#my fic snippets

[bluedalahorse]

So is now the time to post the opening of my unfinished YR abortion road trip fic?

Maybe. Maybe today is the day! This isn’t on AO3 because I haven’t finished it, but @heliza24 really wants me to finish it and would be glad that I posted even this part to fandom.

There’s more written than just this excerpt, so I could always post more if people are curious.

No title yet, because this is untitled.

Summary: Shortly after season 2, Felice wanders off campus to process a high-profile arrest and other recent shakeups at Hillerska. She doesn’t expect to meet Sara Eriksson, who is in the process of running away.

—

Felice’s Phone

Group chat: MANOR HOUSE GIRLZ (Fredrika, Maddie, Stella)

Maddie: yooooo Felice

Maddie: tell us you missed Swedish class for something epic

Stella: we took notes for you

Stella: mine are better than Fredrika’s

Fredrika: LIES mine are better than Stella’s

Maddie: you’re not in your room

Maddie: girl are you even at school?

Fredrika: just tell us where you are and we won’t snitch

Stella: Felice?

Stella: please check in

Stella: and maybe flirt with one of the local boys so he buys you booze

Fredrika: and then share?

Maddie: don’t listen to them

Maddie: only flirt with someone hot

Stella: yeah he’s got to be at least as hot as Fredrika

Stella: lol j/k ahahaha what

Fredrika: heeeyyyyyyy Feliiiiiice where are youuuuu

Fredrika: we’re a little worried, just let us know

Fredrika: tho at least you didn’t get sick and disappear into the bathroom like SOMEONE we could mention

Stella: but we’re not mentioning her

Stella: bc we don’t mention traitors

—

Felice sits at the edge of a convenience store parking lot in Bjärstad, counting all the scars in her nail polish. It’s supposed to be a fresh coat. Stella brushed the ballet slipper pink onto Felice’s nails on Tuesday, and right now it’s only—Thursday afternoon? Felice is drunk on leftover vodka she stashed in her closet behind her Prada handbag, but not so drunk she’s forgotten that it’s Thursday. A Thursday full of literal dark clouds, at that. 

Tuesday was sunny, and it was also the day that police arrived at Hillerska and escorted that guy away. That one, the ex. Wednesday, Felice’s ex-best friend, her real ex in any kind of emotional attachment sense, came back to school for half a day, but couldn’t make it past lunch. Now people are spreading rumors about Sara Eriksson puking in the bathroom. So maybe it’s been a weird enough forty-eight hours that Felice hasn’t noticed herself scarring up her nail polish.

And maybe, now that today is Thursday, Felice needed to skip classes and get drunk and go for a walk off campus, and buy a bag of chips from a nothing convenience store in this nowhere town. There are things getting drunk won’t solve. But it’s not like being sober is going to solve things for Felice right now, either.

Felice’s phone vibrates against her thigh. She pulls it out of the pocket of her sweatpants and notes the texts from Fredrika and Stella and Maddie in her (recently purged) group chat. They’re asking her where she is, and is she coming to dinner. Please check in, fuck. How performatively worried. Felice unlocks her phone and almost fumbles her way through a typo-soaked message before deciding she’ll do this psychically. I am walking back to Hillerska now, she thinks in the general direction of school, slow and deliberate. She leaves the rest up to Maddie’s alleged witch powers and pulls herself to her feet.

Felice’s ankles ache the way they do when she’s walked on her Jimmy Choo heels for too long. She’s not wearing heels, though, only slides. Her legs wobble. Her thoughts swirl in slow, doomed circles, like dirty water circling a drain, as thunder rumbles overhead and a cool breeze rustles nearby trees. The rain is imminent, and Felice contemplates how much worse it will be when she shows back up on campus not only drunk, but drunk and completely soaked through, her carefully styled curls a wreck.

(Stella, Fredrika, and Maddie could get away with a stunt like that. A teacher might ignore their obvious alcohol breath and just tell them to put on dry pajamas and go to bed. But for Felice, they notice everything. Because Felice sticks out to begin with.)

Felice is caught in a vision of the headmistress, hissing the word inebriated on a phone call to parents, when a van pulls into the parking lot. She’s not as up on cars as the Forest Ridge boys, but this van definitely belongs to a Bjärstad local. She braces herself for an awful catcall as the window rolls down halfway, certain she’s about to get leered at by some guy in a permanently affixed football beanie.

Instead, it’s a girl. No football beanie, only football confidence. Felice recognizes the girl from Simon’s instagram—she’s come up a few times. Felice hasn’t been counting, but she’s noticed.

“You’re in choir with Simon,” says the girl. “Felice, right? I’m Rosh. Need a ride back to school?”

“I can walk. I think,” Felice says. And then, so she can own her story, she adds, “I might be a little drunk?”

Felice adjusts her posture, straightening her spine and setting her hand on her hip as she makes eye contact with Rosh. Immediately a sense of embarrassment twinges in her chest at her pose. What the—was she modeling? She’s not making a case for relative sobriety, whatever she’s doing.

Rosh turns to consult with someone next to her, then turns back to Felice.

“Come on,” she says. “Get in the car. Back seat.”

“Um. Thanks.”

The back door of the van slides open. Felice doesn’t have time to question who Rosh has next to her in the passenger seat. She receives an answer soon enough anyway. The back of Sara Eriksson’s head is so familiar—defeated brown waves that haven’t seen a wash day in too long. Sara’s shoulders are hunched over; her neck is bent. She does not turn around.

Two weeks ago, if Felice saw Sara looking like that, she would have pulled Sara close and rubbed her back until they talked through what was wrong.

(Part of her still wants to. But she doesn’t like the idea of Sara mentally comparing her hugs to someone else’s, and she’s allowed to be petty about that.)

“You don’t have to talk to me,” Sara says, tapping away on her phone. She sounds exhausted. “I’m busy anyway.”

“If you hydrate, we won’t ask about the drinking,” says Rosh to Felice. “There’s sports drink behind the passenger seat. Take one.”

Right. Sports drink. Because Rosh does sports, Felice has noticed. It sounds like an order more than an offer. Felice ducks down and liberates one of the bottles from its six-pack. The liquid inside is neon-bright and tastes of soft metal and fake citrus. Rain splatters on the van’s windows—the first sparse and irregular drops, followed by the entire pounding ensemble of water. For the next few minutes, Felice focuses on the horizon, where blurred trees meet the mirror-gray sky, and sips her post-football-run drink. Sara takes care of the directions to her old dorm, uttering an occasional “right” or “left” or “go straight here” to Rosh. Felice can’t tell why she’s doing it. Why she didn’t just insist on leaving Felice behind.

Then, the conversation shifts. Or at least, the conversation that Felice isn’t a part of shifts.

“Rosh?” Sara whispers. “I can’t find anywhere cheap enough for us to stay.”

