#e writes fanfic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thanotaphobia · 8 months

Text

They both startle awake to the sound of screaming.

Missa is upright before he's even conscious, blankets a tangle around his arms, heart beating like he's just run a marathon. The screaming has already died down, but there are echoes of it in the air; Philza, rolling over beside him and pushing himself up on his elbows. Rubbing bleary eyes with one hand, the other occupied by his communicator.

"Chayanne," Missa gasps, "Los huevos-"

"It's Tallulah," Phil cuts him off. His voice is raspy. Already, Missa's heart has started to calm, but when he speaks it jumps a little once more. "She gets nightmares."

He turns the blue screen of the communicator towards Missa, who squints at it. It displays a small black and white security image of the egg's room downstairs, Chayanne and Tallulah's beds visible.

"Chayanne gets to her first, usually," Phil says, and Missa makes out two small heads of hair in Tallulah's bed. His chest aches, and when he looks at Phil, the other man looks exhausted. The bags under his eyes seem deeper, somehow. "It's fine."

"I will go to them," Missa says. He shoves the blankets away- they're gathered to his side of the bed in their sleep, but Phil doesn't seem bothered.

"Nah," Phil murmurs, already pushing himself further up and out of bed. "I'll go."

"I can help," Missa insists. Philza turns to look at him, as though he's tasting the air between them like a snake, sensing the thick desperation and guilt in Missa's voice. "I have to- make up for things."

"You don't have to make up for anything, mate," Phil tells him. For a moment, his fingers twitch, and in the quiet, intimate darkness of their bedroom, Missa almost thinks Phil is going to reach out. But then he looks away, and his hands still. "But you can come, if you want. They won't mind. Hell, it'll help."

He's halfway out of bed before Phil's done. "I will," he says. He's determined to settle back into their lives, really make it up to them, no matter what Phil says. He might as well start here. Before Phil opens the door, Missa catches up to him and impulsively grabs his hand, intertwining their fingers.

Both of them stop. Phil looks back at him.

"You are not alone in this," Missa says, a little strained, a lot terrified. He stumbles over his words, struggling to translate what he wants to say, the complexity of his emotion. He settles on: "Estoy contigo hasta la muerte."

In the dark, Phil's lips press together. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that," he says quietly.

"It won't," Missa says, with more confidence then he feels. Something about the night, this night, makes him feel brave. He squeezes Phil's hand.

Phil squeezes back.

"¿Los huevos?" Missa prompts after a moment, and Phil blinks back to action. He drags his gaze away from Missa's face to the keypad by the door, nodding.

"Uh, right-" he says. "The eggs." Phil clears his throat. He does not let go of Missa's hand. Missa is one hundred percent fine with that. "Now, Tallulah's probably going to want another story, so I hope you have some good ones-"

Missa smiles to himself, and for a moment, lets himself believe they'll be okay.

#qsmp #pissa #death duo #qsmp philza #qsmp missasinfonia #philza #missasinfonia #this can interpreted either romantic or platonic w/e you want #qsmp fanfic #fanfic #mcyt #if the spanish is wrong blease let me know #i only took five years of it in high school and the rest is just what im picking up from memory and streams #my writing

239 notes · View notes

fischiee · 2 months

Text

someone tell me why every yorkalina fic explains away the lighter thing as york being a smoker and carolina tries to convince him to stop by taking/being given his lighter...

you're really going to tell me the girl thats hardened by war at 24, has the world's most damaging relationship with her father, and has an addictive obsessive personality ISN'T a smoker like come on...

