverage, “He’s not the biggest talker when it comes to himself.”

“I’m not one to speak ill of other mothers,” Claudia says in a hushed tone, “God knows, I am not perfect. But where are his parents?”

She rocks a little with each word like she has needed to ask that question for a good long while. Of course, Wayne thinks about Steve’s parents. A lot. Because the boy almost never mentions them.

He shrugs, “He says they stayed away on business.”

“After everything that has happened in this town?” she argues, voice growing shrill with worry, “Did he tell you what actually happened with the mall fire? It was more of that other dimension nonsense!”

He almost chokes on his coffee. He knows a little - there was no way around it with Eddie in the hospital surrounded by all those secret nurses and doctors. But he didn’t know Claudia Henderson knew about some of it too. Still, he decides to remain cautious and gestures for her to continue.

“And he’s been concussed more times than he can remember!”

She slumps back in her seat with a look of such horror, Wayne thinks the sweet woman sitting opposite him considers it her closing argument.

Wayne taps on the rim of his coffee cup. They would have to tread carefully, not ambush the kid.

“He does get a lot of migraines - ” is all he can think to say.

“ - And he has dizzy spells,” Claudia cuts in, leaning forward. He can see tears starting to well up, “I just want him to be looked after. I know he’s a young man with his own life and everything, but he still needs a parent to care for him, to support him.”

“Yeah,” Wayne nods firmly, “Yes, he does.”

#wayne and claudia to the rescue #i feel like i'm writing a vaguely connected henderson-munson plus steve found family thing #but it's all separated into ficlets??? #idk if i should put it all together??? #wayne munson #claudia henderson #steve harrington #steve harrington ficlet #stranger things #steddie #steddie ficlet #lilys ficlets #claudia henderson 🐈

[quartzlightz]

Therapist

*The chain walking out of Warriors’s therapist’s office with tear stained faces and red eyes.*

Legend: Ya know what, I’m surprised your therapist hasn’t given up on us or killed himself after hearing our bullshit.

Twilight: He has a point, how is that man still capable of coming back here.

Warriors: Oh, no he lost his care for life the second I started going to him about my problems.

Wild: Heh, we sure ain’t making his sanity any better.

Hyrule: I wonder if he has a therapist.. Wait do other therapists have therapists?

Time, rubbing his eyes from crying: For the three, can we move onto a different subject.

Warriors, looking at Time then at Hyrule: They most definitely have therapists, if they didn’t I think there wouldn’t be any therapists to spare.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #legend of zelda #lu legend #lu wild #lu time #lu warriors #lu twilight #lu hyrule #incorrect lu quotes #short ficlet #ficlet #they all need separate therapists oml

[qsmpbutwithsignlanguage]

Tubbo doesn't know how to do hair. It wasn't something he was taught, his father a captain with hair cropped eternally close and his sibling never one to be keen to touch. He can't make intricate cornrows, nor is he any good at doing up his daughter's edges. He can't get the volume that Ironmouse with nothing more than a bottle of hairspray and prayers to the underworld. He can't even use a straightener the right way (as a permanent second degree burn scar on his left hand displays). But the one thing Tubbo has always remembered is how to braid hair

He isn't sure of much from before the island. Nothing more than the vague tunes of a song whose notes have been long forgotten, the smell of burgers on the wind when nothing else is near, a ringing in his ears that has him tilting his head for that much more volume. The irrational fear of explosions (because Sunny hasn't ever seen a fireworks show on her time on the island and Tubbo isn't going to be the one to change that). Those types of things.

But he remembers locks of pink hair in his hands as the person sitting in front of him talked briefly about one thing or another. And he remembers curls of blond, short enough that he couldn't braid their whole head, long enough that tiny golden braids could be tucked into the mess of frizz and growth. Straight blond hair as they hid beneath a nation they worked so hard to build, and cropped black strands of a person that he shouldn't have cared for, a person that only cared for themselves, but a person that Tubbo called a brother nonetheless.

White-black hair, a protruding horn with a single golden ring (a wedding band, Tubbo's mind inexplicably whispered), and the pink fuzz of the one Tubbo knew had to be his son.

Tubbo doesn't know how to do hair, but Chayanne is complementing the plaits in Sunny's hair and Philza mentions that Tubbo actually did a good job for once and Leonardo begrudgingly offers her approval and-

Tubbo can still half remember his sibling with a head crowned by braids, adorned by flowers. His own handiwork.

He doesn't know how to do hair, but he remembers how to braid. That's enough for Sunny. And that's enough for him

#qsmp tubbo #qsmp sunnysideup #qsmp sunny #qsmp #tubbo #sunnysideup #ficlet #I guess #bonus points if you can guess all of the unnamed characters #because I imposed like eight separate family headcanons on this and if you get them all I love you #qsmp hair thoughts

[serenescribe]

Hello hello~ I was wondering if you like zombie apocalypse AU’s? If so, Because my request for you is a non Twst zombie apocalypse!

Lilia and Silver become separated and try to find each other with the odds stacked against them- with their respective parties trying to instill the realistic idea that their father/son is likely dead, but when they find a sign of the other, they have hope.

[✐] ficlet frenzy

Four years ago, a mysterious outbreak swept the world by storm. Countless people had, seemingly out of nowhere, become stricken by a strange disease, one that clogged their minds with a vile, ink-like substance that had come to be known as “blot.” A zombie apocalypse, the news reporters called it, the infection rendering people mindless, shambling monsters. It was a topic that was once restricted to the realm of fiction, except now, it was their reality.

Over the course of mere months, the world collapsed in on itself. Countless people died, succumbing to the illness — those who merely passed away were considered lucky, for a sizable number of them wound up reanimated by the blot, groaning as they shambled around with the purposes of finding others to attack.

Silver had been lucky that his father was such a capable man. For the first several months, the two of them had taken refuge in a bunker Silver hadn’t even known they’d had, keeping each other company, their only source of news coming from a crackly radio. It wasn’t until they’d begun running out of food rations that they were forced to leave the safety of their shelter, venturing out into the wild as well-equipped as possible, searching for any supplies and signs of civilization.

They’d stuck together for a year. One year of surviving together, working in tandem, until a horrific ambush at a seemingly abandoned building, zombies suddenly storming the lobby, split them apart.

“My father isn’t dead.”

That is the truth that Silver stubbornly lives by, refusing to relent on this vicious belief no matter how hard any of his fellow survivors try to tell him otherwise. The only person who remotely believes him is Kalim; everyone else looks at him with scepticism when they hear his insistent words. Riddle simply frowns, while Jamil heaves a sigh, and the twins look at him with a mocking pity in their eyes. Even Idia, when he bothers to tear himself away from tending to his younger brother’s haphazard prosthetics, mutters something about hopeless optimism.

But it’s true: Silver’s father cannot be dead. Silver knows this in his heart and soul; his father is too strong, too prepared, too important to die. Even though the last Silver saw of him was him firing off at a swarm of zombies as he yelled at Silver to run, faced down with a seemingly hopeless fate, he knows that his father has to be alive somewhere.

He’s kept his eyes and ears out for any hint of his father’s existence since then, but to no avail. Silver can only sigh as he helps to pack up their supplies as they head off for a location Idia received from his mysterious partner — a man he communicates remotely with through morse code signals, technology utterly jammed in this wretched apocalypse.

Silver hopes that he’ll find something today, any trace at all that his father is alive.

“My son is not dead!”

Lilia snarls those words whenever someone tries to warn him against clinging to hope. The practice of optimism is a dangerous affair during the volatility of a zombie apocalypse, but though Lilia exercises a cautious pessimism with everything else, this is the only thing he refuses to back down on.

He knows Silver is alive. He has to be. Lilia had told him to run when the zombies broke in and began to swarm the two of them — Better him alive than me, he’d thought back then as he turned back to the screeching mob and began to gun them down. The swarm had been burnt to a crisp before he’d finished, courtesy of those who found him, a group that had saved his life in exchange for his services and supplies.

Lilia knows nobody believes him. Fools, the lot of them! Still, none of them can complain considering how versatile of a survivor Lilia is; he knows that those in his group value his skills, especially given his ability to trade morse code messages with another distant group of survivors, trading little bits of information about safe spots and supplies. Azul is hard pressed to give up such precious details, but Lilia can’t give a single shit about profit when the world’s ended and everyone’s dead or worse.

He finishes off the last bits of a message before he joins the others — Azul grumbling about all they have to leave behind, while the youngsters, a group of five, give the money-minded man the stink eye. Vil chats with Rook about where they shall head next, and Malleus dips his head at Lilia as he joins them.

Lilia hopes that he’ll find something today, any trace at all that his son is alive.

Silver sees it when they arrive at the safehouse. He finds it when he’s cleaning up, searching around for any supplies they can store: a tiny little container that makes his heart leap from the familiarity of it, the colours and gilded edges catching his eyes in the dust-covered haze of the apocalypse.

And within it—

(His breathing stutters to a stop, heart catching in his throat as a well of hope springs up within his chest, bursting anew.)

A rotting acorn bracelet is nestled inside.

#my writing tag #tumblr drabbles tag #ficlet frenzy #twst #twisted wonderland #twst fanfiction #twst writing #going to tag spoilers as a precaution for the significance of the bracelet #twst spoilers #twisted wonderland spoilers #twst ch7 #twst silver #lilia vanrouge #this is all over the place but i feel like this is better suited for smt >1k words TT #uhh god i hope this is still coherent though. ive def written better ficlets but also aaaaaaaaaa #do not separate them

[snowangeldotmp3]

who the hell is robin? pt. 2

Steve’s beaten body aches, Robin’s metal fist delivering punch after punch.

Steve takes every single one of them. His eye swells and he can taste the blood.

And then–

Robin pauses. Bloodied metal arm suspended mid-air, still forming a fist. Her jaw clenching and unclenching. Fighting against something. Something flashes in her eyes. Steve knows she won’t kill him. It’s the same thing he saw on her face when he saw her in the street in front of Melvald’s. Recognition. There are tears in her eyes. She drops her fist lamely at her sides, and Steve’s eyes are nearly swollen shut. “It’s okay, Rob,” he chokes out. “It’s okay.”

He pushes himself up. Bullet wound and gritted teeth and broken robs. He wheezes out a breath. Then another. And another. His body burns, begging him to stay down.

