#gonna go post this on ao3 also | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thebigoblin · 3 months

Text

play stupid games

tags: Established Relationship, Alpha Derek Hale, Attempt at Humor, Cheesy, Fluff, Derek Hale is a Softie, Implied Sexual Content

a/n: inspired by a reel on instagram. and the title is from Taylor's song "Miss Americana and The Heartbreak Prince."

read on ao3

The tabs opened on his chrome browser make no sense. Not one bit. But he supposes that's just a representation of his own mind, and his morbid curiosity, and whose fault is that, really? No one's. Perhaps his mom's — but no more than it's his dad's to have given him his obsession with everything non-sensical. His dad just has to find patterns, and really, maybe his entire problem is that he is the combination of two very weirdly specific people.

What was he working on, again?

He squints at the tabs. There's too many of them, the edges stuck together so close it's like one long continuous tab instead, but he can see the lines between them, even if deciphering which tab is what is proving difficult. He could have used separate windows, but oh no, all sane ideas come to him after things are said and done.

Seriously, what was he working on?

"What are you working on?"

"What the fuck!"

The sound of another person in the room, so close to his ear, hot breath on the left side of his neck, has him jumping and flailing on his desk chair.

Rough and familiar hands grab him so that he doesn't brain himself against the floor by falling right off the chair, and he curses, because this is his life.

Once he's sitting straight, he glares up at the smirking asshole beside him. "Fuck you," he says, with feeling. "I'm giving you a bell for Christmas!"

Derek's lips tick upwards, like ha ha, that's funny. Funny that Stiles thinks he could get away with that. "My birthday gift has to be something good, then."

"I'll show a good gift!"

"That's what I am saying, Stiles."

"Ugh, you're fucking annoying." He's still glaring up at Derek, the angle not kind to his neck, so he looks back down at the screen. Derek just moves closer, a line of heat against his side that has Stiles' anger nearly melting off, but no! He'll persist.

Distraction. Yes. That is what he needs, so he clicks his mouse rather aggressively and moves the arrow to one of the tabs randomly. The title of it hovers over the tab as he does so, and Stiles wonders what could have prompted him to look at a YouTube video of making a DIY skirt from old clothes.

"You would look good in a short red skirt." Derek says this right into his left ear, his lips moving along his skin, from the top of his ear to the bottom of it, and because he's obnoxious, Derek bites his earlobe, too.

"Go away!" He slaps at Derek's chest, but his boyfriend only laughs at his half-hearted attempts. "Nuh uh, you're distracting me and I- I have work!"

"What work?"

Stiles doesn't really remember.

"You forgot, didn't you?" Derek just laughs some more, his hands wrapping around Stiles' shoulders, and Stiles pouts. "Search something for me."

"You have your own smartphone and internet, Distractingwolf!"

"But I also have you," Derek states this, a smile in his voice, and hey, it's true.

Stiles rolls his eyes and mutters, "Sap," before asking, "What?"

"I want to check something, but there's a condition."

Stiles cocks his eyebrow, just like Derek does. He's been spending too much time with Derek, and it's because of shit like this: Derek likes to climb the side of the Sheriff's house, get inside the Sheriff's barely-legal son's bedroom, and spend time either glaring at Stiles, pushing him onto surfaces like the door and walls and the bed and kissing him, or making him do random internet searches that 99% of the time happens to be information of a new supernatural creature they have to deal with.

Point is, Stiles has been spending too much time with Derek, and he loves it a fucking lot.

"Condition, huh? You getting kinky on me, Sourwolf?"

Derek moves around his chair so that his bulging biceps and sexy, veiny arms — that he knows are there below the leather jacket and the henley because he's seen his boyfriend shirtless, even if unfortunately they haven't wandered down to pantless situations — brackets him between the desk and the chair. The movement also pushes his chair further towards the desk, just a little, and Derek's chin rests on top of Stiles' hair.

"Maybe." Stiles' whole body shivers at the thought of it. They haven't had sex, but Stiles yaps about it, thinks about it often. Wants to take Derek in his mouth, wants Derek to have his way with him. He wants, and wishes, for Derek to be inside him — pound him so hard he forgets what life is, just for a moment or two or more. He's seen the alpha strength, and it's too much. Perfect. "Stiles."

"You can't blame a guy for wanting to have sex with his hot werewolf boyfriend," he retorts, huffing at the reprimand. "I can wait until you are ready, and I will, but I can think about it, can't I?"

Derek doesn't answer him, just puts his hand over Stiles' on the mouse and moves it the way he likes it. Stiles wants to be that, a ragdoll under Derek's ministrations, and nope, he can't pop a boner right now. He wants sex, but he respects Derek. But he's also a healthy ninetenn-year-old young man, and there goes his dick in his sweatpants, chubbing up like a balloon being filled with air.

Derek opens up a new window and goes to Google, his free hand coming to rest on Stiles' thigh. Stiles' breath hitches.

"Stiles," Derek's voice is low, his sex-voice. They've never done handjobs, or blowjobs, or any real dick-on-dick or hand-on-dick or mouth-on-dick action, but they have done phone sex, and about 50% of Stiles' brain, at this point, is filled with how Derek sounds when he's turned on, commanding. Close to coming, post-pleasure. Stiles knows this voice, too.

"You don't have to do anything you're not ready to," Stiles says, and he means it. Derek's head dips down and he kisses Stiles on the neck, a silent acknowledgement — Derek knows Stiles won't force him. It's okay.

"You always say 'hot werewolf boyfriend.' Not just 'hot boyfriend.' Why."

"Inflection, alpha, that's a thing." Derek pinches his thigh, and Stiles lets out a small sound at the sudden action, then grins. "You are a hot werewolf." He turns his head, pulls with his own free hand, his left hand, the one not trapped beneath Derek's on the mouse, and has Derek's head turn towards him. He kisses him, sure once, sure twice, and third time just because. Derek's eyes are intense on him as he pulls back. "I like all of you. I'd shout it out of the rooftops of all the buildings in the town if I was allowed to, Derek."

Derek smiles, and Stiles' heart beats triple time in his chest, which suddenly feels too small for everything Derek makes him feel.

They stare at one another for one more moment, and then they turn towards the screen, the cursor having moved on the screen, evidently because of their absent grip on the mouse. Derek takes his hand back and Stiles misses the warmth, but he dutifully leans forward to type in Derek's enquiry of the evening.

"Stiles, kiss me if I'm wrong, but Dinosaurs still exist, right?"

Stiles' hand spams on top of the keyboard.

He waits for the punchline to come.

When it doesn't, he gets up, turns, flails at his dork of a boyfriend, who is grinning at him, cocky and full of shit, and punches him in the chest.

"I take it back. I don't want anybody to know you belong to me. Fuck you, Derek Hale."

"Actually, I asked for a kiss, and only on the condition that I'm wrong."

"Oh, you're so, so wrong, you jerk, and you're gonna pay for it."

Stiles has now pulled the uno reverse card and boxed in Derek against his bed. Derek cocks his eyebrow at him. "Oh?"

"Yeah, oh. You're gonna kiss me, like, a 1000 times! That was the worst pick up line ever, what the fuck, who is teaching you these things?!"

Stiles pushes Derek onto his bed and starts peppering kisses on Derek's forehead, his cheeks, his nose, his chin, and of course, his lips. After a while, Derek flips them over, and they cuddle, and then they lazily make-out until their lips are swollen and red.

Derek is asleep after that, and thank god for his dad's out of town police conference, and Stiles falls asleep, too.

And that's how Stiles completely forgets about his presentation due on Monday, which is a day after.

(Derek helps him with it, and they spend the whole of Sunday making out, cuddling, and trying to out-do each other with worse and worse pick-up lines. Derek wins, because apparently he is the king of those, and Stiles just falls in deeper, his chest feels even smaller, and his feelings for Derek just seem like something he can't possibly have, too precious and important and so, so much).

#sterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #sterek fics #sh.writesonmain #i loooove this one so much #wrote this in the very early am's lol #i miss writing daily but ms. muse is elusive #AND ALSO HELLO? WE ARE GETTING TS11? I'M HYPED AF #anyways #sh.rambles #gonna go post this on ao3 also #gimme a few mins

62 notes · View notes

unknownarmageddon · 2 months

Text

Christ Alive

a kross oneshot. in which they go to a party cackles

based on the song skeletone by bones uk rental suits au belongs to me and @psycho-chair

The parking lot was mostly empty, save for two, maybe three, cars. It was dark, the only thing visible in the black murk past the washed out lights of the gas station’s overhang was the passing specks of car headlights.

Cross leaned on the elbow he held propped on the counter, tried to tune out the mediocre mainstream music playing distantly over the store’s speakers, and watched the only customer inside idle about the shelves.

The lights buzzed. two of the fridges against the back wall flickered every so often.

The door chimed as it was opened, and another stranger entered. They wanted 50 dollars’ worth on pump three. And a pack of cigarettes. The door chimed again, then they were gone.

The lights buzzed. The fridges flickered. Everything was delved in a cool colored haze.

The last remaining person in the store bought two drinks. With the dinging of the door as they left, a father and two kids entered. They piled their spoils, a mound of snacks, onto the counter.

There were several minutes of vacancy. Nobody in the store but him. It felt like an eternity, always did. Cross fiddled with the shelves behind him to waste time.

Buzzing lights. Uneven churring from the slushy machine in the back.

The door chimed. Footsteps, sneakers scuffing on tile.

Cross turned, and could practically feel the grin boring into him.

Him again.

He was leaning forward over the counter with his arms crossed in front of him. His jacket had obtained a few new stains, both red and black. The faint, electric sound of music played from the chunky maroon headphones around his neck.

Cross felt himself grin for a moment. He couldn’t help it.

“Hey pretty boy.” He looked at Cross with deep dark sockets.

“Killer.”

“Fancy seeing you here.” Killer quipped.

He pulled himself up to sit on the back edge of the counter, still facing Cross. Cross furrowed his brows.

“I told you to stop sitting on the counter.”

Killer hardly considered moving. His soul hummed like even it was laughing. “You’re gonna have to make me, sweetheart.”

Cross knew that wouldn’t have worked. And he didn’t really care, not enough to force him.

“You miss me?” Killer quipped.

“I haven’t decided yet.” Cross replied.

Killer laughed. “I’m wounded.”

Cross turned back to the shelf, and Killer slid off the counter to stand next to him.

“Ya got any plans tonight? Other than the blast you’re clearly havin’ already.” Killer murmured, hands shoved the pockets of his jacket. The fabric of he and Cross’s clothes brushed as they just almost touched, they were that close.

When did Cross ever have plans? He shook his head.

Killer’s grin got wider. Cross narrowed his eyes at him. What was he planning.

Killer hopped back over the counter and headed for one of the fridges in the back. Cross leaned over the counter on his elbows to watch him.

“Y’know, there’s gonna be a party tonight. At ten.” Killer jerked open the door and crouched, now partially obscured by the shelf behind him. His voice came to Cross echoed by the distance.

“Where?”

“Some guy’s place in town, I dunno, all I’ve got is the address. He was really talkin’ a big talk, I wanna see if he’s full of shit or not.” Cross could tell he was grinning. He had that kinda voice.

“And you want me to go with you.” Cross responded after a pause.

From the fridge Killer retrieved two energy drinks. He stood and the door was closed with a shove from his foot.

“Exactly.”

He hesitated, apparently for dramatic effect knowing him, and waited for an answer.

“…I’m not going.”

“C’monnn, you gotta get outta this boring ass gas station sometime. Have an actual good time.” Killer pressed.

“I don’t do parties.”

“How bad could it possibly be?”

“I doubt I would miss out on much.” Cross responded.

“You’d never know. Unless you go.” Killer persisted.

Cross didn’t respond after that. He stared at the tile in front of Killer’s feet, turning the notion over in his mind. He knew damn well that if Killer wanted something he’d find a way to get it, so he doubted how much good resisting would do.

Killer weaved through the aisles to the middle of the store, then went for the far back. He cracked one of the energy drinks.

“When are you gonna start paying for those?” Cross called to him.

“You think about that party, ‘kay, pretty boy? Think about it.” Killer called back instead and pulled the headphones on. He vanished among the shelves. Cross saw the top of the storage room door as it opened, then closed.

Cross was left alone in the store again. The trickle of costumers came and went, and he worked on autopilot. His mind was occupied by the party and the loiterer in the storage room.

His first reaction was to not go. And he trusted that reaction. All he knew about it was that it would be loud and crammed with people he likely didn’t want to be around. And that he wouldn’t know anyone but Killer. He didn’t think— no he knew it wouldn’t be worth it.

But who knew how well Killer would take that news. And he kind of had a point about getting out of the gas station.

Cross worked for three more hours. Occasionally he would watch Killer slink from the back to steal another energy drink or two, or a bag of chips. Cross pretended not to notice. Every time Killer passed the counter he would toss a smug grin at Cross. Meant only for Cross. The kind that loosely hid all the kinds of things he would say out loud if they were alone. Cross pretended not to notice those, too.

He would’ve stopped him, confronted him again for never paying for what he took. But Cross didn’t exactly want to be on the receiving end of that knife he flashed the night they met. And when Killer was around he had company, and the extra shitty customers never came back. It was a fair trade. So what if a few cans went missing here and there.

When Cross’s shift came to an end he left the counter in favor of the storage room. The smell of smoke flooded his nose the minute he pushed open the door. It wasn’t invasive, but it was noticeable enough whenever you walked in. It’d always smelled like smoke in here, after Killer showed up.

The culprit sat on the floor in the corner beside the door. He had fully tucked himself into that corner, in the gap between boxes and freezers that lined a few of the walls. He had one leg propped on the other, and the magazine he held obscured his face. Cross could still hear Killer’s music blasting through his headphones even from where he stood.

“My shift’s over. You gotta leave.” Cross greeted him.

Killer pulled the headphones down and looked up over the edge of the magazine. He hadn’t heard him.

“Shift’s over.” Cross repeated.

The music cut off; the magazine was shoved under a shelf. “You got it, boss.”

He pulled himself to his feet and left his corner to push past Cross, who tailed him in return.

The gas station’s front door chimed for the last time as they exited out onto the pavement in front of it. It was cold, Cross zipped up his jacket. His breath clouded in front of him as he watched insects buzz around the precious glow of the station’s lights.

After a moment of standing he stuck his hands in his pockets and looked around at the vacant parking lot, awkwardly awaiting for whatever Killer was going to do. He didn’t trust him enough to leave first.

His eyes landed on him.

“What time’s it?” Killer asked.

Cross checked his phone. “Nine forty.”

Killer hopped off the slight incline of the pavement and moved through the darkness. To Cross he became a raccoon you’d see outside your garage. So blanketed in darkness it doesn’t look much like anything at all. Except, his soul provided a red halo around his silhouette.

“You comin’?” Killer called over his shoulder and stopped. It was more of a request than a question.

Hesitation. Cross glanced to his left, then back at Killer. “No?”

“You scared, sweetheart?” Killer replied. He could barely see him, but again Cross could tell he was grinning.

“No.”

“C’mon, just this once. It’s just a party. One time’s not gonna hurt anything.” He said. More firmly, sharply.

Killer gestured with his head, nodding, beckoning Cross to come with him.

“You always say that.”

“Am I wrong? Let’s live a little. Nothin’s gonna happen.” He spread out his arms, turning on his heel to look back at Cross.

Cross scowled doubtfully. He’s known Killer for long enough to at least know going anywhere with him didn’t have any guarantees of anything.

