#spotify wrapped ficlet

[zenaidamacrouras1]

Heyo! For the wrapped ask, number 13? Stucky?

Also just wanted to say you’re one of my favourite fic authors I’ve found in a while ❤️ I often anticipate the smutty stuff the most but in your fics I enjoy the in-betweens so much! The way your write children is simultaneously the most warm yet hilarious prose and it always feels so much more lifelike than I often read? Having kids probably helps lol. Sorry I’m just rambling on but you’ve brought me a lot of comfort in the past few months and I appreciate you a lot

Hope you have a good one!!! :)

Thank you for the amazingly kind sweet words - so encouraging - flattery will get you everywhere, so here is a 2500 word smutty fic inspired by this wistful little love song, and yes, I wrote this whole fucking thing last night laying in bed and edited it today in between work calls because I have ADHD, we've talked about this, my brain is very good at doing exactly what it wants and sometimes our interests align and things like this happen.

I listened to this album (So Jealous) on repeat when writing the sad chapters of my fic Tension and Tonic, so not surprised this song ended up in my top songs nor in the direction this story took.

Tegan and Sarah - Take Me Anywhere

Warning this is smutty with graphic sexytimes.

“Stop making me laugh. I'm trying to be sexy," Steve laughs. 

"If you can't laugh and be sexy what are you even doing, sweetheart," Bucky drawls back and that's probably when Steve fell in love with Bucky. Unfortunately it was also during their first hook up. It was decent enough - mutual blow jobs. Bucky clearly knew what he was doing. On the surface nothing too different than Steve’s normal routine of finding a guy and blowing off some steam, but there were a lot of subtle red flags that should have warned Steve to run like hell.

Like how entranced Steve was when it was his turn to make Bucky feel good. Bucky, with his dancer's grace, with the asymmetry of his missing arm making the lines of him more perfect somehow, his long hair falling loose into his face, framing his perfect jawline, the pink O of his mouth, the dark smudge of his eyelashes. The way his elegant fingers fluttered so tenderly along Steve's cheek when he sucked in. It was. Lovely. Bucky is lovely. Lovable. It's a problem. 

That first time Bucky had sort of folded Steve into his body after, pulling him up onto the couch and burying his face in Steve's hair in a way that normally would have made Steve bristle because he is small but he's not a fucking stuffed animal. But Bucky hummed and sighed in this contented way. Bucky is all bones and muscular and yet fluid and it feels powerful to be held so desperately by someone like that. 

"Sorry I’m a cuddler, just shove me off when you get sick of me," Bucky hums, and laughs after a minute, and lets Steve go. "Don't make fun of me, I can't have sex with out snuggling, I should have warned you in the Grindr chat," and Bucky is easy and lax and happy and Steve could have maybe stayed longer without it being weird, but by then, he kind of wanted to stay forever so he definitely needed to go right away. 

Bucky is a former ballet dancer. Well, he still dances actually, but he was a principal with the New York City Ballet till he lost his arm, a story he shrugs off easily. "My ma always said I'd lose my head if it wasn't attached and turns out it's the same for my arm? I called the Coney Island lost and found, but it wasn't there? Just kidding, it was a car accident, just glad I'm alive." He's the assistant director of fundraising for the ballet now, and does some choreography too, Steve's not sure how it all works, but Bucky is happy and charming and Steve would definitely hand over all his money to fund the ballet if Bucky had asked him. But. Bucky's never asked him to donate to the ballet. They don't talk about work stuff beyond the minimum. Steve’s just happy they talk at all.  

The next week Steve's phone pings and it's Bucky on Grindr again, and apparently Bucky had a shit day and wants to get fucked, and he likes Steve's dick so, well, does Steve top? Steve saves his work, stops his time tracker, and that's all the graphics that are getting designed for today. He changes out of his work from home sweats and puts on his date jeans, and heads over to Bucky's place to take them back off again. Bucky's wearing a suit, his hair slicked back, and the arm of the suit neatly tailored up. He looks amazing, his tie just a little loose around his neck, his eyes lazy and suggestive, moving right into Steve's space and dipping his head down for a kiss before Steve can even say hello. 

Steve can work with that, he pushes Bucky into the wall and spreads Bucky’s legs enough so that they're the same height and untucks Bucky's shirt so he can feel up his slim frame. Steve moves Bucky through his apartment and into his bed, and climbs on top of Bucky, and Bucky reaches into the bedtime table for lube and condoms and it's good, it's so good, and Steve can't recommend fucking a ballerina or whatever a guy ballet dancer is any higher, especially when Bucky bites hard into Steve's shoulder and keens desperately and more and more until Steve's ready to last forever if Bucky needs him to, except then Bucky's shaking apart with his one hand in Steve's hair and kissing him messily all teeth and heaving breath and that's fine. Steve loves Bucky's teeth. 

After, Steve's forcibly cuddled by Bucky again, which is fine because Steve's legs are kind of rubbery because he's not as athletic as Bucky - then again, who is. 

Steve cuddles with Bucky and listens to him ramble on about nothing in particular before sliding back into his date jeans and letting himself out. In his head tells himself this is a business transaction more or less. Steve is a consultant who knows how to do authentic and meaningful work for his clients and move on. A skillshare of sorts. 

It sort of becomes a Friday night thing. Most Friday nights Bucky seems to have some kind of high end fundraiser related to his work at the ballet. It makes sense that Bucky can’t be hunting for a hookup while representing his work, so it’s perfectly logical that he’d touch base with Steve after for a bit of no strings attached fun. Steve doesn’t see any need to tell Bucky that he’s not seeing anyone else and also that he’d love to be Bucky’s boyfriend because, haha, what? Why would he say that? 

Honestly, they barely know each other beyond Steve having every inch of Bucky’s flexible, lovely body memorized. Steve’s favorite parts are the imperfections, the freckles, the scars, the cowlick that makes his hair stick up funny if he doesn’t slather product in it. He doesn’t mention it, because what kind of asshole would mention it, but he’s transfixed by the way Bucky adapts to having one arm, because it’s just so fucking beautiful. It draws the eye, the way his liquid grace casually defies gravity. It often seems his momentum should go one way, but it seamlessly flows another, and Steve wants to draw Bucky or at least take a picture of him. But they don’t do that. 

"I looked up your art," Bucky murmurs into Steve's hair one evening during their post coital cling session that maybe gets a little longer every week. Steve kind of freezes because what? He didn’t realize Bucky even knew his last name?  "It's good. You're pretty badass. It's impressive. I can't draw for shit, so I was curious what kind of art you do. Maybe we could commission you at the ballet, you like drawing ballet shoes and legs and shit?"

"Oh," Steve says because, like, seriously, Bucky, do you not know what a hookup is? Steve should be getting dressed right now, not letting Bucky lazily slide his hand up and down Steve's back while talking about his art.

"It's dynamic, lots of movement, reminded me of dancing. Maybe I have a dancing brain. Everything reminds me of dancing," Bucky laughs, and his breath is hot into Steve's hair, and Steve laughs too, because laughter is the appropriate response and also dear oh dear. Yeah. Bucky Barnes is lovable. 

