#daily ficlet

[strangersteddierthings]

ooo can i suggest prompt six? "Did you lie to me?" hehe

Thanks for sending a prompt, Nonny! It's my daily ficlet for today!

Daily Ficlet 6

Steve's never been a secret before. He's too likeable (or hateable) for that. He's never had to hide a relationship before because what girl wouldn't want to be with him? All his friendships are well known, or were, back when he was in high school. There weren't even secret rivalries!

So, it's an adjustment, keeping this thing with Eddie a secret. But he's trying. Even though all he wants to do is hold his hand every hour of every day he refrains because. Because?

Well, he's not really full on those details. He knows it's partially because Eddie isn't out to anyone in the group except Steve. He's not even out to Robin, and Steve thought for sure they'd figure each other out and bond over it but that hasn't happened yet. Eddie's also said something about keeping it to themselves so they can just be themselves, together, without other people. When Eddie had whispered that it had sounded so sweet and romantic. But that was, like, two months ago and it's.... it's still romantic, but Steve wants to ramble about how beautiful Eddie is to Robin.

Also! This secret keeping is causing Robin to worry! He can't keep secrets from Robin, he never has. He told Robin he thought he might like guys exactly 0.4 seconds after he'd realized it! In fact, he's so bad at secret keeping that he's told her he has a boyfriend. Won't say who, and Robin won't push. All he had to say was his boyfriend wasn't ready to come out and that was that.

He's out to the Party, too. Mostly as an accidental outing he didn't back down from even when Will offered him an out with his quick thinking. Jonathan knows, too. That was an on-purpose telling after Will came out to Steve when they were finally alone, and Steve learned Jonathan knew about Will.

Anyway. Steve's never been a secret before. He doesn't want to continue being one. He just wants Eddie's permission to tell Robin. He'll be fine with waiting even if Eddie says he's not ready for Robin to know, of course, but he just. He wants Robin to know who the amazing person he rants about is.

So, imagine his surprise when, halfway down the stairs to the basement at Eddie and Wayne's new house to talk to Eddie about telling Robin, he hears his name.

"-because it's Steve Harrington, y'know?" Gareth's voice floats up the stairs to Steve and he freezes. Is Gareth a goddman psychic!? How did he know Steve was here?

"That's your reasoning? Because it's Steve?" Eddie asks, and oh. They don't know he's here. They're talking about him. Steve should make himself known. He shouldn't just stand here and listen. But. Well, if Eddie's finally telling his friends about them, he kinda wants to hear it. Want to hear Eddie spill the secret so they can quit being so secretive.

"Well, yeah. You're the one who's always saying people don't change. Did you lie to me? To us? Has Steve changed?" That's Jeff's voice, and his questions make Steve gut twist. But Eddie's not Nancy. He's not- they aren't bullshit. Eddie knows that. He'll defend Steve. He'll tell them the truth. There's silence, though. Eddie doesn't defend him.

"What's with the silence?" Frankie asks, when Eddie's been quiet too long. Funny, Steve wanted to ask the same thing.

"I'm trying to not snap at you all," Eddie says, and he sounds angry. "I get that you guys might still be hesitant or whatever, but you don't get to come here and throw accusations when you haven't even tried to be friends with him! This is why I don't invite him to come hang out with us! 'Cause you can be a bunch of dicks sometimes!"

Steve feels a warmth bloom inside him. He knew Eddie would defend him, he did. It's just hard to believe sometimes, and he's not going to make that Eddie's problem. But hearing it. Hearing that Eddie does defend him even when he doesn't know Steve's around to hear it. Fuck, it makes him want to kiss Eddie so bad.

"Hey, man, I'm sorry," Jeff says, "you're right. We are being dicks, and pretty standoffish with Steve. We aren't giving him a fair chance."

"You're not!" Eddie agrees aggressively. "Even if he wasn't my b- my friend, he's still the reason I'm even fucking alive. So, respect that at least."

Steve stands at the midpoint of the stairs until the conversation turns to a different topic before he tiptoes back to the top of the steps to turn around and thunder down the stairs loudly, giving everyone in the basement a warning to his arrival.

He'll tell a lie, that he was driving around because he was bored and thought to stop and see what Eddie was up to, and get invited to stay and hang out. Eddie's friends are more open with him than they usually are and Steve doesn't waste the opportunity to try and really engage with them, get to know them.

He can be a secret just a little longer, he supposes, when he looks away from Jeff and catches Eddie staring at him with the same adoration he sees on Eddie's face when they're alone. And judging by the almost slip up earlier, Eddie might be getting closer to not being a secret, too.

#anonymous #ask #my fic #steddie #daily ficlet #i still plan to write for the original prompt but this ask called to me first #and i dont wanna burnout trying to write too many fics #HA! best you thought this was going to be angst! But it's not!

[everyforkedroad]

5/2 - Everywhere in Proportion

My second daily prompt. I post them simultaneously to AO3, so if you are interested in reading there, click this link.

Thanks and happy May to everyone!

Everywhere in Proportion

Post Cannon

In which Damen still has excellent proportions.

** 

Laurent remained behind in the sunlit meeting room with Damen as each member of the council filed out, pondering the endless wheedling and negotiations required to keep their kingdoms unified. It had only been three years since their ascension, but the work was progressing satisfactorily with only a few complications due to competing agendas and the inability of some to accept their shared vision. But it would happen. Damen with his stout principles and strength of character and Laurent, who saw farther than anyone else, would be able to make the difficult decisions required to build the future of their new nation.

Damen sat at the large table, frowning as he examined a document while Laurent took each discarded page and sorted them by purpose, setting each in a distinct pile, giving them a semblance of order.  

Catching Damen’s expression, Laurent came to stand beside him, his fingers creeping a feather-like path up Damen’s neck in automatic reflex before sliding into his thick curls. Suspecting what had so captivated Damen’s attention, he said “It will take time for the old currencies to circulate out of the population before the new coins take their place.”

Damen leaned into his touch and Laurent almost expected him to nuzzle his hand in response. Instead he asked, “You don’t think they might have exaggerated my features? My nose isn’t that big.” He picked up the artist's sketch and handed it to Laurent.  

Laurent held it in his free hand, examining the design. The profile meant to represent Damen on the coin was set in the background and much larger with respect to Laurent’s, which was drawn with a more delicate outline. “I did not take you for a vain man.”

Damen’s lips quirked upwards before turning to take the fingers Laurent had buried in his curls and bring them to his lips. “It’s hardly a question of vanity when I resemble an eagle.”

“That’s rather dramatic. Be grateful it’s not an elephant’s trunk.”

Damen let out a burst of laughter, threading his fingers through Laurent’s long, strong ones. “Then I would truly be everywhere in proportion.”

Laurent froze for a moment, a rush of prickling heat erupting across his skin as the image of Damen, naked and aroused sprang unbidden in his mind. He swallowed hard before tossing the sketch onto the table. “I’ll order another draft. We’ll scale that enormous appendage down to its…natural but still generous proportions.”

“I would be forever grateful,” Damen said, still smiling as if he could see into Laurent's mind, his dimple teasing Laurent into a complicit smile of his own. Damen gave the sketch a sour look. “It’s horrible. You have to concede that.”

“It’s not the best likeness of you,” Laurent agreed. No, the best likeness was in the King’s hall - a portrait of them together, dressed in their robes of state in commemoration of their wedding. The artist had managed to capture the best of them - Laurent’s luminous beauty, alongside Damen’s contained strength, their physical contrasts complementing each other.

They brought out the best in each other.

“Perhaps a sparring session before dinner?” Laurent asked. 

Damen chuckled again, giving Laurent’s fingers a final squeeze before releasing them. He rose, placed Laurent’s hand in the crook of his elbow, and opened the door to the cavernous meeting room, letting in a burst of cool air from the shaded hallway. “Why not. Maybe I’ll let you win this time.”

Laurent practically sniffed in indignation. “I certainly hope not.”

#5/2/2022 #captive prince #daily ficlet #post canon #damen of akielos #laurent of vere #lamen #damen x laurent #fanfiction

[maxinemaxmayfield]

For the STWG daily drabble prompt: modern au

“Steve… he wrote his number on the cup. Your cup. Of course it was meant for you,” Robin sighs, pointing this out for the third time in as many minutes. 

