#so I'm tagging joyce

[voidwelt]

The mispronunciation of Welt's name used to bother me (as it is canonically meant to be based on the German word, so it should be spoken with a harder V sound). I studied German in school, so I had to work myself out of pronouncing it correctly, just so the game pronunciation would stop bothering me.

But as time passes, I sort of come to think, the way the reason for this mispronunciation IRL is the intent being lost in translation (CN doesn't quite have the right syllables for the German pronunciation and EN direction carried this along in HSR), the reason for its mispronunciation in-game could, if you like, also be chalked up to something being lost in translation (in a different way).

I like to imagine Welt Joyce's name is 100% pronounced correctly. (No EN dub exists to prove me wrong). He got the name right from its source, given to him by a German, and mentions as such when he dies, "Welt" for "World" in German. There's no way it's not meant to be pronounced correctly.

When it gets passed down to Yang, the meaning is still there, but the interpretation is muddied through the inherent perception filter of a young person (as is his interpretation of the duty as a whole). He sees Joyce bleed out against the concrete to save a city and he internalises this as the legacy and the "burden" of Welt. The German word becomes a gifted Title that represents protecting the World first and foremost, and then as its bearer takes off to the stars, off of that original world, in an attempt to save others, it's even further divorced from its original language context.

When Welt describes the meaning of his name to Sunday, he's come up with his own, adjusted and extended definition for it. He's expanded onto it with his own thoughts, influenced by the Trailblaze and how many lives he's come into contact with. "Each person is a world unto themselves, with as many possibilities as the distant stars." (paraphrased)

(He also says some stuff about how the Trailblaze doesn't end when you leave the Express, so it really makes me think of how he might think of... Ahem. Anyway, back to topic.)

Ultimately, Welt Joyce and Welt Yang have the same first name/title in text and in writing, but...

If they're pronounced differently, it just goes to show, that no matter how hard Welt (Yang) attempts to personally embody his hero in all that he does, how hard he tries to carry this legacy in its purest form, they're ultimately still different people, with different experiences, with different souls.

Or, I could just be looking too much into a minor flaw in the translation process! Isn't that the fun of thinking too hard about things? Should we run Mr. Yang over with our shared car? We have to do something about this

[o-wyrmlight]

I'm having way too much with this chapter that I was struggling on just yesterday. What the fuck. Holy fuck. This is what happens when I read a fanfic with a great narrative voice that I adore. I just start going off, I guess. This means Kim's going to be very inwardly opinionated and vocal in Chapter 6.

Anyway whoo Chapter 6 preview for A Toast To The Pigs, a fanfic where Harry didn't lose his memory in Martinaise and still has to solve the case. This preview skips the next chapter:

“…I lost you there, didn’t I?” Harrier asked, sounding disappointed. “Somewhere at the end.” Kim lifted his eyes from his notebook. He stopped flicking his pen in his fingers to push his glasses back up from where they were sliding. Harrier was watching Joyce Messier, a brow raised and a half-crooked grin plastered on his face. Some offshoot of that odd expression of his. Joyce Messier smiled apologetically, shaking her head. Ah. Joyce Leyton-Messier. Kim had almost forgotten entirely that she was there. She really was committed to just listening to his theories and not sharing anything. What was it again that spurred Harrier to share absolutely everything about his theories right here? Rather than somewhere he and Kim could go over in private? Wasn’t this supposed to be confidential? These were just theories. Perhaps it didn’t matter. Perhaps it was another can-opening. All right, big man. Wet dog. Can-open away.

[lucassinclaer-archive]

i only need super minimal encouragement to talk about this soooooo ty @freetobeeyouandme lmao. been thinking about stranger things heist au again. and it got long into brainstorming territory so just... (waves hand vaguely) thoughts continue under the cut.

legacy families like the byers who never pulled high-end jobs, content in their little pond being small-time crooks incapable of understanding why jonathan, with all his flawless lifts and situational awareness, would try to reach above and start in on the big jobs.

joyce who met lonnie on a job and joyce and jonathan who protect will from lonnie's frustration when will turns out to be an awful thief who doesn't enjoy crime the littlest bit. (he does turn out to be quite the forger when the time comes, though.)

contrast with that the wheelers who are an all-american halfway happy law-abiding family whose eldest, nancy, walks eyes front into a life of crime to protect her friend and finds that it becomes inevitable, a sort of ceaseless need to keep going. who never wanted her little brother involved.

but apparently the wheeler siblings have some sort of crime beacon on them because of course nancy quite literally crashes into her brother trying to take down the same scumbag two towns over she is, although he looks at her like she's crazy when she lays out her plan and man, what her little brother has planned is actually pretty clever and much more subtle than the approach she was gonna take. they have ground rules, but she doesn't try to keep him from pulling jobs. she knows it'd be useless.

dustin is an incredibly bright kid with what may be a slight tendency to go overboard in the name of Science. he loves blowing stuff up every now and again, okay?! and also it's just criminal (heh) what some pharma companies do so he might be breaking into their headquarters and screwing with their formulas and contaminating their experiments until he figures out how to take them down permanently. sue him! (but please don't actually sue him, he hasn't found a great lawyer yet.)

lucas on the other hand was dragged into crime kicking and screaming. not something he ever wanted to do. (will will understand but then lucas kind of loses him when he did it anyway.) mike and dustin sort of kidnapped him into it, basically, when they were all still strangers, dustin and mike barely partners on this one con, and they'd needed a patsy who worked for the corporation they're stealing from. unfortunately they were still young and dumb enough to pick someone actually smart who trapped them in an office until they copped to their scheme at which point lucas demanded proof of their accusations which coincidentally was exactly what mike anf dustin were after. after that they can’t really seem to separate. he's turned into a jack of all trades, lucas sinclair - grifter, thief, hitter... even the occasional hacker. not the greatest at any, but good at all.

(we don't talk about erica who will one day give him a heart attack blowing up his whole carefully crafted alibi.)

steve, the getaway driver who hates his fucking job and is in it only bc there was p much nothing else to do until he finds people who show him there's a way to do it that brings him joy, when he knows what he's fighting for.

robin's a strange sort of grifter, not someone who immediately charms everyone in a room, but who knows how to make herself either invaluable or severely underestimated. she speaks like every language under the sun. like steve she has a certain aimlessness at first but unlike steve it's not due to having no ideas but more of a thing of having no options. until they're offered to her. then she's unstoppable.

max is out there somewhere being a thief different from jonathan, self-made and scared and on the west coast. but if they were to meet jonathan would recognize those gritted teeth and the hard work. it's not natural talent that made her so good at what she does but pure stubbornness.

el, on the other hand, is all raw talent and exploited for it for a long time when she's a kid. it's will who meets her first, who gives her an out, but when it lands him in trouble it's the other criminals who help her get him out. joyce, mike and jonathan develop an instantaneous protective streak for her. lucas isn't sold and dustin is mostly in love with her demolitions capabilities and nancy is hungry for the dirt she has on various government agencies.

[conflictofthemind]

Churchgate: The Dear Billy Connection

If you missed it somehow, here's the original Churchgate post. Heads up I'm going to be re-sharing a few other people's ideas here but they will all be tagged of course.

First, let me share the last of the information I've gotten since that post. The only exclusive stuff I have is that I spoke to someone who confirmed Noah is filming in Atlanta the entirety of next week when the Church set is also filming. I talk to this person occasionally and they are very reliable.

The crux of Churchgate is that Will is going to be possessed, though I'm also down for a Vecna'ing, and Mike will be the one to snap him out of it. This is very similar to what happened to Max in the episode 'Dear Billy'. And well it turns out that that episode has insane foreshadowing for Churchgate.

DEAR BILLY:

If you remember, there was a weird easter egg where the OST when Max reads out her letter to Billy is actually named "Dear Willy". The connection to Churchgate might just be the reason behind that. Let me refer to a community post made by my friend @greenfiend who was just talking about this today.

If the church scene is a confessional, Mike might finally have to share the full truth he was talking about holding back in this scene. So will Will.

2. Mentioned in the post but both scenes would be taking place in, or right next to, a graveyard.

3. A crane has appeared on the set of the church. To perform the Max levitating stunt in Dear Billy, they used a similarly large crane to hoist her up in the air. This is the only other time they've used a crane like this to film a ST scene. Remember Sadie also wore contacts and rehearsed prior in studio to film this scene, just like what's happening with Churchgate.