"You had heart surgery?" Bucky asks in a sudden subject change. And Steve wonders for a minute how Bucky knows that. In his defense, he's drunk on sex endorphins and being stroked like a kitten and practically purring. 

"Yeah, couple of em," Steve says. It's such an enormous scar. Obviously Bucky noticed the damn thing, they’ve been naked together close to a dozen times. 

"It's all ticking away alright now though?" Bucky says softly, and Steve huffs a yes and pulls back before he falls asleep. "Should I not have asked? I feel like I have no filter about scars and shit since I got de-armed. It's like, I dunno. My injury is the first thing everyone sees. You're probably as bored as I am of talking about it."

"Did you ever have a filter?" Steve teases, and Bucky laughs hard, his head thrown back with joy, and that feels good. "Yeah, Buck, I'm pretty healthy these days."

Steve manages to escape a little while later. He looks up videos of Bucky dancing. It's only fair if Bucky's been looking up Steve's art. What he does next in the privacy of his own home when he sees Bucky's thighs in those ballet tights is his own business. All of the videos are from before the car accident. Bucky looks strange with two arms, off balance and overloaded, which makes absolutely no sense, but Steve’s just so used to Bucky’s body how it is now. 

They meet up the next week, and Bucky’s freshly showered from a dance performance, which, Steve didn’t realize Bucky was performing anymore, let alone today. Bucky’s full of adrenaline and way pushier than normal, taking Steve’s mouth and getting Steve up against the wall. Usually Steve doesn’t like to be pushed around, but he trusts Bucky by now. He’s really a super nice guy. Steve couldn’t be luckier in having such a convenient sex arrangement with such a beautiful, kind, sexually compatible person. This is a thought he has briefly before Bucky grabs him by the crotch and presses their shoulders together hard, slamming Steve into the wall, and Steve’s mind kind of whites out. 

After they’re laying on the floor in the hallway of Bucky’s apartment, huffing and limp and half dressed. Steve reaches into his jacket pocket, (how convenient they are still right there by the door) and takes a puff of his inhaler. 

“Shit, you ok?” Bucky asks in surprise. 

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m cat-sitting for a friend, got my allergies up, and you know, I know that wasn’t enough exertion to get your heart rate up, but some of us mere mortals have physical limits.” 

Bucky laughs dryly. “My heart rate was up Steve. Before the physical exertion started, actually though,” he adds softly. And what is that supposed to mean? 

Steve lays in bed awake half the night trying to decide if he should go to Bucky’s dance performance the next night. It’s in a massive hall, there’s no way Bucky would know. Is it too intimate? Is it too stalkery? Does he mention it after if he goes? Is it weirder if he goes and doesn’t mention it? That would be weird if he doesn’t mention it, so okay he has to mention it but does he mention it before or after he goes? The tickets are expensive too, so then it’s weird like, does he seem like he’s trying to score free tickets if he mentions it before? But then Bucky seems like the type to be annoyed if Steve pays when Bucky has free tickets on offer. Ugh. 

In the end, Steve goes, and he buys the ticket and doesn’t tell Bucky, and he cries because Bucky’s dancing is amazing, and breathtaking, and every adjective, and Steve could draw only Bucky for the rest of his life and not have captured the lines, the strength of him, the defiance. He wants to explain to the person next to him that he’s not crying because he’s like inspired that Bucky is disabled, but because he’s in love with Bucky, and it’s one thing to suspect the guy you’ve been fucking with no strings attached every Friday night for months is perfect, but it’s another thing to have it proven. 

Steve doesn’t mention to Bucky that he went to his performance, but he tries to put it into the way he touches Bucky the next week. Reverent. He spends close to an hour opening Bucky up with his mouth and fingers, and the sounds Bucky makes when Steve finally enters him, kissing him gently down his neck, the way Bucky’s out of athletic moves to try and wow Steve with, but just transcendently arching up, helpless with pleasure, that’s how Steve lets Bucky know he saw him dance, and he loved it, and he loves Bucky. 

That night, Bucky asks him to stay the night, and Steve actually has an early Saturday meeting with a client, he’s not making it up, he even shows Bucky the calendar note, and Bucky laughs happily, and says it isn’t a big deal. But. It seems like a big deal. Steve makes sure not to schedule anything the next Saturday, in case Bucky asks again, but Bucky doesn’t ask again. Which is fine. 

Then something strange happens. Steve’s locking up Wanda’s apartment from checking on her cat, and his phone pings, and it’s Bucky via Grindr, asking for Steve’s phone number. It’s actually super weird they haven’t done the phone number thing yet, honestly, Steve doesn’t even use Grindr except to confirm his weekly dates with Bucky. Steve sends his number over as he’s walking to the subway to head back home, it’s only one stop, but it’s cold. 

Bucky texts him right away, asking him what he’s doing Friday. Steve says he’s open, because, duh? At this point, Steve would turn down the presidential medal of freedom if the ceremony was on a Friday night between 10 pm and midnight. 

Bucky asks him what he’s doing at 6 pm on Friday, and that’s new. They almost never hang out before 10 pm, or whenever Bucky’s fundraising events wrap up. Steve’s not doing anything in particular, and says as much. Bucky asks if he’d hate wearing a suit and getting free wine? And Steve does not, in fact, hate free wine. He also has a decent suit, he thinks it’s pretty stylish still, he had it tailored a few years ago, but men’s styles don’t change as fast as women’s, which is a relief when you are not a standard human male size and have to have all your clothes custom fit to make sure you don’t look like a child wearing their dad’s dress up clothes. 

Bucky asks if Steve would want to meet up with him at his fundraiser on Friday, it’s at an art gallery, and the art reminded him of Steve. Steve feels his heart pound. 

S: I like free wine, wearing suits, and art galleries. Sure. 

B: Another question. 

S: I also like answering questions 

B: Do you like holding hands? 

S: Depends on the hand. 

B: I mean, I only have the one. 

Steve feels dizzy. 

S: Yes, I would like holding your hand. One is sufficient for my needs. 

B: And you would like holding my hand and going somewhere with me on a date? 

S: You could take me anywhere.

#spotify wrapped writing challenge #spotify wrapped ficlet #spotify wrapped fic #this is 2500 words #it's a damn fic #I'll clean it up and post it to ao3 at some point too #stucky au #stucky fanfic #ballet Bucky #Catching feelings #is my weakness. #smut

[badgerstep]

i am a man of my word! @hey-its-quill

13 - “Jackie Onassis” by Sammy Rae and the Friends

and when she found me i was in pieces, cryin’ hard into my hat

and she tell me, “mama, you look lovely when you take a stand.”

Her past was written all over her face. Everyone could see it. Everyone always reacted to it first, her second. It felt like part of her died the day a dog closed its jaws around her skull, and that she was just a ghost floating along in someone else’s stead.

Sometimes, Brightheart wondered if she would ever move on. Cloudtail said the past didn’t matter, not to him, and maybe that was true. Maybe.

Cinderpelt told her that her injuries had healed, and, morbidly, “The one lucky thing about big wounds like that is that you bleed so much it’s almost hard to catch an infection.”