Killer slunk back toward Cross and grabbed him firmly by the zipper of his jacket, pulling him down so their faces were level. His face was warmed by Killer’s breath. Killer looked him over, then dead on.

Killer huffed a laugh. “You’re scared.”

Cross paused for a long time. A car alarm started from somewhere distant in the dark. Then it was quiet again.

“We’ll take the truck.” He decided eventually, flatly.

Killer’s eyes widened. He released Cross and ran for said truck, which was parked back in front of the gas station. It was small, old, and white; one of those trucks that didn’t have back seats, and the front was one long singular bench with seatbelts that just went across the lap.

Killer was grinning, exclaiming to himself, in his triumph. He had gotten Cross to cave, andthey were taking the truck.

Killer rapped on the truck’s side with his palm as he stepped along it toward the door. He tried the door prematurely, eagerly. It was still locked. Then there was a click as Cross pressed a button on the interior of the driver side door and the rest of the doors unlocked. Killer jerked his open to slide into the passenger side; Cross got in after him, with less enthusiasm.

The key met ignition and the vehicle grumbled to life like an aged animal.

Its beige leather seats were long worn, its paint was chipped in spots, it was overdo for a wash, and its windows were dusty and still functioned on a crank, but it served its purpose.

They left the parking lot. Cross heard Killer fighting with the window beside him, but he eventually got it open. Cold air streamed into the cab. Killer leaned against the door with his shoulder out the window. His feet were kicked up onto the dash.

In front of the windshield, dangling from the rear view mirror, hung a silver pendant on a chain and a long-expired air freshener.

With each imperfection in the pavement they hit the cab bumped.

“What’s the address?” Cross asked.

A slip of paper was dug out of Killer’s pocket and examined. He put his legs down.

“Left, up here.” He pointed, the turn signal clicked in time.

“Go for a bit,” He said now. “Here,”

“Right, past here and down that road,”

They drove for a while, mostly in silence save for Killer’s directions and occasional quips or broken humming. Sometimes the headlights of a passing car or a lone streetlight would illuminate the cab; otherwise it was dark.

Killer pointed at the windshield again.

They were here.

What Cross saw was the front of an apartment building, one a few notches nicer than his own. That building immediately set the tone for the whole party in stone in Cross’s mind. It was fucking intimidating. He shouldn’t be here.

He glanced over at Killer, who was already slipping out of the truck. Cross inhaled and followed.

———

Upbeat music he’s heard everywhere a million times blasted through the apartment. Talking, laughing, shouting, all joined it. Lights everywhere, sounds everywhere. So many people were crammed in this single space.

Cross was made hyper-aware of the presence of the other guests. The way they were dressed, the way they held themselves. They belonged here, he didn’t.

He became Killer’s shadow. He kept his arms tight to his side, his eyes trained on his feet and Killer’s stride. He followed directly behind him as his companion sauntered through the apartment.

They collected a few stares. What a sight they must be, two stupid boys wading through somewhere they shouldn’t be, one with stains on his clothes and one in a plain black jacket he’s had since high school. One with oil flowing from his eye sockets, one with an old rusted pickup.

Cross liked to imagine the things they whispered to themselves as the skeletons passed. Exclamations of surprise, of judgement. Eyes glued.

But, in reality, no one said anything. No one heckled them. He even doubted that many people were paying attention to them. Even still he was all too aware.

Finally, he and Killer breached the thick of the waves. Killer was saying something to another guest as he handed Cross a plastic cup of red liquid, which he accepted without much thought.

“Whad’ya think?” Killer asked Cross and leaned against the table. He gestured with his free hand at everything around them like he was showing it all off. He held his own beverage in the other hand, Cross clutched his with both.

Cross didn’t respond. He didn’t know what to think. It was loud. There were way too many people. He’d decide eventually, he thought.

Killer lifted his cup to his mouth, then paused and lowered it. He deadpanned at it.

“This tastes like shit.”

Cross half-laughed, Killer grinned.

They stayed at that table for the duration of three, maybe four, songs. Killer did most of the talking. Cross only listened, offering the occasional hum in agreement or comment. Killer would point out people in the crowd he found notable for whatever reason to him. Made jokes, teased, rambled about menial things. He complained about the music, but he still tapped his finger against his cup in time.

Cross kept searching Killer, trying to figure him out. He wondered if he noticed how out of place they were. Or if he cared. But then he thought about it more, and he doubted he did.

The song changed; Cross didn’t recognize this one. It was slower, but not melancholy. Carried by a steady rhythm and smooth electric guitar. Like the pounding of rain on concrete at night.

Killer glanced up. “Fuckin’ finally, something good.”

He set his cup down and pulled away from the table. “Alright I’m tired of standin’.”

He stood with his back turned a moment, surveying the crowd, thumbs jammed in his shorts pockets, before he swiveled to offer his hand to Cross. “C’mon, you gonna do me the honor?”

Cross retracted, set his cup down and put his hands in the pockets of his jacket like he was hiding them.

“I don’t dance.”

Maybe he would, in any other circumstance. When there weren’t so many people.

“Fuck babe, what do you do?” Killer replied. The corner of his mouth ticked up.

He pulled back toward Cross to nudge him with his elbow like he was trying to push him forward.

“Dude,” Cross laughed.

“We’re at a party, you gotta dance at least once.” He argued. “It’ll just be me, don’t worry about them.”

Cross conceded. “Just for this song, alright?”

Cross quickly learned that Killer didn’t know how to dance either. They devolved into a mess of movements, a tangle of limbs. Killer held a hand to Cross’s hip, Cross held one to Killer’s shoulder. Occasionally their hands would intertwine.

They exchanged steps off-rhythm. Killer was quick, Cross took strides to catch him.

Cross continued to be aware of the other dancers, even here. He couldn’t shake them from his mind. He wasn’t nearly as coordinated, and he had a habit of staying too stiff and rigid. But Killer had enough confidence for both of them.

All Cross saw was the carpet, his eyes glued to their feet. Making his best effort not to trip. Or get stepped on. He risked a glance up at Killer’s face. He was grinning with the most actual enthusiasm Cross had seen from him tonight, and it became infectious.

“You keepin’ up, pretty boy?” Killer asked, catching Cross and keeping him from looking back down.

“You’re horrible at this.” Cross replied.

“And you dance like you’ve taken ballet since kindergarten.” Killer scowled, but his eyes were still grinning.

In the last remaining minute of the song they slowed, swayed, leaning into each other. They let the wave of other dancers surge around them. Killer hooked an arm around Cross’s neck, Cross laid his over his shoulders. Cross watched him, awaiting his next move silently.

Killer took Cross’s left hand and pressed a slow kiss to his knuckles.

Cross decided this party wasn’t that bad, at least.

Killer’s song ended. They untangled. Cross followed Killer as he slunk over to the apartment’s kitchen, where refreshments were strewn over the counters. The nearby balcony’s door was propped open, and Cross lingered there in the opening. Cool outside air hit his back.

Now Killer was chatting up another guy at the table. Like he always did when they went out anywhere. As if out of habit. Cross disregarded them; all he heard was Killer say “is that a challenge?”. He would’ve dwelled on it more, been more bothered, but he put his attention on everyone else. He scanned the crowd like he expected to be jumped.

Beside him Killer returned and he felt him press up against him. He knew he was grinning. His hand wandered Cross’s arm, then his back. He smelled like smoke. What was he after.

Cross’s face grew warm. His shoulders tensed. But he averted his eyes, kept his focus on the crowd.

His gaze landed on one woman in particular, not far from the table. She was surrounded by her own group of people, but for some reason she was staring directly at him, both of them. With this look in her eye.

Her lips, which were covered in a red smothering of lipstick, ticked down in a grimace.

What a sight they must be.

A wildfire of anger burst up through Cross. His bones grew hot, like he was being burned by it. She made him so fucking mad. He couldn’t process why.

She hadn’t even said anything. Not yet. But he knew she would. It was a matter of time, with the way she was looking at them.