Steve glances back to the barista behind the counter. Their eyes meet and he whips his head back around so quickly she can hear his neck crack. Steve doesn’t see the toothy grin that spreads across the guy’s face after he looks away, or the way he tugs a dark curl across his face. 

“See? He’s looking over here. Just text him!”

“Shut up!” Steve hisses, leaning forward. “What would I even say?”

“Uh, ‘hey, it’s Steve, from the coffee shop’? Or, ‘you look sexy behind that espresso machine’? Or, ‘I want to cover you in chocolate-covered coffee beans and whipped cream and eat my way through to your di–’”

“Robin!” Steve yelps, sloshing some coffee onto the table between them, the edges of the puddle dripping off the edge and into his lap. She jumps up to get napkins, and luckily, that’s the end of that.

Steve doesn’t pull out his phone until later that evening, lounging in bed and staring at the ceiling, agonizing over which regret would be worse – doing it and getting rejected, or not doing it and never knowing. 

He takes a deep breath and taps in the number still burned into his mind, searching his brain for something to send.

That latte was hot, but not as hot as you…

DELETE.

Felt like there was something brewing between us earlier…

DELETE.  

I like my men how I like my coffee… keeping me up all night.

DELETE. 

“Oh my god,” Steve says out loud, groaning and rolling over to bury his face into the pillow. “I’m pathetic.”

“Is that so?” a familiar voice asks, crackly and quiet. The same voice who had called out, ‘latte for Steve’ earlier that very day.

He pushes himself upright, nearly drops his phone before he manages to flip it over and look at the screen. 

OUTGOING CALL - 00:42

He flinches, cursing every piece of technology ever invented as he brings the phone up to his ear. “Uh. Hi.”

“Hi.”

“I didn’t mean to call you, sorry. Meant to send a text, but…” Steve trails off, not even sure how to explain it. 

The barista huffs out a laugh. “And what did the text say?”

“Not important,” Steve says hurriedly. “Just saying hi.”

“Well then, hello to you, too. I’m Eddie, by the way.” 

“Steve.”

“I know – it was on your cup,” Eddie says, the hint of a grin in his voice. “So, Steve… next time you come down, I’d be happy to make you a drink on the house.”

And this, the back-and-forth, the flirty banter… this, Steve can do. “I’d rather come by when your shift is over… maybe go grab something a bit stronger than coffee?”

“Yeah? I’d like that.”

#steddie #modern au #stranger things #steddie ficlet #st ficlet #steddie meet cute #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #my fic #demogorgon daily fics

[sunnysideprincess]

Tony, with all his reputation as a playboy billionaire, is a little slow on the uptake. Natasha noticed this shortly after moving in with the team. He was genuinely unaware of the way ladies would drag their sunglasses down to their nose just to see the swing of his hips or the slow roll of his shirt sleeves. Pepper, despite their mutually thought break up, still drools a little when Tony's nimble fingers work the tie loose. And yeah, Nat wouldn't say no to a wild weekend away with the genius on a secluded cabin on the hill—doing nasty, nasty things to that tush.

But nothing compares Tony's oblivious nature when it comes to the men around him.

The way he drives Tiberus Stone crazy during the Met Gala, wearing a corset that's tight enough to give Victorian Era ladies a run for their money. The way one of the military brats shamelessly stares at his throat, licking his lips and subtly adjusting his pants. The way Barnes whines when Tony comes out of the armor, wearing the tight-just right-flight suit. The way Steve punches a hole in the refridgerator when he sees his shirt sitting loose on Tony's bare chest. (Apparently Tony and Nat are the resident clothing thieves. She doesn't disagree because Bruce's shirts and Clint's jackets look good on her.)

She sees it while tracing the spots on her mug. The resident genius billionaire is listing sideways, on the verge of falling off his perch on the counter top—because normal seats are for losers, he said. His head bumps on the shelving unit above and he mutters a curse, stretches his arm up to swat at it like it's a fly. But her attention catches at the stillness of two super soldiers staring at the patch of skin—a tiny sliver around the waist, the curve of the hip bone winking at them.

Tony yawns, jumps down to the floor and the loosely fitted sweats slide an inch below their designated spot. Something cracks and Nat watches them—the two Brooklyn boys pushing away their broken chopsticks and slowly, with the stillness of a pack of predators, rising up from their seats.

"I'm gonna go upstairs, use my bed for once," Tony tells them and sends Nat a slow smile. A knowing one.

He swings his hips around, humming an off beat tune and doesn't bother checking his own disheveled state of clothes.

It takes them all a moment to understand, and then Steve and Barnes are racing out of the kitchen after him, only to have the elevator doors slam on their faces.

Huh.

Looks like Tony might not be so oblivious after all.

#tony stark #tony thirst is real #stuckony #stevetony #buckytony #winteriron #stony #natasha romanofff #outsider's pov #natasha knows all sees all hears all #daily tony stark appreciation post #mcu #avengers #steve rogers #bucky barnes #ficlet #ficlets #deb writes in between

[momotonescreaming]

STWG Daily Drabble

Prompt: Creation

If the spare room was Eddie’s — filled with amps and guitars and DnD books, desk piled high with half painted miniatures, and notebook upon notebook of his scratchy handwriting — then the garage was Steve’s. One half for the beemer, still in good condition, meticulously kept. The other half for his home workshop. A large workbench, a pegboard filled with tools hung in place, cupboard upon cupboard filled with anything he might need.

When they first moved to the city — into a shitty apartment with Robin — Steve said the freedom made him feel lost. For the first time he had the time and space to do whatever he wanted. No parents telling him what to do, hanging over his shoulder. No people who knew him, no people with preconceived notions. So Steve tried things out.

Joined a casual basketball team, took some night classes at the local Y and at the high school. Said the cooking classes were fun, but he liked cooking at home better. Wasn’t a fan of the knitting, but said it was fun to give it a go. The woodworking class however? Steve took to like a duck to water.

He was fixing cupboards and the loose board on their back deck. Made a birdhouse for that large tree in their backyard. Replaced both their bedside tables with his own handmade ones. Eddie could see how happy it was making him.

And then Steve started getting weird with it. Making odd little things he thought were funny, just because he could. Because they made Eddie laugh.

“Will you and Chips be alright if I lock you in here for a second?” Steve asks, leaning on the doorway  to the spare room, gesturing to the ginger cat currently plastered to Eddie’s side. “I’ve got a surprise.”

“A surprise huh,” Eddie replies, raising an eyebrow, as he turns to face his boyfriend. He’s still wearing his workshop apron, goggles pushed up onto his head, and he looks like he’s buzzing. Steve’s made something. He’s been holing himself in his workshop all week, spending hours there in the evenings, and decidedly not telling Eddie was he was doing in there. And now, Eddie’s assuming, it’s finally done. He’s also sort of buzzing about it. “Me and Chips will be fine.”

“Cool,” Steve says, already starting to close the door. He’s biting back a smile. “I’ll be back.”

“We’ll be here,” Eddie calls, shouting so Steve can hear him. He swears he can hear his boyfriend laugh, ever so faintly.

It doesn’t take long for Steve to come back — without his apron and goggles this time, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Get up and close your eyes,” he says. Holding out his hand for Eddie to take. “Come on.”

“Okay, okay,” Eddie laughs, easing Chips off of his lap and getting up from his spot at the desk. He takes Steve’s hand, calloused and warm. It’s comforting as he closes his eyes, and trusts Steve to lead him to wherever this surprise is without running him into walls. Chips meows at them as they walk, the bell on his collar jingling as he trots along side them.

Steve lets go of his hand, leaving Eddie in the dark, but he can hear his socked feet pad on the floor.

“Open your eyes, Baby,” Steve says, joy leaking through into his voice. He sounds like he’s bouncing in place. So Eddie does, blinking against the light, and sees Steve standing next to one of the most cursed things he’s ever seen.

“Ta da!” Steve exclaims, holding his hands out to show off his newest work. “My creation!”

