#quadruple drabble

[starryeyedjanai]

Every Saturday night for the past few months has been Steve’s date night with a random assortment of girls.

And every Sunday morning, Eddie goes to Family Video to hear about how it went, trying so hard not to feel like a bad friend when he finds out that it hadn’t worked out.

The few times when Steve told him there would be a second date felt like a crushing blow, but then the next Sunday would come around and he’d listen to Steve lament about never finding “the one”.

So he’s surprised to come home on Saturday to find Steve sitting on the front stoop of his trailer.

“Hey,” he says, confusion in his voice. “What are you doing here? Thought you had a date.”

Steve stands up and lets Eddie unlock the door before following him inside.

“I canceled my date,” Steve says and when Eddie looks at him, there’s an expression on his face that Eddie's never seen before.

“You canceled? Did something happen?” he asks, running through a list of scenarios that would cause Steve to cancel a date and not liking any of them. Was someone hurt? Was it Upside Down related?

The sudden anxiety must show on his face because Steve steps forward and says, “Nothing bad. I just—I realized something.”

“You—?” Eddie cuts himself off with a quiet gasp when Steve steps even closer, the tips of their shoes touching.

“I realized I wasn't excited to be going on a date. That the part I was most excited about was seeing you in the morning to tell you about it.”

His hand comes up to cup Eddie's face and Eddie leans into it, his heart racing, thudding so loud he can hear it in his ears.

“I—I think I’d much rather be going on a date with you than anyone else,” Steve says, his voice hesitant.

“I’d much rather you go on a date with me than anyone else too,” Eddie says, finding his voice again.

Steve smiles and it lights up the entire fucking room like sunlight peeking in from the window, spreading warmth all over Eddie’s body. “Yeah?” he asks, like he can't believe that Eddie feels that way, like that’s the surprise here.

“Yeah,” he whispers, his eyes drawn down when Steve licks his lips.

“Can I kiss you?” Steve asks, and Eddie is helpless to say anything but yes.

[imogenegomi]

[distracteddream]

🫣 lokius for the bed sharing asks if you'd like, could be fluffy or angsty!!

<i>Angsty pirates, anyone?</i>

Mobius should have been asleep. They’d sailed through bad weather and both his body and soul were worn from it by the time they’d finally made it through and he’d given up the wheel. He should have turned Loki out when the pirate slipped behind him into his quarters. But then Loki had kissed him like they’d faced down a Kraken rather than a mere storm and they’d tumbled into bed in a tangle of limbs. So Mobius should really have been asleep.

Yet he couldn’t sleep. He turned his face toward the pirate laying next to him. Black hair spread over his pale shoulder and Mobius felt his heart squeeze in his chest. Loki had been scared. Not that the captain would dare call him on it, but he had gotten to know Loki almost as well as he knew the rest of his crew and Loki had been afraid during the storm. With the first crack of thunder overhead, Loki had disappeared below decks. Mobius wondered how Loki fared during storms on his own ship - or perhaps the pirate simply avoided sailing through them. Mobius had had no choice, caught out on the open sea, but if it meant Loki’s comfort then he would do what he could to avoid them as well.

And wasn’t that the problem? Mobius was willing to do almost anything if it meant ensuring Loki’s comfort. His safety. His happiness. He’d been supposed to bring the pirate to justice - not fall in love with him.

Mobius closed his eyes as he felt the bed shift, Loki slipping from under the sheets. Dawn was breaking, gray and damp, but still breaking. Loki would be leaving Mobius’ bed once more, having gotten what he wanted, and Mobius would be left with his aching heart and nothing else. He heard the sounds of Loki dressing, of moving around his quarters with ease, of his footsteps hesitating near Mobius’ bed. The captain could reach out his hand and touch the pirate, he stood so near.

But he didn’t. He kept his eyes closed, feigning sleep, and waited until, with the faintest click, the door to his quarters opened and shut behind Loki’s shadow.

Only then did he open his eyes and roll to the side where Loki had been. Mobius buried his face in the pillow that held Loki’s scent and let himself wish for something more.

