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fuctacles · 10 months

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Eddie, begrudgingly: Dustin's older brother is kinda fine :/

I had a craving for best friend's older brother AU so I wrote some but it's not my forte I'm out of ideas so that might be it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Edit: jokes on me I guess [Part II] [Part III]

Eddie was about to knock on his freshman friend’s door when there was a loud commotion on the other side and the door opened by itself. A guy, probably around his age, nearly ran into him in his haste to leave the house. He startled, taking Eddie in. And then taking a double take, the way Eddie was used to people doing at the sight of him.

“Who are you?” the guy asked, scrunching his nose and not meeting Eddie’s eyes.

He felt his hackles rise, venom building in his throat and ready to spit. He wasn’t expecting this on a Saturday on his friend’s doorstep, but he guessed this was the kind of town where you just couldn’t wear your battle vest in peace anywhere. His upper lip twitched ready to form a snarl, when suddenly the guy's features softened, a spark of recognition lighting up his eyes.

“Wait. Let me guess. Eddie?”

Eddie faltered, taken aback by the sudden shift in tone. He frowned.

“Yeah?”

The guy's face warmed up with a smile, and Eddie was not ready for that kind of emotional rollercoaster this early in the morning.

“Dustin’s stories do not do you justice,” he says for some reason, eyeing him again. Eddie wants to shrivel up and hide. What the fuck was happening. “He’s waiting for you in the kitchen,” he said, stepping to the side to invite him in. “I have to go to work, so you two be good, okay?” he says before waving a cheery goodbye and closing the door, disappearing just as abruptly as he showed up in front of Eddie. The inside of the house suddenly seemed dull.

Another ray of sunshine peeked from the kitchen, toothy grin and hazelnut curls.

“So you’ve met Steve!” Dustin grinned in place of a greeting.

Eddie gawked at him.

“That,” he pointed at the closed door. The sound of a car leaving the curb tickled his ears. “Was Steve?!”

“The adopted brother Steve? The Star Wars fan Steve? The badass older brother Steve?”

“Yes, all that,” Dustin nodded enthusiastically.

“I thought he was, like, 16!” Eddie flailed and it sounded like a petulant whine even to his ears. He winced.

Dustin frowned at him like he was being stupid. Eddie didn’t like that gaze, but unfortunately at this point, he was getting used to it. His younger friend leaned on the kitchen door frame watching Eddie toe off his shoes.

“He’s 19. What gave you that impression?”

Eddie frowned at his scuffed Reeboks. He nudged them with his toe to line up, looking for an answer.

“The adopted part, I think? He’s almost an adult, who adopts that old?”

He knew he had said the wrong thing as soon as he said it. He looked up at Dustin, whose face twisted uncomfortably.

“Shit, sorry man. I didn’t mean-”

Dusting clicked his tongue impatiently, interrupting him.

“It’s fine. This is an unconventional arrangement,” he said in that way when you heard something repeatedly. “I can tell you more, but after we make that character sheet, okay?”

Eddie nodded, eager to abandon his social faux pas. The Henderson’s were an unconventional unit, and that’s what he loved about them, at least from the stories Dustin shared. The guy was a little freak, just like Eddie, so it checked out his family was just as unconventional. So was Eddie’s after all.

The parallels made him warm up inside, the familiar need to protect his younger friends flaring up.

“Deal,” he nodded, following his friend inside the kitchen, where notebooks and DnD manuals already littered the table.

A couple of hours, two coffees and an unsolved argument about the intricacies of multiclassing later, they decided to take a break and Eddie could finally feast his eyes on the family photos on display. He stood in front of the newest one standing front and centre on the mantle. Steve was smiling shyly to the camera while Claudia Henderson had her arms around his shoulders and Dustin was grinning wide from his other side, hair ruffled by the older boy's hand.

“How long he has been living here?”

Dustin’s head popped out of the kitchen where he was rummaging for snacks.

“About a year. Remember the Starcourt fire?”

“Yeah?” Eddie frowned, taken aback by the seemingly unrelated question.

“Well, he’s been there and-” the boy frowned, fully stepping into the living room and crossing his arms. “Shit, Mom says I shouldn’t be babbling it around. That it’s Steve's story to tell.”

Eddie hummed, cocking his head.

“Your mom is very smart.”

Dustin unwrapped his arms, clenching his hands together.

“I guess I could tell you I mean who are you gonna tell? You just-”

Eddie raised both his hands, stopping him.

“Dude, he interrupted with all the disapproval his drug dealing nonconformist self could muster. “She’s right and that would be breaking your brother’s trust.”

“Uh. Yeah,” Dustin gulped, looking adequately ashamed at proposing the idea. “You’re right., he nodded.

This lasted about half a second because nobody could stop Henderson from being an egocentric know-it-all and since he was wrong he was now going to overcompensate for it. Of that, Eddie could be sure.

“We can go to his workplace and you could ask him!”

Eddie raised his hands again.

“Hold your horses Henderson, we’re not harassing your brother at work.” The boy was actually pouting, the little shit. “I am not that determined to hear it. I’ll just catch him another time I visit.”

That was the wrong thing to say because he wasn’t planning on being a recurring guest initially. Or maybe it was the right thing to say since Dustin positively beamed at the implication.

Maybe it was because the kid’s presence has been a good influence on him as well.

Also, while the story of Steve’s adoption didn’t seem that interesting before, the idea of a mall fire being somehow involved raised questions that were now itching the back of Eddie’s tongue. He had to ask them at some point.

“There’s this guy,” Eddie starts one day during lunch break.

“Oh-ho,” Gareth murmurs with disdain, the crumbs from his sandwich falling from his lips.

“Not like that,” Eddie glowered at him, slapping against his arm. Even though it was kinda like that. “He’s picking up Henderson after Hellfire today and if we run into him, I want you guys to be civil.”

“We’re always civil,” Jeff frowns at Eddie’s backhanded accusations.

“Yeah, especially when you guys are mooning after Mrs. Wheeler.”

The comment raised a wave of loud protests from his friends.

“I am just saying-”

“You’re just saying that guy is hot and we shouldn’t ogle him?” Gareth, the worst friend he has, raised his eyebrow.

“No, I’m just-”

“You calling dibs, Munson?” John the Traitor, the Backstabber, joined in. Johned in, if you will.