His creation is a long wooden pole, square and sleek, with a round base painted black. The part Eddie can’t stop looking at, however. Are the hands. Wooden hands with adjustable fingers, affixed to all sides, littering the top half of the pole. Some have the fingers laying flat, one or two are flipping him off, one in the standard ‘rock on’ symbol.

“Oh my god,” Eddie exclaims, understanding exactly why Steve was sounding so giddy. This is hilarious. It’s everything. He wants it in their house forever. “What is it.”

“A coat rack made of hands.” Steve says simply, shrugging casually, as if that was a normal thing to say.

Inspired by this video by Evan and Katelyn on Youtube

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie ficlet #Stranger Things Writers Guild #My Writing #I watched that video and suddenly became obsessed with crafty steve #he deserves to be a sexy hairy man doing woodworking #and making cursed shit because he knows Eddie loves it #stwg #daily drabble #stwgdailyprompt

[sweatandwoe]

Penguins

A sort of sequel to Overflow (or takes place in the same universe in my mind)

Saren x GN!reader, 962 words. Fluff, mentioned past trauma, working through it, mentioned medication and therapy, this is some very fluffy winter nonsense

-

“What kind of creature is on your pants?” 

You glance down at your pajama bottoms - bright green fabric with little white and black birds decorating all over the legs of it. Some have hats on, and others have scarves. “It’s called a penguin.” 

Saren grunts in the doorway, and you only flick your gaze over to see if he needs help first, before glancing back to the extranet news report you had on. It takes a couple of minutes for him to remove his outerwear, and then he moves. Reaching you in moments, he only carefully lifts your ankles in his talons so he can slide his body beneath your legs. Letting your feet rest in his lap, while he rolls his head back against the couch. 

“Rough day?” You offer, and he pats your calf. 

“Nothing more than usual.” He pauses, his talons moving slowly along your leg. Then there’s a tilt of his head, and he traces one of the penguins. You hide your smile behind your datapad, as you watch him try to come up with something to say about them. His mandibles twitch when he thinks. “They’re very cute.” 

“That’s sweet of you.” 

He glances at you then. Metallic, cybernetic eyes gaze into your own. The fake irises shift, twitching almost like real eyes while he scans over your face. “I am trying.” 

You reach for him then, placing your hand over the top of his talons. Everything was still hard, but you were patient. This was all very new to him still, since the indoctrination - and even more so since his discovery of his attraction to a species he had openly despised beforehand. It had been rough, and things were still quite awkward. “You’re doing well.” 

The former spectre’s mandibles flare. “Am I?” 

You hum and tug him forward until you’re both lying on the couch. “Quite well.” You pause, to press a kiss to his mouthplates and he applies pressure in return. It’s the closest to a peck you’ll get, but you don’t mind. “Do you want to watch a documentary about them?” When he tenses, you smile. “You can say no.” 

“I wouldn’t mind it.” He says softly after a few moments of thought, moving to tuck his cybernetic arm over your waist. “Is it alright if we watch a documentary for the colony wars afterward?” 

You give another peck, enjoying the way his mandibles twitch against your face. “I’ll order us some dinner so we can watch both.” 

Today is an easy day. You listen to his comments on how turian fauna would easily rip apart penguins, and let him thrum with pride during the colony wars. You hold his hand when he has to take his medications and help tune up his arm before he has a shower. Falling into bed afterward is easy, with slow and thoughtful love-making before you both go to sleep. 

The next few days are harder. There are so many people on the citadel now, and he starts to get overwhelmed, fidgeting. You fight when he says he wants a gun because he isn’t allowed one - even if he can sneak one into your home. He roars and spits because he needs to protect you and himself. But you both know how he gets with guns now. It’s why they took away his biotic amps too. Not just out of fear of how strong he could be, but how he got when he had those tools. 

It was more of a fear that he’d hurt himself instead of just anyone. He had tried that a few times, shortly after the end of the Reapers and his indoctrination began to subside. It still hurt, to find him waking because you’d hear him. Sometimes mumbling and other times whispering. One time you heard him, repeating to himself after a nightmare: “Sovereign took my eyes. I can’t see anymore. None of the colors are real.” 

You manage to stop arguing each night before bed, so you never fall asleep angry at one another. The thought of phoning his therapist still lingers in your brain, but on the fourth day, you wake to find your bed has a much smaller, different figure lying beside you. 

It’s a penguin, you realize, reaching out to touch it. A toy penguin with a scarf that was far too big had been tied carefully around it. Your fingers run along the scarf, and a soft sound leaves your throat. 

When you go downstairs, he’s making breakfast for you both. You make sure your footsteps are loud, that he knows that it’s you before you move to wrap your arms around his small waist from behind. 

“I love you.” You whisper. 

“I know.” One hand comes down to rest upon your own. Talons gliding over your fingers. “I’m not good at this, I wasn’t even before - everything, but I… I want to try. I want to be better again.” 

He would never be the spectre he once was. But he could be better, be the hero that the citadel had once seen him to be. Charismatic, powerful; a leader. At the same time, if he didn’t want to be, you’d be fine with him like this. Just being your Saren, your partner, and trying to be happy. 

You think being happy would be a good ending for both of you. “I know.” 

Saren usually pauses now, before he speaks. As though reassuring himself that his thoughts are his own, to explain his own reasoning in his head before he lets it out. But this he says quickly, as though he feared when he had forgotten to say it. “I love you too.” 

Talons and fingers hold together, as the smells of two different meals fill the house.

#I'm still working on how to format these lil ficlets #mass effect #saren arterius #saren arterius x reader #saren x reader #mass effect x reader #daily december

[youssefguedira]

wrote this instead of doing any of my actual tasks <3 tw for brief mention of animal death (by hunting)

Yusuf has been dreading this since the moment they left for Akkala. He had made as many excuses as he could to stay in Goron City for as long as he could, but every one had run out in the end, and he could no longer put off the inevitable. 

The first time he had walked this road, his father had accompanied him with a platoon of guards, still cautious, still reeling from the attack that had taken Yusuf's mother. The second time there had been fewer, but still many. 

In the years after that, the number of people sent with him had decreased even further until it was only two or three guards, enough to keep him safe. His father stopped accompanying him on these journeys after he turned fourteen and there had been no sign of their worth. 

Now, only Nicolò. 

He follows, keeping a respectful distance away from Yusuf, but closer than he had walked before they had gone to meet Nile, to ask for her help. He doesn't ever ask to stop, or to slow down, letting Yusuf set the pace. He keeps a hand on the hilt of his sword and does not speak. 

What is there to be said? Nicolò knows what lies at the end of this road, even if he does not know what it will mean for Yusuf. 

Yusuf can feel Nicolò's eyes on his back. It is bad enough that the whole kingdom knows he is a failure: he does not need Nicolò to watch him fail and say nothing. 

The sun is low, casting the landscape in burnt orange. It would be beautiful were it not so horribly familiar. There is a cabin nearby, and not far from it, the Spring. They will stay in the cabin tonight; they will leave for the Spring in the morning and spend three days there, then return to Goron City and after that, the castle. 

Yusuf thinks about returning, about his father's inevitable disappointment, and feels sick. 

“Yusuf,” Nicolò says, sounding uncertain. He is not yet used to calling Yusuf by his name. “We are not far, yes?” 

Yusuf had forgotten that Nicolò does not know every cursed inch of this road the way Yusuf does. “No, not far. In a moment you'll see the cabin.” 

Nicolò says nothing. Yusuf glances back just long enough to meet his eyes before looking away. 

What is Nicolò thinking? Yusuf can never tell. 

Yusuf catches sight of the cabin a moment later. Dread sits like a stone in his stomach. 

When they get closer, Nicolò takes hold of his elbow, gentle. It startles Yusuf all the same - he hadn't realised Nicolò was that close to him. 

“Let me go first,” Nicolò says. “To check. But stay close.” 

Yusuf nods, and lingers barely a handspan from Nicolò's back while he surveys first the outside, then the inside, of the cabin. Once he's satisfied, he gestures for Yusuf to enter. 

“You should rest,” he says, and he is being so gentle with Yusuf it almost hurts. Perhaps Andromache has told him what this will mean for him: she has accompanied him before. 

Yusuf shakes his head, because sleep means dreams, and dreams will be worse. “What are you going to do?” 