4. Dear Billy introduces the idea of a demon "Spawn of Satan" haunting the Creel family. This ends up being Henry, or rather possessed!Henry (in TFS it is revealed he has been under the influence of the mindflayer just like Will).

5. Dear Billy has Hopper escape the Russian Gulag into the sanctuary of a Church where he eventually reunites with Joyce.

And finally:

6. Dear Billy is the episode famously directed by Shawn Levy, director of Season 5 Episode 6, who has hinted / told us he is directing an angsty Byler scene, and is currently on set possibly for the church.

[steddieas-shegoes]

hate to remember you like this

for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt 'angst with a happy ending' rated m wc: 1000 cw: mention of car accident, medical emergency, temporary amnesia tags: post-break up, assumed unrequited feelings, getting back together

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

"Eddie, it's Steve."

Robin's words echoed in his head as he boarded the plane.

He left Steve three years ago because Steve told him to go, told him that if his dreams were so big that he couldn't stay then he had to leave and not come back.

Steve refused to talk to him since, refused to visit when all the kids came to his shows, refused to show up to Christmas at Wayne's.

So he shouldn't be on this flight to see Steve.

But Robin had insisted that Steve asked for him, and Eddie couldn't ignore the immediate need to be there for him.

Despite time, distance, and the constant feelings of regret mixed with heartbreak and anger, he still only wanted Steve.

He didn't know what happened, just that Steve had been in a medically induced coma for over 24 hours and the moment he woke up, he was begging for someone to get Eddie.

Robin had mentioned that he didn't seem to have all of his memories, but didn't tell him any details on which memories he may be missing.

He sat in his seat and hoped that whatever he was walking into would be closure for his heart.

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

The kids were all sitting in the waiting room when he arrived at the hospital.

The moment Will saw him, hell broke loose.

"Who called you?" he asked.

"Robin. Are they letting people back?" Eddie asked.

"You shouldn't be here," Will said.

Eddie looked at his stance and couldn't help but smile. Will had grown incredibly protective of Steve after Eddie left, much to everyone's surprise.

"He asked for me. I promised I'd come if he ever needed me."

Everyone was quiet for a moment.

"Room 186. He was awake a little while ago, but they're only letting two people in at a time and Robin and Joyce have been with him for the last hour."

"Thanks."

Room 186 wasn't far down the hall. He could hear Joyce's motherly tone fussing while Robin sounded like she was rambling to herself.

When he walked into the room, his breath caught in his throat.

Steve was bruised, and half of his head was wrapped in bandages that looked like they needed to be changed.

But he gave Eddie a soft smile.

A smile he didn't deserve.

"Baby, tell Joyce to stop worrying herself to death over me. I'm fine."

Baby.

Robin and Joyce glanced over at Eddie, waiting for his reaction.

"I got it from here, Joyce," Eddie smiled at her and Robin, understanding coming over him swiftly.

"Alright, Eddie's got ya for a bit, but I'll be in the waiting room if you need me," Robin said, patting Steve's hand.

She gave Eddie a death glare on her way out of the room, silently suggesting that he would need a room at the hospital if he dared to hurt Steve in any way.

He sat down next to Steve, taking in his injuries.

"What took you so long?" Steve asked him, pouting slightly.

"Sorry, sweetheart. Got caught up with the band."

"But it's Wednesday. You don't have practice on Wednesdays."

Eddie sighed.

"Stevie, what year is it?" Had no one checked him for a concussion at any point in the last 12 hours?

"1988."

"It's 1991. You remember my band made it?" Eddie was going to get murdered by Robin for ruining whatever fantasy Steve's mind had settled on.

"What? But-" Steve's brows drew together as he tried to work through his own thoughts and memories. "You guys made it?"

"Yeah, we did."

They sat in silence while Steve processed.

Eddie felt the moment his memory started to come back, the room suddenly going cold.

"You left."

"Steve-"

"You left me," his voice broke, much like it had the night he screamed at Eddie as he walked out the door.

"I did."

"Why'd you come?"

"You asked me to. I'll always come when you ask."

Steve looked at him, his eyes heavy from whatever cocktail of drugs were flowing through his system, glassy with unshed tears.

"Then why did you leave?"

"You asked me to."

"I wanted you to stay. I always wanted you to stay."

"I wanted you to come with me."

They were both tense, Eddie's hands curled into fists against his thighs and Steve's body curling in on itself, preparing for a fight Eddie wasn't going to give him.

"I couldn't."

"I know."

"So, you'll leave again and I'll stay?" Steve asked, choking back a wet sound that Eddie recognized as a sob.

"I'll be here as long as you need me."

Steve searched his face.

"Why now?"

"Because you asked. Because I know what it's like to leave you and I know it's not worth missing you." Eddie gulped. "Because I love you too much to walk away from you again. Not unless it's what you want."

"I never want that."

"Then I'll be right here," Eddie reached for his hand, holding it gently in his own.

"You can't, though. You made it, Eds."

"I'll figure it out. We'll figure it out. Okay?"

Steve stayed silent for a while, but didn't pull his hand away.

"You'll stay while we figure it out?" he finally asked.

"Yeah. As long as it takes."

"Seal it with a kiss?" Steve asked, the way he did when he asked for Eddie to promise that he'd take out the trash, or stop at the store, or love him always.

Eddie leaned in and pressed his lips to Steve's.

Steve smiled as he pulled away.

"First thing to figure out: a new car."

"You totaled it?"

"She was good to me for so long. Unfortunately, she took things worse than I did."

Hard to believe looking at how swollen and bruised most of Steve was.

But they sat and talked through his plans for another car, something he could take on longer road trips to visit all the kids at school, see a few of Eddie's shows.

They'd figure it out.

[atimeofyourlife]

We've met before, it's different now

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt: modern au | rated: t | wc: 995 | cw: mentions/ fear of transphobia | tags: modern au, tinder au, trans steve harrington, transfem steve harrington, trans eddie munson, transmasc eddie munson, pre steddie, first date, t4t steddie Steph is back in Hawkins for the first time since coming out as trans. Robin convinces her to get back on tinder, where she finds Eddie. He's familiar for some reason, but she can't place why

Steph couldn't place how she felt as she laid on Robin's bedroom floor. It was her first time back in Hawkins since coming out. Since her parents had kicked her out, saying that they would never see her as their daughter, she would have to accept her place as their son, the sole Harrington heir. She'd left with Robin for Chicago, where she could reinvent herself. Become the woman she knew she was. But they were back in Hawkins for Christmas, and Joyce and Hopper's wedding, which was happening early in the new year.

Really, she didn't know how to be Steph in Hawkins. Anyone who was unaware of her transition didn't seem to recognize her, even people she'd been friends with in a different time. She'd been right behind Nicole, a girl she'd once dated, in the grocery store. And Nicole turned and looked her straight in the eye and asked if she was new in town. Mark Lewinsky approached her in the parking lot and offered to take her on a date. And every time someone looked at her, she wanted to make herself smaller. To hide away and put on a mask the way she had in order to survive high school.

Now, she was unsure if she wanted to do anything with her time, or to just hide in Robin's room when she wasn't needed elsewhere.

"Come on. I've updated your Tinder profile with new pics and everything. Even if we just sit here and swipe through everyone. But you never know, you might get something out of it." Robin said, dropping onto the floor next to Steph. 

"Fine." Steph rolled her eyes and held her hand out for her phone. She flicked through the photos Robin had chosen. A lot of her favorites, including a thirst trap from the boudoir photo session Robin had gifted her for her birthday, nothing too risque, everything was covered in a bodysuit, but it was a photo that made her feel confident and sexy every time she looked at it. "Okay, lets do it."

The first few were various guys she knew from school, a couple of girls mixed in too. She swiped left on all of them, not that interested. The first one that made her stop wasn't one she was interested in dating. But she was shocked to see Carol Perkins pop up with her interests set to men and women.

"There is no way Carol fucking Perkins is interested in girls." Robin said from where she was looking over Steph's shoulder as she flicked through the photos.

"Tommy's in most of the pictures. I bet they're looking for a third." Steph said, swiping left. "But they know that no self-respecting woman would get into that mess if they knew Tommy was involved, so Carol it is."

"You told me that you had a threesome with them?" Robin asked.

"Yeah, but that was before I knew I was a woman, and at the time I had very little self-respect." Steph replied, and continued swiping.

Robin had got bored of watching Steph swiping through Tinder, so had moved back to her bed to text Vickie. Steph stayed on Tinder, yet to swipe right on anyone, but then one guy caught her eye. A guy with long curly hair, named Eddie. He seemed vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place him. His bio said that he was in a band and played dnd. There was something about him that made her swipe right. She didn't think anything would come from it, and tried not to think on it.

