#my old one wasn’t holding a charge much anymore

[jewishbarbies]

I thought I was gonna hate it but having a bigger phone screen is so much better for me. I can see things better and my big thumbs aren’t hitting as many wrong letters. it’s not that much bigger than my old phone but it’s definitely different.

[cece693]

Calm Down Cowboy (Jasper Whitlock x M! Reader)

I never expected much love to come from my first Jasper fanfic, so as thanks, here's another one :)

Summary: You were a social butterfly, however, that doesn't excuse your husband's actions. However, was it really all bad if it led to him being possessive and taking charge.

tags: jealous Jasper, social butterfly male reader, petty cowboy, happy ending, smut, past mention of Tanya/reader

It was almost funny, looking back on it now, but in that moment, you were steaming like a kettle ready to burst. After all these centuries spent by Jasper’s side—dozens of weddings, countless anniversaries, and endless reassurances—how could he still get jealous just from you talking to someone? You were well aware of your own charm; a social butterfly whose charisma, suaveness, and good looks drew people to you like moths to a flame. But Jasper knew this too. He knew you never encouraged those who fawned over you, nor did you let any past lovers hold sway over you anymore.

Yet, Tanya Denali seemed to light a fire under your cowboy like no other. It didn’t matter how many times you’d promise it while fucking him that Tanya was nothing—just a brief fling in your long, immortal life, severed the moment he'd come into it—he still couldn't stand the sight of her.

It started innocently enough. The Denalis were visiting Forks, and you'd found yourself chatting with Tanya. The conversation was light, inconsequential—a quick catch-up on each other's lives. But then Tanya, ever the flirt, edged closer, her hand brushing against your arm, her laugh a little too soft, too familiar.

Jasper, who had been watching from a distance, stiffened immediately. You could feel his emotions boiling over, his usual calm demeanor cracking as Tanya leaned in, her fingers trailing down your sleeve. You glanced over your shoulder, trying to catch his eye and silently communicate that it was nothing, but Jasper was no longer standing in his spot.

Instead, he was striding toward you, his eyes dark and full of a possessiveness that made your stomach twist. "That’s enough." he said sharply, stepping between you and Tanya. His tone was harsher than you’d ever heard from him, a growl that had everyone around you suddenly going silent.

Tanya raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a sly smile. “Oh, come on, Jasper. I’m just catching up with an old friend. No harm in that, is there?”

Jasper’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tight. "Funny how you always seem to forget what ‘no harm’ means. You don’t belong here, stirring up old shit.”

You quickly put a hand on his arm, but Tanya wasn’t done. “Oh, Jasper, I had no idea you were so insecure,” she cooed, her eyes flicking to you with a knowing glint. “I thought you’d trust your mate by now, especially after all these years. But I suppose some habits die hard.”

Jasper’s muscles tensed under your grip, his temper flaring hotter than before. “How would you know? You haven’t found your mate yet," he snapped back, his Southern accent thickening with every word. "Why don't you take your desperate ass back to Alaska and leave what's mine alone?"

“Jasper!” you hissed, pulling him back before things could spiral out of control. This was so unlike him—he was usually composed, especially around others. But Tanya had a way of needling under his skin, and she knew exactly how to make it worse. You tugged at his arm, dragging him away from the porch and out of earshot of the others, who had started murmuring in shocked whispers. Emmett’s booming laughter grated on your nerves, adding to the tension.

But Tanya wasn't finished. She threw a final parting shot over her shoulder, her voice laced with venom. “You know, maybe Jasper’s right to be worried. It must be exhausting, trying to keep up with someone like you. All that fire and passion—maybe he’s just not enough for you anymore.”

Jasper jerked against your hold, his eyes flaring with fury, and it took everything you had to keep him from lunging at her. "You listen here, you conniving bitch—" he started, but you cut him off, practically dragging him away from the scene before he could finish his sentence.

“Jasper, stop!” you pleaded, your voice tight as you struggled to keep him from breaking free. His anger was like a living thing, wild and uncontrollable, and you knew that if you didn’t get him away from Tanya, things would get ugly fast. “She’s just trying to rile you up! Don’t give her what she wants!”

He stopped struggling, but his whole body was tense, vibrating with barely suppressed rage. “I’m not letting her get away with that,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “She thinks she can just waltz in here and—”

“And she’s not worth it,” you interrupted, stepping in front of him and forcing him to meet your gaze. “You know she’s just trying to get under your skin. Don’t let her win.”

Jasper’s breath was coming in ragged gasps, his eyes still blazing with anger, but slowly, he began to calm under your steady gaze. “I can’t stand her,” he muttered, his voice still laced with venom. “She thinks she can just say whatever she wants, like she knows us.”

“She doesn’t know anything,” you assured him, your hands sliding up to cup his face, forcing him to focus on you and not the lingering venom in Tanya’s words. “And I don’t care what she says. You’re the only one I want, Jasper.”

For a moment, it seemed like your words would be enough to soothe him. But the tension was still there, simmering beneath the surface. His eyes darkened, his hands gripping your waist possessively. "Show me." he demanded, voice raw, an edge of desperation beneath his anger.

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden shift, but you saw the need in his eyes—the need to prove himself, to reclaim what was his. You nodded, giving him permission to take the lead, knowing this was a big step for both of you. Jasper didn’t waste a second. He backed you up against a nearby tree, his mouth crashing onto yours with an almost feral hunger. His hands roamed over your body, rough and urgent, as if he was staking his claim with every touch.

He was never like this, never so commanding, but you let him take what he needed. His lips moved down your neck, his sharp teeth grazing your skin before a burning fire settled on your collarbone. His venom would create a scar there, a mark that you were his and vice versa. "Mine." .

"Yours." you assured, threading your fingers through his honey-blonde hair. "Only yours."

He didn’t slow down. If anything, your words only spurred him on. The heat between you two built quickly, his need palpable. He pulled away, his eyes locking onto yours, searching, almost as if he was begging for you to understand. "I need to know." he whispered. "Need to feel it."

You nodded, letting out a soft sigh. “Then take it. Take what you need.”

And he did. His movements were intense, almost punishing, as if he was trying to erase any doubt Tanya had planted with each thrust. You met him with equal fervor, matching his intensity, your bodies colliding in a raw, unrestrained dance that left you both breathless. His hands were everywhere, gripping, claiming, reminding you of exactly who you belonged to.

As the tension between you two reached its peak, Jasper buried his face in the crook of your neck, kissing the bite. “I love you.” he murmured, his voice shaking with emotion. “Don’t ever doubt that. I’d burn the whole world down before I’d let anyone take you from me.”

You tangled your fingers in his hair, holding him close. “I love you, too, Jasper. And I’m not going anywhere. Not ever.”

For a moment, everything was still. Then, slowly, Jasper's grip on you loosened, his anger ebbing away as he relaxed into your embrace. You both stayed there, holding each other tightly, knowing that nothing could break you guys apart.

[batneko]

Knight and Lord AU

based on my second idea from this post, here is a short fic about what happens after the first time Bowser saves King Luigi’s life.

The gouge on the breastplate was at least two hands wide, cutting across where Bowser’s left pectoral would have sat while he was wearing it. Right now he was unclothed except for the spiked bands around his neck and wrists that he favored, and Luigi couldn't see so much as a scratch on the natural plating that covered his chest.

"You need something?" Bowser said. He'd turned away from the armor stand when Luigi came in, but hadn't moved to greet him. For anyone else this would be almost unfathomably rude, but it was part of the package with Bowser. If he started being formal now it would feel unnatural.

"I just…" His eyes drifted to the armor again. “I wanted to…” The gash was thicker than Bowser's fingers, he'd been sticking a claw through it when Luigi walked in.

"No?" Bowser said. "Hey, how do I get a new one of this?"

"Oh, um, I'll talk to the armorer."

The knight contingent had a supply sergeant who should be in charge of all this, but he hadn't exactly been enthusiastic about fitting Bowser the first time. Luigi had needed to give a direct order to get Bowser's armor ready in time for his knighting - and even then the smith toad had refused to put him ahead of anyone else and worked all night to finish the other repairs instead.

It wasn’t a surprise that the other knights didn’t welcome Bowser immediately, but Luigi knew not being surprised by something didn’t mean you weren’t still disappointed by it.

“Good,” he said. “Now if that’s all, I’m off the clock.”

“I wanted to thank you,” Luigi blurted.

Bowser gave him a side-eye. “You already did. Like, six times.”

“I know, but, I mean it.”

“You didn’t before?”

“That’s not what I…” Luigi took a breath. It was hard to remember his elocution lessons when he was rattled, and today had definitely rattled him. Rattled both of them, probably, though Bowser would never show it. “Thank you, I appreciate what you did. I’d be dead if it wasn’t for you.”

“Yeah,” Bowser muttered. He didn’t sound proud of that, for some reason. “I’m hearing a ‘but’ coming.”

“But,” Luigi said.

“There it is.”

“I don’t… I don’t want you to sacrifice yourself for me.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Bowser said, almost automatically. Then he frowned, slightly, and his head tilted to look Luigi in the eyes. “You know that, don’t you? You said-”

“I know, I meant it, I won’t hold you to your vows. It’s just that the attack today-”

“I knew I could survive that.”

“I’m the one who begged you to take this job, so if something happened to you-”

“You think I’d take a battleaxe to the chest for you?”

“-it would be my fault and I don’t think I-”

“I have a son!”

They both stopped, staring at each other, and Luigi felt his mouth hanging open. He couldn’t remember how he’d been about to finish that sentence. He couldn’t even remember how he started it.

“I… did not know that,” Luigi said at last.

Bowser folded his arms and turned away, head pointed resolutely at the wall. “Didn’t tell you.”

“What… what’s his name?”

“Bowser Jr.”

“Oh. That’s nice?” It would be easy to remember at least.

“Yeah. It is,” Bowser said firmly.

“How old is he?”

“He’ll be seven in two months,” Bowser said, his mouth softening into a smile. Luigi hadn’t been sure he could smile, unless he was mocking someone, or gloating, or mocking someone while gloating.

Bowser was living here in the knights’ quarters with all the others. If he had such a young son, then…

“Are he and his mother living somewhere else?”

Bowser snorted. “That’s technically true. His mom’s not around, though.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“She’s not dead, she just doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore.”

“Oh, then I’m really sorry.”

Bowser laughed, mocking again. “More sorry than if she was dead?”

“I- I don’t know. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

The smile was still mocking, but it was better than the frown, or that thoughtful way he’d been looking at his armor…

“So, yeah,” Bowser said. “Your life is not more important to me than making sure my son still has a father.” He shrugged. “No offense, your majesty.”

He still said it like an insult, when he said it at all. Anything else would feel unnatural.

“Good,” Luigi said.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. We’re both in agreement here.”

There didn’t seem to be anything else to say, so Luigi shifted his weight back, preparing to make his goodbyes and leave Bowser to get some rest.

“Hey, what you said earlier,” Bowser said. One hand lifted, almost reaching toward Luigi to stop him.

“Which part?”

“About how you apparently think that if I die on the job my blood will be on your hands?”

Luigi hadn’t thought he was listening. “I didn’t say it like that.”

“It’s what you meant, though.”

It was, more or less. “Am I wrong?” Luigi muttered. “You’re only here because of me.”

“I’m here because I chose to be. Every day I choose to stay, and believe me, when I get tired of it you’ll never see me again. So stop beating yourself up.”

Luigi looked up at him. Was Bowser… trying to make him feel better?

“You’re not that important to me,” Bowser added.

Maybe. In his own way.