“I am going to find something for dinner,” Nicolò says. 

“Let me come with you,” Yusuf says. Anything is better than sitting in this cabin alone with his thoughts.

Nicolò looks at him for a long moment. Perhaps he takes pity on Yusuf, or perhaps he thinks that it will be easier to keep Yusuf safe if he stays with Nicolò. Either way, he nods. “All right.”

----------

Finding something for dinner means that Nicolò leads Yusuf a little way into the woods, far enough that the foliage and the dying sunlight makes it difficult to see, and bids him hide beneath a tree, in a space formed by the roots, while Nicolò crouches beside him with his bow, nocking an arrow in one smooth, seamless motion. From his vantage point, Yusuf can see a small clearing with a few fallen trees.

“Do not move,” Nicolò instructs him in a whisper, “and do not make a sound.”

Yusuf rests his head against the tree and watches the leaves move in the breeze. It is quiet enough that all he can hear is their rustling, the sounds of birds and animals calling to each other, the rushing of the stream nearby. After a moment, and with nothing else to watch, Yusuf begins to watch Nicolò. 

He has gone as still and as quiet as the trees around them, barely breathing, his shoulders rising and falling only slightly, like he has become a part of the forest. Faron Woods is much further south from here, but Yusuf supposes that this forest must be somewhat similar to where Nicolò grew up. He wonders who taught him to hunt; who taught him to be so comfortable in this place. Why he left it behind to travel to the castle and work for the king.

There are a lot of things Yusuf wonders about him. He cannot tell if Nicolò is aware of Yusuf’s watching; he must be. Still, Yusuf cannot help but watch.

It happens faster than Yusuf can track. Nicolò goes entirely still, and draws his bow swiftly, silently. Yusuf holds his breath and so does the forest.

Nicolò lets the arrow fly.

Yusuf doesn’t see whether it finds its mark, but Nicolò looks for a moment and then stands. “Wait here,” he says to Yusuf, and then heads for the clearing. When he returns he’s carrying something behind his back, the arrow in his other hand. Blood drips onto the grass. 

“You can wait inside while I prepare it, if you prefer,” Nicolò says haltingly. Yusuf shakes his head, and so he sits on a log outside while Nicolò skins the rabbit, arms wrapped around his knees and chin drawn up to his chest. Nicolò keeps his back to Yusuf, shielding most of it from view. 

Who taught him this? Yusuf wonders. It is a part of Nicolò he has never seen before.

When it is done, he takes it back inside to cook over the fire, and they eat it alongside the bread and cheese they brought from Goron City, across from each other at the cabin’s little table.

“When do you want to leave, tomorrow?” Nicolò asks softly. 

“I don’t,” Yusuf says before he can stop himself, and then adds, “I don’t know. Early, probably.” The thought bursts the little bubble he’s been in since they arrived. He doesn’t want to leave, could stay here for the three days they’ve been allocated and return to his father without even having tried and it would change nothing. 

“Just after sunrise, then,” Nicolò says. “It is not far, you said?”

Yusuf shakes his head. “No,” he says. “Not far.”

----------

The water is freezing.

It has always been freezing. But Yusuf knows well enough that if he stands in it for long enough, it will start to warm. It reaches to around halfway up his thigh; when he was younger, it felt deeper. 

The stone in front of him offers nothing. No sign, no indication that anything is listening to him except for the water and Nicolò, who has been standing at the gate of the Spring for however long he has been in here. Has he been listening? Has he heard Yusuf pleading for something, anything, dreading the moment he returns to the castle and his father looks down at his left hand and sees nothing there? 

What does Nicolò think of him now? If he did not see a failure before, does he see one now? 

His legs may be going numb. They tremble beneath him, struggling to hold his weight. How long has he been standing here? 

“Tell me what I am doing wrong,” he begs the stone. His voice sounds like it’s coming from somewhere else. “I know I am not the one you wanted, but I am trying. I am trying. I have given everything. I do not know how much more I have left.”

The stone says nothing.

Nicolò says, “Yusuf.”

Yusuf hears him without listening, falls to his knees in the water and does not even feel the chill. 

“Please,” he pleads. “I cannot return – I cannot give anymore.”

There is a splash behind him, and then there is Nicolò, pulling him to his feet, pulling him from the water. Yusuf tries to hold fast - he cannot leave now or it will have been three days in the Spring with nothing to show for it. 

“Yusuf,” Nicolò says again. His grip is gentle but unrelenting, and he is warm. Yusuf, shivering as he is, can’t help but lean into it. “You are exhausted. You are going to freeze. Come with me.”

“I can’t,” Yusuf says, even as he lets Nicolò take his weight, lets him guide Yusuf out of the Spring. “I can’t.”

There is a small paved area where their camp is set up. Nicolò has kept the fire going, or restarted it, while Yusuf was in there, and he half-carries Yusuf over to it now. Yusuf’s legs buckle under him the moment Nicolò lets him go, and he sinks onto something soft laid over the paving stones. He blinks, and there is a bowl in his hands, warming even if he does not really taste it. 

“It was never supposed to be me,” Yusuf says without really meaning to. 

From across the fire, Nicolò watches him.

“It was supposed to be my mother,” Yusuf whispers. The only sound between them is the crackling of the fire. Yusuf is so, so tired. He has never said this to anybody else, not even Andromache, but he cannot keep the words from rushing out of him now.

“It came to her when she was nineteen,” he says, “and that’s how they knew it would happen in her lifetime. So she trained, and she mastered it, and we were ready. And then she was killed, and because I was the oldest, it came to me.”

He does not like thinking about this. He has not thought about this in years. They do not speak of it anymore.

Nicolò is still watching him.

“I was asleep when it happened,” Yusuf continues. “I dreamt it as it happened, but I didn’t know until later. The moment she died, I woke up screaming. They told me afterwards that I was– I was glowing, bright enough that nobody could look at me for long or get close enough to see what was happening to me. They just had to wait until I came out of it. It felt like I was burning.” If he closes his eyes, he is there again, twelve years old and terrified.

“That’s how we know it should be me,” he says after a moment. “Who can do it. Because I did, once, but never again, despite all of this.” He waves at the Spring, the water, the stone. 

Exhaustion tugs at him. His eyes will not stay open, but he cannot let himself fall asleep, not yet.

“Don’t let me fall asleep,” he tells Nicolò. “There’s still time.” It cannot be late yet; the sun has gone down, but it is not quite dark. “Don’t let me.”

“You have to rest,” Nicolò says. It is the first thing he has said to Yusuf since he pulled him from the Spring, and Yusuf cannot tell what he is thinking. 

“I can’t fall asleep,” Yusuf insists.

“At least let yourself warm up first,” Nicolò says. There is a pile of dry clothes in his hands - where did he get them?

Nicolò convinces him to change and to sit back down, to rest a little while longer. This time he  steers Yusuf to sit down on his bedroll instead, and Yusuf’s grip on his arm goes tight.

“Don’t let me fall asleep,” he says again. 

“You cannot go on like this,” Nicolò says. “Sleep, and I will wake you in a few hours’ time.”

Yes, a few hours. That, Yusuf can afford. “Promise me,” Yusuf says, but his eyes are already closing unbidden. 

Nicolò says nothing.

----------

When Yusuf wakes, it is still dark outside, and there is a cloak that is not his own draped over him. Nicolò is crouched over the fire only a short distance away. He catches Yusuf’s eye, but doesn’t say a word.

It all comes crashing back at once: the water, the stone, Nicolò. Yusuf sits up.

“You didn’t wake me,” he says.

Nicolò watches him for a long moment. “You needed the rest,” he says finally. 

Suddenly his consideration stings. “That wasn’t your decision to make. What time is it?”

Nicolò glances at the sky. “It will be sunrise soon.”

Yusuf’s heart sinks. Sunrise means return, means return to the castle and his father with nothing. He gets up, pushes Nicolò’s cloak aside. “You should have woken me.”

Unexpectedly, Nicolò pushes back. “You would have only made yourself ill. You were barely conscious. I would not have done it if–” “That was not your decision to make,” Yusuf snaps. “I am not a child, Nicolò. I am capable of handling myself. I have lost hours.”

