#this is half fic half ficlet

[starlitangels]

Talk Nerdy

Listen, Erik said Link would be Vincent's main in Smash Bros because Vincent has a fondness for the character and fell in love with Breath of the Wild like the rest of us did. That is enough for me to decide Vincent is at least kinda a Legend of Zelda fan. And as a Zelda fan, this was just an excuse to be a Big Nerd. 1.2k words

—

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon! I just need one more hit..." Vincent muttered under his breath. So focused on his game that he didn't realize I was standing in the archway behind him. He didn't hear me, smell me, see me—nothing. I smiled and watched Colgera fly around the screen while Link and Tulin furiously flew around in the swirling wind.

Biting my lip, I crept out of the archway and behind the couch. Vincent swore as he took a shot with his bow and it shattered. I smirked, leaned down until I was right behind his ear, and raised a hand.

I dropped it onto his shoulder. "Whatcha doin'?" I asked loudly.

Vincent swore and nearly threw his controller into the TV. Instead managing to only arc it over the coffee table. "Lovely!" he exclaimed. "Don't do that to me!" In a blur of movement, he had his controller back and the game paused. He spun to look at me. "What was that for?"

I laughed. "I'm sorry," I said around my laughter. "I couldn't help it. You were so focused you didn't—you didn't even notice I was right there. I had to see how close I could get!"

He sighed, giving me an affectionate—but exasperated—shake of his head with a little grin. "You're a menace," he said.

I shrugged. "Just for you, and just when we're alone. Because you love me."

"I do. I do love you." I leaned across the back of the couch and met his lips in a kiss. He reached and grabbed at my hips, hauling me over the back of the sofa while I shrieked as I flopped down onto the cushions. He cackled. "There we go. We're even now. And you get to sit with me and watch me play."

"Fine with me."

He kissed the top of my head and unpaused the game. Quickly equipping a new bow to try and shoot Colgera again.

"Rare for a Zelda boss' weak spot to not be their eye," I joked.

"Mmhmm," Vincent agreed, barely paying me any heed.

We sat in relative silence, broken only by Tulin's encouragement and the boss music and various sound effects like the cyclones and Vincent's controller clacking, for a few minutes.

"You're running out of cold resistance," I said.

He cursed under his breath and paused, searching his menus for another dish of food for cold resistance.

"Didn't you get a portable pot in one of the Zonai capsules?"

"They don't work in boss fights," he replied. Right as he found another meal he'd made to fight the cold and had Link eat it. He unpaused and went right back to it.

"Damn, this track slaps," I said quietly.

"It really does. I barely noticed it my first time playing through this game since I was so focused on the fight. Now, every time I restart, I always fight Colgera first. It's the best boss fight."

I smiled. "How many times have you played through Tears of the Kingdom in the last six months?"

Vincent shrugged. "Like five or six. But I don't search for all the Koroks every time. Just as many as I need to get all the spaces in my inventory. I still haven't found all of them on my main Switch profile's save. They added more. It was already a pain in the ass finding nine-hundred in Breath of the Wild. Now there's a thousand. They managed to shove a hundred more into almost the exact same map."

I smiled. "These are your favorite Zelda games, aren't they?"

He didn't even break his concentration from the boss fight. "Maybe. Wind Waker, Twilight Princess, and Ocarina of Time are pretty high on the list too." He moved around with his motion controls to aim his bow. "Twilight Princess is high on that list," he added. "I'd only been turned for six years when it came out and I was in the perfect moody, dark headspace to vibe hard with the game's aesthetic. Maybe the nostalgia helps keep it that high on my favorites. It's also just a good game to boot. And, if I may say, the most iconic appearance for Princess Zelda. She was barely in the game and yet when I hear the name 'Princess Zelda', I always think of her Twilight Princess look before even her Breath of the Wild one."

I smiled. Mmm... talk nerdy to me, you lovable dork, I thought fondly. "I never finished the Forest Temple in that game. Much to my best friend's chagrin. Twilight Princess was their favorite Zelda game while we were growing up."

Vincent shot me a quick look. "We'll fix that. I'll break out the Wii or the Wii-U and we'll get you through it."

"If we ever have time," I muttered sarcastically.

"Fair point. We'll find time. The fact that we don't really need to sleep as much has helped me get through this game multiple times."

I snickered and continued watching him.

The Rito Village/Dragon Roost Island theme hit and washed over our living room in a wave of nostalgia. Vincent sighed in rapture at it.

"This music is so good," I whispered.

"Uh-huh," he agreed. "Nintendo really went off with all the Tears of the Kingdom music. Remember that trailer's saxophone?"

"Mmhmm." I grinned. "Remember the first trailer to feature Ganondorf's voice and the entire internet blew up like 'Matthew Mercer'?"

Vincent started laughing. "That was hilarious. So many memes."

"Yeah. It was great." I gasped. "You're on your last shot, Vin!"

"I know. I'm so close."

"You know, if you did this with a Multi-Shot bow, you could do this a lot faster."

"Yeah, yeah. But I like doing this fight first. It's a challenge." He let go of the button on his controller. Link loosed the arrow.

It arced toward Colgera. Vincent and I both held our breath.

It struck, breaking the final bit of cracked ice.

"Yes!" Vincent cheered, pumping his fist into the air. I whooped and let him give me a kiss.

"Good job, lover boy," I said.

"Thanks, lovely." He gave me a soft look. "I forgive you for scaring me to death."

I burst out laughing. "Thanks. And you're welcome."

He kissed my hairline. "Were you wanting a turn on the Switch or were you just coming in to watch me play?"

"I was actually coming in to ask if you wanted a hot cocoa or something but I saw an opportunity that I couldn't pass up."

"Menace," he accused affectionately.

"Playboy," I retorted. He grinned.

"I would actually love a hot chocolate though," he added in a cheeky little whisper, curling his shoulders up and smiling like a mischievous kid.

I smiled. "I'll get some made for us. You're cute." Kissing his curly, glossy blue-black hair, I got up from the sofa and went toward the kitchen while the cutscene kept playing on the TV.

—

Tag list: @pinksparkl @zozo-01 @thegoldenlittlerose

#Redacted ASMR #fic #Redacted Vincent #Redacted Lovely #Redacted Audio #Starlit Fic #this is half fic half ficlet #idk it's right in the middle

[stevebabey]

The drip in the roof of the trailer is what wakes Steve.

A steady plink! of water meeting wood somewhere above them. It always leaks a little in the trailer after it rains, like a gentle metronome of fat raindrops sneaking inside the cracks. While it used to annoy him, Steve just finds it soothing now.

The curtains Eddie had poorly shut the night before are askew just an inch, letting through a sliver of sunlight. A beam sneaks through, makes the room glow, walls painted golden. Steve revels in it and it’s warmth; lets out a yawn and stretches like a big cat, giving a soft groan as he does.

His elbow knocks into Eddie’s side as he does and Steve feels the familiar rush in his chest, fond affection filling every vein— and he loves it.

He loves that momentarily forgetfulness born from his sleepiness, where he forgets that he gets to wake up with someone by his side. Wake up next to Eddie, no less.

Steve loves it, adores it, because really what it means is he gets to remember it every morning.

He gets to roll closer and poke Eddie gently on the cheek, a small smidge of him just wanting to check if he’s real. If this, this love, is real and his. Eddie lets out a groggy groan, buries his face further in the pillow. Steve grins. Yep, he’s real.

Eddie makes another groggy noise and this time pulls his face out of his pillow slowly. He looks like a disgruntled cat, hair still stuck to his cheek, some small patch of drool left on the pillow. Eddie makes a soft ‘hmph!’ and one hand reaches up, wiping across his face lazily. His eyes peek open.

And as much as Steve loves his own secret moment in the morning, it’s blown out of the water by this every time — the moment Eddie sees him. Brown eyes see him and Eddie just softens. Like butter in the sun. Sinks further into his pillow and smiles, sleepy and wonderful.

Normally, they both let sleep comes and go, drifting across the sheets in half-hearted cuddles that Steve melts for every time. Today, Eddie’s smile grows into a happy grin. Then his hands are stretching out and he’s making small grabby hands across the sheets, urging his boyfriend over.

“C’mere,” he says, hands finding Steve’s side and pulling him, soft. “Gimme.”

Steve grins, heart flip-flopping. Goes without any resistance, shifting to snuggle up to Eddie, tucking up and under his chin as Eddie’s does his best to scoop him up in his arms. It’s warm. Eddie’s pulse is a small comfort to Steve as he rests his head upon Eddie’s chest, hands curled around his middle, thumbing at soft scar tissue. Thump-thump-thump, Eddie’s heart says, and Steve can somehow easily read the love in it; his stomach turns again, in a dizzy elated way.

“Mm, birthday boy,” Eddie hums, but he’s still so sleepy that birthday sounds more like birfday. Steve feels his heart jump in surprise — a moment in which he’s baffled Eddie knows. That Eddie remembers. The last couple birthdays… well, he hadn’t been friends with Robin til after his birthday in ‘85 and then, well, with everything in ‘86… It’s been awhile since someone has remembered is all.

He doesn’t mean to sound as surprised he does when he murmurs, “You remembered?”

Eddie hums again, a sweet loving noise. His arms around Steve tighten and Steve feels his heart keen when his lips brush across Steve’s temple. A gentle kiss is pressed there. It feels like everything he needs — this quiet small moment of wonder, a tiny moment of tenderness, just for Steve. He presses his own kiss back, lips against Eddie’s collarbone.

“S’look,” Eddie continues, dragging his arm off Steve to point somewhere on the wall. Steve follows his gaze and then— there it is, on Eddie’s calendar. Circled in red is April 29th. It’s covered in sloppy hearts, so much there’s no room for any word other than ‘Steve!!’ in the middle; his birthday. Marked so Eddie would remember, wouldn’t even dare the chance to forget it.

Eddie drops his arm, returning it to where it was, hooked over Steve’s side so his hand can run soothing soft touches down his back. He sighs again, another sleepy noise, and Steve could probably cry.

“Precious birthday boy, mm,” Eddie mumbles lovingly. “Lovely precious birthday boy,” he warbles on, voice gooey enough that Steve know he means it. Actually thinks that— that he’s precious, and lovely, and everything more. “What d’ya wanna do t’day?”

Steve tightens his cuddle and whispers, “Just this.”

He can feel Eddie’s grin, in response, and then there’s another kiss to his head. Just this. It’s the complete truth.

#me and steve are like that spider-man meme #pointing at each other #BIRFDAY TWINS!!! #so ofc… havé some steddie loveliness <3 #MWAH #it’s not even technically the 29th for like half of u guys #DONT CARE!!! #have it #ruby writes steddie #steddie #steve x eddie #steddie ficlet #this is indeed just a wee ficlet #steddie fic #morning cuddles 🥹🥹 when is it MY TURN #as ALWAYS!!! #gay ppl in my phone…. this one is for u

[chronicowboy]

Maddie humbles him pretty severely in their conversation. Look, he knows it's stupid, knows it's selfish really, knows it's just plain crappy of him. But. But he hurt Christopher. And there wasn't some big uncontrollable variable like a tsunami that Eddie can explain it away with.

Sure, it was an accident, but it still happened. Sure, it was only a few scrapes that he'd cleaned up almost immediately with the little first aid kit tucked into the glove compartment of his Jeep - and, well, maybe part of the guilt is the way Christopher had grimaced at the added sting of the antiseptic wipes. But he'd done it. He'd made Christopher cry. And he'd ran as soon as Eddie swept in to take care of him. He'd ran before either of them could tell him to get out.