“Even on the apps?” Rosh replies. “Look, I told you, I have some money—”

“I can’t take your money.”

“It’s money I owe Simon anyway.”

“That’s even worse. He already hates me. You should hate me more.” 

Sara breathes in, then out, audibly. She does it a few more times. Felice’s own lungs strain in sympathy.

“We have to find a place for the weekend,” says Sara. “Or we can’t do it.”

“What are you talking about?” Felice finally asks. She presses a hand to her thigh to keep her leg from jiggling. Since she was seven years old and started her first etiquette classes, she’s always been able to sit still. Always.

“We’re going on a weekend trip,” Rosh answers, too brightly. “To Stockholm—”

“—to an island,” Sara says at the same time.

“Stockholm has lots of islands,” Rosh improvises. “Sara just needs to be away for a weekend. That’s all.”

“It doesn’t sound like you’re going on a normal trip,” says Felice, hearing the suspicion in her voice, and how it sounds like her father.

“We told Mamma we were traveling,” says Sara. “My period’s late. I don’t––I don’t think it’s coming. I know it isn’t coming, because—”

“Don’t tell me that.”

“—I did a pregnancy test.”

Felice digs her chipped nails into her knee. She knew how Sara’s sentence was going to end. Not the way she knows people’s names or the answers on a test she studied for, but the way she knows to pull her hand away when she touches a hot stove. Swift and unthinking. She even gasps the same way she does when she’s burned. Not out of surprise but out of pain.

“Fuck, Sara,” says Rosh. “You don’t have to tell her. She could tell the media.”

“Sorry,” says Sara. “It just came out. I’m scared, okay?” At last she turns around and looks toward Felice, her fingers curled around the back of the passenger seat. Her face is red and purple-tinged in all the places that indicate crying and sleepless nights. “Look, you can’t tell anyone. Rosh and I are going to deal with it. We already got the pills. I can’t deal with it at home because of Simon and Mamma. I don’t know what they’d say.”

“We wanted to use my apartment,” Rosh adds. “We thought my mother was going to visit one of my aunties this weekend. But auntie came to visit us instead at the last minute.”

“Please don’t tell anyone at school, Felice.” Sara turns away again. “Or Simon. Don’t tell him either.”

“People are already talking about how you threw up in the bathroom,” says Felice. “And if you’re absent from school again, they’re going to wonder.”

“Please don’t tell,” Sara repeats, voice muffled as she pushes her face into her coat sleeves.

As much as the infusion of electrolytes, courtesy of Rosh, has helped Felice to steady her head, she’s still too drunk for this. Or maybe, again, she isn’t drunk enough. She tries to imagine her math class tomorrow, working trigonometry problems with an empty chair beside her and actually knowing why the chair is empty. She can’t. Felice can’t even imagine faking sick and staying home from class, because then Stella and Fredrika would come visit her with buns and coffee, and then they’d want to gossip.

At first, being able to gossip felt good. But ever since the arrest—since the security from the palace arriving to keep out news cameras—gossip is more like gangrene eating at an already wounded limb. Felice needs amputation, or at least closure. Until then, she’s just going to keep asking herself questions about what part of the catastrophe she made happen. Why didn’t she ask Sara who she had a crush on, like best friends always do? Why hadn’t she been more concerned that Sara was gone all the time and came back late to their room? Why hadn’t she told Sara how bad things got with him last term, to warn her?

Felice doesn’t want to keep asking herself the questions, because this isn’t her fault. Maybe Sara isn’t the only one who needs an emergency abortion. Maybe Felice needs to abort Sara from her life, so she can move on.

But if she’s going to do this, she has to make it her choice.

“My family has a vacation cabin,” Felice says. “We can go there to do what you need to do. But after that, we will never speak to one another ever again. Alright?”

Sara’s shrunk down in her seat so much that Felice can’t see her anymore, but Felice is pretty sure from the rustling of her coat sleeves that she’s nodding.

Five minutes later, Felice is on the phone with her mother, feeding her excuses and exaggerations until she gets the approval to leave school for the weekend. At the same time, Rosh turns the van around and drives away from Hillerska.

#young royals #my fic snippets #sara eriksson #felice ehrencrona #rosh young royals #cw pregnancy #cw abortion

[alwaysxlarrie]

i never thought i’d say it’s been a while since i’ve posted a snippet but i also never thought i’d write a cult leader louis fic, so. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ but here it is !!

“The moment he’d heard about the event, he signed up. Harry loved his college, but unfortunately they didn’t prioritize the music department the way he wished they would, which made being a music major a slightly more lonely experience than he would’ve liked. So, while he’d never heard of Louis Tomlinson or his organization before this, that was okay. Those were just mere details. What mattered was that there was an event. For music. In all his nineteen years, he’s never been so excited for a school event.

“Harmonic Haven is my most important life mission. Bringing people in, instilling confidence in them, encouraging them to be their best, always readily available lessons, improving your skills — all of it is essential to the heart of this organization.” Louis saunters around the stage, confident and raspy voice booming smoothly from his microphone.

Harry watches raptly as Louis makes eye contact with people in the crowd and sends an alluring grin their way, enticing them to continue listening. His eyes are hypnotizingly sparkly; a unique blue that Harry could spend days writing songs about. They draw you in and make you constantly want their undivided attention; Harry has had them on him twice now and has been actively fighting the urge to do something ridiculous to get his attention again. He can tell that even just having a single conversation with Louis about their passion for music would reignite the spark in him.

His fingers are itching to take notes, but he doesn’t dare to look away for too long — it’s too much of an risk to miss anything Louis' saying, let alone miss the chance of Louis' eyes on him again.

But Harry knows he needs to do something memorable before Louis' presentation is over, needs Louis to recognize him when Harry goes down to talk to him afterward. There will be tens — likely hundreds, really — of students lined up to talk to Louis and Harry can’t risk not getting a chance. He needs to do something now that will make Louis remember him. And quickly.”

i am nothing if not consistent with long-ish snippets, no matter how long it's been lol. anyway i've edited this to absolute smithereens so hopefully it's decent!! not entirely sure who’s working on a fic at the moment so i’ll just tag a few people lol @loveislarryislove @allwaswell16 @lululawrence @londonfoginacup @jacaranda-bloom @kingonafiftymetreroad @crinkle-eyed-boo @greenblueish @beelou @disgruntledkittenface

#snippet saturday #saturday snippets #my fic snippets #cult leader louis #after seeing how louis and the crowd interacted at my concert #i just couldn’t NOT write this #y’all feel me #mans could lead a whole ass cult if he wanted to if we're being honest lol #i am ALSO in the midst of making gifs from my concert #i took videos of every song i'm so proud of myself #and of my phone tbh lol

[trudemaethien]

compatibility slickma4?? 👀👀👀👀

hewwo, I thought you knew about this one, doofus. this is a continuation of the omegaverse AU i wrote where dogma and slick get together in prison.

tl;dr for anyone who hasn’t read the series:

Dogma is transdesignation, alpha to omega. Slick is an omega too, but also basically the equivalent of a butch lesbian. They aren’t in prison anymore.

tw: discussion of reproductive stuff, omegaverse

(snippet in media res and sry for how unpolished it is lol)

<><>

several months later:

Slick says, “Dogma?” nervous

Dogma, (attention drawn) “What’s wrong, love?”