But he can’t. He can’t lose her again.

So he pushes and fights and pushes and fights until–

“Robin!” he shouts, voice wet with emotion (and from the blood draining down his throat.)

She stops. She does not move another muscle, but she stopped. That’s enough for Steve. He stands there, waiting. Nancy’s voice crackles through the comms, “Steve, you need a doctor. She’s too dangerous. Stand. Down.”

Robin hears the voice too, but she says nothing. Her eyes burn with tears and her memories begin flooding back one by one by one.

Scoops. The Russians. Dustin. Erica. Tammy Thompson. Being separated. Mrs. Clicks class. The annoying upper class-men with the stupid hair and oh–!

Steve stands there. She can hear him wheezing. I did that, she thinks, oh god.

She turns. “Steve?”

“Steve?” she says again, her voice cracking, breaking in two. “Oh god, oh god, oh god Steve,” the tears flow freely down her face now, but she must not stop. He will die if she doesn’t keep going. She cannot lose him again.

The damned metal appendage, much as she loathes it, is incredibly powerful. Enough to hoist him up long enough and drag him as far as she can. She grabs his comms device. “This is Robin, I–”

The same voice from earlier cuts through, “Robin?!?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah.” She sniffs, wiping the snot off her nose, “yeah, it’s me. I’m gonna do what i can, but call an ambulance, now.”

She can’t remember the feminine voice, but she thinks she knows it. Or at least, she did, at one point. It feels familiar.

She rips the god awful leash they kept on her off, tearing the black leathery fabric to shreds, using her knife to slice it into pieces of terrible makeshift gauze. The tears blur her vision, but she can’t let that stop her. Steve coughs.

“Rob…” he breathes, ragged. Robin stops, the tears still streaming down her face.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Rob,” he coughs. He grabs the metal hand, not the fleshy one. The metal one. Gives it a squeeze.

Forgiveness.

Steve’s eyes roll back into his head.

“Steve?!?” she shouts, shaking him lightly, “Steve?!? You–you can’t leave me again!”

When Nancy and the paramedics arrive, they find Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley passed out side by side, his wounds haphazardly taken care of by her. While her wounds fester and bleed out. Nancy notices, Robin put him first. 

#my writing #winter soldier robin au #robin buckley #steve harrington #platonic stobin #nancy wheeler #also just a note; in this au steve and robin are separated by the russians and when they give them the drugs THAT is where #they are taken. steve makes it out. robin doesn't #(she sacrificed herself for steve and dustin and erica to get out of there) #but in this au they'd already be out of school #like the bathroom scene happens but they are taken again soon after that scene #like robin doesn't make it out of starcourt hehe #stranger things #it's all very convoluted but in my mind it makes sense (sort of) #my fics #my ficlets #the ronance of this will come later. first i must get the stobin angst out hehe #hope u all enjoy!! #ronance #they will have their buckynat era soon enough i promis

[frodo-with-glasses]

For the writing ask could you do "sunshine" "autumn" and "childhood"? And I don't mind at all if you answer them separately lol 😁

Sunshine

Pippin always used to get terrible sunburns.

Some hobbits, especially those of the Harfoot strain, were blessed with the ability to tan. Come summer, many of the working-class hobbits around the Shire would be tinted a few shades darker around the face and arms (with hilariously, starkly paler skin under the collars and rolled-up sleeves). Unsightly as a “farmer’s tan” might be, it protected them from the sun as they worked, and therefore was tolerated in favor of its benefits.

Tooks, by and large, didn’t even have this luxury. Hailing from the Fallowhide strain, they had inherited fair hair and fairer skin, and that meant the sun was their enemy. Pippin in particular never tanned; his skin simply produced more freckles, adding to the multitude of them that already probably made up half the total number of freckles in the Shire.

And then he burned.

Adventurous as he was, his delicate complexion had never actually discouraged him from gallivanting about outside. Summer days in his childhood were long and full of adventure, and when he returned home—usually guided by his stomach announcing mealtimes—he’d often bring in tow bugs and sticks and flowers and funny-looking mushrooms and rocks and more bugs and a terrible sunburn.

Of course he sat and sulked through the scolding from his mother, and whined and moaned through the painful process of his skin peeling afterwards, but given that he was a spectacularly short-sighted little ninny it probably shouldn’t be a surprise that he was well into his tweens before his mind grasped the concept of Cause and Effect and realized, “Oh! If I try not to burn first, then I won’t peel later! Amazing!”

From the moment of this revelation onward, Pippin’s relationship with the sun turned into one of fierce animosity. Come summertime, he suddenly transformed into a near recluse, restricting himself to the indoors during the day and refusing any excursions until after nightfall. If he had absolutely no choice but to go outside while the sun was shining, he would take every precaution possible—hats and pastes and long sleeves and riding in covered wagons rather than walking places—to avoid a sunburn.

He still failed, of course. The world is a cruel and unforgiving place, and some tragedies can never be avoided.

A few years into his vigilant war on the sun, he was forced to accept a ceasefire; his efforts were garnering diminishing returns, and the endeavor had proven unsustainable. He and the sun reached a truce: he would do what he could, within reason, to avoid this discomfort.

And the sun would burn him anyway.

Fast forward a few years, and the Quest concerning Frodo and his Ring had forced Pippin to surrender a great deal of his usual comforts and luxuries; including his options for avoiding sunburn. Even in cold, cloudy October, he somehow managed to gain a thin line of pink on his nose and cheeks on the road from Bree to Rivendell.

He didn’t complain much, however, even when it started to itch and sting. That was the other interesting development. Somehow, Frodo’s injury and failing health had sucked dry any desire Pippin had had to fuss or whine about himself, and he kept his mouth quite tightly shut until after the race to Rivendell.

(Now of course, once Frodo had recovered and was out of bed and looking more like himself again, Pippin ceased to have any reservations about airing his grievances to anyone and everyone who would listen, but we won’t talk about that.)

But as the Quest continued and Pippin spent more time outdoors than he had since his childhood—under skies overcast or snowing or shaded by tall trees—something interesting began to happen.

He started to darken.

Not by much, of course—not as much as Sam—and his skin still seemed to prefer production of freckles to actual tanning, but he darkened nonetheless. The march across the plains of Rohan, jostled between ranks of orcs, was brutal under the pounding sun, but when he sat on Treebeard’s table and drank the Ent-draught, his face was a full shade browner than it had been when they set off for Crickhollow all those months ago, and he hadn’t gotten a sunburn any worse than some redness on his nose.

Slow exposure, over time, had taught his skin to protect itself, even as he began to get thicker skin metaphorically. War was coming. He couldn’t be the lily-fair gentlehobbit hiding in his room for the sake of his complexion anymore.

It was in the wake of the fiercest battle he’d ever seen—and he was wearing different clothes and a different title and new responsibilities—when he found Merry wearing foreign armor and slumped on a doorstep in Minas Tirith.

Pippin eased the helmet off of Merry’s head—brushing the frayed horse hairs out of his face—and set it on the flagstones nearby. He looked so pale…so weak. That wasn’t like Merry. Merry was brave and strong and smart and indefatigable, and here he was, lying in Pippin’s lap and looking very still.

Pippin gently reached for his hands, and held them between his own. The right hand was cold…so cold.

He’d been sitting there for a moment—long enough to watch Merry’s chest rise and fall as he breathed, but not long enough for his legs to go numb and tingly—when he began to discern a soft touch of warmth on his cheek. He looked up. Far up in the sky, above the stone roofs of the city, the sun was beaming down, filling this patch of abandoned road with warmth and light.

And as Pippin sat there, he smiled. The touch brought him back to those carefree summers he’d known when he was a child—to a time before all this animosity and strife—a time before everything.

Keep him warm for me, he thought, and I can forgive everything else. I don’t mind it anymore.

So they sat there, waiting for the sound of footsteps, and rested in a patch of sunshine.

WORD ASK GAME!

#word ask game #peregrin took #pippin #lord of the rings #lotr #fig tree au #my writing #i will indeed answer all of these separately; ‘tis the point of the game after all :-P #is this little ficlet based on my own childhood experiences with sunburn?? maybe! #imagine my delight to discover that my headcanon of 'pippin makes freckles and then burns them' is actually canonically probable #given the whole 'tooks are fallowhides and fallowhides have pale skin' thing #i don't always remember dumb facts from this book but when i do it's always for something silly like sunburn probability

[halcyon-writings]

(i watched tlovm, that’s my only excuse lmaooo also some wv references abound, plus it’s a bit of a doozy.)

nav.

-

if there was on thing you truly detested in this moment, was remembering that you still had sweet rolls stored away at the keep. you would have definitely preferred lounging around in your robe while eating them, not being here fighting for your life (again).

"percy, dear, you're truly one of my beloved friends and i value your companionship more than anything, but why the hell did anyone in your family not tell you about this underground shithole?" your tone is saccharine and you smile gently.

although your smile drops as you're quick to duck and roll out of the way from an incoming spell sent by delilah briarwood. the eeriness from the dark magic she utilized made a chill crawl on your skin. you could've sworn you heard screaming too.

your own spells could barely counter, but you were more focused on protecting your friends from the black magic than actually getting a hit in.

from the corner of your eye, you see scanlan running around, fuck, of course, he was silenced.

the glow of pike’s magic at least gave you the assurance that he was at least okay.

you try your best to make your way further up the stairs, bursts of red erupt from your hands, but they barely make a dent in the other's defenses. however, from what you can see, her expression unnerves you. gone is the smirk, replaced by a knowing one as she eyes your magic. she continues fighting with one hand, the other viewing a compass she had taken from a side pocket of her dress.

"welcome, herald."

you look at her confused.

"sorry lady briarwood, you must have mistook me for someone else," and you don't let her respond, gathering your magic and sending it her way in a wide wave (wincing as you feel yourself getting weak, nonstop magic use was, in fact, not the best thing to do before fighting on some temple that would summon something that could end the world).

she's disappeared from your gaze, and your eyes dart around searching for where she could have teleported herself to.

