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charliemwrites · 19 days

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Part 4

Mister(s) Steal Your Girl is, somehow, now the official title. Congratulations you little shits (affectionate).

Content: Toxic Behavior, Brief Weight Shaming, Hurt/Comfort

You didn’t expect to see Johnny much after that one night - or possibly ever again. Kyle introduced you two, it was a lot of fun, but you figure that’ll be the end of it. Like introducing a new man to your girlfriends (not that you can really introduce Kyle to yours) you passed the vibe check and now Kyle will keep you and Johnny separate.

That’s how it’s been with Brandon’s friends. (Granted, you don’t really care for Brandon’s friends. And you figure it’s mutual based on the “uptight” comments they pretended to think you couldn’t hear.)

You’re starting to realize that Kyle is always going to subvert your expectations.

Johnny becomes a fixture - a welcome one. While you and Kyle still have your date nights and privacy, Johnny joins you two at least once a week for movies, drinks, dinner, or just silly adventures out and about.

You’re surprised that you don’t mind. Johnny is fantastic company, always respectful, funny, and friendly. Whenever the two of you are left alone, there’s no dead air. In fact, sometimes you could almost swear there’s electricity. Which is… well. It makes it hard to look him in the eye sometimes - and looking at Kyle even harder.

Guilt nips at your stomach until one of them distracts you with another story you’re 70% sure they shouldn’t tell you.

You and Johnny play a game with pub napkins, doodling something on one folded half, then passing it over for the other to scribble on the second half. The trick is not cheating and seeing the first half, then unfolding it to a complete (and usually silly) picture. Gaz always gets to name whatever monstrosity has been created.

You get a month of that good company. Then Kyle sighs at his phone one night.

“Shipping out again,” he explains when you glance at him.

“Will you be gone long?” you ask, shifting.

His brow furrows. “Not sure. They can’t tell us much over the phone.”

You hum in understanding. Still new to this whole military thing, the redacted danger of it all, but you think you’re getting the hang of it. At least, Kyle never seems annoyed when he can’t answer you, only apologetic.

“Is it gonna be the whole team?” you ask.

“Nah, just me and the cap.” He rubs his palm along your calf, a gesture that you suspect is self-soothing rather than for your benefit. “Probably not too dangerous, then.”

You make a noise of protest, nudging at his thigh with your foot. “Bad luck!”

“Sorry, sorry!” he chuckles, tapping his knuckles on the wooden end table. “You’re right.”

You crawl from your side of the couch to his, nuzzling up under his arm. He trails kisses along the side of your face as you snuggle in.

“I’ll miss you,” you mumble into his neck. Still a little embarrassed to be so needy, but you want him to feel appreciated.

“I’ll miss you too, chickadee. I’ll call if I can, yeah?”

You hum in agreement, squeezing an arm around his middle.

“While I’m gone, if you need anything - even some company - you ought to call Soap,” he adds.

The idea is tempting but… “I don’t want to bother him.”

“I promise you won’t,” he laughs. You don’t know what’s so funny, but hearing his voice rumble in his chest like this is always a treat.

“Maybe,” you allow.

“We’ll take it.” Before you can ask what that means, he loops an arm around your waist and scoops you into his lap. “Now then, about my send off.”

Your giggle turns into a moan as his mouth slants over yours.

Kyle’s only been gone three days. You’ve occupied yourself with cleaning up the flat you share with Brandon. Dust has been collecting since you’ve been out and about so much - and god knows Brandon hardly does more than load the dishwasher. Besides, a good bit of spring cleaning is a pleasant enough distraction, humming as you toss out old things to make more room for the new stuff you’ve been collecting.

“Good to see you getting back to normal,” Brandon says cheerfully. You glance up from the laundry you’re folding. He continues, “I was worried with how behind you got on things, but I knew you just needed some time. I told you this would be better for us both.”

You try not to let that sting. Even if things are better now, and continuing to get better, you can’t forget the pain that lingers from the beginning.

“Tell you what,” he adds, hands in his pockets. “When you finish cleaning up, I’ll take you out to the pub, yeah? Put on something pretty.”

You perk up, pleasantly surprised, though hesitant.

“We could leave earlier if you helped,” you point out, hoping for more than just dinner. “Maybe we could walk in the park or something before eating.”

He gives you a weak smile. One you recognize more than his real one by now. It’s almost apologetic, but not quite.

“I would but I’m bloody exhausted from this week, ya know? Big projects coming up at work.”

Your smile freezes. “And some late nights, I’m sure,” you try to joke.

He doesn’t laugh like you expect, but gives you an odd look. “Why would you say something like that?”

Baffled, you shrug. He shakes his head.

“I’m going to take a nap, come wake me up when you’re ready to go.”

You manage to finish the majority of your to-do list by 5. Shower, get dressed, do your hair and makeup with Brandon snoring in the background until 6. By then, he still hasn’t woken up from his nap, so you perch on the edge of the bed and gently nudge at him until he stirs.

“I’m ready to go, babe,” you murmur.

He scrunches up his face - you spare an affectionate thought for how cute it is. You’ve always found it cute.

“Five more minutes,” he grumbles.

You laugh a little. “It’s getting late, we should probably head out.”

He groans. “Five. Minutes.”

You huff in amusement and reach for his phone to set an alarm, but pause at all the notifications from dating apps crowding his screen. There are… a lot. And as you’re looking, a new message pops up, just labeled “blonde” with a peach emoji. Gross.

You set the alarm and slip away to the living room.

It takes him another half hour to finally rouse, shuffling into the living room with a groan.

“C’mon,” he yawns. “It’s going to be bloody crowded by now.”

You follow him quietly to the car, knowing he’s not chatty when he’s just woken up. Hunger only adds to his mood; you can practically see a cloud forming over his head. By the time he pulls up to the pub, he’s downright grumpy. He grumbles about shit parking, and the milling people outside. It looks busy.

“We could go somewhere else?” you suggest.

“This is fine,” he says.

He parks a block away and starts at a swift pace. You try to hold his hand, but halfway there, he pulls away to check his phone and doesn’t take it again.

Surprisingly, it’s only a twenty minute wait for a table - but Brandon sneers something like “of course it is” under his breath. You smile apologetically at the hostess and usher him away.

He doesn’t talk during the wait, at first. Until suddenly he blurts. “We wouldn’t have to wait if you’d woken me up.”

You blink at him. “I did. You asked for five more minutes.”

“Well, why didn’t you wake me up then?”

“I set an alarm?”

You don’t know why he’s so irritated, just that he seems tired and hungry.

“You know I don’t listen to alarms,” he complains, scowling at the sidewalk.

“Okay… I’ll wake you up next time,” you offer.

“Yeah, next time.”

Thankfully, the two of you are called a little early. The pub is indeed loud and crowded, and you’re definitely overdressed. But at least you know what you want - Brandon’s taken you here a million times before.

Wisely, you wait until he’s downed the texmex rolls before trying for conversation again. He hums along as you talk about work, about the books you’ve been reading, about the new movie you saw last week. You think it’s going pretty well, catching up on each other’s lives, when he interrupts you mid-sentence.

“Where was this?”

You frown. “At the grocery store…?”

“You’re still on that? Thought we moved on from that story.”

You don’t bother finishing it, just ask him about his work. It’s like pulling teeth. A lot of “good” and “busy” and “same as usual.” By the time your entree comes, you’ve given up, not sure if you want to cry or just walk away to see if he even notices. He keeps checking his phone. Your fingers twitch to text Kyle, but you don’t want to bother him while he’s working.

The end of dinner can’t come sooner. You decline dessert when the server asks.

“Probably for the better,” Brandon tells you lowly when they’re gone to get the check. “I think you’ve put on a bit of weight. You know how you get.”