A few hours later, she checked her phone to see a notification from Tinder of there being a match, and Eddie had sent her a message.

Hi. I don't really know what I'm doing with this. I'm back in town for the holidays, and my friends said I should make a profile to try and meet someone. But you are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on.

Steph giggled and blushed at the message. It took her a while to figure out how to respond.

I'm back in town for the holidays as well. My best friend updated my profile for me and said I should start looking even if I swiped left on everyone. You seem pretty cute, and I would love to hear more about this band you play in?

Steph felt that she and Eddie really hit it off, messaging each other for a while everyday. They talked about almost everything, and were even planning a date at Benny's. But Steph couldn't help feeling nervous. What if Eddie couldn't accept her being trans? What if everything went wrong and she got hurt, or outed, or worse?

She decided on a basic outfit, a comfy sweater over jeans. Feeling that anything fancier would make her overdressed for a date at a diner.  She still felt nervous, but she was sharing her location with Robin so someone would know if anything went sour.

On the date with Eddie, everything felt so real. Time seemed to fly by, and they were talking for hours. She found out that he was also living in Chicago, so they could continue to see each other.

"I graduated from Hawkins High three years ago. I hated everyday that I was stuck there " Eddie said.

"You graduated a year after me, but your profile said you're a year older than me?" Steph asked, frowning. She still couldn't place him.

"I uh. I got held back a couple times. Shit happened. It was a hard time for me."

"I feel like I should know you, but I don't remember you from school."

"The thing is, I've not always been Eddie." He said, looking nervous. "I had a different name, and I looked a lot different too."

It took a moment for Steph to realize what he was implying. "That's okay. I get it, because I've not always been Steph."

[bamboozledbird]

his eyes, his mouth // stiles stilinski imagine

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Void!Stiles, fem!reader (she/her pronouns) Pairing: not actually unrequited Stiles x fem!reader Word Count: 2.5k Warnings: canon typical gore/violence, choking, non-con touching/kissing (nothing worse than the show), emetophobia (mentions, no details)  Tags: author is horny for classic lit and bad at titles and it shows Summary: Reader accepts Void's invitation to play even though she knows she's already lost. A/N: I'm on my teen wolf bullshit again icb. This is a rewrite of an old work of mine from 2014, and I did it for entirely selfish purposes. I need Void now, and my other work is in s1 smh.

The first time she saw brown eyes it was in her mother’s face, skin glistening with the sweat of labor and the adoration of motherhood. For a long time, she thought she’d never see eyes that full of feeling again—like a never-ending tree ring, like reeds taking root—and then, in the second grade, she met a boy with the round, brown eyes of a fawn. She helped him read without skipping over lines, he helped her make sense of fractions, and she stared at his eyes until it was time to go home. Over the years, she memorized every crack of amber and drizzle of honey until the sky was just a cloak of him, him, him. 

It was the eyes that gave Void away. He could replicate Stiles’s smile, the curl of his smirk, the pucker of his confusion—but the eyes. He couldn’t quite hide the hollowness, even when her own were shut tight.

She kept them closed now. Under the starless sky, she could only make out the vague shapes of deadening trees; it was easier to follow the ink-dipped path with her hands. Her fingers brushed against damp moss and sticky bark until she stumbled over a loose rock. The stone rolled into something solid, and the resounding thud sent her heart into her throat. Everything seemed to be a little more than it was out here in the dark—the shapes bigger, the sounds louder, the fear thicker—everything except for her. Like this, she was a scared little girl. Frantic. Small. Alone. 

She didn’t realize quite how small she was until she was enveloped with darkness, how small and how pathetically human—but here she was anyway: alone in the woods, blinded by the darkness of early morning, on her merry way to meet an immortal psychopath with an entire Japanese spirit army at his disposal. All this, simply because he told her to.

She’d known the text was from Stiles’s number before she even pulled her phone out from under her sleep-rumpled pillow. She knew because it was three in the morning. It seemed like he only ever needed her at three or five in the morning, and yet she always, always answered. She’d realized quickly, however, that this time it was Stiles’s number but it wasn’t his message. 

< Stiles 🤓☝️: > 

I know you always found Stiles so easily, but why don’t we see who’s the better hider? I’ll play fair this time, cross Stiles’s heart. I’ll even give you a hint:  The cock crew, The sky was blue: The bells in heaven Were striking eleven. ‘Tis time for this poor soul To go to heaven. In case you’re thinking about not showing up, you should probably know the consequences. At the risk of sounding melodramatic, if you don’t come out and play with me, I’ll have to take out one of your pieces, and your family is just so deliciously human. I’m afraid it would be permanent. 

The riddle wasn’t actually a riddle, and that was the entire point: both the author’s and Void’s. The only reason she knew the answer was because she loved James Joyce. Stiles knew that, so, of course, Void did too. He also knew that she’d know exactly which holly bush to stumble towards in the dark.

She reached the perimeter of a small clearing; the smell of pine and earth layered over the trickle of a shallow rivulet was achingly familiar. Tilting her head, she inched into the open area, wary of its uncanny resemblance to a stage, and came to a stop in front of a large stump nestled between thickets of holly. Even in the dark, her fingers found the clumsy letters chipped into wood by small, marshmallow-sticky hands. 

He had Stiles’s phone, but he hadn’t bothered with the usual needlessly complex charade. She could only assume that meant that this was the trick and she was the punchline.

“The fox burying his grandmother under a hollybush,” she broke the disquieting silence when the fine hairs on the back of her neck prickled like a rabbit that knew it was about to die. She’d heard a rabbit scream once; nothing ever sounded quite so terrible until she heard Stiles wake up from one of his nightmares. “Clever, but I’m a little young to be your grandma. Aren’t you, like, a zillion years old?” 

The Nogitsune exhaled against the knobs of her spine, his breath revoltingly warm and wet, “You could’ve let me have my dramatic entrance. I ask for so little.”

She pretended that her stomach was not churning and that she was not dying from this, “Sorry, next time a psycho killer asks me out, I’ll know better.” 

He clicked his tongue and slipped his hand over her shoulder, twisting a strand of her hair around his finger in slow, methodical twirls. “You really need to learn to mind your manners, baby; someday that lip of yours is going to get you into trouble,” he chided, mouth resting against the shell of her ear. 

She repressed a shudder and pulled his hand away from her by his wrist. He went surprisingly easy, delicate bones limp in her fingers. For a moment, she just gripped his clammy skin, digging her nails into pale flesh, waiting for him to do something. He didn’t. Void just sighed in her ear and hummed, “I know, baby. It’s just the moon, right? And the stars, and your favorite author in your favorite place with your favorite person—and they say romance is dead.”

It was the audible intake of breath as he smelled the jasmine and honeysuckle in her hair that finally cut through the heady haze swathed around her. She turned around and let go of his arm with a sharp push that sent her stumbling back a few steps. Void narrowed his eyes at her, and his slow smile made her sick, “Did I ruin it? C’mon, I gave you a hint; you tell me what he’d say if he were here.”

 "Is this really why you made me get out of bed at 3:00 am? To roleplay?” she sounded much braver than she felt. 

Void grinned again, all teeth and bad intentions, and she thought of the way Stiles’s eyes looked with his smirk wrapped around her straw as he stole a sip from her cup. It was more vanilla creamer than coffee, and his cheeks had hollowed from the sickening sweetness. She’d wanted to kiss him then for the same reason she wanted to climb on every sculpture that read, ‘look, but do not touch.’ Had that really only been a month ago?

Void slunk forward, agile and lithe like a big cat, and the flash of his smile in the dim light was a scalpel against her throat, “Maybe. Isn’t that why you came to find me in the middle of the night?” He stopped a few inches in front of her and canted his head, “All alone, no wolves or hunters to interrupt us, even though I didn’t tell you to keep it to yourself. You did that all on your own, baby. Such a good girl.” 

His jaw softened slightly, and he rounded his eyes into a twisted mask of pity. He must’ve been able to hear her heart bruising against her ribs; she could feel the echo vibrating her stapes. Her lips parted, but her mouth went cottony when his hand trailed over her collarbone and came to a stop along the slender slope of her throat. “It’s just us now; you can tell me,” his voice was gentle, almost a coo, as his fingers squeezed slightly, thumb pressing into her carotid. “You can pretend it’s him. I won’t mind.” 