Slick cautious tentative. “If uh—if there was a way for us to have a baby. I mean—there IS a way. It's very obvious”—Dogma starts shaking his head—“I would, for you, I'd…be willing to…”

“Slick, no,” Dogma says.

Slick is not relieved. If anything he’s nearly supplicating, obviously having given it a lot of thought. “You're always my exception, Dogma. My mate. my riduur. my husband. my omega.

“I was just thinking—about surrogacy, and… it could be like that. I'd be your surrogate, that’s all. We could select the donor genes together, and it would be for you.”

Slick holds his gaze earnestly, and Dogma

Dogma says, “I don’t deserve how much you love me and I could not ask you to make that sacrifice—not when I know how uncomfortable even the thought of pregnancy makes you.”

Slick swallows and his eyes skitter away.

“See, you can't even hear the word pregnancy!” Dogma insists.

“So, you’re saying no,” Slick says in an odd, strangled tone.

Dogma says, “I’m saying thank you, so much, Slick; you’re the best riduur and best mate I could ever wish for, and you don't need to do this to prove your devotion to me! I know.”

Slick says, “That's not why.”

“Why,” Dogma prompts.

slick doesn’t answer for a minute, and when he does it’s nearly a whisper. “I want you to be happy, sweetheart.”

Dogma catches his hand and waits until Slick looks at him. “I am happy,” he says, smiling softly until Slick’s mouth curves up to match, and then he kisses him.

#ask me #fanfiction #my fic snippets #cloneshipping #star wars tcw #omegaverse #trans-designation a/b/o #discussion of #pregnancy cw #ask answered

[aworldinsideofthem]

Fic snippets: Shadowhunters 1/?

There are a few Shadowhunters snippets I've written that I don't think are ever going to be fic in their own right - even a small one - but they are more than just a few lines of dialogue. There are quite a few I'm keeping that I might weave into something eventually but I thought I'd share some of others here. (And maybe some other older fandoms later idk).

So have a couple from the 3x22 wedding when Alec talks to Clary and Simon at the reception about what they've done for him and Magnus. And when I say snippets I mean that, there are some intro and set-up bits very much missing.

All very G rated. Canon pairings implied.

Clary

Alec cleared his throat. “Also you know the whole Edom thing.”

“I didn’t want to leave them there either.”

One of the things Alec and Clary could agree on was that you did everything you could to help the people you loved. 

“So yeah, thanks," he continued.

“You’ve had a couple of those, haven’t you?” She nodded at his glass. 

“I like champagne,” Alec said a little defensively, “and I’ve been nursing this one for a while.”

He stood up and walked past her but not before ducking down and kissing the top of her head.

“You’re not going to start calling me Biscuit too, are you?” 

Alec pulled a face and then laughed. “No gonna leave that to my husband.” He smiled a little too himself as if pleased just from the sound of it rolling off his tongue. 

“Ugh you guys.”

Alec shrugged unrepentantly and walked over towards Magnus where he was talking with Raphael. 

--

Simon

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yeah, I did, Alec.”

Alec gave him a little smile and a nod. 

“Probably for the best you weren’t turned into a vampire though.”

“Yeah. I was a little … well I wasn’t thinking that clearly.”

Simon couldn’t help himself. It was right there. “You weren’t thinking straight?”

Simon thought Alec was gonna glare at him but his mouth turned up a little. “Yeah, don’t do much of that.”

“You’re not gonna?”

“Say if you break my sister’s heart, I will break you? Nah, I don’t think you’ll do that Simon. Also you know who you’re dating. She can break you fine all on her own.”

Simon swallowed pointedly. “Oh yeah, absolutely she could.”

#malec #magnus x alec #my fic snippets #shadowhunters #I wrote a thing #clary fray #simon lewis

[munsonkitten]

Eddie doesn’t know how this became a thing between them. He’s wrapped up around Steve’s back, arms and legs snaking around Steve’s body. He has one thigh between Steve’s, hooked over his hip and snug against his crotch. He can feel the soft bulge of Steve’s cock beneath his leg, and tries not to think too hard about it. 

One of Steve’s arms is tucked under Eddie in a way that makes it possible for him to scratch at Eddie’s hair through his hood. His fingers move rhythmically, sliding over the fabric covering Eddie's head. 

It’s cozy like this, tangled in a way where Eddie can't tell where he ends and Steve begins. It's not something friends do, especially not two guys, but neither one of them mention that.

Sometimes they just lay and talk, and sometimes, like today, they have a book in front of them, positioned in the hand Eddie has snaked beneath Steve’s neck. 

Eddie’s reading, soft and quiet into Steve’s ear, when it happens. Steve turns his head back and presses a kiss to Eddie’s chin. A quick little peck beneath his mouth. 

The words die in Eddie’s throat, choked off by a squeaky noise of surprise. He drops the book onto the bed, letting it fall shut because saving the page he’s on is the last thing on his mind right now. Steve just kissed him. A little kiss, not even on his lips, but still a kiss. From Steve. 

They’re both frozen there, so still Eddie doesn’t think either of them are even breathing, and then Steve’s disentangling himself, pulling away. The exact opposite of what Eddie wants to happen. 

He finds the front of Steve’s shirt clutched in his fist, holding him where he is. 

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Steve says, still attempting to pull away. “We’re friends — I don’t know what got into me, man. I didn’t mean to do that.”

One hand curls around his wrist, the other going to his fingers to try peeling them away from Steve’s shirt. Eddie closes his fist tighter, shaking his head. 

“Yes, you should have,” Eddie whispers, voice caught in his throat. “Done that, I mean.”

Eddie’s been kissed before. At bars and parties, by guys and girls alike, liquor on their lips or laughter on their tongues. The girls at parties in town were always dared — kiss the freak, see if he puts out (Eddie never did) — and the guys in bars were always drunk and too impersonal. It never went further than that, never felt quite right, especially not with the girls, but he’s been kissed before. 

None of that could have prepared him for the way Steve Harrington kisses him now.