But it almost didn’t matter, because Luigi hadn’t been honest. Yes, he felt responsible for putting Bowser in danger, but Bowser had been doing a lot more dangerous things before Luigi came along. And yes, he would feel guilty if Bowser got hurt in the line of duty, especially now that he knew about Bowser’s son, but that wasn’t the real reason he was so shaken.

Mario had been missing (Luigi refused to even entertain the thought he might be dead) for months, they lost their mother when they were kids, and their father the king a few years back.

If Luigi lost one more person he cared about he wasn’t sure he wasn’t going to snap.

“Thank you, Sir Bowser,” Luigi said. “For… everything.”

“Yeah yeah,” Bowser said. He sounded unconcerned, but Luigi knew he wouldn’t have said anything if he didn’t mean it. He could have let Luigi walk away, could have let Luigi’s admission slip by without comment.

“Goodnight, then.”

Bowser grunted in acknowledgement, then said, “You’re gonna talk to the armorer, right?”

“I will,” Luigi said.

That got him eye contact and a nod, so Luigi decided to leave before he said something he shouldn’t. Like how much he enjoyed Bowser’s company, or how valuable his advice was to him, or how when he saw that axe hit Bowser’s chest he was pretty sure his heart stopped…

Luigi almost tripped over a toad right outside the door, the small knight carrying a pile of chainmail that was taller than his head. He didn’t bow since he couldn’t see Luigi, which made a nice change, and Luigi was about to walk away when he heard the knight knock on Bowser’s door.

Didn’t the other knights mostly ignore Bowser? What was he doing? Luigi hung back and listened.

“Did you forget your-” Bowser sounded amused as he opened the door, but stopped once he saw it wasn’t Luigi coming back. “Oh. Uh.”

“Good evening Sir Bowser!” The chainmail jingled as the toad held it up. “The supply sergeant put this together as fast as he could. If you layer it over leather it should still protect you from just about anything.”

“Uh… thanks?”

“Your new breastplate will take a few days, but the smith said to tell you he’ll make sure you have a spare this time.”

“Oh… kay. Great.”

“I heard what you did today was amazing!” the toad said eagerly. “Was it really a battleaxe?”

“Yeah,” Bowser said. Then, “Yeah,” again, some of the braggadocio coming back to his voice. That’s what had been missing earlier. “Wanna see the damage?”

“Can I?” the toad said eagerly, then the hinges creaked and Luigi heard the door shut.

The armorer had gotten to work on Bowser’s replacement without being asked, the supply sergeant had made sure Bowser would be protected in the meantime, and random knights were praising Bowser’s bravery. It sounded like he was finally part of the team.

Whether he liked it or not.

[sexybabystevie]

Hi! I just saw you reply the Steve comparing hands as flirting and I had to also then check that your requests are open, they are 😂 so could I please request that one? I had a boy flirt with me in grade 7 by doing that with shoes/feet (mind you I was oblivious 😂) and that reminded me of it and I had a giggle.

A/n: Okay so first of all, thank you for this request! It's SO cute, and I planned on this being maybe 1k, but it turned into a bigger fic, which I'm not mad about lol. This is seriously one of the softest things I have EVER written and I adore it. Like seriously, this has my heartbeat skipping down sixteenth avenue type shit 😭 Anyway, enjoy some soft Stevie, Family-Video-loserboy-with-a -crush style!

Small Hands, Big Heart

Steve Harrington x Reader

Tags and Warnings: No Warnings, Pure Fluff, Soft!Steve Harrington, Semi-Shy!Reader, Flirting, Steve Harrington is a Major Dork, Family Video!Steve Harrington, Crushes, Hand Holding, Tooth-Rottening Fluff.

Word Count: 3581

Summary: Steve Harrington has a massive crush on you, but his recent lack of luck in the romantic sense has him stuck on how to make a move. Plus, something about you makes him nervous in a way he's never been – in a way he likes.

His simplest solution? Flirting via the old 'comparing hand sizes' method.

Steve Harrington Masterlist

There’s an air about you – something laid back and relaxed, comfortable and familiar – that strikes Steve Harrington every time you walk into Family Video. Hair perfectly styled even on the days when you’re in sweatpants, gliding around the store like some kind of celebrity on the red carpet, he can practically see the golden, glittering stars surrounding your body like an angelic halo. You don’t even notice though, he can always tell in the way that you smile at him as you shyly ask if there’s a copy of Pretty in Pink available, like you might somehow be imposing upon him by asking him to do his job. Like he wouldn’t set his entire workplace on fire for you if you batted your pretty eyelashes and asked him to.

Okay, yeah, he’s in deep. Deeper than he should be for some enchanting stranger, that’s for sure.

But you’re cool. Yeah, that’s it, cool, and what’s he supposed to do? Just not think about slipping a paper with his number inside the case of the latest movie you decide to rent? Not have Robin point out how he gets lost in romantic fantasies while staring at you, completely forgetting to tend to the other customers in the store? As if.

No, Steve thinks he’s not about to let this go, even if it means eventually messing things up by accidentally saying his favorite genre of movies is boobies – massive apology to Rachel Moore for that disaster, although at least Robin found new reason to start up another You Rule, You Suck chart on one of the fancy sticky notes embellished with the Family Video logo. Yeah, that was great.

So far, he’s losing zero to twelve, a score that’s humiliatingly worse than anything he ever achieved – or didn’t achieve – working at Scoops Ahoy, and he doesn’t even have to wear that stupid hat anymore. His self-proclaimed best quality is flawless and in full view of anyone around, a little messier than his high school days but stylistically so, and yet he still can’t work the charm like he could just a few years ago. If it wasn’t the ridiculous sailor uniform or the hat that covered up his hair, then did he just lack game entirely?

No, absolutely not. He still had it, and he was going to prove it. He would find some way to talk to you – really talk to you, not just the small conversation he’d make while searching your name into the computer system to charge your account – and he would pull it off. He was going to get a perfect grade from Miss Professor Robin, doctorate in the study of loser and non-loser romantic interactions. So much so that she would have to give him a million You Rule tally marks, something totally achievable and normal to want, he was certain.

Were you out of his league? Absolutely. Did that deter his persistence? Not at all.

He was going to do this, even if it turned out to be a dumpster fire. Even if his hair wasn’t looking exactly the way he wanted it to be. Even if Robin was jokingly preying on his downfall in that long-time-best-friend way that she did. Even if the doorbell was ringing right now to signal your superstar arrival, and even if you were flashing him a smile that literally made him forget how to breathe for approximately forty-seven seconds.

Shit.

Steve’s leaning forward, his elbows plastered to the countertop, almost falling over it because he’s so glued to watching you. You give him a little wave that nearly sends him toppling backwards into the floor – now that he thinks of it, are you sure you aren’t a god with some kind of wind powers? You certainly are pretty enough to be one – before beelining straight to the romcom section. Like usual. He can’t help but smile to himself, definitely the lovesick puppy look Robin said he had mastered recently.

As you peruse the movies in stock, his mind does its typical wandering. Romantic-comedy seemed to be your favorite movie genre, but what was your favorite type of music? Favorite food, favorite color? Were you more into pop music, sweet vanilla cupcakes, and various shades of lilac, or did you prefer the darker hues of colors, savory cheeseburgers, and something a little more lyrically intense? Or were you a mix of both, maybe even neither?

Everything about you was addictively unknown; you were a package of silly little mysteries he wanted to unwrap bit by bit, saving the more intimate and personal details for later. The best for last, right? Thinking of the possibilities was driving him wild, though, because how could he not know your all-time favorite song yet? And, god forbid, your favorite ice cream flavor? Now that was something he was skilled in – he’d probably never forget the sweet but slightly nutty scent of pistachio ice cream ever in his lifetime – and maybe he could show you that. Would it impress you if he let you try the mean banana split he could conjure up? It was good enough to be the primary thing Erica Sinclair ever ordered from the ice cream parlor, even demanding that Steve be the one to make it himself instead of the other workers. Poor Robin – or maybe lucky Robin, knowing the sass of the young girl all too well. Yeah, lucky Robin, for sure.

But maybe Steve could be lucky too. He knew the moves other guys his age made, flirtatious comments that were borderline crude – and yeah, okay, he admits he has occasional conversations about boobies – but he doesn’t want to play that kind of game with you. He doesn’t want to be like all the other guys, expendable and almost disrespectful in his mannerisms and language; no, he wants to treat you right. He wants to be good to you, to treat you with all the care and love and wonder of a da Vinci painting, and if he’s finally lucky then maybe you’ll let him, because, really, what did the Mona Lisa even have on someone as beautiful as you, anyway?

Robin’s elbow crashes into Steve’s side a little too forcefully, which she seems to be aware of since she gives him a slightly serious, apologetic grimace before her eyes become knowing in that way that he sometimes is afraid of. Her head jerks to the leftt and she leans in to whisper, “Incoming, ten o’clock. Shoot your shot, dingus!”

It takes him too much time to realize that she means ten o’clock as in the direction the little hand of a clock makes, though, and he doesn’t have time to prepare his lines before you’re at the counter with a VHS tape between your fingers. He doesn’t even have time to properly wipe away his token furrowed brows of confusion, so when he turns to look at you, there’s a moment where his face is half grimace, half giant smile. Your eyes narrow a bit, undeniably trying to understand what that face is about, and Steve internally face palms. Great start, Harrington, you probably look like a total nutjob.

He quickly shakes himself out of it and relaxes his face into a kind smile, leaning off of the counter to make room for you to slide your movie on top of it. You do, but he’s too busy staring into your eyes – has he ever seen eyes as magnetic, as charming as yours? – to really notice.

“Hey,” he says, just like he’s talking to any other pleasant customer, except his voice is softer, more gentle. “How are you doing?” Unlike with any other customer, he genuinely wants to know the answer.

The way your eyes light up as he asks… he didn’t possibly think he could find them more adorable. If asking about your day did that, then how would you react to him actually making moves?

“Good,” you reply, tone matching the care in his. You then glance around the store briefly, giving Steve the chance to admire the soft curve of your jawline. He pretends not to have been staring when your gaze falls back onto him. “You must be pretty bored today. This place is empty besides me.”

Was there a hint of something teasing in that last remark of yours, or is Steve imagining things?

Either way, it’s only now that he realizes you’re right – they haven’t really had any other customers. Not very typical for a Tuesday night, but he couldn’t care less, really. Not when you’re here.

“Don’t worry. You’re my favorite, anyway,” he says, heart thudding with an annoying intensity. He resists the urge to wink at you – god, he really is a loser, isn’t he? – and his hand moves to rake across his head, fingers nervously tangling in his brown hair.

You don’t answer, eyes wide with a hint of surprise. Your smile grows more bashful, something that makes Steve’s mouth grow dry, and you look down, a few strands of your own hair moving to cover your eyes. The sight of you – so shy and cute – standing right in front of him, only separated by a mere old countertop, sends his mind reeling. So close, but there’s an island between you – literally.

Seeming to overcome your brief embarrassment, you look back at Steve and smile again, this time a hint of your teeth showing behind the tiniest gap between your lips. Noticing all the small details, wondering what other little things he could find out and memorize about you, he almost feels like he’s drowning in emotion.

Get it together, dude! he thinks to himself, the voice in his head sounding suspiciously like Robin.

He’s snapped out of it by your hand meekly pushing the tape further up the counter, undoubtedly trying to get him to do his actual job instead of being ridiculously distracted by you.

Like he could help it, though; you were practically his dream. Hell, he hoped that he had dreams of you each night, that he could spend time with you even if he managed to screw it up in reality. Dreams were less intimidating, despite the fact that he had no control in them. Reality was where he held the cards, where he could choose what to say and do. Somehow, that thought’s empowering enough to bring him back down to earth.

Steve takes one look at the movie you’ve chosen, though, and laughs to himself as he reads the title. Instead of staying in his mind this time, he can’t help but speak his thoughts aloud.