Nicolò does not say anything. Yusuf almost wishes he would keep pushing, but he does not. He simply folds himself back into the same blank expression he always carries, and again, Yusuf cannot read him.

“If the sun will rise soon, there is not much use in staying here for much longer,” Nicolò says eventually, quiet. He doesn’t meet Yusuf’s eyes. Guilt twists his stomach. 

Did Nicolò know? Did Andromache warn him? Or was he just worried?

Yusuf nods. 

They pack up their camp in silence, side by side. By the time they set off on the road back towards Goron City, the sun has risen, and the early light turns the world around them to gold.

Yusuf walks, and Nicolò follows behind him, as always.

#neon writes #the zelda au which lives only in my head #spring of power baby! if this seems vaguely familiar setup wise its because ive moved the vague plot of the mount lanayru ficlet here #this is a fairly early stage in their relationship booker is the 3rd champion they find (before andy who's the last) #so like. yusuf is warming up to him (hence him actually talking to nicolo) but is still. going through his whole deal #he'll apologise i promise hes just having a rough go of it the springs are a bit of a touchy subject #spring of power btw. nicolo on the other hand has not quite realised the full extent of whats up wrt yusuf and the springs #and his father generally. he doesnt think yusufs a failure tho thats just yusufs brain #anyway ive been replaying age of calamity and Wow botw zelda is the character of all time. for sure. obsessed with her #so i'm channeling that into this. feat. the reveal of what happened with yusufs mom #anyway. enjoy <3 #the old guard #kaysanova #fine main tag. whatever. this is for me and the 2 people who have expressed interest in this au #it haunts me daily

[castieldelamancha]

Castiel stares out of the window, his gaze following two drops of water as they race down the glass, the rain making a pattering soft sound as it hits the cold surface. The dark clouds covering the sky tell him this storm isn't going to ease any time soon. He is just grateful he has a warm place to find shelter in, warm, dry socks to wear, a cozy sweater too, that he stole from the other side of the closet. He knows well how it feels to be out there, under the heavy weight of a blanket of rain, the bite of the cold wind attacking every inch of exposed skin it can find. He watches the way the wind agitates the leaves of the trees lining both sides of the quiet street, he watches as it playfully tries to take away an umbrella, right out of its owner's hands . He shakes his head, Dean can be so stubborn sometimes. He is so grateful for him too. Castiel's eyes follow him as he makes his way back home, a plastic bag in his hand, the umbrella tightly held by his other hand and now that Castiel is focused on him he realizes that the umbrella is, in fact, his own, the green one covered in tiny frogs drawn wearing raincoats, with umbrellas and rain boots. The one Dean claimed was the silliest thing he had ever seen when Castiel said he wanted to buy it. He rolls his eyes. He keeps watching the rain as he waits for the familiar sounds of Dean's presence. The key opening the door, his muttered curses at the " fucking stupid rain", the clinking sound the keys make as he leaves them in the little bowl by the door, the door closing and a familiar and warmth "Hey sweetheart!" "Hello, Dean." He doesn't turn around, hears soft steps at his back, smiles at the kiss Dean drops on the top of his head, looking down at the neatly packaged tea Dean just dropped on his lap, "you didn't really have to go buy it, Dean." Dean huffs lightly, "it was a stop in the way to the grocery store, and I had to get a bunch of things for dinner anyway so..." He trails off at the end of the sentence, Castiel doesn't mention the fact they suddenly needed a bunch of things from the grocery store right when Cas realized they had ran out of tea, he doesn't mention the fact he could have eaten anything else that they could prepare with what they already had here either, "speaking of which, I better go start getting dinner ready." "Dean," Castiel calls out, tone soft, Dean, who was already at the living's room dorway, turns around, "thank you." He lifts the tea, gesturing at Dean with it. "Don't mention it." He makes a dismissive gesture with his hand, the other one scratching the back of his neck. Castiel gets up from the armchair he moved over so he could sit by the window and crosses the distance between them, "I will help you prepare dinner." He offers, resting a hand on Dean's left shoulder, feeling a little spark as he does, he knows there is nothing there anymore, he has gotten quite well-acquainted with Dean's skin by now, and the residual energy of his grace is gone now, but still his heart skips a beat at the simple contact, a rush of memories coming to him with it. Dean perks up at that, he puts his hand on the small of Castiel's back, steering him towards their kitchen, "yeah, man, it's about time I teach you how to make my famous lasagna." "Secret ingredients included?" Dean pauses at that, giving him a look full of mirth that pretends to be appraising instead, "Yeah, I think I can trust you with the secret ingredients."

#destiel #ficlet #the real question here is what is that one piece thing in my dash like why luffy why zoro i don't even follow those tags what's going on?! #long post #anyway here you go daily ficlet or whatever #bon appetit #<3 #tuserpris

[hairstevington]

Daily Drabble 9/26/23

Prompt: “Hey, that’s mine!”

So, I’m part of a discord where every day we get a prompt and write a quick ficlet about it. Mine are usually Steddie related (naturally) and today I decided to post mine. If anyone is interested in me continuing to post these, please let me know!

“What do we have here?”

Steve’s face went completely pale. When he’d invited the man he’d been secretly pining over to hang out at the Harrington house, he had neglected to think about how said man would behave.

The first thing Eddie did was demand a tour of the “castle.” That’s what he’d called it - a castle. Steve walked him through some of the rooms, and then before he could stop him, Eddie was climbing up the stairs on all fours like a child.

Steve couldn’t believe he had a crush on such a fucking doofus.

They’d made it to Steve’s room, and then Eddie teased him mercilessly about the decor. The shitty wallpaper, the bowling pin, the lack of “teenage boy shit.”

But then, Eddie had taken it upon himself to open the drawer of Steve’s desk, where from it he pulled out a folded piece of paper.

Oh, no.

“Hey, that’s mine!” Steve shouted, crossing the room swiftly and trying to snatch it from Eddie’s grasp. Unfortunately, Eddie was spry as hell, so it proved to be difficult. “Give it back, Eds.”

“Tell me what’s in it and I will,” he replied. Steve rolled his eyes.

“That’s dumb. I lose either way.”

“Yeah, looks like you have no choice then.” Eddie grinned, and the way his eyes bore into Steve’s left him blushing.

Fuck it. If Eddie didn’t know already, he might as well know now.

“Fine,” Steve said. “Open it.”

So, Eddie did. Steve stood there and watched Eddie unfold the paper and read its contents until his eyes bulged from his head.

Steve had almost slipped this note into Eddie’s locker last year, but chickened out. Although, he was pretty proud of how poetic it had came out, so he didn’t throw it away. Steve wasn’t usually the best with words.

“Oh,” Eddie finally said. Steve shrugged.

“Yeah.”

Eddie folded the note back up and stuck it in his pocket, then smiled.

“Goddamn, Harrington,” he said. “Took you long enough.”

——————-

For longer fics, check out my masterlist! 🥰

#eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #Steddie ficlet #daily drabble #writing #eddie and Steve #steddie fic #eddie munson x steve harrington #dailydrabble #stwgdailyprompt

[thechaosdomain]

Prompt: Potion

Word count: 683

Pairing/character(s): steddie

“Steve? You ready?” Eddie shouts into the house as he pushes the door open without knocking.

“Yeah I’ll be down in a second.” Steve shouts back from upstairs, Eddie wanders through his living whilst he’s waiting picking up random items, a few rocks that he’s pretty sure he gave Steve and a few interesting looking plants that have been left laying around he assumes they’re harmless if they’ve just been left out where anyone could get to them. He wanders into the small cluttered kitchen there’s nothing interesting lying around in here except for an old looking book that’s open on a page that Eddies sure is very interesting if you have any idea what it says but he doesn’t do he flips through a few more pages before glancing at his watch. His eyes land on the cup of what Eddie thinks is tea that’s beside it, picking it up completely unsurprised to find that it's still warm. Steve's notorious for making drinks and never actually finishing any of them, oh well his loss, Eddie thinks before taking a sip from the cup. As the warm liquid hits his tongue it’s butter taste fills his mouth making his face scrunch up as he sticks his tongue in disgust. Why would anyone drink this?