"you truly do not know of your role here?" her voice is but a whisper in your ear, and you just barely turn as her magic feels like a punch to the chest, sending you crashing to the floor some feet away. air burns your lungs as you wheeze. you just barely stand on wobbly feet, you see her dark magic headed your way, and while you brace yourself with your arms in front of you, you know you don't have enough time to cast anything.

you catch someone screaming your name. and you curse, closing your eyes.

but the pain does not come.

instead you see the magic simply stop before you. previously dark in color, you see it slowly turn into the magic you wield, the weariness that you had felt slowly fade away.

your eyes squint at the sudden brightens that comes from what you thought was nowhere, only to find keyleth standing, one hand on her staff and the other raised high- grog holding a struggling sylas and you have a feeling on what they’re going for.

only when you see the ashes of what remained of sylas briarwood, do you think that maybe you guys can win this.

-

okay... so maybe you were lying to yourself a little. with the now widowed lady briarwood locking herself away in some chamber, and nothing working so far as lock picking goes (even grog looked a little disheartened when his axe bounced off the door, sympathetic pats from you and pike helped slightly).

“alright,” you clap your hands, gathering the group’s attention, “how do we want to do this? because lockpicking, no offense vax, is not exactly working in our favor.”

“well if you all shut up and let me work-” he begins to retort, only for a sudden vacuum of air to throw the doors that had been previously impermeable shut, open. it sucks in debris of small rocks and bricks that were a result of the battle, but percy, who’s eyes you noticed were an eerie black, pushes forward.

various voices call out for him, only for the calls of worry to fall on deaf ears. you all needed to stop delilah from summoning this ‘whispered one’ anyway, but percy’s erratic behavior only served to up the ante on the pressure.

you share an uncertain look with keyleth, reaching out as you give her hand a gentle squeeze. “if you can literally become the sun,” you begin lightheartedly, “you can do anything.”

she smiled weakly, “yeah, yeah you’re right.”

there is no time for further conversation, as the glow of the altar only continues to progress and an unnatural lightning crackles around the lady.

you keep to the sides, as everyone remains in the center path, gaze strictly on what delilah focuses on, a... spinning orb? it begins to take shape of a distorted figure.

it’s familiar.

your palms sweat.

“so you have come to your senses,” delilah calls, “no matter, i will welcome the whispered one with or without your help.”

you remain silent, eyes only focused on the apparition. however you did it the first time, you pray you can absorb that magic again.

you don’t even realize that vex’ahlia shot an arrow that strikes the other woman in the back, without even looking at her direction, you continue forward.

delilah’s cries for the whispered one to reveal itself to you all go unanswered. her tone becomes desperate.

“this can’t be all there is!” she screams. you hear the shot of the pepper box.

then, you hear something calling your name.

in your trance like state, you simply, reach forward, and magic flows through you. so do visions.

destruction, emptiness, death. the whispered one is their progenitor. you see your friends, despite valiant efforts, defeated or dead. you’re nowhere to be found.

as you look around, you realize why you’re not there. because, as delilah had said, you were the herald. dutifully fulfilling your role in preventing anything from getting in it’s way. the obstacles? Vox Machina.

you could only fall to your knees in silent terror as you realize what you would do.

“-__!”

the magic continues to flow through you, until all that remains is the spinning orb. you feel something wet trickle down your mouth and towards your chin. but you cannot stop.

“____!!”

you look up, and your friends look at you concerned.

the spinning slows, runes grow surround it. you pray they hold up. you weren’t going to kill them, not your friends, your family.

delilah’s gaze is pure venom. but you don’t find it in yourself to care. the runes are done, the sphere is sealed.

you would not be the signal of the whispered one’s return, not today.

you step around the altar anyway, the unsettled feeling lingering in the back of your mind. stumbling on the last step as you fall to your hands and knees. you hear droplets onto the cobblestone, ah, it was your nose bleeding.

you’re given a hand by percy’s sister, cassandra, you nod gratefully as you wipe your nose with the back of your hand.

when you notice, you’re quick to move towards the twins and keyleth, kneeling beside them (oh your poor knees, you were truly putting them through the ringer today, huh).

your hand brushing against keyleth’s forehead as her breathes stagger. you curse yourself for getting distracted, you search your own bag for something, anything that could help your friend while pike heals her.

pike’s apparition disperses, and dread only gnaws at you all further.

you try and soothe her with your magic, only for nothing to happen, wisps of it barely touching her. even scanlan can barely conjure up the giant hand, as it seems to flicker in and out. carefully you all move away from the spinning death orb, runes still glowing brightly around it.

dark veins grow on keyleth’s skin as she’s once more laid gently on the ground.

so you try again.

to your relief it works, the veins recede for a moment, but as you pull your hands away, they quickly return as they went.

“i think i can hold off the corruption for now,” you warn, “you need to act quick.”

and with scanlan’s creative, for a lack of a better word, rhymes, what begins to heal her is a quick concoction of dirt and spit. you almost find yourself laughing again.

the respite, as short as it was, is quickly put to an end when once more, black smoke gathers around percy, his mask donned, and pepper box raised.

it’s keyleth, now conscious, who reminds everyone that percy isn’t himself.

“he’s not in control,” she murmurs weakly, repeating it for you all to hear.

“i know, i know, but right now you’re not in any condition to fight, we just have to trust them to get our percy back.”

she nods, her head droops slightly, you tilt her head back up.

“stay awake for me, kiki,” you whisper, her eyes flutter open. the two of you can only watch as a literal demon crawls from the smoke at percy’s back, taunting the group. your hands glow, ready to defend keyleth and yourself.

you make eye contact with scanlan, as the giant hand dissipates before percy can shoot at it again, delilah drops unceremoniously on the floor.

which is where you lead, using your magic to move delilah so that scanlan could aid the twins and grog.

the bard casts an illusion to hide you and keyleth while you do.

you don’t know anything about the demon that has taken the reins of your friends body, had you the energy, you’d gladly kick its ass (and possibly percy’s for worrying you all). you have no choice but to hope that he reaches his senses in time. lest he be lost to the demon forever.

-

all it took for percy was shooting himself in the foot, metaphorically of course. in a literal sense, it was his hand. the smoke dispersing in the air.

and you let the shield protecting yourself and keyleth drop, but a hand is still tentatively raised.

both briarwoods having been dealt with, whitestone was now free.

“so uh, spinning ball of death there? is that something we’re gonna talk about or what?” scanlan quickly points out, as you all prepare to go back above ground.

you let out a wheeze of laughter despite yourself, before it becomes a cough. percy reaches to grab a handkerchief or something for you, but you wave it off.

“what’s there to say?” you shrug, your voice raspy, “it’s sealed off for now, no one’s getting near it or touching it.”

“right...” scanlan looks only a little unconvinced but only just. you inhale, closing your eyes while sensing the runes still holding strong.

you open them again as scanlan tosses the pepperbox in the vat of acid, percy’s indignant squawk echoing throughout.

“do you know how long that took to make?? and the resources it took?” you could have sworn you saw a pout on his lips.

his arguments are proven naught, as the demon that had attached itself to him through that weapon quickly tries to escape the acid, only to burn away with it in the acid as well.

“well, i’ll be damned, thank you, scanlan.”

you and vax share a look, him using his hand to cover his mouth and you hiding a laugh with another cough.

while you all continued to trek to the above ground, you still couldn’t help but give the ziggurat more glances, delilah’s words echoing in your mind.

you sealed off the orb, yes. but you still felt uneasy. before you all left whitestone, you’d be sure to scour through the materials delilah had left behind. perhaps reading through them would give you the answers you needed, or at least a jumpstart.

#I was gonna use the cr tag but idk bc #this is based around the animated series and not the show as I am still watching it #and if you see the line breaks it’s bc these were all gonna originally be separate ficlets but I’m posting them all together anyway ahahaha #tlovm x reader #vox machina x reader #the legend of vox machina x reader #tlovm imagines #vox machina imagines #mine #herald!verse

[thedragonagelesbian]

Something something second chances...........

“And you don’t have to worry about threatening to kill me if I hurt him,” Anders added. Where he had been sheepish before, he now spoke with that disconcerting certainty that had scared Varric so much so many times over the last year. “If I hurt him again, I’ll take care of that myself.”

Varric could’ve just let the comment go. He was tired enough as is, and Anders had already given him enough grief for a lifetime. It was probably well within his rights to let the self-loathing slip by.

Instead, he sighed and said, “Blondie, you’ve got to stop saying shit like that.”

“I mean it.”

“I know you do. That’s why you have to stop. As a storyteller, I get the appeal of the whole tragic self-sacrificing lovers thing. It makes for one hell of a dark romance novel. But as your…” Varric’s tongue stumbled into it before his mind did. For a moment, he actually paused to try to think if he knew a word for the recently acquired partner of his partner who was also once his dearest friend until being directly responsible for ruining their lives. For all his years of wordsmithing, nothing came to mind, and he tried to cover up his faltering with a cough. “Point is, this is real life, not a novel, and in real life, sometimes you hurt people you care about. You have to be okay with that without immediately jumping to this ‘he should want me dead’ shit.”

“After what I did in Kirkwall—”

“We’re not in Kirkwall anymore!” Varric didn’t mean to snap with quite as much vehemence as he did, but there was a hole in his heart where his home used to be, and all the self-flagellation in the world from Anders wasn't going to fill it again. It just reminded him of how much his chest ached. “Cyrus made his choice. He wants you to live. Start wanting it for yourself too.”

Anders had been looking like a kicked puppy ever since he had slunk into the Gallows with his tail between his legs. He had the self-hating pout down to a damn art form, and still he managed to outdo himself then. Head ducked, shoulders hunched, spine buckled underneath the weight of what Cyrus and Varric had asked of him. He'd only look more pathetic if he was sopping wet, and damn it if Varric didn't feel his heart stirring with pity.

“Look,” he tried again. “Cyrus and I have talked about why the two of you separated the first time around. You freaked out because he did his 'please let me die for you' shtick, right? Remember how scary that was to listen to? That doesn't become a fun, cool, normal thing just because you're the one doing it.”

“I…” Anders' voice cracked. “I suppose I see your point…”

“I sure fucking hope you do, because I already have one dead-set would-be martyr in my life. I don't want another.” He paused, shook his head, and let out a rough chuckle. “Fuck, maybe I don't know what I'm talking about. Maybe the two of you deserve each other.”

“He deserves you,” Anders insisted quietly. “You don't know… It's so difficult to stop thinking like this. It's hard enough for me to imagine starting down that path, let alone making the progress Cyrus has… had, until I… But even then, you were there to stop him from spiraling further. You've helped him so much.”