#his whole 'if i started with a pickup line i never would have seen her again' makes perfect sense in this narrative ok #also carolina was probably hardened by war before that but w/e #i choose to believe in the timeline where she's like 23/24 by the time she joins pfl so #anyway the church's all have addictive personalities and carolina has NEVER been one to try and hold somebody accountable like that #especially since their whole relationship was YORK trying to stop carolina from doing self-damaging thing #this is no hate to anyone who writes yorkalina fanfics like this i adore your please keep doing your incredible work im in awe of you #also no need to actually tell me i understand the message of it.. the trust... the love..#yorkalina #rvb #red vs blue #agent carolina #agent york #agent new york

81 notes · View notes

danidoesntart · 5 months

Text

This scene from the beginning of @mostmagical's fic Professeure (of your love) has been embedded in my mind since I first read it. I couldn't stop imagining Marinette's stupid lil face

#me: i can totally write in pen without writing in pencil first #the e in Cheng: *exists*#me: fuuu #myart #miraculous ladybug #mostmagical #ml fanfic #fic rec #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #adrinette #adrienette #i was going to reread to double check if you specified what they were wearing snd their hair #but i was watching Avatar the last airbender so i decided to take some liberties 😅

128 notes · View notes

skywriter97 · 3 months

Text

When Heaven Calls

The sky is orange. Not the orange of the sunset, beautifully blended with hints of scarlet and violet with the occasional cloud or early star. The stars have long since burned out...and the clouds are but a fond memory. The sun no longer sets; it has grown too large for such an ancient, insignificant thing.

Hence the orange sky.

The heat of a burning sky is nearly unbearable. Centuries past, Mobians—male ones, especially—wore clothing for style, a sense of fashion or luxury. No such luxury exists now. Clothes, thick garments of scratchy materials, are worn to protect against the heat, provide some sense of shade or coolness from the charring heat.

The colossal sun has done more than increase the temperature. It has become an enemy of the world; scorched the grounds to ash and dust, dried up the seas and even the atmosphere. It would be an issue, certainly…

If the citizens of Mobius hadn’t heeded the warning signs. Hadn’t paid attention to the changes in the planet’s climates, hadn’t noticed the sun expanding ever so slowly over the centuries, devouring stars and planets and everything else in its hunger.

But they had.

World leaders had gathered. Solutions had been proposed, tried…and ultimately failed.

Not even the Chaos Emeralds, or the Master Emerald, or both working in tandem, could halt what was declared ‘natural progression’. After all, the sun is just another star. Stars grow, stars feed, and then…stars die.

With their final hope of saving their world exhausted, efforts were redirected to instead saving the people of their world. Expeditions were directed and launched, seeking another home, a better, safer home, for the people of Mobius. For years, decades, they searched.

Then they found one.

A planet so strikingly like Mobius that it seemed too good to be true. But it hadn’t been. The planet was not only hospitable, but perfect for Mobians and practically sparkling with Chaos energy. It was perfect.

So, the planning began to vacate Mobius and journey to this shiny, beautiful new world…the Mobians’ new home. It took years to build plenty of shuttles, even with the technology from Yellow Sky Industries, and by the time the fleet was ready for the voyage…time was nearly out.

“Come with us.” She begged. Her green eyes, so like her ancestor’s that he felt it in his heart of hearts, were damp with tears and shone with the sincerity of her plea. “There’s plenty of room aboard our shuttle.”

Technically speaking, this was true. The shuttles had been built and prepared to accommodate all that was left on Mobius plus extra. She told no lie to him, and he knew that she wasn’t the only one that would like him to take a seat onboard and journey to this new world.

But that was just it, wasn’t it? This was a new world, and…

“There is no room in a new world for an old relic such as I.” Shadow patiently replied and squeezed her shoulders. There was no hint of pink in her quills, but the way she blinked up at him…all he could see for a long moment was his Light, who had left to shine upon him from a place he could not yet reach so very long ago.

Shadow had been careful since her passing…since the passing of his children and grandchildren. He was known of by his descendants, his story a legend among legends not only on Mobius, but among his own lineage, but made sure that while he was known by legend, he wasn’t personally known by any.

Old legends had no place interrupting new stories.

Shadow had kept his promises. Each and every one. He kept watch over his blood as it navigated the centuries and ensured their health and safety and happiness. He’d guarded each addition from afar, blessed the way which they walked, and had never felt more pride and adoration in their accomplishments, in the way they embraced the opportunities to create their own legends.

“But you’re not an old relic! You’re-,” She grabbed his wrists tightly, unwilling to let go. “You’re family, and I won’t leave without you.”

Shadow chuckled lightly. “You remind me so much of her.” He fondly informed her. “She would have dragged me aboard, kicking and screaming, citing that I still had so much to do, so much to discover, and I had no business wasting such an opportunity.”