And Brightheart knew that what she meant was, “I’m glad you’re alive,” and “I’m happy I didn’t lose my sister,” and “I don’t know what I would do if you had died on my watch, too, like Silverstream.” But she and Cinderpelt weren’t close, not the way Cinderpelt was with Brackenfur. There didn’t seem to be room for that, not when they’d been apprenticed separately and lived separate lives.

A part of Brightheart had almost been relieved when Daisy, the kittypet from the barn with three little kittens in tow, had said it so plainly. The shock, the horror, the disgust. “What happened to your face?”

She’d gotten over that. What choice did she have when Daisy decided to stay? She had had to find a way to keep going, and that was that.

But when Brightheart was having her second litter, Daisy was right there, unafraid. “You’re doing fine,” she’d purred, pressing her side against Brightheart’s back, tapping a steady, gentle rhythm with her fluffy tail.

“It’s — there’s more than my last litter, isn’t there?” Brightheart had asked, her one eye flicking between Jayfeather and Daisy. “What if it goes wrong?”

“There are more, yes.” Jayfeather’s whiskers twitched, his nostrils flaring to track changes in scent that would let him know a kit was coming. “Just breathe, don’t panic. Panic is what causes trouble. You’ve done this before, it’ll be all right. Breathe. Follow Daisy if it’s too much to do by yourself.”

“You survived that,” Daisy said with a lick to the fur just behind Brightheart’s bad ear. “You’re one of the strongest cats I know. You’ve got this. Breathe. Follow me. One, two, one, two…”

Brightheart shut her eyes and breathed deep, matching Daisy’s counts beat for beat. She thinks I’m strong?

It was one thing for that sentiment, the lofty “You’re so strong,” to sound like a kit-story, something you said but didn’t really mean in order to placate. It was the way most cats said it, after all. But something about the way Daisy had said it just now, with such sincerity, when Brightheart was overwhelmed and afraid and Cloudtail was pacing anxiously outside of the nursery, that, well — it meant something.

She could do this.

#warrior cats #brightheart #wc fic #spotify wrapped ficlet #my writing #if this contradicts canon no it doesnt 💔 #(i hope this is okay!!)

[dreamwatch]

For the wrapped meme: 11 & Steddie, if you please!

Thank you for the prompt, I really needed this to get my brain working.

You know until your ask I didn't realise I hadn't even specified a fandom! Stranger Things, people! (in case anyone else wants to send me a prompt)

---

#11 - Refugee by Tom Petty And The Heartbreakers

Steve is vibrating with anger.

They’re sitting in Eddie’s van in the parking lot outside Bradley’s Big Buy. Eddie’s looking in the rear view mirror wiping someone else’s spit off the side of his face with some grubby napkin he found in the glove box. He’s acting like he’s wiping some girls lipstick off his cheek. 

“Stop staring at me.”

Steve turns away, looks out the passenger window to see the prick from the store packing his groceries. The temptation to run over there and kick the shit out of him is so intense he ends up staring at his hands instead. He’s not sure why he suddenly feels like the bad guy in all of this.

“I feel like a drive, how about you, Steve?” Eddie’s voice is clipped, his tone all pinched and stiff. Steve just nods, there’s no point saying anything right now, he’ll get shot down and it will start a fight and he’s not in the fucking mood.

They drive for close to an hour, Steve taking surreptitious glances at Eddie from time to time. Over the hour he watches as Eddie’s shoulders relax, the tension in his arms loosens. Watches the transformation from an angry alley cat back to Eddie.

It’s not fair, but he learned a while ago nothing in Hawkins is fair. But what annoys him, what really incenses him, is how Eddie reacts to these bastards. He doesn’t fight back. He just grins, throws up those stupid horns, sticks his tongue out. He pokes the bear, and he looks like he’s enjoying it too, unless you really know him. Then you see the flash of hurt in his eyes, the way he stiffens slightly. The way he hunkers down for hours afterwards while he works through whatever the fuck is going on in his head. Which Steve can’t help might be faster and easier if Eddie would just talk to him. Or anyone. Just fucking talk.

The van slows and pulls off the road, stopping at the edge of a cornfield. Eddie shuts off the engine, killing the music. Steve sneaks a glance, watches as Eddie tips his head back against the headrest and closes his eyes. The engine tick tick ticks, the birds caw. An occasional car whooshes by. Eddie and Steve just sit.

A warm breeze flows through the windows, and Eddie pushes stray hairs off his face. He caught colour on his cheeks over the summer, the scar on his left one no longer looking so stark against his skin. Eddie took great delight in showing that off to the townsfolk of Hawkins. Sometimes Steve just wants to scream at him.

“I know you don’t get it,” Eddie says on a sigh, finally cutting through the last of the tension in the van.

“Yeah, I don’t. Sorry.”

“I don’t need you fighting my battles. I can do that myself.”

Steve shakes his head, “Didn’t see you putting up much of a fight.”

“That’s your answer to everything, isn’t it?”

Eddie pats himself down, and Steve knows he’s looking for cigarettes. He also knows he doesn’t have any. He only has gas in the van because Steve gives him the money for it. No one will give him a job, Wayne gets less hours at the plant, and they all know why that is. So he gives Eddie gas money because he drives Steve around even though Steve has a perfectly nice car, and they both know what this really is. Just another thing they don’t talk about.

Steve lights a cigarette and takes a deep drag before passing it to Eddie. 

“I don’t know how you put up with it, that’s all.”

“And what else am I supposed to do, exactly?” Eddie takes a drag, and ashes the cigarette out the window. Doesn’t hand it back to Steve. He wasn’t expecting him to. “You can’t fight everyone, Steve.” And he draws his name out, in that way that makes Steve want to slap him. Like he’s being mocked. Like this is school, and he’s the mean boy. 

“Then— Then leave.” Don’t leave. 

Eddie rounds on him, eyes blazing. “Why should I fucking leave?”

“You always wanted to go, you said—”

“On my terms. My terms! Not because some hick cunt wants me gone. This is my fucking home, Wayne’s home. My family and friends are here. I nearly died for this place, Steve! I have more fucking right to be here than them.” He runs out of steam, stabs the cigarette into the ashtray likes its ablaze. “I’ll go when I’m good and ready.”

The sun creeps lower in the sky, and the light hits Eddie’s hair and it’s like a halo. He gets these moments, when he’s still, when he’s sleeping, when he thinks he’s not being watched, and his face relaxes and he looks like a boy. Just a kid. It’s not fair. 

Eddie scrubs his hands down his face, sucks in a lungful of sticky summer air, and then turns the key in the ignition. Music roars, and Steve jumps, it gets him every time. Eddie huffs, a ghost of a laugh, and reaches over to punch him lightly on the thigh. 

“Come on, let’s go home.”

The van turns in the road, heads back towards Hawkins, and despite the afternoon of worry and anger, all Steve feels right now is relief.