Varric folded his arms and sighed again. “If you stick around, I'll help you too, Blondie.”

For the first time, Anders turned away from the fire to stare at Varric, his eyes wide and trembling. “Do you really mean that?”

Varric responded with a shrug, as if this was a simple, off-hand matter. As if he wasn't still boiling with anger over all the mage had cost him, had cost Cyrus. Maybe it was. Maybe he wasn't, or at least wouldn't be forever.

“What can I say? I'm a fixer.” He glanced past the fire to the elf curled up on their shared bedroll, sleeping as soundly as he ever did, escaping from all the horror and loss and tragedy, if only for a few hours each day. “We both are.”

#andersXcyrusXvarric #set like two months after kirkwall #the rest of the kirkwall crew has already gone their separate ways after tolerating anders #solely bc cyrus has clearly been stricken by an incurable bout of ' #'i can fix him' disease #and everyone wants him to have nice things and apparently (??????) that included anders now #meanwhile varric is slowly realizing that he too suffers from terminal 'i can fix him' disease #(and it works bc i want a good and nice and happy redemptive things for all of them) #ive been possessed by many little ficlet snippets while sick

[violetsareblue-selfships]

good morning!! <3 💖🍁

#it's kazuha day :3 #aka our one-year anniversary <3 #i technically have some ficlets i could post I just dunno if I wanna post them together or separate #like there's one i /definitely/ wanna post today but the others *shrugs* #i could divide them and post that one separate and then all the ones in first-person pov get posted together another day #but i guess i'll decide before the day's over~ #anyways my other plan is likely gonna be to reblog some of the past fics I've posted about him and <3 #besides like playing hsr and my normal stuff ^^ #but yeah :3 #i hope you all have a good day/night!! #morning rambles #crow don't look

[ghoulodont]

ok fine ill stop complaining about it. ill pretend it isnt happening. heresmy real issue right now im trying to write some raindrop but all of the love has left my body. its a very sad situation. im a dry and empty husk of a person. i NEED more hiccup ficlet type inspiration immediately like a bolt of lightning. relatedly i want to put that ficlet on ao3 but anything less than 1k getting its own work feels like cheating

#i know some people put all their tumblr ficlets together but i need things separate i need boundaries #also i dont really want to dilute my ao3 with dumb shit #thats already happening though #stop i forgot im ignoring comments on ao3 right now hold on a sec

[thelastspeecher]

I was gonna put off posting this until tomorrow but fuck it, I finally finished up Jimmy's introduction in the Angie version of my Smallville AU, so I'm gonna post it NOW.

——————————————————————————————

              Angie followed Ford to the spot where Reeves Dam had broken.

              “I don’t really like bein’ ‘round here,” she mumbled.  “Bad memories.”  Ford looked back at her.

              “You don’t have to come with.”

              “No, I think I do.  Any time ya wander off on yer own, ya get into some sort of mischief.”

              “I’m a grown man,” Ford scoffed.  “I think I can take care of myself.”  They rounded a tree.  Both their jaws dropped.  “…On second thought, it probably is for the best that you came with.”  A red spaceship was laying on its side, pressed up against a large tree trunk and partially buried by debris.  Ford cautiously approached the ship.  “This looks like yours.  Well, other than the color.”

              “I think I prefer mine,” Angie said.  “The black version’s more fetchin’.”  She crossed her arms.  “Stanford, be careful!”

              “There’s Kryptonian writing on the outside,” Ford said.  “I want to get close enough to copy it down.”  He glanced back at Angie.  “And if you are truly concerned for my safety, why not accompany me to examine it closer?”

              “Did ya miss the green glowin’ rocks at yer feet?” Angie asked pointedly.  Ford looked down.  Sure enough, fist-sized clumps of Kryptonite-containing meteorites were scattered across the forest floor.  “Just…look, every time we’ve found a ship from m’ home planet, the person inside’s been bad news.  I’m worried this’ll be a continuation of the pattern.”

              “I’ll move quickly,” Ford reassured her.  He held up his phone to take a picture.  Before he could, however, someone grabbed his phone out of his hand.  “Hey!”  Ford spun around to frown at the man that had just emerged from the forest.  “That’s mine!”

              “What are you doing?” the man growled.  Angie winced.

              “Please excuse my friend,” she called.  “He’s too curious fer his own good sometimes, y’know?”  Ford shot a glare in Angie’s direction.  The man looked over as well.  He gasped.  The phone fell from his hand.  The man abandoned Ford to walk up to Angie.  Angie eyed him.  “Can I help ya, sir?”

              “It’s you,” the man breathed.  He wrapped his arms around Angie’s torso, squeezing tightly.  Angie’s eyes widened in horror.  “It’s you!”  Acting on instinct, Angie shoved the man off with as much force as she could muster.

              Ford scrambled out of the way as the man slammed against the crashed spaceship.  Hard.

              “Oops,” Angie said weakly.  Ford gaped at her.  “I panicked, okay?  I ain’t used to strange men walkin’ up to me ‘n actin’ like they know me ‘n huggin’ me!”  She rubbed the back of her neck.  “Is he- I didn’t kill him, did I?”  Ford bent over to take a closer look.

              “No.  He’s just knocked out,” he reported.  Angie sighed in relief.

              “Good.  Bring him over here.  I can carry him back to the house once he’s out of range of the meteor rocks.”

              “If you insist.”  Ford picked up his phone, put it back into his pocket, and then dragged the unconscious man over to Angie.  The movement pushed up the long sleeve of his jacket, revealing a silver wristband.  “Wait…”

              “Stanford!” Angie yelped as Ford inspected the wristband.  “What are ya-”

              “This is Kryptonian,” Ford said quietly.  Angie crouched next to him.  Ford showed her the emblem.  “It looks familiar, but it’s not any word nor letter I recognize.”  Angie swallowed.

              “That’s ‘cause it ain’t a word or a letter.  It’s a name.”  She met Ford’s eyes.  “It’s the symbol of the House of El.”

              “The same House of El that you come from?” Ford asked.  Angie nodded.  Ford looked back at the man.  He paled.  “Angie, he looks like you.”  Angie paled as well.  Not only did they have the same aquiline nose, but the man’s long hair was the same caramel color as hers.  “Could he be…?”

              “A relative?” Angie whispered.  “I- I don’t know.  My AI Pa ain’t told me much ‘bout the extended fam’ly.”  She stood.  “We’ll address that when he wakes up.  Fer now, we’ve got to bring him back to the farm.”

              “What about the spaceship?” Ford asked.  Angie chewed on her lip thoughtfully.  “Get the pickup truck?”

              “Get the pickup truck.”

              “I’ll make the call.”  Ford pulled his phone out.  He dialed the number for Lute, the person who was most likely to have the keys to the truck.  “Honestly, we should set up a towing business for intergalactic spacecrafts,” he muttered as he held the phone up to his ear.  He looked around.  Angie was already gone.  “One of these days I won’t look away for a brief second only to be alone when I look again.”

-----

              Naturally, by the time Ford and Lute got back to the farm, Angie was already there.  She paced back and forth in the farmhouse living room, glancing at the unconscious Kryptonian she’d sat in a kitchen chair.

              “It’s ‘bout time!” she griped as Ford and Lute walked in.  “He’ll wake up any second!”

              “Unlike some people, Ford ‘n I don’t have super-strength,” Lute retorted, crossing his arms.  Angie rolled her eyes.  “So’s puttin’ the spaceship in the truck was dif’cult.”

              “But ya did get it, right?”

              “Yes,” Ford replied.  “It’s parked in the barn right now.”

              “Good.”  Angie played with a strand of her caramel-colored hair.  “I’ll figure out what to do with it after we find out this feller’s deal.”

              “Why didn’t ya tie him up?” Lute asked.

              “He’d be able to break free of anything that ain’t magic or Kryptonite.  I didn’t want to waste good rope.  Speakin’ of Kryptonite…”  Angie walked up to Ford and handed him a small tin.  Ford recognized it immediately.  It was the cutely patterned lead-lined box she kept a sample of emergency Kryptonite in.  “I need ya to hold onto this while’s we chat with the feller.  Use it if’n he goes nuts.”  Ford nodded.  Angie looked at Lute.  “Wait in the kitchen.”  Lute’s jaw dropped.

              “Wh- why does Stanford get to stay?” he demanded, gesturing angrily at Ford.  “I’m yer twin!”

              “Stanford knows Kryptonian.”

              “But- that- ugh.  Fine,” Lute muttered.  The man began to stir in his chair.  Angie hurriedly pushed Lute out of the living room.  “I’m goin’!  I’m goin’!”  Lute disappeared into the kitchen.  Angie gestured for Ford to join her.  They stood in front of the man.  Ford put his hands behind his back, for once not hiding his twelve fingers, but rather what those twelve fingers were holding.

              “Ugh…”  The man opened his eyes.  Ford’s heart stopped.  The man’s eyes were the same bright blue as Angie’s.  Judging by her sharp inhale, she had noticed the same thing.  The man’s gaze skipped over Ford to stare at Angie.  “Did you knock me out?” he asked.  Angie straightened.

              “Yes,” she said firmly.  The man smirked.

              “Heh.  You don’t just have your mother’s looks.  You’ve got her spirit, too.”

              “You know my mother?” Angie asked.  The man nodded.  “How?”

              “Lara is- was my father’s sister.”

              “Then that makes us…”

              “Cousins,” the man said with another nod.  “I was even there the day you were born.”  Ford felt Angie tense next to him.  “For me, that day was a week ago.  I don’t know why you’ve already become a grown woman.  But I’d recognize you anywhere.”

              “I suspect your ship placed you in some form of stasis when it was submerged in the water of the dam,” Ford said.  The man scowled at him.

              “Who are you?” he snarled.  He got up from his chair.  Angie moved in front of Ford protectively.  “Do you have a human pet?”

              “A pet?!  Stanford is my friend,” Angie snapped.  She crossed her arms.  “Please, sit back down.”

              “Or what?”

              “I’ll make you,” Angie snarled.  The man raised an eyebrow.  “You might be bigger ‘n me, but I’ve got more experience with the gifts the yellow sun gives us.  Don’t test me.”

              “You seem confident.”

              “I’ve taken down Kryptonians before.”