“Then you should listen!” She pressed.

“I did.” Shadow’s ruby eyes were soft, ancient, and she fell silent. “I did listen to her. Even though I’ve ached without my Aurora since she passed, I carried on. I watched over our family. I helped people. Even saved the world a few times. And now,” Shadow glanced over her head and nodded to the Mobian standing at the door of the shuttle. The time had come. “Now it’s your turn, little star.” He smiled at her, and she sniffled.

“I-I don’t wanna go without you.” She whispered. “There-There’s so much you could teach me, so much we could do together. Don’t make me go without you, please.”

Shadow pulled her close and allowed her tears to soak into his cloak. “Just because you won’t see me doesn’t mean I won’t be there.” He murmured to her. “Just because you can’t see the stars doesn’t mean they don’t shine. My light will always be with you.”

“What-,” She scrubbed her face. Shadow tsked and used his scarf to wipe her cheeks, both surprised and softened that she let him. “What will you do?”

“While you journey to your new world,” Shadow smiled. “I’ll be waiting for my heaven’s arrival.”

“On your own?” She demanded.

“NEGATIVE.” Shadow nodded in greeting, but Omega remained focused on her. His large, clawed hand patted her head consolingly. “WORRY NOT. I SHALL REMAIN BEHIND AND KEEP SHADOW COMPANY UNTIL HIS DEMISE.”

“It will be alright, little star.” Shadow reassured her and gently pushed her to the shuttle. “Now, off you go. That new world isn’t going to come to you!” He huffed a laugh when she whipped around and tossed her arms around him, and he stroked her quills comfortingly, and then she was gone, vanishing into the shuttle.

Shadow and Omega stood side by side on the charred grounds of Mobius’ remains, observing as the fleet of spacecrafts ignited their engines and rose into that burnt orange sky, watching their escape from the devouring sun until they were no longer visible. Briefly, Shadow wondered about this new planet. Would the skies be blue? Or some other marvelous color? Would the flowers smell sweeter than the ones his father-in-law used to pick? Would the beaches be golden, like the one he proposed on?

Shadow shook his head away from those thoughts. He’d been right not to board the shuttle. His time had long passed. The need for an Ultimate Lifeform had long been fulfilled.

And now…now he could finally rest.

Shadow glanced at his oldest friend with a half-smile. “Would you sit with me, Omega?” The ground was hot and dusty and unforgiving, but Shadow saw no need to find a more comfortable spot. There was no longer any such thing on Mobius, and so sat on the harsh, charred earth with his legs crossed and hands folded neatly in his lap. He smiled when he heard the tell-tale whir of Omega’s belts, and the clunk of heavy metal settling on the ground beside him.

“I HAVE AN INQUIRY.”

“Ask, old friend.”

“WE HAVE DISCUSSED MANY THINGS OVER THE CENTURIES.”

“Yes.” Shadow agreed.

“ONE THING YOU HAVE NEVER EXPLAINED TO ME. SINCE I CALCULATE THE SUN WILL SWALLOW MOBIUS IN THREE HOURS, FORTY-THREE MINUTES, AND ELEVEN SECONDS AND DESTROY US BOTH, I WOULD LIKE AN EXPLANATION NOW.”

“Alright.” Shadow pricked his ears.

“IT WAS GERALD ROBOTNIK’S INTENTION TO UTILIZE MOBIAN AND BLACK ARMS DNA TO CREATE THE ULTIMATE LIFEFORM.” Omega stated. “THE FIRST ATTEMPT WAS THE PROTOTYPE KNOWN AS BIOLIZARD.”

“Yes…?”

“I DO NOT COMPUTE HOW A HEDGEHOG WOULD CONSTITUTE AS AN ULTIMATE LIFEFORM.” Omega admitted. “WHY CHOOSE HEDGEHOG DNA TO MERGE WITH BLACK ARMS? WHAT MAKES A HEDGEHOG THE ULTIMATE LIFEFORM?”

Shadow stared at the last remaining creation of Dr. Ivo Robotnik, blinking slowly…before a smile wobbled on his muzzle, and he burst into laughter.