“You’d get off on that, huh,” she was horrified to realize that her voice was wet and thick, completely wrecked, like she’d been crying for hours. Void’s eyes, dark and endless, flickered over her face as he sucked in a breath through his teeth—savoring her misery. “Knowing how much I want him—how much I hate you.”

His grip around her neck tightened briefly, but he relaxed his joints after a shallow exhale, struggling to pace himself. Overindulgence, she mused, that was probably his only weakness. “Don’t be like that, baby,” he smoothed his thumb over her pulse and grinned manically when it rabbited under his touch, “you’d get something too, and we both know this is the only way you’re gonna get it.” His wistful sigh stirred the soft hairs framing her face. “The boy doesn’t have much taste, I’m afraid, but I have to admit in this case,” Void’s gaze darted from her panting mouth to her heaving chest as she struggled for meager mouthfuls of air, “it’s worked out splendidly for me.” 

If she could just stop seeing blurry splotches for a moment, maybe she could think of something to do other than gape at him like a fucking fish. At least, she couldn’t quite make out the lines and curves of Stiles’s stolen face like this. He would be so disappointed; the thought struck her in the stomach, and she might have gagged if her trachea had the space for it. He would be so disappointed that she’d been stupid enough to traipse into the forest to play house with a demonic spirit without backup. How? How could you be so fucking stupid? She could hear Stiles screaming at her in her head, almost felt his long fingers pinching her biceps as he tried to shake the stupid out of her. Not how, Stiles. Why. But she could never tell him the why; the why was possibly even more foolish than following the devil in the dark. At the very least, it was infinitely more cliché and endlessly more pathetic.

“I knew you were going to be my favorite.” She felt the words more than she heard them. Void’s dry lips brushed over her cheek, and then he dragged his mouth towards her jaw, more like a taste than a kiss, “I knew you’d be fucking exquisite.” 

Her vision narrowed into pinpricks as his mouth crowded over hers, and with her last grasp of consciousness, she bit down on his lip. Hard. She fell to the ground with the coppery tang of blood on her tongue. Like pennies, she thought faintly as she watched honied amber eyes swim in the night sky, tastes like pennies. 

**************************

When she finally woke up, she immediately wished she hadn’t. Her throat was rubbed raw with pain, and the left side of her body was sore to the bone. She hissed as she accidentally pressed into a blooming bruise just over her hip. It took her a moment to hone in on the ratty velvet couch and concrete floor: Derek’s loft, then. That was good. If she were dead, she would’ve picked just about anywhere else as the backdrop for her afterlife. 

“You’re awake.” Stiles’s voice was flat, but his eyes were his and only his. 

Her fingers skittered away from her skin to grab at the thin blanket draped over her legs, “Jesus fuckin’ Christ. Knock much?”

He didn’t look amused; he didn’t even roll his eyes. She had only seen Stiles well and truly angry a few times in her life and never at her. Heat sparked along her spinal column, and no matter how many times she swallowed her throat stayed dry. 

“Look…” she cleared her throat and bit down on her bottom lip, wincing as pain sliced through the flesh—it was split open. When the hell had that happened? Frowning, she licked away the small trickle of blood from the reopened cut and slowly pushed herself up into a sitting position, “I know what you’re thinking. You’re probably, like, five seconds away from laying into me with a hyperbole-heavy lecture, but can you just save it until I’ve taken a few painkillers and iced my fuckin’ knee. Much appresh.” 

“You have no fucking idea what I’m thinking,” his tone was even, almost numb, but his eyes—his eyes gave him away. The amber was molten, and her head swam with the desire to burn in it. 

Her leg jittered. “So,” the heel of her foot tapped against the stone floor, shooting aching jolts up her leg to her slightly swollen kneecap, “you aren’t thinking that I’m at least three levels above Jar Jar on the dumbassery scale? Like, it’s Jar Jar, Nedry, Condiment King, Goku, then me.” Her calf throbbed as she rolled her ankle and then pushed her foot up onto the toe of her muddy sneaker, trying to bounce silently. Stiles clocked it immediately. Of course, he did. It was his move.

Sighing, Stiles knelt down so that he wasn’t looming over her anymore and squeezed her unbruised knee until her foot slowed to a stop. “You know it goes: Nedry, Condiment King, you, Goku, and then Jar Jar," he ended his sentence with his hand hovering a few centimeters above your nose.

“Thank god.” The corner of her mouth wobbled as she tried to smile, “I think I hit my head on the way down, though. Possibly lost a few brain cells.”

Stiles winced, and the couch dipped with his weight as he sat down. His thigh was warm against hers. “Let me see,” he gently parted her hair, long fingers gently searching for any blood or bumps. She couldn't help but notice his mouth when he was this close; it was puffy and pink, most likely from using it as a chew toy while pacing a hole in the floor. She was frozen, paralyzed with wanting.

Her chest stuttered as her breath hitched. “You’re supposed to say somethin’ like, ‘Oh no, you didn’t have that many to begin with,’ or, ‘What will your other one have to fight with now,’” her voice was high and breathy, but she hoped he’d just write it off as pain or being slightly-concussed. 

Stiles managed a weak smile until he accidentally pressed into a tender spot on the side of her head. She sucked in sharply, air whooshing between her teeth, and he immediately reached for her with his other hand. Like it was instinct. Like it was the only thing he knew. Stiles threaded their fingers together and squeezed as he carefully brushed the pad of his thumb over the same spot on her scalp, “There?”

“Mhm,” she was breathless, grateful he was intensely focused on the shallow cut just above her ear so that he couldn't see the wild look in her eyes.

“What did he…” Stiles licked over his teeth, grimacing, and stared at the pronounced veins in his pale wrist, “what did he say when he…had you…like that?” The words sounded painful, like barbed wire raking over his tongue. He couldn’t look at her; she wasn’t sure she wanted him to.

“Oh you know,” she hoped he couldn’t feel her heartbeat where his fingers were pressed against her skull, “the usual maniacal, narcissistic rambling.” She lowered her voice to a gravelly pitch even though it tugged at her bruised windpipe, “‘I’m what killed the dinosaurs. I’m inevitable.’ All the final boss monologuing clichés.” 

Stiles searched her face for something. She smiled a little, and his responding smile was just as small, just as tired, but he seemed satisfied with her expression. He sat back and withdrew his hand from her hair, but he kept his thigh needlessly close to feel the warmth, the blood flow, the undeniable proof that she was here. “He Thanosed you?” Stiles arched a brow and dropped his arm over the back of the couch behind her head—close, but never close enough. Always a few inches away from where she wanted him.

“He did live in your head for a while there,” she sighed softly and drooped a bit into his side, chasing his body heat like a cat, curling in on him like a comma. 

Stiles hummed a little in recognition, drumming his fingers in a soft pitter-patter just behind her shoulder. “And that’s everything? He didn’t…that’s it?” 

She looked over at him. His jaw was tight and so were the tendons in his neck as he bit at his raw cuticles, on the verge of shaking or puking. His cheek fit perfectly in her palm, and she wanted him so badly she might split in two, “That’s it.”

[comradesummers]

so a while back i made this post about a fic idea i had for a fuffy no powers au where joyce is dating fuckass ted, only he's not a robot in this one he's just a regular human piece of shit, and faith is living with ms. calendar etc. (it's all in the original post). anyway, to my surprise, i actually started writing it. the first chapter is up on ao3.

hopefully this isn't too annoying but i'm tagging all the people who expressed interest in the initial post. hopefully it lives up to your expectations from like two years ago lol. also thank you to @explosionshark for beta reading this. you should check out her fics too, they're really fucking good. also @transroboteeveegirl and @juanabaloo were both really encouraging and helpful!

@elizabeth-dicewielder, @fangirling-03, @fivebifivesunnydaleavenue, @finalgirl1984, @imunbreakabledude, @faithlehanebpdgirlie, @tootiredforaname, @mimeparadox, @saunteringvaguelydownwards, @isagrimorie, @thisyearsgirl3, @the-sparkling-diamond-satine,

[flowercrowngods]

for prompt tag!

28. i'm just getting comfy (would love if this was established relationship/domestic fluff.. perhaps one of them is sick in this... idk)

but also take your time 🫡🫂

in which steve is sick but that won't stop soft boys hours

When Eddie hears the sound of fuzzy sock-clad feet dragging over the hardwood floor, accompanied by a sniffle or two, he drops the book he's reading onto his chest, exasperated by his restless boyfriend who refuses to stay in bed after Eddie tucked him in — again! Ready to give him A Look and tell him to get back to bed, because whatever it is he needs, Eddie can and will get it for him, Just go back to bed, Stevie. 