“Christine, huh?” He can’t fight the amused little smirk that takes over his face even if he wants to. “That’s quite a shift from your usual, isn’t it?”

You just give him a simple shrug, unapologetic aside from the way you cheekily bite the inside of your lip. Now there’s definitely a hint of that same playfulness that he thought he saw earlier, and Steve could scream out in joy as he notices that gleam in your eye. Maybe he really didn’t lose all his charm.

“Thought I might switch it up a bit, you know?”

Steve nods and turns to the giant computer next to him, tape in one hand as his other slowly and loudly types away at the clunky keyboard. He finds Christine in the film catalog and quickly flips over the tape to type in the exact product number before his deep brown eyes glance back at you. It’s like you’re a golden statue shimmering in the sun, the only neon sign in a pitch-black forest. His gaze just naturally gravitates towards you, not that he’d ever complain about it.

“You didn’t strike me as the type for Stephen King,” Steve remarks, unable to keep his true thoughts to himself.

“Is that a bad thing?” You let out a soft giggle, head tilting in a way that reminds Steve of a parrot learning how to speak. Have you been waiting to learn more about him like he has about you? You did always seem to stop by Family Video when he was on shift, making sure to have small conversations with him about your movie choices while he added the rented tape to your account, making sure that you always were in his line to be checked out, even if there were lots of other customers…

“Oh no, not at all. It was just a little surprising,” he says, shaking his head and letting out his own small chuckle. He makes sure to look you in the eyes as he says, “I’m the kinda guy who likes surprises.”

He doesn’t mention that he doesn’t like the more world-ending, Upside-Down-related surprises that seem to haunt him and his unusual friend group. No, that’s more of a fourth or fifth date kind of thing to bring up.

Steve relishes the more prominent curl of your lips – oh god, don’t look at them, don’t think about how soft they would be, don’t do it! – and the way it makes you look a bit smug as you say, “Noted.”

He could think of millions of ways for that to come back into play, each one making his chest swell in an almost delightful way, but instead he continues adding Christine to your Family Video account. He finally gets to the webpage where he has to type in the customer’s name, and you must be familiar with the process because you open your mouth, the first syllable of your name escaping your lips, before Steve cuts you off. He says your name before you can, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t proud of himself for the way your mouth parted in shock.

A little cockily, he says your name again as he types it. “I remembered.”

You’re only left gaping for a few moments, your expression then changing into a smile that’s even brighter than any from before, if that’s even possible. Looking at you out of the corner of his eye as the computer processes your name, Steve Harrington feels like he’s hit the jackpot.

A part of him can’t believe that you’d be so stunned at him remembering you. As if he didn’t spend far too much time thinking about you, as if he didn’t somehow end up telling everyone around him about you despite barely knowing you. As if everyone else who knew him didn’t know he was utterly infatuated and bewitched by you and your pretty little smile.

The computer finally processes the movie with a ding! and Steve reaches under the counter for a plastic bag. He takes some time packing the tape, a tiny thread of dread sewn into his heart because, while he’d certainly done a little bit of vague flirting, he still hadn’t made his real move yet, and he was running out of time. His fingers fumble with the handles of the bag as he racks his mind for anything that can help him – any line or gesture that might seal the deal.

It’s when he reaches out to pass you the plastic bag, and it’s when your knuckles brush against his that he gets a last-minute idea. With no time left to lose, he goes for it.

“Woah, you have really small hands!” he exclaims, and he’s not wrong, which is part of why it works. The other part, unbeknownst to him at the moment, is that you’ve got just as much of a silly crush on him as he has on you. “Here–” he raises one of his hands, palm facing you, “–put yours against mine and you’ll see what I mean.”

You search Steve’s eyes for a minute, a glimpse of a knowing smile on your lips, and he doesn’t even have to worry about you disagreeing or getting upset. He can just tell that you’re catching on, and that you may even be up to something when you lift your hand and press it to his.

Skin meets skin, and Steve feels dizzy. Nothing could have prepared him for how soft, how warm, it feels to have his palm against yours. It’s barely anything, an action that could be casual or friendly with anyone else, but it still makes his fingertips tingle.

He’s never felt like this with anyone else, never been quite this flustered at such a simple movement before. Not with any of the girls he knew or messed around with in high school, not with anyone else that he had few fleeting moments with working at Scoops Ahoy or Family Video. Not even with Nancy Wheeler.

He was always the cool one, always unbothered and rarely found himself blushing, never ever swooning. But here he was, feeling like he could fly over the moon because your palms were flush against each other, and despite everything, the anxiety and nerves were welcome. He likes the butterflies that gather in his stomach, that being around you puts him a little on edge, but in the best possible way.

If this is what it feels like to have a genuine, no-bullshit-attached crush on someone, he thinks that maybe he can get used to it.

He was right too; your hands are small. With the heels of your palms level with one another, your fingertips end where his finger pads begin. It’s cute, only making Steve’s heart race even faster – and if he really thinks about it, he can feel the vague vibration of your heartbeat in your thumb. He doesn’t even have to wonder if it’s pumping far too quickly like his own, he already knows it is.

His gaze moves from your hands together to your face, flickering to try and see what expression will be on that gorgeous face of yours. It’s a timid, happy smile and eyes that are staring right back at him, soft and doelike. The expression is so gentle, so special, that it makes his breath catch in his throat. He silently hopes that he’s the only one you’ve ever looked at like that.

“Told you,” he says quietly, to match the intimacy of the moment. “Small hands, but… they’re cute.”

Seemingly an instant after he says that, you shift your hand around and position your fingers between his. Before he can ask any questions or really even process it, you intertwine your fingers to hold his hand.

Luckily his body responds before his brain does, curling his own fingers and moving his thumb to rest on top of yours. Heat rises to his cheeks as he stares, and he can feel the dopey grin hopping onto his face before it’s fully there.

You giggle again, a bit louder this time, and for once his goofiness isn’t something he wants to internally chastise himself for. You actually think it’s cute, maybe even silly. He can be cute and silly for you, if that’s what you want.

Something in your eyes tells him that it is exactly what you want.

“You know,” you start, pursing your lips for a split second. “I’m used to watching all these fluffy, silly romance movies.”

You pause, eyebrows slightly risen as you wait for him to catch on to what you’re implying. He doesn’t, though; you can blame his heightened state of absence on the warmth of your skin. He’s far too caught up in that, in the fact that maybe he still does have game – thank god – to process anything you’re trying to hint towards.

The trance he’s in is visible – eyes spaced out on your face, his lips left parted so he can breathe out of his mouth slowly, and his hand gripping yours with more strength than before, like maybe you’re too good to be true and will disappear if he blinks. It’s all too much and you laugh – a real, genuine, hearty laugh that Steve immediately loves with every ounce of his heart. He’s certain that your laugh could cure anything that ails him.

“What I mean is,” you start again, taking a deep breath to recover from your short bout of joy. “I might get scared watching a horror movie.” Your eyes focus on his, giving him a little wink as you continue. “I might need someone there to keep me safe, Steve.”

The gears click in his brain, everything falling into place, and he becomes the embodiment of smugness with that signature smirk of his.

With a chuckle, he shakes his head and replies. “Well, what kind of guy would I be if I denied you that?”

The smirk fades down into a heartfelt smile, and his voice softens as his hand gives yours a brief squeeze. He can tease, but he also wants to make sure that he is being serious. “I’d love to.”

Half an hour later, after a little more conversation, you leave Family Video with a movie, a Family Video sticky note with Steve Harrington’s phone number on it in swoopy penmanship, and a promise to meet at his house tonight for a movie date.

Robin makes a reappearance from the back room, smirk on her face – Steve doesn't even have to ask her if she was watching the whole scene on the grainy security cameras, he knows her too well to already know that she was – as she marks a line and writes ‘You did it!’ under the You Rule portion of her notepad in congratulations. “Maybe you can be pretty lucky sometimes, Harrington.”

Steve can’t help but agree.

[scrollsfromarebornrealm]

curiosity (an outsider)

Augustine sighed, leaning back against the wall. There was still a crush of fans outside the gym. Reinhardt had slipped out around the back door, intent on heading to the Neon Stein to ask Oblivion for help leaving. Riven and Sebastian were entertaining Neyuni, while Mathye was tending an injury on Sebastian’s back.

“Hey.” Augustine blinked, jolted out of his thoughts. Yaana was in front of him. Her arms were crossed and her tail was twitching.

“Yes?” Yaana didn’t answer. Instead her eyes narrowed, and she leaned forward to scrutinize Augustine.

“…You’re like the real deal. I mean—you already were, but even more so!” She exclaimed. “Like an honest-to-goodness real knight from out of the histories and fairietales! No wonder a lot of the fans are going nuts! Aside from those good looks.” Augustine blinked at the Hhetsaro.

“Thank you?” Then he frowned as the rest of Yaana’s words sank in. “Wait. Are knights not a rank of the military here?”

“Haven’t been for centuries, least that’s what I remember from my schooling.” Yaana gestured. “In fact, there’s not that many actual living people in the army in the first place. They’re mostly there to just order the machines around.” She frowned. “Guess that might change now, what with the pipsqueak in charge and the Dawnservants helping him. Not many people feel safe with what’s left of the machine army guarding things.”

“I see.” Augustine replied, careful to keep his voice neutral. Memories flashed though his mind of robot Otis, and a pang of grief made his heart twist. Yaana continued, and Augustine gratefully forced his attention back towards the teenager.

“There’s something I was meaning to ask one of you about. I remember our parents used to tell us stories, and one of them was about warlords across the salt. Is it true all they ever do is fight over there?” The paladin blinked in surprise, then chuckled weakly.

“Well…” Gods, Yaana’s parents weren’t technically wrong, but at the same time… “It…depends on the location. And up until recently, much of the fighting has been to keep invaders out. Except for where Mat, Reinhardt and I are from. We were in a thousand-year war against dragons.”

“Wait, that part wasn’t a lie?!” Yaana exclaimed. “Folk here said Oblivion’d been talking about that! That you and those other two been trained from birth to fight—and dragons are real?! They’re really real?!”

“I wouldn’t say trained from birth…and yes. Dragons are real.” Augustine replied. At least on the Source. “But as for myself and Reinhardt—while our situations were different, we were Neyuni’s age when we first started to learn how to fight. And I was your age when I went to the Bloodsands for further training.”

“Bloodsands?” Yaana repeated.

“Our…well, version of the Arcadion.” Augustine explained. “Only minus the regulators, technology…it’s gladiatorial combat.”

“Hold on! You mean like…the old, old, old ways?!” Yaana screeched. The ruckus got the attention of Riven and the others, who turned their heads as the rookie fighter continued.

“Like fight to the actual death against beasts and other people?! You trained in that?!”

“Not so much fight to the death anymore, they changed that some time before I started.” Augustine struggled to not laugh at the shocked look on Yaana’s face. “But yes. There were other fighters, fiends…I remember hearing that well before my time, they used to flood the area to even have mock navel battles.”

“Holy shit!” Yaana crossed her arms, considering the paladin. “I suppose then fighting here’s a piece of cake then.” To her surprise, Augustine shook his head.

“Fighting anywhere is dangerous.” He said. “Only a fool goes into battle thinking that they’re invincible and they’ve seen it all. I’ve lost my fair share of battles and expect to lose many more. Some will be because I’ve not encountered that type of enemy before, others will be because my skill may not be on par with my foe.”

“And you’re not afraid to die?” Yaana asked. Augustine paused for a few moments, considering the question. He inhaled, then exhaled.

“I am.” He admitted. “But…you get used to the idea. When you’re a soldier, it’s a fact of life. You might get lucky, you might not.” Yaana watched as his eyes flicked towards Riven, then at the others.