‘No!” Eddie protested, maybe a little too loud. A couple of heads turned but when they saw the ruckus was coming from the freaks table, they quickly lost interest. “He’s the worst. A hunk of jock with stupid hair but!” He rose a finger. “He’s Henderson’s family. And what do we do with family members in Hellfire?”

“Lure in.”

“Lull into a fake sense of security.”

“Cast charm person.”

“Exactly,” he smirked, pointing his finger at each of them in approval. “This case is no different.”

“It feels different,” Gareth murmured under his breath, earning himself another smack on the shoulder.

Eddie wrapped up the session and was giving out experience points to his players when a soft knock interrupted his counting. He frowned at the door.

“Speak ‘friend’ and enter!” he hollered to his sheep’s utter glee. He grinned at them.

Dead silence was all the response he got, so he assumed whatever normie was bugging them got discouraged. But then, Henderson was turning around in his seat, yelling at the door.

“It’s from Lord of the Rings! You know this one!”

There was a shuffle on the other side where apparently, Steve came already to pick up his brother.

“Oh! Um… Melon? Was that it?”

“You may enter!” Eddie commanded with a grin straining at his cheeks. Dustin was doing a good job educating his jock brother, apparently.

The guy pushed the door open, taking in the table full of teenagers. He waved hesitantly.

“You guys finishing up?”

“I’m handing out points, we need just a few minutes,” Eddie waved his hand. “And it’s Mellon.”

Steve frowned.

“That’s what I said.”

“Sure you did,” Eddie cocked his head condescendingly, ignoring the eyes of Corroded Coffin members staring at him. “Now sit and wait,” he gratuitously offered, snapping his fingers and pointing at a nearby bench, like Henderson’s older brother was some kind of dog.

To his surprise, he nodded shortly and obeyed, sitting down and watching him expectantly. Eddie took it as his cue to proceed. He coughed to gather his sheep's attention and went back to his meticulous calculations.

“That didn’t look like Charm Person to me,” Gareth hissed as soon as the younger members of Hellfire had left.

“Huh? What are you talking about?” Eddie scrunched his eyebrows, throwing him a look while he stuffed his campaign notes into his bag.

“You told us to be nice, but you ordered him around like he was one of the kids,” Jeff pointed out, arms crossing.

“I did not”

“You totally did.”

Eddie’s eyes narrowed as he straightened up.

“What is this? Mutiny? Among my own kin? Ungrateful little herd I had nurtured on my own breast-”

He was interrupted by a cacophony of grossed out noises.

“Spare us the imagery, please.”

Eddie huffed indignantly, closing his bag.

“Then quit yapping. It was a singular lapse of judgement on my part,” he said with finality, throwing his bag over his shoulder. Without looking back, he walked off, hand raised in a goodbye, “Toodles, bitches.”

And he was gone.

Gareth sighed.

“Man, I love Eddie, but sometimes…” John cut himself off, shaking his head.

“Yeah.”

Eddie’s been on the fence about it for some time now. But the time was ticking and he did say more than once that ‘86 was gonna be his year, so maybe it was time to pocket his ego and make some calls.

Some very, very humiliating calls.

Sighing deeply he imagined himself going to the woods and digging up a deep hole. There he imaginary buried his pride, made a fancy map to find it later, hopefully in time for his graduation, and finally dragged himself back home and in front of his phone. Next to it, he tacked on a list of numbers of all his newest sheepies in case of emergencies. Like Hellfire scheduling.

He sighed once more, slumping dramatically before dialling the first of the numbers. As he listened to the dial tone, he squared his shoulders, decided a more confident pose was in order. He was now a man of action, taking his fate in his own hands. His pride was buried deeply in the darkest corners of the forest and only a courageous-

“Har- Henderson residence, this is Steve speaking.”

Eddie’s mind went blank, completely thrown off. Who was he calling again? What for?

“Hello?”

“Is this how you pick up the phone? Did I get the wrong house? Is this the British Queen?”

“... Eddie? Is that you?”

Busted.

“What gave me away?”

“Ah, only the dramatic nonsensical ramblings.” Steve answered, amusement in his voice.

“Thank you, I pride myself in those.” No pride! Pride is buried deep in the putrid soil of a forgotten battlefield! “But I’m here for the superior Henderson, please and thank you.” Ah yes, the Charm Person again. Somebody could think Eddie buried his Charisma along with the pride.

“Sorry, Claudia is at work right now.”

Eddie scrunched his nose, confused, the gleeful tilt to the voice in his ear irking him. Then he remembered the mom. A staple in most households.

“Har, har, Steven. The smart one.”

“Please never call him that to his face,” the man said with a resigned sigh.

“There wouldn’t be enough space in the room for both our egos if I did.”

Steve laughed then, softly and genuinely, before calling out for his younger brother.

After a loud rattle, Dustin’s lispy voice finally reached Eddie’s trailer.

“What's up?”

The man braced himself for what he was about to request.

“I need your help with an assignment.”

The door opened before he could even knock. Again.

“I thought I told you not to inflate his ego.”

“No, you told me not to call him smart. It is merely a by-product of my desperate attempts at graduating,” Eddie shrugged matter-of-factly. “Besides, I don’t respond to the likes of you.” He punctuated his words by seizing the guy up before brushing past him inside the Henderson’s house.

“The likes of- Excuse me?!”

Eddie was skipping towards Dustin’s room.

“Hey big guy I’m here for my tutoring!” he announced himself, standing in the open door to his friend’s room, who quickly beckons him inside. Steve’s heavy steps follow and soon he’s the one standing in the door frame, arms crossed, while Eddie bounces on Dustin’s bed.

“What do you mean the likes of me?” he asks, almost pouting.

“Mainstream,” offered Dustin, shuffling through stuff on his desk.

“Jocks,” added Eddie, still bouncing with glee, hair following up and down.

“Normies.”

“Pop listeners.”

“Mom friends.”

“Conformists.”

“Okay, I get it!” Steve threw his hands in the air, stopping the list that probably wouldn’t come to an end otherwise. “You’re the cool guys, have fun having your cool stuff,” he huffed angrily, grabbing the doorknob. Before he closed the door he threw one seething glance at Dustin. “Do not. Ask me for snacks,” he hissed before slamming the door shut.

Eddie flipped back on the bed, a wide grin splitting his face.

“Man, your brother is so easy to rile up,” he chuckled gleefully.

“Right?! He’s so bitchy,” Dusting turned around towards him, signature smile in place. Eddie hollered.