Christopher is injured, and Buck hasn't been to see him once. Christopher is injured because of Buck, and he's only checked in through a much too knowing Eddie. Because he's a coward, especially when it comes to Christopher. Jesus, nothing in the world scares him more than Christopher. Everything's so big and inconceivable with him. Buck feels it all, feels it all so strongly. The things he'd do for that kid... Well, that scares him too. Almost as much as Christopher's anger does, but he can't run from it forever. He can't stay away forever, so he shoots Eddie a quick text as he leaves Maddie's.

Can I come see Chris at some point?

He's just buckling himself into the driver's seat when his phone buzzes with a reply.

Get over here

Another buzz.

Now

His already knotted stomach twists into an even more complex shape as he turns the key in the ignition, but he has to face the music some time or another. May as well be now.

It takes him an inordinately long and nauseating time to get to the Diaz door, an even longer time to actually knock and then a terrifyingly short amount of time for Eddie to be appearing before him with those big, understanding eyes he can never seem to escape.

"Hi," he mumbles, suddenly struck with what image he must make out there on the porch. A naughty dog with a guiltily hung head and a tail between his legs just waiting to be patted on the head and told he's forgiven.

"Buck, come in." Eddie rolls his eyes and practically drags him inside. Buck had been about ninety-nine per cent sure (okay, maybe more like eighty) that Eddie's texts had been fond exasperation and not actual anger, but it's not until he hears Eddie's voice that he knows for sure. He was never a bad dog in Eddie's mind. Buck's tail wags just a little as Eddie leans back against the hallway wall with his arms folded over his chest. "He's in his room and he misses his Buck."

"Even after I almost killed him?" he mutters petulantly.

"Buck, you tripped over his crutches. The both of you went down and, honestly, you walked away worse than he did." Buck opens his mouth to argue, but Eddie ploughs on. "Don't lie to me. I saw those bruises on your ribs last shift. I know how weaponised those elbows can become."

"I'm fine."

"So is he," Eddie says seriously. "You know how many times I've tripped over his crutches?"

"Did you feel guilty about it afterwards?" Buck pries, eyes trained on his shoes where they kick lightly, sheepishly at the carpet.

"Of course, I did. I always do. Hell, I accidentally got some salt in his eyes when we were cooking the other day and I almost took myself down to Athena's station." Eddie shakes his head, unimpressed. "I'm his dad, I'd send him outside in a bubble wrap suit if I could. But I've been informed that isn't 'cool'," Buck snorts, "so I'm trying my best to make peace with the fact that that he's going to get hurt and I'm not always going to be stop it. But." Eddie steps closer, drops a hand to Buck's shoulder, ducks his hand to catch his eye. And Buck feels the echo of a wave and three ragged scratches across his face. "But I can always be there after it happens, to pick him back up and tend to his wounds, yeah?"

"Yeah," Buck whispers, nodding against the whirring of his brain.

"He's already mostly healed up. Go and see for yourself." Eddie leaves with a pointed look at Christopher's door, and Buck stays staring down the hallway like he can will it into something that feels a little less like a walk on the plank.

As he takes his first step, for just a moment, he wishes he was back in the endless labyrinthine hallways of his coma dream just to postpone his fate a little longer.

See, what he hadn't told Maddie was that he had actually tried texting Christopher a few days after their tumble. A sorry and an I hope you're okay and a jokey maybe we should leave basketball to the pros which had only gleaned a thumbs up emoji in response. So, he's not feeling very optimistic when he knocks on Christopher's door.

"Who is it?"

"It's Buck, buddy." Silence. A sigh maybe, if he strains. "C-can I come in?"

Another pause.

"Fine."

Buck pushes into the room with his heart in his throat. Christopher doesn't look up from his textbook where he's propped up against his headboard, just carries on reading. Buck approaches carefully, hovering at the end of the bed where he'd normally just sit.

"How are you doing?" he asks uselessly.

"Fine."

"Yeah?" Christopher only shrugs, and Buck sighs in defeat. "I'm really sorry, bud. I didn't mean to do it, you have to know that. I'd never ever do anything to hurt you-"

"Wait." Chris finally looks up from his book with his frown. "Do you think I'm mad because you tripped me up?"

"I-I, well, yeah." Buck blinks. "So, you are mad?"

"Yeah, I'm mad, but not about that." Chris groans and slams his book shut. "Why'd you disappear?"

"B-because I thought you'd be mad at me for, you know, hurting you," Buck says dumbly. Christopher rolls his eyes so similarly to Eddie's earlier expression that Buck aches with it.

"You didn't hurt me. Gravity hurt us."

"But you're mad at me."

"Because you disappeared!" Chris bursts. Buck's mouth snaps shut with a click. "Everything's changing. You and me and dad barely ever hang out anymore. And I know I'm getting older, so I shouldn't want to, but I do. But you're both dating, so it's always just the one of you. Or the three of us and a stranger. And I hate it. And the last time this happened, you promised you weren't going anywhere, but you did! And I want you both to be happy, and I really don't want dad to feel so lonely now I'm growing up, but I wish..." Christopher ducks his head as if suddenly realising he'd revealed too much.

"You wish?" Buck asks on the exhale of a breath he'd been holding since Christopher's little outburst, something fierce and jagged latching itself to his sternum.

"I wish you both could be happy with..." He shrinks into himself a little, and Buck wraps his hand around the footboard like a lifeline - like whatever Christopher is about to say will turn the world upside down. "I wish this was enough. I wish the three of us could make you both as happy as-as it makes me." He flushes and cracks his textbook open. "It sounds dumb when I say it."

"No, no," Buck croaks, something big and unwieldy expanding against the inside of his ribs, something that could choke him if he let it. "It doesn't sound dumb at all."

#sami rambles #wrote this in half an hour sorry! but i have actual work to do today so........ #anyway i love one red herring conflict being used as a vehicle for a bigger deeper conflict :DD #911 spoilers #911 show #911 abc #911 spec #buckley diaz family #buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #christopher diaz #911 fic #911 ficlet #911 spec fic #buckley diaz family fic

[eldritch-thrumming]

what, like it’s hard?, pt. one

“it’s just that… if i want to win a seat in congress by the time i’m thirty, i need to find someone who’s serious about my career. not some little elementary school teacher that cares more about his students than what he’s wearing on my campaign stops,” tommy tells steve, as they’re sitting in quite possibly the fanciest restaurant steve’s ever step foot in. the menu hadn’t even included any prices.

“but… i’m seriously in love with you.” steve feels like his whole world is falling apart. just last week he’d been so sure that tommy was getting ready to propose. he’d introduced steve to his family—they’d spent a week out on martha’s vineyard for a family reunion at which steve had met tommy’s great-grandmother, hands laden with rings as she’d winked when tommy had asked for a private conversation. steve had been so sure that conversation was about the family ring.

“and i love you too, baby, but look. you don’t want to have to leave your students for half the year to come on the campaign trail with me, do you?” tommy asks, not even really looking at steve. he continues to just eat his stupid dinner as if he’s not ripping steve’s heart out at this very moment.

and steve can’t help but think how silly this all is, because it’s not like tommy’s actually running for anything right now. steve doesn’t even teach yet, beyond the two days a week he does his student teaching. they’re only 22, they haven’t even graduated northwestern with their bachelors degrees! but tommy’s saying these things as if they’re all real, right now.

“and i’m off to harvard next fall. it’s not like we’ll stay together while i’m there and you’re still here, right?”

and the thing is, steve had actually thought he’d be going with tommy to boston. they’re both set to graduate in the spring, steve with his degree in education and tommy with a dual major in pre-law and political science. they hadn’t really ever talked about it, but they’d been together since the beginning of their sophomore year. so yes, steve had thought they’d still be together when tommy started at harvard law.

but now steve’s starting to feel extra stupid.

“so… what? you’re breaking up with me?” steve starts to feel his chest tightening, like he might cry. he can’t believe that two hours ago he thought he’d been getting ready for a proposal.

“don’t think of it as a breakup, stevie… think of it as a conscious uncoupling. we’re just moving in two different directions. i’ll be at harvard law next semester and you’ll be…” tommy gives him a look of slight disdain—steve has never seen tommy look at him like that. waitstaff? sure. his driver? absolutely. but it’s never been directed at steve before. “well, you’ll be teaching snot-nosed six year olds. we’re on different paths.”

and that’s what truly makes steve’s blood boil. his passion for teaching and education is one of his greatest qualities and he’d thought that had been part of the reason tommy loved him. he didn’t realize that tommy loved him in spite of that. he’s not gonna let some asshole like tommy montgomery hagan iii tell him he’s no good.

so he doesn’t respond. he just takes the linen napkin off his lap and throws it on his half-eaten steak dinner and marches out of the restaurant.

tommy doesn’t even follow him out.

~*~

“oh steve… i’m sorry,” robin says to him about an hour later while steve lays his head in her lap on their dingy couch.

“it’s not even that he broke up with me,” he explains through tears. “it’s that he basically said i was worthless. like i couldn’t do anything better than teaching. as if teaching isn’t even an admirable profession! where would he be without his teachers, huh? isn’t this all about going to stupid harvard? what does he think the professors there actually do? knit?”

“is this a bad time to tell you that i always kind of hated him?” robin says, maybe trying to get him to laugh. but it kind of surprises steve. he sits up, knocking her hands from where they’ve been carding through his hair in the process.

“you did?! no, you didn’t.” he searches robin’s face for a moment and then sighs. “why didn’t you say anything? you could’ve saved me a whole lot of wasted time.”

“babe, you were so gooey-eyed for that guy, nothing i said was gonna change that. a crowbar couldn’t have pried you away from him. but you have to know he was an asshole.” when steve stares at her blankly, she huffs. “steve, he used to offer to cover the whole tab when we went out. how often did he ever actually pay, even for his own drinks? he made poor jonathan cry the last time we were all here for game night, just because jonathan asked for clarification on the rules for pictionary.” steve is still staring at her. “he tried to stiff argyle by offering him a flight on his dad’s private jet instead of paying for his weed and we all know he doesn’t even have access to the jet. dude was cheap as fuck and not even nice about it.”

steve thinks about it. it was kind of true. tommy was a horrible tipper—steve usually laid down a couple of twenties when they went to dinner together when tommy wasn’t looking. he can remember more than a few times where the guy had sent their food back even though it had looked perfectly wonderful to steve. so… okay, maybe robin had a point.

steve tells her as much, then adds, “but he was always nice to me.”

robin snorts. “are you kidding? he’s stood you up so many times i can’t even remember all of them. remember that time he said his first impression of you was that you weren’t as hot as your pictures? who says that to the person they’re dating?”

steve groans and lays his head back down in her lap.

“okay, so maybe you have a point about that too. but i was gonna marry him, rob. what do i do now?” he knows he’s whining, but he feels just a little bit entitled to it right now.

“i don’t know, babe. get over it, i guess. welcome to the world of us singles. it sucks out here.” steve can hear the fondness in robin’s voice as she says it, but still. it does sting just a little.

they sit there in silence for a while, with robin running her hands through his hair again. it’s so soothing that he almost jumps out of his skin when she speaks again.

“hey, you know what would be super funny?” she’s laughing a little as she says it.

“what?” steve had been dozing just a little and his voice sounds muffled by fatigue.