“If I could die protecting the ones I loved, it would be an honorable death.”

“An honorable death.” Yaana repeated. “Is there such a thing?”

“It would depend on what you consider honor to be.” Augustine replied.

[ladyanaconda]

The Reunion

The ringing in his ears gradually died down, but his head was still throbbing when he slowly got up. Once his vision clear, he saw the hoo-man female meters away—he must have been blasted backwards by the explosion. The hoo-man was holding the green robot in her arms. 

Besteel looked down at his boomrod, now bent beyond repair. He threw it aside with an angry grunt before looking back at the hoo-man again. She’d all but forgotten about him as she spoke to the robot.

“You’re okay…! You’re gonna be okay, Cass…!”

Cassiora smiled weakly, reaching out a hand to touch his cheek. “I guess the title is yours, love…” she whispered as her eyes drifted close. “Take care of Fay for me, would you…?”

The Dorcean clenched his fists, closing his eyes shut as the image stirred painful memories. But he pushed them aside. He has more important things to worry about. 

He knew what had to be done.

Besteel uttered no sound as he made his way to the hoo-man. No gloating, no threats. Not a word.

“B-Besteel… Please, listen…!”

He moved past the Caerulean and closer to the hoo-man. He was but a few steps away when she finally looked up at him with teary, bloodshot eyes. It’s the most vulnerable he’d ever seen her since they met.

Besteel came to a halt in front of her… and fell to his knees, his four hands on the ground and his head almost touching the ground. 

“Please…” he spoke in a whisper, voice trembling. “Tell me where she is… I’ll do anything, just… Give me back my daughter…She’s all I have.”

There. He’d groveled before a hoo-man. If his sire saw him now, he’d call him as much of a disgrace to their lineage as Redimus was. But at this point, Besteel didn’t care if he looked weak. 

“D-Daughter…?” The human repeated. Her eyes widened in what seemed genuine surprise. “You are Fay’s father?” 

Besteel looked up at the hoo-man. “…How did you call her?”

No one calls his daughter like that… only friends.

“Daddy?”

There, a standing a few meters away next to the water bear, was a tiny Dorcean cub with red fur. 

“F-Fay…?”

For a long time, it was silent. Father and daughter were frozen, their teary eyes meeting for the first time in two long years.

“DADDY!”

“FAYLUNA!”

The Dorceans charged at each other. Fay jumped into her father’s arms with such energy that he was knocked backward despite his larger size. Fay snuggled into Besteel’s warm, protective embrace as he nuzzled her head. 

“Daddy, you came!” 

“Fay… My little beastie…!” Besteel laughed, holding his daughter’s cheeks. “Look at you, you’ve gotten so big…!” He pulled Fay back into another hug. “I thought I’d never see you again…”

“Daddy, the Queen said she’d free Uncle Red!” 

“Wait, what? Queen Ojo?”

“She got mad that the meanie old Arsian locked the two of us up without her knowledge and promised to set him free! Then Eva helped me find you!”

“Eva?”

“The hoo-man! They’re not that bad as people say! Look, she’s over…” 

Fay trailed off when she noted the tension in the atmosphere. Daddy had tensed up and his expression shifted into one of… She couldn’t tell what exactly, but he looked like something bad had happened. Eva had a similar look on her face, but her eyes were bloodshot and glossy. Fay spotted Muthr on the ground, but… something was with her. She wasn’t moving anymore. 

“…What happened to Muthr?”

Uh-oh. Someone just made a BIG mistake.

[bomberqueen17]

writing etc

Well so I did push through on writing this week. Retrieved my real computer yesterday so I did all of the work on my old laptop, resurrected, short on battery life, unable to charge except for some reason from one particular outlet in the house, who knows why.

But anyhow. I finally got through the block on the next chapter of the Peace-Tied continuity, which-- I just scrolled back in a Discord thread where I'd been discussing it and I got as far as December of 2022 before i was squarely before this point. So it's been a big block for a while. And now I'm like.........

where was I going after this

LOL it's such a weird feeling, to have finally worked past a scene you'd been planning on writing-- and the thing is, I really wasn't sure which direction it would go, my first draft of it was way too much one direction and I'd written it ahead of the setup, and once I did the setup that draft didn't really work anymore, and some of the setup was from ideas I'd had years before, and needed fixing, and anyway it's been many drafts and I wasn't sure where it would come out. And I'm still not sure what it actually means. But now I have to go back and look at what my ideas were for the next bits, and figure out where I'm taking those.

And the chapter isn't even ready to post, i still need to go back and make sure I've walked the fine line between "character doing what I need him to" and "ooc", and I'm ngl I'm a bit resigned to it coming down on the "ooc" side, but I console myself nobody who minds that is still reading along with this unless they're quietly hate-reading in which case you do you, I respect that.

So I'm actually at the point in both ongoing serieses where I'm like...... past a big block I've been trying to strategize around for a long time. And on to a next section I've mostly not let myself write ahead. So it's weird uncharted territory, especially when you're not an outliner. (I can't do outlines, really, I can only speculate about what might happen next, and more often than you'd think I absolutely know where to take things despite not having overtly planned them, but. I secretly suspect this takes up all of the brain space I have, which most people use for like, their daily life, and this is why ADHD meds can't fix me, because my head is entirely full of fictional realities and there's just not room for real ones. IDK. Can I know where I left my keys? No I may not have that information because I filled the place where it goes with different Wet Cat Boy scenarios, sorry.)

anyway I think it's even odds, looking back at the last posted chapter, how many commenters expect this scene to go where it went.

Behind the cut: a snippet of what happens next in Eagle Sable, Lozenge Gules, which left off with Iorveth's Unicorn Badge story which had taken me a couple of years to write too. I will update that chapter soon so don't click if you really want to be surprised I guess, LOL. But I don't realistically know how long the final edits will take me. I'm off to the farm tomorrow probably, and it's three weeks there this time, so. Not a ton of time for writing, coming up. But the hard part's done, I hope.

“You might have to hold the pup’s collar,” Iorveth said, cutting the consonants sharply to punctuate his languid tone, “he seems a bit overexcited.” Roche had forgotten about the dog collar. He’d noticed Gascon was wearing it, but that memory had fallen right out of his head. But there it was, thick and studded, brown leather with sturdy brass hardware, exactly the style of collar Flash and Nosewise had worn. He reached down and cradled Gascon’s jaw, just as Iorveth had done to his. “I don’t think I need to haul on that collar,” he said softly. “I know a good dog when I see one.”  “Takes one to know one,” Gascon said, brash and uneasy. Iorveth clicked his tongue disapprovingly, but said nothing. Roche looked consideringly into Gascon’s face. He wasn’t a bad-looking fellow, really, strong-jawed and young, and even more appealing with the brashness shredded away a little.  “Well,” Roche said, “time to prove it,” and leaned in to press his mouth to Gascon’s. Gascon tasted like wine too, but it tasted different in his mouth than it had in Iorveth’s. Roche pulled from his physical memory and slid his tongue into Gascon’s mouth just as Iorveth had to him, and Gascon made a soft little whimpering noise and opened up to him. 

[lizardrosen]

Even on the Pith of Life

It’s pretty much a given by now that Polonius won’t be in the office most of the time, though he tries to at least make it on Thursdays to help Claudius wrap up any looming deadlines before the weekend. One day he comes in looking even more tired than what has become his new normal and when Claudius asks about it he heaves a sigh, but with the anticipation of an actor embracing the opportunity to put on a show.

“Poor Ophelia refused to leave Caroline’s side after visiting hours ended. I mean it, not for love or money would she let go of the bedframe, and she screamed if anyone else tried to touch her. She wasn’t going home until Mommy did.” He sounds equal parts exasperated and proud of her stubbornness.

“That’s my girl,” Claudius answers with a small grin. “So what did you do?”

“Carro saved the day as always — she said she was going to sleep and if Ophelia went to sleep in the waiting room they’d only be separated by a door and would be holding hands in their dreams.”

“So when Ophelia was finally out for good you scooped her up and drove her home finally,” he guesses.

“Only for her to throw a fit when she woke up in her own bedroom? No, sir, not on your life! I slept in the chair right next to her so she could use my leg as a pillow — not that you get much sleep like that when your bones are as old as mine are.”

“You’re only three years older than me,” Claudius points out, and Polonius continues like he hasn’t heard.

“The orderlies were very understanding about it; one of them even brought a blanket for us to share.”

“You’re a really good dad, you know.”

“Oh, my dear lord…” Polonius seems about to brush off the observation and get started on his work just so he won’t have to think about it anymore, but Claudius stops him with a hand on his arm.

“No, I mean it, you’re one of the best fathers I’ve ever seen in action. I’m not likely to have any kids of my own so my opinion only counts for so much, but—”

“Who knows, you might still find someone. You’re not a bad catch.” Claudius shrugs lightly. “Not likely,” he says again. Everyone knows he’s married to his work. “Not every father would stay up all night for his little girl. Even if she doesn’t remember later, it makes a difference that you did that for her.”

“I hope so. I hope even more that it makes a difference that she got to do that for her mother before— before—” His voice trembles too much to continue.

“Oh, Polonius.” He stands and tugs the arm he’s already holding onto so he can give his friend a proper hug.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” he says, barely above a whisper.

Claudius isn’t the same man who could promise that everything would be okay. “I don’t know either, but I’ll be here for whatever does happen. You don’t have to face this alone.”

He knows his name isn’t on the visitor log nearly as often as anyone else’s. Even his brother makes time and he’s in charge of the entire country, so he really doesn’t have any excuse. When he does go to see Caroline it’s in the company of Polonius, and he’s usually the one to steer their conversations to something lighter when he senses that one or all three of them will crack otherwise. Polonius almost always shoots him a grateful look when he saves them, and Claudius always saves that look in his heart.

The truth is, he’s bad at this and he hates it. Every time he sees her she’s a little paler, a little thinner, and he gets a little more afraid. Of course, the changes look even more dramatic when his visits are weeks apart, which still doesn’t compel him to come any more often. Cowardly? Oh yes, but he knew this about himself already.

Caroline has been floating somewhere between recovery and death for three months now. He thinks the balance is tilting towards the latter, and even worse, he thinks the waiting game is killing them all slowly. Grief before the fact, made worse by the hope that maybe it’ll turn out okay, and on his worst days he thinks he’d rather skip to the end.

The next thing of note that happens is Ophelia’s fifth birthday half a month later, celebrated in a hospital so her mother can join in, but still brimming with joy.

Laertes hasn’t stopped talking about his present, which is the first one he’s ever bought with his own allowance that he saved up for months until he had enough for the perfect thing. He keeps asking if anyone wants a hint no matter how many people tell him it’ll be better for his sister to be a complete surprise.

Naturally his is the first gift to be opened so the poor kid doesn’t burst from the excitement. He wrapped it himself in blue and gold, though Polonius evidently came in later with strategically placed bows to cover the gaps where the packaging peeked through. A good dad, Claudius thinks again. The big reveal is a set of play jewelry: sticker earrings, chunky plastic necklaces, and waxy lipstick. Gertrude whispers to Claudius that this last won’t stay for longer than two hours, and less if she eats anything in that time, but that’s about the time a kid really needs to be wearing lipstick anyway.

Laertes jokes that he might borrow some of her necklaces to look fancy sometime, and if Claudius privately suspects he’s not entirely joking, he sees no reason to point that out. Ophelia defends her rightful property and they wrestle each other onto their mother’s bed, who laughs harder than anyone else. But then she coughs harder than she has this whole visit and labours to catch her breath again.

