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virgilsjourney · 2 years

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Summary: Patton bites his lip. “It was nothing,” he says, as if without really thinking about it, then adds, “well, not nothing, but… just had a fight with my mom.” Before Logan can even think of a reply, Patton rushes to correct himself again: “Not like, not a big deal, but…”

Anything’s a big deal if it upsets you, Logan thinks.

Tags: Ficlet, College/Uni AU, POV Logan, Character Study, Hurt/Comfort, Sharing a Bed, Late Night Conversations, Hopeful Ending

Content warning: allusions to grief & depression; mixed feelings about a parent

Relationship focus: Logan/Patton (pre-relationship)

_____________

The first thing that makes Logan pause is Patton’s voice, subdued and abrupt: “Mom, I have to go.” He has never heard Patton be so short, especially not with his parents.

Sat at his desk, Logan stops working on his assignment, setting aside his pen to instead listen for more conversation from the other side of the wall. For a few seconds, there’s silence, but then he hears a creak, a thump, and a muffled, “For fuck’s sake.”

A mixture of surprised and concerned, Logan quickly goes to Patton’s closed bedroom door and knocks.

“Are you… okay?”

“Yeah,” Patton calls brightly—and Logan is perturbed to discover that the only reason it isn’t convincing is because of what he’s just heard.

“Can I…” He trails off again in consideration. “Can I come in?”

One moment. Two. Logan steps backwards; perhaps he shouldn’t have—

From behind the door, there’s a little sigh. “Yeah, sure.”

When Logan steps into the room, he can immediately deduce one of the problems: it’s freezing; the window has been blown wide open during the ongoing storm, meaning that the rain is being swept inside with some ferocity.

Patton is sweeping things off his desk, protecting them from getting wet. “I think I’ve broken the window,” he says, keeping his head down. He adds, a little bitterly, “Stupid me.”

Logan frowns. “I doubt you’re at fault.” He looks at the frame, assessing it, even though he’s certain that Patton’s reaction is not down to the window alone. “I can have a look…”

He sticks his head outside and tries to reach the handle. He stretches his arm out as far as he can. The rain is frigid, trickling down his hair and neck; blinking through rapidly obscuring vision, he can make out that a part of the hinges seems to have snapped—they hardly look like the sturdiest of things. When he jiggles the handle, it feels unreassuringly slack: he suspects that it might break off entirely if he fiddles with it anymore.

He lets go and moves back inside. “I don’t think it’s anything you’ve done,” he says. “It looks like it was going to happen anyway, and the wind just—”

“You—you didn’t need to do that!” Patton splutters. He gestures to Logan’s face and hair, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “Let me get you a towel.”

“Oh, it’s fine.” Logan is already cleaning off his rain-spattered glasses on his pyjama shirt—besides, he thinks, whatever temporary discomfort the rain brought was worthwhile if it resulted in Patton smiling. “Although, towels in general might be an idea…”

They collect a small bundle of spare towels to cover the desk. A brief search in the living room reveals a discarded, broken blackout blind that once belonged to Virgil; Logan props it up as best he can in front of the window frame and finds that it makes an adequate shield from the rain.

“Gosh, that’s so much better,” Patton says, clearly relieved. “Thank you so much, Logan.”

“It’s not a problem,” Logan says.

Patton sits down the bed. His arms are already sporting goosebumps.

Logan frowns again. “You can’t sleep in here, it’s too cold.”

As if to prove his point, the wind howls, the blackout blind rattling in response.

Patton shivers, then shrugs. “I’ve—there’s some extra blankets in the—”

Simultaneously, Logan says, “You can sleep in my room, if you’d like.”

Patton opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. “I—yeah, if that’s—as long as that’s—”

“Yes,” Logan says, patiently but firmly. He nods in the direction of his room and Patton stands to follow him.

After brushing his teeth, Logan returns to his room to find Patton already in bed. He’s lying down stiffly, tense, and Logan is thankful to know that it’s not due to being uncomfortable with the current situation: while they’ve not actually slept in the same bed before, they’ve had similar sleeping arrangements in the living room after movie nights and such.