Cross searched her, trying to gauge her. He knew these kinds of people all too well.

He returned her look in a blank stare. In it, he silently poured out every bit of desire he had to wipe that look off on the wall behind her. He doubted he’d actually do something, though. It wasn’t worth whatever hell would come of it.

Still, it leaked into his voice.

“Someone’s staring.” He said, quietly, and Killer retracted slightly.

He followed Cross’s gaze. His grin fell. The soul in front of his chest flickered, becoming an unstable ever-shifting shape far from a circle. To Cross it resembled a star nearing on a supernova.

He wasn’t being nearly as discrete as Cross; he glared back at her with just as much anger. If not more. Like a dog with teeth bared.

His voice dripped venom. “I’ll deal with ‘er.”

Cross’s companion pulled away from the table and over to the woman. Each step carried a buried intention, buried fury, with it.

Cross felt like someone’s gonna die.

Cross blinked and Killer was already in front of her. She said something to him, and he heard Killer shout back at her. He blinked again and Killer’s fist was flying. The woman’s head skewed to the side unnaturally, awkwardly. Then she fell to a heap on the carpet; A painted lady sprawled across the floor like a body bag.

She struggled to her elbows, coughed blood onto the carpet. The tease of a grimace became a full-fledged snarl. Her pretty prim lipstick was smeared.

Cross didn’t hear anything. Hardly even saw anything but Killer and the woman. Only the pounding of blood in his ears and flashing lights in the corner of his vision.

A needle of sudden anxiety, anticipation, stabbed Cross. Nothing good was gonna come from this.

If they hadn’t been before, everyone was certainly staring now.

The few nearest were on Killer like a pack of wolves to a carcass.

Someone was gonna die.

The surge consumed Killer. Shouting roared over the music. Cross barely saw him as he clawed, fought, screamed. Grinned. The suddenness of it all startled Cross out of his anger.

Two attackers were thrown back, blood streaming from their noses. Two more took their place.

At some point Killer’s jacket slipped, leaving shoulders exposed. And one of his sleeves was torn now. Bits of bleach-white bone were visible like Cross was peaking through a break in the blinds.

For a moment, he just stood and watched. Watched Killer fight like an animal. Admired the fluidity of his movements. Stared into the flames.

God,

He couldn’t help it.

Maybe this is what he came to this dumb party for.

Killer got tackled by two guys much larger than him and Cross, simultaneously, was thrown into the mess by someone behind him he didn’t see. It was like he was in a hornet’s nest. It was confusing, loud, violent. He didn’t know what to do, how to do it.

Somehow, he gathered himself and he and Killer managed to push back the swarm. Everything broke like oil and water, if only for a moment.

Killer now stood on Cross’s right, clutching his wrist tight in his hand. On the other, his left, was a smear of red lipstick. He held it curled in a fist.

Cross’s magic pounded in his ears.

There was a single heartbeat of still, then they were on them again, just as quick. They tore at them, stampeded over them. Except now Cross was in the middle of it. And at that moment he wanted to be anywhere else. But he didn’t really, either. This was where Killer was.

It became war.

Like with dancing, Cross wasn’t as confident a fighter as Killer. And he doubted his skills. But he wasn’t harmless, he hoped.

He tried to stay close to Killer, to not lose him to it all. That became his only goal. To not lose Killer, and to survive.

Cross grabbed another guy by the shirt and pulled him off of Killer, then had to spin to push someone different back with a strike from the elbow. It was overwhelming, smothering. Everyone on every side at all times.

Occasionally he got glances of Killer as he would stumble backward, only to run back in, laughing. He never stayed in range of who he fought, always jumping in and back out. Circling, a wolf nipping at the ankles of an elk. But he hit hard, knew what he was doing.

Warm blood ran into Cross’s eye, obscuring his vision. He must’ve busted an eyebrow.

Even before that, his vision became blurred. All he saw were movements. He focused everything on not drowning. Where was Killer? He had lost sight of him at some point. But the thought was ripped from his mind as he sustained a kick to the back and staggered. He gritted his teeth and returned the hit, pushed someone he didn’t see long enough to identify away. He rammed someone else with his shoulder.

Then he took another, harder, blow. This time to the side of the head. He felt like his whole skull was jarred and he staggered again, almost falling this time.

Someone grabbed his wrist.

It was Killer.

He ripped Cross from it all, fingers dug into his arm. Then they were running. He knew they were being followed. Killer shouted something. At some point they were in a stairwell, descending. Pounding in his skull was all he heard.

Suddenly, cold night air.

They were outside. There was Cross’s truck.

They ran to it and pulled the door’s open so hard he was surprised they weren’t thrown off their hinges. They were slammed closed just as hard.

Cross stuck the keys in the ignition and turned as fast as he could manage.

Six remaining pursuers flooded from the apartment. They tried to follow, yelled curses and profanities.

“Go, go, go!” Killer shouted.

“I’m trying!”

They pulled out and ended back on the road.

Finally, things started to slow back down. But Cross still felt like he wasn’t there. He felt like he was still at that party, busting his knuckles on strangers out for his blood. He didn’t even feel relief yet, that they were in the safety of Cross’s truck now. He didn’t feel much of anything.

The first thing Cross fully registered was Killer slamming his arm on the side of the door four times. “Holy shit!”

He put his hand to his head. “Holy shit.”

He was making an expression Cross couldn’t read, or place. Was it excitement? Surprise? Detest? Fear? Maybe just adrenaline. He was grinning. But he always was. His eyes were wide. Like he had just gotten off a rollercoaster.

Cross glanced at him again after checking the road. “You’re bleeding.”

He was, from the nose.

“So’re you.”

Cross put a finger to his eyebrow and felt warm liquid. The wound stung, he just now noticed. He wouldn’t notice the rest of his pain until much later, when the adrenaline was out of his system.

“Dude that was fucking insane.” Killer breathed. He almost laughed as he said it.

“It was worth it, though.” He added. “God, getting to wipe that look off her face,”

“Mm,” Cross hummed absently. Was it worth it? Part of him agreed silently.

“Showed her. Fucking showed her.” Killer continued, mostly to himself.

“You’re alright?” Cross asked, eyes pinned to the road. He still felt jittery. He hated having to sit here this long.

“Oh, what, me? Yeah I’m fine, I’m fine. Nothin’ I can’t handle.” Killer replied. He wiped at his nose, then cleaned the remaining lipstick from his hand on his jacket.

He was so… unaffected. Like this was an everyday occurrence for him. Maybe it was.

Cross rubbed the blood from his brow again. It hadn’t stopped bleeding yet. He wondered how bad it was. But he didn’t check the rearview mirror for his reflection.

He felt Killer’s eyes on him.

“It’s a look, y’know.” Killer quipped.

Cross laughed quietly. “What, having dried blood on my face?”

They drove in silence for a while. Cross’s soul was still pounding. At some point he collected himself enough to remember to put on his seatbelt. He listened to the occasional clicking of the turn signal and Killer’s mindless tapping. It grounded him, pulled him away from the party.

“I didn’t know you could fight like that.” Killer said eventually. “Didn’t think you had it in ya.”

“I was just trying not to get killed.” Cross responded dryly, like it was a fact. He hadn’t thought it was that impressive.

Killer laughed. Even though it was the truth.

“Wasn’t too bad, either. I could teach ya a thing or two, though. If you wanted.”

Killer offered with a grin.

Cross considered it just for a moment. “I think I’m fine.”

“Your loss. You think about it, ‘kay?” Killer replied. “I’d love t’see what you could do if you knew what you were doin’”

Cross just hoped he wouldn’t find himself in a situation where he needed to know what he was doing.

Killer leaned forward to start messing with the truck’s radio. He flicked through stations and static.

“I didn’t expect that many people to come after us.” Cross said.

“Yeah, god, it was like everyone at that party was pissed.”

“What’d she say? I saw her say something to you.” Cross asked.