“He is!”

Alas, a slap of palms interrupted his delightful trashing around.

“I believe we have some physics to cover?”

Eddie groaned. Right. He didn’t come here to bother the older Henderson. Booo.

[Steddie masterpost] [Ao3] [ko-fi]

#steddie #pre steddie i guess #steve is a henderson #older brother steve #i like the simping for older brother idea but im running dry #if u have ideas for this trope feel free to drop them i might write more #the general idea is eddie finds steve attractive but is lowkey mean and teasing to him because he cant control his jockphobia #also uses it as a defense mechanism against rejection #steve in this is okay with his bisexuality #he thinks theres something there while eddie is in denial #adoption background: authorities got involved after they couldnt get a hold of harringtons after starcourt fire #with murrays help they lost custody and claudia swooped in #i know hes old but its more about legal stuff like changing his name and his parents losing any power over him #ao3 is down so heres a treat #ff #mine #st #steve harrington #steddie fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4 #eddie munson #the hendersons #The Hendersons

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anghraine · 29 days

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Okay, breaking my principles hiatus again for another fanfic rant despite my profound frustration w/ Tumblr currently:

I have another post and conversation on DW about this, but while pretty much my entire dash has zero patience with the overtly contemptuous Hot Fanfic Takes, I do pretty often see takes on Fanfiction's Limitations As A Form that are phrased more gently and/or academically but which rely on the same assumptions and make the same mistakes.

IMO even the gentlest, and/or most earnest, and/or most eruditely theorized takes on fanfiction as a form still suffer from one basic problem: the formal argument does not work.

I have never once seen a take on fanfiction as a form that could provide a coherent formal definition of what fanfiction is and what it is not (formal as in "related to its form" not as in "proper" or "stuffy"). Every argument I have ever seen on the strengths/weaknesses of fanfiction as a form vs original fiction relies to some extent on this lack of clarity.

Hence the inevitable "what about Shakespeare/Ovid/Wide Sargasso Sea/modern takes on ancient religious narratives/retold fairy tales/adaptation/expanded universes/etc" responses. The assumptions and assertions about fanfiction as a form in these arguments pretty much always should apply to other things based on the defining formal qualities of fanfic in these arguments ("fanfiction is fundamentally X because it re-purposes pre-existing characters and stories rather than inventing new ones" "fanfiction is fundamentally Y because it's often serialized" etc).

Yet the framing of the argument virtually always makes it clear that the generalizations about fanfic are not being applied to Real Literature. Nor can this argument account for original fics produced within a fandom context such as AO3 that are basically indistinguishable from fanfic in every way apart from lacking a canon source.

At the end of the day, I do not think fanfic is "the way it is" because of any fundamental formal qualities—after all, it shares these qualities with vast swaths of other human literature and art over thousands of years that most people would never consider fanfic. My view is that an argument about fanfic based purely on form must also apply to "non-fanfic" works that share the formal qualities brought up in the argument (these arguments never actually apply their theories to anything other than fanfic, though).

Alternately, the formal argument could provide a definition of fanfic (a formal one, not one based on judgment of merit or morality) that excludes these other kinds of works and genres. In that case, the argument would actually apply only to fanfic (as defined). But I have never seen this happen, either.

So ultimately, I think the whole formal argument about fanfic is unsalvageably flawed in practice.

Realistically, fanfiction is not the way it is because of something fundamentally derived from writing characters/settings etc you didn't originate (or serialization as some new-fangled form, lmao). Fanfiction as a category is an intrinsically modern concept resulting largely from similarly modern concepts of intellectual property and auteurship (legally and culturally) that have been so extremely normalized in many English-language media spaces (at the least) that many people do not realize these concepts are context-dependent and not universal truths.

Fanfic does not look like it does (or exist as a discrete category at all) without specifically modern legal practices (and assumptions about law that may or may not be true, like with many authorial & corporate attempts to use the possibility of legal threats to dictate terms of engagement w/ media to fandom, the Marion Zimmer Bradley myth, etc).

Fanfic does not look like it does without the broader fandom cultures and trends around it. It does not look like it does without the massive popularity of various romance genres and some very popular SF/F. It does not look like it does without any number of other social and cultural forces that are also extremely modern in the grand scheme of things.

The formal argument is just so completely ahistorical and obliviously presentist in its assumptions about art and generally incoherent that, sure, it's nicer when people present it politely, but it's still wrong.

#this is probably my most pretentious fanfiction defense squad post but it's difficult to express in other terms #like. people talking about ao3 house style (not always by name but clearly referring to it) as a result of fanfic as a form #and not the social/cultural effect of ao3 as a fandom space #you don't get ao3 house style without ao3 itself and you don't get ao3 without strikethrough and livejournal etc #and you don't get those without authors and corporations trying to exercise control over fic based on law (often us law) & myths about law #and you don't get those without distinctly modern concepts of intellectual property and copyright #none of those things have fuck all to do with form!#anghraine rants #fanfiction #general fanwank #long post #thinking about this partly because the softer & gentler versions of fanfic discourse keep crossing my dash #and partly because i've written like 30 pages about a playwright i adore who was just not very good at 'original fiction' as we'd define it #both his major works are ... glorified rpf in our context but splendid tragedies in his #and the idea of categorizing /anything/ in that era by originality of conception rather than comedy/tragedy/etc would be buckwild #ivory tower blogging #anghraine's meta

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glupshittostan · 1 month

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I’ve been writing sole/danse fics like there’s no tomorrow and I just like thinking about what each companion would be like if tasked with watching their kid. Hancock would be the cool uncle and a terrible influence.

#I’m still figuring out the logistics of addy and danse having kids given the whole synth thing #ideas welcome #and idk what they’d name their daughter but she’d be raised by the weirdest fuckin village #my ao3 is rrosebudd btw if anyone wanted to see those fics! more on the way always bc I am Obsessed #fallout #Hancock #sole survivor #Paladin Danse #fallout 4 #fanfiction #og

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littlejuicebox · 4 months

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Midnight Chimes 2 / Three years

Background: I plan for this to be a series based off the premise/epilogue from my piece "Midnight Chimes." I’ve changed the character from GN to F because… well, I’m F and I have an easier time writing from that angle. Additionally, I gave Tav a different name... I wanted to give her an identity of her own, I suppose. As a disclaimer, she is a Great Old One Warlock, and I am learning about this class as I go, so it may not exactly follow lore.