[rarepairjokers]

Something cracky for @blossom-boo, based on a conversation we had😉

(sfw text, even if it’s very silly)

“Okay, but why?” Kris crossed his arms, eyeing the unfamiliar creature with suspicion.

“A pet for life!” Jure happily exclaimed, stroking its colorful feathers as the bird perched on his arm, claws digging into Jure’s skin while he pretended it didn’t hurt like hell.

“Exactly. A pet for life,” Kris countered. “As in it’ll live forever.”

“Not forever forever. Maybe just sixty years.”

Kris took a step back. That thing was staring at him with menace behind its soulless eyes. “That’s the rest of our lives for sure.” He grimaced when Jure pressed his lips to its head, reminding himself not to let Jure kiss him that night.

The feathery beast - or Cluck Norris as Jure named it, no matter how often Kris said parrots don’t cluck - quickly settled inside Jure’s homemade aviary where it could be heard squawking offensive words at passersby, which often happened to be Kris.

One day the bird made him stop and do a double-take. Kris had grown used to the endless string of swears coming from the creature, but the moment he entered the room it suddenly called out ‘hey beautiful!’

Within weeks it had escalated to ‘hey sexy!’ followed by a flirty whistle. Kris momentarily entertained the idea that the bird was coming on to him, except he recognized that whistle. It was the same tune Jure whistled whenever he thought his boyfriend looked extraordinarily sexy.

He shrugged, thinking Cluck Norris had simply overheard Jure’s usual flirting and mimicked it as parrots tended to do.

Months passed and Jure spent hours training the bird. To do what exactly, Kris had no idea. It definitely didn’t stop catcalling him.

One night Kris was resting on the couch when all lights suddenly vanished and a flapping of wings too close to his face followed. Claws dug into his shoulder, and he honestly feared the damn bird was gonna off him now.

When the lights returned, Cluck Norris dropped something metallic in Kris’s lap, loudly squawking (directly into his ear) ‘hi beautiful! Will you marry me?’

Kris was certain the parrot had finally lost its marbles, when instead he saw Jure, kneeling and looking at Kris, pure adoration in his eyes.

“So,” Jure said, taking the silver ring from Kris’s lap. “Will you?”

Kris smiled, a blush appearing on his cheeks. Maybe the three of them could learn to live in harmony after all.

[fictionalcharactersaremypassion]

“This is fuckin’ boring,” Mickey complained. Ian shot him a look and shushed him. 

Ian had gone through a Goodwill bin to rummage through for a nice toy to give to Yev. He found a small wooden train set and a few little action figures to go along with it. Yev was delighted by it and played with it all the time. 

“Mickey,” Ian said scoldingly. 

“Quit your whining. Ain't gonna traumatize the kid or anything.” 

“Daddy, here,” Yev handed him a blue train. Then he pointed at which track Mickey was supposed to push it along. “You go there, okay?” 

“Yeah, okay,” Mickey mumbled, and did what he'd said. Except, it just must not have been good enough because Yev frowned. 

“Daddy,” he said in a voice not unlike how Ian's had just been. “You didn't do it right.” 

“The fuck you mean I didn't do it right?” Mickey said, exasperated. 

“You have to do it again,” Yev said firmly, or as firm as a five year old could be. When Mickey didn't respond fast enough, he decided to bring in the reinforcements. “Ian, can you make Daddy do it again?” 

Mickey rolled his eyes as this set off Ian into laughter. “Fuckin' fine.” He repeated the action, looking unimpressed at his son. “Fucking happy now?” 

“It'll have to do,” Yev heaved a sigh. 

Mickey playfully glared at him. “Smartass.” 

Yev pushed his own train along the tracks, making explosive sounds under his breath. It was kinda cute, Mickey had to admit. He’d never had the chance to be like this at his son’s age so there was some part of him glad that Yev was able to experience this for himself. 

The train came to a stop with Yev contemplating what to do next. On either side of the tracks there were little action figures laying there. 