#a snippet from an upcoming fic #sub to me on ao3 @ deadratz if you wanna know when this ones posted because i might not promote it anywhere #steddie fic #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve/eddie #my fics #stranger things #steddie fics

[wispscribbles]

I want to eat your art and writing thank you so much

Haha well I'm always happy to keep you all fed. Here, have some old sketches <33

#ask #anon ask #ghostsoap #soapghost #doodle #my art #sketch #*throws old crumbs at ya because im currenty out of gourmet feasts* #these are from various times in the last year #but yea watch wisp's art style be the least consistent thing ever as they jump from brushes and programs due to indecision :> #some old aus in there too #kid au and mw3 fixit stuff and whatever the rest of this stuff is #nrftw doodle of ghost w the guitar #and beard too #also hi Gaz!!!! he's been randomly thrown in there to be glared at by ghost. poor guy #debated giving u some writing snippets as well but i didnt want to clutter my reply lol #im working on a fic that im so excited about #its actually making me write again pretty consistently so im happy

[coolshadowtwins]

During the Abyss Years(TM), there was a Peak Lord meeting. The only one not there was SQQ, but no one expected him there, really.

He hadn’t been doing goo, did you hear? He has been withering away, mourning over that disciple of his. Truly, the entire sect feels for the man-

Then SQQ burst in the room, kicking the door open and looking at them with a glare. The room freezes, because this is the most he has looked like himself in years.

Yue Qingyuan is the one to finally break the silence. “Shidi,” He said, standing. “Is something the matter-?”

“Something is the matter.” Shen Qingqiu said coldly. “The ‘matter’ is that I’ve been possessed for six years, and none of my so called martial siblings did anything about it!”

“You can’t blame them for not knowing.” A new man muttered, peeking in from behind SQQ. He looked like SQQ, but different. Softer, maybe? SQQ glared at him as well.

“I am not listening to the man that had possessed me, but thanks for trying.”

Shang Qinghua started to choke on nothing. No one went to go help him.

Part two

#svsss #shen yuan #shen qingqiu #shang qinghua #shen jiu #yue qingyuan #my fic #snippet #Split Shen Au

[the-broken-pen]

“Oh my god—“

“Not quite, love” The antagonist smirked. “If you ask nicely, however, I may be inclined to play along.”

“You’re—“

“A villain, yes.”

The protagonist tried to stop their hands from shaking as the antagonist looked them up and down.

“Why are you in my neighborhood bodega?” The protagonist said finally, and the villain quirked a brow.

“Even famous people need to eat,” the antagonist tucked their hands into their exquisitely tailored suit.

The bag of chips in the protagonists grip crinkled, and the villain inspected them.

“Not the healthiest choice.”

They gave an unamused laugh. “The cheapest.”

The antagonist’s eyes ran over their face, as if taking in their slightly gaunt cheeks.

“Heroism doesn’t pay well, it seems.”

The protagonist looked them up and down.

“Villainy does, it seems.”

At that, the antagonist chuckled, eyes glimmering like they had finally found something to peak their interest.

Behind them, the check out counter beeped and spit out a receipt, which the antagonist promptly crumpled and threw away.

“I’ll be watching,” they said with a nonchalance that did not match the threat of stalking, and disappeared out the sliding doors.

The protagonist stood in front of the machine, slightly awe struck and slightly afraid, until a clerk sidled up to them.

“Old friend?” The clerk asked.

The protagonist glanced over at them, then back towards the door.

“Not quite,” they answered.

They paid for their chips and left, hands pink with cold by the time they got to their apartment.

Attached to their door was an cream colored envelope full of money, and a note in elegant handwriting that simply said “Buy yourself more groceries. Your fridge is a tragedy.”

The protagonist never quite got rid of the antagonist after that.

#writing #writing community #creative writing #snippet #heroes and villains #fic writing #ficlet #writing prompt #writblr #protagonist #villain #writers #original writing #gentle #soft #no bad things #protagonist x villain #y’all are going feral for this one oh my god

[linddzz]

The prompt: spicy wedding night

Me: what if instead of sexy build up, they're just idiots

-----

"Stop looking at me like I'm a nag, I haven't even asked my question." "Ask." Dream sighs, refusing to change whatever expression Hob may think is on his face. "Is this...Morpheus. Dream." Hob presses his hands together and breathes deeply, making far too much of a show of all this. "Is this a bloody wedding reception?" Dream goes still. He inspects Hob's face for the slightest indication of his mood. Hob had assured that he would not be angry no matter the answer, but humans are fickle. "It is a diplomatic occasion to ensure that the other realms recognize you officially as my consort, thus ensuring-" "Yeah. No. I heard what you described it as when you first asked - or told - me I was coming. But are we saying consort as in a long time companion? Or consort as in, specifically, the wedded spouse of a monarch? Because I've been mingling - as one does at parties - and all the congratulations and condolences I'm receiving make it sound an awful lot like we got married while I wasn't paying attention, Dream."

#Dreamling #WIP snippets #my fic #theyre stupid your honor but mostly Dream is stupid

[wikiangela]

several sentence sunday

tagged by @hippolotamus

sooo bucktommy won me over, i couldn't resist anymore 🙈 so here's a bit of them after their date lol just to be clear, im still 10000% about buddie but im gonna enjoy this while it lasts bc I feel like this is exactly what buck needs rn lol I just wanna write him be giddy and stupid and flustered about a boy even if that's not eddie haha (also, I didn't get the Tommy hype before but after seeing him everywhere for two days... I get it now 🥵)

___

"(...) We should do this again.” Tommy says, turning fully towards Buck, and Buck’s eyes immediately find his lips. He can’t wait to kiss him again, and this would be the time, at the end of the date, wouldn’t it?

“We should.” Buck nods, licks his lips, eyes darting up to Tommy’s eyes. He’s smiling softly, just looking at Buck. “I-” he starts, and then thinks, fuck it, and this time he makes a move, as he leans across the console to grab Tommy’s chin, like he did Buck’s in his kitchen, and bring him in for a kiss. Tommy immediately reciprocates, and Buck melts against him, and then when Tommy’s calloused hand covers his cheek, it just feels so- so different, in the best way possible. This kiss lasts longer than the first one, each of them constantly coming back for more, but it’s as gentle and tender as that one. Buck loves it, and can’t help smiling into it. He wants more. “Hey.” Buck says, finally pulling away, licks his spit-covered lips nervously. “Do you- do you maybe wanna come in for a beer?” he asks shyly, and at Tommy’s surprised expression and raised eyebrow he realizes it might sound like he’s inviting him for more than a beer, and he panics again. “I- I- I mean, just a beer. And maybe- maybe more of this.” he pecks Tommy’s lips again, not able to resist a smile. “But just a beer. I don’t think I’m- But who knows, maybe-” he stumbles over his words, because the truth is, he wants Tommy, he wants… he wants so much, he wants to experience so much for the first time – it’s just that he’s not sure if it’s not too quick for this relationship, and for him.

“Evan.” Tommy interrupts, bringing his other hand up, now cradling Buck’s face in both, thumbs moving soothingly along Buck’s cheeks. “Your pace, remember? No pressure, no rush.”