#Spotify wrapped writing prompt #steddie ficlet #dreamy writes #steve harrington #eddie munson #Spotify Top 100 Fic Meme #steddie fanfiction #steddie fanfic

[gloomysoup]

Hi soup!!! I’m here for the Spotify wrapped this! #33, I don’t care what you do as long as it’s steddie! ❤️

so i kinda forgot ab these if i'm being honest.. but i did write this one! some of the songs are kinda hard to write for bc i have some weird ones on my top 100 🫠 but anyway that's neither here nor there

33. I'm Trying (Not Friends) by Maisie Peters

-

He never should have agreed to this. He knows it, and he’s made absolutely certain Robin knows it too.

“She's just so- so boring, Robin!” he complains, taking another swig of his beer as he mentally glares across the bar. Steve and his new girlfriend are dancing to some song over by the jukebox with a few others. “I can't stand her.”

Robin scoffs. “You just can't stand that she's pretty.”

Eddie levels her with a look. “Robin. She is a total bore. Snooze fest every time she's around! You can't tell me I'm wrong, because I'm not. Everyone else agrees with me.”

“If you hate her so much, why do you keep telling him she's great?”

Eddie sighs. “Because I'm trying. I'm trying to be the better person here. We're not together anymore, we're not friends. It's still too fresh to be friends. It’s not my place to say anything, so I'm trying to be mature about it instead.” His eyes flicker back over to where Steve is smiling at her. Abby. “If she's what makes him happy now, then that's that. Can't do anything about it.”

“But you don't like her.”

It's not a question. Robin knows. None of them like her.

“And you do?”

She hesitates, and Eddie knows the answer before she even opens her mouth to voice it. She's watching them now, no longer looking at Eddie. He watches her bite her lip. “She's not you,” she says softly. “She's more… mellow than what he usually goes for-”

“She's boring. Why can't you just admit it already? You think she's just as boring as the rest of us do.”

Robin ignores it. Eddie knows he's right. “Have you noticed his smile is different when she's around?” She looks back at Eddie, who takes another sip of beer and avoids her gaze.

“I try not to think about his smile anymore, Robin. It's not for me.”

“It's not as bright as it used to be.” Eddie looks up. Robin’s got that worried crease in her forehead. “He says he's happy, and he tries to act like it, but I can tell it's different. Even before you- There was this one guy, um, Marcus, I think? He really liked him. His smile was so much brighter when that guy was around. And there was Madison when we first moved to the city, and Daniella a few months after that, and then Paul, but I never liked Paul. He was a dick. What I'm trying to say is that I can tell when he really does love someone. He doesn't love Abby the way he's loved before. The way he’s always loved you.”

“Yeah, and we see how well that turned out,” Eddie mutters bitterly, thinking back once again on a relationship that was never built to last.

“Eddie, I'm serious. Steve loves you. He always will.”

And wasn't that something?

Steve loved him, but he couldn't even treat Eddie the way he should be treated. Eddie was always second to everything when they were together. Steve could never find it in himself to put Eddie first. Eddie sacrificed so much for Steve, gave so much to their relationship, and Steve never did return that feeling.

And maybe it's just a case of the right person at the wrong time, but how is Eddie supposed to know? He can't just wait around for Steve to pull his head out of his ass, dancing around with Abby like she's the love of his life or some shit.

God, Eddie can't stand her.

But then, it's no one's business at all if he inevitably pulls Steve into the bathroom halfway through the night, and they fall into the same cycles they always do.

#soup's spotify wrapped series #gloomysoup #gloomysoup writing #gloomysoup writes #stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie ficlet

[frankenjoly]

Beautiful

nobamaki + 99 | i am that (the fratellis) ft. post-shibuya but copium

I know this and this only as myself

I'll sing that melody when I'm good and ready

“Honestly, I can’t complain much.” Maki said, shrugging as she took the towel off her head and proceeded to comb her hair. “I mean, the skin still feels a little too tight around the burnt scars, and it’s gonna be a bit of a bummer, waiting for my hair to grow back. But could’ve been worse, y’know? I’m here to tell the tale.”

“And short hair looks good on you too.” Was Nobara’s answer, as she adjusted what looked like a very flashy eyepatch. “Also, same here. Cannot recommend the experience either, but damn if I won’t make a new accessory work either.” That sounds like she had already gotten herself a set for every occasion and even outfit, and… good for her, really.

Besides, her attitude was getting contagious, something that Maki was more than grateful for. So much she hoped her next question wouldn’t ruin it.

“Aren’t you worried? Nishimiya wasn’t exaggerating with the whole thing about women and looking flawless.”

“Pfft, nah.” Nobara instantly shook her head. “I don’t need some bunch of asshole guys to tell me I’m pretty. I know I am.” Hair done, Maki left the comb over the sink and shamelessly allowed herself to stare at Nobara as she spoke… getting lost on the sight for a second. “... you’re beautiful, Maki-san.”

The fact that something was what pulled her back… huh. Definitely something. Not like it was taking her by surprise either.

“I think people should be more like you, y’know?” Instead of thanking her in a direct way, Maki’s approach was simple: one genuine compliment for another, one confession of sorts for another.

And Nobara? She smiled.

(Also on ao3.)

#nobamaki #kugisaki nobara #zen'in maki #jjk maki #jjk nobara #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #my stuff #clau stuff #ficlet #spotify wrapped writing challenge

[deliriumsdelight7]

13 for hellcheer?

Oh COME ON you probably picked the perfect one. “Odd One” by Sick Puppies. This practically writes itself.

Throwing this under a cut for references to past child abuse.

“How do you do it?”

Eddie glanced up from where he was sparking up the joint the two of them were about to share. Chrissy was lying flat on her back on the picnic table, legs dangling over the edge from the knees down. His leather jacket padded the backs of her legs where her skirt left them bare, protecting all that soft-looking skin from any wayward splinters.

“Do what, Cunningham?” he asked, finally getting it to light. He took two inhales - puff, puff - and passed it over to her.

She accepted it readily, sitting up on her elbows to take a hit. “How do you deal with… all of that?” she clarified, gesturing toward the school. “I mean… they say such mean things about you, and it just… doesn’t bother you. They hate you, and you don’t care. How do you do it?”

“They hate me?” Clutching his chest as though he’d just received a mortal blow, he shot her a wry grin. “You mean I haven’t won over the masses with my rapier wit and devilish good looks?” Accepting the joint, he took another hit.

“Nope. Just me.”

Eddie nearly choked on his lungful of smoke. Only experience and sheer principle kept it in his lungs; he broke out the good shit when he smoked with Chrissy, and he wasn’t about to waste it on a one-liner that may or may not have been flirting.

No matter how pretty her smile was when she said it. No matter how often she’d come to see him since ditching her asshole boyfriend a month ago.

Stick to the topic, Munson, he scolded himself, asking the joint to buy himself a few seconds. “Ever heard the old saying, ‘sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me?’” he quipped, carefully avoiding the murky waters her words revealed.

“Of course I have.” He offered her the joint, which she refused with a wave and a shake of her head. Her arms wrapped around her middle, her shoulders hunching as if she was trying to protect herself from something. “But when those words come from people you love… people whose opinion matters to you… that hurts worse than anything.”