The air grows somber on the instant. Both siblings slide off the bed without being told and look on anxiously while Polonius sits down beside her to rub her back and speaks to her in low comforting tones. It’s obvious how much he loves this woman, and how scared he is, but eventually she gives a little nod and a thumbs up. She still looks worn out, and no one knows just what to say, but then Gertrude nudges Hamlet forward with his present.

“The wrapping was supposed to be a flower but I know green is your favorite color so I couldn’t decide. I hope it’s okay.”

“He wanted it to be a fern,” Gertrude explains, “but my decorating skills aren’t that advanced.”

Ophelia looks at it for a moment and says “It’s a cabbage, I love it,” with a decisive nod. She’s careful with the tissue paper to preserve its shape and finally reveals a set of finger puppets — a clown, a mermaid, a lion, and a ballerina.

“The harlequin is me because I’m going to be like Yorick someday. You’re the ballerina—”

“No, she’s a superhero, I just decided.”

Hamlet’s grin grows huge. “Perfect! She’s prettier than the princess they had, too, she’s got the right color hair.”

“Ugh,” says Ophelia, “Why are the princesses always blonde?”

“Hey, I was a blonde princess once,” Gertrude points out. This is technically untrue; her father is a marquis, but when you’ve just turned five all princesses grow up to be queen, so that settles the question for her.

“Then Laertes is the lion — a little scary but brave and loyal.” Laertes dutifully roars to demonstrate.

The rest of the presents go quickly enough; the adults all brought the kinds of things adults think five year old girls like, and then it’s time for the cake — chocolate with strawberries and five candles on top.

“If you blow out all the candles in one try you’ll get your birthday wish,” says Polonius as he sets down the cake.

“Unless you tell what it was, then you’ve just wasted a whole wish!”

“Laertes!” It’s sweet how affronted Polonius sounds. “Don’t tease her! How would you have liked that when you were her age?”

“But it’s not teasing if it’s the truth! I’m just giving a fair warning like any big brother would.”

“Yes, it sounds like someone was an only child,” Claudius adds, and that gets under his skin like he knew it would.

“Well! As a matter of fact, yes, I was an only child, but I don’t see what that has to do with—” He stops talking when his wife reaches over to squeeze his knee.

Ophelia isn’t even bothered by any of it. “It’s okay, I’ve already got my wish picked out and I’m not gonna share it with anybody even after it comes true.” She sucks in a big breath and mouths some words that Claudius is too polite to try to parse, and shuts her eyes tight to blow out the flames.

Five is old enough to be past that awkward boundary land of toddler and child, and old enough to begin differentiating the kind of person someone will later become. The ability to form and retain opinions is already well-established, but five is better than four at articulating them.

For all that, it’s still a pretty small number and Ophelia has no trouble extinguishing all the candles. Everyone cheers claps but she pays less attention to that than to her mother. In the way she grabs Caroline’s hand and gives a bravely comforting smile, every adult can guess what this little girl wishes for more than anything. In that moment he catches the thought they’re all trying not to have: how many more birthdays will she be here for?

Later, as Polonius helps Ophelia pack up all her new toys and clothes and Gertrude ties Hamlet’s shoes, Claudius is content to sit back and watch all the activity from the outside. He supposes it could make him sad and lonely but he’s used to it. He’s just glad he can be here. It means he’s the last one out the door, but Caroline calls him back.

“No, Claudius, sit for a moment.”

He does, and at first neither of them says anything. “I’m sorry I haven’t been visiting you nearly as often as any of the others…”

“Oh hush, you’ve been helping to look after my kids and I can’t thank you enough for it. Besides, I didn’t expect to be here for so long, you’d think three visits from you would be enough for me to be out of here by now.”

“Right. I feel like we’re all just waiting for things to go back to normal,” he admits, “but I don’t think it’ll be the same normal as before, will it?”

“No, that’s exactly it. But God, I’m so sick of this stupid hospital room! I’m sick of jello and bedpans and feeling like my chest is about to cave in. And I’m just plain tired all the time, too.”

“Oh, Caroline, I’m so sorry.”

“But listen, none of that is what I wanted to talk to you about. Polonius — you love him, don’t you?”

Does he? He’s never thought of it in those terms before so he really couldn’t give a direct answer without thinking about it some more. “You know, I think I might. He’s very important to me and I’m a better person for knowing him, so if that’s love I’d have to say yes. I can— I can stay away from your husband if I’ve crossed a line. I promise you, we’ve never done anything together.”

“No, that’s not what I’m getting at. If you stay away I swear to you I will die faster so I can haunt you specifically. He’s going to need people to hold him steady and I can’t think of anyone better than you, Claudius.”

“Oh. ‘Die faster’. Do you really think that’s how this is going to end?”

She gives a wan smile and he really looks at her, how pale and how skinny she’s become. “If I were going to be healthy again I’d be there by now. My organs are shutting down, but I’m just glad I got to be here for my daughter first.”

“God. Can I give you a hug.”

“Please do. Careful of my ribs.” After, his cheeks are wet from his tears or hers. “Don’t forget, look after them.”

“Of course. Thank you.”

[tortoisesshells]

6, 7, 8 for the writers ask game please!

6. ... that I struggled with, but triumphed over:

answered here, but good luck shutting me up. I love Victoria Winters with my whole heart, and will defend her to the death against the ever-present charge that she's an idiot, but she's my first POV character in years who knows nothing about boats.

Vicki wanted to ask why lobsters stunk worse than sardines (and what a lobster pound was, and what scuttling was when someone did it to a ship – and not, as she knew it, something done surreptitiously down a hall after curfew), but the noise of the machines was greater now, and the smell of fish unmistakable. She felt a little silly – she’d always thought herself, not unmodestly, well-educated for what she was; life in Collinsport was, if not one unintentionally humiliating lesson after another, then certainly a series of facts presented as though too obvious to be elaborated on. Mr. Malloy, fishing out his old-fashioned pocket-watch again, told her which office was Joe Haskell’s, and went off towards his own.

7. ... that I nursed in a daydream before actually writing:

answered here, but! I'm not sure what my penchant is for making things worse, or why this was the first scene in eight for a little more comprehension than a machine, and still feeling like a lost soul that came to mind.

“They’ll quarantine us in New York, if we arrive,” he says, breaking into her thoughts, “You have never been in quarantine before?” “I have never crossed the Atlantic before, Captain Larsen.” She has had this talk with him before; he doesn’t seem to recognize it. Condition worsening, she thinks, grimly. “It’s a misery. We were stuck for a month, off Staten Island, when there was cholera in Hamburg in ’92. My daughters – my wife – they did not know if I was alive or dead.” “If we are quarantined, then I hope the Company will take better care.” “When,” he insists, “When we are quarantined. And for my part, it does not matter anymore – they will know. They are dead.” Bedside manner is not one of her strengths. Maura says what is appropriate, and does not mind too much when he catches hold of her wrist, pressing on the bruises which he has no way to know are there. “Don’t lie to me, Miss Franklin. If I am dying, you will tell me.”

8. ... that hurt my own feelings to write:

honestly, ch. 22 of Customs is just one long "everything that Nellie's been ignoring comes home to roost, from childhood to the present" in the worst way, but in particular:

But –  the thought came back, blisteringly angry for being thrown aside – she shook in her shoes, hearing the awful sound of dirt hitting the lid of Captain Holly’s coffin – Christ, she had wanted to, on the Constance – anything – Anything – to make her fears shut up – to cool the burning in her limbs – to silence the echoing sounds of Holly’s skull being crushed, the men wretching their own guts out in the hastily assembled sickbay, the horrible sounds of something alive in the hold that ought not to have been – her old, old ghosts rambling and groaning senselessly, their sad little coughs and wheezes and complaints that they could not breathe and there was nothing she could do that she was not already doing, the whistling hiss her flesh had made when she grabbed the kettle with her hands bare – exhaustion had made her careless but misery had made her –

she just wanted her misery to end, on the Constance – that’s all she had wanted – she had had beyond enough, she could not stand the next moment – (She’d heard, when the adults around her thought she was too young and stupid to understand, that her mother – that it wasn’t an accident –) She had no comfort, on the Constance. Not until the very end, the last day. She had badly wanted the next best thing.

send me a number and I'll send you an excerpt of my writing!

[frozenwolftemplar]

Writer's Month Day 15: Blue

Fandom: Tangled: the Series (Cassandra-centric again 😊)

Rating: G

I wasn't going to do a TTS fic for this prompt, but was really stuck, and as I was mulling over possibilities, my pinboard caught my eye, particularly a pin of Moonstone Cassandra. Then inspiration struck!

So, I present to you a quick character study of Cassandra centered around the color blue. 😁

Cassandra had never thought about it much, the color blue.

It was an everyday, everywhere sort of color, filling the sky or churning through the sea on a clear day or dotting the cliffsides as buds of mountain minn murmured morning courtesies to a passing aristocratic breeze. It wasn’t like those other everyday, everywhere colors.

It didn’t speak of duty or honor or earthy importance like brown (at one point she would have added ‘home’ and ‘almost love’ to that list, but know she knew those were illusions, less real than a shadow).

It didn’t smell of adventure and wildness and so many other things she craved like green (things she now *had,* even though they merely rattled in her thoughts instead of filling her heart like she’d felt when she was fifteen and mapping the countryside with only Fidella and Owl for company).

It wasn’t the prison that was purple, the chains that were gold, the sick, sick fear that was the red seeping from the boils that marred (further) her withered, charred, useless arm.

It was blue. Sea. Sky. Minn. And the lady-in-waiting dress she hated so much. Colors of things no one pays a passing thought to, except to grouse or pluck or order because it marks you as one whose life is not her own, whose strings are pulled by any hands but her own.

A servant.

She hated blue.

Not anymore, though. Now, staring at her new reflection in the new rock that leapt from Hell at *her* command, she finds she can’t help but be pleased at the blue. This shade is sharper, louder than what she’s known, charged with the lightning’s might and deadliness so it crackled along her curls and in her eyes. It marks her as a warrior- no, a goddess- who follows no one’s command.

(the weird similarly-colored girl is giving her *advice* she is *choosing* to take; entirely different)

It is brighter than the silent gray steel of her old swords, more dauntless than the brown of her father’s former steed, and the green of untrodden fields and forest no mapmaker knows cannot hold a candle to the promise of unfettered *freedom* shouting from the blinding, unsheathed blue.

It is a blue that is impossible to ignore.

Cyan eyes smile back at her from the reflection as the wind plays reverently with her matching curls, limned both within and without from the Moonstone’s glow.

Never mind the quailing corner of her thoughts, shoved deep to the place her memories of Mother used to hide, that shrinks from the visage and grieves what was lost with the midnight tresses and hazel eyes. This blue...it suits her.

And she’s never going back. *** Months later, in the woods deep in the heart of Corona, Cassandra considers her reflection again, in a pond where her dad had taught her how to skip stones. Though the hair, the eyes, the promise of power and import and notice is still there, her smile and pleasure in the sight is gone.

For Chains, she has learned, come in more hues than gold.

She hates the blue, and wishes she could go back.

[faewritesfanfic]

Ultimatums

TW: Panic attacks, anxiety, possessive behaviour, and Eden's unnecessary yandere bullshit.

SHE LIKES YOU BACK, YOU DRAMA QUEEN!

Lots of fluff and angst in this one. Enjoy!

---

The rain was coming down in buckets as Eden and Bailey waited outside the school for Kore. Eden huddled under a small awning, while Bailey sulked in his rain poncho because it was too wet to smoke.