              “There are- there are more of us?” the man asked.  He sat down in his chair again.  “Why didn’t you lead with that, Kara?”  Angie flinched slightly at the sound of her Kryptonian name.  While her Kryptonian first name was the same as her Earth middle name, they were pronounced slightly differently.  Hearing the Kryptonian pronunciation always seemed to startle her.

              “I didn’t lead with that ‘cause every other Kryptonian I’ve met thus far has tried to kill or maim or marry me,” Angie said softly.

              “What?!  Why?”

              “The reasons vary,” Angie said with a shrug.  She cocked her head.  “You callin’ me by my name reminded me that you ain’t told me yours yet.”

              “Jim-El.”

              “Jim-El,” Angie repeated softly.  “Well, Jim-El, my Kryptonian name might be Kara, but the folks what raised me didn’t know that.  So they named me somethin’ else.”  Jim-El’s lip curled in disgust.

              “What did they name you?” he asked.

              “Banjolina.  But I go by Angie.”

              “Ugh.”  Jim-El crossed his arms.  “Kara means ‘jewel’.  What could your weird Earth name possibly mean?”

              “It’s partially derived from ‘angel’,” Angie replied.  “I…I like it.”

              That’s news to me.  Angie notoriously despised her full first name.  Then again, fewer things motivate Angie as well as spite.  She might have gained a newfound appreciation for “Banjolina” after Jim-El reacted to poorly to it.

              “I guess I’ll have to come up with some sort of Earth name,” Jim-El sighed.

              “You could go by Jimmy,” Ford suggested.  Jim-El glared at him.

              “I didn’t ask for your opinion, human.”

              “Hey!”  Angie stepped closer to Jim-El.  “Back off!  Yes, he’s human, but he’s a good person!  So are the humans who raised me!”

              “Of course the humans who raised you would be good people.  Your parents thought ahead before sending a newborn off into space!” Jim-El scoffed.  “When things started going south back home, they came up with a backup plan for your safety.”

              “I…I guess I never thought about that,” Angie said, her voice soft.  “It makes sense, that my birth parents wouldn’t have wanted to send me off into the great unknown without some sort of plan.”  Ford tucked the box containing the Kryptonite into his back pocket so that he could put a comforting arm around Angie’s shoulders.  “Were- were you part of the plan?” Angie asked.

              “Not officially.  Your parents didn’t know I had my own ship.  But I didn’t want you to be on your own on a strange planet.”  Jim-El’s face softened.  “You were so little.”  Angie sniffed quietly.  Jim-El stood.  “Kara…”

              “It’s- it’s okay,” Angie mumbled.  Ford squeezed her shoulders reassuringly.  “I just get a bit choked up when I think about- think about where I came from.”

              “I understand.”  Jim-El smiled kindly.  “I’m pretty pissed that I couldn’t take care of you like I wanted.”

              “Now that you’ve arrived, maybe you can make up for lost time,” Ford suggested.  Jim-El nodded.

              “That’s exactly what I want to do, human.”

              “His name is Stanford,” Angie said.  “And like I said, he’s my friend.  Please, treat him proper.  Treat my adoptive fam’ly proper.  Treat our farmhand proper.  Heck, treat the folks what make yer coffee at the Talon proper!  I- I’d like fer ya to stick ‘round, since I’ve got so much to learn from ya, but I can’t allow that if yer goin’ to treat humans poorly.”  She met Jim-El’s eyes.  “I grew up here.  These are my people.”

              “…Fine,” Jim-El ground out.  “I’ll treat humans like equals.  Since it’s the only way you’ll let me stick around.”  Tension left Angie’s shoulders.

              “Thank you.”  She smiled hesitantly.  “I’d- I’d like to learn more ‘bout Krypton from ya.”  Jim-El’s eyes lit up.

              “Nothing would make me happier, Kara.”

              “I’m glad that things seem to have worked out,” Lute said, poking his head into the living room.  “But Stan’s car just pulled up out front, so’s we better take care of that ship ‘fore he goes to the barn.”

              “Shoot!”  Angie looked at Ford.  “Distract him while I put the ship in the cellar?”  Ford nodded silently.  “Lute, come with.”

              “Don’t know how much help my weak human self is goin’ to be, but okay,” Lute muttered.  He followed Angie out the back door just as Stan entered through the front.  Stan strolled into the living room, whistling.  He stared at Ford and Jim-El.

              “Uh, who are you and why do you look more like Angie’s dad than Mr. McGucket does?” Stan asked slowly.  He cocked his head, eyeing Jim-El’s outfit, consisting of black leggings and a jacket that could maybe pass for leather, but still had the design of something from Star Wars.  “Also where the hell did you get those clothes?”

              “Jealous?” Jim-El asked snidely.  Stan crossed his arms with a scowl.  “I’m Kara’s cousin.”  He glanced at Ford.  “…Jimmy,” he said slowly.  Jim-El looked back at Stan.  “And you are?”

              “Stan.  The farmhand.  The buff nerd you’re standing next to is my twin brother.”  Stan’s brow furrowed.  “Who’s Kara?”

              “That’s Angie’s middle name,” Ford put in.

              “Oh.  You’re Angie’s cousin?” Stan asked.  Jim-El nodded.  “Kinda weird you singled her out.  If you’re her cousin, you’re Lute’s cousin and Fiddleford’s cousin and all the other ones’ cousin, too.”

              “Kara’s the only one I’ve met so far,” Jim-El said.

              “Huh.”  Stan didn’t seem satisfied.  “Well.”  He walked up to Jim-El and held out his hand.  “Should probably shake your hand or whatever, Jimmy.”  Jim-El shook the offered hand.  Ford saw his blue eyes turning red too late.  The wall directly behind Stan caught on fire.  Stan spun around.  “What the fuck?!”  The back door slammed open.

              “I’m on it!” Lute shouted, racing into the living room with a glass of water.  He threw the water on the fire, extinguishing it.  “What happened?”

              “Hell if I know!” Stan said.

              I know.  Heart sinking, Ford watched Jim-El rub his eyes.  Heat vision.  Ford and Lute had helped Angie in the training of her heat vision, which manifested the first time she experienced attraction to someone.  The implication of Jim-El’s heat vision manifesting shortly after meeting Stan wasn’t good, to say the least.  The back door opened and closed as Angie entered.

              “What happened?” she asked.  Stan looked over at her.

              “The wall caught fire for no reason,” he said.  He shrugged.  “But I guess it’s still not the craziest thing I’ve seen this week.”  Angie stilled.  She looked over at Jim-El with a stony expression.  Ford winced.  She was doing her best to keep it under wraps, but the entire family and Ford had figured out Angie was nursing a massive crush on Stan.

              So much for a drama-free family reunion.

#I think it feels to me like it took so long for me to write this up #bc I've been thinking about it for a while #also.....asdjfnaksldfnjs it turned out SO LONG but as we all know I can't shut my damn mouth SO #anyways I'll stop rambling and get to the actual tags lmao #Smallville AU #Smallville Angie AU #(tomorrow I'll work on sorting posts into separate tags based upon which Smallville AU variant they are) #Angie McGucket #Stanford Pines #Lute McGucket #Jimmy Snakes #Stanley Pines #my writing #my stuff #ficlet #speecher speaks

[fonulyn]

since I've seen it talked about in several places recently:

if you are going to do a whump- or kink- or ANY-tober or other similar challenges please please please don't post them as one fic with 31 chapters unless it actually is one coherent fic. if they're 31 completely separate fics or ficlets then please just make a collection for them or just post them as separate fics. it doesn't matter if they're only 100 words or if you think they're too small or insignificant to post alone, they're not.

and why this?

because if you post all 31 of them in one fic the tagging is absolutely useless. if I look for things to read on ao3 I'm gonna look at the tags, and if the tags include something that's a dealbreaker for me, i won't even click on the fic. I might not even SEE the fic because I've filtered out the nope-tag! so I'm gonna lose out on reading 30 perfectly nice fics because of one fic that my nope-tag applied to.

ao3 is about archiving. it's about clear tagging and being informative. there is nothing informative about it if the tags in the fic apply to random chapters while others have nothing to do with it. it makes so much more sense to have each work as an individual fic with its own individual tags and warnings, so readers can make informed choices.

of course, you do you. I can't police what other people decide to do. but personally, I find it incredibly frustrating to weed through 31 chapters to find the ones I actually want to read. so I don't. I automatically scroll past all works posted like that. and I know some others do, too.

there is absolutely no shame in posting short things on ao3. there is no minimum word count. no one is going to look at you funny if you post a small ficlet on its own, I promise. it's just going to make some readers very happy when they can actually find the things they want to read.

so, please. at least consider the upsides of posting each work as their own fic.

signed, one very frustrated fandom grandma.

#ao3 #fanfic #fandom #I'm not trying to dictate what others do #so if you still wanna keep posting #completely unrelated works as chapters of one thing #then go for it #i'm not your mom #but please at least consider the alternative #and how much easier it'll be for people to #both find it and to make informed choices #of what they want to read

[blueywrites]

morning head ii

(a companion to this ficlet)

eddie munson x reader

you wake up to eddie eating you out.

cw: 18+ only. no pronouns, reader with breasts and a vagina. oral (f receiving), somnophilia with no explicit consent given (reader is happy about it; don't do that in real life). eddie refers to reader as 'baby' and 'sweetheart.' more fluffy, sensual smut with no plot.

1.8k

It's not the cold that wakes you today.

You come back to yourself in a disoriented daze. Everything is tight, hot, swollen, throbbing between your hips. Your skin is damp, and despite the crisp bite of the air on your face, a bead of sweat rolls down the crease of your thigh. It’s quickly chased by a broad tongue dragging up that crease, and you gasp at the sensation— so hot and wet that despite your disorientation, tingles burst throughout your middle.

You blink until the sleepy blur in your eyes clears and look down to see a mop of dark, wild curls concealing any other details from view. But it doesn’t quite matter that you can't see when you can feel what's happening— feel when Eddie sucks one of your plump lower lips into his mouth, rolling it around languidly and pulling back little by little until it pops free. Once it does, he’s rooting for the other one. Finding it, sucking it, working it in such a way that you know he’s enjoying himself.

You realize that he's been playing with you while you sleep, and you’re so fucking turned on it nearly hurts.