Eddie nodded in silence. He knew how that was. Twelve years living with his old man had taught him that, no matter what sort of marks were left behind by a fist, a belt, a lit cigarette, nothing left a lasting impression like cruel, cutting words that were targeted to the soft, gooey center. Especially when they came from a parent who was supposed to love you unconditionally.

And judging by the fingertip-shaped bruises he’d seen on her neck, upper arms and, on one occasion, her thighs, Chrissy knew that just as well as he did.

“I’ll let you in on a secret, Cunningham,” he said, leaning in close as if to whisper in her ear. The smell of her cherry lip gloss and vanilla shampoo made his mouth water. But it was the fragile, hopeful look in her eyes that had him clenching his fists to keep from leaning in to kiss her. “You’re right. That shit hurts. Never stops hurting. Even after you’ve heard it a million times, that shit has a way of getting under your skin and festering.”

It didn’t take any effort at all for his brain to conjure up a thousand different epithets in a hundred different voices. Freak. Degenerate. Worthless piece of shit. Waste of space. Failure. Dead-ender.

He pushed them away with practiced ease - ease that he’d fought and struggled and clawed to obtain.

“But what you’ve gotta remember is,” he continued, “anybody who says that shit to you? Their opinions aren’t worth jack shit. Fuck every one of ‘em. If they can’t accept you, can’t - can’t love you for who you are, then they don’t deserve to take up space in your head.” Daringly, he tapped her forehead with one fingertip. “That there’s prime real estate, Cunningham. Don’t go giving it away to people who just wanna trash the place.”

“So who do I give it to?” she asked.

“Uhhh… artists? Landscapers? Builders? Sorry, the metaphor’s gotten away from me. Point is, you’ve gotta surround yourself with people who make you happy. Who make you feel safe. Like you’re enough just the way you are.” Eddie shrugged. “Fill the place up with people who build you up, and it gets easier to drown out the assholes.”

“Oh.” For nearly a minute, the two of them sat in silence. The only sounds were the wind in the trees and the creak of the picnic table as Chrissy slowly swung her legs back and forth. “Hey, Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

Chrissy leaned forward, and for one heartstopping moment, he thought she was going to kiss him. And she did, sort of, pressing her petal-soft lips to his cheek. When she pulled back, he could still feel the sticky-sweet imprint of her lip gloss.

“I care what you think.”

It took all his self-control not to whoop aloud. It wasn’t a declaration of passionate, everlasting infatuation, but it was a good start. He settled for bumping her forehead affectionately with his.

“Yeah, Cunningham,” he said, “I care what you think, too.”

#Spotify wrapped ficlet game #Hellcheer

[phoenixwrites]

69 for barbgrove lol ;) thanks!

That would be…”Missing You” cover by Tyler Hilton. Shit, we’re gonna get angsty then…

And there's a storm that's raging

Through my frozen heart tonight

I hear your name in certain circles

And it always makes me smile…

I spend my time

Thinking about you

And it's almost driving me wild

And that's my heart that's breaking

Down this long dusty road tonight…

Billy Hargrove never intended on returning to Hawkins.

It was all fucking Max’s fault. She just had to go and get married to Lucas Sinclair. And then she had to invite him to the fucking wedding, offering an olive branch he couldn’t bear to refuse. They were doing better. He was doing better. They saw therapists on the same night, actually, which led to almost friendly phone calls after their respective sessions, reminiscing on what an asshole Neil had been, how they both still had nightmares…

Max had to know he couldn’t come back to Hawkins. Not after what happened with Barb. She had to.

Nevertheless, here he was, on the long road from California, heading to a little town in Indiana, just because he wanted things to be better with his little sister.

He wanted things to be better with Barb, too…

Billy had known all along that their relationship had an expiration date. She was way too smart for him. She got accepted to MIT, the school of her dreams, the university she talked endlessly about. But then…she abruptly told him she changed her mind. She wanted to go to Stanford. In California. With him.

They had gotten into the worst fight about it. A fight that ended their relationship.

He had moved to California. Barb had moved to Massachusetts.

Billy’s fingers tightened on the wheel as he thought about it. He was still angry about it…not at her, never her. But he was furious at himself. He had wanted to take her to California for years. She had lived in Indiana her entire life, never seen the ocean…she wanted to learn how to surf. (He had taught her how to swim) But she had wanted to give up her dream school. For him? How the hell was he supposed to accept that?

Max was getting married over the Christmas holidays. Billy smoked his sixth cigarette as he hit the state-line of Missouri. Seven more hours…Barb might be home for the holidays. Hell, she might even be invited to the wedding…Max had liked Barb the most out of all of his girlfriends and was not shy about telling him how stupid he was to let her go.

Billy lit another cigarette and burned his fingers. Seven more hours…

He didn’t miss her.

He couldn’t. If he did, he would shatter.

#Barb Holland x Bill Hargrove #Barbgrove #Spotify wrapped ficlet challenge

[mkaugust]

13 and i hope it’s taylor ✌️

luna, or katniss, x anyone or gen!

OKAY you win, exposing myself for my love of The Hunger Games, this is a one time only experience. Probably Katniss/Peeta more so than gen, but up for interpretation. And it's not even a microfic! ~230 words! So it's under the cut for length, there's no cw or anything.

The song! Is Matilda by Harry Styles (I swear my spotify wrapped is more than half taylor!)

Send me a number 1-101 and I'll write you a microfic (this drabble is an Exception) (I'll take HP or OMGCP pairings/characters from here on out LOL)

Katniss grew up and found a way to leave it all behind.  Uninterested in allowing herself to be hurt anymore, she worked and worked at it until she could let it go, until she could find a way to talk of the pain like it’s no big deal.  Until she was doing it all on her own, and not because she had no other choice, but because that was how she liked it.  Being on her own.

When she was ready, she came back.  Not to everything, not to everyone, but to Peeta.  Peeta, who had never truly left her alone, because that was what he needed and it worked out fine.  They had an understanding of each other, a balance.  Peeta loved Katniss in his way and she loved him back, in her own way.  Together, on their own, they built their home, built their unique brand of love, nurtured it as it grew, changed shape, adjusted to the newness of each day.  Together and on their own they found a way to share the sun on dark days.

Katniss wasn’t sorry for leaving and growing up.  They couldn’t hurt her anymore, not while she was doing it on her own.  Not while she was doing it with the family she started and grew on her own.  They couldn’t tell her the right way to love her family.  Only she could do that.

#spotify wrapped prompts #how do i even tag LOL #the hunger games #my writing #ficlet #everlark #katniss everdeen #harry styles

[sfigatino]

For you wrapped ask, 28 for... Hmmm, Sabine and Tom!

“Ugh, I was supposed to have these done an hour ago.” Tom muttered as he tossed burnt croissants into the trash. “If I’d followed the recipe instead of trying something new, I’d make enough, I’d be enough–”

Tom stopped himself, but Sabine had already noticed his slip-up and was walking over to him, lightly rubbing his arm.

“Tom, you’re doing great.” She encouraged him with a soft smile. “If you were enough for your father, you wouldn’t be the man I married. You’d be someone else entirely.”