“You’re really cool, you know that?” Buck whispers.

“So I keep hearing.” Tommy chuckles, and it’s adorable. He kisses Buck again, and the butterflies in Buck’s stomach go crazy. Fuck, he doesn't remember the last time he felt this giddy and excited and just light. “I’d love to come in for a beer.”

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @thebravebitch @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @watchyourbuck @eowon @loserdiaz @evanbegins @ladydorian05 @wildlife4life @diazpatcher @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @thewolvesof1998 @neverevan @weewootruck @loveyouanyway @spagheddiediaz @rainbow-nerdss @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @spotsandsocks @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @nmcggg @rogerzsteven @giddyupbuck @sunshinediaz @honestlydarkprincess @underwater-ninja-13 @exhuastedpigeon @911-on-abc @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @theotherbuckley @buddieswhvre @dangerpronebuddie @diazsdimples @daffi-990 @bidisasterbuckdiaz @fortheloveofbuddie @hoodie-buck @tizniz @your-catfish-friend

#seven sentence sunday #no one look at me i gave in i'm officially boarding the bucktommy ship lmao (as in for now lol my heart will always belong to buddie ofc) #ngl i kinda hate like half of what i wrote so far and really wanna rewrite it but we'll see haha #also i still have mixed feelings about tommy calling buck evan but it's growing on me ngl #this is insane what is going on why is tommy/lou just taking over and changing my whole mind rn lmao #I just want buck to be all giddy and flustered and explore this and just be excited about it aahhh im obsessed lol #fic snippet #wikiangela writes #my writing #my wips #911 fic #911 abc #bucktommy #tommy kinard #evan buckley #bucktommy post-date fic #idk how to tag this lol #btw the beer will lead to some heavy making out bc buck deserves to make out with a cute guy lol

[bluedalahorse]

Does anyone else ever post their unfinished fic excerpts?

I was talking to @frogprincesnowglobe about unfinished fics from like, Fall/Winter 2021 last night, and then I showed her a little bit, and then she peer pressured me to post an excerpt. And I was feeling brave. SO I AM GONNA POST IT.

Some notes as to how this all came to be:

In summer/fall 2021 I’d just seen YR and it took over my brain. Because I’d been exposed to a lot of verse novels at grad school, I decided to write a fanfic in verse where Sara dates August with the purpose of going “undercover” and getting revenge on him. But these are teenagers so also some ~complicated feelings~ happen along the way. But also, there is a kind of revenge. I do love a good revenge narrative.

The fic I mentioned above Sara’s POV (and I did finish it and post it) but then I decided to do like a B side fic from August’s POV? That’s what this excerpt comes from. It’s in prose, because I also have been known to write prose.

Even right after season 1 finished, I was fairly certain that Sara and August were going to have some sort of romantic relationship in season 2 and he was going to fall in love with her and be absolutely swooning all over her in an unexpected way, so I kept trying to write that out to see exactly how it would play out. In the scene I’m posting below, she has just dumped him, and it’s totally upended his emotional world and he is very sad.

Eventually this fic was supposed to culminate in August turning himself in, though it wasn’t being dumped by Sara that was going to cause him to do that, at least not on its own. There were going to be Many Factors involved.

August griping about his stepdad is never not amusing to me.

Another plot point in this fic is that once upon a time, August’s mom and the queen had a secret sapphic relationship when they were teen girls at Hillerska. And now that’s all coming to the surface as the family tries to contain the scandal of the video and everything.

Anyway, I find this snippet of fic to be a SUPER interesting relic of like, my interpretation of August as a character right after I saw the show, possibly before season 2 was even announced. No, I don’t know why he’s the easiest character for me to write. He always has been, though.

Anyway. There’s not enough of the fic to make it an AO3 one shot and some of the canon is now contradicted anyway. I’m going to put the snippet behind a cut, because it’s long and because I know not everyone’s personal choice is to read August POV. That’s valid! But it’s here if you’re interested in reading more/seeing a glimpse of how I wrote before I de-lurked in the fandom.

After Sara leaves, August is a silent, seismic column of anger. First, he texts her. His messages plead, then compliment, then insult. No response arrives. For hours August paces through the hallways of the house, drawing power through its aging frame, until he’s hot like an overcharged battery. He dreams up every kind of revenge he can imagine: rumors he could spread about secrets Sara never told him, crude nicknames based on things they never did together, photos of her he could leak online that he never took. Except, none of it is based on the truth. Not like the actual truth of what he did to her brother. Anything he does, anything he says, she can throw that back at him by telling everyone about the video and turn him in. She probably will, soon. Or she’ll try.

And then August will have to tell everyone about Simon selling the drugs. 

And then Sara will hate him even more.

The energy builds and builds inside of him, sparking like Tesla coils, but it has nowhere to go. All his answers to questions from Mamma and Rickard are one, two, three terse words. More like growls. He rips up old math tests as he clears out his school bag, and doesn’t care, smashes glass bottles as he takes out the recycling, and doesn’t care. He runs and runs and runs until he’s sure he’s done something to his knee but he keeps running anyway. Then on the final day of the long weekend he’s packing to go back to school, cleaning his toiletries out of the bathroom. It’s there that he finds a cluster of Sara’s hair elastics tied together with a ribbon in Hillerska red, and starts to cry.

He hasn’t cried for over a year. The crying is sudden and violent and convulsive, battering his entire body, forcing him to double over, to brace his hand against the wall for support. There are no single, silent, stoic teardrops. August can’t stand upright anymore, and he can’t touch enough of his face that he stops it from happening, so he sinks to the bathroom floor and lets it happen to him. On the other side of the wall he probably sounds just like his Pappa used to.

The real truth, one of a series of truths: he doesn’t want to hurt Sara. He’s thought of a thousand ways he could, but he won’t, because he loves how insistent she is that animals are better than people, loves how fussy she gets over table settings. He loves the few times they’ve shown one another childhood memories, like rough unfinished rocks, and the way they found beauty in the roughness without trying to polish everything over into meaningless crystal platitudes. He even loves Sara’s nobility—a new kind—nobility that has nothing to do with her birth, that instead erupted in the fierce defense of her brother and friends that ended things between them.

So August cries about Sara, because he already misses her, and underneath that he misses Pappa and Erik too, so he cries for them the way he hasn’t, yet. He cries for his mother, for all the pain she carries and hides every day. August cries for Wilhelm, because he understands now what it’s like to have a person you didn’t expect to feel so much for. He and Wille could have been friends, helped each other through this, joked about both falling hard and fast for Hillerska’s working class misfit siblings and how did they manage to coordinate that? Except that the timeline doesn’t work out, and Wille and Simon can’t be together because of what August himself did, and it can’t work because of what August believes to be true about the order of the world. At one point, August tries to tell himself that it’s Simon and Felice’s fault that everything is his fault, that it’s their fault that he leaked the video and spent last term being a dick, except, that isn’t true either. So he cries for himself, and what he’s let himself become.