You probably have - Kyle has a sweet tooth and practically begs you to split desserts with him. Johnny’s shares his food with you now too, grinning when you express approval for whatever high-protein dish he’s picked and shoving more at you.

As for “how you get”… Brandon’s mentioned in the past when you were heavier that you get mopey, aren’t much fun to be around.

(A small part of you wonders how that would even effect him at this point. He doesn’t spend enough time around you to notice if you’re mopey. Is that why tonight has been such a disaster…?)

You just collect your purse and lead the way out of the pub. It’s a quiet walk back to the car, even though Brandon seems to be in a better mood. He’s still texting, nearly bumps into an elderly couple along the way.

Back at the apartment, he runs his hand down your side, tugs at the lace hem of your shirt.

“Careful,” you chide.

He sucks his teeth and drops his hand. “I’m just trying to be playful.”

“I know, but I like this shirt.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’ve got three just like it.”

You don’t answer, know it’ll lead to more useless bickering. Just tug the stupid thing over your head, ready to go to bed.

“Hey now, that’s more like it,” he drawls, fingertips running down your spine.

You jump, surprised, but play it off that his hands are cold. He makes some crass comment about warming them up, reaching for your breasts, and your stomach churns.

“I-I think I ate something bad,” you lie, all but sprinting for the bathroom.

You close the door behind you - but don’t lock it. Just sit on the floor, the wall cold against your back, while you try to breathe through your spinning, conflicting thoughts.

He’s finally giving you attention, affection. Why aren’t you jumping at this opportunity to spend time with him? Not long ago, you would have been weeping with joy to have an iota of your normal relationship back. Maybe you really did eat something bad.

“Hey,” Brandon calls through the door, “I’m gonna stay somewhere else tonight.”

You stare at the blank white wood, aghast. “But I’m sick.”

“It’s not like I can do much, is there? Except listen to you be sick all night,” he reasons. “And who knows. Maybe it wasn’t something you ate. Maybe it’s contagious. I don’t want to spend the weekend ill.”

Your eyes burn. He didn’t even open the door to check. “Yeah,” you agree, voice robotic, “you’re right.”

Not even five minutes later, you hear the front door close. That almost, almost does you in. You manage to keep your lackluster dinner down, but not the tears.

You let yourself be pathetic for a few minutes, crying into your arms, folded over your knees. When you finally manage to get yourself together, it’s not Brandon you ache for. It’s Kyle. It’s not possible, you know. You just don’t want to be alone even though the nausea is dissipating.

Sighing, you remove your ruined makeup and wash your face, climb into one of Kyle’s jumpers. At least it still smells like him. It’s only as you’re trying to decide on a comfort show, huddled into a ball on the couch, that you remember his advice.

It takes all of fifteen seconds of debate before you scramble for your phone.

I know it’s late, but are you free, you text Johnny.

A response comes almost immediately.

Always for you, lass. You bite your lip on a tiny smile, already feeling better. Your phone buzzes again. What’s up?

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard for a moment as you figure out what to ask - then how to ask it.

Would you want to come to mine for movies? I don’t feel good…

He answers instantly again. Ice cream not-good or Theraflu not-good?

You sniffle when you remember that being sick was a dealbreaker for your night with Brandon.

Ice cream not-good, you reply.

Say no more, hen. Be there in fifteen. Pick a good one.

You watch TikTok’s until there’s a knock at the door. Upon answering, you’re swept up in a bear hug that lifts you off your socked feet.

“Johnny!” you cry, laughing a bit in shock.

“There she is!” he crows, swinging you around. “Been missin’ my best girl!”

You tell yourself the thrill in your stomach is just from him setting you down. (It’s a harder sell when it happens again seeing his wide smile and warm blue eyes.)

“You're ridiculous,” you huff, “I’m not your best girl.”

He arches his eyebrows. “Oh, yer keepin’ track, are ye?”

“C’mon, you must have a partner or something?” you prod as you usher him inside.

“Kyle must’ve told ye, hen, it’s hard in this line of work,” he explains, shrugging. “Tried before but… usually they just end up feeling neglected, ya ken.”

You hum. That’s why Kyle said you and he would work so well with the open relationship - that you’d still have someone at home while he was out. That you wouldn’t be alone if something happened to him.

“Anyway, this is no kinda talk for a cozy night in, now is it?” Johnny says, cutting your melancholy musing short. “Come look at what I brought ya!”

You only notice then the two grocery bags in one hand. He herds you to the couch and sets them on the coffee table for you to root through.

“My favorite!” You exclaim when you extract the tub of ice cream.

The grin Johnny shoots you is proud. “Kyle said so.”

“You two,” you sigh happily.

He’s also brought a squishy stuffed animal, crisps, popcorn, soda, candy, and a small collection of self-care items. You hold the face-masks up with a questioning smile.

“Heard somewhere that it’s good for ye, when yer feelin’ down.” You try not to giggle when the last word comes out sounding like “doon.” He continues, blissfully ignorant. “Hope that’s the right shite, there was a lot to choose from.”

You throw your arms around him, chest warm. “Thank you, this is perfect, Johnny.”

He circles his arm around your waist, holding you close. “Anytime, bonnie,” he murmurs into your hair.

You squeeze his shoulders as you pull away, waving one of the mask packets with a wicked little smile.

“Wanna try this ‘shite’ with me?” you tease.

You expect a resounding and masculine-heavy no. Instead, Johnny tilts his head consideringly for a moment, then shrugs.

“Eh, why the hell not?”

You wake up the next morning to a mess of candy wrappers, discarded moisturizers, and an empty carton of ice cream. And the smell of eggs. Cartoons are playing quietly on the telly. When you yawn and sit up, you’re greeted by a cheerful Johnny at the stove, wearing your pink apron.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” he calls.

You flush and smile back, glad that you called him. “Mornin’!”

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #misters steal your girl #kyle gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mactavish #Brandon the crash dummy

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childotkw · 2 months

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I’d love to read a dark Harry fic (but like a good one). Would you ever consider writing a dark Harry? Like riddle persuades Harry to join his dark side? Maybe they went to school together or something… or just any other hp/tr fics tbh I love your work sm xx

I might pinch the beginning of Dig Two Graves for this one, but I was thinking -

Harry and Tom attended Hogwarts together, and their rivalry was the stuff of legends. They pushed each other to new heights, nipping at the other’s heels in each class, and the teachers despaired as much as they celebrated the wonders it did for the boys’ grades.

Both mistreated orphans, both from old, respected families (though it takes time for Tom to find his), both powerful halfbloods.

Their differences only just outshone their similarities.

Everyone agreed - quietly, of course, because heaven forbid one of them hears - that if fate had been kinder, Harry Potter and Tom Riddle would have been the best of friends.

And the funny thing? They actually were.

In between their sniping and duels and mean smiles, these two boys succumbed to the draw they felt to each other. Orbiting, never quite colliding but still basking in the presence of the only other one in the world that seemed to see them.

They kept it hidden. Something special, private. A friendship they treasured but were unwilling to share with the world because it was theirs.

Late nights studying in the library turned to idle plans of their future. The places they would travel to, the magics they would learn.

Harry doodled maps and routes they would follow on the backs of his parchment. Tom daydreamed of the power he would wield and the Harry-shaped shadow that was forever at his side.

But they were young, and stupid, and good things never lasted for people like them.

Myrtle Warren died in an accident, and Tom panicked.

He then made a mistake that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Harry was sent to Azkaban for murder, and Tom was the one who put him there.

Across the channel, Gellert Grindelwald awakened from the most vivid prophetic dream he had ever experienced. He’d laid there gasping, still blinking away the spots in his vision from the duel with Albus that he lost -

And filled with the bone-deep certainty that he needed to find a boy called Harry Potter.