It's overwhelming to be woken this way, and you reach over your head to clutch the pillow tight in your fists. It gives away that you're with him now; you feel more than hear a rumble against your folds and then a rush of air as Eddie separates from you, breathing in deeply like he’d been happily buried underwater.

“Mornin’, baby.” Eddie’s voice is still sleep-hoarse but smooth with knowing. All you can do is whimper in response, and he chuckles over your mound, making you squirm when his warm breath cools on contact with your slicked skin. His brown eyes catch the faint morning light as they flick up to meet you, and the bulb of his soft nose shines with the evidence of your arousal. Low, lazy, teasing, he asks you, “Were you havin’ a good dream?”

Disorientation fades, and now the fullness of your feeling catches up with you— that tight, swollen throbbing discerns itself into pleasure and need, a fierce sensation that makes your chest heave like you’ve been running hard and fast through the woods. “No,” you gasp out, breathy and so earnest that Eddie has to tuck his face against your mound to bury a wide, dopey smile. He shakes his face playfully against you, tickling you with his nose and lips. You yelp at its unexpectedness though your hips also jerk up, helplessly revealing how much Eddie’s mid-slumber activities have affected you.

When he peeks up at you again, he’s composed himself. “No?” The dopey smile has turned to a lopsided smirk, another lazy expression as he draws himself up so that only the ends of his curls are draped over your hips. Eddie braces on his elbows so his broad palms can come to the insides of your thighs, pressing to your damp skin and gently guiding your legs open for him. He kneads them as you follow, a fond and almost innocent gesture before his hands leave your legs and his calloused thumbs pull your plump, sticky lips apart instead. That’s anything but innocent. You can hear the separation— in the stillness of his bedroom, it’s an embarrassingly wet sound, like the breaking of a sloppy, spit-heavy kiss. “All this ‘cause of me, then?” Eddie asks, rhetorical and smug. His gaze flicks from your pussy up to your face. “Wish you could see how fuckin’ soaked your pussy is for me, sweetheart. She’s practically drooling for it. Beggin’ me to put my tongue inside.”

“Please,” you whimper, an involuntary reflex that makes Eddie's burnished eyes both soften and heat further.

“‘Course, sweetheart,” he hums, and you shudder at the thick honey of his voice, the promise in it.

Despite the humid hunger filling his bedroom like a delicious, palpable presence, Eddie doesn't dive in and devour you. Instead, he eats you out with no urgency, calm and unhurried like he’s confident he has you right where he wants you— and he does. He takes his time, pressing thorough, open-mouthed kisses all over your pussy, nearly ignoring your clit as he lavishes you with his broad tongue. The only stimulation your poor button gets comes from the soft bulb of his nose brushing against it incidentally as his tongue drags thick and slow over your lips and the creases of your thighs, sometimes dipping shallowly into the well of your honeyed arousal, lapping up each sweet drop you weep for him. You could try to whine and writhe, but it wouldn't hurry him, not when he's like this. So you release your desperation and give in to him instead— softening your hands, letting go of the pillow you'd been clutching so tight, stretching your back and letting your limbs sink into the well-worn cotton covering his mattress.

“That’s it, baby,” Eddie murmurs, fond and warm as you splay comfortably on his bed. “Just relax. Let me take care of you.”

Eddie forms a quick seal around your clit with his lips; he sucks, and the intensity makes your knees twitch. He holds steady, maintaining pressure ‘til you can't stay silent and your lips part on a sweetly anguished moan. He grants you mercy, breaking the suction when he opens his jaw wide to stretch his tongue down and swipe it slowly over your hole. He does it over and over as you sigh and sing for him, drowning in bliss. He pauses to tell you, “Taste so fuckin’ good. M’so lucky I get to lick you all up whenever I want. Have your pussy all to myself.” His voice sinks inside you, filling you up ‘til you're floating.

All is haze and comfort, warmth and pleasure— the warm musk of Eddie's pillow as you tip your cheek against it, the slightest tickle of his hair swaying rhythmically against your hips, the scratchy rasp of his stubble when his jaw brushes against your cheeks and sensitive inner thighs. You're drowning in him, surrendering yourself entirely to his mercy, and you're more than happy to let yourself be lost.

You know Eddie will always find you and bring you back.

After some time— you can't know how long— you hear Eddie’s voice. It reaches you gently because there’s no need to command; you’ll do anything he says. “Pull up your shirt, baby,” he murmurs. “Wanna see your tits.”

You tug the cotton up your body, sighing with relief as it bunches under your armpits and across your collar. The cool air feels good on your heated skin, and mindlessly, you follow the animal need to run your nails lightly down your sides. It’s a wonderful, delicious tickle, and you hum your satisfaction as you treat yourself so nicely. You keep going, ghosting your fingers down to your hips and up your belly, stopping just below your breasts. Goosebumps bloom in the wake of your touch, and you sigh as the shiver complements your growing pleasure.

“Goddamn.” The word is ragged, and you look down at Eddie to see him staring up at you, watching you with molten intensity as you touch your skin indulgently. He licks his slick lips, and they’re so pink and swollen that he looks even more pretty than usual. “You’re so sexy.” You smile, feeling feminine and sensual and beautiful under his gaze. “Pinch your nipples for me. Yeah, like that—” He groans against your clit, eyes fixed on your chest as you roll both of your nipples between thumb and forefinger. You pinch and pull ‘til it hurts just a little, just how you like it.

Eddie's voice turns grittier, more intent. “Keep doin’ that and don’t stop. Want you to come on my face.”

You moan, soft and needy, and your back arches against the sheets as rippling pleasure builds inside. Knowing Eddie’s watching you— asking you— to play with your breasts; hearing his little grunts and groans of satisfaction against your heated flesh; feeling him work your clit gently but insistently between his tongue and his upper lip, coupled with the naughty sting of you abusing your peaked nipples…

You've been under him like this for so long that when the peak builds, it does so quickly and disarmingly. “Eddie!” you cry, his name a prayer of ecstasy and fulfillment as you shatter into pieces. He lets your thighs clamp down on his ears, covets it, even. Groans as he wraps his arms around your hips, hugging you tight as you rut yourself against his face like an animal— mindless, pitiful, overcome by pleasure that washes you in waves of increasing intensity until it crests within you, pushing up from your lungs in a desperate series of broken, gasping moans.

At some point, the pleasurable tension subsides; at some point, Eddie nuzzles you one last time between the legs and crawls up your body. But you don’t notice either of those things until his broad palm is cupping your cheek and his lips are molding to yours. You whimper into his kiss, sighing through your nose as he kisses you like you’re the only thing in the world he loves. Slow, so painfully slow; soft, sticky, and thorough, Eddie kisses you, and with his thumbs, he swipes away the blissful tears that leaked from the corners of your eyes while you came.

Eddie lays all of his weight on top of you, a welcome pressure like the tightest hug. You’re trembling, all of you spilled over the sheets and tangled with him. The most you can manage is to raise a wobbling arm and cup the back of his wild hair with your palm, tuck your fingers into those beloved curls to hold him close and kiss him back until he decides to part from your lips. When he does, moving only far enough so he can look at you, you find his eyes as full as you feel: bright like amber in the morning light and heavy with the weight of your mutual devotion.

“Thank you,” you whisper, but he shakes his head. A lopsided smile spreads across his face, and he takes your hand to pepper kisses across your knuckles.

“Nah,” he says, fond and dismissive. Between his voice and sparkling eyes, you can tell that he’s feeling far less wrecked than you, but you can’t find it in you to be sour when he’s the reason your morning started like this. “Had to have my breakfast, y’know? Start my day off with a balanced meal.” The smile glints, shifting into a mischievous grin. “Little sugar, little yeast—”

An embarrassed noise of protest rips from the back of your throat, and you find the strength to smack him in the chest, rearing back to do it again. Unphased, Eddie just laughs at you, pinning your arms and legs in a full-body bear hug that keeps you from violence and dissolves you into giggles with him.

He can never be serious for long— because he’s your Eddie, and that’s enough.

Please reblog & let me know if you enjoyed! It keeps me going 🩵

Also I typically don't post two days in a row, don't get used to it babes 😘

#blueywrites #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fics #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader

[wileys-russo]

small intimate interactions - ficlet?🥺

small intimate interactions ficlet

"lee! get off." you whined as the blonde collapsed herself into you, long limbs wrapping around your waist trapping you in her arms. "no you're comfy." the english girl mumbled into your shirt as you tried to yank her hands off.

"i need to go and shower you leech!" you laughed as leah leaned more of her bodyweight onto you, the two of you sat side by side by your cubby in the change rooms after training. "yeah you do actually, you smell terrible." leah agreed scrunching up her nose but still made no move to get off of you as you scoffed.

"god i feel sorry for your future wife having to put up with you, i'll be sure to give her a medal." you rolled your eyes as the skipper grinned, kissing your cheek with a loud mwah and letting go of you.

"leah!" you shot her a glare as she whipped you with her towel once you'd stood and started to walk back to the showers. "wasn't me!" the blonde shrugged tossing her towel back into her cubby. "oh yes i suppose it was casper the friendly footballer ghost was it?" your voice dripped with sarcasm.

"must have been. i'll chat to the staff, get them to give the place a good cleansing! cheeky little thing he is." leah tutted swatting at the air as if to ward off bad spirits as you couldn't help but smile.

"you are such a child." you stripped off your jersey and tossed it so it landed on her head, the blonde peeling it off and staring after you with a grin.

"please let me meddle. they are disgustingly oblivious about how much they're in love, its been years now its killing me!" beth begged lia from the other side of the room who shook her head.

"no! they will figure it out on their own whenever they are ready." the swiss warned sternly, beths puppy dog eyes doing nothing as the blonde scowled and let out a huff.

"nah im backin beth here. they just need a good kick up the arse to realise!" katie wandered over as beth gave lia a pleading look who once more shook her head. "viv, help me out?" she looked to the dutchie who backed up her point making beth groan again.

"look! case in point leahs been ready to leave for ages, but she's clearly just waiting around for her even though they drove separately. they're probably off for one of their little movie night sleepovers none of us are ever invited to." beth rolled her eyes.

"probably. but thats their choice, you don't get to meddle and mess about and stick your noses into their personal relationship whatever it may be. let nature run its course!" lia warned sternly again before bidding all three girls goodbye, wandering over to hug leah goodbye.