“I AM SERIOUS.” Omega insisted, sounding irritable. “IF PROJECT SHADOW WAS TO YIELD ANY MEASURE OF SUCCESS FROM INCEPTION, THEY SHOULD HAVE CHOSEN THE STRONGEST AVAILABLE MOBIAN DNA. A TIGER, GRIZZLY BEAR, OR EVEN AN ELEPHANT WOULD HAVE MADE MORE SENSE THAN A HEDGEHOG.”

Shadow pounded on the dusty ground, wheezing with tears in his eyes, but after several moments of continuous laughter, finally sat up and grinned at Omega. “That’s what you’ve wondered so long about?”

“COLOR ME CURIOUS.”

Shadow smirked. “After the failure of the Biolizard, the Professor and the other scientists wanted something containable. Powerful, but controllable, yet since Project Shadow was highly classified, the resources for DNA were limited. Hedgehog DNA was one of the few qualifying samples available. That and,” Shadow chortled. “Hedgehogs were Maria’s favorite animal.”

“I SEE.” Omega hummed.

No words passed between the two companions for a long time, and Shadow idly spun the slim golden ring resting on his finger, tarnished by time, never once removed in the centuries since its adornment. He looked up, the heat from the encroaching sun scalding his face, scorching the grounds black as it approached, but he still didn’t move. Instead, he smiled. “Omega?”

“SHADOW.”

“…Thank you. For remaining with me all these years. For staying with me now.”

“…YOU ARE WELCOME, MY FRIEND.”

Shadow bowed his head, closed his eyes, and exhaled slowly. After centuries of waiting, Shadow’s heaven finally came to collect him. Now, after centuries of turmoil and heartache…he could finally know peace.

“Hey there, Spaceman.”

For @e-vay, @evayart for her awesome Sonic Fanart that continues to inspire me!

I'm such a huge Shadora fan, I love that ship, and one of the big "what-ifs" regarding future-future Shadora is Shadow's immortality. Here's one spin on how I think it might go down if Shadow keeps his Immortality in E-Vay's AU!

77 notes · View notes

nattikay · 7 months

Text

Tsyeyk sì Neytiri päpom fìtsap…asìm leymkem ewana Neteyam sì Lo'ak.

san FPXAMO! sìk leym Lo'ak.

san ftang nga! sìk mllte Neteyam.

Neytiril meitanti sney nìn ulte lrrtok si. Plltxe po san 'ä', ke sunu meforu fwa pom oel Sempulit ngey? Tam. Ha zenatse pivom oe MENGATI tup po! sìk. Po spä ne meveng ulte neto mefo rikx nìwin. Omum mefol futa lu uvan nì'aw, slä ke new snivaytx!

Hifwo Lo'ak, slä pxunit Neteyamä Neytiril stä'nì.

san aaaaaa! Ftang nga ma Sa'nu! Tarep oeti ma Lo'ak! Tarep oeti!! sìk plltxe Neteyam.

'i'awn mìso nìzawnong Lo'ak. San kehe ma tsumk, txokefyaw oeti pol stayä'nì nìteng! sìk.

San ke tsun nga hivifwo ma 'itan! sìk plltxe Neytiri tengkrr re'ot Neteyamä pom nìmun, nìmun, nìmun. Neteyam leym, slä po herangham. Lo'ak nìteng.

Lrrtok si nìapxa Tsyeyk tengkrr nìn tìlenti. Po hangham nìteng. Lu yawne poru soaia sney fìtxan.

english version below the cut

Jake and Neytiri kiss…nearby, young Neteyam and Lo'ak protest.

“EWWWWW!!” cries Lo'ak.

“Stop it!” agrees Neteyam.

Neytiri looks at her sons and smiles. She says, “oh, you don’t like it when I kiss your father? Ok. In that case, I guess I have to kiss YOU instead!” She jumps towards the boys and they quickly move back. They know it’s just a game, but they don’t want to lose!

Lo'ak escapes, but Neytiri catches Neteyam’s arm.

“AAAAAAA! Stop it, mom! Save me, Lo'ak! Save me!!” says Neteyam!