“if you got into harvard and just showed up on the first day. imagine the look on his face.”

steve laughs at how ridiculous that sounds. like he could get into harvard. plus, he’s got teaching to think about. he doesn’t have a place yet, but he knows he’ll get one soon.

but as he sits there with robin’s hands stroking through his hair, he begins to daydream about how shocked tommy would be. about how he’d have no choice but to eat his words when steve proves himself by getting into one of the most competitive programs in the country. about how good it would feel to prove the bastard wrong.

“robin?” she hums in response. “you’re a goddamn genius.”

~*~

“dingus, are you sure you want to do this?”

the spring semester starts in three days. it’s their last semester at northwestern and there’s nothing but great big darkness on the horizon of steve’s future. he hasn’t slept in two days, busy studying, thick workbooks piled around around him at the kitchen table. he knows what he must look like, over-caffeinated with bruises under his eyes.

“i’m sure.” steve has his lsat exam in one week. “i have to take the exam this week. apps are due by march first.”

“no, steve, i don’t mean taking the test. i mean applying at all. it’s clearly more stress than it’s worth. do you even want to go to law school?” robin sounds concerned and normally steve would think it’s very sweet, but currently it does nothing but irritate him.

“i could,” he responds grumpily.

robin sighs. “i just mean… is this worth it?”

steve looks up then and sees her biting her lip, clearly worried about him. he puts his pencil down and stops the timer on his phone, giving her his full attention.

“this isn’t just about tommy.” robin gives him a skeptical look and it’s his turn to sigh. “it’s really not. maybe it started out that way, maybe it was just a stupid joke to get revenge on the asshole, but now it’s more than that. it’s proving that i can do something unexpected of me.” he swallows. “no one even believed i would get into college. i was just some stupid jock in high school who’d never amount to anything. and then i got in to northwestern and i was so shocked and happy. but i found out that my dad had actually pulled a bunch of strings. so i hadn’t gotten in on my own merits. he didn’t think i could. but now…” he runs a hand through his hair nervously. he’s never said any of this out loud before. “he’s not around now. there’s no one to help me. no safety net. if i can do this, it’ll prove something to me. something that maybe i don’t really believe yet.”

he expects robin to say something about external validation being a corrupting force and identity built on academic achievement being solely a losing game, but she doesn’t. instead, she sits down across the table from him and picks up a workbook.

“okay,” she says. “what do we have to do?”

~*~

“mail here?” steve calls out when he hears the front door close behind robin.

there’s a moment that feels like a pause. “yeah, it’s here.”

steve practically sprints from his bedroom to his living room. robin holds a single white envelope in her hand. steve all but snatches it from her.

his fingers move to rip it open, but then he hesitates. he thrusts it back towards robin. “i can’t,” he tells her. “you do it.”

her eyebrows shoot up. “you’re sure?” steve nods. he watches her rip the envelope open, bouncing on his feet. she scans the page and then she’s smiling.

steve grabs the paper from her. “oh my god?!” he yells. “oh my god!”

robin practically jumps into his arms. “179, baby! harvard law here we come.”

~*~

even after such a successful run at the lsats, there’s still the little matter of actually getting in to the school. steve’s only experience with the academic application process was with undergrad and it appears that applying for anything beyond a bachelors degree is an entirely different ball game. he’s so out of his depth that he’s forced to turn to grad school message boards for advice and tips of how to get in. it seems like everyone else is applying to a hundred different schools while steve’s only applying to one. he learns this is a terrible strategy for planning one’s future, but that doesn’t really matter to steve. for him, it’s harvard or nothing.

there are so many different parts of the application that it makes steve’s head spin. there’s the statement of purpose and the personal statement—the difference between those two requires robin’s careful and slow explanation about three separate times. then there’s the writing sample and the application and the recommendations and the transcripts and and and

but with robin’s help, steve completes each component and successfully sends his materials by the day of the deadline.

steve’s never been a patient person. no one on earth would accuse him of that, so even he can tell that he’s getting on robin’s nerves every day as he practically pounces on her when she returns from collecting the mail.

and then one day, finally, at the end of april, she comes through the front door and clutched in her hand is a big, thick white envelope emblazoned with the words ‘harvard law’ in bold, beautiful crimson red.

~*~

“last chance to back out,” robin says smiling as she swings herself up into the passengers seat of their rented u-haul.

“nah.” steve returns her smile as he slides his sunglasses from his hair onto his face. “let’s get out of this dump.”

and with that, they leave their first apartment behind, headed to the coast.

[wanted to finish this completely before posting but my benadryls kicking in and i have no self control. eventual steddie, promise! no tag list for this one, sorry!! it’s giving me anxiety on the other one lol absolutely not edited, if u see a typo no u don’t. i wrote this on my phone in a feverish frenzy. also, i originally invented someone for the role of warner but then i was like ‘IDIOT!!!!! why would u not choose tommy?????’ so if there’s a name in here that shouldn’t be, no there isn’t.]

#the not as hot as ur pictures thing is a real thing my ex said to me after we’d been together for like six months lol called me ugly 😭 #legally blonde au #steddie #steddie fic #steddie legally blonde au #this will EVENTUALLY be steddie if i write more lol #robin buckley #steve harrington #platonic stobin #steddie fanfic #steddie ficlet #i’m setting it up!!!!! #eddie will be a bartender not a law guy sorry!!!! lawyer!eddie just don’t feel right to me #steddie fanfiction #steddie blurb #guess what i watched tonight #well i also watched mean girls lol #here have this half finished thing #i wanted to finish it before posting but

[teencopandthesourwolf]

"I'll text Stiles," Scott says, grabbing his backpack. "Then I'm gonna go see Allison.”

When Scott turns back around, Derek's lips are a thin line and they are the only part of him that moves when he asks, through his teeth, "Are you going to talk to her, too?”

Scott just squints. Because—huh? 

"Derek, what do you mean, am I going to talk to her, too?” He narrows his eyes even more, suspicious. “Why else would I be going to see Allison, if not to talk to her? I don't just, like, watch her from afar like some creeper, you know." 

Scott isn't about to admit that he has, embarrassingly, done just that on occasion. Alright, occasions, plural—but only once or twice! Five or six times, tops. And only ever when he thought Allison was, or could possibly be, in danger. It's not weird, though. It's not! It's noble, okay? It just sounds weird when you say it out loud. Even if he hasn't actually said it out loud. Well, at least not just now anyways; he's said it in front of the mirror a couple times and it turns out your reflection can be pretty hurtful and judgemental which, honestly, is a little upsetting.  

Just as Scott realises that Derek must know he just told a lie—half-lie!—the Alpha's face does a thing that Scott has never seen it do before. Ever. The dude looks almost… Human. 

And, what the hell? 

Derek clears his throat and shifts his weight from one foot to the other and worries at his bottom lip a bit and now Scott is feeling anxious because who is this guy? And what has he done with Derek ‘I Will Never Give A Single Thing Away About Myself Ever Other Than The Fact I Am Eternally Pissed’ Hale? (that's one of Stiles's). 

Just the possibility of Derek ‘Emotionally Open and Vulnerable’ Hale is, like—it's just way too much for Scott to handle on a Sunday morning when he's supposed to be at the veterinary surgery in less than fourteen minute's time and has to somehow manage fitting in seeing Allison on the way.

But it seems Scott is also too nosy to just move on from this and let sleeping dogs lie. And both of those things are really annoying because strange old phrases and being overly curious is usually a Stiles thing, not a Scott thing, so Scott really doesn't know what he's supposed to do! 

W.W.S.D. 

What Would Stiles Do?

"Um, Derek, have you been—"

"Firstly, McCall, following somebody around and watching them from a distance is not creepy if you think that they need to be tailed for their own safety, alright?" Derek starts and—well.

Exactly!

Scott actually genuinely likes Derek, for just a moment, because he knew he'd been right about that! He gives himself an internal high-five and an imaginary congratulatory pat on the back because being kind to yourself is never a bad option. Unfortunately, Scott now also has to admit to himself that it does, in fact, sound weird when you say it out loud. Or, well, think it out loud. Whatever, he knows what he means.

He realises that Derek is still speaking.

"...because Stiles is human and also the biggest danger-magnet in the pack, so it makes sense that one of us should be keeping tabs on him. Thirdly, I—“ 

“Someone, Derek!” Scott blurts, “I was going to ask if you've been creeping on someone!" he interrupts because—honestly, in the most way possible—what?! The hell?!

Scott is both stunned and annoyed at hearing that Derek has been following Stiles (hiding around dark corners and slinking about the place like a wolf ninja. Scott should know. Shut up.) 

Because Stiles! Is Scott's best friend! 

And, like, how long has he been doing this? And for what purpose, really? Because Derek's heart just skipped about twelve beats, never mind one, so reason number two was obviously at least a half-lie of his own. 

That's when Derek's mouth clacks audibly shut. 

Scott just stares. And he knows; there is more going on here than meets the eye.

Then it's obvious that Derek knows that Scott knows and then everybody is knowing and looking and looking and knowing and Scott just—he can't stand it, okay? He needs confirmation. He doesn't necessarily want it, but it's like his mom always says: Life's tough sometimes. 

Eventually, he manages to say, "Are you stalking Stiles, Derek?" and hopes to hell he's wrong because he now feels somewhere in between being affronted on his best friend's behalf, totally grossed-out because it's Derek, ugh, and maybe just a little bit amused. Or is it bemused? Possibly confused. Scott is definitely some of those words. 

And again, seriously, what the hell?  

Has Derek honestly been creeping on Stiles because he's concerned for Stiles's safety? And, if so, why? Like, does Derek even get concerned for humans? Or other wolves for that matter (apart from maybe his own betas which is probably only a biological thing anyway, Scott reckons). Does Derek care about anybody? At all? Dude doesn't even care about himself, Scott doesn't think.

Scott now tries his best to come up with another reason, any other possible reason, that someone might have to follow a person around, but he can't seem to land on—OH, GOD! DOES DEREK HAVE A CRUSH ON STILES? Oh, shit! Oh, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit! He can't. But he—nope. No! Because what. The actual. Hell! He just—no. No, no, no. He can't! Can he? Oh, my God, what if he does?! And if it is true... ew! Derek Hale crushing is just gross! And on Stiles?! Just, no. But also, why? And also-also, how the hell did Scott not notice something sooner?! 

And another thing: Did Scott somehow wake up this morning having somehow travelled in his sleep to one of those Affirmative Universe places that Stiles is always banging on about?

Man, Scott has, like, so many questions. 

Derek still hasn't said anything and is just standing opposite Scott with his stupid arms folded across his stupid chest with his stupid beard in his stupid loft looking really, really stupidly sheepish, and Scott thinks, yep.

Affirmative Universe. 

He doesn't know what to do and Stiles isn't here to ask, so he waves a confused (and maybe amused and bemused) arm in the air and says, “Derek, what the hell is going on? Have we travelled to an Affirmative Universe or something, because—”  

“Don't you mean Alternative Universe?”  

“—you never just, I don't know, don't throw something offensive or at least defensive back at me when I'm talking to you about Stiles. Or, you know, anybody else. Or anything else, come to think of it!”   

Derek now looks, for real, actually scared.

And Scott? Well, Scott is now officially terrified.  

His phone starts ringing and, as it's already in his hand, he just answers it without looking, eyes still fixed on Derek The Imposter. 

“Yooooo, amigo, what's the plan?” 

It's Stiles. Of course it's Stiles. 

Stiles is on the phone and Derek Hale might-probably-definitely have a crush on him, and Scott may or may not be in an Affirmative Universe but can't know for sure and can no longer speak or think or breathe.