“Mom, I have to go.”

He’d hoped that being removed from the location of the… occurrence—whatever it was—would have been enough to distract Patton so that he could get some rest.

Logan settles into his side of the bed and reaches for his bedside lamp before pausing.

“Is it all right if I put the lamp on to read? Only for ten minutes or so.”

Patton nods, uncharacteristically silent. His eyes are closed, one hand gripping a corner of his pillow tightly.

Logan hesitates in switching on the lamp. “If it’ll keep you awake, I won’t—”

“No, it’s fine,” Patton murmurs.

There’s a little click as the lamp is turned on. Logan reaches over again to pick out a book, but when he begins to read, he hardly takes in a single sentence. He turns the pages on automatic pilot.

Maybe it’s that: the background noise of pages being turned, the fact that it’s not completely silent, that prompts Patton to speak again.

“Did you—um, hear my phone call?”

Logan puts his book down. “Just the end of it,” he answers.

Patton bites his lip. “It was nothing,” he says, as if without really thinking about it, then adds, “well, not nothing, but… just had a fight with my mom.” Before Logan can even think of a reply, Patton rushes to correct himself again: “Not like, not a big deal, but…”

Anything’s a big deal if it upsets you, Logan thinks.

“She threw out some of my—like, it was really old, just a bunch of junk, but…”

“They were your things,” Logan says softly. “She shouldn’t have done that, not without asking you.”

Patton swallows, makes a vague noise—and Logan doesn’t know if it’s assent or disagreement. It somehow sounds like both.

“She…” Patton’s brow creases. “It’s just hard for her, this time of year, I mean, the seasons changing, and… She… she needs—distraction, you know? …Her dad died, around about now, I think, I…” He sighs in self-directed frustration. “I can’t remember the exact date. She never talks about it.”

His hold on the pillow tightens even more.

Logan lies on his side to face Patton, leaning on his elbow. Technically, the bed is big enough to ensure that neither of them would need to touch at all. Logan knows this.

He reaches out and brushes one finger over Patton’s knuckles until his grip relaxes.

Patton sighs again, now more of a thoughtful sound. “I was just a little kid, so I wasn’t, um, I didn’t really know what was going on, but I…” And now Logan suspects that Patton’s eyes are not closed from fatigue; but perhaps because things are easier to admit when he’s not looking at anyone. “I could feel it.”

“I’m sorry,” Logan says.

Patton laughs sadly. “It’s okay. It—it must have been so hard for her.”

“For both of you,” Logan adds gently.

Another laugh. Harsher. “What did I have to worry about? She spent so much time just—having to—to shield me from…” His voice falters. He continues, quieter than Logan’s ever heard him: “I don’t think she could ever bear to… to see me unhappy. Does—does that make sense? Because if she ever did, then she’d think she… failed. So, I…” A whisper: “I have to just…”

Logan stares. He has a wild, irrational thought to somehow invent time travel, simply so Patton could be told: you don’t have to; you never have to...

Instead, he exhales, long and slow, then says, “Patton, that’s not your job.”

“I know,” Patton says quickly, but it doesn’t sound like he knows at all. “And I know I can’t—we can’t get along all the time, that’s impossible, but whenever I’m… I just. I just feel weird.”

Logan thinks that Patton says ‘weird’ like he actually means ‘wrong’; like if he ever let go, feelings spilling out like ink on paper, someone would put a red line straight through them, brand them as inappropriate.

Logan reaches out once more and briefly squeezes Patton’s hand. It’s shaking.

“That’s not weird,” he says with conviction. “You’re not weird. Patton, you’re—you’re one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. But you can’t… you have to be kind to yourself, too. Okay?” He pauses, chooses his next words very carefully, praying that they’ll be the right ones. “You don’t have to pretend. Especially not with me.”

Silence.

Patton opens his eyes. He’s crying.

Alarm jolts in Logan’s stomach. “I’m sorry,” he says hurriedly.