“Which way do you wanna go, Yevy?” Ian asked. 

Yev’s face scrunched up, then he took the one action figure laying on the left side to bring it to the right side of the tracks. Mickey assumed he’d push the train that way now. 

Except all he did was ram it straight into the action figures on the right side, making them scatter on the floor. 

“They’re dead!” He exclaimed happily. 

Ian laughed. Mickey was trying to suppress his own laughter. “Why did you kill them?” 

“They owed me money,” Yev said matter-of-factly. “They didn’t pay up and now they’re dead.” Fuck yeah, Mickey was grinning. Probably not the shit you’re supposed to do but what the fuck ever. 

Ian sighed, long and heavy. Mickey’d remind him later that he couldn’t really be surprised, could he? “Like father, like son,” he said dryly. 

[cephalog0d]

Drabble - "Gingerbread House"

((Day 6 of @fluff-cember, one more entry in the DC fusion AU for @outtoshatter! Teen Wolf/DC fusion where Derek is Batman and Stiles is Constantine and that's really all you need to know. It's also the extent of my TW knowledge. XD))

“What did I tell you about making wishes?” Stiles demanded as he stormed out of the portal.

“I didn’t,” Derek said, tilting his head to indicate the crying child behind him.

Stiles blinked, taking in the kid clinging to his mom and their very lovely but very dessert based house. “Ah,” he said.

“Be nice,” Derek warned.

“I’m always nice,” Stiles said dismissively, but he did noticeably soften his tone as he crouched to address the child. “Hey, buddy. I heard you had a magic wish go a little bad?”

The kid nodded miserably.

“I’m guessing you asked for a gingerbread house?” Stiles ventured, getting another nod. “Yeah, magic wishes can be-” Derek nudged him to remind him to be child appropriate, “-overly literal,” he said instead. “Do you still have whatever you used to make the wish?”

The kid nodded again and held out a nondescript plastic snowglobe. Stiles took it gingerly and stood, tilting it back and forth and squinting hard.

“Right,” he said finally. “Bats, I need something to cut this open with.” Stiles made a grabby gesture with his free hand.

Safely behind the cowl, Derek rolled his eyes. “I’d ask for the magic word, but I think we’ve had enough of that for tonight.”

Stiles gave him a dirty look and grabbed the razorblade Derek offered. He carefully cut a hole in the top of the globe, then reached in to pluck out the little plastic snowman inside. He curled his fingers tightly around it, murmured something inaudible, and held his hand out away from everyone as it burst into green flames for a few seconds.

As it burned, the building’s gingerbread facade melted along with the snowman, sliding off and fading away to reveal perfectly normal brick and mortar once again.

“Is this gonna be a thing? Christmas wishes gone awry?” Stiles asked after he had awkwardly accepted effusive thanks from the family and they had gone back into their newly restored house. He brandished the now-empty snowglobe in Derek’s face.

“I’ll look into it,” Derek said. He reached to take it, but Stiles yanked it back.

“With all your extensive magic knowledge? Nuh-uh. Come on, let’s go stop whatever evil wizard or trickster god you’ve managed to piss off this time.”

“Why do you assume it was me?”

“I’ve met you!” Stiles called over his shoulder.

Derek couldn’t even really argue with that.

((Crossposted to AO3))

[sithfox]

August of Whump - Day 30

Prompts: blindfolded / obsession / gift

"Vos." Fox is careful to keep his tone light. "Did you kidnap someone to be my friend?"

The Sith's yellow eyes narrow as he pouts. "I kidnapped someone who's already your friend. I thought you'd be happier with company."

Fox has been getting lonely, sure. He's incredibly isolated from everyone except his Sith, and he knows it's been twisting his perception of things in nearly invisible ways. And—of all the people to kidnap, Thorn wasn't the worst choice. His family isn't particularly powerful; stealing him won't kick off a war the way stealing, say, Cody would. Fox isn't a fool, though—he knows that having Thorn here gives Vos another lever to influence him, another way to threaten him into good behavior. Not, he thinks ruefully, that he'd planned on misbehaving.