“We need a second umbrella.” Eden grumbled. He’d been in a foul mood since English class when the teacher stuck Kore with that rich pretty boy for the project. It always annoyed him when people paid special attention to Kore. His one grace was that Kore was good at politely, but firmly communicating that she wasn’t interested. Today Eden was incensed because she hadn’t been able to do that, and he’d had to watch her all class looking uncomfortable. Very little broke Kore’s polite mask when they were in public, so working with Avery seemed to have been truly awful for her.

Eden hated that he was a little happy about that.

“We had a second umbrella. You broke it over that one guy’s head.” Bailey shot back.

“I miss that umbrella.” Eden sighed. It had taken two good whacks to bust the umbrella, and you just didn't get that sort of durability in something often.

“Sorry I’m late!” Kore said as she jogged up to them, their last umbrella protecting her from the rain. “I’m okay! Just had a little trouble getting out of school today.”

Eden tries to crouch under the umbrella with her, as Kore tries to stand on her tip-toes to cover them both. It’s a little tricky. He’s been a foot taller than her for a year now. Either way, Eden doesn’t miss the old umbrella anymore. Kore’s being too cute.

“Here.” Eden says, reaching for Kore and scooping her up into his arms. She lifts the umbrella over him easily now, covering them both. “Much better.” Much, much better. Eden was feeling extra possessive now, and having Kore close soothed a part of him that felt raw and angry.

“Much better. Thank you, Eden.” Kore agrees with a nod.

“Are you two for real?” Bailey says incredulously. “You know he could just hold the umbrella.”

Kore is silent for a long moment as she stares at Bailey, then looks up at Eden with her big, Disney princess eyes and blinks before looking back at Bailey. “But… then how would Eden hold me?”

Bailey looks back at her in horror. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“I could carry you in one arm, and hold the umbrella with my free hand.” Eden offered.

“Can you do that?” Kore asks, and Eden feels a swell of pride at the tone of wonder in her voice.

“One sec.” Eden shifts Kore’s weight so she’s leaning against him and resting on his arm before taking the umbrella from her and holding it above them.

“Oh!” Kore says, delighted. “Well there you go, Bailey! Problem solved!”

“That is enough! I’m going on ahead! I hate you both!” Bailey announced with exaggerated disgust, charging ahead though the rain.

It gets harder and harder to keep straight faces as Bailey goes, and eventually Eden and Kore dissolve into fits of laughter.

“That was entirely too easy!” Kore giggles as her feet touch the ground. She stays close to Eden, holding on to one of his arms so they more easily stay together under the umbrella.

“Why were you late?” Eden asks as they start walking. They always took the long way home, down Wolf Street so they could spend a little time by the forest before going back to the orphanage.

“Ugh.” Kore makes a bitter, distasteful expression. “Tried to arrange library time to do that book report. Someone was being difficult.”

A creeping dread mixed with rage seeped throughout Eden. Ah yes. Him. “How so?” He half growls.

Most people would be afraid of such an expression, but it no longer surprises him that Kore doesn’t flinch away. This time she instead relaxed into him, resting her head against Eden’s arm as if comforted by his reaction, and sighs.

“He won’t meet in the library.” Kore complains. Eden wonder’s if she’s refusing to use the boy’s name for his own sake, but he’s thankful she doesn’t say it whatever the case. “Apparently he’s busy every day after school with… I’m going to be honest, I don’t even really remember. He talks about himself so much I just started to tune it out and think about Warhammer. I think he works at a restaurant? Or he owns a restaurant? I could not tell you, Eden. I was so bored I was thinking about pulling the fire alarm.”

Eden openly laughs and pulls Kore a little closer. Her clear dislike of Avery is like a soothing balm to him. Eden felt special being one of only two people Kore could stand to be around. It was so easy for him to forget that just because she was a sweet little fluff ball with them, didn’t mean she was like that around other people in the slightest.

Kore hated people almost as much as Eden did. He found it endearing.

“So he’s making you do all the work?” Eden asks. Typical. At least when Kore did Eden’s work he tried to contribute.

“No, and you’re going to absolutely hate this,” Kore sighs. “He wants me to come over to his place this weekend so we can work on the project. Apparently his parents are out of town and I should bring a swimsuit because they have a pool.”

Eden stops dead in his tracks, and Kore stumbles a few steps ahead.

She was right. He hates it. Eden hates it so much he can feel that hatred vibrating through every cell in his body.

“You’re not going.” He hisses. The rage he feels is literally blinding. This was a trap. It was a trap. It was an obvious trap. Someone was trying to take Kore away. His Kore. Avery was trying to get Kore alone, and in a bathing suit? Eden was going to murder the little fucker! The idea that some little shit thought he could show up out of nowhere and get between them was disgusting. He and Kore had been through so much. She had literally stitched him back together after some of the worst moments in his life. Eden was never going to let her go. He was never going to hand her over to some privileged rich kid with such an obvious soul interest in her.

Eden’s heart is pounding so loud it’s all he can hear. He’s breathing too fast. When Kore speaks to him, moves closer to him, it’s like she’s blurred and muffled.

“Eden?” He thinks he hears, and something in him snaps.

“I mean it, Kore!” Eden barks. “I don’t care if you have to fail that project! You are not going over there. You are not to be alone with him, even for a second. I don’t care if you have to drop out of school to fucking do it. We’ll make it work. I am putting my foot the fuck down, Kore!”

Eden’s throat is sore from the shouting, and he feels a little dizzy. He clenches his eyes shut to try and stop it, and so he doesn’t have to look at Kore and see whatever hurt expression she has on her face. Her grades were really important to Kore. Would she listen to him? He couldn’t take that chance. Maybe he could snatch her and they could hide in the woods for a while. He could keep her on a collar and leash to make sure she didn’t sneak off. Kore would hate him for it, but she would be safe at least. He had to keep her safe.

“Oh, Eden. C’mere, c’mere, c’mere.” Kore soothes, her voice full of compassion. It doesn’t take much for her to guide his forehead down to her shoulder, and from there Eden wraps around the small woman tight. As he holds on to Kore, she reaches up to rub his back and stroke his hair. She starts to hum some slow, sweet tune in his ear, and Eden starts to get a hold of his breathing.

“I completely agree, Eden.” She says gently, and Eden squeezes her a little tighter. He buries his face in her shoulder to block out the world. “A good mark in a class with an idiot of a teacher and a partner that clearly has suspect intentions towards me is not worth betraying your trust. It just isn’t. I’ll do my part of the project, and if that boy doesn’t want to contribute, well, then I guess we’ll both fail. It’s not a big deal.”

Eden straightens a bit, surreptitiously trying to blink away tears. “Wasn’t expecting that.” He says with a small huff.

“You never do.” Kore says warmly, beaming up at him. “I am seriously annoyed about all this, though! I was looking forward to reading Frankenstein with you!” She groaned. “It’s both depressing science fiction, and written by someone who’s been dead at least a hundred years. It’s one of the few things in the center of the venn diagram that is our shared reading preferences! Wait, Mary Shelly has been dead over a hundred years, right? Please tell me I’m not misremembering things.”

Eden can’t help laughing. This woman was a treasure. How did she always manage to surprise him like this? He was still feeling shaky, but his mood was rapidly improving. Whenever he thought things were about to turn terrible, she did something he couldn’t conceive of and chose him. Whatever the choice, she always chose him. It was like a miracle every time.

“Yeah. She died February 1rst, 1851.” Eden says with a grin, reaching down to hug Kore tight again.

“Right!” She laughs in turn, reaching up to hug him back. “So I’ve been robbed of my reading time with you, and I am very upset about it!” Kore hugged Eden’s arm as they began walking again.

Eden shakes his head at her. “We can still read Frankenstein together.”

“So you can trick me into reading Paradise Lost? No thank you!” Kore huffs playfully. “Besides, You said you’d read Snow Crash with me.”

“I said I would read Snow Crash if you read Ulysses.”

“And I said I’d read Ulysses when you read Mrs. Dalloway.”

“I don’t know what you’re upset about. You clearly have plenty of reading time with me.” Eden gazes down affectionately at Kore as she dissolves into giggles.

Eden knew one day Kore would have to leave him. She would find someone worthy of her, or try to move somewhere he couldn’t reach, and Eden would need to clip her wings and hide his songbird away from the world. When that day came their relationship would change forever, and he may never see Kore smile like this again. Before that awful day came, Eden wanted to enjoy these moments. He was grateful Kore kept putting that day off, but he knew this couldn’t last forever.

Eden would never, ever let Kore go.

[silverhallow]

May I respectfully request a drabble of drunk, then hungover Michael and Phillip?

I have no idea if this is any good as my muse is being a prick… but here I hope you enjoy it

It hadn’t meant to get out of hand like it did.

It had been a while since Phillip and Michael had seen one another and they’d planned just a few quiet drinks whilst their wives were with the children…

That was what they had planned…

But it went slightly wayward after Michael got out the bottle of Whiskey and then totally out of hand when the second bottle came out… neither were in control of what was going on anymore.

The two men were the closest in age out of the male Spouses. Phillip and Sophie were the same age but with Simon being 10 years older than them, they were just 3 years apart but both in the same boat so had bonded from the off.

They had inherited titles they never expected to get. Phillip had been the second son and Michael the cousin…

But both… had had the responsibility thrust upon them and it was down to them to deal with it all and found the other man to be quite sympathetic to their plight.

Out of all the Bridgerton’s and Spouses, both had other’s that they got on better with. Phillip with Sophie, Michael with Colin, both of whom were incidentally the same age as them but if made to choose their second, they would always choose one another but it was rare that they’d have time with just the two of them.

Sophie and Benedict had written to say that 6 year old Violet had a little bit of a fever so they were going to have to miss dinner and Colin and Penelope were in London visiting her mother with their brood so it had just been the two couples and after dinner, Eloise and Francesca had taken one year old Fred and John to bed and a few month old Janet was napping on her mother’s bosom when they’d retired to Phillip’s study.

It had started jovially enough, as most of the reunions with a fellow Bridgerton spouse did…

Talking about the insane things their wives had been getting up to, what their children were doing and how they were holding up and then sharing the news of what was going on with the other spouses.

Not that Phillip was a fan of gossiping, he reasoned that this wasn’t gossip, it was family news and therefore was acceptable.

He’d just finished filling Michael in about Lottie’s latest plans where she’d posted her mother’s flute and father’s trumpet along with Miles to William and Violet in Wiltshire and begged for them to throw them in the lake so their parents would never find it, when Michael had broken out the whiskey.

“I’d planned to share this with the rest but it’s just us… Benedict won’t mind that much if we drink some of it without him after last time…”

“He might but Sophie will be pleased. It took him 4 days to shake that last whiskey hangover… Vivi cried thinking her papa had actually died…” Phillip said with a chuckle.

“Well then we are saving his marriage by drinking it without him…” Michael had said before pouring them both a glass and launching into a tirade about one of his tenants and how he’d had to leave Francesca in charge of sorting it whilst she was pregnant as he’d taken poorly with his malaria.

Their conversation flowed easily with the whiskey, Phillip had told him about the twins and Charlie joining forces to get their own back on Alex and how it had ended in a lot of tears because Will, Penny and Vivi had gotten caught in the flour storm and Mrs Crabtree had scolded them so hard that even Oliver had cried.

And it had taken the three of them four hours to clean up the mess that they had made and then they got a lecture from Benedict and Sophie which had made them all feel even worse.

It was nearly midnight when they’d finished the first and suggested one more as a nightcap before they headed to bed…

But it didn’t end up being one more. Michael had slipped on his chair and sent the paper ball he was playing with into the air and it had landed in Phillip’s drink and Michael had cheered and said that Phillip then had to drink the entire drink in one…

And it turned into a competition.

They may not be actual bridgerton’s but they’d spent enough time around them that they had both caught the competitive gene…

And it turned into a game. Their glasses on the end of Phillip’s desk, tossing paper balls into the drink…

Until they’d passed out on the floor neither unable to stand.