Summary: You and Astarion have met before, though you think it meant more to you than it did to him. You are an apothecary shop owner that has recently gained some mysterious Warlock powers; Astarion is, in your eyes, a rake that you wouldn’t trust as far as you can throw him. You two run into one another again after the nautiloid crash.

Pairing: Astarion x F!Reader Warlock.

Word Count: 1,292

-----

He’s got a blade to your neck.

A blade. To your neck.

The bastard doesn’t recognize you at all, does he?

“And you! Keep your distance. No need for this to get messy.” The pale elf warns your companion, Gale, an amiable wizard you’d pulled out of a strange portal not more than a half hour ago.

“Couldn’t agree more. But if you use that knife, I will incinerate you.” Gale responds, surprisingly calm for the situation at hand. Perhaps there’s more to the wizard than meets the eye; if you weren’t stuck with your jugular millimeters from a sharp dagger, you would’ve laughed.

Astarion is distracted by your companion, countering his warning with some asinine threat of his own.

Yes, you unfortunately know the elf's name. He’d frequented your parents’ tavern for years when you worked there as a server in your twenties, and then you two had a pleasant conversation in that same tavern – what was it, three? – three years back. He’d meandered in after being banned for years, while you were on Midwinter holiday visiting your family.

You’d thought it had been a meet-cute, but the rake never did write to your apothecary shop address, in the end. He’d had you fooled, for a moment, but your initial impressions had been correct. It was probably nothing to him. You ultimately figured Astarion had been a rake through and through, and you hadn’t been an easy lay, so he’d dismissed you and decimated your pride in the process.

Bastard.

You supposed the chance encounter had meant more to you than it had him, though you wouldn’t dare to admit you waited for a letter for far too long. Months of checking the post with a glimmer of hope in your lonely heart… how pitiful, honestly.

You feel your patron laugh in amusement… if the celestial being can laugh, or perhaps that’s just the way they translate it to you. They must think this run-in is entertaining… for all you know, they orchestrated it. Hadn’t they been the reason you felt pushed to leave your apothecary shop in the hands of your assistant and travel to Baldur’s Gate, intending to visit your parents on a whim?

You’d never done an impromptu trip to Baldur's Gate in the all the years you’d been gone. But then you bought that blasted ring with the strange cosmic stone at the antique shop, slipped it on your pinky, and suddenly your mind was not your own. Deep in the recesses of your psyche, something else lurked. Something ancient and unfathomable… you didn’t even know if the thing had a name. And every once in a while, it would compel you to perform an action with nearly obsessive thoughts and visions.

Nothing would stop the psychic barrage apart from acting in the being's interest, not even removing the ring because... well, you couldn't. It was stuck on your pinky. And you weren’t about to maim yourself by chopping off your own finger.

Then, almost unbelievably, you had been kidnapped, infected with a parasite and placed in the path of the insufferable rake, yet again. And now this arrogant elf has a blade pressed to your “darling” neck.

The beautiful bastard even has the gall to wear a knock off of the cologne sample that had been attached to your business card all those years ago. Bergamot, rosemary… and is that brandy?

You had to admit it was a close duplication, but not quite as good as yours. You laugh at the ludicrousness of it all, and the elf’s attention jerks back to you. You must be crazy to be laughing in the face of such a threat… but perhaps you are crazy, after all.

“Don’t recognize me, Astarion? Can’t say I’m surprised.”

Astarion’s eyes narrow at you. You can see him trying to place your face, scanning it for something familiar, even though the dagger is still pressed flush against your jugular.

“You may not remember me, but I remember you,” You start, and the celestial being in your mind chuckles again, flashing a memory from three years back, when you’d said the exact same thing to this elf in your parents’ tavern. Gods, were you cursed to remember him for all eternity while the rake forgot you after every run in?

“My name is Demi. Demitria?”

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The cold sharpness of the dagger against your neck is starting to make you nervous.

“We met at my parents’ tavern in Baldur's Gate? The Drunken Dragon?”

Astarion is still staring at you suspiciously, tightly gripping the dagger as he searches his memories for any sign of you. You can tell he doesn’t believe you. Gods damn this elf! He didn’t remember you one bit and you’d thought of him more than you’d ever admit to anyone.

Suddenly a sharp sensation ripples through your mind, connecting you to the pale elf’s. At first you think this is a strange trick from your patron, but then you realize it’s something caused by the parasite. You feel its sickening wriggles behind your skull.

It’s the same memory flashing through two perspectives; the night you two met. You see Astarion enter and feel your wary judgment of him, he sees you in a corner booth and you pick up on something predatory about his nature – damn rake – as he sits next to you. You are annoyed by him; he is entertained and intrigued by you.

The conversation ensues and both of you are thoroughly enjoying yourselves, until the bell tower chimes and then – fear, gut-wrenching, all-consuming fear in Astarion’s mind. You two say your goodbyes and then he’s bursting out the door, down the alley, running, panicking, searching for something, someone–

“Agh what the hells!” The silver-haired rake shouts, dropping his dagger and clutching his head in his hands.

You take the opportunity to roll away and stand up on your own two feet. You get a sense that your patron is protecting you from some of the parasite’s abilities, since you aren’t wriggling in pain on the ground like Astarion… it seems they don’t like another alien entity vying for control of your mind. Gale is swiftly by your side, hands filling with colorful waves of magical energy; you snatch the dagger from the earth.

When the vision is over, Astarion is blinking up at you. He glosses over your face one more time and then you see it… recognition. The man quickly scrambles to his feet, now unarmed, and splays his hands wide in a signal of truce.

“My sincerest apologies, Demetria. I’m not good with faces; I meet a lot of people, darling, and well, many of you humans look quite similar. I trust we can put this entire misunderstanding behind us?” The silver-haired elf murmurs, flashing you his signature, alluring smile. It must work on nearly everyone.

The gall. The absolute fucking gall.

You want to say no, to laugh in his face; part of you considers stabbing him, just for kicks. But then there is your patron, once again, compelling you to say yes. You have the inexplicable feeling that if you don’t, something terrible will happen to your parents. Why does the entity always make you feel like something will happen to them if you don’t follow these ridiculous urges? What would happen if you didn’t? Are you willing to risk it?

Your jaw locks up as you try to fight back the words, you look to Gale hoping the wizard will say no on your behalf.