He walks forward and drops to one knee before his friend, reaching behind his head to untie the deep crimson silk blindfold. Thorn's shockingly pale eyes—a gift from his Kalevalan mother—are clear, without a hint of pain or other influences. Fox tucks his hair behind his ear, begging him with his gaze alone to trust me. Thorn understands him like no one else; an inverted mirror of Fox. He dips his head, barely perceptible.

Fox turns back to Vos, hyperaware of the threat the Sith could present if offended. Achingly cognizant of his exposed skin, Fox leisurely returns to his Sith, stopping barely a breath away from him. "Thank you for the gift." He pushes up on his toes and brushes his lips across the Sith's jaw, whisper-faint. "It does make me happy."

Vos smirks down at him, pleased. Fox knows the man is obsessed with him to the point of irrationality; unfortunately, he's still a Sith—still Fox's sometimes-ally sometimes-enemy. He is dangerous, well-positioned in the Sith's empire to do anything he wants without fear of reprisal—including killing their pet prince in his golden shackles. At worst he'd get a slap on the wrist from Tyrannus. Fox is playing with fire with his little flirtation, and if Vos decides he's tired of toying with him there's nothing he could do to stop him from taking what he wants by force. For now the fire's banked low, the Sith taking some twisted pleasure from waiting for Fox to come to him.

Never let it be said Fox is anything but a moth to the flame.

On ao3

[gravitywonagain]

400 words on a’yuan’s first time cursing in front of his dad

.🤬.

Lan Yuan freezes. He feels the hair on his arms prickle, rising on end. He’s standing on one foot, holding the smallest toe of his other tightly in his fist. It hurts. Even with his whole body frozen stiff, it hurts. A sharp throb that had ricocheted up to his knee and back down to his toenail, but had somehow come out through his mouth.

He turns slowly, his own words ringing loudly in his ears.

Hanguang Jun looks similarly frozen in place. Shocked still like the rabbits in the meadow when Jingyi forgets not to shout.

“Where did you learn that phrase, A’Yuan?” he asks, voice low and gentle.

Lan Yuan looks down at the leg of the table. It appears entirely unconcerned with the drama it has caused. Not even a scuff mark for his trouble.

He looks back up to the man he privately considers to be his father. The man who has been with him for the past four years. The man he’d do anything not to disappoint.

Hanguang Jun doesn’t look mad, though Lan Yuan gets the feeling that anger might just slide off his face, unable to stick, like ink on waxed paper.

“I don’t know,” Lan Yuan answers honestly. In his mind the cadence is rough like untilled soil and the words are the color of fresh cinnabar. But he doesn’t know why. There isn’t a memory to call up so much as an emotion, an instinctual vocal response to pain. “I think I heard it somewhere.”

It’s unlikely he heard the phrase in the Cloud Recesses. Profanity is forbidden. But it doesn’t sound like it would fit into the tongue-tripping Gusu dialect he hears on their day trips down to the Caiyi markets either.

Hanguang Jun still hasn’t moved. His posture is rigid and strange. His eyes are aimed toward Lan Yuan, but they’re not looking at him. Not seeing him. Hazy and far away and… wet?

A small smile lifts the corner of Hanguang Jun’s mouth. He hums.

Then his eyes seem to focus back on Lan Yuan. He says, soft but stern, “Profanity is forbidden. You will copy Conduct.”

Lan Yuan drops his foot to the floor, the pain already forgotten, and bows his apology.

When he rises, the smile is still there.

Then Hanguang Jun adds, “On your hands,” and Lan Yuan fights not to say the phrase again.

[bookishbrigitta]

“Uncle Owen, Aunt Beru, there’s someone I’d like to introduce you to.” He shifted the baby in his arms and they pressed closer to see the new arrival — rosebud lips; minuscule, fluttering eyelashes; and tufts of downy hair gleaming just a little bit redder than Luke’s when the bright hallway lights hit it.