Lo'ak remains safely away. “No way, bro, or else she’ll catch me too!”

“You can’t escape, son!” says Neytiri as she kisses Neteyam’s head again and again and again. Neteyam yells, but he’s laughing. Lo'ak, too.

Jake smiles wide as he watches the scene. He laughs too. He loves his family so much.

#context: kelutral bot posts daily challenges to write a sentence with a randomly chosen na'vi word #today’s word was pom (kiss) and I decided to go overboard ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)#avatar #avatar 2 #jeytiri #sully family #jake sully #neytiri #neteyam #lo'ak #fanfic #(i guess lol)#I mean I’m sure my na'vi prose sounds like that of a third grader but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯#I’m sure I missed some case ending or smth somewhere but w/e EDIT: wiya i found it 🙃 knew there was bound to be at least one #lì'fya leNa'vi #oh yeah and fwiw I imagine the boys are somewhere around 6-8 here

112 notes · View notes

k-evans-reads · 1 year

Text

In Living Color Masterlist

By @k-evans-writes and @ourfinest-hour

We do NOT give permission for our works to be reuploaded, translated, or reposted on any other site. Our work is our own.

Summary: When Natalie Marton, lead character designer for Buzz Lightyear, meets the voice of Buzz, Chris Evans, the sparks are undeniable. But when their work pushes them away from each other, both physically and emotionally, will the sheer differences between their worlds be enough to force them apart?

* = Denotes smut! All of our work is 18+ only!

Chapter 1 - Work begins on Lightyear and they meet for the first time.

Chapter 2 - They get lunch together and each develop feelings.

Chapter 3 - Nat hosts a game night and shares details about her past with Chris.

Chapter 4 - Nat needs saving, and a birthday party finally forces them to act on their feelings.

Chapter 5 Part One | Part Two* - Chris explains himself in the aftermath of their date, and Nat attends his going-away party.

Chapter 6 - They deal with the aftermath of their actions.

Chapter 7 - Nat's sister's visit provides her with a distraction from missing Chris.

Chapter 8* - After a long distance birthday celebration, Chris steps up in Nat’s time of need.

Chapter 9 Part One | Part Two - After a photo is shared online and Nat gets a glimpse into Chris’ world, they deal with the aftermath and try to pick up the pieces.

Chapter 10 Part One* | Part Two* - They are finally reunited after two months apart.

Chapter 11 - After struggling during a work day, Chris relaxes at Nat’s apartment and they share a tender moment.

Chapter 12 - Chris finally meets Nat’s family and he learns more about her past.

Chapter 13 Part One* | Part Two | Part Three - While missing Nat, Chris makes a spur of the moment decision and later Nat visits Boston for the first time.

Chapter 14* - They celebrate Nat’s birthday.

Chapter 15 Part One | Part Two - Chris and Nat spend Thanksgiving in Washington.

Chapter 16 - Nat participates in an art show and discusses her dreams with Chris.

Chapter 17* - Chris and Nat go on a quick trip to ring in the New Year.

Chapter 18 - Plans change and concerns are revealed.

Chapter 19* - While Chris is in Atlanta, Nat goes out to visit him after a while apart.

Chapter 20 - New beginnings and new opportunities happen.

Chapter 21 - Nat shares her news with Chris.

Chapter 22 Part One | Part Two - Chris and Nat deal with the consequences of their decisions.

Chapter 23 - Chris and Nat spend time together in San Francisco.

Chapter 24 - Chris and Nat celebrate the premiere of Lightyear.

Chapter 25

**We are posting the remaining chapters and a synopsis to summarize the rest of the story**

Chris and Nat asks, headcanons, and more!

524 notes · View notes

albertdabuttler · 2 years

Text

i just watched zombies 3 and GAH DAYUH— i know its a cringey childish disney channel musical BUT WHO CARES BRO? the cast is hot and i have been obsessed since the first movie.

can you guys believe im writing smut of this motherfucker 💀

LIKE HOW COULD I NOT?