With the future still ringing in his ears, with the whispers and warnings from Death - not the concept, not the idea, but the being itself - coiling through his mind, Gellert accepted what he must do.

At the very least, he mused, dropping back into his bed and waiting for the pounding of his heart to settle, Albus would never anticipate this.

Three months later, Harry Potter vanished from his cell in Azkaban.

Two years later, Gellert Grindelwald was defeated in battle, clutching his first, original wand.

Ten years later, Tom Riddle returned to Britain, ready to seize the power he had always dreamed of.

And two days after that, the remnants of Grindelwald’s Acolytes, long thought to be disbanded and destroyed, launched an attack on the British Ministry of Magic.

Led by Grindelwald’s apprentice.

And he had waited over a decade to submit his complaint to the Wizengamot.

#anonymous #HP #harry potter #tom riddle #tomarry #Harry knocking on the ministry’s door: yes hello I’d like to speak to the manager pls

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shirozora-draws · 2 months

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I am so late but I am finally done with the first round of merch that I am satisfied with. I am satisfied and we are rolling forward with this set. Now to send off all of my final sample orders so that I know these are absolutely working and are worth posting to a shop site as pre-orders.

Clan of Three lanyards. I recognize that I could easily turn these into washi tapes if I wanted to. We'll see.

Grogu Baby Crimes. Sticker & acrylic shaker charm. Completely revamped after carrying around the old version as an acrylic shaker charm and deciding it was too unwieldy and, more importantly, not cute enough. This will be a sticker option and an acrylic shaker charm option.

Keldabe kiss - Interstellar version. Matte & holographic sticker.

Keldabe kiss - Tatooine version. Matte & holographic sticker.

Live Cheen Reaction. Sticker. For all the fans of Cheen Yofree, the unluckiest third-wheeling Rodian OC.

Need A Hero. Sticker & acrylic charm. The only thing I'm putting forward with Din's face for now. I wanted something cute.

Clan of Two. Sticker. A straightforward general sticker.

The Battle Couple. Sticker (for now). This was actually designed to be an embroidered patch, but I'm not really there yet. The sticker shape is odd so I might present this as a kiss cut sticker.

Luke on Ossus - no scars. Sticker. For people who don't want scars?

Luke on Ossus - scars. Sticker. I just wanted to doodle a thirst trap, thassit.

The Storm. Sticker (for now). I wanted to make more merch for my fics and might use this template for the other fics in the Dangerous Dreams series.

The Clan of Three. Sticker. This motherfucker held me up for MONTHS. I didn't like the previous full-body version especially after getting several sample stickers so I started over... and then got stuck. For months. But here we are. The final piece of the puzzle.

Limited - Tron. Sticker & acrylic charm. I wanted to make a little Tron merch. The acrylic charm will be double-sided with Tron on one side and Rinzler on the other. Thank god this guy is more or less symmetrical.

Limited - Rinzler. Sticker & acrylic charm. For people who like Rinzler. This will be double-sided with Rinzler on one side and Tron on the other side.

I'm sending off a final round of sample sticker and charm orders so that I can get a feel for the revamped and new designs, and once I'm happy I'll get the pop-up shop up and running.

Round 2, I'm looking at small prints, possibly the embroidered patch, and maybe a Tron|Rinzler standee. Also a sticker for The Suns maybe, possibly also The Stars. What if I did a WarGreymon|BlackWarGreymon charm?????

And now.... we write.

#shirozora draws #shirozora's pop-up shop #dinluke #skydalorian #clan of three #clan of two #tron #tron legacy #rinzler #din djarin #luke skywalker #grogu #the mandalorian #star wars #it really took over 2 weeks to finally get myself together and power through the final sticker design #RL and burnout were running me fucking ragged but finally we're here #and finally I can get back to revising the next chapter of The Stars #have an early May deadline to meet lol fuck me

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sometimesanalice · 9 months

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Picture Perfect

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw X Female Reader

Length: 1K

Warnings: angst and a big scoop of feels

(A what-if drabble, set in the ‘Like I Can’ universe. Can be read on its own.)

“Is Bradley my dad?”

It’s the question that's fueled your 3AM thoughts ever since you had your daughter. It’s one you’d hoped you wouldn’t have to answer until she was older, preferably when she could at least pronounce her r's.

It was inevitable, you knew. Something to be noticed at some parent teacher conference or family fun day in the future. That while most kids had a set of parents, your little family- while perfect on its own- was one short of the traditional white picket fence dream.

You just never would have expected it to come so soon.

Your chest twinges as your now-four-year-old looks up at you with her big, open-hearted doe eyes, the ones that didn’t match your own, with vanilla ice cream smeared across her sweet face.

She was a near perfect image to the man seated next to her with his own vanilla ice cream clinging to the coarse hairs of his mustache and smudged on the left corner of his mouth, but whose wide brown eyes were nearly bulging out of his head looking at you like a deer in headlights.

Bradley was the boy who’d known you when you were in pigtails. The teen who had taught you to drive before you’d had your permit. The man you’d cried to when you’d seen the two lines on a positive pregnancy test weeks after a break up with someone who never deserved access to your body, let alone entrance to your heart.

That man had been all too happy to give up any claim to the little someone growing inside of you. The type who’d elected to send checks instead of birthday cards.

Your parents had wanted you to move home to be closer to them, when you’d told them the news and of your decision, but you didn’t think you could bear the whispers or the looks. Even though you’d love growing up there, returning back on your own hadn’t felt right for you.

Bradley was the one who’d convinced you to move to San Diego.

He was the one who had held your hair as you vomited morning, noon, and night during those early months. The one who had taken you out for late night milkshakes with a knowing smile when the baby craved one. The one who had held your hand and wiped your tears. The one who had stayed up late and woke up early and brought you tea and toast as you figured out how to take care of the tiny person who was an unexpected, but entirely perfect, extension of your imperfect self.

It wasn't a daydream you let yourself indulge in. To imagine what it would be like if you and Bradley were you and Bradley. Not separated by three little letters but joined by them instead.

Your tender heart was already too delicate.

He was the devastatingly handsome man who people assumed was her father- your husband, your partner- on your days out together at the beach, at the zoo, at the grocery store, and at the hanger on base when the two of you waited to welcome him home from deployments with handmade signs covered in doodles and dripping in glitter glue.

Your almost family.

He was yours for now, until he had one of his own.

You watch as the startled look on his face flickers and settles into something softer.

“No, sweet girl. Not quite, but-” Bradley starts, his eyes tender as he looks at her.

He’s already done so much for you, but this was something you had to handle on your own. You might crack, but you wouldn’t shatter.

You’re quick jump in, cutting him off, ignoring the twist of your heart in your chest, “No, peanut. He’s just your Uncle Rooster.”

The term didn’t feel big enough for who he was and what he meant to you. But it would have to do.

“Ok,” you daughter chirps with such simple acceptance. The kind that only a child so young can say with such easy unbothered surety, still soft and sheltered from the world.

You release the breath you were holding as her half-melted ice cream cone claims her attention once again. And then give Bradley a small smile, it's too hard to look at him when the sun bounces off of his wavy strands like that, before you turn your focus back on your own scoop of chocolate cherry chip.

There was no doubt in your mind, the question would come up again later. But for now your answer was enough.

Someday there might be another someone who would love you both in equal measure, but you weren’t in a rush to find them. You had all you needed.

You savor the feeling of your sweet ice cream as it melts on your tongue, listening to the waves as they meet the shore. Content in the glow of the setting sun and warmth of being surrounded by your two favorite people.

Your daughter and your Bradley.

Her Uncle Rooster.