[0nelittlebirdtoldme]

I'm always down for a Sick Fic! Warm-hearted affection and a lot of chicken noodle soup🙏

Behold! Not quite as warm-hearted but still coming from a good place, still early on in their relationship. Messy, chaotic, crude. Them <3

Sick

Peter is coming down with a heavy fever and Wade feels helpful (and touchy).

[evelinessa]

Anniversary

Miles leaves a note, choosing death; Phoenix grieves. One of the two fics originally written for my one year AO3 writer anniversary.

Narumitsu | Angst | 400 words (quadruple drabble) | Rated T

Anniversary *Major Character Death*

The last anniversary Phoenix ever wanted to spend with Miles, was the anniversary of his death.

Some tropes & tags:

Grief/mourning | Pre-relationship

[imogenegomi]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64249198

[astaldis]

Augusnippets Day 15 - Food Poisoning, Augustofwhump Day 20 - Contaminated

Don't Despair, Friends

@augusnippets @augustofwhump

Fandom: The Witcher

Rating: General, no archive warnings

Characters: The Hansa: Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier, Regis, Milva, Cahir

Words: 400

Summary: On their journey to rescue Ciri, the members of Geralt's Hansa have to eat all kinds of grub. One day it has rather unpleasant consequences. Luckily, they have Regis.

[rarepairjokers]

Hello! You know what Jan and Kris need? Finally some peace and quiet. Thoughts?

I think you’re 100% correct.

(sfw text)

Jan is stubbing his cigarette when he spots it on the ground. A red pen. He squints, eyeing it suspiciously. He doesn’t own a red pen, so whose is this?

Nobody should know about this place, hidden from view in between trees, at the end of an overgrown path that you’d have to know existed to find. It shouldn’t be possible. This belongs to Jan alone, somewhere he can get peace during hectic days on campus. Somewhere to lean against a tree trunk while taking a smoke-filled breather and allow his mind to rest.

He picks it up. Maybe an animal stole it and dropped it when it turned out to be inedible.

The next day, Jan still hasn’t forgotten it. He strides toward the forest and, upon reaching the hideaway, pushes the dense branches aside and is met with a not entirely unexpected sight. Someone is there, sitting on Jan’s ground, leaning against Jan’s tree!

The guy, chewing on a red pen, startles as if busted doing illegalities. “Wha-what are you doing here?”

“It’s my spot,” Jan says bluntly.

“No?” the guy frowns. “It’s my spot. I’ve been using it for the past year.”

“No, I’ve been using it for the past year,” Jan insists.

They come to a standstill, neither knowing what to say.

“Fine, I’ll leave,” the guy rises and walks past a rattled Jan. If his secret place isn’t secret anymore, he’ll have to relocate. Hopefully the guy lied and it was a singular occurrence. He’ll be gone tomorrow for sure.

Except he isn’t. He’s very much there, in Jan’s spot.

The guy sighs. “I’ll leave.”

“Wait,” Jan stops him as he’s packing his things. “You can stay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. But quietly.” Jan plops down beside him, lighting a cigarette. “I guess this is yours.” He hands the guy his red pen.

“Thanks.”

They don’t stay quiet, and the guy - Kris - explains that his schedule changed and his break is now thirty minutes later, hence their sudden encounters.

They slowly begin chatting every time they meet. Jan’s peace and quiet aren’t as peaceful and quiet anymore but he finds that he misses it less and less. Kris is fun and smart (and cute), he also plays guitar and is just easy to talk to.

Okay, Jan thinks. Maybe it isn’t so bad sharing his secret place. Certainly not when it’s with a sweet guy like Kris.

[cephalog0d]

Batkid Drabble - "Midnight"

((For @dangerousdan-dan, HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY WONDERFUL FRIEND I hope you've had an amazing day! Here is some Steph and Damian fluff for you to celebrate! <3))

It had been a long, chilly night of mildly frustrating patrol, which meant Steph had passed out almost the minute she had gotten her suit off and fallen horizontal, still in her undershirt and leggings and with a little bit of mask glue stuck to the bridge of her nose. That could be future-Steph’s problem.