But whatever words were on the tip of his tongue even just a second ago have disappeared at seeing Steve – the same way that they always used to when they've only been dating for a few months. Instead of giving him anything remotely like A Look, Eddie grins, and instead of exasperated, all he feels is immeasurably fond. Endeared. Fucking enamoured. 

Because Steve, in all his pale, sniffly-nosed glory, is standing in the doorway to the living room, blinking against the sunlight streaming in through the windows, painting everything golden and bringing colour back to him, too. But it's not the way the light catches on his skin that makes Eddie fall in love all over again in what Robin would describe the most pathetic way possible, no. 

The thing that makes Eddie want to propose on the spot, in sickness and in health, is the fact that Steve is wearing Eddie's woollen hat. The one Joyce knitted for him with thick, soft, dark brown wool a few Christmases ago, with two distinctive bat ears sticking up.

God, where did Steve even unbury that? 

And what business does he have looking so absolutely fucking adorable wearing it?  His glasses are askew, the hair sticking out from beneath the hat is tousled and greasy, and the bags under his eyes are stark against his sickly pale skin that makes his nose shine red. 

Eddie is about to die with how much he loves him. It’s like a scream lodged in his throat that he cannot let out, an urge that grows evermore to let the whole world know, to not rest until the last person knew about his endless, endless, endless love for this angel of a man. 

In sickness and in health. It is there, residing in the back of his head, and he almost says it out loud — but Stevie would kill him if Eddie proposed to him because of a stupid woollen hat with bat ears (Sorry, Robbie). 

“Baby,” he breathes instead, miraculously keeping a hold of his heart in this wave of affection that overcame him so suddenly. “You good? Everything okay?” 

“Mhmm,” Steve hums, though it’s more of a growl with how rough his voice is. He wipes at his face, almost nudging his glasses off his nose, and Eddie can’t keep in the chuckle that bubbles out of him. 

He’s about to get up off the couch and wrap the angel with bat ears in his arms, just because he can, but then Steve is already approaching him, the blanket thrown around his shoulders dragging on the floor just as much as his feet. There is something so young about Steve when he’s sick, something so vulnerable and raw that makes Eddie want to latch onto him and never let go. Protect him from the evil germs and the headaches they bring. It’s dumb. Stupid, really. 

Eddie doesn’t even try to fight it as he sits up and holds out his arms for Steve to fall into. He brushes kiss after kiss to his overheated skin as Steve cuddles into him, burying his face in Eddie’s neck and his hands underneath his shirt. 

They hum in unison, finding a sound for serenity.

“That’s my hat,” Eddie says after a while, breathing in his sick angel and feeling him melt in his arms. 

“Our hat,” Steve mumbles into his skin. "My turn to be Batman."

Eddie laughs, wrapping his arms tighter around him, giving in to the urge to hold, the urge to never let go. “You’re ridiculous, d’you know that?” 

“I did know that,” Steve says, and he somehow manages so sound proud of that. 

“Good, just making sure,” Eddie remarks, hiding his own grin in Steve’s cheek, nosing along his temple and the edge of the hat. After a moment of silence that they spend just holding onto each other, he murmurs, “You need anything?”

Steve shakes his head, winding his arms tighter around Eddie’s shoulders and leans into him; it takes him a moment to catch up with Steve, but eventually he lets himself fall backwards so they’re lying flat on the couch. 

“What are you doing, hm?” he asks, reaching for the blanket that has pooled around Steve’s legs and pulls it up again, wrapping it around his shoulders properly again. 

“I’m just getting comfy,” Steve rumbles, slowly and sluggishly wiggling and twisting on top of him until he stills with a satisfied hum that sounds a lot like a smile. 

“Good?” 

Another hum, affirmative this time, as Steve buries his cold fingers underneath Eddie’s body. “You’re warm.” 

“And you have a fever.” 

“Hmm. Still.” 

It makes him grin again, makes him want to burst and scream and cry and laugh endlessly. 

“Ridiculous,” he says again, no louder than a whisper, and Steve turns his head to press a kiss to the centre of Eddie’s chest. It’s as much of a No, you as Eddie’s going to get, and he cherishes it with everything he has. 

“I like that,” Steve says, half asleep by the sound of it.

Eddie reaches for Steve's glasses and places them on the coffee table, and tucks the hat back over his ears. When no elaboration follows, asks, “You like what, angel?” 

“That. Your voice. Feels nice.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Mhmm.”

“Want me to read to you? I think you might like this book, actually.” 

Another hum, another kiss — to his heart this time. “I like everything about you.”

“That’s what I wanna hear,” Eddie laughs, reaching for the battered copy of Momo that’s been one of his favourites since Wayne brought it home on a rainy night in ’85 and Eddie stayed up all night devouring it. 

“At the edge of the city,” he starts reading the blurb, to give Steve an idea what this is about and let him decide if he wants to listen in or just feel the rumbling of Eddie’s voice in his chest, “in the ruins of an old amphitheatre, there lives a little homeless girl called Momo. Momo has a special talent which she uses to help all her friends who come to visit her. Then one day the sinister men in grey arrive and silently take over the city. Only Momo has the power to resist them, and with the help of Professor Hora and his strange tortoise, Cassiopeia, she travels beyond the boundaries of time to uncover their dark secrets.”

Steve doesn’t react, but Eddie can feel that he’s not quite asleep yet, so he opens the book and starts reading from the beginning that he almost knows by heart. Somewhere on page seven, Steve takes to playing with Eddie’s hair, carding slow fingers through the strands in the gentlest way that is almost enough to distract him. Switching the book from one hand to another as his arms get heavy from the position he’s holding the book, he always has one hand drawing idle patterns underneath the blanket, between Steve’s shoulder blades. 

It’s a slow afternoon as the sun sets on them, painting them in golden hues of orange and rose. Once he’s sure Steve is asleep and the living room too dark to keep reading, Eddie puts down the book and sneaks his arms under the blanket, wrapping them loosely around Steve’s shoulders to follow him into dreamland.  

hope this lives up to what you had in mind! 🫶

[queenofshenanigans]

WIP WEEKEND (5/30)

I've still got a few in the ole inbox, but I'm open for business again, so let's get this party started! I was taggedby (and am tagging back) @sourw0lfs, @vthx, @hbyrde36, @pearynice and @maxfandoms this week! Thanks brochachos!

👩‍👩‍👦 - the Stranger Moms fic. The plot is unfolding, Joyce has entered the chat, and we've gotten through *most* of the exposition. I'm officially hitting my stride for this thing...the tag here.

🐉 - Steve finds a dragon in his closet. (Steddie, ft Dustin's unsafe scienigal experiments...i've got a bunch of this one in the inbox...if I get a bunch who *knows* where it'll go...maybe Dustin will take flight?!)

🏰 - Shenanigans in Steve's attic thanks to his dad's latest experiment. It's basically Honey I Shrunk The Kids, but ST canon compliant as well. (Pre-Steddie, ft Erica & Dustin, intended to be a drabble and/or short fic, but I'm outta control. This one's in the )

⚔️ - A Knight's Tale (with magic) AU, Ronance with side Steddie (and other various pairings), but it's 90% Wheeler sibling feels. I'm about shift POVs to someone ~new~ here...

🤸‍♂️- The Yeet Aerobics Fic - This is either a S3 rewrite, or a S3 competitive aerobics AU or somehow both, featuring aerobics instructors Chrissy & Steve, an Eddie on a health kick for Uncle Wayne's heart, and a Robin who's watching it all unfold from Scoops.

🤫 - Steddie Big Bang (this has gone under so many genre changes, all I'll say it's still a romance and has a happy ending. I'll write 3 sentences, and share some stuff from ⚔️, 🏰, or 🐉 - if you have a preference, drop an emoji)

🛼 - Sapphic Mini Bang (90s Bubblescoop with background Stommy; I'll write 3 sentences, and share 👩‍👩‍👦 or 🤸‍♂️- if you have a preference, drop an emoji)

Snippet from Stranger Moms and tags, beneath the cut.

"It's not over yet." Joyce's voice was hard, resigned, but determined. It was clear that she knew even more than Claudia did about everything. "The fight's not done."

Claudia sighed, and looked older than she was as she reached out and picked up Steve's hand. "I can't believe you kept this from us for so long, Joyce. Our kids—" She cut herself off with a glance to Liz. "You and Steve are welcome at our place too, then. Steve would have come there regardless, and if you're serious about sticking around, I guess I don't have a choice."