He’s still crying when his mother finds him and sits down at his side. He’s too big for her to rock but she rocks him anyway, calls him mitt barn in a way he can’t remember her doing before. But she must have done it once, because something about it feels familiar. Mamma takes the hair ties out of August’s hand, gently. She looks at them with understanding before pressing them back into his palm.

“You really love her, don’t you?” Mamma says.

August nods against his mother’s shoulder, surprised and grateful that she knows to use the present tense. He thinks he’ll just leave it at that, and not say anything more, until his thoughts escape him just like the tears did.

“I don’t know why I feel something so grown up,” he says, “But now I’m acting like a bratty little kid about it. This crying is stupid. It all hurts and it’s so stupid.”

“You’re not even twenty yet.” Mamma lifts his chin and looks him in the eye. “That’s what it’s like at your age.” As he looks away, she adds, “That’s what it was like for me, too.”

“Does it stop?” August asks.

“Not really.” Mamma squeezes around his shoulders. “You’ll learn to push it down so it doesn’t bother you. And you’ll meet other people after high school, I promise.”

She looks up at the door, where Rickard is standing with a glass of water. How long has he been standing there, August wonders? Ordinarily August would glare or yell, but the inside of his mouth and his throat feel like cracked dry earth, so he takes the glass when his stepfather offers it to him.

Everything is surreal and quiet for a moment as August drinks. When the glass is empty, Mamma asks if he’s finished packing for Hillerska, and reminds him that he’ll need to go to bed early so they can be on the road before there’s too much traffic.

“Don’t make me go back to school,” he says. “Please. Not tomorrow, anyway.”

“You’ll be fine.” Something about his request is upsetting his mother. “You need school. You’ve never missed a day in your life.”

“Why not let him, if it’s just this once?” says Rickard, as if he belonged in this conversation at all.

“There’s a practical concern,” says Mamma. “I won’t be able to drive him back after tomorrow. My schedule’s tied up until—but maybe if I move things around I could—”

“I can take him.” Rickard nods toward August. “If that’s alright with you?”

“That’s fine,” August says.

Mamma looks back and forth between the two of them, bewildered. August thinks it shouldn’t be that hard for her to understand: if he’s going to be a miserable mess anyway, he may as well be stuck in a car with boring Rickard for a few hours.

Two days later, that’s exactly where they are. Rickard keeps his eyes on the road while August stares out the window, not even bothering to focus on the landscape. The trees and fields are so monotonous it’s easy to slip out of the world entirely, to let one’s mind go blank and detach from one’s body. Every time August notices it happening, he wonders if that’s what happened to Erik: no thoughts, only metal and fuel and velocity and oblivion.

“I promise I’m not trying to replace your father,” Rickard says, interrupting August’s imagination. “But if you need to talk to anyone about what happened with Sara—”

“No.”

“I thought so. In that case, I promise not to put on a breakup playlist. Though I did search for you. They had some inspired options on Spotify.”

“No.” A fucking breakup playlist, what the fuck. “You’re so annoying.”

“At least I’m consistent.”

August hates how in a way, the consistency helps.

The atmosphere in the car changes as they hit familiar stretches of evergreen forest and turns in the road that August recognizes. Soon the austere stones of Hillerska are visible between tree branches and, in spite of everything, August feels a surge of—not power, but possibility and control, at least. It’s like Mamma says: you need school. Even if he has to see Sara there. If August sticks to a schedule, attends all his classes, stays on top of his prefect duties, keeps playing the model student that the crown wants him to be, well. If he does all that and makes it through graduation, maybe he’ll finally be able to put everything behind him.

At school, August can put his armor back on.

He just can’t pretend that the armor is his skin anymore.

#young royals #august young royals #sara young royals #sargust #i mean i guess it’s sargust they are broken up here #my fic snippets #a fandom time capsule of sorts #this isn’t meant for ao3 but it may as well live here!

[alwaysxlarrie]

alright sooo this will be my last snippet for a while! i’m posting my first girl direction fic this week, so i wanted to share one last piece of it before i officially post it. thank you to @larrieblr & @momrryrights for the tags!!

for the first line challenge: “It wasn’t that Harry had never tried; she had tried, and multiple times at that.”

(rules are to post the first line of your wip & tag as many people are there are words. which the fic is done but i’m still doing final edits, so i’m gonna say it counts hehe)

& here’s the snippet:

“After a few more thrusts though, the same thing happened again. There was pleasure, and it felt great, but nothing was continuing to build. Throwing her head back, she finally allowed herself to groan in frustration. She didn’t want to accept the fact that it wasn’t working, but she was quickly realizing she had no other choice.

She had to swallow her pride and call Louis.

Her hand scrambled for her phone that she may or may not have had left purposefully near her in case this issue arised. She’d put it out of her mind beforehand in order to convince herself that she could do it, but she was humble enough to admit defeat when it looked her in the eye. Or, well, she was humble enough to acknowledge that she needed help. Was that the same thing as admitting defeat? That seemed like it was something to figure out another day.

She grabbed the phone with the hand that she hadn’t been using to finger herself, went to her contacts, found Louis’ number, and pressed call as quickly as she could. She didn’t want to lose the euphoric energy that was coursing through her body, even if it was low level and not building up to anything; she didn’t know how long it would take to get that feeling back. Her heart was racing from nerves and exertion, though; her chest was heaving, her fingers were shaking, and her thighs were trembling. She was a bit excited from anticipation, but she wasn’t sure how to feel that this was how she instinctively reacted to why she was calling Louis.

Louis picked up on the second ring. “Hi, love!”

“Louis.” Harry gasped.

“Harry? Are you alright, babe?” Louis asked, her tone went from cheerful to concerned quickly.

“Yes - no - I don’t know. I need your help.” Harry floundered, she didn’t know how much she should admit yet, let alone how much she wanted to admit.

“Oh? What do you need my help with?”

“You know! I, uh. I tried. You know?” Her eyes were darting around her room, her face was various shades of beet red from embarrassment.

“You tried? You tried to wh - Oh.”

“Um. Yeah. And, like. I tried my best, I really did, but it’s still not working.” Harry whined.

Louis hummed. “What did you try, baby?””

ok gotta tag 15 people: @allwaswell16 @lululawrence @2tiedships2 @wabadabadaba @justalarryblog @gaycousinlarry @parmahamlarrie @princelyharry @kingsofeverything @brightgolden @beckydoesthings @littleroverlouis @jacaranda-bloom @disgruntledkittenface @crinkle-eyed-boo

#my fic snippets #sunday snippets #sunday snippet #my snippet #my snippets #girl direction #ahhh i’m excited for this #kinda nervous kinda excited

[trudemaethien]

For the wip ask: how about 'dizzy' or 'confused'

There are no instances of “dizzy” in my wips; plenty of confused people, though. 😁

——wireplay

“You think Cassian could use a hand with your maintenance?” she asked, still confused.