She was jolted awake what felt like five minutes later by a faint noise somewhere outside her bedroom. For a disorienting few seconds she struggled to yank her exhausted brain into full awareness, trying to remember where she had left any of her gear (she was pretty sure her utility belt and staff were in the living room, oops, not helpful, Stephanie), before she registered the soft sound of Japanese voices on the TV and collapsed facefirst into her pillow with a muffled groan.

There was only one person who would break into her place at stupid o’clock to watch anime.

She gave herself a couple minutes to wake up more and hunt down a hoodie and some slippers before she shuffled out into the living room. Sure enough, there was a lanky teenager curled up on one corner of her couch, his expression unreadable in the flickering light of the TV.

“Are you watching new episodes without me?” she asked, doing her best to suppress a yawn.

“You said you didn’t like this one,” Damian said.

Steph shrugged and flopped down next to him, sinking into the squashy cushions. “I also said those weird seaweed snacks were like eating fish food, but there’s still a ton of them in my cupboard.”

Damian gave her a sharp, startled look before getting up and padding into the kitchen. She half listened to him rummaging around while she tried to track what was happening on the screen. Some fast-paced sword fight, not that that narrowed things down much.

Damian returned with his snack and sat back down, noticeably less tense and subsequently taking up more space. It meant Steph had a bony elbow dangerously close to her ribs, but she couldn’t bring herself to do anything about it.

“So what’d I miss?” she asked.

“I can rewind it.”

“Nah, it’ll be more fun if you have to describe it to me,” she said with a grin.

Damian sighed and rolled his eyes, crunching a piece of seaweed very deliberately loudly, before launching into his (heavily editorialized) summary.

((Crossposted to AO3))

[gravitywonagain]

another 400 word “drabble” on new information

.👀.

He knew. He’d known. He’s very good at his job -- gathering gossip and keeping the Jianghu rumor mills grinding and in check. Moreover, he’s not blind, and Da-ge has all the subtlety of a bear yaoguai crashing through an autumn-dry forest. So of course Nie Huaisang had been aware, in the abstract way of gleaned knowledge, that Da-ge and Lan Xichen were more than “close friends,” “strengthening sect ties” with frequent visits and joint nighthunts.

But, while Nie Huaisang would call himself a connoisseur of erotic works, written and illustrated, he had never -- never -- wanted to see his own brother sweaty and flushed and pounding away into their “closest ally.”

Nie Huaisang slams the door shut, more grateful than he’s ever been for anything in his life when the silencing talisman reactivates, cutting off Lan Xichen’s voice mid throaty moan. He whips his fan out from his belt, waving it furiously, attempting to redirect his mind elsewhere.

He’d had a question when he sought out his brother, he’s sure of it. Something important.

He turns on his heel only to find Lan Wangji standing there, still as a stone carving.

The younger Jade’s face is as unreadable as ever. No creases or tightness to be found. His gold eyes continue staring impassively into the middle distance like nothing in this world could possibly interest him. Like he hasn’t just witnessed his brother being absolutely railed by the heir to the Nie Sect.

For a moment Nie Huaisang considers the possibility that he hasn’t. That the door had shut quickly enough to spare him, or even that he simply doesn’t understand what it is he might have seen.

But there, just there, at the tips of Lan Wangji’s ears, Nie Huasiang spots a touch of color. A camellia petal pink that deepens with every passing second until it is as red as a fairy crane’s crown. Nie Huaisang watches the blush seep down the curve of his ears to the bottoms of his lobes.

He hides a grin behind the leaves of his fan -- though Lan Wangji’s eyes are still distant and unfocused, and Nie Huaisang is starting to think that might be entirely on purpose.

Nie Huaisang lets his eyes flick between the jade-carved features of Lan Wangji’s face and the now virulent color painting his ears -- only his ears -- and thinks, perhaps, he’s learned something new today after all.