But Patton is shaking his head, over and over. His hand draws back to swipe underneath his eyes, and he laughs, teary yet smiling. “No, you don’t have to—I think I just—” His voice cracks. He sniffs, takes a few shaky breaths. “I think I really needed to hear that. Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me for that,” Logan says.

Patton smiles in acknowledgement. Then, he looks off to the side in thought and nods to himself; and Logan can see the moment something shifts inside his mind. “I’ll call her… tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Logan echoes.

There’s a long moment where Patton just looks at him, and his breathing gradually slows into a calm, even rhythm. He blinks slowly. “I kept you from your book,” he says, words drifting into a mumble.

Logan raises an eyebrow with good humour. “I think I’ll live.”

“The light won’t bother me, promise,” Patton continues; Logan has to strain to hear him. “I’m too tired to…”

His eyes close again, but it’s different from before: there’s no longer any tension about him. He yawns, and Logan smiles; his heart aches with something soft, something protective.

Carefully, he gets hold of his book again. He doesn’t turn the lamp off until he’s certain that the sound of pages turning has lulled Patton to sleep.

#[spontaneously writes 1.6k out of sheer love <3]#sanders sides fic #logicality #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides college au #sanders sides uni au #ficlet series

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lilac--sugar · 1 year

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It is true that energy can only be transformed, not created, not destroyed. This energy from the dawn of time has always been destined to repeat itself. Always meant to be drawn to each other. No matter what. No matter when.

It started as the two colliding, creating whole galaxies.

It changed. It became more complex. As if creating stars and life itself were simple.

No, becoming a living thing, that was much harder.

The first time they meet, well, it isn’t ideal.

They can’t help it. No one gets to choose how they come into consciousness. This was just an unfortunate twist of fate.

He’s not yet got a name. Only knows he’s the leader of the pack. Broad, muscular, strong. The wolf is hunting. His snout to the forest floor, ears perked up, listening to the faintest of sounds. The rest of his pack in the flanks, waiting for his cue.

He sees a herd of deer in a clearing. Grazing, happily existing in the illusion of safety.

He’s so close, so very- snap! The breaking of a twig beneath his paw and the whole herd perks up, heads all turned in his direction.

Only, there’s one in particular. He’s not the largest buck, actually quite slender. The largest eyes the wolf had ever seen on a deer. Eyes that are looking straight at him. The gravity of them holding the wolf there, crouched to the ground.

The buck blows out hard from his snout, rears his head up and lets out a call to the rest of the herd. They all scatter, all but him. He stays behind, stares the wolf down.

The wolf remains frozen, but his pack have acted without him. Somehow, he can’t look. Somehow, this wolf can’t bring himself to eat.

At night he howls at the moon. Full and wide. Its beauty reminds him of eyes and he cries for their loss.

To read part two of the past lives series.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #ficlet #ficlet series #steve x eddie

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bentnotbroken1fanfiction · 2 years

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Can I just say that your Max killing Neil story is amazing and I look forward to further installments? Because WOW it was everything I needed and more. Thank you for writing it so well! 💕✨

Thank you so much for saying so!!! 🥰😘 I absolutely love this ficlet series and I'm always so excited when other people enjoy it. I def want to continue it too. It just has all my guilty pleasures...bamf Max, protective Billy&Max with sibling bonding, dad mode Hop, and dead Neil Hargrove. 🤌🏻

#billy hargrove #max mayfield #neil hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove #jim hopper #ficlet series #max kills neil

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aurorawritestoescape · 1 month

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LIKE IT’S THE LAST TIME || 900 words

Tw: 18+ minors dni, smut, unprotected piv, public, creampie, belly bulge, gun use.

Part two || Series masterlist

***

“Yeah… shit…yeah…like that.”

Joel’s low growling always turns you on more than any dirty talk ever could. His forehead is sweaty, teeth are mercilessly biting his lower lip as he’s trying not to blow his load into you just yet.

You’re riding his cock in a stuffy car, knees planted on the back seat to help him plunge his length deeper into your hot core. Only the condensation on the windows hides your indecent public behavior, doing a poor job at that as a few passers-by have already done a double take after glancing inside your car.