PEARCE JOZA IN FUCKING GENERAL. the way he portrays wyatt lykensen gives him an automatic griP on me.

like bro you cannot tell me that milo isn’t fine as fuck. i would believe you have some retinal disease or sum shit if you say he’s not attractive GODDAMN HAVE YOU EVEN TAKEN A LOOK?

anyways im definitely not gonna post it LMAO but im gonna write it anyway for myself and my friends 😋😋

#disneys zombies #z o m b i e s #milo manheim #zed necrodopolis #pearce joza #wyatt lykensen #smut #fluff #writing #fanfiction #fanfic #iz #harry potter #stranger things #marvel #star wars #zombies 2 #zombies 3

898 notes · View notes

housethemd · 6 months

Text

What Do You Like the Rating of the Fanfic You Read to be?

My fics for House Md so far have mostly been G because I’ve been posting them on here and gone are the days where you could post smut on this site. But I’m curious what ratings people prefer.

These are obviously very generalized descriptions of the ratings, but I’m curious what peoples preferences are.

#i tend to go for M or E fics (especially if it’s long fic)#though I’ll read pretty much anything for one shot #sometimes you need some fluff #but also sometimes you need some hardcore gay smut #tagging this with House md tags because its the fandom I’m writing for rn #house md #james wilson #hate crimes md #greg house #hilson #dr house #dr wilson #wilson x house #house/wilson #house md polls #house md fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic

57 notes · View notes

zuzufromtheafterlife · 3 days

Text

A Few More Moments

Panting breaths fell from Jason's lips as he stood crouched on a fire escape. He hadn't been in Gotham long and already he was running into the Bats. Though none of them have noticed him in public, Tim never meeting him before he passed away and the fact he had grown quite since the incident, he has had some pretty close calls.

Like just then where he nearly ran into Nightwing. That would've been a disaster in itself even if Dick didn't recognise who he was, not that he could with his helmet on.

He couldn't be found just yet.

Read here on ao3 @fandom-free-bingo @eclipsingbingo

23 notes · View notes

wiseatom · 1 year

Text

s4 will pov i’ve missed you

#wiseatom wips #miwip wednesday #byler #byler fic #byler fanfic #byler fanfiction #i wrote this a few weeks ago but i keep coming back to this fic when i get blocked so thts fun #this is actually not an angsty fic all things considered. but i can’t just write s4 will and not make him a little sad guy 🙄#n e way back 2 the abyss

154 notes · View notes

picturesofthegoneworlds · 6 months

Text

Restless

Imogen can't concentrate.

(standard procedure for up to a couple weeks ago, now it wears a different guise.)

She fidgets, sits with her legs crossed on her bedroll, backpack in her lap, removes, itemises, arranges its contents, huffs stray hairs out of her face, hands still twitchy, mind still scrambled, organises it all again. Repeats.

It's early, the fact given away by the low-lying sun and crisp smell on the air that has not yet been burned away by its sustained and blistering presence.

The blisters on her ankles, the friction of leather that is still not fully broken in. Imogen delays in pulling on and lacing up her boots, calves restless but exhausted, thrumming if they remain still too long (too long being only a moment).

She falls back heavily onto the bedroll.

Overhead, in the weave of vines and branches, birds sing. They're mocking her, surely, the awkward and bound to the ground sack of flesh and fat and bones that she is, hair frizzed and sticky from the humidity, her inner thigh chaffed and perspiring where the contact of her dagger's harness coils around it like a constricting snake.

She loosens it a few notches

The pathetic and inconsistent touch of it frustrates her more, so she buckles it tight like a tourniquet.

She exhales, deflates, heavy as she is, runs the back of her forearm over her brow, spreading the salt and sweat, breathes in, feels the connective tissue holding together all of her joints, exhales, arm to ground, along with every other limb, the back of her knees, her spine, her shoulders (there's a rock digging into one through the mat, did she sleep on that last night?), her neck, her ass, wishes they were all gelatin, that she could become one with the floor and not collide with every edge and corner and texture of it, stop being so reactive.

She inhales, skin pulling away, wishing it would continue, peel, lift, blanket, canopy (closer than the trees), shade, but it would drip with blood, hot and sizzling as it rained back onto her exposed bones.