“What d’you think? Some stupid shit about us. I dunno, I don’t remember.” Killer said, scowling at the radio. Cross knew he remembered, but he didn’t press.

Killer eventually found a station he was satisfied with and leaned back. Now a loud, quick, shouty rock song Cross hadn’t heard quietly filled the background of the cab.

Killer stretched out his arms. “Well, I’d consider tonight a success.”

Cross stared at him.

Killer laughed. “Eyes on the road, sweetheart,”

———

After what felt like an eternity they ended up at Cross’s apartment. Cross fumbled with keys to unlock the door and they stumbled inside. Everything was dark, lit only by the lights of the street and a standing lamp near the door Cross bothered to flick on as they entered.

The first thing Cross did was go for the fridge in the conjoined kitchen. It was mostly empty, but he found a cold canned drink and tossed it to Killer. He pressed it to limbs, to his face, soothing the bruises he had acquired.

He had a faint, dark ring around one of his eye sockets in the start of a black eye. Cross took his wrist and slowly, firmly, guided his hand to the socket.

“You caused a lot of trouble.” Cross murmured, sighing, as he held his hand there.

“You saw the way she was looking at us.” Killer replied sharply.

Cross retracted his hand, stood there to look at him. “Still,”

“She was basically just askin’ for it, anyway. No one else was gonna do it.” Killer argued.

“I think I’m gonna have a headache for a week. Thanks to you.” Cross said, though he was just barely smiling.

“You’re welcome.” Killer grinned.

“Mm.”

After, the can was handed back to Cross. It was just barely warmer, just barely flecked with blood. He pressed it to his own bruises, and to his eyebrow. The start of a headache stabbed at him.

Cross watched Killer as he fixed his jacket from where it had fallen off his shoulders. Just as closely as when he had watched him fight.

He felt both of them linger there, unsure. Awkward. Mutually asking “what now?”

“Well, it’s been a hell of a night, but I better be gettin’ outta here. I’m a busy man, y’know.” Killer said finally, flicking up his hood over his head.

“Already?” Cross asked.

Of course.

“Don’t worry, you’re not gettin’ rid of me that easy. I’ll be back.” Killer said, brushed up against Cross as he headed for the door, grinning up at him. He caught Cross’s hand and held it in his for just a moment.

‘I’ll be back’ could’ve meant a myriad of things. Cross could see him tomorrow. Maybe in a few hours, even. Or he could see him next in however many days.

Cross’s mouth teased a smile and he shook his head. He followed him to the doorway, where Killer lingered, holding the door open with one hand.

It sounded like it was raining outside.

For some reason, in that moment Cross remembered what Killer had said at the gas station, before they left.

His eyes widened, then narrowed at him. “You’re such a liar. You said nothing would happen.”

“Your favorite liar.” Killer grinned.

He leaned farther through the doorway toward him and pressed a kiss to Cross’s teeth, as if it was some kind of weird apology. It tasted like smoke. And blood. Cross let it happen, didn’t want it to end as quick as it did.

“We should do this again sometime.”

Then it was over, Killer was gone, and all Cross saw was the door as it clicked closed.

#wowowowow kross oneshot moment #read my writing boy /silly /nf #this one im like feeling mixed things about but that always happens so y’know how it is #armageddon’s fanfics #rental suits au #cross sans #killer sans #cross x killer #killer x cross #kross ship #criller #utmv #mostly i just hit the point where if i kept editing i was gonna go insane so im posting it Now #also trying out posting fics directly onto tumblr just to see how that goes #and also cause i do not want to deal with ao3’s tagging weeping

137 notes · View notes

1captainjordan4 · 8 months

Text

Starting my insane girly arc on AO3 and leaving ramble comments on my fav fics like i do in the tumblr tags

#This is based on 5 minutes or so #Where i got SO excited by an updated chapter for a fic im currently obsessed with #That i wrote a whole ass paragraph for them of me just screaming #And also with the promise im gonna reread their fic AGAIN FOR RHE 6TH TIME #JUST SO I CAN LEAVE MORE OF THOSE COMMENTS #I always been to afraid to post comments #Especially since i just go through the tags like a lunatic #BUT NOT ANYMORE NO FIC IS SAFE #NOT THE ONCE THAT HAVENT GOTTEN UPDATED IN FOREVER #OR RHE ONCE THAT ARE 2 YEARS OLD #Im hunting them for sports.... Im an art girly supporting my writer bros.... I love them so much #They keep me going fr fr #Jordan speaks #Remember when AO3 was down for 3 days??? I went clinically insane in that time

84 notes · View notes

mwagneto · 8 months

Text

gomens fandom having a normal one (take under the cut)

#I GENUINELY DONT EVEN KNOW WHAT THE HELL OP IS SAYING LIKE WHAT DOES THIS MEAN? WAHT DO YOU MEAN #granted i never read fanfic/go on ao3 but I've been in this fandom for five years and I've never seen any of those WYM #AND LIKE. EVEN IF ANGST FICS WERE SO COMMON THEY WERE RUINING YOUR LIFE. HOW DOES THE US GOVERNMENT COME INTO IT💀#this is making me lose my mind i feel like im dreaming what the fuck does this mean #op DON'T interact with me i have no interest in arguing or ever thinking abt this again really #just wanted to put this out into the world and then leave #good omens #gomens #also literally why are the worst takes always posts that start with ''sorry im busy adulting so this post is gonna be rushed teehee''

69 notes · View notes

aphel1on · 1 month

Text

#REMEMBERED THE DUMB EDIT I WAS GONNA MAKE.#writing #fanfic #aphelion.txt #text post meme #i guess?#ao3 #i mean this can be about original writing too but #every damn time seriously #i do it without even noticing #i'll be like oh finally i wrote a piece that isnt somehow secretly about my mother #then ill reread it 6 months later and its about my mother again.#LOL that's only one example but also like #i'll go 'im gonna write about this fucked up lil dude<3'#and only realize 10k into his pov that i have cribbed several mental health quirks directly from my own brain #sorry the text on this is fuzzy i use ms paint like some kind of cave person and its text editor is garbage

22 notes · View notes

dailyteamrancher · 2 years

Text

[day 36] do you think a cod boy could ever truly befriend a salmon boy

#dailyteamrancher #team rancher #jimmy solidarity #tangotek #empires smp #based on an au i saw where tango lived in the grimlands #i think it was on ao3? i don’t remember who wrote it but i can go find it when i wake up #(these post when i’m asleep lol)#not creative or awake enough to come up with something super different from fwhips outfit #i was gonna colour this one but i simply couldn’t be bothered #also! fun note! because of my personal netherborn headcanons. tango is 100% human here

689 notes · View notes

carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 2 months

Text

I was super inspired yesterday and wrote ALL of the end of the UD au. Unfortunately, like three or four parts that come Before All That remain unwritten! Lol

#also i think im gonna post on ao3. i did the editing of what i decided was ch. 1 today so its ready to go #and im close enough to done that no one will be left hanging #koko thinkin thots

17 notes · View notes

beanghostprincess · 4 months

Text

I can't believe I just had to explain my last Zolusan (more Lusan/Sanlu than anything but yeah) fic to somebody because they said it was normalizing unhealthy behavior when it comes to starting poly relationships. As if the monster trio would talk things out like normal people. Seriously.

Please NEVER leave a comment like this on a fanfic. If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say it. I am not here to educate people!! I am not your parents!! This is a fanfic site!! Don't expect me to write a manual on how to have a poly relationship, especially when it would be out of character for the main couple.