“I will leave the matter of this decision to you, Demetria. You were the one with the blade to your neck.” The human man responds with a kindly, relaxed air. How unbothered can one person be, in the face of a parasite and a stab-happy rogue?

Damn the geniality of this wizard.

“Fine,” You manage to choke out, and you feel the cosmic entity’s hold on your psyche relax. You spin the blade in your hand and return it to its owner, pressing the hilt into his outstretched palm. “But anymore of your bullshit, Astarion, and both Gale and I will blast you into the hells.”

Astarion grins, all vulpine and pomp, before wrapping his hand around the dagger. He gives the weapon a few spins between his fingers before sheathing the blade on his thigh, “Cross my heart, I’ll behave myself. Seems we have a mutual interest of returning to Baldur’s Gate, and we will need all the allies we can get, after all.”

“Yes… seems that way.” You agree reluctantly, before sighing and turning to continue your journey along the beach. You and Gale had been scrounging up supplies before you two were rudely interrupted by the rake.

Fate is a cruel, cruel mistress. And you’re beginning to believe your patron might be even crueler.

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happypeachsludgeflower · 2 months

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In an au where your soulmate’s name is on one wrist, your soulnemesis is on the other, Luo Binghe has Shen Qingqiu on both. Too bad he can’t tell that it’s two different people with the same name!!

#it’s honestly not even that much of an au but it’s just added ✨drama✨#so much extra drama #because now he has soul marks that confirm shizun is his soulmate but also confirm that shizun hates him #I was thinking about soulmate au’s with the lover/nemesis concept and that one post about having the same name on both #then thought about how so many people have the same name and how dramatic it would be to coincidentally have two people with the same name #AND THEN thought about how binghe would absolutely suffer #because while Shen yuan’s name is technically Shen yuan I think he settled into being called Shen qingqiu after living there so long #and yea the name COULD be Shen Jiu and Shen Yuan but that’s just not as fun okay #and really Shen Jiu really was still Binghe’s nemisis even after he was gone simply because Shen Yuan couldn’t be ooc and it added drama #svsss shen qingqiu #shen qingqiu #shen yuan #shen jiu #svsss ideas #svsss fic #svsss fanfiction #svsss au #svsss #mxtx svsss #svsss luo binghe #svsss fandom #mxtx novels #mxtx #mxtx fandom #mxtx hell #soulmate #soulmates #soulmarks #soulmate au #luo binghe

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justaz · 15 days

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post magic reveal, post magic ban lifted, arthur gets to see merlin in all his glory and somehow falls deeper in love with him than he ever thought possible. merlin who is free and accepted and loved and ecstatic by it all, but there's that thought lingering in the back of his mind that only half of their destiny has been fulfilled. magic has returned to camelot but albion is still fractured in many different kingdoms, many of which are still holding onto the hate that uther spread which is seeping into the very fabric of the earth itself. druids and magic users and even magic creatures are still persecuted all across the realm and yeah camelot opened her arms to them but not everyone trusts it (justifiably).

arthur who is choking on the sheer amount of love he has for merlin and promising himself that he'll tell merlin, he'll confess, even if he feelings aren't reciprocated. merlin will know. merlin who has been chewing on an idea for some time now and is planning on bringing it up to arthur. its night as merlin is dressing arthur for bed and they're both quiet and tense. they break at the same time and end up speaking over one another. arthur allows merlin to go first since his nerves are eating away at him. then merlin speaks of leaving.

arthur feels his nerves rot and decay and fall into a bottomless pit. merlin is rambling about how every magical being in albion is still being targeting by various kingdoms and as the prophesied emrys, magic incarnate, druid king, should he not be doing more to help? he doesn't want to leave arthur's side, but he does want to help his people. he's seen only a fraction of the atrocities committed against them and he wishes to protect them, give them somewhere completely safe, a kingdom of magic so to speak. he promises that he'll only be gone for as long as it takes to establish a kingdom (a year? two? three?) but he promises to write and visit often...as long as arthur gives him permission and allows him to leave his service for the time being.

arthur of course agrees, half unhappy about it but completely understanding. surely, out of everyone, he is the one who can understand the weight of responsibility weighing on merlin's shoulders. he mentions that merlin will need someone with experience wearing the crown to guide him. plus, balance. merlin was always there for arthur, guiding him on how to be a better man, a great king, someone worthy of the praise he constantly spewed. it's only right that arthur gets to return that by helping merlin establish a safe haven and home for his people. and politically, camelot being the first kingdom to recognize merlin's and establish some trade agreement or treaty with them will strengthen merlin's kingdom's status and send a message that camelot stands with magic.

merlin smiles wide and asks what arthur was going to say. the king hesitates before biting his tongue and requesting that merlin bring up the honey cakes that had been prepared earlier that night. two of them. since merlin was no longer in his service, he didn't have to stand by and watch arthur eat - not that he ever did, the idiot loved to steal his food. shamelessly!! he never even tried to hide it. they both sat at the table in his chambers until late in the night, nibbling away at the sweets, chasing it down with wine, and chatting away.

arthur wasn't able to confess, but it did not change his feelings. if anything, merlin's heart and the decision he made only added fuel to the raging inferno of love and devotion within arthur. he knows that merlin will keep in contact and will return to his side one day. he gets through the tough days/nights by rereading merlin's letters and imagining seeing him again in royal garb and donning a crown.

#when they finally wed it completely solidifies that camelot is a safe space for magical beings #camelot and whatever name merlin settled on for his kingdom sort of merge together with the marriage as well #which is only the beginning to the prophesied unified albion that they were meant to build together #i just think that merlin shouldve built something for his people #like theyre being prosecuted at every turn #theres no safe place for any of them to reside #theyre always looking over their shoulder #merlin aka emrys aka magic itself should've looked out for his people #his devotion to arthur got in the way of that tho which ig is romantic but also like bro. cmon now.#plus king merlin>>>>#bbc merlin #merlin emrys #arthur pendragon #merthur #angst sort of #its a happy ending if you read my tags LMAO #fic ideas #fanfic #fanfiction #headcanon #head canon #hc

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thewritingisconsumingme · 3 months

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Pining

summary: bi han and kung lao spar

warnings: kinda suggestive :)

There was something irritatingly endearing about Kung Lao to Bi Han. He really shouldn’t be feeling this way towards the guy that threw a hat and then a blade at his head, but for some odd reason, when Bi Han saw what Kung Lao had made with his hat and then shot him a wink, Bi Han felt his traitorous heart flutter for a moment and his cheeks grow hot. Thankfully, his mask hid his face, and Bi Han had simply tried to not stare at Kung Lao for the rest of the meeting. When Smoke decided to try and tease Bi Han about it, he sent Smoke out to run around the Lin Kuei base 100 times. He even pulled out his Grandmaster title to seal his decision.