Shadow, the dark tatters, the veil. Molasses of ichor. Dull, hazy, sharp, thorns. Don't touch, don't approach. Space. Wail, scream, chorus, silence. That would chase the birds away, feathers dislodged from sudden movement re-lodged into black tar, carried off, away, down sluggish stream, no contact. Barbed like a briar.

The thread of the bed roll is itchy, the weave of it too thick and open, rough spun from fibrous burlap, it splinters bare skin where it makes contact, nape of her neck, backs of her forearms, thighs, knees, and calves.

Delicate, cool, billowing lace that accommodated to the pads of Imogen's fingers, to her palm, fractured by magic, calloused and freshly wounded, it dulled even the rows of needle teeth beneath. Imogen imagines it her bedsheets, the ground would not matter - could be rivers of lava jutted by shattered glass, it would not matter, sure, cool billowing lace, Imogen would sleep well.

Easier to tell now, how restless her hands are. They pluck at the gauzy linen that makes her dress, the more rigid weave of her waistcoat, following stitching as if it were pathways, movement, roads to get her somewhere, them, skin to skin contact barriered like the rock digging into her shoulder. Her touch meanders to her chest, unintentional, she swears, in promise and obscenity, a winding path with sides towered by hedges and trees that block the horizon, a shock carried from the point of touch to manifest as an ache between her legs and a weightless haze in her head, body rolling, shoulders leaving the mat, leaving the rock that digs, a breath to a sigh to a gravelly moan, sends a bird or two scattering away, a leaf or two falling behind them.

Fuckin' birds. Relax. More touch. Touch is good? Barbed. Thorns. Restraint. Maybe she should grow her nails, maybe then the touch won't feel her own. Laudna - fuck, the name gets a reaction from her again, the jolt in her core as she feels the heat pool at the surface of her face, her neck, her chest, crimson damming, damning, acid rising to her throat carried by the guilt of it.

She kicks and squirms, side of a fist like hammer to nail on the bedroll beside her, other covering her face from the shame of it, it being the burn, the rolling simmer, the violent boil of want and guilt and acid and sting and she is so restless, boiling over, she can't concentrate, the contact of the ground and the fabrics and the atmosphere all feels wrong, scalding, now she knows what to compare it to, how it could feel, what she could be touching.

Could be death calling, alluring, maybe, how long she flirted with it. Cold with head empty, sounded nice, still does, though the delivery and means maybe different now. A face to an end, ends her, finishes, acid in her throat again, hand bunching the rough fabric under her hips.

It moves of its own accord to her thigh, takes a fistful of cuff and flesh and she sobs, eyes scrunching shut so tightly that she starts to see colours in the dark, blotches of crimson in a grey dream, her body in the butcher's cart.

Dreamlike, hazy, drunk (this must be how it feels), she moves without thought, groping herself through the crotch of her shorts, writhing, the floor is too hot against her back, sweat gathering at her hairline and salt beading down into her eyes, again, breath short, short, when did it get so shallow, dizzy. How long could she hold it (hold herself), heat, radiating into the cup of her hand, squirming, a worm under boot, squashed before it gets to dine on the corpse. She pushes firmer against herself, shudders, the feel of the floor leaving, rolls her hips onto the press of her fingers, barriered, dulled, not enough, as they fumble, clutch at the shorts and wrangle the inseam of them in frantic pulls against uncomfortably undulating heat, heat, damp forced through from the close contact onto the pads of her fingers and Gods she's gonna have to prestidigitate that, what the hells is she doing, Laudna could return from her morning forage or whatever it is any moment and

fuck the thought doesn't quell the need at all, her hips spasming and knees shaking as she holds them suspended and trembling, working herself up, frantic, frantic and desperate. How did she get here? she followed the woman at the market, the woman followed the yellow bird, the birdsong silenced for pathetic needy moans, her hips raised so high her shoulders are pushed further into the cut of the offensive rock, princesses and mattresses and beans or whatever that fairytale was Laudna had mentioned about ladies and their proper behaviour.