Bradley didn’t know what to say when the miniature mirror of you, the one with the same nose that scrunched the same way when she laughed, asked if he was her father.

It was something that came up from time to time when he was lucky enough to tag along with your dynamic duo. Usually from well-meaning grandmas with warm smiles complimenting his lovely family. He’d never felt the need to correct them about the labels because the two of you were his family.

He knew your routines, he knew your likes and dislikes better than his own. He was the one who had been there to see her first smile, to cheer for her when she took her first steps. It was his name and phone number that were listed in the emergency contacts for you and for her.

Being with the two of you was so much more than he’d ever imagined it would be when he’d cradled her in his arms and whispered his promise to alway look after you both the day she was born, as you’d slept soundly next to him in the uncomfortable hospital bed exhausted from your efforts.

But looking at you now with the golden sunset illuminating your face and the little girl next to you kicking her legs as she happily licked her ice cream cone, he liked the promise future he saw in front of him. He loved the potential of what could be.

This could be more, this could be permanent, this could be forever.

It would be more than just a picture perfect moment. It could be such a picture perfect life.

He had been there for it all, he wanted to see it through to the end.

He didn’t want to miss a moment.

He didn’t want to miss his moment.

Bradley hadn’t been entirely sure how he was going to answer when he started speaking, but he knew what he wanted.

With the two of you, he could have it all.

And he’ll never forget the way air had left his lungs and his stomach dropped when you called him Uncle Rooster.

He already knows the what-ifs and if-onlys will be the newest companions to the list of things that keep him up at night.

The sound of the crashing waves was drown out by the ringing in his ears, as his double scoop of vanilla ice cream melted around his fingers steadily dripping onto the cement sidewalk beneath his feet.

The sunlight hitting the two of you is no less golden than it was before as he scooped up your quickly fading daughter from the bench overlooking the beach that the three of you had been sharing, her little arms reaching up for him. The thrill of her fourth birthday and the sugar crash catching up with her after such a big day.

That ache in his hollow chest is soothed by the way she burrows her little face into his neck, her sticky fingers curling into the front of his shirt.

He still could be a dad. He still could be a husband.

Just maybe not hers. Just maybe not yours.

This moment with your daughter snuggled against him and you tucked under his free arm on the way back to the Bronco, was still picture perfect, but only if he didn’t look too close.

The two of you would always be his family, in one way or another, and he hopes he will always belong to yours.

Thank you for reading! Feel free to send @gretagerwigsmuse your therapy bill, this is her fault.

You can read more of my stories here!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

#bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x you #top gun imagine #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw imagine #rooster x reader #rooster x you #rooster x female reader

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oh-stars · 2 months

Text

The Wall

Polaroid

a Stobin Month 2024 prompt | 1167 words | CW: N/A | Rating: G

“I can’t part with it,” Robin says.

Steve stands beside her, hands on his hips. “Me either.”

“We can’t leave it though.”

“But we don’t have space for it at the new place.”

“We’re not living together in the new place,” Robin points out with a sigh.

Steve’s shoulders fall. He keeps forgetting that part. “How do we split it then?”

“I say we don’t and just stay here,” Robin decides. She nods her head once, then claps. “Yup, that’s settled. We’re living here forever.”

“Rob,” Steve sighs, “you know we can’t.”

“Says who? We love this house. It’s our house. Why do we have to leave it?” Robin takes a seat on the floor and stares up at The Wall. Steve doesn’t hesitate to follow, even when his knees pop and protest at the movement. He looks up at The Wall in all its glory, eyes flickering around from one spot to another. It’s their most important wall in the house, their collective prized possession. It’s the most beautiful thing they’ve ever made.

The Wall is the north wall of their living room that connects with the stairs. It’s a boring beige color, but that’s not the important part, it’s what’s on the wall that matters. The very first day Steve and Robin moved into the house, they commemorated the day with a picture using Robin’s brand new Polaroid camera. And since their walls were all bare, they decided to put the picture on this wall that would one day be covered.

He doesn’t remember why they decided to take a picture every day, doesn’t know what possessed them to keep it up for over eight years, but here they are. The wall is covered with almost three thousand polaroids, some better than others, with little dates written on the bottom. The ones celebrating big milestones are the highlights, like special birthdays and graduations or the start of a new job or anniversary, with special attention taken to the doodles along the borders. They even alter the space around them so they sit in little pockets, standing out among the silly and blurred daily shots.

No one else understood why they kept it up, but they’ve never missed a day. Even when traveling, alone or together, they make sure someone took a picture.

And now that they’re moving out of their first home, moving in with their respective partners, the time has come to take it down.

Steve’s more sad to see The Wall go than he is to leave this house and he loves this house. It’s just not big enough for Steve, Eddie, Chrissy, Robin, the cats, and the incoming baby that Chrissy’s carrying for Steve and Eddie. He almost wishes Robin and Chrissy would just stay here, keep the wall up even if they stop taking pictures every day, but Robin didn’t think that was fair. “There’s no way I’m living in this house without you, dingus,” she said, “who would fight the ghost on my behalf?”

The ghost is actually their neighbor’s outdoor cat, Sally, who likes to sneak into their home to play with their cat, Tassel. At first, they thought it was some territory dispute, but it turns out the cats are just star-crossed lovers. So much so that their neighbor’s trying to figure out how Sally can still see Tassel. Steve didn’t peg the old man to be supportive of two lesbian cats, but then again he’s never had a problem with the big rainbow flag hanging in their living room or the fact he’s had to ask Steve and Eddie to keep the noise down a time or two.

Damn, he’s going to miss Nathaniel, too.

“We have to take it down,” Steve says.

“No.”

“Rob.”

“Steve.”

“Would you rather someone else does it?” Steve raises an eyebrow at her.

She rolls her eyes and huffs. “No.”

“Then we have to.”

“Why’d you have to go and make your family bigger, dingus,” Robin whines, leaning into him. “I’m happy to be Aunt Robin and all, and like I know this is what you were meant to do, but it’s really throwing a wrench in our growing old together plan.”

Steve kisses her forehead then rests his cheek against the top of her head. “You’re the one who introduced Eddie and I.”

“And I regret it everyday for him stealing you away from me.”

“Chrissy stole you first.”

“She’s perfect, she can do no wrong,” Robin says. “Eddie’s a gremlin man and took you from me.”

“I resent that,” Eddie says as he and Jonathan walk into the room. The house is pretty bare, minus the big furniture that still needs to be moved tomorrow, but the whole point of today was to take boxes out, yet they’re bringing boxes in. Eddie sets down a box in front of them and opens it to reveal several photo albums.

Jonathan does the same, but he takes out a machine that he plugs into the wall and starts fiddling with.

“What are you doing?” Steve asks.

“We’re here to rescue The Wall,” Eddie says.”

“This is a scanner,” Jonathan explains, “I borrowed it from work. We can take each picture and scan it to make another one and then you both have a copy.”

“And you two can decide who gets the originals but this way neither of you have to cry over losing it anymore.” Eddie holds out identical albums to each of them. “They’re prepped and ready for you to do your thing. But we need to finish this before we call it a day if we want to stay on schedule,” he says.

Steve looks down at the hefty photo album. They’re ornate with little doodles engraved in the leather of ice cream and anchors and VHS tapes and music notes and every other little icon Eddie could come up with to represent the last decade of his and Robin’s friendship. In the center, in what he’s sure is Chrissy’s script, it says “The Wonder Twins Years, Vol. 1” with a blank section to write what dates they can fit into the album.

“Eds,” he whispers.

Eddie darts forward to kiss his cheek. “No more tears, baby.”

Robin sniffles beside him. “Fine,” she huffs, “I guess he can stick around.”

“Was that up for debate?”

“It always was,” Robin says as she heaves herself up. “Dingus, go get the ladder out of the office.”