"you're not leaving yet?" lia questioned as they broke apart, the blonde bouncing her knee as she twirled her keys around on her finger. "nah, movie night. gotta give that one a proper education on the historical importance of prime english cinema!" leah yelled the last few words in your direction as you appeared now showered and changed, flipping her off.

lia leaving you waved her off and grabbed your things, kicking away leah who poked and prodded at you impatiently whining that she was hungry and you needed to hurry up.

eventually the two of you exited the change rooms without even sparing anyone else a glance, leahs arm draped over your shoulder as the two of you started to argue what movie you were going to watch first.

"see? hopeless." "love really is blind!"

~

"what are those for!" leah asked wide eyed as you grabbed out a bag of asian greens from the freezer and rolled your eyes. "my dinner, you've got nuggets and roasties in the oven don't worry." you cooed mockingly, squeezing her cheeks between your fingers.

"thank god for that! here i was thinking you were tryin to poison me woman." leah breathed a sigh of relief, scowling as you teased the way her 'th' sounded like 'f'. "i told you to stop that its bullying!" leah huffed throwing a packet of crisps in your direction which you ducked.

"hey! no throwing my groceries williamson or you can start paying for them." you warned her as leah ooohed with a grin. "i'm so scared." leah drawled as you held up the spatula in your hand menacingly.

"better be, i'd kick your ass." "i think we've proven time and time again shorty that it is indeed me who is the kicker of ass between us." "thats because you cheat every single time we fight!" "no i do not i just utilise the element of surprise and the fact you are about half the size of a regular human being."

"oo its your mum!" leah perked up as your phone rang with an incoming facetime call, leah clicking accept and propping it up against a vase of flowers before you could even say a word.

"hello terri!" leah greeted happily with a smile as your mother eagerly greeted her back, the two having met a few times and talking often as leah and you were almost always in one anothers company.

"mum its like...nine in the morning in mebourne, what do you want?" you chuckled as leah wandered over, propping the phone up by the stove and standing beside you as you cooked.

"thats no way to speak to your mother! maybe she just misses her daughter who lives on the other side of the world now." leah pinched you making you squeal and punch her in the shoulder.

"see! leah gets it chicken." your mum laughed at your dynamic as leahs taller body leaned into yours, hugging you from behind. "yeah chicken." leah teased the nickname making you roll your eyes and threaten to throw out her dinner as she fell silent.

the three of you caught up as you cooked, leah remaining stuck to you throughout which wasn't anything new, the two of you always having had a very affectionate friendship.

in fact you'd always been quite a touchy person by nature so to you it wasn't anything out of the ordinary.

but when leah excused herself to use the bathroom and you'd pulled out her dinner and started to dish up, your mum flagged it. "you two are awfully cuddly tonight." the older woman spoke with a look you knew too well making you sigh.

"just friends with healthy habits of affection mum, you can stop now." you warned, your mum forever having had the habit of assuming any new person in your life you were secretly dating, despite your assurance that if you were dating someone she would not be meeting them until you were ready and as your partner, not a friend.

"okay im just saying it like i see it! shes a lovely girl, and you two seem very close." "we are mum, very close friends."

~

"yeah you should come visit next summer! i'll even teach you how to surf." you grinned to jacob whose face lit up, sat around the table with leah, her mum and brother for dinner a couple of days later.

noticing how homesick you were your first few weeks in england leah had quickly welcomed you into her own family in an attempt to mend that hole. taking you to weekly dinners or game nights much as you'd allow her to drag you along, her family nothing but kind to you the entire time you'd known them.

"wouldn't you need to know how to surf first?" leah questioned as you smacked her arm playfully. "least i don't look like i don't know how to swim." you teased, her grin dropping at the comment.

based around a tiktok trend kyra had made the statement the other day that leah looked like she used floaties when she swam, causing a cut that was very deep to the defenders pride.

"i can swim! you've seen me do it!" leahs fist banged down onto the table as you threw your head back laughing at how quickly she bit, jacob joining in as leah shot him a glare and stomped on his foot from across the table.

"alright alright! enough, leah you're on drying duty come on." amanda chuckled but broke up the bickering as leah looked ready to lunge at either one of you.

"what! i am a guest here, jacob can do it." leah protested but with a firm look from her mum got up from the table with a sigh, making a point to tug at your ear and smack the back of jacobs head before following after amanda into the kitchen.

"stop that mopey look if the wind changes you'll be stuck with it forever." her mum smiled in amusement handing leah another plate to dry, the english womans face turned downward into a sour frown as she heard you and jacobs laughter echo through from the living room.

"you know if i had to paint a picture of my ideal daughter in law she'd be the perfect muse." amanda started with a nod toward you in the other room, causing leahs head to whip up so fast it would have spun off if not connected to her neck.

"mum!" "what? she's a beautiful girl and an even more gorgeous person on the inside, surely you of all people can see that?" "well obviously but we're just friends. people can be friends and not in love with one another now mum its the twenty first century!" leahs voice dripped with sarcasm but her mum didn't miss the defensive edge to it either.

"whatever you say love. all im saying is you like to bang on and on about getting older and not wanting to miss out on the more domestic goals of life-" her mum held up a soapy hand to cut leah off as she tried to interrupt.

"-and here you are with the solution potentially right under your nose. you might not see it but the way you look at her...don't let a good thing pass you by baby girl." her mum warned and suddenly changed topics, leah frowning but not bothering to backtrack on the conversation.

the two of you were just friends, right?

#woso x reader #leah williamson #engwnt #woso community #woso blurbs #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso #leah williamson x reader

[piratefishmama]

Nest | Part 11

A Steddie A/B/O ficlet

“Doctor Owens?” The enquiry followed three firm knocks on the slightly ajar door to Owens’ office, his open door policy ensuring the door remained open whenever possible, only when he was in a meeting, or absent from the office, was it ever shut.

“Come in” Owens lifted his gaze from the papers atop his desk to look at the Beta who entered carrying a small manilla folder “Ah, Miss Buckley, what can I do for you?”

“You uh… you told me to inform you when Eddie dropped into the third stage of his heat? I… may have forgotten to do that initially and uhm… he dropped about four hours ago now?” In Robins defence, Steve had been lingering around the cafeteria instead of going home and well… she couldn’t just leave sad Steve on his own. He had those puppy eyes that made everything hurt an he was clearly trying to hide how distressed he was, it wasn’t working at all, but he wouldn’t leave so— “Steve’s been… distressed so I’ve just been a little—” distracted.

“Yes, yes of course he is, of course, he’s out of the room then?” Owens was already rising from his chair, this was… uncharted territory at Nest. A pair of scent mates separated from each other so late into the heat was… okay so anything regarding scent mates was kind of uncharted territory, so to have an observable pair?

Goldmine. It was like a goldmine, but the gold was knowledge, and he was an academic!

“Yep, he’s not left the facility though, he’s just—he’s just in the cafeteria.” It wasn’t too far away from Eddie’s room. And he was bumming everyone out.

It stank of musty, mouldy bread and nothing was bringing him out of it.

“So he could leave without negative effect, good. Good okay, that’s good, walk with me Miss Buckley.” Robin stepped out of the way to allow the elder beta to pass by, quickly closing the door behind them, she hurried to fall into step beside him.

“I wouldn’t say there’s been no negative effect, Steve is—well he’s a mess, and I dunno how Eddie’s doing if—if he’s doing well at all I mean, before the cameras turned off it looked like he was crying an—”

“I merely meant negative as there were no violent outbursts, that Steve was able to leave without being physically harmed, or without Eddie trying to harm himself. I understand there’ll be some distress from both sides of this. Do you have the measurements from the levels in the room?” She handed the file to him, allowing him to check over the enclosed documents with an experienced eye. “…These… are… from how long ago?”

“I got them about ten minutes ago.”

“And you say he’s been dropped for about four hours now?”

“Yes.”

“…Shit.” And the pace picked up into a jog, all the way to what looked, for all intents and purposes, like a closet. Robin had passed by that door, pretty much every single day since she’d started her job, it had a keycard slot on the door like most doors in the facility, but nothing else, a completely ordinary closet.

Except Owens had the keycard to it. “Uhm—” they stopped outside of it.

“Do me a favour Miss Buckley, go get Steve for me, okay? Bring him here and uh… use this on the door when you get back.” He handed her the keycard after using it to open the dark room, stepped inside, and closed the door behind him, leaving her alone in the hallway staring at a little blank plastic card. It had no room number on it, no identifying marks, just… a completely blank, white card.

Somehow she felt like she held the key to the universe. And while she was not prepared for that level of responsibility, Owens had given her a task, and the task involved getting Steve, she could get Steve.

Even if Steve had to be dragged from the cafeteria stinking of mouldy bread, releasing thee most pitiful whines as she dragged him by his hand down the hallway back to that room, going a little bit of a longer route around because the original route passed by Eddie’s room and that’d have just been a disaster.

He was a big alpha! She didn’t want to have to bodily shove him down the hallway away from the room!

That’d have been way too much like a cartoon where someone tried to push a big box or a boulder and just. Ran in place for a bit before flopping to the floor in exhaustion. She wasn’t built to force Alphas into doing things.

He was only allowing her to pull him because he was so sad.

He was breaking her heart, it sucked. But they made it with only limited staring from other staff members which was nice. “Robbie where are we?”

“Owens’ special closet I guess, I dunno he just told me to bring you here.” Keycard inserted, door unlocked, and the dark room had been lit up by a single overhead light, Owens, back facing them, sat in a chair at a desk with many monitors but only one on. “Doctor Owens? I’ve brought Steve” The Beta in charge switched the monitor off and turned to face them.

“Well, you weren’t kidding about the distress, eugh, come in the both of you, bit of a tight squeeze but please close the door behind you.” Robin and Owens weren’t exactly the biggest of people but Steve… Steve was pretty broad. He was the one taking up all the room. “Alright… after today, you both should forget this room exists, usually to enter this room, you need be a Beta, to have several degrees in medical sciences, a psych evaluation every two months, and consent to random spot checks on all your electronic devices both personal and professional done by an external government official. Really only I’m qualified to be in here. Now I only bring you both in… because Miss Buckley, you are closest to Steve, and so could probably get through to him in a crisis, and Steve… because this pertains to your scent mate. Normally, you… really shouldn’t be in here.”