Proper, right, she should stop, get it over with, fumbles with the fastening of her shorts, hand making its way beneath fabric before it's fully undone, now registering coarse curls, then slicked, heat, heat, heat, hot, wet, eager, soaked, soft, the glide of her intensity, betrayal, soaking. fuck. Touch is not enough, hers, fuck. Not right, the feel of callouses and scars and heat and a barely registrable thrum shit what happens if she gets away from herself, gets too excited. magic fried uncontrollable she is out of control fuck the heat of the bedroll on her back and the push of the rock imbedding imbedded scars wrapping tangled suffocating sinew silvered skin nightmares burden and guilt guilt guilt storming-

Imogen rolls over onto her front, the rock through the bedroll pushing into her chest, against her sternum, aiding to evacuate the bile that has been suspended in her oesophagus but the guilt won't leave her thighs slicked and hot and tacky and uncomfortable and the chaffe of the itchy fabric of the mat burning them, restless, as she removes her fingers from between her legs, wipes the evidence of a pathetic and failed and just and just wrong attempt onto her shorts, prestidigitates it all clean as if she can wash herself of her impurities and intentions, dares to think of the occasions the purple glow has evaporated the rain from Laudna's clothes and skin, now a selfish act, was then too, maybe, always selfish.

#Imodna #Imogen Temult #Laudna #Critical Role #Fanfic #Emma writes #My first foray of writing in my notes app #Rainy morning thing #Imogen is managing just fine.#Seeing Laudna's form of dread for the first time didn't awaken anything in her not at all #M rated fic that links to an E rated collection

58 notes · View notes

just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 10 months

Text

Until the storm comes

Written for @steddiemicrofic, July 2023

prompt: pool | 442 words

Rated: E

Tags/cw: D/S dynamics; sub!Steve; dom!Eddie; Eddie is a bit mean, I guess (they're both really into it though)

Beware: smut under the cut (heh, that rhymes)

The late July night is thick and syrupy with heat. Even with the windows open, it pools sluggishly in the bedroom, not even the slightest breeze stirring the curtains. The first telltale signs of the coming thunderstorm rumble in the distance, the taste of ozone heavy in the air, a promise of relief.

Desire pools in Eddie’s abdomen, warm and slow. Like the storm, it has been building for hours, has become this thick and palpable thing that hangs in the room like something solid. It wants to break loose, but he won’t let it. Not yet. Not when waiting is so sweet, not when the sight in front of him is delicious like this.

Steve’s arms are crossed on the headboard, forehead resting on top of them, that pretty hair ruined and tousled, sticking to his neck in wet, dark strands. He is propped up on his knees, back in an obscene arch, that glorious ass on perfect display. His thighs are shaking with exertion and he keeps making these high, nasal whining sounds from deep in his throat while Eddie slowly moves his fingers inside of him. Languid curling motions and stretches, a slow glide of in and out and in again. His hips are twitching in small, barely there spasms, longing to move, to seek release, but he doesn’t. Because Eddie hasn’t told him to move, has he?

“Such a good boy.”

Eddie’s voice drips heavy and sweet like honey, like the air, like the weight of their desire. He bends down and drags his tongue over the bright red handprint on Steve’s right thigh, evidence of his sole attempt at misbehavior earlier. Steve shivers when he blows lightly on the spot, and blood pools below the surface of his skin, coloring the fresh bruise pink and pretty. Eddie curls his fingers inside of him and a wrecked little sound tumbles from Steve’s lips.

“What do you need, sweet thing?”

“Eddie, please!” Steve’s voice is hoarse with need. “It's too much, I need to move, I-"

Eddie tuts sharply, hand tightening over the bruise, and Steve falls silent. A bead of sweat trickles down his back, pools at the base of his spine. Eddie leans in and kisses it away.

"Oh, baby. But you're so pretty like this, and I've only just started. You can go a bit longer for me, can't you?"

Steve bites back a sob but nods shakily against the pillow of his arms.

"Words, love?"

"Yes, sir."

God, he is perfect, isn't he? Eddie will make his reward so, so sweet when he finally lets him have it.

Maybe he'll wait until the storm comes.

#steddie #steddie brainrot #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fanfic #fanfiction #fanfiction writer #fanfic #my writing #steddie microfic #rated e #hype's microfics

129 notes · View notes