“Ed’s” Steve calls from the living room

“In here.” Eddie answers, placing the cup back where he’d found it as Steve enters the room.

“That tastes awful.” He tells the other man

“You drank it?” Steve asks a confused frown falling across his face.

“Yeah.” Eddie shrugs

“Why would you drink it?”

“It was in a cup-” he says like it’s the most obvious answer in the world “-Who puts anything but drinks in a cup?”

“Me.” Steve answers

“Well then you can only blame yourself for this.” Eddie crosses his arms over his chest.

“Wh-“ a hiccup interrupts the metalheads sentence as he tries to ask what he’d drank, another hiccup forces its way out immediately but this time his firm shifts getting smaller until in Eddie's place is a moth.

“Huh” Steve frowns “it’s not meant to do that.” He comments his attention shifting away from Eddie and back to the book on the kitchen table, flipping back to the page he’d been reading earlier, he looks over it trying to figure out what he’d done wrong. Another hiccup followed by an annoyed meow draws Steve’s attention back to the current problem. A small snort escapes before Steve can suppress it, Eddie is managing to look very annoyed whilst also being the fluffiest cat Steve has ever seen.

Another hiccup turns the metalhead into a floppy eared rabbit crouching down in front of him Steve can’t resist scratching the top of his little head, his fur is so soft.

“What did we learn?” Steve asks, receiving an annoyed foot stomp in response he continues.

“That’s right, don’t drink random liquids if we don’t know what they are even if they are in a cup.”

Another hiccup turns Eddie into a rather large dog that makes Steve very glad he’d resisted the urge to pick him up.

“Don’t worry it’ll wear off in a couple of hours.” He reassures Eddie as he stands back up scratching behind one of his pricked ears earning a small puff of air from Eddie that he’s sure is meant to show his irritation at the whole situation but his tail thumping against the kitchen floor undermines him.

After a few minutes of Eddie hiccuping and changing form Steve decides to head back into his living room flopping down onto his old coach and flipping on the tv preparing to stay in tonight as it looks like their previous plans would have to be put on hold for now. A parrot flies into the room settling on the back of the couch and Steve can’t resist saying.

“You know you’ve only yourself to blame for this.” Laughing as Eddie pecks at him a few times before another hiccup turns him into a bee, it’s going to be a long interesting night Steve thinks.

#steddie #steddie ficlet #daily drabble #steve harrington #eddie munson #prompt #stwgdailyprompt #chaos writes

[strangersteddierthings]

Daily Ficlet 4

I'm challenging myself to write a little ficlet every day, using the prompts from this list. Today's prompt is jukebox.

-

Steve's oh moment comes to him at The Hideout of all places. Dingy, dirty, with a bartender who served Will Byers a drink without so much as pretending to contemplate if he should or not.

The point Steve is making is he's just realized he might be a lot in love with Eddie and that it's not exactly the most romantic of settings. They're all here because they came to watch Corroded Coffins first gig since before... well, since Before.

Before Vecna. Before spring break. Before Steve was even aware of his attraction to guys.

A lot of Before that led them to this now. This oh.

It wasn't watching Eddie in his element, up on the stage. Seeing that for the first time was actually a Before thing, too. Steve's been to The Hideout before. The same bartender served Steve a beer back when he was a sophomore and Tommy H had heard the rumor that they didn't card here. The first time he'd watched Eddie Munson in his element had been shortly after his graduation, coming here to pretend he wasn't as alone as he felt as he drank a beer or two.

Watching Eddie on the stage knowing he has a crush on him certainly made the show better but didn't push him from crush to in love.

It also wasn't after, watching Eddie and Robin have a silent conversation of only gestures and eyebrows and pointed looks, though it did make Steve rush with adoration for them both. Knowing that Eddie and Robin got a long so well, cared to each other, made something settle inside Steve's bones. Steve hasn't been serious with anyone since Starcourt, and he's aware enough to know it's because he can't explain his codependency to Robin to anyone. Not with the truth, or in a way they're understand. He wouldn't need to do that with Eddie.

It wasn't that Eddie had then come checked on him, either. Asking if the place was too loud, and how Steve's head was doing. Steve had just recovered from a migraine and Eddie was worried about this bringing it back. It hadn't. The ear plugs were great. And Eddie beamed at him.

No. None of those were the oh, though they were all reason enough.

No, the oh was this.

Watching Eddie 'metalhead' Munson teach Will, El, Dustin, Lucas and Erica how to square dance. He'd tried to coax Mike onto the floor but that wasn't happening, and Max couldn't with her crutches still, but she'd promised to learn from Lucas once she was on the mend.

Eddie had pilfered most of Steve's quarters and slid them into the jukebox, picking the same country song 5 times in a row for the kids to practice to. "Just to wait, Stevie. These kids'll be winning square dancing trophies when I'm done."

Steve had laughed, sipping on his beer as Eddie danced his way to the jukebox.

And here, on the fifth song, watching Eddie improvise some swing dancing into their established routine with Erica being easily twirled about, trying to glare at Eddie for picking her but also doing nothing to stop him from throwing her around the dance floor, Steve thinks oh.

Oh. I love him.

He stands and heads to the jukebox, and queues up the same song once more, then turns to the group. "Alright Munson, teach me, too!"

Dustin whoops, Erica slips back into her place in line, and Eddie beams at him, hand outstretched and waiting.

#my fic #daily ficlet #steddie #eddie can square dance #wayne taught him

[everyforkedroad]

5/5 - Treasure Hunters

Fifth ficlet! Eeep! I’m taking a last minute trip this weekend so no ficlets on Saturday or Sunday. I’ll compensate with something a bit longer on Monday. l post each one simultaneously to AO3, so if you are interested in reading or leaving kudos there, click this link. Thanks and happy May to everyone!

Scavengers

Contemporary AU

In which Damen must navigate between his relationship with Laurent and his friendship with Nikandros. 

**

“Wait a second. Repeat that. You and Laurent are going…”

“Treasure hunting.” 

Nik blinked slowly before shaking his head, as if jostling his brain might make whatever Damen was saying make sense. Damen couldn’t help but smile at his reaction. “You’re turning down tickets to the basketball game to go…treasure hunting? What, are you twelve years old?”

Damen had pulled a clean shirt out of his closet, pulled it on, looked in the full-length mirror on the door for a microsecond before tearing it off and tossing it on the growing mountain of t-shirts on his otherwise tidy bed. The apartment he shared with Nik was in general very orderly, a testament to their days together in the boot camp and later, on deployment. 

He paused to answer Nik before grabbing another t-shirt. “It’s not a kid’s game. We look up who’s having a neighborhood garage or estate sale and visit them for used furniture or other potential antiques.” He pulled on the black t-shirt with the Stormtrooper Hello Kitty logo, bright pink ribbon and whiskers set against a stark helmet stretched across the broad expanse of his chest and nodded in satisfaction. 

“That’s sharp,” Nik said approvingly, indicating the t-shirt before frowning again. Nik had just gotten back from the barber, his dark curly hair trimmed, edges clean and flowing into his closely-cropped beard. “You know, this sounds like a Laurent thing,” he said with a hint of derision. “Wouldn’t it be easier to…buy the things you need instead of buying other people's junk?”

“Easier, but not as entertaining.” A measured voice came from the bedroom door. Damen brightened at the sight of Laurent, his t-shirt an exact replica of the one Damen was wearing, paired with slim-fitting, stone-washed jeans instead of the relaxed style Damen favored.  

Nik gave Laurent a chin-nod in greeting. Damen knew he was sore about Laurent having a key to their place but he respected Damen enough not to not say anything about it in front of Laurent. That didn’t mean Damen didn’t get an earful whenever Nik was reminded of it.

“Digging the shirt,” Damen said, pointing at his own and giving what he knew looked like a mad grin.

Laurent stared at Damen’s shirt before tearing his gaze away to glance down at his own. “It was a gift from a very annoying man.”

Damen grabbed his chest in mock offense. “You wound me.”

“It would take a head-on collision with a truck to wound you.” Laurent’s sharp retort stood in stark contrast to the humor in his bright blue eyes.

“You’re kind of like a head-on collision with a truck,” Damen waggled his eyebrows in mock emphasis.