“Uh, Scottie? Scottland? Sir Scott-A-Lot? You there, ol’buddy, ol’pal?” 

Derek can obviously hear who is on the other end of the phone. He looks positively constipated, his brows knitting together even tighter than before, tighter than ever before, and his lethal jaw is ticking away like it's being controlled by the World Clock in Berlin that Scott learned about in middle school.

Scott sighs, heavy, like he's seventy years old instead of seventeen.

Derek is now giving his best version of Scott's own speciality Puppy Dog Eyes (something Stiles and Allison always accuse him of), with a definite flavour of please, don't tell…

And Scott wants to cry. Like a baby. Like, throw himself onto the floor and scream and shout and kick his feet in the air. 

Instead, he grits his teeth together like the mature person he is, feeling very firmly smooshed between a best friend-shaped rock and a werewolf-scented hard place. 

Ugh, his life is just so unfair!

He mouths YOU OWE ME to Derek, and Derek's whole body visibly sags with relief. 

Then he takes a deep breath and answers Stiles—who is now chanting ScottieScottieScottieScottieScottieScottieScottie down the phone—with, “Dude, shut up and listen, will you! I think we might have a very real problem with Affirmative Universes!”

#just found the first half of this in my drafts and inexplicably finished it off #so here. have some random POV scotty sterek for your wednesday :) #sterek #sterek ficlet #POV scott mccall #derek hale #stiles stilinski #sterek fanfic #sterek fanfiction #teen wolf #teen wolf fic #teen wolf fanfic #teen wolf fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #queer fic #queer writer #tcats writes #teencopandthesourwolf

[very-feral-lesbian]

eddie may not have been buddy-buddy with steve in high school, but as most nerds are, he was observant. despite the attention he got from the jocks, he generally managed to stay in the background, watching the reality show that was the jocks of hawkins high.

because of that, he knew that steve was complimented on any and everything physical.

"steve, your hair is so amazing, what do you use?" "you're so handsome, steve" "steve has such a good body, nancy is so lucky"

he knew that non-skin-deep compliments were a rarity for steve.

within their group, steve was often made fun of for being stupid or airhead. eddie knows that it mostly comes from love, often dustin or robin being the root of it. he knows they mean no actual harm by their comments but eddie could see its impact on steve.

after the vecna situation, the impact of the past few years on steve became increasingly physically apparent. there were scars covering his body now more than ever, snaking around up arms, torso and legs, and the most obvious being the one around his neck.

eddie shared many of these scars with steve. the suspiciously matching ones across their chests and arms a bonding point between the two of them. dating post-vecna and bat bites wasn't that easy.

unless your partner shared nearly identical scars (emotional and physical) with you.

to eddie, the scars were badass. he thought his own scar just proved to be physical memoirs of his near-death experience. generally, he didn't think much of them.

but steve didn't have nearly as easy of a time with his scars. everything that steve had ever been congratulated for, had changed.

the base of his neck has been impacted by throat scar, the hair there obliterated by the scar tissue. his chest had deep gashes, thick scars that would never heal. he wasn't even able to play sports anymore, his body worn down from internal damage courtesy of vecna.

steve thought this made him a failure, it made him feel like a shell of himself.

but god damn if eddie wasn't set out to shut steve's shit down.

he tried to do a lot of the obvious things to make steve be less self-deprecating. lots of physical affection between the two of them; eddie often intimately tracing scars or pressing kisses to the base of steve's neck or the scars on his arms.

or sometimes it meant brushing their teeth at the same time so steve didn't spend the entire two minutes staring at his shirtless chest and working himself into an unhealthy headspace. eddie would spend the entire time clumsily talking around the toothbrush in his mouth, usually rating about a gig or his newest campaign.

but eddie also made a conscious effort to compliment steve on things outside of his appearance. because steve was hot, obviously, but he was a catch in many other ways.

steve had taken up cooking recently, finding joy in cooking for their group. and he was good at it, so eddie wasn't lying when he said, "fuck this is good babe" or "damn if i wasn't already sleeping with you, this pie would make me want to"

eddie knew that nothing he did could heal steve's physical scars, but he was doing what he could to remedy the emotional ones

#this was long #and im not super proud of it #but ive had the first half written for weeks and wanted to finish it #lindz writes #stranger things #st #st4 #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie drabble #fic #ficlet #fanfic #drabble #text #text post #steddie headcanon #steddie ficlet

[blushweddinggowns]

Eddie was sulking. He had a bad day at work and his boyfriend was miles away without access to a phone.

He took a sip of his beer, lazily watching the news while bored out of his mind. Maybe subjecting himself to the horrors of the great outdoors would have been worth it after all, even with Robin’s no-sex rule.

He groaned when the phone rang, completely not in the mood to speak to anyone. But their voicemail box was broken, and on the very off chance it was Steve calling to say they were rained out, Eddie didn’t want to miss it. 

He picked it up, uncaring for politeness,“Yeah?” 

“Eddie? What kind of greeting is that?”

He perked up a little at the sound of Max’s voice. He could make an exception for her, “Sorry Red, crap day.”

“Sucks for you. Hey, um, is Steve there?"

“Nope, he swindled Robin into going camping with him. But he’ll be back Monday.”

"Of course he did," She sighed, voice shaky, “Just, uh, have him call me when he gets home, okay?”

Eddie frowned, alarms already ringing. She sounded weird, not just her usual trademarked annoyance, “Is everything okay down there?”

“Y-yeah. Totally fine.”

“Max, if this is some Upside Down shit-”

“It’s not! It’s…just me shit. And everyone else is gone.”

“What is me shit?” Eddie was getting a bad feeling in his stomach, “I hope you realize if something happened to you and I could have stopped it, I’ll be liable, and then Steve will be forced to kill me-”

“He would never kill you.” She laughed, weak and a little forced, “Seriously, you don’t have to worry, I’m basically fine. ”

“Well I’m not willing to test it. What’s going on?”

She took a deep breath, rallying before admitting the truth, “Ok, ok, um, my mom kinda got arrested?”

Eddie wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t that, “When the hell did that happen?”

“About a week ago? And we, uh, kinda got evicted?”

Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath before deciding that Susan Hargrove was going on his list of least favorite people. 

Max was stilling talking, rushing in a way that Eddie wasn’t used to, “A-and I know you guys are far away, and I wouldn’t ask normally, really, and if you can’t come I get it, b-but Steve said if I ever needed anything to call and Johnathan took them all to that stupid computer summer camp and Jocye and Hopper are still on their honeymoon and…I-I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Where the hell have you been staying?”

She hesitated again, “In my mom’s car?” 

Eddie was already on his feet, looking for his keys as he reassured her,  “You did the right thing by calling, okay? I’m on my way, but you’re going to my uncle’s house, understand? You’re not going to spend another night in a car.”

“But-”

"But nothing. You’re going to go there, eat, sleep in a real bed, and we’ll leave in the morning. I’ll see you soon." 

She agreed without much of a fight, hanging up with a quiet thank you. Behind all of his playfulness and eccentricities, Eddie could be pretty intimidating when needed to be. 

He blared music the whole way there, realizing half way through that he was pushing twenty four hours without sleeping. But there were worse things than an impromptu fifteen hour drive to Hawkins in the middle of the night, even if he could barely keep his eyes open or feel his legs by the time he got there. 

It was mid-day when he pulled into Wayne’s driveway, and he was not looking forward to doing it all over again. He used his spare key, forgoing a greeting at the sight of his uncle at the kitchen table, opting to profusely thank him instead.

“Where is she?” He asked, after about the fifth round of thanks.

“Asleep,” Wayne offered,  “Kid tried to stay up all night waiting for you, but she went down around nine this morning.”

Good, that was good, it would give him some much needed time to sleep. He crashed on their couch, conking out almost instantly. All too soon he was being woken back up, something tickling his face. He wrinkled his nose, swatting at whatever was touching him, but it was persistent. He groaned as light filled his vision, blinking up at the ceiling. He turned, just in time to catch Max going to poke at his cheek again.

The kid looked like shit, like she hadn’t showered or slept in a week. 

“Hi,” she said quietly, giving an awkward little wave, like they weren’t inches apart. 

“Hi,” Eddie tried, for once feeling completely out of his element as they stared at each other. 

The boys he could deal with, they were his own personal band of nerds. Even El was easier, with her straightforward curiosity and Eddie’s penance to talk anyone’s ear off was usually a match made in Heaven, but Max…Max was Steve’s territory. 

His self-proclaimed adopted sister, a step ahead of everyone in conversation, quiet but witty, careful but brave, she’d always been a bit of a mystery to Eddie. She was so selective when it came to who she trusted, with him never fully being in or out of her circle of favorites, always on the periphery by his proximity to Steve, her favorite adult. 

She was picking at the couch, avoiding Eddie’s eyes when she piped up, “Your uncle’s cool.”

“I know, right?”  Eddie sat up, rubbing a hand over his face to wake up faster, “What time is it?”

“Five.”

Shit. They had to leave soon if they were going to get there before Steve, “You ready?”

She nodded, “As I ever will be.”

It was short work packing, she had her skateboard, her walkman, and a single duffle bag, stuffed full. Wayne and Eddie shared a look as they stuffed it all into the back, the scene way too familiar to Eddie’s own meager belongings when he came along. 

They thanked Wayne again on the way out, Max even going as far as accepting a hug, bashful but too grateful to refuse. He pulled out of the driveway, sad to say goodbye to his uncle but more than happy to see Hawkins start to disappear in his rearview. No matter how many good memories he had there, how many wonderful people he’d met, something inside of him would always hate that shit hole. 

Maybe it was because all the good parts could be taken out. 

He glanced over at Max, not quite sure what to say. It was never just them before. Eddie was the one to break the silence first, per usual, “How the fuck did Mike convince El to go to a three month computer camp?"

It was probably the wrong question to ask considering the circumstances, but at least it made her laugh, a real one this time, "That's what I said! God, they’re worse now than when they were dating. They take the best friend thing way too seriously. Almost as bad as Robin and Steve.”

“Hey, rude!” Eddie whined, mock offended on Steve’s behalf, “True but still rude!”

Max laughed. She was picking at a loose thread on her jacket, still smiling a little,“I’m sorry you had to come all the way out here but…thank you for doing it.”

He shrugged, “There are worse things than a nice night drive.”

“I still appreciate it.”

“So…” he trailed off, hesitating before asking what needed to be asked, “Are you going to tell me what happened?"

Max sighed as she stared out the window, like she’d just been waiting for him to say it, “She…got caught for check fraud and identity theft, apparently for a lot of money. She doesn’t even know when her trial date is yet. I thought…” she hesitated, shaking her head, “I don’t know what I thought. I wasn’t thinking. I should have known something was up when things got better out of nowhere.”

“You’re not supposed to be thinking about shit like that. You’re seventeen.”

“Almost eighteen.”

Eddie rolled his eyes,“Oh, you got me. You’re right, everyone knows you get a copy of your parent’s tax records and W-2s and take over the family finances when you come of age ”

She snorted, eyes still staring out the window, but with the smallest hint of a smile on her face. 

Eddie cleared his throat, still peeking at her through the corner of his eye, “I’m sorry that uh, Steve isn’t here.”

She shook her head, “No, I’m glad it was you. Since…y’know.” 