Neither of them remembered their wives poking their heads in to enquire if they were coming to bed in the middle of the paper ball game, when they’d yelled something incoherent…

And had no idea that they were going to make them pay the following morning…

The sun had barely come up when the door to the office flew open with a very loud bang and Eloise and Francesca stood there over the as they looked up at them, bleary eyed and looking very pale and in need of a chamber pot to throw up in.

“Seen as you two couldn’t be bothered to spend time with your wives after dinner and got foxed instead…” Eloise said

“We’ve decided we’re going to go visit Sophie and make sure little Vivi is okay and offer our assistance with the boys…” Francesca said

“We’ve given the nannies the afternoon off, so YOU two are in charge of the kids once they’ve broken their fast… so you need to get your sodden bottom’s off the floor and get sober quickly… we’ll be back after dinner this evening” Eloise said, linking her arm through Francesca’s and turning around without so much of a word.

Phillip and Michael turned to one another, green in the face and after Phillip threw up in a shoe… and much to his dismay, Michael threw up in one of his plant pots “i think we’re being punished…”

“I think so…”

But as they heard the hyper screams from the children they went white “oh Jesus Christ” Michael groaned “i think i’m going to die…”

“DADDDDDDDDDDDY UNCYYYY MIKEEEEEEEEEEEE… FREDDIE AND NETTIE MADE A MESS!” came Penny’s voice and both men looked over at one another and knew that today could not get possibly worse.

[stefivare]

Never been consistent on here but I guess I should be more …

“Vaera Targaryen, the Dragon Bound” is my latest fic, it’s both on Wattpad and AO3. It’s about an original character, Vaera, and Aemond and the Dance of Dragons and it’s aftermath but also the years of Viserys’ reign between Lady Laena’s funeral and the start of the dance.

I’ve received a lot of positive comments and I hope to get more poeple to read it, so I’ll add a little passage from the latest chapter:

Chapter 18, The Green Council

The next morning, before the sun had risen, Helaena’s maid, followed by the Hand entered Vaera’s chambers.

The woman was holding one of the Queen’s green dresses while Otto Hightower looked his usual self and seemed like he had not been shaken by the way Vaera had addressed him the day before, not anymore at least.

“Princess Vaera” said the man but he received no welcome from her, “This is the dress you will wear for the coronation” he said and the maid showed the Princess the undoubtably fine dress.

“I will not help you in your propaganda, you’ll have to get supporters without me wearing your stupid House colours” she said firmly, the man remained unperturbed and still like a statue, “Princess Vaera, you either wear the dress or you wear nothing at all” he said and he gestured to one of the guards outside of the door to come in, “I’m sure you know my son, ser Gwayne” he continued, “Of course, his specialty is being unhorsed in tourneys, is it not?” she asked with a devious smile and the tall thirty-four year old grinned despicably towards her.

“He will be in charge of you and the men that will take you to the coronation” he continued and then, looking at his son, added, “No harm must come to the Princess” and ser Gwayne nodded firmly.

Otto Hightower then urged his son out of the room and followed him, closing the door behind him.

Helaena’s maid walked closer to Vaera, ready to help her dress in the Hightower colours but the Princess had been given an option, one she liked much more than wearing green.

At first, the maid seemed content the Princess wasn’t protesting and was now taking off her nightgown but when she took off her shoes as well and marched towards the door, she yelled, “Princess!” but Vaera had now opened it and had stepped outside, leaving ser Gwayne Hightower and the rest of the guards stunned.

The thing that bothered her the most was not all those eyes onto her but the cold floor, she would have needed to scrub her feet clean from all the dust and dirt once that day was over.

“My father, the Hand, gave you a dress for you to wear” said ser Gwayne trying to keep his composure, “Your father, the traitor, gave me an option. Wear the dress or nothing at all, I choose the latter” she said firmly and she started to march down followed by the ten guards that would rigorously look at her pale skin.

[cluz1babe]

Certain Dark Things Are to Be Loved Chapter 1

Reader is 18, Eddie is 20. For obvious reasons, Eddie didn’t die. If you want to be Tagged for future chapters, send me a message. Please reblog.

SUMMARY: The girl Eddie loves is keeping him at a distance. When a new girl comes to town, he’s not sure if he should keep trying with the one he loves or the new girl. There’s another thing: The Tape.

PLAYLIST: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/40M6SV4vKdDGSC1y8tWnqx?si=ff76a1a100fb4d0f

SERIES MASTERLIST

If you go to my main Masterlist, Eddie is at the bottom above the spotify link.

Warnings: Reader afab, angst, nipple torture/play, oral, p in v, fingering, sort of protected sex, mentions of underage sex

Words: 2.4K

Y/N was average…everything. How could Eddie possibly know she was alive, let alone want to be with her?

That was, until Y/N attacked the bats that were eating Eddie alive, earning a few bites of her own. After that, everything changed. Suddenly, Eddie started inviting her to parties and offered her weed at one point. All while she started falling in love with him. She always had a crush on him from afar (living in the same trailer park didn’t help), but he was one of the last people she expected to notice her. After all, she was shy and quiet. She hated being so invisible. It wasn’t like those stories you hear about. She wasn’t the popular one or another nerd like Eddie. It was just the random girl & the Freak.

Y/N had become more attracted to Eddie since she officially met him. They were both seniors together. She had started out as friends with benefits with Steve, but they went back to just being friends when Steve decided he wanted to find romance. This was the type of relationship she had with people, keeping them at a distance and focusing on herself. She admitted to Eddie that she was previously in a relationship with a guy named Justin, who not only cheated, but made everything about himself. Why Steve ever paid her attention was beyond her. They were so different, but he was immediately drawn to her, when she helped Steve look for a product in the store where she worked. Y/N had been visiting Steve and Robin at Family Video when Dustin and Max came in. After they fought Vecna, Eddie and Y/N became friends quickly. They bonded over guitar, music, and movies. Then things evolved.

They talked about what they each planned for the future, past relationships (Y/N’s first kiss was a girl and she liked girls, too), and even about their loss of virginity stories. Eddie was 16 when he lost his in the back of his van. He had been so nervous that the girl had to be on top, taking charge. Y/N had lost hers at 14. It was a secret she hadn’t told anyone else. She was a freshman and the guy was a junior. She was going to a different school then. There was only a 3 year age difference, but the idea of a 17 year old sleeping with a 14 year old made Eddie bristle. He was already protective over this woman and he wished he’d known her then, just so he could warn her about this guy. As though it were his place to do such a thing.

To Eddie, she wasn’t that random girl anymore. She was Y/N, the one who helped fight demobats to save him before they all fell. Over a few weeks, he saw what he hadn’t before. He saw her. More than that, he saw her beauty, strength, and calmness under pressure. And he wanted her in his life. Y/N babysat Eddie when he tripped on acid, with the promise they would do it together some day. They watched crappy horror movies, listened to music, and smoked pot. Eddie even taught her a little bit of guitar. Being able to touch her and hold her close, even if it was completely innocent, made him want more.

After about three weeks of hanging out together, they found they had much more in common than just fighting supernatural stuff. Their feelings for each other grew. One night, they went to swim at the Harringtons’ house and that’s where they first kissed, after Eddie asked, of course. “Yes,” she practically whispered. It was enough for Eddie. He took his time, gently caressing her cheek. She leaned in first, bringing her lips within a centimeter of his. He smiled before touching his lips to hers. It was soft and sweet at first, but it quickly turned hungry with all the longing that was built up between them.

“Can I touch you more?” Eddie asked.

Y/N looked around, even though they were alone, she felt it was better not to. “Not here.” She gave him another quick peck before pulling him to the shallow end and out of the water.

- - - - - - - -

They made it to Eddie’s trailer and as soon as the door was closed behind them, his lips were on her again, moving her damp hair out of the way and kissing the back of her neck, his arms wrapped around her waist. She turned to face him. “Can’t even wait till we get to your room?”

“Absolutely not,” he teased as he leaned in to kiss her again.

She giggled, “C’mon.” She pulled him to his room, where they continued kissing. “Now you can touch me.”

He didn’t waste any time, now. His hands grazed from her sides to her breasts, where he gave them a quick squeeze. Y/N moaned I’m response, which caused Eddie to chuckle. “You like that?”

She nodded, “I like it rough.”

“Sweetheart, that wasn’t rough.”

“I know, silly. Just thought I’d let you know… I like having my nipples pulled.”

“Really?” Eddie admired her chest as he pulled off her shirt, which was damp from her wet skin clinging to it. He backed her up to his bed. When she lay down, she pulled him with her. He was between her legs and he ground his hips into hers.

The heat in her belly grew. “Eddie,” it came out as a whisper.

“What?”

“Don’t go catching feelings.” She felt like she had to say it. Something inside her wanted to guard against heartbreak before it could happen. The only way she could do that is by pretending she didn’t already have those feelings. She trusted Eddie, but her experience had led to more than one bad breakup.

With that, he kissed her again, longer and hungrier. It was too late. He already had feelings, but he wanted her so bad. Once she was naked, he spread her legs open and worshipped her skin; the skin of her thighs, especially. “I need you to tell me what you like.”

“I like a lot of things, but I’ve never had an orgasm with a partner.”

This caught Eddie’s attention.

“And even by myself, it takes a toy to get me to cum. I’ve only ever been able to do that with my fingers once.”

“Poor baby.” He felt bad for her, never having a partner who could make her cum. He accepted the challenge with enthusiasm, though. Perhaps these other guys didn’t take the time she needed. Getting to do this with her was something he’d wanted to do for weeks. He even thought about her when he touched himself, imagining she was between his legs, her mouth doing it’s work.

“I still enjoy sex. It feels good.”

“I’m gonna do my best to change this orgasm issue. Tell me more.” He kissed from her neck to her chest, taking a nipple in his mouth and biting the delicate bud just enough to make Y/N moan.

“I like having my clit played with, for starters.”

He moved his fingers to her clit, circling his index finger around the bundle, which caused Y/N to buck her hips forward.

“Tell me what kind of toy you have.” Eddie continued his track of kisses, sucking or biting every now and then.

“It’s called a rabbit. A very good friend sent it to me from Japan. She knows about my problem. It has a shaft and a vibrating clit stimulator.”

“You’ll have to show it to me sometime.” He increased the speed of his finger around her nub. She moaned and arched her back. The sounds she was making were better than he’d imagined. The sight of her was better. Everything about what was happening was so much better. “How big is the shaft?”

“Three, maybe four fingers. Fingers my size, anyway.”

He moved his fingers and teased her entrance. “I think we’ll start with two.” With that, he plunged his fingers into her slick, warm hole, causing her to moan again. “Do you use it to fuck yourself?”

“Yes.” 

His fingers pumped in and out. He pushed in up to his knuckle and hooked his fingers. “Does it reach here?” He was hitting her g-spot perfectly as he played with her.

She gasped and grabbed his arm. “Not that well,” she whimpered.

“Tell me if you want me to change or do anything else.” Eddie immediately bent down and licked her bundle, then he sucked on it.

“Mmm. Yes. Harder.”

He happily complied. Hearing her give him directions caused a heat he’d never felt before to radiate from his chest to his belly, then down to his crotch. He also reached up to pinch and pull at her nipple with his free hand. He wrapped his tongue around her clit and sucked more. He ate her out like it would be the last time he’d ever get to do it.

She nearly screamed. “Oh fuck! What are you doing to me?”

It only egged him on. “Eddie,” she moaned.

He lifted his head to look at her. “Hmm?”

“No, don’t stop.” She pushed his head back down to her wet core, her fingers tangling in his hair.