I'm gonna leave the link to the fic here and what I told them about it because now I am extremely anxious other people won't get what I want to express with this fic and I feel the need to share my thoughts:

#but also?? i've been in poly relationships before #and i am projecting on sanji the whole thing is venting #and people should NOT come to ao3 to learn how to love #and you should also not leave negative comments on fics??? like it's just that obvious???#going insane honestly i think it's just so dumb but i needed to post this #i could've just ignored their comment but i am extremely stubborn #and i'm gonna be honest with all of you i think the fic doesn't have any harmful behavior ???#the thing i can understand is sanji being vulnerable but they're not establishing a serious relationship at all #and sanji is aware of what's going on all the time he's vulnerable bc he's overwhelmed but he calmed down in like the middle of the fic #aghhhhhh i hate having to explain things to people it gets on my nerves #one piece #zosanlu #zolusan #i still don't know what tag to use exactly ngl #lusan #sanlu #bc it technically is more of a fic about them ngl so i'm just gonna tag these two ships

53 notes · View notes

gentil-minou · 8 months

Text

Gosh I need to edit this more before I actually start posting but I'm just so excited so here's a preview of my wangxian OUAT au, featuring wwx as emma, lwj as regina, and ayuan as henry (though are veering far away from both canon in both cases so no need to be familiar with the show to enjoy)

----

The doorbell rings.

He blinks once, then twice. Wei Wuxian isn’t normally one to get visitors, especially at this time of night. He tries to remember if there’s a no-candle policy in his lease his landlord might nag him about when the doorbell rings again.

He scrambles to his feet and stumbles to the door, already preparing an apology for something he probably didn’t know he wasn’t supposed to do and another apology in case he did know. He opens the door and sees….nothing.

Until he hears a quiet cough and looks down to see a little boy.

At first, he thinks maybe he’s a trick-or-treater who got a bit lost, but Wei Wuxian’s building is secured with a key and callbox entry. Plus, although he’s been wandering streets alone since forever, he’s pretty sure a kid this young would have a chaperone with him. He looks behind the kid and doesn’t see anyone else there.

But instead of asking something sensible like where his chaperone may be or even if the kid’s lost, he blurts, “How did you get in?”

The boy tilts his head and replies, “The front door. It wasn’t locked, I just walked in.”

So much for secured entry. But that doesn’t really answer why there is a human child at his door at nearly midnight. There’s definitely a law somewhere that says that’s illegal, probably.

The kid, who can’t be more than ten years old and really should have learned about stranger danger by now, beams up at him, as if technical breaking and entering is something to be proud of. Which, okay, maybe Wei Wuxian is kind of impressed by that.

“Aren’t you going to let me in?” the boy asks, his smile so sweet and unassuming that before Wei Wuxian even realizes it, he’s turned to the side and let the boy in.

The kid is wearing a blue puffy coat and carrying a white backpack that has homemade floppy ears made of felt that make it look like a bunny. They bounce up and down as the boy walks inside and slips his shoes off. Wei Wuxian very maturely resists the urge to tug on those floppy bunny ears, though only just.

Shoes off, his socks patterned with fluffy white clouds, the boy turns back around to look up at Wei Wuxian. His entire face beams up at him as if he were a sunflower facing the sun, which wow what an ego-boost. He’s got dimples, little baby dimples that are very cute and look very pinchable but that doesn’t matter because there is a baby in his house! And okay he’s at least ten years old but regardless why is there a whole entire child in his apartment? What is one supposed to do when some random kid shows up at their doorstep and invites themselves in?

“Oh shit uh, wait not shit,” Wei Wuxian stammers. “Shit, sorry. Um. A drink, you want a drink?”

Ask the random child if they want something to drink, apparently. Perfect.

The kid nods, still giving him that doe-eyed look. Wei Wuxian doesn’t have much by way of child-friendly beverage options, but he wasn’t exactly expecting something like this tonight. He settles on milk that looks like it hasn't gone too bad yet. Besides, expired milk builds immunity and character in children, that's how it works, right? He pours a glass for the kid, making sure to give him the cleanest one even though there’s a tiny crack on the surface.

He guides the kid over to the coffee table and hands him the milk. The kid takes the glass and sinks onto the deflated beanbag while Wei Wuxian perches on the edge of the couch. He grabs a can of beer from the six-pack still on the floor beside the table and takes a sip. Wait, is that allowed? Can he drink alcohol in front of children?

The kid doesn’t seem to care. He takes a tentative sip of his milk and makes a very polite face that fails to mask his disgust, before putting the glass down on the table next to the forgotten cupcake. Fair, it’s nice to see him asserting boundaries and all that.

"Okay," Wei Wuxian says, amused despite the situation. "Who are you and why are you in my house at—" he checks his phone for the time"—five minutes to midnight on a Friday night?"

The kid doesn't answer right away. His eyes are still focused on the cupcake, but in a way he probably thinks is sneaky. Wei Wuxian tilts his head to get a better look and sure enough, there’s a furrow between his eyebrows like the kid is trying really hard to ask a difficult question. After a minute, it becomes clear he hasn’t worked out a nice enough way to ask, but it’s a good thing Wei Wuxian knows enough about being a hungry child to recognize one.

He nudges the cupcake over to him and says, "Help yourself." Immediately, the kid grabs the cupcake with all the care in the world, like it’s a priceless artifact and promptly devours it. Wei Wuxian can’t help but smile as he eats. Suddenly the cheap cupcake feels like an excellent choice.

When the kid finishes licking the last bits of frosting and crumbs off his fingers, he sits politely with his hands in his lap and looks longingly toward the kitchen. He’s still too nice to ask forthright, but Wei Wuxian knows better and he isn't a monster.

Wei Wuxian gets up and opens one of the cabinets to look for something that’s probably child-appropriate, pulling out a bag of his least spicy chips. Chips are made of potatoes which are vegetables which means it’s probably not that bad for kids. Either way, the kid takes the bag gratefully and eats the chips with relish, even though they’re definitely way too spicy for someone his age.

“Alright, alright. You’ve been fed. Now tell me, who are you?” he asks again, though he can’t stop the tiniest bit of fondness from creeping into his tone. It’s just that everything this kid does is so cute! He can’t help himself!

The kid stops eating and tries to speak, but what comes out instead are the quietest little coughs Wei Wuxian’s ever heard. He’s been eating these spicy snacks and slowly turning as red as they are, but he’s so polite he hasn’t said a thing about them.

All at once, Wei Wuxian realizes he likes this kid, despite knowing practically nothing about him. It’s strange. He hates the kids the customers at his job will bring sometimes, especially when their parents just let them loose like it's a daycare and not a coffee shop. Wei Wuxian isn’t mean or anything, it’s just that wrangling kids is way above his pay grade. He didn’t even get along with other kids when he was a kid. All the other foster kids stood clear of him pretty much as soon as the social worker told his foster parents he was known for being “emotionally dysregulated” and labeling him a problem child.

But this kid is different from all the others, even though Wei Wuxian can’t quite put his finger on what’s so special about him. He seems like the kind of kid who would politely ask for steamed oat milk and say thank you, then ask his parents to let him give Wei Wuxian the tip. When he finishes, he’d probably throw his trash out without anyone asking and call goodbye to him one last time before he leaves. Even just imagining it makes Wei Wuxian feel wistful for something he’s never really wanted before.

It doesn’t help that this kid’s got what must be the fluffiest hair he's ever seen, and those dimples! It takes all of Wei Wuxian’s self-control to keep himself from pinching those chubby cheeks.

He doesn’t quite succeed and leans forward anyway to ruffle the kid's hair. "Ask for water, you silly,” he says, already standing and heading back to the kitchen.

When he hands him the glass, the kid just looks up at Wei Wuxian with his big, bright brown eyes filled with wonder. He’s looking at Wei Wuxian like he has the answer to everything. Wei Wuxian doesn't, but it's nice to feel like someone thinks he knows what he's doing.

The kid drinks half the glass before clearing his throat and finally answering Wei Wuxian’s question. “I’m Sizhui, but you can call me A-Yuan. Or even Little Radish, if you want! You called me that before.” He says it all in one breath, practically vibrating with energy by the end.