Silence, complete silence, both beta and alpha staring at him in wide eyed confused silence. At least Steve’s sad alpha smell seemed to be dissipating with the distraction.

He continued, “Miss Buckley, the readings you gave me were… strange, usually at this point in an Omegas heat, in layman’s terms, the ‘sexual pheromones’ in that room should be in the red.” Four hours in? That room should be drenched in ‘I’m ready for a knot!!!!’ “It’s not, not even close. It reads like he’s having a nightmare. And these levels here, this… this shouldn’t be so low either, this is unprecidented” he pointed to another bar neither were close enough to read the label of.

“Sorry, sorry, what is this room?” Steve was too busy staring at the papers in Owens hand in complete bafflement as if staring longer would make it make sense. Robin was focused more on the monitors.

“This is a secondary monitoring station, none of the monitors are currently on because you are not qualified to see into those rooms. In cases such as Mr Munson’s, difficult cases, there’s a health and safety addition to the admission papers, it simply means a qualified person is allowed to observe in the third stage of a heat to ensure the omega remains safe during it. Mr Munson is aware that this is in place, and consented to it before his heat began.”

“And… an you’re the only one allowed in here?”

“I’m the only one with the keycard yes, I’d like that back now.” He held out his hand and motioned to give it back, which she did. “Thank you.”

“Why are we here?” Steve finally managed to speak “what’s… what’s this got to do with me?”

“Steve… Eddie isn’t using the heat aids.” Owens reached back behind him, and clicked that monitor back on, going against pretty much every single rule in the rulebook just to show one very soul crushing, grainy image.

Eddie Munson, wrapped up in a weighted blanket cocoon, pressed into the corner of the room away from his nest, head down, face buried in the fabric of the blanket, shaking like a leaf desperately holding on through a hurricane.

Steve was out of that room before either of them could stop him.

Part 13

#PirateWrites #NestFiclet #Steddie #CW: A/B/O #No Upside Down AU #Omegaverse #Omega!Eddie Munson #Alpha!Steve Harrington #oop

[anarcoqueer1994]

Never Have I Ever (Steddie Ficlet)

The older teens—Jonathan, Argyle, Nancy, Robin, Steve, and Eddie,-- had been hanging out drinking at Steve’s house. No one can remember whose idea it was, but they ended up playing “Never Have I Ever” with who ever being the one who has done it having to take a drink. It was fun, mostly dumb ones, like “Never have I ever been out of Indiana (excluding the Upside-Down) or “Never have I ever smoked weed.” It was one of Robin’s though, that nearly gave Eddie a heart attack.

She looked around the table, smirking, half tipsy. “Never have I ever slept with a guy.” She laughed. Eddie thought nothing of it. He figured she used this one to get as many people at the table to drink as possible. Eddie wasn’t surprised when Jonathan, Argyle (they are dating now, he thinks), and Nancy take a drink with him. What nearly causes him to choke on his own beer is seeing Steve also pick up his glass and take a sip.

His shock causes him to cough up his drink, and though his reaction may have been the most dramatic, but other than Robin, everyone else looked confused too. Steve was oblivious to the looks around the table though, only drunkenly turning to Robin saying “That’s not fair, dude. You knew you would be the only one not to drink.” He playfully complains. 

Eddie clears his throat, being the one to ask the question everyone was wondering. “Harrington, you slept with a guy?”

Steve looks around, first confused with the reaction, slowly realizing that everyone was looking at him. They weren’t judgmental, of course, just surprised. He looks awkwardly at Robin who just shrugs her shoulders, before he says. “Oops I guess I forgot to tell you guys. Kind of figured you all knew since we are all…you know…queer. “

Robin laughs at the absurdness of his statement. “Aww Steve, they thought you were our token straight.” She sticks out her tongue.

Eddie doesn’t know why but he kind of feels…jealous. When he thought Steve was straight, it was easy for him to just accept that Steve in unattainable, that he doesn’t like guys. But knowing he does…changes things. Steve was into dudes, and he is a dude. But now he feels like Steve is unattainable in a new way…he is out of his league. Steve can’t want Eddie, no matter how big of a stupid crush he has on him. That hurt more. He can’t explain why he said what he said next, maybe he is a masochist. But his mouth works faster than his brain. “Who?”

“What?” Steve scrunches his eyebrows together in confusion, a strand of hair falling across his forehead. Eddie hates that this makes him more attractive.

He wishes he could pull the word back in, he wishes it would have stayed trapped against his teeth, but it didn’t so he has to go with it. “Um…I mean who was the lucky guy that slept with King Steve?” He tries play it off as a joke, like he’s teasing but honestly part of him wants to know what Steve’s type is.

“Oh, um a few guys, I guess. The first one was Tommy. Before Nance and I dated, I used to hook up with Tommy and Carol sometimes. Most of the time it was the three of us, but I have been with both of them separately.” Steve goes red, realizing all the attention is on him now.

“You were like a …throuple with Tommy and Carol?” Nancy asks in disbelief.

“No, nothing like that!  What we did was just for fun. Those two were their own thing. “ He put his increasingly flushed face in his hands before continuing. “Let’s…uh move on from this embarrassing can of worms Robin has opened.

Everyone nods, but Eddie’s big mouth strikes again. “You said there was a few…”

“Eds, you really wanna know all the guys I slept with?” Steve raises his eyebrow, embarrassment going to amusement. He shoots Eddie a smirk before adding. “Why? You wanna be on that list?” He winks.

Shit. Eddie was too pushy. He doesn’t need to know. His face turns red. “Uh no. I’m sorry, I’m just being nosy. I’m sorry.” He repeats without his usual confidence. He continues to ramble apologies.

“Eddie…” Steve interrupts. “I’m just messing with you, man. It’s fine. I don’t have secrets with you guys. There were a few random hooks ups from the gay bar Robin, and I go to in Indianapolis, and um my senior year, I hooked up with one of the guys one the swim team. See no big secrets.” He laughs.

The tension Eddie was feeling dissipates with the sound of Steve’s laugh. Steve doesn’t care…Eddie is reading too much into this. “No big secrets.” He parrots back. And with that, they were back to the game, no one bringing up Steve’s “come out,” No mention of Eddie’s weird reaction, nothing that should make him nervous. But part of him swears he notices Steve staring him down more as the night goes on.

They end up all watching a movie, everyone passing out in the living room, half tipsy, and just feeling safe. Robin and Nancy are cuddled together on the couch while Jonathan and Argyle are tangled together on the love seat. Eddie had been on the chair and Steve was on the third cushion of the couch. They had been the only two still awake, neither very comfortable where they are. When the movie comes to an end, Steve whispers, “Eds…come on man. Let’s go upstairs.”

“up..stairs?” Eddie stutters out like some pathetic 13-year-old kid with a first crush. But he couldn’t help it. Was Steve asking his to go to bed with him? Maybe he wasn’t crazy. Maybe Steve was flirting with him earlier. Maybe he was staring.  

Eddie watches as Steve stands up, walks closer and holds out his hand, Eddie instinctively responds, taking the other man’s hand, letting him pull him up. “Yea, upstairs. That chair is not comfortable.”

“No, its not.” Eddie agrees as they head for the steps, still hand in hand. When they get to the top of the stairs though, Steve lets go. He starts leading Eddie to the opposite end of the hallway from his bedroom. When they stop in front of the door at the end, Eddie understands. He feels his heart drop as Steve opens the door to the guest room. “Finally have an excuse to use this thing.” He softly laughs, before turning away, saying over his shoulder “Night, Eds. Let me know if you need anything.”

All Eddie can do is nod lamely, as he steps into his room for the night. He closes the door before collapsing on the bed. His brain is on an emotional roller coaster. He feels stupid thinking that Steve Harrington, queer or not, would be into him. Before he can spiral into self-deprivation, he is pulled back to reality by a knock on the door.

When he opens it, there is Steve Harrington, now clad only in the tiny red shorts he sleeps in. It takes every thing in him to keep his brain from short circuiting. “Steve? What’s up?” He hopes he sounds casual.

“Eddie, why did you react that way earlier when you found out I like guys?” Steve cuts to the chase.

“I..I told you man, just surprised.” He tells a half lie.

“I know, I know. You said that but why did you want to know who?” Steve continues, gears obvious turning in his, trying make the connections he thinks he sees.

“I don’t know.” Eddie looks down at his own feet. Looking at Steve feels dangerous right now, Like Steve could see right through him.”

“Eds? You don’t know?” Steve asks skeptically.

“Yea I don’t know. I just asked. Making conversation, man” Eddie deflects, still looking down.

“I don’t believe you.” Steve says back plainly. Eddie was about to protest, insist Steve was wrong. But before he can, he feels a gentle hand under his chin, pushing his head upwards, so Steve can meet his eyes. He’s frozen as Steve smirks whispering, “I think you wanted to be on that list too.”

Eddie can feel his cheeks going red. Without thinking he replies, “I want to be the end of that list.” As soon as the words leave him mouth, he wishes he could pull them back in. “Oh god, I am so sorry. I don’t expect you to just settle with me or anything. I’m sure you have better.’

“No Eddie. I wouldn’t be settling.” He lets out a sign. “ I should have phrased this better. Eddie, I want you. And not just for sex. Like don’t get me wrong, that’s part of it. You’re so fucking hot. But you are so funny and smart and dorky and such a good friend. I’ve been into you for so long. So um, what do you think?” All confidence and charismatic attitude is gone.

“You like me?” Eddie sputters out.

“Oh my god! Yes, Eds. I do. I like you. Honestly, I think I love you and I don’t know how else to spell it out to you. I just don’t get it, Eds? What more…” Steve is cut off by the soft lips pressed again his. It takes him a moment to realize Eddie is kissing him but when he does, he finds himself kissing back. His hands tangle in Eddie’s hair while Eddie wraps his arms around Steve’s waist.

When they finally pull apart, Eddie asks “So you wanna add me to that list?

“Yea, I do. Eventually. But for tonight I just want to cuddle with me…boyfriend?” He asks, worried he jumped the gun.

“Yea…I want to cuddle with my boyfriend, too.” He smiles, pulling Steve into the guestroom, closing the door behind them.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #ficlet #steddie fanfic #past stommy #Past Starol #Is starol a thing? Shouldn't be #A dumb little ficlet to appease the head goblins #Did not proofread #sorry #stranger things #steve x eddie