"So very kind of you," Liz drawled, turning back to Steve as Joyce joined them by coming to stand at the end of Steve's bed. "Now, are either of you going to explain what the hell it is you're talking around?"

She knew Claudia hadn't been telling her the whole story earlier, and there were obvious blanks where Joyce had left things out. She would chalk it up to nothing more than Hawkins weirdness and take Steve far away from it all, if not for way a small voice in her head said that this time, there was no running away.

"And what it has to do with Henry Creel?"

Before anyone could answer, Steve stirred. All three women turned as one as his eyes opened. His hazel eyes, the same color as her eyes, she thought, flicked from face to face; first to Liz, then Joyce, finally to Claudia, before he jerked his whole body back to Liz, eyes wide in his bruised face.

"Mom?" His voice was rough, and she noticed then that he had bruises around his neck as well, as if someone had tried to strangle him. He looked younger than his nineteen years, small and scared as he squinted up at her, confusion clear on his face. "Fuck. I must be more concussed than I thought. Doc Owens didn't say hallucinations were a concern."

Tagging: @strangerthingswritersguild, @helpimstuckposting, @tinytalkingtina, @strangethetimes, @nureyevsins, @devondespresso, @yesdangerpls, and anyone else who would like to play!

[strangerthingsfanworkrecs]

I would like to nominate the wonderful @bettyfrommars

Betty is an amazing story-teller and world-builder who creates unique and immersive universes to get lost in.

Please ask her about her influences and inspirations and how she creates her reader characters and OC's.

<3

Introducing @bettyfrommars

We're highlighting Betty for her written fics! All recs tagged #bettyfrommars will be for her works. Betty answered a few questions about her process below.

What's a fandom interaction that made you really happy?

There have been so many. I feel lucky with all of the wonderful interactions and readers I have met through this fandom. The first one that comes to mind is meeting @somnabulic_thing who became one of my closest friends. They created art for a couple of my fics, including a clown!Eddie for my Nightmare Factory series that I cherish. I can't tell you how much meeting a fandom veteran like Somna meant to a newbie like me. They inspire me and are also the only reason I stayed active in the fandom after last spring when I started to feel like I didn't belong. Also, the amazing @dandelionfluff was a loyal reader of my biker!Eddie x reader series I'm on Fire (I kept screenshots of their comments that I look at to cheer myself up), and she handmade an incredible bind of the fic. The work they put into it blows my mind, and I'm just grateful for their continued friendship in general.

What's your favorite character or aspect of Stranger Things to create for?

Eddie Munson is my reason for joining the fandom, but I've also come to love my various versions of Steve that I like to plop into random au's. Lately I've been enjoying adding others into the mix like Wayne and Joyce and Robin. I also love throwing OC's into the ST world. Since I was a child, that's all I've known, so learning to create reader inserts was an interesting process.

What's your artistic process like? Any tools you favor?

My artistic process is a mess. I don't ever use outlines or have much of a plan at all when I sit down to write or paint, and I've learned that is the only way the muses will come and hang out. There is a wall of fear that blocks me occasionally, but as soon as I push through and start creating instead of just staring at the screen and feeling sorry for myself, it's fairly easy to get things flowing. There is a lot of trust in the unknown involved. It eventually feels like I am merely along for the ride while being used as a vessel for whatever tale I am telling. I'm one of those funny people who can't have any music or sound in the background when I write. It has to be dead silent. Sometimes I even wear earplugs. But the playlists I make for my fics are a very crucial part of daydreaming up scenarios for the story when I am cleaning and driving around. Oh, and reading. Reading the work of others is an important part of my creative process and growth.

What was it like to work on Death Becomes Us?

This was one I did not think I would finish, but I'm glad I drop kicked the doubt because that final chapter is one of my favorites ever. I rewatched a LOT of the series True Blood during. I never cared for Vampire Bill in the show and wanted to replace him with a version of Eddie everyone could sink their teeth into. I wrote most of it in the summer, so I'd retreat to a cool, dark space and disappear to visit Bob Newby in his vampire/human crossover bar. Also, I wanted a reader who was very distinct and really not a reader insert at all. Dove becomes more and more OC as the story progresses, and if I did it all over, I'd make her deeply OC from the beginning.

What was it like to work on I'm on Fire?

What a ride this series was! When it started out, I was stumbling with reader inserts for the first time (fandom writing in general) and had a very simple idea in mind for a tow truck driver who falls in love, but it became so much more than that. I rewatched Sons of Anarchy and really just let the characters do what they wanted to do, sometimes to the detriment of canon characterization. Many OC's were born from this fic, including Steve's son Oliver, who Robin helps raise, Robin's partner Katie, the evil villain Charlene, and the beloved Astrid Bautista that @texasblues helped me develop. She's been writing the Steve x Astrid backstory and it's perfect. I was pumping out a chapter a week back then, which is crazy now to think about it. I was absolutely living and breathing that story. A lot of my steam came from the fandom interaction; I made so many special connections with readers back in those days. Also, it was just a great world to disappear into. I make some reference in the fic to biker Eddie having dreams of being attacked by demobats, to link it to ST in a parallel world way. I'm in the process of a total OC rewrite of the story and plan to play more with those type of connections that each character would have to the original world.

See the art @texasblues commissioned for this fic from dr-aculaa here

[conflictofthemind]

Not only do Robin and Will (and Mike!) have scenes together, they have a plot where the three of them visit Castle Byers in the Upside Down and here's all of the proof:

I originally posted this on twitter a month ago, which got a lot of backlash as well as prompting a certain someone to lie directly to my face about it. Now that I've been vindicated so much in the last few days, I want to share this mini-theory that I'm mostly convinced of at this point.

1.Let us go over the filming timeline: February 15th (left), Robin and Will at the McCorkle farm. Take note of the outfit that Robin is wearing here. February 20th (right), fans stumble on an Upside Down Castle Byers set in the woods.

February 22 (left), a pap reveals they were filming at this location the past week, and likes a comment saying one of the figures in the red picture was of Noah/Will.

March 1st (right), Ross Duffer posts what is (possibly) weeks 7-8 of filming, including a picture of Castle Byers in the Upside Down with the prominent American flag.

March 13 (but not really), we get a hidden shot from Episode 4. Oh, and an iPad in the corner that says this was actually February 13 - the same week they were filming with Maya/Noah/Finn at the farm.

Oh, but zoom in. Enhance image. What is that? It's the unknown!

A flag.... the body of a person with a dark coat and a white t-shirt.... possibly in the mirror view of a car or some kind of framing device. Now what did they film in the same week(s) that looks like this? Just Castle Byers and Robin.

2. Aaaaand then we get a little bit into Lovers Lake gate (literally).

The official version of the map, that could still be incorrect tbf, has Lover's Lake placed near the farms on the outskirts of town. There is also a fan-made map referenced from the actual show, which is different but still places Lover's Lake next to some farms and specifically Eugene McCorkle's farm.

Then we have this classic BTS photo from Ross of (possibly lol) Weeks 5-6 which would include the week of February 13 and 16th where we know they were filming at the farm.

What this all means, I won't speculate on too much, but I am fairly sure we are getting a mission with Robin/Will/Mike as they venture into the Upside Down (maybe Mike drives them himself) through a rift that has strategically opened near the farm because of it's position near the Lovers Lake gate. I think it's possible that they are investigating Will's memories, and trying to induce them to come back. The opening scene as we all know happens at Castle Byers. Will wants to go for his own self-development and discovery, Mike tags along because that's his boyfriend bestie, and Robin tags along after developing a soft spot for Will and to get a glimpse at how the two interact.

3. Where are the others at (why only them three)? Also in episode 4, we have Nancy, Jon, Dustin and (probably since it's his car) Steve as a group all travelling from the McCorkle farm into the Upside Down. Perhaps they split off into their own missions, or something goes awry and this is the reconnaissance team sent in to find RoWillMike.

The one thing I do have extra confirmation of is that Millie has not been involved in any of the farm scenes, even the ones filmed in April. There is no way El is involved in this plot. Millie was also on a filming break during most of February.

The others all likely have a plotline together (Lucas/Erica/Joyce/Hopper/El). Vickie couullldd be there though?

Fin.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Z 🐉🥵🍎

Excellent choice. this was very fun to write! 🐉❤️

A welcome distraction

Rated: E

Words: 980

Tags: Fantasy AU; dragon!Eddie; king!Steve; established relationship; mates; soul bond; cock warming; edging; anal sex; monsterfucking; that's right, that monster gets fucked

Notes: Set in the same universe as Hic sunt dracones

Sometimes, Steve hates being king. He loves his people, but some days, he'd rather fight a hundred more usurpers than suffer through another day of audiences and paperwork. 