Eddie nodded, oh too aware of what she meant. Things in Hawkins had gotten pretty fucked up for Steve near the end of their time there. After Steve's parent's found out about them, things had spread pretty fast, rumors finally being confirmed as fact, courtesy of Steve’s piece of shit sperm donor. He’d let the whole world know that he didn’t have a son, paired with a big old speech about parenteral-approved gay bashing. The backlash was even worse than Eddie had expected. Apparently the only thing that town hated then queer freaks was ex-straights.

It had been pretty fucking awful, worse yet that Will had to see it all. The only queer kid in a thirty mile radius had to bear witness to his gay role model being socially crucififed. The experience didn’t scream hopeful future in Indiana. Eddie was glad that he was going back to California for college, especially since he’d  have El and Mike with him. Even if it was depressing the rugrats were splitting in two, Eddie was just happy none of them were staying in that hell hole.

Max was biting at her nails, a nervous habit he knew Steve used to bug her about.

“Do you think he’ll let me stay?” 

Eddie laughed, “You should be more worried about if he’ll ever let you leave.” 

“You think?”

“I’d bet money on it.”

The little smile was getting bigger, “How much?”

“Twenty says he’ll tear up and say something like, ‘Of course you can stay, for as long as you want,’” Eddie did his best emotional Steve voice, the adorable wobbly kind that melted everyone’s heart, loving how it made Max laugh, “Something sappy like that.”

“You’re on!” They shook on it, with Eddie only feeling slightly bad for setting her up on a nearly fixed bet.

It was a long fifteen hours, though Eddie was grateful that Max stayed awake with him the whole time, the drive was so much better with someone to talk to. 

“I’m not going to let you be alone for this twice,” she insisted when Eddie asked if she was tired after her fifth yawn. They argued over radio stations and traded blackmailable stories about their friends the whole way home. Eddie’s eyes were bloodshot from exhaustion by the time they got there, Max looking just as bad, but it was worth it. 

She was worth it. 

She went straight to the couch when Eddie pushed the door open, already familiar with the layout of the place. She plopped down, face face first, almost immediately passing out, obviously still exhausted from her week of homeless hell.

Eddie was just covering her with a blanket when he heard the click of the lock being undone, Steve’s voice not far behind, “Baby, I’m home-”

He rounded the corner, all teasing smiles until his eyes landed on Max, his big eyes widening in shock.

He dragged his gaping boyfriend back into their room and told Steve the whole story, genuinely impressed with himself for not passing out during his speech. Steve forced him into bed at the end of it, kissing him soundly for taking such good care of her, sleep taking him easily. 

Eddie woke up slowly, alone in their dark room. He didn’t know how long he slept for, but lord knows he had needed it. He wandered into the living, finding Steve and Max hugging on the couch, catching the tail end of their conversation. 

“Of course you can stay, for as long as you want,” Steve was saying, all teary eyed. 

Eddie didn’t miss the relieved smile on her face, like there was ever a chance he would have said no. She spotted him over Steve’s shoulder, flipping him off when he mouthed at her, ‘I win.’

“You realize I have no money right?” She whispered to him later that night, freshly showered and finally relaxed, “And I’m starting to think you cheated.”

Eddie laughed, “Manual labor until your debt is paid then. And…define cheating?”

“Whatever weird psychic thing you guys have going on, definitely cheating.”

“It’s called love, thank you very much,” Eddie smiled over at Steve, who was busying himself in the kitchen. He was making dinner, insisting that they both eat something before passing out again. He shooed away all attempts at helping, and for good reason, both of them still looked like sleep deprived nightmares. 

It was a good night, all things considered, even if Max and Eddie were still only half awake for most of it. He didn’t really feel back to himself until the next morning, but that’s what driving for more than thirty hours in less than two days did to someone. 

He kissed Steve’s hair before leaving him in bed, wandering to the balcony to light up a joint.

It wasn’t long before he could hear Max shuffling around behind him, dialing a number into the kitchen's phone, eavesdropping by way of proximity. Probably Lucas if he had to guess.  He tried to zone out a bit, but couldn’t help listening in to the latter half of her conversation.

“Of course everything’s fine,” she lied easily into the receiver, “Nancy offered me an exclusive tour of the campus since I was abandoned by my boyfriend, and Steve and Eddie said I could stay at their place to quell the boredom. My mom’s fine with it.”

Pretty good lie, all things considered. 

“Just send the letters here, tell El the same thing. They’ll just get lost at my house. You can call here too, I’ll probably stay through summer, but definitely home before you get back.”

Eddie looked over his shoulder, just able to make out the side of her face at the odd angle. She was smiling, a soft thing that Eddie recognized, the kind of smile that was meant for a singular person, “Then I guess you’ll just have to rewrite it won’t you?”

Eddie forced himself to zone out again, unwilling to listen in on the more intimate bits. It wasn’t long before he heard the click of the receiver and light footsteps strolling his way.

She came up behind him, plopping down next to him with a sigh, “Can I try that?”

Eddie glanced behind him, a little paranoid that Steve was about to catch him in the act of giving drugs to his favorite child, but relented when he couldn’t hear any sounds from their bedroom. 

He passed it over, “Just don’t tell your mother.”

Max laughed as she took a hit, a bit too experienced with it in Eddie’s opinion, “What does that make you, the cool dad?”

“Obviously.” 

They stared out into the horizon, the sun not quite up yet, but on the way. 

“You’re not going to tell him?” Eddie finally asked when she passed it back. 

She shook her head, “And rain on the nerd parade? I don’t think so. He's having the time of his life over there.”

“He’s gonna be pissed. They’re all going to be pissed.”

She shrugged, “It won’t be that bad. As long as I omit the car thing, it will be mild.”

They sat in silence, the comfortable kind for once, before she spoke up again, “Are you okay with me staying here?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

She shrugged, “Like…I know you don’t have much space. And I don’t even know for how long I’ll be here. Steve’s fine with it, because he’s Steve, but are you?” 

Eddie ruffled her hair, a bit touched that she would even ask, “Of course I don’t mind you being here. We’ll make it work.”

And they did. They ran a curtain through half of their living room, making a makeshift space around Max’s favorite couch, so she could have some semblance of privacy. 

It didn’t take long for Robin and Nancy to get involved either, especially since they had the actual two-bedroom apartment. Robin glommed onto Max particularly fast, and two made a chaotic duo of epic proportions.

They converted Nancy’s office, completely ignoring Max’s protests, and got her a real bed. She bounced between their apartments, always sure to be clear on where she was going to end up staying that night. It was stupid, but it still made Eddie preen that she choose their place more often than not. The summer went by fast, faster than Eddie would have ever thought while living with a teenager, but by the time August was coming to a close, there was no good news for Susan Hasgrove. 

They still talked over the phone, usually just for Susan to guiltily admit terrible news while apologizing profusely. Susan ended up settling on a plea deal to avoid trial. Two years in prison, maybe less for good behavior, but there was no way she was getting out in time for Max to go back to Hawkins.

Eddie had to give her this, Susan was an absolute fuck up, but she loved her kid, loved her enough to basically beg Steve and Eddie to take her in until college. Like they would ever say no. 

School was another matter, but thank Christ for Nancy Wheeler, the walking academic genius. She knew exactly what to do and what to say to the Emerson officials regarding Max’s senior year. She even garnered a deal to get her into an alternative program through the college rather than having to re-enroll in a new highschool. She had explained it all to Eddie once, early admission this, preferred treatment and financial aid that, but it kinda went in one ear and out the other, he was more than happy to just let he handle it.

With the official news, Max couldn’t hide it from the others for much longer, and eventually, they found out on their own. Apparently, they had all planned the opposite of a Welcome Home Party for Max, a Sorry We Left You All Summer For Dork Camp Party. They had a banner and everything, and even came back early to set up, right in the window of Max’s lie of being home, only to find her trailer occupied by a completely different family.

One angry phone call with El and a fifteen hour drive later, Eddie found his living room invaded by a wild pack of seventeen-year olds, all pissed as hell. Max was sandwiched between Lucas and El on the couch, the two more upset that she went through something so terrible without them than mad, while the rest stared up at her from the floor. Steve was settled in Eddie’s lap on their recliner, the two watching the whole exchange warily. 

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Dustin managed to ask over the incomprehensible noise of them all trying to talk at once, his insanely loud voice finally coming in handy.

Max rubbed a hand over her face, “Would you have left if I told you?”

“Of course!” El and Lucas said in unison, sharing a look like they couldn't believe she would even need to ask. 

“Exactly! That was the problem!” 

“But you could have stayed with my family!” Mike tried, “Nancy’s room is empty and-”

“And your dad literally hates all of us.”

“But what about us?” Will asked, “We don’t have that much space sure, but we could figure something out.”

“I know you would but I didn’t want- I don’t want…” Max trailed off, struggling to find the words. 

"Pity," Eddie finished for her, "She doesn't want to be treated like a stray. And Joyce is a sweetheart, sure, but that’s definitely up her alley."

"And I won’t be here forever,” Max insisted, earnestly looking at Lucas, “Just until college starts, and then I’ll be in the dorms, like we planned."

“But…this is our last year together,” El was tearing up, which was enough to get the whole room to follow suit. 

Max hugged her, apologetic but still firm, “I know, and I’m sorry El, really. I just…I don’t want to be in that town anymore. Not after everything. But I’ll call everyday! And write letters too, whatever you want.”

She sniffled, “Everyday?” 

“Everyday.”

“And you can all come here to visit her, whenever you want,” Steve added, “Spring break, weekends, whenever.”

The offer was enough to calm them all down, even if there was a sad little air around them their whole visit. They all held Steve on his word though, and Eddie spent the next nine months eventually getting used to finding a gaggle of kids hanging around his apartment every other weekend, but they made it work.

Max missed them all the time, anyone could see that, but she still found a way to enjoy her new life. The adjustment from one absentee parent, to four obsessive ones was oddly smooth. Max was an intensely good kid underneath all that snark, smart as hell too. Eddie had been worried about her getting bored, separated from all the other rugrats, but she was adjustable. It helped when they bought her a guitar for her birthday, a new hobby with a built-in teacher to fill the time between studying, skateboarding, and hogging the phone.

Both he and Steve cried like the emotional idiots they were when they helped her move into her dorm later that year, but they couldn’t help it, the joke of them being parents had just solidified into a reality. 

They probably embarrassed her to hell and back during the move, but she never let it show, shedding a few tears herself when the last box was brought up. 

She hugged them both on the way out, asking “The good couch is still mine when I spend the night right?”

Steve wiped at his eyes while Eddie ruffled her hair, saying in unison, “Always.”

#future fic #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #Eddie would be a good dad okay #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve is already a good dad this can work #does this work #im getting creative with my scene stealing here #living the unknown dream #max mayfeild #the party #steddie #drabble #the fruity four live in boston and half the kids obvs followed them #tw homophobia #stranger things

[stevethehairington]

He needs a break. A chance to breathe for a moment. This lifestyle sometimes feels like the corsets that Robin is always complaining about — too tight, too constricting, and superfluously unnecessary. Steve pities Robin, and the rest of the poor women, who have to deal with both. The circumstance and the corsets.

Steve knows better than to complain, though. He lives a lavish existence, one that many people would give anything to have. It isn’t fair of him to pity himself like this when there are so many people out there that are so much worse off than him. He should feel grateful. Lucky, even.

But it’s hard not to feel suffocated instead, sometimes.

The alcove is quiet, thank god, and void of any stray party guests. It’s hidden away, tucked between two rocks that overlook the seaside, and the crash of waves from down below has a mollifying effect on Steve’s agitated disposition.