“Idiot,” he said around a laugh he couldn’t quite suppress.

“Hello?” Nik waved between them. “I’m right here.”

“Sorry,” Damen chuckled, clapping Nik on the shoulder while Laurent gave a nod in acknowledgement.

“So, garage sales?” Nik prodded, crossing his beefy arms over his chest. “What’s the allure, besides the fact that you’re both cheap as hell?”

That wasn’t entirely true. Damen co-owned the MMA studio with Nik, which earned them both a solid living, while Laurent’s family was very well-off. Money wasn’t the issue.

“It’s not a question of saving money.” Laurent interjected, as if reading Damen’s mind. “It’s fascinating to see what people consider unsalvageable. A garage sale is usually the last opportunity to redeem Aunt Edith’s end table before it ends up as so much detritus on the curb. When you salvage it, you are giving new life to something no one wants.”

Damen moved around the room, packing his jean pockets with his cell phone, wallet, and car keys. “Restoring old things is Laurent’s secret hobby and he’s really good at it.”

“Not so secret anymore,” Laurent blushed, his voice oddly tremulous. “And I’m actually not very good at it. Not yet.”

“He’s just being modest,” Damen came to where he stood, draping an arm over his shoulder and pulling him in for the kiss he’d been dying to give him since he appeared, all blond and gold and sharp as a blade at his doorway. 

Nik looked from Damen to Laurent and back again, as if following a tennis match. “I don't think Laurent is capable of modesty.”

“I think you are right,” Laurent said, finding his composure again. “Ready, lover?”

Damen smiled, tweaking Laurent’s chin before turning to Nik, who wore an unreadable expression. He was a good enough friend not to give Damen a hard time about Laurent but Damen sensed he was not a big fan of Laurent’s, either. Nik simply didn’t know Laurent, couldn’t know that under all that cool arrogance, there was a heart as tender and sweet as any Damen had ever known. Nik would come around, eventually. 

Laurent’s eyes were on Nik, assessing in that way that made Damen wonder what was going through that quicksilver mind of his. Without warning, Laurent asked, “Want to join us?” 

Damen - and Nik, if his suddenly wide eyes were any indication - was caught completely by surprise. 

“You seem like the type who would enjoy a good hunt,” Laurent continued.

Nik’s hesitation hung heavy in the air; the only physical manifestation of tension was in Laurent’s slight stiffening at Damen’s side. Damen realized that this was something Laurent really wanted and his heart over brimmed with the effort he was making to incorporate Nik into their plans. 

“I’ll go,” Nik said finally. “If you treat for lunch.”

Laurent relaxed and seemed to melt into Damen’s side before he answered, “Deal.”

#5/5/2022 #captive prince #daily ficlet #contemporary au #damen of akielos #laurent of vere #nikandros of ios #nikandros of delpha #nikandros #damen x laurent #lamen #capri #fanfiction

[maxinemaxmayfield]

For the STWG daily drabble prompt: summer camp

“You were a summer camp kid?” Eddie asks, looking at the photo stuck up beside Steve’s desk.

He’s probably about 8, missing a front tooth, hair messy and a carefree smile across his face.

“Yeah, that a surprise?”

“Just figured you were more of a horse-back-riding-and-sailing kind of kid.”

Steve snorts. “It’s Indiana, Eddie. You want your kid to disappear for a couple months, you send them to camp.”

Eddie hums, looking closer at the shirt Steve’s wearing. It’s a grainy photo, old and faded, but he recognises that design.

“Wait… is that Camp Tippecanoe?”

“You know it?”

“Uh, yeah, I went there.”

Steve looks at him curiously. “You didn’t even live in Hawkins back then.”

“No, but Wayne applied for me to go. They had a program for ‘underprivileged’ kids, probably a tax break thing or something. But I got in, and he offered to drive me, so my folks couldn’t say no.”

Steve drops down next to his bed, reaching underneath and pulling out a battered shoebox. He doesn’t say a word, just removes the lid and starts rifling through the contents.

“What are you doing?” Eddie asks him, kneeling on the other side of the box.

“What year were you there?”

“Uh, I was… I think around 10, maybe? So probably 1976.”

Steve doesn’t answer, just keeps flipping through the photos like he’s looking for something he knows is in there.

He stops at a photo of two boys side-by-side. “I went every summer until I was 12, Ed. Every single summer.”

And then Eddie is looking at a photo of his younger self, hair buzzed and a skinny arm thrown around the boy next to him, a boy who looks an awful lot like -

“You were little Stevie?” Eddie bites the inside of his cheek, eyes dropping from Steve’s at a sudden memory that crashes over him like a rogue wave.

“How much do you remember about that summer?” Steve asks, quietly.

Eddie keeps his eyes on the carpet between them, suddenly very interested in memorising the exact shade.

“Everything,” he finally admits.

“Me too.”

And when he looks back up, he sees the same soft, kind eyes he saw behind the mess hall right before he leaned in for his first kiss. A kiss with a boy he never thought he’d see again after that summer. A kiss he never forgot.

#stranger things #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #daily drabble #demogorgon daily fics #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #my fic

[andiwriteordie]

5+1 except it’s a crackfic and it’s “5 times mike wheeler should’ve realized he is Definitely Not Straight™️ + 1 time he actually did” ​

mike saying something like “wow, i would date will if he was a girl or if i was a girl” (@booksandpaperss you were so real for this idea)

mike feeling weirdly uncomfortable or jealous whenever a guy flirts with will (he is exploding this guy with his mind. get away from will. right now. thanks.)

mike being that overenthusiastic ally, especially after will comes out — “i mean, like... i’m not gay, but i just think it’s so stupid that people are homophobic? like who cares? if i want to kiss another guy, why does that matter to you?”

mike watching some movie or tv show and being like “wow, that guy is so hot... i mean, it’s probably just because i’m jealous and want to look like him, right?”

mike having his heartstopper kind of moment where he sees robin and vicki in love and building a life together and being domestic and so happy, and he thinks, “wow... i really, really want that” 

+1: 

mike and will are hanging out, and mike is dropping will off, and they’re standing outside will’s porch, and... oh wait. shit. mike... kind of wants to kiss him. wait is that normal? he’s never wanted to kiss lucas or dustin before, and he’s panicking. and will is just like “??? you good???” and mike, in a moment of pure panic, kisses will, and um. yep. fireworks. sparks flying. heart pounding inside his chest. mike can’t believe he just did that, and will also can’t believe he just did that, and the two of them are staring at each other, and then finally, mike goes in for another kiss, softer and gentler and with more intention this time.

and yeah. it finally clicks. mike is Definitely Not Straight™️

#byler #byler ficlet #this is inspired by everyone laughing about my closet is glass post #i am glad that many of you also had some great glass closets #we are out here mike wheeler-ing on the daily #oblivious fools the lot of us

[momotonescreaming]

Starry Night

Something short and sweet for today's STWG daily drabble. Nice and fluffy, just for Lex. Happy Birthday @thefreakandthehair !!🎂🎉🥳🎈

“Hey you,” Steve says, voice honey warm and melting into Eddie’s ear as he presses a kiss to the side of his boyfriend’s face. He hums a reply, leaning into it, as Steve kisses his cheek again. Wraps his arms around his waist, squeezing gently, feeling the thin material of Eddie’s jacket underneath the palms of his hands. The subtle flex of Eddie’s muscles, the softness of his stomach.

He can’t help himself, he kisses Eddie’s cheek again, smiling all the while. Focuses on the scratch of his 5 o’clock shadow against his lips, the curve of his cheeks as he smiles. Eddie sinks into Steve’s hold, into the warmth of his arms, his chest. A steady balm against the wind chill that whips its way past their little apartment balcony. He sighs happily, a little wistfully,

“Miss me?” Eddie teases, turning to look at Steve, decidedly not moving out of Steve’s arms. Bringing his own hands up to rest on Steve’s. Rubs his thumb in gentle circles, pressing into the back of Steve’s hands. A simple, steady motion. One that says I love you, I want you near, all without him having to say the words. He doesn’t need to.