“I know, but I’ve just convinced myself that if I could try hard enough, I’d be the perfect baker, the perfect son… I’m not a teen anymore, I don’t know why I still think like this.” He sighed. 

“The perfect life wouldn’t have Marinette in it.” Sabine pointed out. “In your father’s ideal, you never would’ve married me and Marinette would never have existed. I for one am happy that you’re nobody else but you.”

“You’re right.” He smiled. “Just give me a minute to breathe before baking again, I know I’ll be fine, just… I never really stopped wanting to please him.”

“And you don’t have to.” Sabine smiled. “You’re perfect the way you are. Take a good look at yourself, I’m very happy that you’re nobody else but the man I married, the man who raised our daughter with me, the best baker on this side of Paris, and the boy I fell for all those years ago.” She kissed his cheek before whispering in his ear, “je t’aime, mon amour.”

And in that moment, he felt exactly like he had when she first kissed him all those years ago when they were young and in love… He felt infinite.

#sabine cheng #tom dupain #ficlet #sabine x tom #Idk what their ship is #ml rarepair #carissa's writing #carissa's work #writerriderdirtythirties #spotify wrapped game #i really should make an ask tag

[iamthecomet]

It's almost time for another dumb meeting.

*pockets matches* what? These? Don't worry about it.

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

#comet comments #adult responsibilities #someone send me fun things to come back to #headcannons? #questions? #ficlet requests #literally anything #i will not commit arson i will not commit arson #i will not commit arson #i might commit arson #🔥🔥🔥🔥 #spotify wrapped top 100 asks? #ghoul pile!?

[shepscapades]

DETROIT BECOME HERMITCRAFT (DBHC) AU MASTERPOST!

This is a list of all of the canon content for the au! Everything is Organized by Character, and then in each character section, the art is organized by the Chronological order in the narrative (not the order they were posted).

All of my content/Canon content (including ask responses that contain dbhc info) can be found in the #dbhc tag

All fanart can be found in the #dbhc fanart tag

All ficlets and other fan writing of the au can be found in the #dbhc fanfic tag

(I'll try to update this as we go, but lemme know if I've missed anything or if something's not linked correctly!)

GUIDE TO DBHC ANDROIDS

BDUBS AND ETHO

Bdubs thinks his android looks too formal

Put Me To Work Spotify Wrapped Doodle

Comic: Etho Deviates Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Etho waits for bdubs to return with parts

@saphushia' Comic: Bdubs carries Etho out of the cave

Comic: Etho almost bleeds out lol Part 1 | Part 2

@saphushia's Comic: Bdubs contemplates his dying machine

Comic: Etho Deviates Part 4

Comic: Bdubs realizes Etho’s Deviant Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Bdubs realizes Etho’s Deviant Fake Ending

How Etho mended the cracks in his shell

Destruction Spotify Wrapped Doodle

Etho Re-Deviates

Comic: Etho accidentally tries to sync with Bdubs’ hand Part1 | Part2

Pre-First Kiss Ficlet Doodle

Comic: Post-Relationship - Bdubs Apologizes Part 1 | Part 2

Other Etho Doodles (x)

DOC (And Ren and Xisuma!)

Ren has no idea what’s going on (Old Doc Design)

Comic: Doc informs Xisuma of Deviancy

IMPULSE (and Pearl!)

Pearl gives Impulse a new uniform

Strong boy :]

MUMBO (and Grian + Scar!)

The first dbhc post! Grian Pondering Android Mumbo

Scar and Grian BOTH Pondering Android Mumbo

Mumbo can’t kill things and Grian and Scar Don’t Realize It

Mumbo running around to build contraptions

Comic: Grian tells Mumbo to hack Doc

TANGO (and Zed!)

Introducing Tango!

Stream doodle of Tango and Zed

Android Tango makes a perfect Strider!

Double Life Ranchers - Tango's Rage

OTHER

How Ren/X/Bdubs react to Deviancy

#dbhc #hermitcraft au #hermitcraft dbh au #omg what do i tag this #hermitcraft #shep's masterposts #bdubs #etho #docm77 #impulsesv #mumbojumbo #mumbo jumbo #tango #zedaph #xisuma

[aidaronan]

24 for the Steddie/Spotify wrapped prompt!

Welp. This one got away from me and is less a ficlet and more of just... a fic, but here we go! 24 - Scary Kids Scaring Kids - Watch Me Bleed

Lucky Number 42

Tags & Warnings: Blood, Time Loop, MCD but it’s a time loop so…, maybe it's supernatural or maybe it's maybelline It’s March 27th for the 41st time, and Steve doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the sickly colors of the Other Sky. He won’t forget the blood either, the way it stains Eddie’s shirt and mats up his pretty hair. The way it gushes through Steve’s fingers as he tries to hold it all in yet again, as though if he just squeezes tight enough, it’ll finally—finally—work this time around.

“Guess we’ll try again, huh?” Eddie smiles, red pooling in the cracks between his teeth. “Fuck, Stevie, why’s it always so cold?” Nearby, Dustin sobs uncontrollably. Steve won’t forget that sound either. It’s seared into his brain, all of it. The same day over and over and over again, both of them stuck in it together. Changing everything, changing nothing.

“What is it you told me, Eds? 42 is the answer, right?” Steve squeezes his hand tight, his heart so full of love and yearning and clogged-up grief that he can feel it all spilling painfully into his chest. “That’s gonna be it for us. Lucky number 42.”

But whether he heard him or not, Steve doesn’t know. Eddie’s gone again, his eyes empty, his hand limp. Steve sinks into the dirt and hugs his knees, letting his forehead fall against his folded arms.

He has a mental tally running, everything that’s worked, everything that hasn’t.

There’s really only one direction left, the one direction Eddie wouldn’t entertain when Steve suggested it 28 days ago, 24 days ago, 15 days ago, 7... The more they fell for each other, the more vehement Eddie got about how that particular avenue was off limits, ‘un-fucking-entertainable, actually.’

It’s the only way though, has to be. There isn’t any other way left.

Taking a few deep breaths, Steve raises his head and crawls for Dustin, still crying, completely unaware of how many times they’ve been here before.

“I love you, Dustin. I love you and I’m sorry your childhood got absolutely shit on, and I hope you know you deserve better than all this.” Steve will say it again on the next loop, too, when it’ll actually (hopefully) count. But he needs to say it now. For himself.

“This can’t be happening,” is Dustin’s choked-out reply.

Steve wants to say that it’s okay, that he’ll fix it. But he and Eddie have also talked about how maybe all of it’s some kind of personal hell built just for them. So maybe there is no fixing it.

All Steve knows is he can’t watch Eddie die again, and he can’t watch anyone else die in Eddie’s place.

So…

So.

“I know.” Steve holds onto Dustin’s arm, waiting for the girls to make their way back to them so they can get out together, so Steve can shower and fall into bed and do what needs to be done. “I know,” he says again. And he does know. Fuck, he knows 41 times over.