Stifling a yawn, he grasps for the bowl of fruit Joyce brought. It's almost empty, but the pile of documents awaiting his signature is still as large as it was hours ago. He sighs, popping a berry into his mouth and pulling the next page from the stack. He squints in the flickering candlelight, trying to concentrate, but reading feels like trying to move through sludge. Steve groans and reaches for the bowl again. 

He comes up empty.

He keeps groping around for a moment, but finds only the surface of the desk. 

“What the-?” he mutters, looking up. 

The bowl is gone. 

While Steve is still staring at the spot of thin air that has taken its place, something at the back of his mind starts to tickle. The mental equivalent of a poorly restrained cackle. 

“Really?” Steve rolls his eyes. “You'll do anything for attention, won't you?” 

A blueberry flies from the shadows, hitting his chest.

“Oh dear,” says the darkness, unfurling leathery wings, and the sound is home. “My king is grouchy.” 

“My dragon is annoying,” Steve retaliates, but his mouth tugs into a grin as Eddie peels himself from the shadows, crowding him into his chair. “Anything you wanted? Apart from throwing food at- Get your ass off the desk, I'm reading that!”

Eddie obeys gladly, nudging Steve's knees apart so that he can settle on the ground by his feet.

“Want what's mine,” he purrs against Steve’s lips. “Want you.”

“Eddie, c’mon,” Steve says. The words come out around a gasp as Eddie nips at the bite mark on his shoulder. “Let me finish first.” 

“Don't worry, beloved,” Eddie's hands find the bindings of his pants. “I'll let you finish alright, but first we’ll-” 

“Oh no, we won't,” Steve snaps, pushing him off with one hand and gesturing at the pile of documents with the other. “Nobody is finishing before I'm done here. Is that clear?” 

A heartbeat passes in silence. Then, Eddie’s offended scowl morphs into a devious grin. The bond thrums with mischief and desire, and Steve knows he did this to himself. 

*

Steve scrawls his signature onto another document. It comes out wobbly and almost misses the line, little drops of ink splattering all over the parchment. He doesn’t even wait for it to dry, just slams it on the pile with the finished ones. A quick glance reveals that there’s two more left. He groans in frustration, trying to shift in his seat, trying to gain more leverage, more friction, more of that delicious, wet warmth. It’s no use. There’s two strong hands on his hips, holding him firmly in place. 

“Eddie,” he whimpers. “Please, c’mon, you’ve made your point.” 

His dragon hums at the sound of his name, the vibration sending little sparks up Steve’s spine, then pulls off his cock with an obscene, wet sound. 

“No can do, beloved,” he laments, glancing up at Steve from below dark lashes. His eyes are pure gold in the candlelight. “You said no finishing before-” 

“Fuck,” Steve swears. His hips twitch feebly in Eddie’s hold. “There’s only two left, I can do these tomorrow, please, I-” 

Eddie licks a long, hot stripe all the way from his base to his leaking tip, and the words trail off into an incoherent moan. 

“Wouldn’t want to keep my king from his duties,” Eddie rumbles, breath cool and ticklish against the sheen of his own spit. “Now come on. You’ve lasted so long, you can do two more.” 

And then, without waiting for a reply, he swallows Steve’s cock again. Steve feels that throat constricting, feels that wicked tongue teasing at his balls. Feels Eddie’s cock pressing into his leg as his dragon adjusts his position, and knows that he’s just as desperate for it. 

“Oh Gods, I hate you!” he groans. 

Eddie laughs, wrecked and muffled around the weight on his tongue, and lust coils in Steve’s abdomen like a spring, wound tight and waiting to snap. 

He yanks the two remaining documents towards himself, scribbling something vaguely resembling a signature somewhere near the bottom of both in one jerky movement before he slams the quill down on the desk. It snaps. Ink splatters on wood, and he knows the stains will never come out. He doesn’t care. 

“Done,” he rasps. “C'mon, c’mon, please!” 

His hands land on a horn and a fistful of hair, yanking so hard it must be painful, but Eddie doesn't complain. Instead, he scrambles into Steve’s lap and impales himself on his cock, all in one, fluid blur of movement. Their lips meet, and the taste of himself on Eddie’s tongue, the feeling of his mate clenching around him, is all it takes. Steve shatters apart with a hoarse moan, and Eddie greedily licks it out of his mouth while he spills inside of him. 

“You're a menace,” Steve tells him between sloppy kisses, once he's found his voice again. “Distracting me from work like that.” 

“Oh?” Eddie grins. “If anything, I think I made you work faster.” 

“Except I have no idea what I just signed,” Steve replies, snorting when his dragon nuzzles his throat playfully. “Peace treaty? War declaration? Who knows?” 

“Who cares?” Eddie quips, standing from the chair and stretching languidly. “Sounds like a tomorrow problem to me.” 

“Wait, woah!” Steve yelps as he is picked up and carried out of the study. “Where are we going?” 

Eddie laughs as he kicks open the door to their bed chamber. 

“What do you think, my love? You may be done, but I’m not. I plan on changing that. And maybe after …,” he grins down at Steve, all fangs and hungry golden eyes, “I'll let you finish some more.”

"Yeah, sorry your treaty is all crumpled up. My dragon sat on it."

More celebration ficlets

[solarmorrigan]

First Fic Tag Game

Pick a fandom and post an excerpt of the first thing you ever wrote in that fandom. Could be a scene, part of a scene, a couple of lines, whatever your first foray into writing for that fandom was. Feel free to include a link to the story it comes from if it’s been published (excerpts from WIPs count too).

Tagged by @devondespresso! Thank you!

The first thing I wrote for Stranger Things was actually the start of a Joyce & Steve bonding fic where Steve has a migraine and Joyce mothers at him. I think I've mentioned it in a couple of WIP posts before? I got to about 1700 words before I stalled out, and I'm not sure I'll ever actually finish it, so I'll toss the whole scene at you

I'm a bit behind, so I'm not sure who else to tag at this point? If you'd like to do it, though, I'd love to see what you post! Say I tagged yooooou~

-

Steve had dropped the boys off thirty minutes ago. They had all come rumbling into the house with quick hellos for Joyce and had immediately shut themselves up in Will’s room.

Steve’s car is still sitting outside.

It isn’t at all that Steve isn’t welcome at the house—Joyce doesn’t want to run him off—it’s only that he hasn’t come into the house. As far as Joyce can tell, he’s just sitting in his car out there.

Giving up any pretense of subtlety, Joyce draws the front room curtain back from the window and peers out onto the lawn.

He’s definitely in his car, slumped forward with his head resting on the steering wheel. The sight gives Joyce a little jolt of anxiety, and she’s shoving her feet into her boots before she even realizes she’s made a conscious choice to go outside.

There is a possibility that he’s simply asleep – he’d agreed to pick Mike, Luke, and Dustin up this evening, and maybe he doesn’t have anywhere better to be. Maybe he’s just waiting. But then why not just come inside?

And for that matter, he shouldn’t be napping in a car in the middle of January, Joyce decides. It’s cold.

She wraps her arms around herself as she approaches the driver’s side of the BMW, where she can see now that Steve’s hands are still clenched on the wheel and his shoulders are tensed up to his ears. If he’s asleep, Joyce will eat Hopper’s ridiculous hat.

The window is rolled down (and that definitely can’t be healthy), but Steve gives no indication that he can hear Joyce approaching. He’s holding himself so tense, so still, that Joyce can barely see his back rising and falling as he breathes. The anxiety wells up further in her stomach.

She raps her knuckles gently against the car door. “Steve?”

Steve jerks upright in his seat, hissing through his teeth with the motion. His eyes are scrunched shut, and it takes him a moment to open them and look around.

“Mrs. Byers.” The words spill out in a hurried slur as he blinks at her. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Joyce gives him a small smile, even as she meets his eyes, carefully searching. They aren’t red, and though his gaze is a little unfocused, she can’t smell any alcohol on him. If anything, he just looks tired. “What’re you doing out here in the cold?”

Steve grimaces. “Sorry. I’ll, uh. I swear I’ll get out of your yard in just a minute, I was just kind of… getting my bearings.”

“For thirty minutes?” Joyce asks gently.

“Crap, has it really been that long?” Steve passes a hand over his face, as if he can wipe away the exhaustion. “I’m sorry, I’ll – I’ll get going now.”