It was unfortunate then that Liu Kang had called him and his brothers out to the Wu Shi academy because now Bi Han faced a smirking Kung Lao across the sparring ring. Kung Lao was tilting his bladed hat like an idiot, and his stupidly handsome face had a look that had Bi Han’s stomach twisting into knots. Growing a blade of ice from his hands, Bi Han focused on the cold that emanated from his hands. He was here to train Kung Lao, not ogle at him. With a deep breath, Bi Han faced his opponent and prepared to fight. He would not let this imbecile win this time. Kung Lao just smirked and blew a kiss toward the assassin. Bi Han felt his cheeks grow hot and his heart sing for joy. It was embarrassing how his body reacted so strongly to this stupid overly-confident man in front of him. He had to control his body. He was Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei. He will not let his emotions sway him.

Leaping towards Kung Lao, Bi Han sprung a flurry of attacks towards Kung Lao, trying to catch him off-guard, pin him to the ground, and wipe that smirk off his face. Unfortunately, it seemed his advances only egged on Kung Lao. The man would simply leap out of the way just in time, effortlessly avoiding his blows and leaving Bi Han growing angrier and angrier. By the time Bi Han was out of breath, Kung Lao would have seemed completely unfazed if it weren’t for the rapid heaving of his chest. Not that Bi Han was looking at Kung Lao’s chest.

“Oh, is that the best you got there? I thought it would be harder.” Kung Lao had a teasing edge to his voice, and Bi Han growled. In a quick movement, Kung Lao appeared in front of Bi Han suddenly, and the Grandmaster had to move off of pure instinct to avoid the blows. Kung Lao fought aggressively now, landing blows every which way on Bi Han’s body. Everytime Bi Han tried to grab onto him, Kung Lao would slip out of his grip. At some point, Kung Lao took off Bi Han’s mask and put it on himself. Bi Han did not like the way Kung Lao looked in his mask. He looked good, and it sent Bi Han’s mind down into a spiral. Kung Lao would look good in the Lin Kuei. He would look good wearing Bi Han’s clothes. The grandmaster dug his fingernails into his palm to bring him back to the fight.

Kung Lao moved like water against Bi Han. Fluid and strong. Kung Lao was also wearing down Bi Han’s patience faster than Smoke, and in a brief moment when Kung Lao pulled back, the Grandmaster sprayed ice down onto the ground, causing the man to yelp and fall down.

Bi Han followed Kung Lao to the floor and pinned him down. He held the man’s wrists with one hand, and the grandmaster could feel the other wriggle around trying to free himself from Bi Han’s grip, and so he sat his weight down on Kung Lao.

“Yield.” Bi Han said. Kung Lao had stopped wiggling about, instead breathing heavily and staring up into Bi Han’s eyes with those beautifully stupid brown eyes of his.

“I yield.” Kung Lao said. Bi Han smirked and plucked his mask off Kung Lao’s face only to be met with Kung Lao’s very red cheeks. Bi Han admired Kung Lao. First his brown doe eyes, then his plush lips. His very full and biteable lips.

“Ya gonna get up, or are you going to keep straddling me?”

Bi Han got up in a hurry, letting go of Kung Lao’s wrists and getting off the man’s hips so fast one might’ve thought he had touched something repulsive. Kung Lao stood up and rubbed at his raw wrists. For some odd reason, the grandmaster still couldn’t get his eyes off of the man. He looked good doing anything, even if he was just rubbing his wrists.

By the Gods, Bi Han rubbed his face, trying to bring himself down to reality. He did not like this man that he had just sparred. Kung Lao was arrogant, much too confident for a simple farmer. He ate like a starved man, and he probably slept like a fool. Kung Lao probably slept in some odd position that left him open to attacks. His hair would be down and soft. And Bi Han could run his fingers through and-

No! Bi Han put his mask back on and stalked up to Kung Lao.

“Stop making me feel this way.” Bi Han hissed and shoved an accusatory finger into Kung Lao’s muscular chest. The other man smiled even as Bi Han tried his best to send the message that he very much wanted to commit a murder with his eyes.

“Make you feel like what?”

Bi Han didn’t answer. How was he supposed to say that he wanted to kiss the man in front of him? To run his fingers through his hair and bring him back to the Lin Kuei headquarters and ravish the man until they were both satisfied. And Bi Han was a hard man to satisfy.

Bi Han turned on his heel to walk away when he felt Kung Lao wrap his arms around Bi Han’s waist. The assassin stopped in his tracks, trying to control his heart as it stuttered.

“I like you too.” Kung Lao mumbled the words into Bi Han’s back, and the grandmaster’s mind short-circuited for a moment.

“Are you sure?” Bi Han turned around slowly to face Kung Lao. The man nodded, and Bi Han tore off his mask and crushed their lips together in a violent kiss. Kung Lao was going to be the death of him.

#noodle’s writings #fluffuary 2024 #fluff #mk1 #mortal kombat 1 #mortal kombat fanfiction #bi han #kung lao #bi han mk1 #sub zero #sub zero mk1 #bi han x kung lao #bilao #i have no idea if that’s the actual ship name #someone please enlighten me

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you-remind-me-of-the-babe · 26 days

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Happy Sunday everyone! I’m quite shocked we’re 3/4 of the way through April. Where did this month go? On the other hand, it’s getting warmer and summer is around the corner, so bring it on!

I’ve got a snippet from Back and Back and Back, my time travel AU fic. Chapters 1 and 2 are written and half of 3 and 4 as well. It might be a while before I post, though, because I kind of want to have it all or mostly written first. It’s been a long time since I’ve written something not connected to a fest or event, so its nice having the luxury of time for this one. Here’s a bit of six year old Baz with his Dragon Man friend from Chapter 1 again:

“Jammie Dodgers? How’d you know those were my favorites?”

I smile proudly, even though I didn’t know that, but his bright smile and playful tone relaxes me.

“Would you like some?” I ask, stepping forward and holding the biscuits up to him.