It’s exactly three hours and twenty-seven minutes later—it always is, give or take five minutes—when Steve finally lays his head on his pillow., curled protectively around Robin’s back. It’s another half hour or so before she cries herself to sleep.

Then countless unquantified minutes before Steve manages to drop off. On the edge of consciousness, he dreams a voice quietly speaking the number, “two.”

#

When Eddie asks the plan for the day, Steve lies. They sneak into the woods near the clearing and they have each other wholly, primally, sex forged from bonding in a way that only they could ever understand. And then they plan.

And Steve lies.

He suggests they rehash Day 13 with Day 42’s knowledge, plus Day 17’s solution for saving Max. He talks Eddie through the hang-ups, through the objections, feeling a sickening mix of resignation and guilt with every inch of ground he gains in convincing him.

In the end, Eddie nods. “Let’s do this then. Lucky number 42.”

“The answer to the universe, life, and, uh, all the other stuff.”

Eddie huffs a small laugh and looks at Steve fondly, cupping his cheek. “How many roads must a man walk down indeed.”

When they kiss for luck, Steve focuses on every single millisecond, on the way Eddie’s lips feel, on the hands on him—small of his back, back of his neck—and on the feeling of Eddie’s hair sliding hairspray-rough through his fingers. Every little breathy sound, every note of birds calling, bugs flitting.

Life.

It may not have been everything Steve wanted, but he got to have this. For one fleeting moment, he got to fall in love and to be part of a small family of misfits. Some people never got that lucky.

“I love you, Stevie.”

“I love you too.”

It feels like a blink before they’re outside of the trailer, Dustin locked in the bathroom in Right-side-up Hawkins. It’s just them and their makeshift armor—spear and nail bat against the swarm.  

Eddie looks at him and nods.

Steve looks back and chokes down a sob, summoning all the bravery he possesses. “Eddie. I’m sorry.”

“Wh—”

This is the easy part, years of sports and fighting all culminating in this moment. At full speed, Steve plows into Eddie, tackling him to the ground, covering his body with his own.

They’re already biting by the time Eddie reacts, fighting like hell, pushing with all the strength of someone who spent years hauling around band equipment and theater props. Eddie’s strength is mostly in his thighs though, a force he uses to drive the rest of him. If Steve keeps him on the ground long enough…

“You motherfucker. You motherfucking fuck! You fucking son of a goddamned…” A feral scream, a shove that Steve counters by squeezing Eddie’s arms tight against him. Eddie growls, broken and desperate, “Stevie, please.”

They’re both fighting hard and with all the love in their bones. Apologizing over and over, Steve forces his fingers deep into the dirt, gripping the roots of rotten hell-vines hard even while the bats chew, even while he cracks his fingernails, and his hands bleed along with his body.

He’s halfway dead by the time the bats drop, and he knows it.

Eddie pushes him off and gets onto his knees and Steve can’t help but smile because Eddie is gloriously and beautifully okay. There’s a bite on his arm along with a few scratches from their tussle, but that’s it. He’ll make it this time. He’ll make it.

“I did it,” Steve says, falling onto his back despite the fact that it’s nothing but open wounds. “I did it. You’re alive and no one else is gonna…”

Eddie replies with a broken scream, with hands that reach for the bloodied hole on the side of Steve’s neck, that try to turn him over to see where else they need to press.

“Don’t.” Steve grabs weakly at his wrists. “Please, just… Let me. See if it works.”

“Fuck you, Steve.” Eddie blinks out several tears. “Fuck you. I said not this. Not this.”

“It’s the one thing we haven’t tried, Eddie. Maybe this is how it was always supposed to go, you know. Why we couldn’t break—” Steve coughs wetly. “God, it really is cold, huh?”

“Just… Just stay, okay, Stevie. Be stronger than me. Hold on, and that’s how we’ll break it, yeah? With you living.”

In the distance, Steve can hear Dustin finally bursting out of the trailer, crying his name.

He blinks up at Eddie’s brown eyes and smiles at the warmth of his hands on him.

Somewhere else, he can hear voices, unfamiliar and new.

“Oh,” Steve says, the edges of his vision going black, swallowing up Eddie’s face. “So there really is something else after all.”

#

Death, it seems, is darkness. Not terrifying but restful. Not cold, not warm either.

Just floating, quiet and peaceful.

“Two.”

A voice flows out of the void, a voice Steve thinks he may have dreamed once or even more than once. It’s quickly followed by more, all speaking rapidly from everywhere and nowhere.

“Four in cold blood. Undoing.”

“Two from love’s sacrifice. Healing.”

“And so it is. See how it all knits back into one.”  

“Then it is done. Send him back.”

Steve tries to open his mouth. “Where—?”

He never finishes the question.

#

Steve blinks awake to the rhythmic sounds of a machine beeping.

He slowly turns his head to find Robin curled up in a chair next to him, snoring softly with a book steepled open in her lap.

“Rob?”

She startles awake and locks eyes on him before exclaiming with a smile that goes instantly tearful, “Holy shit. Steve.”

From a lumpy bag by her feet, she unearths a walkie-talkie, nearly flinging it at him in her haste to use it. Her hands are shaking when she brings it to her face.

“Hey, uh, everyone. We’re… We’re having a good hair day.”

There’s a chorus of voices, all of them expressing some kind of joy and relief, all of them saying they’ll be there as soon as they can.

“Already in the van. Munson over and out.”

He’s there within five minutes, hair in a messy bun that implies he might have genuinely thrown it up while steering with his knees.

Standing in the doorway, he pauses, eyes on Steve. Steve feels like his entire stomach might drop out under the weight of that gaze. If he’d had any reason to wonder if Eddie remembered all the loops, he’d have no doubt now.

“Hey Rob, can I have a minute with Stevie boy here before the entire Scooby Gang shows up?”

“Uh…” Robin looks back and forth between them, furrowing her brow at Steve before getting up. “Yeah, sure.”

She softly closes the door on the way out, and just like that they’re alone.

“I should kill you all over again for what you pulled, you know?” Eddie says, sitting down and reaching for Steve’s hand.

“You should.”

“But then again, here we are.”

“Here we are. How long was I…?”

“Dead? Or here? Because you did die. I checked your pulse, listened for a breath, fucking everything. And then the girls showed up and out of the blue, you twitched a fucking finger, so Nance and I… You’ve been in the hospital for a week.”

“I had a dream. Maybe. Or maybe it wasn’t a dream at all. I don’t know.” Steve thinks about it again, the infinite peace of the void. “There were, uh, voices, and I think they were saying you and I both had to be willing to die for each other. Like specifically two people in love. To undo Vecna. Are the gates…?”

“Closed, but that could be because Nance and Robin flambéed him alive.”

“Yeah.”

“More things in heaven and Earth though, Stevie. We did just repeat March 27 for a month and a half. Maybe someone was looking out for us. Or they just really fucking hate Vecna. There are many options for motive here.”

Steve rubs at Eddie’s knuckles with his thumb. He hadn’t even taken the time to put his rings on. “So many.”

“It’s over though,” Eddie says. “All of it. The suits cleared my name in five minutes and Hopper ripped the local PD a new asshole. Only question now is…” Eddie gives the spot where they’re holding hands a pointed look. “Now what?”