Wei Wuxian pauses in the middle of taking a sip of his beer. He’s not sure why he would ever call anyone a radish, and he’s pretty sure he’s never met this kid before. Does A-Yuan have mistaken him for someone else? Could this kid have some weird memory loss, except one where he gains fake memories instead of losing them? It’s definitely not the strangest thing about this whole situation.

Like all problems Wei Wuxian doesn’t know how to deal with, he decides to ignore that for now and asks, “Okay, A-Yuan then, why are you here?”

“Because,” A-Yuan starts, leaning forward and looking at Wei Wuxian with all the seriousness someone pre-puberty could possibly possess. “I need your help.”

“…Okay…” Wei Wuxian replies. The world must truly be fucked if someone is coming to him for help. He hasn’t had a vegetable in a week, unless pizza actually does count. “What do you need help with?”

He’s expecting the kid to say something normal like “my homework” or “getting to the train station”, you know, normal things a kid would ask a stranger to help him with.

He’s not expecting A-Yuan to respond gravely, “To save the world and everyone we love.”

Wei Wuxian blinks, speechless. A-Yuan doesn’t seem to notice, continuing to speak as he lifts his backpack onto his lap and rummages through its contents. “My family’s in trouble, our family. Everyone we know is, and you’re the only one who can fix it. Look here, see, I’ve got this book, it’s all written here. There’s a curse that’s affecting everyone and we need to break it.”

He plops the book down on the coffee table. It’s not at all what Wei Wuxian expects. It’s hand-bound, with a simple red fabric cover that’s blank except for the title that’s written in Chinese calligraphy. It’s written entirely in Chinese, in fact, completely by hand with the same impeccable calligraphy. Inside are what appear to be a bunch of stories or folktales. There are beautiful gongbi illustrations on every other page, inked in bright colors with an incredible level of detail.

Wei Wuxian can’t help but be impressed. The book is something he would expect to see at a museum or in a period drama, not on his coffee table with its chipped surface and water stains.

A-Yuan flips to a picture of a man with long hair dressed in black and red robes. He’s playing a flute as shadows dance and twist around his frame. Then tendrils lift high into the sky and block out the sun. He’s standing on a pile of human bones, to really sell the whole villain energy this guy’s got.

A-Yuan points at the guy. “That’s you, you see?”

Wei Wuxian does not see, he’s pretty sure he would have noticed if his body was covered in shadows. Also, he would need way more conditioner for that length of hair.

The kid continues, interpreting Wei Wuxian’s stunned silence as something else entirely. “You’re the only one who can help them, who can save us all.” A-Yuan thrusts the scroll out to Wei Wuxian, who’s too floored to do much more than take it from him. “So, I’m here to bring you back.”

Wei Wuxian has to admit, the guy in the picture does look pretty badass. But it’s still just a drawing, and there’s little to suggest this looks anything like him at all.

He glances up. A-Yuan smile is so bright and excited that Wei Wuxian wishes he could feel his excitement too. The guy in the picture does look super cool, like someone he’d want to dress up as when he was A-Yuan’s age.

But all he feels is concern and confusion. Before, he was actually starting to enjoy spending time with this kid, but something is wrong, though it’s not what A-Yuan thinks. There’s a random kid in his apartment late at night, making up stories. And whether he likes it or not, Wei Wuxian is the adult here. He has to remember that.

“I’m sorry, kid,” he says, and the smile slowly drops from A-Yuan’s face and Wei Wuxian feels like the absolute worst person on the planet for doing that to him. “But I don’t know what this is, or who you are. I want to help, you’ve just gotta give me some actual answers. Where are your parents? Do they know where you are?”

A-Yuan looks down and mumbles, “I was so sure you’d remember if you saw this, if you held it.” He tightens the hands on his knees into fists and looks up at him with a startling conviction. “But that doesn’t matter. I know it, I know who you are. You’re Wei Wuxian. This is you. And you’re the only person who can save us.”

Wei Wuxian rubs his temples and contemplates chugging the remainder of his beer. He holds it in his hand, wishing he’d gotten another pack. “Look, I don’t know how you know my name, maybe you saw it on some mail outside or something, but—"

"You're my dad!” A-Yuan hastily interrupts. “That’s why, that’s how I know!"

Wei Wuxian drops the can. There's a splash of something spilling all over the carpet and he should probably make sure it’s not too bad. He's too busy trying to figure out how he could have a ten-year-old at twenty-five when he was definitely still a virgin at fifteen.

The initial shock slips away, leaving him only more confused. He raises an eyebrow at A-Yuan, willing him to explain.

"Not my real dad," A-Yuan says, rolling his eyes like somehow Wei Wuxian is the one claiming something impossible. "But you're my dad in every way that counts."

Wei Wuxian wishes he hadn't dropped his drink. He'd really like to take a sip of it now. And several more, maybe the rest of the cans, too.

This day needs to end. He should have stayed home and drank his way to oblivion, so he’d have been too far gone to answer the door in the first place.

TBC

#i need to remind myself it's okay if no one reads this #i have very little presence in this fandom #but im so excited for this au #mdzs #wangxian #mdzs fanfiction #mo dao zu shi #the untamed #wei wuxian #a-yuan #wen yuan #bushy writing #i need to throw this in the void and then not think about this post ever again sgfsdfjs #this first chapter is 10k words by the way which tells me its only going to get worse #apparently my idea of short preview is 2000 words oops #also i only did a cursery read through and brief error check so if there's something glaringly bad please tell me #im hoping to have the first chapter up sometime in the next week if you want to follow me on ao3!#okay now im gonna go melt away #how obvious is it that i haven't shared my writing with anyone else in over a year

36 notes · View notes

goodfellowe · 1 year

Text

Each string was a life, each strand sectioning off into a what if, a splitting cable that led to endless possibilities. Different lives in different worlds. Better lives in better worlds.

The Way Time Twists (AO3)

Chapter 18: Kid

The strings pull. The strings snag.

The sun warmed her closed eyelids, tinting everything in a hazy, muted glow. She could hear the faint squalls of seagulls, the distant chatter of voices she didn’t recognize, and the waves crashing into the sea from what felt like a hundred miles away. Save for the smell of metal, faint underneath the sea salt in the air and the terrible rot wafting out from the dumpsters, everything was fine. She blinked open her eyes, slowly sitting up and taking in her surroundings. She recognized it. All of it. It was Mafia Town. It was... Mafia Town? But you’ve never been here before- a thought, murmured by an uncomfortably familiar voice, wormed its way into the forefront of her mind, unbidden. This is your first time away from home.

Chapter 19: The Way Time Twists

Kid's memories blur and blend together, but they're not just hers this time. (But they are, aren't they?)

Art by @nakakabaliw.

61 notes · View notes

anonymouslyanidiot · 2 months

Text

i ended up playing mincraft (im proud of the skin but i gotta remake it.. i tried to earlier 2day but the site i use waznt workinfgg.. hhh at least m on a posting spree!!!!! yippie!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

dont ask what i wax doing i joined an old sever that me and my frind used 2 play on.. hehe

#dsaf #dayshift at freddy's #minecraft #minecraft skin #davesport #Dave dsaf #i guess it counts righ????#who cares #im probably gonna be rlly active 2day im soz if u see this on your fyp #i also have a pic of the *VERY* old jack skin i have bc i though itd be funni #it wasnt #but lemme be silly #anyways #Dave Miller #dsaf dave miller #Dave Miller minecraft #not clickbait #its not a tag but imagine if it wasss...#mmmm nah id do it with jack #hes my bbg anyways /j #that was cringy #anyways i gotta stop narrating myself #i gotta larn so my ao3 acc doesnt look lik a mess lmfaooo #anyways :)#im probs gonna go do more stuff w the accb c im addcited to posting atm..#sorry for spamming tags again and ranting #maybe ill post on ao3 instead 2day tho!! i gotta link my tumblr bac 2 it since i got a acc :(#i gotta lot of motivation today sooo!!!!#thats good!!#bye guyssss