“On it,” Steve says. He gets up and sets the album on the coffee table. As he passes Jonathan, he squeezes his shoulder. “Thank you.”

Jonathan nods and smiles. “It’s too impressive to destroy,” he says.

Steve’s not sure why he’s surprised that Jonathan, their resident photographer, understands The Wall like he and Robin do, but it still fills him with so much warmth. He excuses himself before he can cry some more. Better to save those tears for when Robin’s decided to go down memory lane with every other picture.

He can’t wait.

Thank you @lady-lostmind for beta reading!

Ao3 Link

#ohstars fic #steve harrington #stranger things #robin buckley #stobin month 2024 #ohstars posting challenge #platonic soulmates stobin #platonic stobin #stobin

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dragonflylady77 · 3 months

Text

Mr Steve and The Monster Hunter

It's finally there, time to post my fic for @bigbangharringrove (thank you mods for all your work for this event!)

I've been working so hard on this one... I even did some doodles of a couple of scenes from it (I might post them once I've posted all 6 chapters).

Art by @adelacreations (so very excited about this!!).

I want to thank @ihni for Olivia’s name, @spaceofentropy for noticing I'd forgotten about Will (oops!) and @akioukun for Cindy’s name

Also on Ao3

Steve gets the surprise of his life when one of his students gets picked up by her father. A man who Steve thought had died on the dirty floor of Starcourt Mall fifteen years ago. Billy Hargrove is alive... and a dad. He runs a security company called HellGrove and he hunts monsters in the Upside Down for a living. When Billy opens a portal into the Upside Down in Robin and Heather’s backyard, Steve follows because he wants answers.

Chapter 1 - Mr Steve isn't a boy

Steve is looking forward to the weekend after a long week teaching six-year-olds. Having the school trip to the zoo the same week as the talent show is not something he’s keen to do again in a hurry and he let his principal know as much.

He smiles as the last of the kids rush past him, waving him goodbye as they squeeze in the doorway before running down the hallway towards the exit, a spring in their step. He notices Olivia is still in the classroom and he walks over to her desk.

“Everything okay, Olivia?” he asks as she shoves the last of her drawings in her backpack. He reminds himself for the hundredth time to ask Robin where she found the Hawkins Lifeguard backpack because he didn’t know such an item existed and he was a lifeguard at Hawkins Community Pool for a few summers, both while he was in high school, and after, during summer breaks from university.

He knows he isn’t supposed to have favorites but Robin and Heather’s daughter is one of the brightest students he’d had in his ten years of teaching elementary school and she is extremely funny to boot, at a level that her classmates usually don’t get.

“Yep, Mr Steve, I’m spending the weekend with my dad so I want to show him all my work.”

“Your dad?” Steve asks, confused. As far as he knows, the little girl only has her two mums. Of course, Steve figures there has to have been a man involved in the process, he did pay some attention in biology class, but he never asked. Heather still scares him a little and he isn’t as close to Robin as they were fifteen years ago.

Nope, not thinking about it.

“Yes, he works a lot all over the country so I don’t see him very much.”

“Then I bet you’re very excited to see him!”

“I haven’t seen him since Christmas, he’s very busy but he rings me when he can,” Olivia says matter-of-factly as she closes her bag.

“That’s nice,” Steve says, smiling even though he thinks two months is a long time without seeing your child, not that he has any of his own.

“He lives in California, you know,” she adds as she starts walking to the door.

Steve follows a few steps behind, in a daze, her words unleashing the memories of loud metal, leather and cigarettes, and a blue Camaro.

Nope, not thinking about him.

He watches Olivia step out of the classroom and turns towards the mess he still has to clean before he can go home when the voice coming from the adjoining hallway stops him in his tracks.

“Hey, princess!”

It can’t be. But that voice… He’s heard it before, and those words…

Shaking like a leaf, Steve turns towards the open doorway and takes the three steps that separate him from the owner of the voice.

It isn’t possible. Billy Hargrove is dead, Steve reminds himself. He died at Starcourt Mall fifteen years ago, in what remains the scariest night of Steve’s life. This is just his brain playing tricks on him.

He steps into the hallway and freezes. The shock of seeing Billy Hargrove, alive and in the flesh, dims Olivia’s gleeful screams.

He looks… Steve feels all the air leave his lungs. Billy looks fucking good for a dead guy. His hair is cut short, some golden curls on the top still, he looks broader in the shoulders, his muscles more defined than they were in high school, not that Steve is looking, but the guy is wearing a t-shirt that looks painted on, okay?

He is also sporting a scar across his left cheek that looks not too recent but doesn’t make him look any less handsome, as well as some gnarly looking, but silver, older, scars on his arms and Steve knows there would be matching ones on his sides and in the middle of his chest, where the Mind Flayer had hit him with its tentacles.

“Pretty boy?” The shock is evident in Billy’s voice. He clearly didn’t expect to see Steve either.

“Daddy, you’re silly. Mr Steve isn’t a boy, he’s my teacher!”

Billy clears his throat and looks down at his daughter. “I can see that, princess.”

Billy Hargrove has a daughter!! What. The. Fuck?

“Billy. Long time no see.”

“Mr Steve, you know my daddy?” Olivia is looking between the two of them, trying to work out the connection.

Billy crouches so he is level with Olivia. “Mr Steve went to school with me and your moms, Livi.” He looks around and picks up her cardigan from her hook. “Is that all your stuff?”

“Yes, Daddy. I gotted all the stuff in my bag to show you.”

“That’s great, princess. Can you wait here a minute while I have a super quick chat with Mr Steve?”

She nods. “Can I play the word game on your phone?”

“Sure thing.”

Once Billy sorts Olivia with her game, he looks at Steve who is still hovering in the doorway and gestures towards the classroom. Steve nods and heads back inside, Billy a few steps behind him.

Steve stops when he reaches his desk, trying to compose himself. He hears Billy behind him and turns around.

“Robin never said—”

“You probably hav—”

They both stop at the same time and Steve knows he’s being awkward but he is not prepared for this. It’s not like he was friends with the guy back in high school, but Billy sacrificed his life to save them that day in1985 so for him to just show up like that is just… Steve doesn’t even know at this stage. He needs time to process.

“Listen, I have to run, haven’t seen Livi in way too long and I want to make the best of it but if you want to talk, or like, I dunno, have questions for me, here’s my card. Call me.”

Billy pulls out his wallet and hands Steve a business card with a tentative smile. Steve takes it, trying to wrap his head around what just happened. He nods as Billy puts his wallet away.

“See you around, pretty boy.” Billy doesn’t wait for a reply and he heads out.

Steve hears Olivia’s voice then the chatter moves further away as they walk towards the exit.

He finally looks down at the card in his hand. It’s dark gray, almost black, with the letters HG in white in the middle. He flips it to find the same monogram on the left then his eyes read over the words, taking them in.

HellGrove Security Consultants

William H. Hargrove

CEO & Head of Security

Followed by a phone number and an email address.

What.

The.

Fuck?

***

It’s after midnight and Steve is lying on his bed, flipping Billy’s card over and over, the dim light of his bedside lamp catching on something in the corner of the card. It’s embossed in the same color so he didn’t really notice until now. He brings the card closer so he can have a proper look and…

It’s a demogorgon flower head.

Motherfucker.

He grabs his phone to call Robin but then remembers that they’re not really best friends anymore, besides it’s late and she’s a parent now. Olivia did say she was spending the weekend with her dad but Steve isn’t sure what the arrangement is.

Billy Hargrove is alive and he’s a dad.

More questions than answers and it’s making Steve want to scream. So he sends Robin a message, figuring that she can choose to reply if she’s awake.

He hopes she does.