Steve thinks for a second, mouth twitching at every stolen happy moment in those 42 days of hell. Every smile, every kiss, every sneaky sweaty fuck. Every little conversation that made him laugh, made him feel, made him fall. “Do you remember Day 19 when I asked where you’d go if you ever left Hawkins?”

“I do. By then we’d already given each other hand jobs so I had exactly zero qualms about saying I’d go to San Francisco where I could be gay as hell and also make the heaviest of metal.”

“Yeah, well.” Steve shrugs. “I’m assuming I have to stay in this hospital for a little longer and probably sign, like, another pile of papers that say I won’t tell anyone the government broke Hawkins because they were experimenting on little kids. But after that, why not?”

“Why not? Just like that? ‘Eddie, let’s move in together and also let’s do that in California.’ That easy, huh?”

“We just lived through the end of the world 42 times, Eds. Why the hell can’t it be?”

Eddie laughs quietly and looks down at his lap, shaking his head, a few tendrils falling out of the bun as he does.

Outside of the room, Steve hears a series of sneakers squeaking on linoleum. The door bursts open and Eddie quietly pulls his hand away. But he’s smiling ear to ear when he leans back to let a gaggle of teens throw themselves semi-gently onto Steve for half-hugs.

“Well okay then, Stevie,” Eddie says over the sound of six other people talking at once. “If that’s what you want.”

#steddie #fanfic #mine #spotify wrapped but make it fics #time loop

[outpost51]

New Game + mode!!

2023 Edition

Give me a number 1-100, and I will either tell you what fic the corresponding Spotify Wrapped song inspired, or write you a ficlet/snippet inspired by that song.

#you can reblog this! in fact i encourage it! terrorize your friends! #yes i know i still have some of these sitting in my inbox from last year but like 95% of my wrapped this year corresponds to wips lol #ask memes #spotify wrapped #writeblr

[frankenjoly]

Show the light of day

sigzai + 11 | you’re gonna go far kid (jonathan young's cover)

When you walk away, nothing more to say

See the lightning in your eyes

When Sigma woke up, their head seemed to be seconds away from (at least metaphorically) exploding. And, even in such a state and having to squint so his eyesight could focus, it was crystal clear the current location wasn’t Meursault.

“Where am–?”

“Don’t think about moving too much or too quickly for now.” A soft unknown voice instantly instructed. Obliging came off as easy, since the migraine didn’t seem to be willing to ease anytime soon. “Good.” Then, said voice’s next words were directed somewhere near Sigma but definitely not towards them. “Hey, nap’s over. Your friend’s awake.”

Slowly, Dazai’s face appeared on their field of vision, greeting him first with a yawn then with a smile. And it was difficult to register at first in such a condition, but it also seemed like  Sigma now had one hand cradled by both of his.

“You weren’t waking up yet, so I figured I could keep you company.”

“Tsk, as if you needed an excuse to doze off a little.” The previous voice intervened again, except now Sigma could see its owner had short hair and a butterfly pin. A laugh accompanied those words, and Dazai followed suit too. “Anyway, I’ll let you catch up.”

Sound of heeled shoes moving away aside, Sigma’s full attention (or at least the better they could do right then) was on Dazai.

“So… I was knocked out for at least a few days. Man, I knew that bastard had a ton of secrets, but holy shit. And this is the Agency’s… headquarters, office, whatever you guys call it.”

“Not bad for someone who’s still juggling a gigantic amount of info, huh.” Dazai answered, confirming his hunch. “See? You’re gonna fight right in with us.”

“... What.”

“If that’s what you want, obvi.”

(Also on ao3.)

#sigzai #dazai osamu #bsd dazai #bsd sigma #bsd #bungou stray dogs #my stuff #clau stuff #ficlet #spotify wrapped writing challenge

[deliriumsdelight7]

Spotify wrapped 19 for Rumbelle?

I swear to god this song fits, like, ALL my ships.

"Rumpel, have you seen my blue dress? The one with the lace inlay?" Belle asked from the walk-in closet, her voice muffled from the combined racks of his suits and her dresses.

"Not lately," Rumpelstiltskin replied truthfully yet evasively. He knew exactly where the dress in question was, but that wasn't what Belle had asked.

Belle continued to search, growing more frustrated by the minute. Hating seeing his wife like this, Rumpel approached quietly from behind. Dressed in only a lacy bra and panties, her expanse of creamy white skin was a delectable temptation - one he didn't have time to indulge. Reaching over her shoulder, he pulled out a sheath dress. "What about this one? You look fetching in burgundy."

"I guess. But I really wanted to wear the blue one today," she said with a pout. Still, she took the proffered dress and quickly slipped it on, turning her back to Rumpel and holding her hair to one side so he could do the zip. "I wonder where it went."

"I'm sure it'll turn up eventually," he offered placatingly.

Turning to face him, she offered him a brilliant smile that made his heart skip a beat, just as it always did. "You're right. I'm sure it will," she agreed, rising up on tiptoe to offer him a kiss.

Once she'd gone for the day, skipping her merry way to the Storybrooke Free Public Library, Rumpelstiltskin stood pensively in their shared bedroom. With a wave of one hand, he summoned a pair of suitcases in a cloud of crimson smoke. Both were stuffed to bursting with clothes: one with several of his suits, the other with her dresses, skirts, and blouses.

Belle didn't know about these suitcases. And she wouldn't - not until she came to him and told him that she was ready to leave this horrible town. His beautiful, brave, and most of all kind wife was determined to be the hero this town needed, to use any resources at her disposal to improve the lives of Storybrooke's citizens.

She was a hero, his wife. It was one of the things he'd always admired about her. She saw past the ugly exterior to the goodness just waiting to come out.

But for Rumpelstiltskin, there was no such goodness in this town. This was the place where she'd been taken from him, time and again. Where he'd had to murder his own father, taking his own life in the process. Where his son had died, and he'd been enslaved by a madwoman for a year. This town held nothing but bitterness for him, and he couldn't wait to leave.

But Belle insisted that they stay. And after making so many mistakes, he couldn't bear the thought of saying no to her. So he kept these two suitcases ready, so the moment she wanted to leave, he'd be ready.

He prayed that day would come soon. The timeless curse of Storybrooke may have been broken by the Savior, but Rumpelstiltskin still felt like he was trapped in stasis here. His life wouldn't begin until he and Belle crossed the town line and put it behind them for good.

#spotify wrapped ficlet game #rumbelle

[tj-dragonblade]

[Ficlet] The Keeper and the Traveler

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling (Hob x Dream) Rated: G Word Count: 1754 Tags: Fairytale narrative style, strangers to friends to lovers, shameless repurposing of canon argument, happy ending, inspired by music

Notes: From a Spotify Wrapped prompt, originally posted here. This is the polished-up-and-posted-to-AO3 version.

Summary: A campfire folktale about finding what you didn't know you were searching for, or something like that

On AO3

#Sandman #Dreamling #TJs Fics #Dream of the Endless #Hob Gadling