11 notes · View notes

rooolt · 1 year

Text

The thing that makes me so insane about scary marlowe is how real she feels to me. Like previous Beth characters have always been ridiculous and silly and stupid and I’ve loved them in their own right but there’s something about scary that makes me look at her and go “I could know this girl.” Like she’s a teenager who never came to terms with her dad leaving and is now lashing out at the easiest target and subsequently everyone. Terry spurs it on with this sense of permanency, if he moves into her life her dad will never come back and never love her, and from there she becomes wrapped up in a whirlwind of who she is or who she should be. Ultimately scary is a scared and upset teenage girl who latches on to the first powerful influence in her life that says he cares about her. Sure terry says he cares, but if he really did would he be replacing her real dad? And terry isn’t giving her magic powers to protect herself. Willy as her patron is also really interesting because all the kids get their powers from daddy magic, from their connection to their fathers which we know doesn’t have to be biological because of link, but Scary’s powers are not built on her relationship with terry, THEY COME FROM WILLY. If she abandons him that doesn’t leave her powerless because of daddy magic and terry, but I think at least at this point the daddy magic Scary’s using, if any, is built on her connection with willy

#Long rambly post from Roolt dropping at almost midnight #A classic #Now I’m gonna go to bed and think of my own fucked up tern gurl #Like scary is what I want autumn (my oc) to be likr #I love when teen girls are fucked in the head and destroy every connection in their life because of it only sending them down a worse path #To quote my favorite ao3 comment I’ve ever gotten “being 15 is pretty fucked up innit”#dndads #dungeons and daddies #scary marlowe #also does any of this post make sense I’m so tired

166 notes · View notes

polar-equinoxx · 1 year

Text

@pollyna you made this idea and it took my brain and made me write this *sobbing noises*

(Apologies for the tag :0)

1111 words✨

Please enjoy <3

≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺🌟

It’s okay not to be okay

third person

“Ice, please, it’s not your fault,”

“Yes it is Slider, stop denying it,”

“I’m not denying it,”

“You heard what she said, all the evidence points to it being me,”

“Yes, I heard what she said but-”

“Shut up, just, just shut up Sli,” He exhales.

Slider doesn’t shut up. “Mav doesn’t think it’s your fault,”

Then he doesn’t say anything, glaring at the carpet to the left of his RIO’s shins.

“Ice,”

“I’m going, I’m going,” he puts his hands up and makes a beeline for the half open sliding door. “I’ll see you tomorrow,”

“Alright Ice, I’ll see you then,”Slider sighs, shaking his head but letting his pilot leave all the same. He needs the space, and he respects that.

There’s a long stretch of empty path that runs down from the estate to the beach, then it does along it for miles in each direction. Ice takes that path. He just wanted to be alone, he wanted the grief to go, he wanted the guilt to leave him.

It was late, and there were hardly any lights around to illuminate the path, but Ice has walked it enough times to know where he’s going. Ten minutes from the O Club in the other direction was an indent into the sea wall that overlooked the beach more. He stands there, resting his elbows on the stony wall, leaning his head down into his hands, holding his throbbing head. The discussion with Slider hadn’t helped with that one bit.

What he wanted to do was disappear for a night or forever.

What he wanted to happen was to have taken that shot. Or get out the way faster.

He didn’t care. He just wanted Goose back, same as Maverick.

Ice lifts his head up and pulls himself up onto the wall, letting his legs hang over the side of it, holding his head with his right as he picks up a shell someone left.

The spray from the waves was hitting his ankles. He usually would have smiled at it, but he doesn’t care this time. He stares at the black water, lit only by the yellow streetlamp a few metres back from where the path branched off toward the road.

Charlie’s words echo back at him. “It’s Kazansky’s fault Mav,”

His fault.

Not Maverick’s, he’d never believe that, let alone say it.

His.

He blinks, long and hard, sniffing. Dammit.

“Hey,”

Ice very nearly falls off the wall at the softly spoken greeting.

“Can I?”

He nods, clearing his throat and swiping at his eyes.

Maverick sits down next to him.

Iceman stares straight at the sea below them, raising his leg slightly to let it fall and hit the wall.

“It’s not your fault,”

He doesn’t say anything.

“It’s not your fault, Ice,” Maverick says again.

“What isn’t?” Ice asks, knowing full-well what Maverick was talking about.

“Goose,”

Ice bites the inside of his cheeks. “…Don’t say that,”

“But it’s not,” He says, looking at him even though Ice was staring at anything other than him.

“Yes it is,”

“No it’s not,”

“Charlie said it was,”

“I know,” Maverick says after a second, his voice low.

“I thought you and her were together,” he sniffs.

“We were,”

Ice flicks his eyes to him for the smallest second.

“After that… debriefing, that night she,” he swallows. “She told me grief is for kids and women and that I should get over him and win it by myself,”

Maverick’s expression shows nothing, like he’s deliberately practised dulling it. Ice just puts his hand on Maverick’s for a second, then he takes it away and pretends like he didn’t.

“I know how many times she’s said that to you,” he says. “I wanted to say something,”

He did..? Why?

“But... I was too scared to say anything,” Maverick exhales and keeps looking at Ice. “Hey,”

Ice doesn’t look at him and he doesn’t say anything. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know if there was anything he could say.

“Wingman,”

The nickname catches Ice off-guard and he looks back to him. They’d only been wingmen since the Layton mission, and that was three weeks ago. “Don’t make me feel like it isn’t my fault,”

“It was an accident,” Maverick’s voice takes on the barest hint of desperation.

“Accidents are done by someone, Mav,” he frowns and tries to stop the burning behind his eyes.

“Not this one,” They could hardly see the other one’s eyes in the dark, but they kept the eye-contact all the same. “It was not your fault, it was not anyone’s fault,”

Ice drops his eyes from Maverick’s, glaring at his hands.

“Please just believe me on that,”

Maverick reaches for one of Ice’s hands, but he yanks it away and pulls his left leg up, making a shield from the dark-haired pilot. “Leave me,”

Maverick looks at Ice, and doesn’t leave. He was completely shut off, walls of the coldest permafrost shielding him from anything that could get him.

“Leave me alone,” Ice’s voice betrays him and cracks in two on the last word.

“No,” he says quietly. Maverick wasn’t very good at following orders, and this was no exception as he shuffles closer to him and wraps his arms around him as tightly as he can.

“Mav- I’m fine-” Ice gets out, still turning his head away from him, despite being in sudden close contact with him.

“C’mere,” Maverick whispers to him, trying to get him to lean into him.

Ice exhales heavily, his breath shaking as he draws air back in.

“Come on,” Maverick pushes Ice’s head into his shoulder, desperately trying to get the blond to let himself break. He knows it was hard for him, Ice was Ice, he didn’t show his emotions readily, and if he did he was always alone and able to keep it in check, not like this.

Feeling Maverick’s hand on the back of his head, it was like a switch that turned off, like all his defences came down at once. His hands were in fists to stop them from shaking, it didn’t work.

“Mav... I’m sorry-” Ice’s voice was hoarse as he sobbed into his shoulder.

“Shhh, don’t. Don’t apologize,” Maverick murmurs, he’d never blamed Ice, and he wouldn’t ever now, not after seeing the extent of how deep Charlie’s words dug inside him and rooted themselves there. “It’s okay not to be okay,”

They end up sitting on the wall together, Ice leaning on Maverick, until it got entirely too cold, and then they went back to Ice’s place and watched a stupid show and ate oreos until they fell asleep together.

#THAT IDEA DESTROYED ME SO I HAD TO WRITE IT #am deFINYELY GOING TO BE DOING ART FOR THIS #like as soon as i post #i’m so extra i made the word count deliberately 1111 LMAO #gonna be on ao3 also v. soon #ms tg #ms fanfics #icemav #tom iceman kazansky #pete maverick mitchell #ron slider kerner #top gun #top gun 1986

108 notes · View notes