——id porn

She sighs. “Oh, hell. I’m sorry, Corr. I’m just being paranoid, probably. Since the whole mess with Falla, I’ve just been on edge.”

“Falla? Who? What happened? I don’t know a Falla,” Corr says, confused. Ordo would have said.

“New girl, Falla Jun? The day before yesterday in the caf break room… Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

He just stares at her with a confused frown marring his face.

“Oh, you’re good. Tell me who’s running you so I can poach you from them,” she says next, leaning close.

——disaster triad

“So you’ve worked it out, between the two of you, have you?” Rex asks.

Cody and Fox both say yeah like it’s obvious, and Rex snorts. “So who won?” They look at each other and then him, confused. “Which of you should I—” he cuts himself off.

“Oh,” Fox says, realizing, “no, Rex’ika, not like— we’ve made up between ourselves. You should get to do whatever you want to.”

——

There’s Hevy and Cutup, walking next to each other, deep in conversation. He comes up behind them, not close enough to intrude on their conversation, but when they sit, he slides in next to them and opens his meal like it’s the most commonplace mealtime they’ve ever shared.

Both of them are looking at him with wide eyes when he glances up, inquiring. “Yes?” he asks, a bite of food already in his mouth.

“What the fuck,” Cutup says succinctly, staring at him. He looks down at his hands, his tray and himself, then back up at his vod, as though confused.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, keeping all the hilarity that wants to spill onto his face way deep down.

Hevy points at him accusingly, almost knife-handing. “Droidbait,” he says, firmly. “You know what the fuck is wrong. Where the fuck have you been?”

——time travel

In his dream, someone from the temple had a firm, established bond to him. It felt like— it felt like— an apprentice, but not in the manner he himself had been an apprentice. This bond was not chains. It felt like tree roots and mechanical conveyors between them. Snatches of language he does not know, memories he cannot recall, laughter and gentle scrape of claws. Metal, ringing against his horns.

Confused, he rubs sleep out of his eyes and tests reality.

It’s real.

Thrumming gently between his teeth and around the tips of his horns, childish energy ripples. He lowers his eyelids, turns toward the Temple.

The thread of connection unspools from him to the crèche of his enemies. The feelings that come from the other end are unquenchable curiosity, fierce devotion, determination to survive in a cruel world, and lust for life. He likes the youngling already, in spite of himself.

#wip guessing game #ask answered #indira-korr #cassian/K2/jyn #bescorrdo #focorex #domino squad #maul & grogu #my fic snippets #tru babble

[prince-liest]

Vox's priorities are SO intact.

#personal #my writing #writing snippets #hazbin hotel #radiostatic #static radio #me: I'M HOME!!! TIME TO REST!!!! #also me: [sat here and forgot to eat for an hour while I turned all my mental radiostatic fic notes from my drive into words]

[munsonkitten]

Steve hovers.

Eddie doesn’t really blame him. Not after what happened last time.

He doesn’t trust himself either, not really.

So Steve hovers in Eddie’s space while they assemble their weapons. Eddie’s on Molotov duty this time around, pouring kerosene into glass bottles that Steve holds steady. He took over Robin’s task with one look between her and Steve, and one clap on Eddie’s shoulder accompanied by a ‘you’re with me, Munson.’ Robin’s over with Nancy and Max now, counting ammo and loading guns.

Steve follows Eddie when he says he has to go take a leak, following him through Hopper’s new front door and down the hall to the bathroom. He follows Eddie just about everywhere these days, never letting him out of his sight.

It’s a bit annoying, the complete lack of privacy. Well, not complete, as Steve stands on the other side of the closed door, but still not much either. It feels like Steve can hear his every breath, every shuffle of his feet against the linoleum floor.

He pulls down his jeans, sits down on the cold porcelain seat and drops his face into his hands. His hair falls forward, and he knows he should find a hair tie to pull it back at some point, but he hasn’t done that yet. He doesn’t want to think about the looming battle. He doesn’t want to get ready for it.

“You know,” Steve says when Eddie comes back out of the bathroom. “No one would blame you if you just hightailed it out of Hawkins. If you go find Wayne and keep him safe, you know.”

“What, and leave you all behind? I’d be the asshole of the century, Harrington,” Eddie mutters, wiping his hands on his pants.

“Eddie, you almost—”

“I know, Steve,” Eddie snaps. “I know. I almost fucking died last time. Okay, but what? I should just run while all my friends are dying here? Because that’s what’s gonna happen, you know that, right? We’re all going to fucking die, and I’m just supposed to, what? Be completely alone after you all do and I don’t?”

Steve doesn’t say anything, just crosses his arm over his chest, and shrugs.

“Say I should leave again and I’ll kill you myself,” Eddie says, pushing past Steve with enough force to push him into the wall.

Then he stops, shakes his head, and turns. Steve’s still standing there with his arms crossed protectively over his body. There’s a quickly masked hurt expression on his face when Eddie first looks at him, and his heart breaks in two. He shouldn’t be fighting with Steve, not when he’s just trying to save him.

He sees it on his face, clear as day, that Steve doesn’t want to have to carry Eddie’s lifeless body out of the Upside Down again. Especially not now when they’ve had a year to get close and become friends. When Steve spent weeks after that first time trying to nurse Eddie back to health, hidden away in his big empty house, keeping Eddie a secret from the outside world, all while learning secrets about Eddie in the process.

They’ve become close, and Eddie shouldn’t be fighting with him when this could be their last day on earth.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Eddie says. “I didn’t — I don’t mean that. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Probably not,” Steve agrees. “But it’s okay that you did. I won’t mention it again.”

“Really, I’m — I’m sorry, man,” Eddie says. “I don’t know what got into me.”

“You’re stressed out, man,” Steve says, like it’s so simple, like it excuses what Eddie just said to him. “Once I told Henderson I was gonna knock his teeth into his skull. Shit happens.”

Eddie covers his face with his hands and takes a breath. He’s not a violent person, but he is stressed. He doesn’t think he’s ever had very many good outlets for his feelings other than music, but he hasn’t been able to listen to the stuff he wants to at the volume he prefers the last few days, not with everyone congregating in one place, cooped up in Hopper’s new house. He doesn’t have his guitar, doesn’t even have a notebook to write lyrics into.

Everyone’s a little bit snappish. Everyone’s scared. They’ve all said things they don’t mean, turned around and hugged it out with tears in their eyes. He saw it happen being El and Hopper earlier, saw it between Max and Mike yesterday. Even Nancy, always so calm and collected, yelled at Jonathan for moving her shoes.

Now it seems like it’s Steve and Eddie’s turn.