“Thanks, Baz,” he says, reaching to take one and then wandering over to a fallen log to sit.

“It’s Basil,” I correct, following him over and sitting next to him on the log. He kicks his long legs out, crossing them at the ankle. I try to copy him and frown at how short my legs look compared to his. “Nobody calls me Baz.”

“Right, sorry,” he says, shaking his head with a smirk on his lips. “Keep forgetting.”

Tags/thank yous/hellos @whatevertheweather @bookish-bogwitch @cutestkilla @artsyunderstudy @emeryhall @aristocratic-otter @whogaveyoupermission @ileadacharmedlife @ivelovedhimthroughworse @monbons @noblecorgi @mooncello @wellbelesbian @prettygoododds @best--dress @roomwithanopenfire @facewithoutheart @run-for-chamo-miles @that-disabled-princess @forabeatofadrum @rimeswithpurple @thewholelemon @blackberrysummerblog @hushed-chorus @iamamythologicalcreature @valeffelees @orange-peony @youarenevertooold @shrekgogurt @ic3-que3n @angelsfalling16 @raenestee @brilla-brilla-estrellita @alexalexinii @arthurkko @supercutedinosaurs @beastmonstertitan

#I like the idea of Simon giving Baz his nickname #Because that’s his name in the future and so he unwittingly gives it to him in the past #I eat that cyclical time travel shit up #meant to be but also designed to be at the same time #hurts your head in a good way #back and back and back #my writing #carry on fanfiction

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bajaberries · 6 months

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felix whatever your last name is, my beloved ❤️

Closeups on my favourites ⬇️

#miraculous fanart #miraculous ladybug #felix fathom #felix graham de vanily #but ive also seen felix cupla???#WHAT IS HIS LAST NAME?#i love him anyways #felinette #felix miraculous #argos miraculous #marinette dupain cheng #i drew this while i was brainstorming ideas for the felinette fanfiction im writing #i may or may not love fanon felix #scratch that i do love him

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tired0artist · 3 months

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What if Astarion was married before getting killed? And what if his spouse was Tav?

Like Tav could be a high elf or at the very least a half high elf. So by the time of the game, they would be 230 something, which would still make them appear younger. (Late 20s, early 30s maybe? Elves live up to a 1000 so they would still be young)

Add an amnesiac vampire spawn, to a spouse that never got over their lover, and you have a beautiful and depressing story on your hands.

I might write this when I’m done with other things 👀 (I already have some scenes written down)

I would just love to explore this dynamic of Astarion just being frustrated and denying even being Tav’s husband, and Tav just being patient but not buying into any of his bullshit.

Also Spawn Astarion and Past Astarion would be almost completely different people. So Tav would have to navigate through years of trauma and very different experiences that Spawn Astarion went through. But still find pieces of their husband among them.

I’d love to have them just fall in love all over again, and find their happiness again.

#astarion #astarion x tav #tav x astarion #named tav #astarion brainrot #astarion fanfic #fic ideas #astarion romance #tav x astarion fanfiction #bg3 tav #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 oc #bg3 astarion #just an idea

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robin-with-a-pen · 9 days

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I love writing about Chilchuck and his family, I hate writing about his wife

Why has Ryoko Kui cursed us like this? Why must I name this poor woman myself????

#that’s her name right?#ryoko kui #dungeon meshi fanfic #chilchuck #chilchuck’s wife #chilchuck wife #chucklefuck #I would like to kindly beat this man #IM TRYING TO WRIYE A FIC ABOUT SELF ISOLATION ANS SLOWLY BUILDINH GHE COURSGE TO LET YOUR WALLS DOWN #BUT K NEED TO TALK ABOIT THIS WOMAN #AND I CANT JUDT REFER TO HWR WITH VAGUE PRONOUNS AND PER NAMES #THAT CONPLETELY DEHUMANIZES HER #SHE DESSERVES MORE RESPECT THSNNJUST ‘Chilchuck’s wife’#I might steal someone’s idea and name her Whittbell #I almost called her Maybell #but I feel like that’s too similar to Mickbell #fanfiction #dungeon meshi

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youchangedmedestiel · 22 days

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What happens when I have a fic idea:

Then:

Eventually I start running in the right direction:

And finally:

Before it's too late. Before the moment is gone. Before the vibe left the brain.

My last idea: Dean is dancing and singing in the library, knowing everybody is out somewhere else. At first he is shy and then he goes wild but by then Cas walks in on him and falls in love all over again.

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sinisterexaggerator · 18 days

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Hello there!

I am here to ease ya'll into my favorite ship:

Banaka (Cad Bane x Hondo Ohnaka)

Best in the Bunch.

I have so much planned for these two in a fanfic I am only just beginning to write (that spans Cad Bane's entire life), but conversations with @allsystemsblue led me to write this fluff scenario and I could not stop myself.

Pretend that what you are reading is based on an already well-established relationship. Bane shows affection by acts of service and gift giving, as his feelings are something he has trouble with expressing. The rest is self-indulgent garbage.

I should mention this is not how the rest of said fic will go. This is a one-off just for fun. You can expect angst, drama, hurt, comfort, toxic relationships, violence and smut in the future.

Credit goes to Teeth for the idea that Hondo, while not believing in the God Quay, still finds comfort in performing magicks for his own peace of mind.

Word count: 1.4k+

Warnings: None. Fluff, a kiss, and a lot of negativity on Bane's part.

He didn’t know a thing about them, flowers, only that they might come in useful for a certain predicament he had found himself in, as it seemed most sentient beings thought the seed-bearing parts of plants—consisting of its reproductive organs, mind you—were somehow beautiful.

He supposed he could see it, what with their bright-colored corollas, petals coming in all shapes and sizes, typically paired with a calyx as green as his own blood. That was only on some planets. On others, they were red, or blue. Purple. Indigo.

On Florrum, they came in various shades of orange, or yellow, a rarity after an even rarer desert downpour.

Fragile is what they were, and a waste of money. The resources used to farm them could be utilized in more efficient ways. Perhaps he would like the wild ones better, though to pull weeds as a manner of apology didn’t seem good enough. Didn’t seem thoughtful enough. He was sure the Weequay would run him out.

Then again, apologizing wasn’t something he often did, as Bane rarely meant not to do something he had set his mind to. Only this time, he had hurt Ohnaka’s feelings.