He reaches for the cravat at his neck, loosening it with deft fingers. He’s in the act of tugging it away from his throat when the clear crunch of a footstep has him spinning around sharply.

And there, emerging from the shadows to block Steve’s only escape route, is a man.

The first thing Steve notices about the man is the curtain of dark curls that frame his face. They’re long enough to tumble freely over his shoulders, and they’re pulled back by a thick swath of fabric, deep red in color. The ends of his bangs peek out from beneath the bandana, as do a pair of thin braids, each tied off with two hollowed out pearls.

With his hair out of his face, Steve can see it all. Every single feature, open and on display — those soft cheekbones, that sloping nose, the gnarled scar that stretches across the left side of his jaw and pulls the corner of his mouth into a twisted, permanent smile.

Steve is sure that he’s never seen this man before, and yet there is something achingly familiar about him. A tugging within his gut; it feels like he should know him, but from what, he can’t quite place.

The man’s left ear is pierced through twice, two identical gold hoops looped through the skin. And just beneath his ear he has a small mark. A tattoo. Steve isn’t quite close enough to make out just what it’s of. He squints his eyes and nearly takes a step closer to take a proper look, but catches himself before he does.

It’s then that Steve realizes that he’s been staring, borderline ogling, for much longer than is appropriate, too. His cheeks warm as he averts his eyes to the ground. But rather than the cobblestone path below, his gaze falls to the man’s feet.

Flared brown boots cover those feet, rising up nearly to his knees. They’re old looking, worn and well-purposed, but still sturdy, even after countless strops though mud and water and sand and all sorts of other rough terrains. Beneath the boots, his stalwart calves and strong thighs are encased in rough-hewn black breeches, tight, yet functional.

Steve’s eyes stray further up, despite his best efforts. 

The man wears a thick brown leather belt, layered with a silken red cloth and an even thinner black belt, this one scaled like a dragon, with a shiny gold buckle. It sits around his waist, atop an open black vest that accentuates his slim figure. His blouse beneath is a deep wine red, made from a gauzy looking material that clings to his skin. Steve imagines that if it were to get wet it would be absolutely sinful. The neck of it is rather plunging, too, exposing the man’s collarbones, and the corner of another tattoo on his chest. 

And there, above his heart and to the right, in the very center, hangs a pendant — some sort of serpentine creature with wings, gaudy and golden and absolutely eye-catching.

Steve feels a little hot under the collar, taking it all in. He has to look away.

The man makes an amused humming sort of noise. “Like what you see, sweetheart?” He drawls, flicking both eyebrows up at once. A lazy grin unfurls across his full lips, and he practically drapes himself over the rock behind him.

The position puts his whole body even further on display, in an entirely new way this time, and looking away is futile now. Steve’s eyes are heedlessly drawn back to it, raking over every inch. It feels… dangerous, to be looking this much, this long, but he can’t help it.

The man lifts a hand to examine his black varnished nails, an air of boredom to the action. His fingers are adorned with chunky silver rings that glint in the mid-afternoon sunlight. Casually, he pulls a dagger from its hiding place amongst the belts and uses the sharp tip to pick at one of his nails.

Idly, he starts to whistle — a low, warbling tune that has an almost menacing edge to it.

It, too, strikes a chord of remembrance in Steve, and he wracks his brain trying to think of where he’s heard it. And then it hits him.

“You’re a pirate!” He gasps out. It sounds scandalized, when he says it, though, really, he isn’t scandalized at all. He doesn’t find himself very afraid, either, though he knows he should be. Instead, he’s just intrigued.

The man snickers. “Very good, sweetheart,” he commends, tucking the dagger away again. He brushes his knuckles against his shirt. “What gave it away?”

Steve frowns. “What are you doing here? Where’s your ship?”

“What am I doing here?” The man repeats. Laughs this breezy little thing. “I’m meant to be taking you prisoner, actually,” he tells Steve.

“Take me— prisoner?” Steve repeats, shock coloring his tone. He doesn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that.

“Oh, yes,” the man replies, pushing himself off of the rock. He starts to circle Steve. “I’m meant to be snatching you up— well, that’s the interpretation of it, anyways. All they said was that I needed to deal with you, and, really, that’s so vague.”

He starts to circle Steve, slinking around him slowly, purposefully. His voice carries as he does. “Pirates are supposed to be unscrupulous, though, aren’t they? What with all the threatening and the stealing and the killing and the like. I figured it only makes sense that I take you.”

Steve has a million questions — like who the hell is they? And what do they want with him? And why did they send a pirate to do their dirty work?

Instead, what comes out is, “I guess that would make sense.”

He folds his arms over his chest, just for something to do with them, and then a thought surfaces to the forefront of his brain.

A crease forms between his eyebrows, and his lower lip pushes out into a contemplative pout as he mulls it over. “But what if—” he starts. Pauses. Cuts himself off like he won’t dare finish the thought.

Only it’s too enticing, too tempting not to. 

“What if you didn’t take me?”

The man comes to a stop right in front of Steve. He’s close, much closer than anyone would normally be comfortable with, but Steve doesn’t care. If anything, he has to refrain from curling his fingers into that necklace and using it to leverage him even closer.

Steve looks into the man’s dark eyes. Big, endless, easy to lose himself to. But he doesn’t. He meets them head on, unwavering with his gaze, as if he’s challenging him.

“Sweetheart,” the man starts, dripping with condescension. He raises a hand and flattens it against the rock behind Steve, boxing him in. Another wry chuckle tumbles past his lips. “I don’t think you get it,” he says. “I have an order. I need to follow it.”

Steve just his chin up, defiant. “I don’t think you get it,” he returns, poking the man in the chest, much to his astonishment.

“What if you didn’t take me,” Steve repeats slowly, putting emphasis on his meaning. “But what if I… went with you anyways?”

It takes a moment for the words to properly sink in, but when they do, a slow spreading surprise settles over the man’s face. “Oh,” he says, sounding pleased. His lips curl back into a grin that bares his teeth. “How rebellious of you,” he tuts.

“You say rebellious, I say free-thinking,” Steve replies, brushing him off.

The man’s smirk grows, but he doesn’t accept the proposition. Not yet. Instead, he watches Steve carefully, like he expects his bravado to fall away any second now and for Steve to renege. 

But Steve holds his ground. He’s not taking it back. He’s not chickening out. In fact, he’s never been more sure of anything in his life.

He’s going to go with this man.

Finally, the man relents. “If that’s what you want,” he says.

“It is,” Steve replies, without hesitation.

The man gives a firm nod, and without another word, he turns on his heel and starts to briskly walk away.

Steve scrambles to follow him, out through the opening of the rocks and across the open courtyard that leads towards the port. He glances behind him every so often to make sure that he hasn’t been spotted or followed by any of the partygoers. By any of his family. 

But each time he looks, there’s no one.

He doesn’t know whether to be disappointed or thrilled by that.

The further he gets from the party, though, the easier it gets to breathe. Like the noose around his neck loosens with each step. That almost makes him want to laugh, considering his choice here would earn him a real one, permanently.

Ships line the port, when they finally make it to the water’s edge. Great big ones, with hulking hulls and dozens of ballooning sails. There are at least four, anchored in the bay, but none of them stick out to Steve as a pirate ship. Not that Steve’s ever actually seen a pirate ship before. He’s only heard tales. Still, he expected that they’d be distinct.

The man approaches one of the ships, and he doesn’t hesitate before tromping up the shoddy wooden gangway and stepping foot onto the polished deck. His hands slide onto his hips and he casts a wide glance around. He takes in a deep breath, then lets it out slowly, his whole body relaxing as he does. Like he’s finally home.

He turns then, back towards Steve and offers out his hand.

Steve looks down at it, then back up at the man.

“I’m Steve,” he says, taking it. The man’s palm is rough against Steve’s, but it’s warm too. It feels nice.

The man laughs. “I know,” he says. “And I’m—”

It’s then that Steve notices it. It’s subtle, in the sense that it’s just the one detail. But that detail itself is anything but. Just past the man’s head, right in the center of the biggest sail, a red devil. Pointed horns protruding from its skull, wicked yellow eyes, razor sharp teeth. 

It is unmistakable.

“You’re Eddie Munson,” Steve says, recognition finally hitting. And, jesus christ, he feels so stupid for not realizing sooner. The most notorious pirate in all of the seven seas — how could he have forgotten?

“That I am,” Eddie muses. Then he uses his grip on Steve’s hand to pull him the rest of the way onboard.

It tightens, and he doesn’t let go right away, like maybe he thinks Steve will try and make a run for it now that he knows who he is. 

But Steve doesn’t. He stands his ground, holds Eddie’s gaze steady.

Something zings up Steve’s spine as Eddie’s big eyes bore back into his own, and he thinks briefly to himself that whatever he’s gotten himself into here, it’s going to be well worth it. He’s in for the adventure of a lifetime here.

Eddie drops his hand then, and a slow grin, just as devilish as his flag unfurls across his pretty lips. He flourishes one of his own hands out around him.

“Steve Harrington,” he practically purrs. “Welcome to Hellfire.”

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #mack writes #macks ficlets #so i wrote this instead of working on any of the fics i actually should be working on rn lol #i listened to voulez vous by abba and my brain went pirates and well. here we are. #funny story also bc a good chunk of the first half of this actually came from something i was going to write for a totally different fandom #but never ended up writing so it just sat collecting dust until today! #10 bucks if you can guess the fandom (and no it is not ofmd or any other actual genuine pirate fandom lol)

[sailing-through-hawkins]

inspired by this anon ask given to @steddieas-shegoes because i'm ALWAYS down for lovestruck not-exactly-human-anymore eddie (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ) it's not perfectly written to the prompt with the demon-ness and swaying around the kitchen but it was fun to write!!!

To become more, you must sacrifice that which holds you back.

The things that limit you.

The people.

Henry had become more. He left ashes behind his every footfall and, in turn, became the god that he is, the god he was always meant to be.

Humanity does not share this fate, he is sure. Eleven had proved that even those who have only potential will always bend to the confines of their limitations.

They must have the will to break free of the cage.

The ambition.

Henry walks along, his creatures making way for his path. They shiver and keep their distance, in awe of his control, his power. He almost smiles.

In front of him lies a body, void of life, of purpose.

Perhaps, he thinks as he raises a hand, perhaps he can give it purpose.

Perhaps those who have potential just need his aid to find the will for it.

It takes time, too much time, too much of humanity has tainted this one, but his new creature finally rises.

It stares up at him, loyal and keen. More readable than his other creatures, more cunning, more like him.

Yes, this realm's god has made it in his perfect image.

Stronger, faster, sharper. More powerful than what was, it is perfect.

And even more perfect as he hears the distant shrieks of his creatures. Someone is slaughtering them, attempting to destroy his vision.

Attempting to ruin the world's evolution.

He watches through the eyes of the lone survivor, flying high above the carnage, sees a young, grimy boy, swing a weapon into the neck of his beautiful creatures with a snarl on his face.

The violence of humanity disgusts him.

The boy drops the weapon, running towards another, a girl on the ground. She is weak and will die soon enough, he is sure.

"Robin, Robin, are you - shit, shit, shit, that's blood -"

"Steve, it hurts so fucking bad, I - I'm - oh my god, it hurts -"

"It's okay, c'mere, I got you, it's gonna be okay -"

"Go," he says to his creature, turning his nose when it tilts his head. Still too much humanity. Perhaps not as perfect as himself. "Find the boy. Steve. Ensure he does not get another chance to delay us."

His creature knows what he saw, had seen it with him. It bows its head and begins its flight to the other world.