“C’mere, man,” Steve says softly, opening his arms up for Eddie.

Eddie falls into his embrace, lets Steve wrap himself around him.

It seems like, over the last year, they’ve both been finding reasons and excuses to touch each other. Eddie used to pretend there was something on Steve’s shirt just so he could run his fingers over his chest. Steve used to tell Eddie, long after his wounds healed, that he wanted to look at the scarring on his back to make sure everything was still looking okay. It would result in tender caresses that sent shivers down Eddie’s spine.

It’s never been stated. It’s never been acknowledged.

They never talk about the times Steve comes over and crashes in Eddie’s bed with him, pretending to accidentally fall asleep while they’re smoking together, as if Steve doesn’t put on his pajamas and curl up with his head on Eddie’s pillow each time. They never mention the wrestling, down on the ground with Eddie straddled over Steve’s stomach, never mentioning it when Steve flips him over and pins him down with his hands wrapped around Eddie’s wrists.

The hair washing, back when Eddie couldn’t reach above his head. The hair washing even long after Eddie could. The hands over foreheads checking for fevers, the hands spread over matching scars to make sure nothing’s gotten infected, the hand holding between them on the couch during scary movie scenes that don’t actually scare either of them.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says again. “You’re my best friend.”

Steve squeezes him a bit tighter, presses his forehead to Eddie’s. They breathe each other’s air for a second before the front door slams open and they jump apart.

Someone walks through the house, out of their line of sight. Eddie doesn’t know who it is, or where they’re going, but he grabs Steve’s hand and pulls him into the bathroom. He doesn’t want to be seen, not with tears streaming down his cheeks and his hands shaking the way they are.

He wants to be alone with Steve for just a little while longer.

All this hovering and Eddie still can’t get enough of him.

They sit down with their backs against the side of the bathtub, arms brushing between them. Eddie reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

“You’re covered in kerosene, dude,” Steve says, shifting a few inches away from him.

“I washed my hands,” Eddie says around the cigarette in his mouth. He lights it, giving Steve a look that says see? It’s fine when he doesn’t go up in flames.

They sit there for a few seconds before Steve snatches the cigarette out of his fingers.

“I thought you quit,” Eddie says, just like he says every time Steve does this.

“I told you,” Steve says, bringing it to his mouth. “I only smoke when I’m with you.”

“You’re always with me,” Eddie shoots back.

The smile Steve gives in return makes Eddie want to kiss him right here. They don’t do that, though. Eddie… Eddie’s never done that. Never kissed anyone, even though a year ago he said he’d do all the things he wants to do before he dies again. He told himself he wouldn’t die a virgin again, and he laughs to himself now at the memory.

It’s not like he cares about the concept of virginity, or anything. It’s a social construct, and all that, but he’d be a fucking liar if he said he didn’t want to have some kind of sex with someone at some point.

“What’s funny?” Steve asks.

“Not funny, just… You know, it’s like… The last time I almost died, I thought to myself, great, I’m about to die a twenty year old, never-been-kissed virgin, with no high school diploma, and all I’ve ever amounted to in my life is shredding Master of Puppets in hell. Told myself I’d fix all that before I die again.”

Eddie sighs, takes the cigarette back from Steve and brings it to his lips.

“And the only thing that has changed,” Eddie continues as he blows smoke out of his mouth. “Is that I’m twenty-one now instead.”

“Well,” Steve says slowly. “I can’t fix the high school diploma or the whole amounting to anything part of it. But…”

Eddie holds his breath. There’s no way Steve’s about to say it. There’s no way they’re finally going to acknowledge that something is going on between them.

“But,” Eddie repeats. Prompts. Says it so Steve knows he can keep going, that he doesn’t need to be afraid.

“But I could fix the never-been-kissed part. If you wanted me to,” Steve says. “And, um, the rest of it.”

“The rest of it,” Eddie says slowly.

“If you wanted,” Steve says again. He shrugs, looking down at his hands in his lap. “I… If not, that’s — it’s fine. I just thought, you know.”

“Yeah,” Eddie whispers. “I know.”

Silence stretches between them for a few minutes while they finish the cigarette. Eddie drops the butt into the toilet and flushes it. Wayne always gets on him for doing that at home, but what Hopper doesn’t know won’t hurt in the next twelve hours before they all die.

“Fuck it,” Eddie says. He pushes to his feet and offers a hand to Steve. “Let’s go on a supply run.”

“A supply—” Steve starts, confused. He looks at Eddie, the look that Eddie is giving him, the words he’s not saying, as he takes Steve’s hand and pulls him up. Understanding dons on Steve’s face, and then he smirks. “Oh. A supply run. Got it. You… you’re sure?”

Eddie shrugs. “As I’ll ever be.”

Read the rest on AO3

#this is just the beginning btw there is more on ao3 #steddie #steddie snippet #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve/eddie #my fics #steddie fic #stranger things #trans eddie munson

[eddiethehunted]

hi it’s me with yet another snippet from a fic idk if i’ll ever finish 😈

——————

Eddie doesn’t bother knocking anymore. Steve hears the front door open and the distinct sound of Eddie kicking his boots off, probably flicking specks of mud all over the place, before calling out his name.

A smile tugs at his lips as he calls back, “I’m in the kitchen!”

Eddie walks in and jerks to a stop, taking in the sight. Steve had thrown on an apron just to make sure he didn’t get any sauce on his pants or Eddie’s shirt while he was cooking. It’s just an old thing that’s been in the kitchen as far back as he can remember, faded and stained and fraying around the edges. He’s pretty sure it belonged to his grandma before she passed away.

Still, it seems to really do something for Eddie. He clutches at his chest like Steve just shot him point blank, and says, in a wounded voice, “Oh, you devil. You little temptress. You… you…” He trails off, thinking hard as his eyes linger on Steve’s ass. “You coquette. Jezebel. Seductress.”

Steve laughs. “Hi, Eddie.”

“Hello, Stevie,” Eddie replies in an absolutely salacious voice, one that makes delightful little shivers run down Steve’s spine. “God damn, you look hot as fuck. You tryin’ to end this date night early?”

Steve turns away, rolling his eyes, but he’s grinning so big it hurts. “Go pick a movie or something.”

A pair of arms slips around his waist instead, and then there’s the tickle of frizzy hair against his cheek as Eddie hooks his chin over Steve’s shoulder to peek at the lasagna.

“Looks yummy,” he says, punctuating his statement with a lick on the side of Steve’s neck.

It’s not sexy, though, is the thing. It’s actually kind of gross. A little too slobbery and long and annoying. Steve knows Eddie did it on purpose when he groans and shoves him away, wiping at the spit, only to get a cackle and a swift slap to the ass in response.

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #yes another trusty snippet from a fic i’ll never finish but desperately long to publish #this has been in my drafts FOREVER