Feelings. Hondo had too many, and maybe Bane had too few. Callous one might call him, insensitive another. Cynical was more like it; tired; disillusioned. Yet rare was the man who could crack him open to show him what lay beneath; like a geode, Ohnaka exposed his insides, revealing to Bane all the pretty bits he never would have known existed.

And Bane did care, if only when it suited him. If only on his terms. But this time, he cared because Hondo did. It was partially anathema, this caring, yet he did it anyway, unable to coax his mind to let their little squabble go.

To the pirate, it had been more than that, Bane insulting his very heritage. He didn’t understand the tiny dolls he kept, the archaic sources of illumination that were made of wax and smelled like things Bane could not identify, nor the bits and scraps of flimsi that had been burned to cinders.

These things decorated a small table, resting atop an ornate cloth; Bane had touched it much to the pirate’s chagrin, then disrespected his arcane practice, ridiculing his efforts to appease some nonexistent deity in order to bring about Bane’s good luck.

His job was dangerous, but the hunter was unaware he was being prayed for behind closed doors. Somehow, that had irritated him, more so as he didn’t understand it, thinking Hondo must be attempting to commit himself to witchcraft like those little ladies that lived on Dathomir.

��What’s with dhis nonsense. Ain’t no use in doin’ dhat,” he remembered saying; a poor choice of words to one who meant no ill will.

He understood that now, if nothing else. So what if Hondo lit a candle for him. Who was he to say he hadn’t lived to hunt another day because of it? It was possible the only thing keeping Bane alive besides his street smarts and good aim was the Weequay’s magicks; Bane shuddered to think that was the case.

Even so, here he was, holding a bouquet tightly in one hand and his hat’s brim in the other, deigning to do what he felt might be ignored. This was nothing more than a gesture to barter passage into the pirate king’s good graces—an act of service on his part, the buying of them—for in the here and now, there was nothing more he wished to accomplish in this life. Had you told him he would be doing this a year ago, he would have laughed himself hoarse, or worse yet, right into an early grave.

Yes, flowers. Expensive, frail, and pointless. He had chosen the prettiest of those assembled according to his tastes, selecting a color he assumed was the dummy’s favorite: red.

Ladalums were scarce and imported from Alderaan, a fact he’d learned upon their purchase. They would only bloom if pollinated on their homeworld; these were fresh off the cargo freight, able to last months if given the right treatment.

That was one good thing about them—once out of his hands, the rest was up to the pirate to take care of. He was good at that, Bane mused—caring for things.

Eyes and heads—not dissimilar from all the others that populated this chamber of sorts—turned to look at this bounty hunter who relunctantly proceeded with his walk of shame. Bane would bite back all his nasty words, even as members of Hondo's gang jeered and snickered at his expense.

What he wouldn’t give to kill them on the spot. Somehow, he imagined, that would not do him any favors.

Seated on a low dais, in a throne fit for a king no less, his disgruntled paramour still fumed, swoop-goggles purposefully removed to rest upon the front of his worn helmet. Those expressive gray eyes were the Duros’ weakness, finding that he could not meet his narrowed gaze. Already oblique, Hondo’s stormy depths had gathered further into slits, leaving Bane to swallow down his spit.

Still, he approached, feeling naked and vulnerable as he stood there like a scolded child without his hat to shield him. He did his best, fathomless red ellipses meeting Hondo’s glare head-on, Bane saying the only thing he could think to say.

“Brought some flowers.”

Nothin'. There was no reaction, not even a change in his demeanor or a brightening of mood. Bane overtly frowned, taking a step back for his boots to echo lightly against the duracrete floor of Hondo’s beloved fortress home.

Supposin’ this didn’t work, Bane planned for his retreat, hoping to retain some dignity among those present. He lowered his head, his hat rightfully returned to where it belonged by a flat palm, Bane ready to drop the bouquet like so much trash at his feet; it was difficult to care when you didn’t know how to fix the wrong you’d done. Trying wasn’t as good as doing. Doing was the hard part.

“Are dose for me?”

Four little words that set Bane’s heart to thumping, the hunter wisely keeping his eyes averted as he saw the pirate stand out of his periphery. He would only nod, an infinitesimal movement of his head, up and down, affirming what Hondo already knew—those flowers were for him.

His spark descended, that charming scoundrel who kept him going on a dark night of the soul; he strode down the short flight of stairs that would bring him nearly to his level, Bane taller than Ohnaka, though the man was bigger in some ways; his heart for one, Bane thought.

“Dey are beautiful, my Moon,” his bit of sunshine said, Bane’s sorrowful eyes rising out from the shade of his bolero.

“Picked de best in de bunch,” he humbly offered, words bordering a whisper, eerily heard as the hall was quiet, grim faces and furrowed brows sparing him none of his embarrassment. "Same could be said, fer ye,” he added.

It was then the Weequay smiled, a dazzling thing, brighter than dual suns. Bane relaxed openly as he expelled a breath from between his teeth; it was a slow, heavy sigh of relief.

“Flatterer,” Hondo teased, his smile spreading wider, gold amidst pearl and oh-so satisfying to witness should Bane be the sole cause of it. “Dey need water, hm?”

The shuffling of a crimson coat and an idle toss of a braid signaled to Bane that Hondo would exit, the hunter grateful his gift had been accepted. However, the Weequay would pause, turning about face, reflecting on the shrinking Duros as he had been tempted to follow in his footsteps.

“Just… one more ting,” he announced, his expression hardening back to a look previously sported as his voice lowered an octave, Bane’s heart sinking toward his belly as he did not wish to incur any more reprimands.

Hondo took him by his coat’s lapel, jerking him forward. Bane held onto his hat as dusky lips brushed across his, pinpricks of electricity teeming along his scales like minuscule lightning bolts. The Duros would slump his shoulders to sink to Ohnaka’s height, a warm, black tongue invading his mouth to skirt one that was cool and pink.

This must be what it felt like to be forgiven, he assumed, some invisible weight lifting from off his conscience.

“Take it ye like flowers,” Bane remarked once free of his kiss, wanting to fill the now awkward silence with something to lighten whatever tension might be left between them.

For Hondo, there was none. He could just as easily forget as he could forgive. A rough thumb smoothed down the bit of Bane’s flesh left assailable, brazenly descending to aid in the tweaking of one sharp fang.

“Yes,” Hondo harmoniously agreed, “you might say dat.”

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