Steve: So I met Olivia’s dad at pick up today.

Immediately the reply box shows three littles dots. Steve holds his breath for a bit but has to give up after a minute. Either Robin is typing a novel-length explanation or she is not sure what to say.

Robin: Surprise? <cringe emoji>

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Steve yells in the empty room, his frustration at boiling point. His phone dings again and he looks to see what else Robin had to say.

Robin: Come over for lunch tomorrow. We’ll talk.

Steve sends a brief text saying he’ll be there then puts his phone down and switches to his laptop, giving into the temptation to visit HellGrove.com.

The website mentions the usual stuff: the various services offered (most of which mean little to Steve), reviews from clients as well a page about the company and its staff. Steve keeps looking on the main page for the freaky flower and finally finds it, hidden on the Reviews page when his cursor hovers in the bottom left corner and HOLY FUCK!

There’s no photos of the Upside Down but the hand drawn illustration in the banner is enough for Steve to suppress a shudder at the memories. There are a handful of anonymous written accounts by survivors who were rescued by HellGrove and reports about unsuccessful rescue missions. The wording is vague but, to someone who’s experienced it first hand, it’s clear they’re talking about the Upside Down.

Steve goes back to the home page and clicks on Staff. His eyes immediately focus on the black and white photo of Billy. It must have been taken some time ago because the scar on his face is missing.

The short bio tells Steve that William H. Hargrove joined the Marines at eighteen and left after six years to start his own security company. Steve scrolls down and he is surprised and a bit shocked to find out that Max, Lucas, Will and El also work for Billy. And some guy named Argyle, who apparently has no last name.

He vaguely remembers Dustin mentioning that Lucas got a job in California after college and he knew El and the Byers already lived over there. He feels bad when he realizes he hasn’t thought about Max in years. He ponders reaching out to Dustin but that would open a can of worms and even more questions.

He closes his laptop and dumps it on the other side of the bed and settles on his side to go to sleep.

The feeling of an arm around his waist pulls Steve from his slumber. He gasps when he realizes there’s a (warm!) body behind him, the owner of which is dragging him closer and dropping a string of kisses on his shoulder.

Steve can’t remember the last time he shared a bed with someone, especially while being naked, though he is sure he was wearing pajamas earlier. The kisses morph into a bite and a needy moan escapes his lips when he feels teeth nibbling on his skin. The embrace around his middle tightens and Steve’s hand drifts to the one holding him, fingers locking with the ones of the man behind him. Because it is a man, of that Steve has no doubt.

He looks down, noticing the silver scars in the soft glow of his bedside lamp. “Billy?”

“Sorry I woke you up, pretty boy,” comes the hushed whisper from behind him.

“No, it’s okay. What are yo—” The words die in his throat when Billy moves their linked hands south. Steve can feel Billy harden against his ass as their hands start stroking his dick and he shivers.

Billy gives a light squeeze and Steve rolls his hips, arching his back and groaning when Billy bites down on the crook of his neck.

“Oh god… Billy…”

Steve lets go of Billy’s hand to bury his fingers in golden curls instead. It’s been so long since the hand touching him wasn’t his that the pleasure of it is blinding in its intensity.

He moans loudly, earning himself another bite from Billy.

“Shhhh, pretty boy, not so loud, you’ll wake the baby.”

Steve sinks his teeth in his bottom lip in an effort to be quiet, so he doesn’t wake this baby he doesn’t remember having. His entire focus is on not making noise while Billy does unspeakable things to his body. He shudders; he’s so close already…

Billy notices, because of course he does, he always did notice things, and his hand starts moving faster, his closed fist squeezing the head of Steve’s cock on the upstroke. It’s slick, it’s heady, and too soon, Steve can feel his orgasm rushing at him.

He comes with a shout he can’t silence, but when he opens his eyes again, he’s alone in his bed. It’s his hand around his cock, his mess in his pajama pants.

Chest still heaving, he quickly cleans up using his pants and gets back into bed wearing a clean pair, reeling from the shocked realization that he wants Billy Hargrove. And a baby.

What the fuck?

Chapter 2

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #harringrove big bang #harringrove bigbang #harringrovebigbang #dragonflylady77 #collab #mr steve and the monster hunter

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tblsomedoodles · 3 months

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C R A V E

more Donnie VS The World content. It makes me vibrate and scream and wiggle like I'm off my meds. I would love anything, even a solid block of text, but your doodles/full artworks/comics are my favorite.

Please? All I've found so far is what we see in the donnieverse comic and the MVA/AMV (music video animatic/animatic music video). So many questions, like - is Casey (Sr) involved in any way, whethercas a fellow captive or rescue mission teammate? Is this the True Apocalypse or Averted Apocalypse timeline? If the latter, where is Casey (Jr)? How is Splinter handling it? (Is he even still alive to be Having Emotions About It?)

(Please feed me.

B L E A S E)

(If you don't mind, could you show/tell how Donnie escapes, one of his first Big Leads that gives him so much hope he cries, and/or the Big Reunion? One would be nice, two would be great, and all three would be amazing. If they aren't planned/are too spoilery, that's okay. Anything you can/are willing to give would be lovely.)

Thank you!! I'm glad you like it : ) I don't think I've answered many asked about this particular au, so i'm more than willing to talk about it! : )

I don't really have much up for it, mostly b/c it deals with a lot of angsty material that i can be a little uneasy about posting. I have a bit of old concept art, and an unposted fic i'm editing/rewriting (b/c it's the first fic i wrote for Rise and i did not have those character voices down lol.) I can probably post the first bits of it later this week. I did say at one point that i would once 'proud family tradition' was over, and it now is.

but yeah, here's the concept art, i'll put the explanation under the break b/c i'm going to be rambling lol.

So Donnie vs. takes place after the thwarted apocalypse (not-apocalypse future). They get taken by Bishop a few months afterwards, and it isn't until about a year after that, that Donnie gets free.

He's the last one still with Bishop at that point, and had been told/convinced through various means that his brothers were dead.

Bishop did a lot of experiments on him, leaving a lot of scaring. One of which was injecting him with Krang DNA to see what would happen. (the eye and veins thing. I think he has some side effects from that but i'm not entirely certain what they are atm)

The fic itself starts after his rescue, b/c i'm focusing on Donnie's search for his brothers (and his own recovery) Rather than the traumatic event itself.

The rescue itself, was certainly a rescue. April, Casey, and CJ worked together to get him out of there as well as gain whatever information they could before they were found out. (Casey went undercover and was able to get some incomplete files and help get donnie out before she was discovered and had to leave.)

donnies in...pretty bad shape at that point, mentally and physically. Physically, he's malnurished, injured, scared, the works. Bishop did a number on him in the year he had him.

Mentally, he's pretty much shut down. He's completely non-verbal, unresponsive most of the time, when he does respond it's very slow and seemingly difficult for him to do so. He describes it that it feels like he's behind several plates of thick glass. He can see and hear what's happening, interacting (or even just feeling anything about it) is very hard to get past the glass.

How he goes from that state to hunting down his brothers is fairly simple. One of the broken, encripted files Casey acquired was Leo's file. None of the three could open it, but they managed to get Donnie to try to do so. He manages it, sees the file, and for the first time in about a year, has hope. He doesn't even wait to show the other three, he just takes off while no one was looking, with April's laptop and CJ's coat (he steals a backpack along the way.)

I don't really want to say much past that. A lot of the rescues/reunions are pretty spoiler heavy, and i don't want to ruin some of the mystery of what's going on in the fic. But know this, he does get all his brothers (and family in general) back. Also, splinter is alive and is part of this, but again, that's spoilers for some things i don't want to ruin.

Again, i'll probably start posting this sometime this week. It's an interesting fic that i've put quite a bit of time into at this point, so i'll be excited to see what is thought of it.