He smirked then continued his work, fucking her with his fingers and teasing, then sucking on her clit, pulling and squeezing hard on her nipple. His hips grinding against the bed, looking for any amount of friction. She played with her other nipple with her free hand. It went on for at least ten minutes. Eddie was determined to make her cum.

Her hand tugged at his hair a little as she keened and sobbed. “Fuck, Eddie. I’m close.”

He squeezed her nipple harder and a few seconds later, her entire body tensed, then it vibrated as she came on his tongue. He moaned as he tasted her release, but he let go of her nipple and gently licked her folds as her walls fluttered around his fingers. Each time his tongue touched her clit, her body spasmed. She was so sensitive now.

As soon as she came back to her senses, she reached for his bulge, “What about you? Don’t you want me to take care of you?”

“Sweetheart, if you do, that might be it for the night. We have to get up early.” Eddie kissed her and she tasted herself on his lips. “And I wanna fuck you.”

Y/N smiled wide. “I want you to.”

His hand moved from around her waist, and up to her breast, giving it a squeeze. The same hand smoothed its way over her abdomen. Y/N nodded, not knowing what else to say. He teased her entrance with the tip of his cock, circling her clit and making her body arch into his. He slipped himself inside of her. He was a little clumsy in his movements, but she didn’t mind. She smiled against his lips and grabbed his hands, relishing in the feeling of him against her. He pushed just the tip in, and she couldn’t take her eyes off of it. He bent his head to catch her attention on his face, but she ignored it for a while, knowing he can't make her look up just yet. She just watched him sink slowly in. She mewled when he buried himself to the hilt, deep in her pussy. Eddie was staring at her, starry eyed, drinking her in as he bit his bottom lip to try to hold his noises in.

Clinging on to his biceps, her fingernails dug into his skin, her hips rolling up to meet his as Eddie thrusted into her heat. He pistoned his hips, changing the angle inside of her, rubbing against her inner sweet spot. She felt his lips devour her neck and jaw. Her eyes couldn’t focus, her hands were shaking. All her brain could focus on is Eddie Munson. She released ecstatic whines. She noticed how he breathed, how hot his skin was, how hard he was...

He slid out painfully slow and then hit home. He nipped and kissed at every spot of her skin he had access to, leaving a wet trail. He brought her nipple into his mouth, sucking and biting. She whined his name, begging him to not stop what he was doing. "Fuck," he whispered savagely, his breath ghosting against her neck as he tried hard not to cum too soon. Liquid heat rushed right between her legs as she held on to him and screamed. He felt her clench around him and made a noise of pleasure, drawing out a long, powerful thrust that had every nerve in her body singing.

She repositioned the two of them, having him lay on his back. One hand pressed into his chest, as Y/N rode Eddie quickly, chasing another high with every brush of his cock deep inside her. Eddie’s breathing was short and shallow, grunting out loose, incoherent words. He was rubbing her clit with his fingers. She fisted his hair in response, earning a growl. She bit her lip as his hips bucked quicker. His voice pitched higher as his body worked faster. He was almost there.

“Eddie! Fuck!” When she came, she lost her wits for a moment, which Eddie thought meant that he had to chase his high on his own, but Y/N got off of him, bringing her mouth to his length and licking him up and down.

“I thought you were on birth control.”

“I am, but I want to taste you.” She smiled before she started bobbing her head up and down his length.

“Y/N, fuck. You’re fucking amazing. Never thought—“ He was going to say something about his feelings, but she started sucking harder. Within seconds, he was coming undone beneath her. She swallowed every drop of him and he pulled her up to kiss her.

That night, after he fell asleep, she snuck out. She knew she probably fucked up by sleeping with him and didn’t want an awkward conversation. Not wanting to talk about what happened or how she felt about him, it was the best she could come up with, childish as it was. The problem was, she grabbed the wrong shirt when she left.

[fluorescentpipedream]

I’m supposed to be sleeping but this blurb popped into my head when I tried to push a frightening image of gnashing metal teeth and red eyes out of my head. Much better, I must say but still keeping me up.

“It’s always been like this between the two of us, I push, she pulls. The heat, the fire in her eyes for me..damn woman”

The sting of the whiskey made the man hiss as he slowly rotated the rounded ice around the glass it clinked. In front of him was a picture of a brunette with bedroom eyes wearing a silky teddy. He rapped his tattooed knuckle on the wood of the bar top, a casual request for another shot. The bartender was Asian, short and the man looked them over as they stood before them. Their dark eyes reflected the cool light of the bar, and for a moment they both exchanged the same look. For his part, the man couldn’t figure out if the tender was male or female, and in the same instant he had that thought, it was followed by the realization that he didn’t care.

He took another drink, and the sting was less this time. “No idea why she affects me like that either, only woman to bring me to my knees, ya know? I love her, I hate her and she’s the same. Gotta be why we keep at it for so long”

He smirked, stretching his long fingers so much so they bent back a little. Double jointed, he’d tell people but it was a lie. They’d found some new medical reason why he could hyperextend his fingers but like so many things he was too old to give a shit. The man was tall, nearly 6’2, and to make it worse he was wearing leather biker boots which added an extra couple of inches. His hair was a dark brown but his beard was almost entirely grey. He was well groomed, and spoke with an accent that was hard to place.

“I met her at her sister’s wedding, a friend of a friend doing a favor. I fuckin hate weddings and I ain’t even friends with that schmuck anymore. But she’s not close to her sister now either. I still remember the ugly ass bridesmaid dress” He smirks, in on a joke no one else knows.

That dress was turquoise with a horrible bow in the back barely even holding on. Their first meeting was also the first time they’d fucked. It was rough, fast and excused just as quick as a stupid fling, something to do when the wedding was too boring to do anything else. But then it happened again. And 3 months later, same thing. After that one, there was dinner and something that could be considered a date. They never exactly gave a name to what this was, there was always something else to call it: fun, boredom, Tuesday night.

He scoffed and set his glass down. Behind him the late night stragglers were milling around. There was a hoot and a loud cacophony of bells, whistles and hollering. Someone won a jackpot. He looked down at the picture again. She had given that to him a few weeks ago and he kept it in his wallet. As his gaze fell over the picture he remembered running his hands up her thighs, teasing her sides and the small of her back as she’d straddled him, her legs spread open to envelope him in a sticky warmth. You do that to me she had moaned in his ear, biting his bottom lip as she rolled her hips into him. He had his fingers in her hips, careful not to leave half moon shapes with his nails.

He licked his lips, and cleared his throat before getting up from the bar. The bartender looked at him expectantly. “Charge it to the room…” As he got up he readjusted himself, giving his jeans an unnecessary tug upwards while pulling his heather grey T-shirt down and smoothed it out over his stomach. He wasn’t particularly defined and toned but there was a bit of muscle in his arms. He also had a lot of tattoos on both of his arms, all the way to his knuckles. Despite being inside and it being well past daylight, he had a pair of Rayban sunglasses sitting on top of his head. He took two steps forward before taking one rather large step back.

“Forgot my picture.” He smirks again , trading the place of the portrait with a $20. “I imagine you’ll like that better.”

[bots-and-cons]

Idk if there already is an 🦿anon but if not here i am

We need some dark shit with no happy ending. I was thinking like bots are visiting earth and find out their charge died from cancer but before passing they made a little goodbye video for bots especially their guardian.

I thought it would look better as a scenario but if its easier for you the please do hcs

For the bots i really wanted to read our grumpy medic, OP and wheeljack

Youre an amazing writer idk how are you doing this

Keep up the amazing work❤

I sort of did this for Jackie a while back, you can find that post here, so I won't be writing it again. I tried to give this a darker ending, and not a kind of hopeful one like I usually would. Also thank you very much and hello leg anon :D

~Optimus Prime~

You had been diagnosed a few months after the autobots had left earth and you really wanted to tell Optimus, but you had no way of doing so. You had been given approximately a year to live, and you held out hope for seeing him until your very last moments.

When Optimus returned to earth after over two and half years on Cybertron, he was contacted by Fowler, who gave him a memory stick, telling Optimus you had asked him to give it to him. Optimus of course wondered why you couldn’t just give it to him yourself, but the reason was about to become very clear to him.

He tried to call you, but the number apparently was not in use anymore, which he just explained away with you changing your number.

When he couldn’t contact you, he decided to see what was on the memory stick. He plugged it into the old base computer, and a window popped up with a loading icon.

You appeared on screen, and the video started playing.

“Hey Optimus!” you said with a bit of a forcefully chipper demeanor. “I wonder if you’ll ever actually see this, or if you’ll come back before… Well I guess I should explain why I’m making this first” your smile started to fade as you continued talking to the camera. “I was diagnosed with MBC. That stands for metastatic breast cancer and to be totally honest, I’m going to die from it and probably quite soon”

Optimus paused the video. He was well aware this wasn’t a joke, you wouldn’t do that, you weren’t that kind of person, but he also couldn’t see how this could be real. He decided to continue the video.

“I decided to film this for you, and maybe for myself too, to make sense of this whole dying thing. It doesn’t feel real, I mean I can feel my body basically decaying, but it’s like I still haven’t accepted what that means. I wanted to tell you I miss you and I hope to see you before I’m gone. I also want to be honest with you, I hated you for a while after my diagnosis, because you weren’t here and I felt so damn alone” you turned away from the camera a bit and wiped your eyes. 

Optimus was filled with grief and confusion. He was also angry at himself, for not leaving you a way to contact him. There was a small pause before you continued.

“Anyway I’ve come to terms with that I guess, I just still don’t understand how this whole thing can have such bad timing. If I was going to die anyway, I’d rather it had been with you and the rest of the team here” you started having a hard time with keeping yourself together.

“There are so many things I wanted to tell you, but now that I’m actually doing this, not a single one comes to mind. I guess it’s just time for me to say goodbye” you waved at the camera and the video stopped on you with a small smile on your face and eyes closed with some tears brimming in your eyes.

That was the last Optimus saw of you. You were dead now and he would never see you again.

Optimus hadn’t even noticed how weak the whole situation had made him feel, before he was suddenly on his knees on the floor, holding onto the edge of the computer screen. He felt weak and his spark felt like it was about to explode out of his chest. Above all he felt empty, he felt like a part of him had been ripped away, someone he had held so dear, his friend, was gone and there was nothing that could change that.

~Ratchet~

You didn’t really know how to start the video. You didn’t really feel like explaining the whole thing to someone again. So you were just going to make it short and to the point.

“Hey Ratch. I’m just gonna keep this short. I’m dying and I don’t have much time left, so I just wanted to tell you some things. First of all, you’ll always be dear to me, no matter where I end up or what happens to me. Second of all, I know you’re gonna feel guilty about not being here with me in my last moments, but you shouldn’t. No one knows when shit like this is gonna happen so, there’s no reason for you to feel bad about it. I mean yeah, dying sucks, but there’s nothing I can do about it. So, goodbye Ratchet, take care of yourself”

The video ended and the screen went black. Ratchet was left feeling all kinds of things, but mostly he felt broken, like a piece of him had broken into a million smaller pieces that were impossible to pick up and put back together again. He had lost friends before, but it  was due to war, there had been a reason for their deaths. For you, it was some illness that you had no chance of winning against, you had nothing to fight against, no war to win. 

There was no one else around while Ratchet watched the video, so there was no one to see him completely break down over it. The tears were streaming down his face and he was sobbing, trying to keep his voice down, covering his mouth with his hand, so nobody would hear him. He didn’t want anyone seeing him like this, he didn’t want their pity or to hear how sorry they were about his loss. That wouldn’t bring you back.

Sure you had been friends with the other team members too, but your relationship with Ratchet had been different, you were like family to each other. Your memory would live on with him, long after you were gone and he would always remember you.