"Soon," he says, staring up at the thundering skies with an almost-smile. "Soon, it will all burn. Ready...to be reborn."

"No, no, stop, please -"

Steve laughs as Eddie blows raspberries into his neck, long and keen tail wrapped around his wrist.

Eddie sits on the counter, arms wrapped around Steve's neck as he pulls him further into the space between his legs, poking a cold nose into the skin where his neck meets his shoulder.

"Come on, you've proven your point," Steve tries squirming away but the tip of Eddie's tail just swoops in under his shirt to softly tickle his sides, where the bite wounds are still sensitive, and he can't stop the burst of laughter pealing out of him. "Eddie!"

"The demon lord requires more, a much greater sacrifice," Eddie says dramatically into Steve's neck, arms tightening around his neck. Eddie inhales and yells, "It's your pride!"

With a squeal, Steve muffles his laughs into Eddie's shoulders as Eddie tickles him even harder. "Okay, okay, I give, I give," Steve manages to say between his bouts of giggles. "I give, you win, oh Great Demon King."

"That's Mr. Great Demon King to you," Eddie sniffs as he loosens his grip on Steve and hops down the kitchen counter. Brushing off imaginary dust, because Steve and Robin keep this place clean as fuck (mostly Steve since Robin almost got her leg chewed off that one time, but she makes up for it by yelling directions at him), he turns around and pretends to walk away very slowly.

"C'mere," Steve grabs his hand and spins him around, leaning back against the counter with Eddie in his arms. The fake snooty expression on his face melts away when Steve curls a lock of hair behind his pointed ear, cupping Eddie's jawline gently. His thumb strokes his cheek, gliding over the stretched, scarred skin. "Hey."

Eddie's eyes, brown and red and like there's a whole world inside them, soften and he bumps their foreheads together as the purr in his chest starts up. "Hey yourself, handsome."

He's been really cold ever since he came back but he doesn't seem to care much. Steve cares a lot, maybe more than he needs to, and always tries to keep him as warm as possible with sweaters, blankets, whatever works. In this moment though, where Eddie's pressed against him, the kitchen lights making a golden light behind him like some kinda halo (the irony makes him grin), his horns like little upside down vampire teeth. Maybe there was something to the vampire theory, he thinks as he ruffles the curls at the back of Eddie's neck.

"Steve," Eddie sighs, his eyes closing as he smiles goofily, fangs poking into his bottom lip and wings fluttering.

"Yeah?" Steve smiles, pressing a gentle kiss to Eddie's cheek.

"Just wan'ed to say it." Eddie nuzzles into Steve's cheek with the mumble, sighing again when Steve wraps his arms around Eddie's waist, his tail winding up the sleeve of Steve's shirt. "Like sayin' yer name."

Something bubbles up in Steve's chest and he giggles to let it out, the warmth and sweet affection pouring out of him. "Yeah? I like saying yours too."

"Then say it," Eddie's head quickly shoots up and he stares at Steve, the tip of his tail flickering back-and-forth on Steve's forearm the way Tews' does whenever Dustin swings a toy in front of her face. His pupils are massive, way bigger than any human's should be, and it makes his eyes look even bigger. "C'mon, say it."

Steve hums, tilting his head one way, then the other, laughing when Eddie huffs and pouts at him. He leans in closer, pressing a kiss to his nose, and says softly, "Eddie."

The gust of wind that Eddie's wing-flapping causes is so strong it makes the entrance door slam against the wall and makes Steve jump, but he just laughs when Eddie's wings stretch up and around them both awkwardly in apology.

"Think it's time for dinner, angel," Steve whispers into the tiny space between them.

"Call me angel one more time," Eddie whispers back with a glint in his eye. "And I'll show you exactly how unholy I can be."

"Whatever you say," Steve grins and boops Eddie's nose. "Angel."

"That's it!" Eddie hunches down and lifts Steve over his shoulder, bouncing his way around the kitchen. "The Great Demon King has declared no dinner for defiant knights!"

Steve laughs and shoves at the wings crowding over his head, "What if I used true love's kiss to appeal to the judge?"

The bouncing pauses and Steve blinks when he finds himself right in front of Eddie again, his limbs bound by Eddie's tail and hands. Eddie squints at him and sniffs, the snooty expression snobbier than ever. "The Great Demon King rejects your offer and demands five true love's kiss in repentance."

Rolling his eyes, Steve pecks the corner of Eddie's mouth, grinning when the tip of his tail wags back-and-forth again. "Well, when you put it like that, how could I say no?"

#sailor✧writes #steddie #au content: kas!eddie #writing #ficlet #kas!eddie #kind of #did i really spend half an hour making my own text divider for this post yeah i did and it's so fun to look at i love it #also henry was wrong about robin btw she didn't die he just overestimates how fragile people are #he's also got a massive god complex the upside down creatures weren't worshipping them they're scared of him #one day i'm gonna write a kas fic where all the upside down creatures band together and get rid of him i think it's what they deserve

[s-horne]

There was a time when Tony had panicked about his future. 

He’d had Peter young, just a couple of years into a crappy relationship that had fallen apart long before their bundle of joy had come and couldn’t be fixed even by Peter’s cherubic smile. From the very first moment, Tony had loved his boy. There hadn’t been a moment that Tony had regretted the relationship that had led him to his son, or ever wished that things had turned out differently. Not when Peter had had a phase as a baby of not sleeping through the night if the temperature wasn’t exactly 78 degrees, not when he’d learnt to talk and hadn’t exited his “why” phase for weeks on end, not even during the long weekend when Peter had caught pretty much every bug floating around his daycare all at once. 

Parenthood was where Tony thrived but, through it all, he’d lain awake at night and longed for someone next to him that wasn’t 2 feet tall and not quite potty trained. He’d wanted a conversation with another adult that wasn’t hurried at the drop-off gate or about yet another late project at work, and he’d wanted an arm around his waist when he was dangerously close to falling asleep whilst making himself his first coffee of the day. 

Everything he wanted for himself, he also wanted for Peter’s sake. He’d wanted someone else to see Peter’s drawings and marvel over them as they went up on the fridge day after day after day. He’d wished for presents from a grandparent at Christmas and another parent who could calm them both down when Peter refused to sleep even as the sun started to rise on the horizon. 

Tony had spent years worrying that no one would take on a small child with an absent parent who could come back and cause a storm at any time. He’d never expected anything to come from a one-night stand when the lights had been turned on in the morning and all of Peter’s toys could be seen in their scattered glory. 

But, then again, Tony had never imagined Steven Grant Rogers. 

.

They’d decided early into their planning that they didn’t want to do a walk down the aisle. Neither of Tony’s parents would be there to walk with him and Sarah had gotten so tearful at the prospect of their engagement alone that they didn’t trust her to be able to see to walk down the aisle on the wedding day itself. 

What they had decided instead was to have Peter as the star of the show, with the rings safely in his possession as he walked down the aisle to both of his parents waiting for him at the altar. 

And, boy, did he steal the show. 

Tony watched with a wide grin as Peter all but skipped up the aisle, his tuxedo so little it was almost comical. Casting a glance to his left, Tony felt something ridiculously fond catch in his chest at the pure and unabashed expression of love on Steve’s face as his eyes tracked Peter’s dance. 

“God, look at him,” Steve murmured.

“He’s gonna drop those rings before we can get them,” Tony laughed. 

“Yeah, probably. But he looks cute, so I’m sure we’ll survive without them.”

Tony scoffed. Be that as it may, he wanted a ring on his finger.

All of a sudden, Peter let out a gasp and started running. “Grandma!”

A ripple of laughter made its way through the guests as Peter headed straight for Steve’s mother. 

“Oh, look at you, my darling,” Sarah crooned, bending down and smoothing a hand over Peter’s hair when he reached her. “You look so gorgeous, little man."

"Hi, Grandma!"

"Hello, my love," Sarah laughed.

"Wanna sit with you!"

"Of course, but first you have to give Daddy the rings. They're very important.”

Peter took Sarah’s hand in a tight grip and practically shoved the ring cushion in Tony’s direction without looking at him. Steve laughed loudly, his eyes still solely on Peter as well.

Tony might have been jealous if he hadn’t been so relieved. So, yeah, he thought to himself as he untied the rings from the cushion and handed them to the officiant, he really needn’t have worried after all. 

#i wrote a thing #well #i wrote half a thing #stony fic #stony ficlet #stony au #stevetony fic #stevetony ficlet #steve x tony #peter parker stark #peter stark rogers #sarah rogers #superfamily fic

[raayllum]

au where finnegrin's bluffing

"No, no wait!"

The words rush out of him like water, quick and anguished, mind racing. He read the spell just once, not wanting to pay any more mind to what had been used to avenge his mother, but it'd still been burned into his brain.

"A dying breath!" he bursts, chest threatening to cave in. If Finnegrin would just turn around then—"Blood filled with hatred, and a-a unicorn horn."

Guilt and relief wage war as the captain turns to face him; the bruises on his face, the ache from the electrocution seem to hurt twice as much. Withstanding all that harm and for what? For—for Rayla, though she'd loathe it. But he can't—he can't—

Callum can't meet the pirate's eye as he swallows, admitting, "That's the dark magic you want. Just..." His chest is so tight it's hard to breathe. He manages to raise his head. It'll be worth it if Finnegrin will just—"Just let her go." His voice creaks, cracks. He's begging and they both know it.

The captain pauses, then ponders, and then grins. Then he starts to laugh, hearty and cruel.

Callum glares at him, trying to put the pieces together. He pulls at his chains. He doesn't understand, but—"What are you waiting for?" he demands. He wants to punch the man all over again, to beat him senseless and—"Tell them to let her go!"

Finnegrin wipes a tear of mirth from his eyes and then bends down, grinning. "Oh, m'boy. So gullible. Your precious elf girl was never really in any true danger."

Staring, Callum keeps struggling, but less so. The snake rattle slips down from his sleeve and into his palm for reasons he can't (or doesn't want to) explain. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, do you see her tied up?"

"No, but—"

"Can you hear her screaming?"

His ears strain. One of Finnegrin's windows is cracked open just enough to hear the constant knocking of the waves. He still wants to punch that smug sneer from just the thought of Rayla screaming off Finnegrin's stupid face. "Well no, but—"

Finnegrin sets down Bait's cage. "You were so composed overall, you know—barely even screamed. Then you saw her in pain, and well, we've discussed your little display already haven't we? Unchained and you could've taken me down easily with a spell, but no. Just nothing but pure, raw, emotion." He hefts an overdramatic sigh. "Young love, I suppose. You didn't seem to think when it came to her, and I wanted to test if that was true. If you'd give me what I wanted after all." Finnegrin adjusts his cuffs, his smirk growing. "Thought I'd try a pirate's bluff. Worked out quite nicely, wouldn't you say?"

Callum's mind is still racing, heart beating loudly in his ears as his feelings try to catch up to his mind. "Wait, so she's—"

"Safely in the brig with the rest of your little friends. For now. But if you disrespect me again, boy, we'll see just how far I have to press that on weakness to get you to cooperate. I expect you'll have an idea or two of how to track down a unicorn, won't you, once we get back to Scumport?"

Callum glowers at him, eyes burning as Finnegrin whistles while he leaves, the door thudding shut behind him.

The mage runs his thumb over the groove in the snake's rattle tail, debating.

How does he know doing dark magic a second time won't unleash Aaravos? How does he know he could make it to the others, find the others, even if he did free himself? How would they get off the ship with a storm rolling in, rain and wind lashing at the windows? A bit of water seeps onto the floor.