He fumbles with his keys, attempting to single out the right one to start the car, and Joyce can see his hands shaking. She reaches in and places a gentle hand over his wrist.

“I really don’t think you should be driving right now. You don’t seem… all there, sweetie.” Joyce offers an apologetic smile as Steve squints back up at her. “Have you been sleeping?”

Steve shakes his head, but it’s more an automatic motion than negation. “‘s just a headache,” he mutters. “I just got dizzy for a minute. I was waiting for it to go away, but I’m good now. Promise.”

He’s trying to give Joyce that charming smile she’s seen him turn on other people, the one that convinces them that he’s not doing anything worth paying attention to (he’s used it at least a few times in service of the boys in the last couple of months, she knows, finagling them into or out of places they probably shouldn’t have been) but it’s a pale copy at best. Joyce won’t be swayed.

“Why don’t you come inside and lay down for a little bit? Drink some water. Then, if you can walk a straight line, I’ll let you drive home.” Before Steve can say anything, Joyce’s hand darts down and snatches the car keys from his lax fingers, and he barely manages a choked-off protest before hissing and pressing a hand to his forehead.

Joyce waits, half patient and half concerned, for him to uncurl from himself.

“You’ve been spending too much time around Hopper,” he says when he finally does.

“Oh, please, Hopper should spend more time around me. No one protects like a mom,” Joyce teases.

It doesn’t pull any of the reluctant amusement out of Steve—a little too cool to be laughing at a mom’s jokes, but letting it out all the same—that she expects. He gives her a twitch of a smile at best before his expression falls blank. He stares back at the steering wheel.

Joyce reaches out to squeeze his wrist again, angling to keep his attention on her, instead of wherever his mind had just taken him. “Come inside. It’s freezing out here.”

Steve shrugs, but moves to open the car door. “Cold helps my head, sometimes.”

There’s a brief echo somewhere in the back of Joyce’s mind—he likes it cold—but she shakes it away. “Do you get a lot of headaches?” she asks instead.

Walking beside her, Steve shrugs. “I guess? It’s not a big deal.”

A typical and perfectly helpful teenage boy answer. Joyce fights the fond roll of her eyes.

Steve reaches the door first, reaching for the handle, and Joyce watches with a frown as he fumbles to get a grip on it. She says nothing, letting him hold the door for her once he manages to open it, but turning to make sure he isn’t about to keel over in the doorway. If Joyce had to guess, given the dizziness and the unsteadiness and the green tinge to Steve’s otherwise pale face, she’d say this was less a headache and more a migraine.

She’d also be willing to bet it isn’t his first.

Steve shuts the door quietly behind them, only to physically cringe at a sudden swell of noise coming from Will’s room – Mike and Dustin shouting about something, it sounds like. Lucas’ voice rings out over theirs and the shouts die back down to background chatter almost as quickly as they’d risen, but Steve remains hunched over, eyes scrunched shut, breathing gone quick.

“Steve?” Joyce reaches out, her voice soft and her hands fluttering around his shoulders, but she’s afraid to touch just yet, uncertain if she’ll cause more pain.

With a few sharp breaths in and out, Steve straightens back up, shaking his head. “Sorry. ‘m alright.”

“Are you sure?” Joyce presses. “Look, you go sit on the couch, I’m going to ask the boys to quiet down. The walls are a little thin here.”

“No, they’re fine. It’s fine,” Steve insists, though his voice has gone a bit thin.

Lips pursed, Joyce stares at him for a few long moments. Gaze bleary, Steve stares right back. Honestly, he looks a bit more confused than defiant, but there’s stubbornness there all the same. Finally, Joyce lets a breath out through her nose and gestures to the couch.

“Okay, go sit. You said cold helps your head sometimes? What else?”

Steve shrugs, and makes no move to go sit as she’d instructed. “Maybe just a glass of water?” he hedges; he looks more and more uncomfortable as the seconds pass. “Look, it’s not that I don’t appreciate this, Mrs. Byers, but this is a huge imposition for you, and I should really just go.”

“Hey,” Joyce says, sharp enough to get his attention but without ire behind it, “who said it was an imposition? Did I tell you that?”

Startled, Steve spends a moment blinking at her. “Uh. No. You didn’t, I just… I mean, isn’t it?” he asks a little helplessly. “My mom never – um.”

Steve stops there, now looking pained both by his head and by whatever he thinks he nearly admitted to, but Joyce isn’t about to let that one slide. The concept is too outrageous.

“Your mom never took care of you when you were sick?”

“No, of course she did,” Steve says quickly, meeting Joyce’s eyes guilelessly as he explains. “She just, y’know, hated taking time out to make sure I didn’t die, or whatever. She had other stuff to do, and she got frustrated if I made her postpone it.”

Joyce’s immediate thought, though she isn’t entirely proud of it, is, What a bitch.

She doesn’t voice this thought, because she has better manners than that, and because she doubts Steve would take kindly to it. But the way he imparts this information—the matter-of-factness of it, the way he talks about being sick as though it had been a personal failing on his part, the way he doesn’t even seem to realize he should resent this treatment—it makes something in Joyce burn.

“Well that’s not how I do things,” is what she finally comes out with. “I want to help.”

Steve looks nearly convinced, but he still glances uncertainly towards the door, even with his hand braced on the wall to stop himself from swaying on his feet.

Then Joyce is hit with some inspiration. “It would make me feel a lot better if I just knew you were taken care of, alright? Besides, Will is getting a little fed up with my hovering. Give me something to do with all my extra mothering for just half an hour,” she wheedles, as though Steve would be doing her a great favor. “Then, if you feel alright to drive, I’ll let you go.”

“Uh. Okay. I could – I could do half an hour,” Steve says, as if he has anywhere else to be.

Joyce smiles at him and pats his forearm gently. “Thank you. Now go sit.”

Watching the way Steve weaves unsteadily towards the couch, Joyce is pretty sure the boy will be lucky if he can even stand back up in half an hour, never mind drive, but she keeps the thought to herself.

[subzeroparade]

If I may ask, who is your favorite author? You mentioned it in a tag. Thank you! Happy 10 years bloodborniversary

Tbh I don't remember who I mentioned - I don't have a favourite so much as I have a roster of authors I'm dedicated to, from whom I can learn vastly different things. But if I must choose I think it's the GOAT herself, Joyce Carol Oates. There is no one else I'd describe as utterly unforgiving.

Ty anon and happy 10 years Bloodborne (sorry this reply is quite late lmao) from my one and only Hunter trying his best and doing it poorly, Egg.

[phyllocnistis]

hi! you can call me c or cyn or boss; follow your heart. 25 year old dyke. no terfs or racists or zionists or weirdos or minors. i block liberally and as i please :)

this is a horny sideblog; follows come from @/loxosticha.

i have created this account to post and reblog horny stuff about my wonderful and sexy girlfriend and to post some smutty pieces i've been writing. you can find my pieces under #my writing or on ao3 under the same username as this blog.

can't believe i have to say this but do not fucking feed my work to ai or chatgpt. also don't be weird! i'm in a happy, healthy, and most importantly, monogamous relationship and im not looking for you to be a fucking freak in my messages. friends always welcome!! <3

i have more pieces tagged under #my writing, but my favorites include..

🩸blaire's retreat🩸- butch4femme

monster fucker, vampire femme takes her shy normie butch to the bdsm club and humiliates her in front of her friends. there is knifeplay, voyuerism, blood and bondage in this piece, so read at your own risk please :)

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kind strangers ✨ - butch4butch

threesome with a nervous baby butch getting his fucking guts rearranged by some older dykes.

now has a second chapter!

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the ocean's calling 🌊 - butch4femme

monster fucker, lesbian sea maiden x pirate piece. there is a more gruesome, bloody alternate ending posted as well.

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saffron falls ⚔️

knight piece, butch x dutch with a comical twist

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♥️♠️the grand prize♦️♣️ - femme4butch

femme sub gets offered up as a prize for their butches poker night, orgy.

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thunder gulch 🗻

joyce's best friend, margaret, finally escapes an abusive relationship in the most unlikely, violent, and satisfying way. mid century, 1950s-1960s setting. femme/femme or femme/futch depending on how you want to look at it. this piece is a love letter between goodbye, earl by the chicks and love lies bleeding. there's fucking, there's murder, there's friends to lovers. what more could you want?

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other works get posted as i finish them, i will be starting some longer projects soon; stay tuned! 🩸✨🖤