“Always,” Steve replies, eyes dropping to Eddie’s lips as his boyfriend leans in closer. Presses a kiss on his lips, soft and lingering. He can feel the remaining tension seep out of Eddie’s body, his muscles relax, leaning back into Steve.

Eddie pulls away from the kiss with a slick wet sound, mouth slack, but he doesn’t move far. Stays close enough that they’re breathing the same air. He doesn’t say anything, just breathes, just relaxes into Steve. Sometimes that’s enough.

Sighing, hooking his jaw over Eddie’s shoulder, Steve looks at his boyfriend out of the corner of his eye. Watches him breathe out the cold, watches as his eyes skim the city skyline. The streetlights, the cars, that bar down the road with the flickering neon sign. Squeezes him tighter, snuggles into him.

“You know the one thing I miss about Hawkins?” Eddie says quietly, suddenly, voice floating out into the open air. The wind whisks it away, and Steve almost doesn’t hear him.

“Wayne.”

“Obviously,” Eddie replies, rolling his eyes, but Steve can feel him smile. The gentle pull of his muscles as his lips curl up. Can hear the mirth in his voice, clear as anything. “But I meant the stars. There’s so little in the city.”

Steve turns his gaze upward, at the haze of the city, at the night sky above them. It’s not as clear as Hawkins, as it was out in the middle of nowhere.

He never noticed.

“Who knew Hawkins actually had something going for it?” Steve eventually says, tone light — aiming for teasing, playful, although it just comes out sort of wondering. Wistful. A pause. “I never knew you were into the stars.”

“Neither did I,” Eddie replies, leaning back against Steve, completely this time. Heads resting together, his curls falling over their shoulders. “Not until I left.”

It feels like he’s left the sentence hanging, let it drop off half way through, words falling off the edge of the balcony. So Steve just hums — he’s there, he’s listening — and hopes Eddie can feel the rumble of it reverberate through his chest.

“I used to sit on the porch with Wayne, or climb up on the roof of the trailer.” Eddie sighs, snuggling further into Steve’s arms as a gust whips past. “Smoke and look at the stars. When I was angry, or upset, or needed to chill the fuck out.”

“Did it help?” Steve asks quietly.

“Yeah.” Eddie eventually says. “Didn’t work miracles, of course. But it was nice.”

“I know it’s not the same,” Steve murmurs, squeezing Eddie gently. “But we could put a table and chairs out here, a nicer looking ashtray — so you can smoke and look at the stars again.”

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs, sounding a little forlorn. “Could do.”

“Or,” Steve starts, dragging out the word. Tilting his head so he can better look at Eddie, stare into his eyes, at the streetlights shining in the reflection of them. The corner of his lips curl into a smile. Something small, something playful, something to drag Eddie out of his funk. “We could get some glow in the dark stars. Stick them to the ceiling in our bedroom.”

“I’ve always wanted some of those,” Eddie says, a laugh tumbling out of his mouth. “Lets do it.”

“Yeah?” Steve smiles, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Fuck it.” Eddie laughs, before leaning in to kiss his boyfriend again, eyes fluttering shut. Sighing happily, Steve can feel Eddie smile against his lips. “Lets get some stars.”

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie ficlet #My Writing #STWG #Daily Drabble

[snakeningel]

Heard you wanted Dracula prompts? how about: Seward suitor squad sandwich. That's it, that's what I've got. Feel free to run with it if you're so inspired.

bet.

Arthur Holmwood's Diary, Written in by Quincey P. Morris, October 14th

The sun isn't up yet, so I'll take this time to write. Journalling ain't usually my thing, but some good's gotta come outta this whole vampire mess, and I'm certainly not gonna lose this memory to time or whatever meets us in Varna. Art — if you're reading this, I hope you don't mind I nicked that journal of yours. I don't have one of my own, and I know you well enough that I'm sure you'd want a record of last night too.

The three of us have been through a lot. Probably more adventures than those folks who call themselves blood brothers. We know everything about each other. Art, I know you like to gussy up your animals when you're too worried to think straight, and I've heard that I cling to people when I'm dead asleep. So I don't know why Jack thought we didn't notice him shivering up a storm in that bunk of his. He's always the first one to feel the chill, but Lord forbid the man actually open his mouth to say something about it. Art told me it was something about medical school and blood pressure that got Jack to seal his lips? Some theory about womenfolk being more susceptible to the chill, I think. Now the man would rather let his skin go blue than admit that he needs some warm bodies by his side. But it's not like anyone in this group of ours is inclined to judge anything, and at the very least, Art and I already knew about what the doctor didn't want people to suspect. Mina was even snuggled up, happy as a clam with that husband of hers. The two of them made for such a pretty picture, and I can't think why Jack was so against being like them, all warm and comfortable-like. It's not like he would ever get mad at me though, so I went and cozied up with our darling doctor. That wasn't entirely altruistic on my part. A warm body can help stave off the cold, but the presence of a true, dear friend is more than needed to fight off that darkness that we see ahead. I told Jack as much. The man won't take handouts, but he'd do anything to help his own. He's got a heart as pure as gold beneath all that gloom; besides the professor of his, I can think of no better shepherd of the sick. He held himself stiffly for the first few moments, but soon enough he was melted to my chest like a frozen cold kitten scooped up off of the ground. Art, of course, was not one to be left out, and he was bright enough to see our doctor begin to flush and think of propriety. With the smarts of the hunter he is, he strolled over and laid himself down across our laps, all cat that got the canary like. Jack certainly wasn't going to stand up and cause our lordling to topple to the floor, so the poor lad was trapped between our affections. The darling thinks himself subtle, but both Art and I are sharp enough to notice the relieved smile that curled at the edges of his pretty lips. Even without the threat of someone standing up, Art's position was far too precarious for my liking. So I tugged the two of them back with me, arranging us all on the bed more comfortably than how we had been perching on the edge. It's sweet how Jack flushes whenever I haul him around, but I wasn't inclined to embarrass him further, so I didn't say much to that effect. The three of us have bunked in worse places than a traincar that's just a tad too cold, so we settled quickly enough into a position that's comfortable for all of us. Just as I like to cling with my dear ones in my arms, Jack likes to feel the weight of something solid on both sides of him; spending too long in the realm of the mind probably leaves him needing a reminder of what is solid and real. Art, of course, managed to take up more space than we thought possible, stretching across the two of us like he was making his claim. There was a moment of silent peace, all of us understanding each other without a word shared. But our doctor couldn't stop his buzzing brain, and soon enough he opened his mouth to speak.

"What if-"

It doesn't take the brightest mind to figure out that he was going to let himself discuss only the worst possibilities, so with all the grace that I could never muster, Art rumbled out the sweetest, laziest whine into Jack's chest. That was enough to stop that train of thought in its tracks. The claim that Art holds over our Jack's heartstrings is nothing short of impressive, but they've had decades to grow fond of each other, I suppose. Still, such an efficient shutdown of Jack's overthinking ways did tickle me, so I suppose a chuckle escaped my mouth. Again, our doctor goes red, though I suppose the rumble of my chest against his face sparked some other, better thoughts in his head. I wish he knew that he need only ask, and both Art and I would be happy to do whatever he wished to him. But this isn't time to push; perhaps after we come back from this latest adventure of ours, we'll sit our boy down to run another gauntlet of proposals.

But I'm not keen thinking too far into an uncertain future. There's no point until the evil we're hunting is cold and scattered on the wind. At some point, the warmth and comfort lulled us to sleep; I couldn't tell who went first into that land of rest, but as with all things, those of us left behind wasted no time to follow. That's where Art and Jack still are now, finally getting the rest and comfort we've all been neglecting of late. The train is still rolling along to our destination, and no matter what we face in Varna, I am happy to know that this moment will not slip into the oft-forgotten past. The two of them don't look like they will be stirring anytime soon, so I suppose I will return and join them for as long as they will have me.

#dracula daily #jack seward #quincey morris #quincey p morris #arthur holmwood #holmward #morward #morwood #suitor squad #drac ficlet #long // #(hope i got the character voice for quincey right!! and hope u enjoy anon!!) #(also i sprinkled some trans!jack in there bc. yall Know im a Truther) #(also finally if there r mistakes <3 no there arent) #(jk i wrote this in class so i will proofread another time. gay ppl is more important)