Callum tucks the rattle back into his sleeve.

For later, once he has the answer to his questions—because he will not let Finnegrin hurt Rayla just to get to him.

Not again.

#rayllum #canon divergence #5x08 #s5 #arc 2 #tdp #the dragon prince #AU #ficlet #my fic #a thousand times which isn't half enough #so i'll do you a favour and set you free #snake boi callum

[cheriboms]

doctober day 23: nostalgia

fact: doc has a saxophone in his garage in both 1955 and 1985, with seemingly no ties to his scientific pursuits. hypothesis: theres some sentimental reason, maybe he played (plays?) it as a hobby since and/or prior to 1955...? conclusion: they def had at least one jam session

[[ proof of my claims >:0 ]]

#back to the future #bttf #marty mcfly #einstein brown #doc brown #emmett brown #doctober #doctober 2023 #christopher lloyd #michael j fox #my arts #my sketchy wip arts #i had like half a ficlet typed up for this instead of a drawing but then i realized itd be very out of place for my content so far #so i had to start over. hence lateness even tho this is very simple overall >_<; #maybe if i ever do a proper fic ill just put that scene in lol. i kinda dont want it to go to waste ehh :P #anyway i know they bonded about an interest in music. pry it from my cold dead heads #tbf doc has a jukebox and obvs the amp in 85 which could be more evidence but also u could argue those were put in specifically for marty #HOWEVER there is no debate abt the sax. WHY would 55 doc have (and keep??) that for 30 years unless he had some sort of attachment to it !! #ive connected the dots !!! (you havent connected sht) IVE CONNECTED THEM !!!!! #i personally think he got it in his pre jules verne era. ie before he got into science and was just kinda figuring out what he wanted to do #bby doc like 'uh idk music??' n his mom like 'ok sweetie which one do u want' and obvs he has to pick the quirkiest one in the store. king #so hence why i categorize this under the 'nostalgia' prompt. its like a childhood hobby that he revisits thanks to his musical teenager <3 #but thats all just my theory so uhh yeah ;w; #also every time i listen to 'back in time' this image manifests in my head. it literally has guitar and sax so like. its them. TO ME #also also i hate drawing instruments BYEEE. like youd think after being in 2 other music heavy fandoms id know how but. u would be wrong

[nburkhardt]

SAW THIS ON TWITTER AND IMMEDIATELY THOUGHT OF STEDDIE!!!! IMAGINE WITH ME:

Eddie walking into the pandora store not really thinking of buying anything, just wanting to get ideas…maybe. He and Steve aren’t quite ready for anything that serious. But someday, yeah definitely someday. He can tell the ones working are eyeing him, most likely due to his clothes. But he doesn’t bother them, too busy looking at the rings so obviously meant for guys. All of them too boring and none screaming at him. Too formal, too plain. It’s as he’s walking out of the store that it catches his eye, he stops dead. Moving towards the glass. They’re sitting next to each other in the same box. They’re perfect, it’s everything; It’s Steve, it’s them. It’s making his heart beat faster. He can see it right now, sees Steve wearing one half and him with the matching.

Someday, he’ll hold the box out to Steve. He’ll slide one onto his finger, kiss him and pulls the other half for Steve to slide on his finger. They’ll be dorks, hold hands to see the rings close.

Until then, he’ll keep the box close and wait for the day he can ask the question; “Will you marry me, Steve Harrington?”

Permanent Tag list under the read more

@spectrum-spectre @itsfreakingbats @mysticcrownshipper @artiststarme @thereindeerlady @justforthedead89 @ronniescontinuum @freyaforestafay @littlewildflowerkitten @estrellami-1 @gregre369 @zerokrox-blog @bookworm0690 @flustratedcas

(If you would like to be added let me know!)

#Eddie Munson is a sap #I didn’t mention it but I see Steve wearing the moon half and Eddie has the sun #steve is also a sap and for their frost anniversary buys a matching necklace for Eddie #I also think they’d get matching tattoos 😌 #steddie #Steve x eddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #nburkhardt writes #stranger things fic #steddie hc #steve harrington x eddie munson #Eddie Munson fic

[ninyard]

If there is nobody left on this planet writing about the night Kevin Day had his hand broken, then I am dead

#I would say I have written about him absolutely suffering that night at least half a dozen times in different fics and ficlets #suffer babygirl! suffer! #if there is nobody writing about Kevin day with blood on his clothes and spit and tears all over his face then #I have left this planet #Kevin day

[loserdiaz]

"i don't remember how she smelt." chris says on one of their visits to shannon's grave. it's her birthday and eddie brought some flowers and they're sitting on the grass, just talking to her as if she were there.

"what do you mean?"

"i remember i really liked her perfume." chris whispers, looking down. his fingers are playing with the grass and he sounds— sad, nostalgic. eddie wishes he could take all of his pain away, but knows he can't. "but i tried to think about it the other day and i— i don't remember how she used to smell."

chris sniffles and eddie moves closer to him, resting an arm over his son's shoulders. "well, kiddo, i do. you mind if i tell you about her?"

"i would really like that."

"when we started dating, i bought this perfume her on a second hand store." eddie smiles, small and barely there. "i was just a kid, you know? i didn't have that much money and my parents wouldn't give me more for a present for her. so, i took all of my savings— which weren't a lot at the time— and bought her some cheap perfume, and her favorite chocolates." eddie gets a little lost in the memory.

"i thought she would be mad at me. the gifts weren't much, definitely less than she deserved— but somehow she loved them. she wouldn't stop using the perfume i bought, even when her mom gave her a way better and fancier one." eddie chuckles wetly, realising some time during his story he started crying. "and when i got it at the store, it smelt fine i guess... but your mom? on her, it smelt like—" he hesitates and thinks about it. "i guess it smelt the same but just because it was her it was better, does that make sense?"

"not really but i think i know what you mean." chris looks up at him. "that was her perfume."

"yeah, she never stopped using it." eddie grins. "it was floral and freshy, it reminded me of summers in texas, to be honest."

"do you miss her?" chris asks.

eddie hesitates once again— his marriage wouldn't have lasted and he was angry at her for a long time.

but.

"yeah, i miss her." eddie replies honestly. "i can't tell you if we would still be together but— she was my friend and i miss that."

a breeze passes by them and eddie doesn't believe in that kind of stuff but it almost feels like shannon letting them know she missed them too.

"we're gonna be okay, kid." chris murmurs and eddie kisses the top of his head.

"yeah, mijo. we're gonna be okay."

#idk what this is #half me dealing with my own grief half me being in my diaz family feels #eddie diaz #christopher diaz #diaz family #the diaz family #911 on fox #911onabc #911 fic #911 ficlet #my writing #april writes

[tanoraqui]

(AO3)

There are no books banned from the Great Library of Tirion. There are, however, books which are generally agreed to be dangerous to read. There is a section for them, officially called “Unadvised” and informally called “Cursed Knowledge”, “Shelves of Spiders”, and “the Things The Valar Don’t Want You To Know section.”

There are no spiders in it, Dark or natural; the library staff are careful of that. There are many tomes, scrolls, and other writings which are literally cursed.

There is a slim, perfectly natural volume bound in pale grey leather like any other publication from the Metaphysical Studies department of Tirion University. It is notable only in its contents, described by its title:

The Craft of Necromancy

A study of the manipulation of fëa in life, death, the terrible neither and the tormenting both.

A note from the single author on the fourth page, after the title page and publication information, reads,

On sources and citations in this volume:

This is, I must confess, an unusual study. For one thing, while I wrote it for classic philosophical principle, that knowledge closely held ought be shared instead, I also wrote it for the relief of that sharing, as advised by acquaintances wise and well-versed in healing. To my loving advisors: I was perfectly fine before, but I do feel even better now. I’m glad you’re satisfied.

I do not believe this affects the rigor of the discussion herein. I only share it because context is always part of knowledge that ought be shared, to maximize understanding.

More relevant to the question of academic rigor is: where possible, I have included standard citations of other works on the topic, academic, biographical, and other. However, most of my knowledge on this topic was gained firsthand, either through personal experience, tutelage, or both (demonstrations upon my person, patiently explained before, during and after), and I can provide no verification save my own memory and the reputation of my primary tutor.

My memory has been confirmed to be clear by nurses of the Gardens of Lórien. My tutor has been known by many names, among them, Gorthaur, Lieutenant of Angband and Lord (and creator) of Werewolves; the Necromancer of Dol Guldur; the Lidless Eye; and Sauron the Deceiver.

Despite the last, I have perfect confidence that he was not lying to me anymore by the end. He enjoyed showing off too much for that.

With that in mind, I hope you will forgive my academic negligence in referring to him henceforth only as “a source.” It is a matter of not humoring his ego, even after his dissolution.

All that said, I have endeavored throughout this study to clearly distinguish not only between fact and theory, but between facts which I can verify through personal experience (eg, the trapping of a fëa within its hröa past the reasonable point of death), facts which were expounded upon to me at length but which I cannot confirm beyond my certainty of the source’s genuinity in his intentions to taunt and/or tempt me (eg, the warping of a fëa to suit a hroä other than that its natural own), and facts which were told to me, or to others of my association, in contexts of deception but which were later re-examined for truth (eg, on the binding of one fëa [or ëala] to another). As with any work, readers are encouraged to take the knowledge enclosed herein and make their own interpretations—though I do NOT advise practical experimentation with these matters.

This study should be taken as my final word on the matters therein. While I usually applaud curiosity and thoroughness in investigation, do not seek me out with questions.

Additionally: in light of the sober and sometimes disturbing contents of this study, I have been advised by my editor to reassure the reader (somewhat redundantly, I would argue) that I did, in fact, escape the captivity of my primary source, and I am thoroughly and happily recovered from the various torments, betrayals, etc. inflicted upon my person. My source (and tutor, creative collaborator, friend…) is confirmed to be, at the time of this publication, reduced to a scrap of a shadow soon to fade utterly from the world that is, thanks in large parts to the efforts of others. For accounts of those heroes, I recommend “The War of the Ring: A Hobbit’s Very Extended Journey There and Back Again”, B. Baggins, F. Baggins; “Nine-Fingered Frodo and the Ring of Doom”, trans. B. Baggins; and “Garden Plants of the Western Shire”, S. Gamgee.

I recommend the last particular for aspiring gardeners. My floral and herbal window-boxes are all flourishing with the advice of Mr. Gamgee.

Yours in scholarship,

Celebrimbor Curufinwë

The volume is about 100 pages, mostly text with a handful of illustrative drawings scattered among the chapters. In the space in the back pages reserved for commentary from early readers, there is only one comment:

Concerningly accurate throughout.

– Aulë

#the silmarillion #second age shenaniganry #aman ever after #celebrimbor #for emotional presence I should also tag #annatar #sauron #my fic #ficlet #I JUST THINK CELEBRIMBOR SHOULD GET SOMETHING FROM THAT WHOLE EXPERIENCE #AND WHAT HE SHOULD GET IS FURTHER ENHANCEMENT OF HIS ABILITY TO BE A SUPERVILLAIN #NOW VIA EXTENSIVE (UNPRACTICED) KNOWLEDGE OF HOW TO DO NECROMANCY #listen look me in the eye and tell me half the torture wasn’t just the ongoing villain monologue #that was half parody of the teaching and intimacy they’d once had #and half promise that they could have it again if only Celebrimbor stopped being so UNREASONABLY stubborn