Thank you!

#asks #tmnt #rottmnt #donnie vs the world #my doodles #medical experimentation

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diggitydoggo · 2 months

Text

Beta Daisy and Dandy

I've actually been drawing Daisy for a while so I thought that I should at least dump all the old art somewhere. Time for a trip down memory lane!

First ever drawing

Ah yes. When I promised myself not to make anymore OCs cause I already had a whole bunch of fnaf ones. So much for that.

Her colors used to be a lot less saturated which in my opinion didn't fit in with such a colorful cast. There are some parts of her outfit I kept like the overalls and her shirt. I just changed the sleeves so it actually looks like she's wearing gloves like I intended. Her attitude is pretty much the same.

Doodles!

Fun Fact: Her Halloween costume is just her dad's old clothes.

He was also supposed to be dead.

Still gay as fuck

Next are drawings I made for old tiktoks of Daisy!

(If you wanna find them then my tiktok is linked in my bio)

"Maybe he's blinking when you're blinking."

Second time ever drawing Julie! This is when I started to lean into my more cartoony style for Daisy. She still never trusted Wally.

"You're not my friend!"

Finally leaned away from so much orange. I really liked playing around with Julie's design since she gives off Mable (Gravity Falls) vibes when it comes to fashion. Always wanting to change it up.

"Don't start picking fights with my costumers!"

First time ever drawing Howdy! Really wanted to emphasize how tiny she is compared to him.

"Have you been there the whole time!?"

First Wally drawing! Sneaky little guy. Definitely wanted him to look more off-putting in this one. And new Julie outfit! This one was a little Minnie Mouse inspired getup. I also like the idea of Julie's hair always being really big.

"I know saying someone looks gay is 'wrong' BUT LOOK AT HIM!"

First ever Dandy doodle! This was after I made his beta design and wanted to tease him a little since beforehand I never actually mentioned Daisy even had a brother. Speaking of which.

Dandy!

He used to actually be more two-faced and mean. Heck he wasn't even supposed to be living in the neighborhood originally. His appearance would've been exactly like those episodes in kids shows where a new "perfect" character is introduced but is mean behind closed doors to a certain character and the one character that doesn't like them gets brushed off as "jealous" but then it gets revealed they were bad the whole time to the others, then cue the group hug apology. Basically he would've been a meaner and more manipulative version of Daisy. Someone that really brought out her insecurities. Someone that loved being the "Better Daisy" Which is ironic considering he got replaced with a better version of him. As for his appearance I was trying to go for a more city-like look in contrast to Daisy's rough and tumble country vibe. But after a while to me it didn't feel "kid's show" enough.

Pets

I completely forgot about this drawing so I'm adding it a whole two days later. But yeah they canonically have pets. Daisy has a flytrap she named Gertrude and Dandy has his pet mouse Mortimer.

Last drawings of Beta Daisy

Some things really never change.

Well that's all of my old drawings of these goobers (Yes I only made three drawings of the old Dandy) It was nice looking back on some old memories. It's been a fun eight months having these two idiots live in my head.

#welcome home oc #welcome home original character #welcome home #welcome home fanart #welcome home arg #welcome home puppet show #welcome home art #welcome home fandom #welcome home daisy #welcome home dandy

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withacapitalp · 1 year

Text

Countdown Pt 3

Part One Part Two

Tw: Slight suicidal ideation and general grieving

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

They only carry a couple things with them on the run.

Surviving the apocalypse isn’t pretty, and it’s easier to make a quick escape if they’re always traveling light. Essentials only, with a few sentimental items so they don’t completely lose their minds.

Nancy had her journals, Max had her skateboard (even if she couldn’t use it right now), Will brought a pack of colored pencils, and Steve was pretty sure Hopper had somehow saved a half a pack of smokes.

And Steve….Steve has a shoebox.

It’s an old thing, held together with duct tape and decorated with sharpie doodles. Wayne had given it to him right before he left town, along with the necklace that Steve kept around his neck every moment of every day.

He’s never let any of them look in it. They think he’s insane, but they’re not the ones with zeroed out timers.

This shoebox is all he has left of his soulmate.

What’s inside would seem like junk to most people. A handful of rocks of varying size, shapes, and colors. A leather cuff with spikes that Steve had immediately put around his timer wrist to hide it from view. A matchbook from a gay bar in Indianapolis, a Spalding bouncy ball. Some hand-sewn patches with logos he didn’t recognize, three different mini figures, a dozen faded beautiful photographs, and a single mixtape.

Only Robin knew about the mixtape. He had only told her in case they needed a song for him. That mixtape was the only thing in the world that had the song that could save his life.

But the most important thing in that box was the letters.

He read one every night. He had promised himself he wouldn’t read more than one. It was routine. When it was his turn to be on watch and the rest of their family was sound asleep, Steve would open his shoebox, pull out a letter, and read it.

The first one is probably his favorite. It was written in dark red marker on yellow construction paper, the edges ripped and torn with age. The marker bled through the back of the paper where the child who wrote the letter had pressed down too hard, and Steve could imagine the way his fingers must have stained from the ink. Blood red. The same way his fingers were stained when he died.

7/4/1971

TWO SULMAYT,

HI.

I AM EDDIE MUNSON. I AM FIVE YEARS OLD. I LIKE TRUKS. YU SHUD LIKE THEM TO. WE CAN WATCH THE BIG TRUKS!

WHAT IS YUR NAMY?

BIE

LUV EDDIE

P. S. I HAD A NANA FOR BRIKFEST. YUM.

There was a picture of two giant monster trucks under the words, and a tiny thing Steve assumed was a banana under the postscript. Steve keeps that one tucked in his jacket pocket, just in case he ever loses his bag or his precious shoebox.

He keeps the first in his side pocket, and keeps the last one in the breast pocket right above his heart

6/13/1986

Hi Love,

The first one says ‘Two Sulmayt’ but every one after that starts with ‘Hi Love’.

Steve can’t help wondering if Eddie would have eventually called him ‘Love’ if they had gotten more time.

Well, if you’re reading this, then I guess my plan to be the one that lived really didn’t work out. Damn, that sucks. Probably a little bit more for you than for me.

I don't know how you dealt with knowing we only had five days, but I thought it was kinda fucked. Like damn, really? Five? The universe sure has a funny sense of humor, doesn’t it, Love? Or maybe it just hates me. That is also a very real possibility.

Maybe. But if the universe hated Eddie, then it must hate Steve more for making him continue to live. For giving him other people to love, people to care about, people to force him to not give up.

Anyways this is how I dealt with it. If you only get five days to have me, I’m going to make sure you know me. Or know who I was at least. One letter a month for the last 12 years, and a bunch of random one off ones from when I was little. Before I lived with Wayne it was kind of catch as catch can with paper and stuff, and I was also like seven, so how many letters do you really want from a seven year old who still can’t spell ‘Difficulty’?

I know how to now, by the way. Mrs. D, Mrs. I, yada yada. Do you ever wonder why all those women are married? I think that’s stupid. Forced conformity, even in our nursery rhymes.

That joke always made Steve laugh. He’s read this letter so many times it’s starting to come apart at the creases, but it still made him pause and chuckle.

Anyways. This is yours. Eleven letters a year for twelve years is one hundred and thirty two. Adding in the ones from before, it’s probably around a hundred and fifty. It’s not the same as having me around, but if you spread them out, you might get thirteen years or so before you have to start rereading them.

Or read them all in one sitting. Do whatever you want.

Steve had counted. It was one hundred and forty one. He read one new one a night, because every single day they survived seemed like a miracle right now.

He only had seventy three more left.

Not like I can stop you, haha.

That’s probably not as funny to you as I want it to be. Sorry, Love.

It wasn’t funny. Not in the slightest. Steve wanted Eddie here, wanted him to tell him to wait. He wanted Eddie to write him more letters.

Oh, I also included a bunch of stuff I thought was too cool to lose, and a mixtape with songs that I wrote for my band. I thought you might want to get to hear my voice. It’s probably stupid, but you don’t have to listen to them if you don’t want to.

Steve listened to it. They had been forced to scrounge up new batteries for his walkman three times because it kept dying.

Everything in this box is yours, Wayne has strict instructions to give it to you. And, anything of mine Wayne doesn’t want is for you too.

Wow. A whole trust fund of trailer park trash. Some people leave their soulmates huge inheritances. I left you rocks and pictures and a shit ton of letters. Aren’t you lucky, Love?

He was lucky. He had seventy three more letters. Seventy three more reasons to survive another day.

After that…Steve wasn’t sure if he would be lucky anymore.

Now if you’re good at math- which I hope you are, because I’m terrible at it- then you might be saying to yourself ‘Is my soulmate an idiot? Does he not know there’s twelve months in a year?’

No. I’m actually incredibly smart, even though my grades don’t really show it. I rewrite this top of the box letter every year on my birthday, and then I burn the last one. It’s a fun, extremely morbid, tradition.

I’m 20 today, Love. I wonder how old you are a lot. I hope you’re close to my age at least. Maybe you’re like fifty years older than me, and I meet you when you’re on your deathbed, and that’s why we only have five days.

They had only gotten five days because Steve hadn’t just taken Eddie and run. He should have just told Eddie to go as far from Hawkins as possible the second he realized. Fuck the rest of the world, fuck stopping the apocalypse. The best part of Steve was already dead.

Two whole decades, but somehow I’m still in high school. I failed. Again. I wrote a lot about it in my letter last month, so I’m not going to talk about it again. Suffice to say I’m pretty bummed. I mean, c’mon, even Steve Harrington managed to graduate last year, and that guy barely even went to class during senior year.

That part of the letter always made his stomach turn. He hated the reminder of all the wasted time, the little nudge that always told him it was his fault they barely had any time.

If he had only looked up.

Oh, well. This one is it. ‘86 baby! I’d say I want this to be the year I meet you, but I really want to graduate, so maybe hold off for just one more year? Stay wherever you are for just twelve more months, Love, just to be safe. Then I can put a picture of me flipping off my principal in this box for you. I’ll add my diploma in too, just to prove to you I did it.

Eddie wasn’t going to get a diploma.

If you wait a year, I’ll give you twelve more letters. So just wait one more year. By then, I think I’ll know what to say to make this better. I’ll know what to do to fill the gap I know you’re going to have. I’ll have something to say that will fix all this. I say that every year, and I never do, but hey, ‘86.

Nothing anyone said would fix this. Nothing Eddie could write would fill the hole left in Steve’s soul. Nothing.

I’m sorry.

I say that every year too.

Steve didn’t want apologies. He didn’t want letters. He didn’t want a hard to hear voice on a single mixtape.

He wanted Eddie.

Well. Happy birthday to me. One more year without meeting you. Eleven more letters. You better be doing something just as nice for me in case it's you that bites it, or I’m bringing your ass back just to kill you again.

Steve didn’t care if Eddie killed him. Eddie could reappear right now and immediately shoot Steve and he would die happy. He just wanted one more minute. Just a little more time.

…Wait just a little bit longer. I’ll have better words next year.

Can you do that for me, Love?

P.S. You should read the first letter I wrote to you, just to appreciate how eloquent and charming I am in this one.

Eddie called him ‘Love’. Eddie asked him to wait. Eddie wanted to have the right words. He wanted to live long enough to save Steve from his own broken heart.

Steve wishes he had waited.

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delusionbound · 6 months

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“Amanita Szarr, and the two assholes who adopt her”

mild tw for brief mentions of possible sexual trauma and childhood abuse

summary: literally brainrotting over amanita, tav and astarion rn. this is all self indulgent. basically just my thoughts on how tav x astarion would work with amanita as their pseudo kid. found family ensues

you’re in act 1 after learning about astarion and his relation to cazador. a young girl shows up in the middle of the night, awkwardly trying to talk to you. if you pass an insight check, you see that she’s hiding something behind her, she’s nervous, it’s like she hasn’t talked to anyone in a while.

whether you fail the check or not, she fails her attempt. she fails to stake astarion in the chest regardless, and after a series of confusing attempts to talk you learn about who she is.

Her name is Amanita Szarr, and she’s on a mission to kill every vampire she finds despite being one. And she plans to kill a man named Cazador. She’s blunt, she’s honest, and she’s furious.

She’s wearing a crisp and wrinkly old dress, she has blood shot eyes and poorly chopped hair, she looks angry. not just angry, but vengeful.

over the course of a month you learn she’s cazadors fucking niece. although she would keep most of what she’s been through unknown. this would absolutely rock astarions perception of what was already an incredibly traumatic situation. how much was he hiding from him? How the fuck did he miss a kid being locked in an attic being turned into either a true vampire or dhampir due to a wonky transformation.

can you imagine the sheer abuse she went through? the severe isolation, and the possible sexual trauma (due to the type of ppl were dealing with here, although this is just speculation) and neglect for all of her adolescence.

astarion can understand it way more then he’d like to admit.

amanita and tav would start out with a general distrust for their respective reasons, but eventually grow a mentor and student relationship, after all she hasn’t been shown much basic affection. Although she’d be distrusting she’d be quick to latch onto someone…Astarion and her would be a very different story though.

amanita and astarion would hate each other initially. both terrified to confront the memories they want to block out, and both being complete opposites. she’s spent the entirety of her life locked in an attic, she’s shit with people.

she doesn’t know how to manipulate people and she doesn’t want to. Astarion has adopted it out of survival instincts. And needless to say he’s not fond of kids, even if they are over 100 years old. but slowly they both gain a begrudging sense of exasperation for eachother, but it’s fond.

it takes a long time no doubt, but they both share some things in common. They both want one particular asshole dead, and they’re both willing to hurt people to survive.

Id like to think that she’s a witch, a ranger, or a bard, she was incredibly academic due to how much time she had on her own. Maybe the only thing to occupy her time was an instrument and song writing. Maybe she just got really good with daggers and her only contact was with animals outside. But either way, she’s good at what she does and she’s willing to kill to survive.

It’d start with Astarion teaching her a few knife tricks. Slowly they’d start to talk about books. The turning point from a begrudging companionship to actual friendship would be when she shares one of her favorite books with him. he can see the doodles and annotations as he reads and slowly starts to see her as less of an annoying kid and more of an apprentice.

and as months passed, all three of you began to form this odd sort of trust. and that became something neither of you expected

a family. an unconventional and messy one full of people who were working through their problems, but a family nonetheless. after everything is said and done, the epilogue might consist of all three of you or just you and astarion, depending on how the story plays out and depending on whether or not she continues to hunt vampires (she’d also leave if he ascended in my opinion). and it’s the nicest thing she’s had in a long time

#bg3 #astarion #amanita szarr #found family #amanita #astarion x tav #astarion x reader

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raccoonfallsharder · 10 months

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fanfiction masterlist i guess ♡

*this masterlist is OLD! find the new masterlist here

here's what you need to know about what is behind this cut: lots of smut, always with feelings and fluff, praise kinks, dirty talk, maybe some light d/s, enthusiastic consent. a few clean headcanons/minifics & fan art of your amazing OCs

(it's all rocket raccoon, all the time) also, please let me love your OCs (doodle requests temporarily paused)

If you would like to be added to the fanfiction update taglist (or removed), please let me know via comment, message, or ask! ♡