You don’t care. On days like this one you can’t let go of each other, lips kissing, tongues licking, hands grabbing one another like it’s your last time.

He playfully slaps your ass and you gasp, a little smile dancing on your heated face.

“’m I taking it good, Joel?”

The man hums, the sound muffled as he’s nuzzling a spot between your breasts. The scruff on his cheeks and chin is rubbing your sensitive skin but this little discomfort won’t stop you from chasing your ecstasy. Your pussy feels so good bouncing on his throbbing cock.

Joel moans through the gritted teeth and pride blooms in your heart when this big dangerous man forgets how to speak, forgets about everything, completely lost in the sensations your body is giving him.

You keep riding his length, slowing down and then picking up the pace again. Your hips are tilted back, as his steel member deliciously slides against your soft spot.

His hands spread your ass cheeks, and you feel cold air right at your hole as your slick collects at the base of his shaft. You’re so wet, your juices must be already sliding down his balls.

Joel’s plush lips form an ‘o’ shape, eyes flutter shut and he tilts his head back against the headrest.

“No, no, too soon… need more, Joel, c’mon”, you mumble hastily, taking his face in your hands and kissing him. You slow down trying to prolong the pleasure for the both of you. ‘Will I ever feel him like this again?’

A familiar thorn of fear pangs your heart but you drive it away caressing his lips with yours while you’re holding his face between your shaky palms. You blink your eyes open, so close to him everything is blurry in your gaze but you still take mental pictures of his freckles, his long lashes, his expression, so vulnerable and honest.

You store them deep inside you. For later. In case your luck fails you.

“Lean back, baby… yeah, good girl,” Joel murmurs as his hands push you back making you sit straight on his lap. His head drops down and he watches his cock disappear inside your glistening pussy.

“Fuck,” he growls, fingers digging into your thighs, “d’ya feel my cock? Shit, here it is,” he marvels, pressing his palm to a lump in your lower belly.

“Yeah, you’re so big, Joel,” you whine watching the bulge move up and down under your skin with every rise and fall of your hips.

His fingers find your clit and he rubs it fast with a perfect pressure and then begins vigorously thrusting up into your stretched pussy. Your whimpers turn into a constant whine when his fat tip hits your cervix again and again.

“Give it to me, baby, c’mon,” he encourages you, on the verge of climax himself and you hear it first, half moan-half roar that he always makes when he comes.

You feel his warm seed flood your pussy and the sensation makes your walls flutter, milking his pulsating cock.

You cry out, one hand braced on the window, the other gripping his broad shoulder as the waves of euphoria are hitting you over and over.

When your climax dissipates, you open your eyes and see Joel looking at you, his loving gaze taking in every feature of your face.

“What?” You ask with a shy smile as if you haven’t just stuffed your pussy full of his cum.

“Nothin’. Just lookin’ at you.” He sighs and adds, “We need to go.”

He helps you off his lap and after you both adjust your clothes, he opens the window, sticks his arm out of the car and slaps the roof a couple of times.

In a few seconds Tommy gets in the driver’s seat.

“So fucking long. Every damn time,” he grumbles frowning at Joel and you in the rear view mirror.

“‘s for good luck,” Joel mumbles as Tommy starts the engine.

“Did you at least sneak a peek, Tommy?” You ask giggling but quickly shut up when you see Joel’s stern look.

***

When you arrive at the place, Joel’s big hand on the back of your neck pulls you in for a kiss, desperate and rushed. It’s coated in promises and hopes, desire and love in every stroke of his lips as you clutch his plaid shirt with trembling fingers, kissing him back with everything you’ve got. Like it’s the last time.

Tommy wishes you luck before Joel and you get out of the car.

Right at the entrance Joel shoots you a wink through the balaclava opening and then storms in raising his gun.

As always your pussy tingles when you hear him roar the command,

“Hit the floor! This is a robbery!”

***

Part 2 || Series Masterlist || MASTERLIST

Let me know if you wanna be tagged for the series💖🌸

General tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @missannwinchester @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #ficlet #pedro pascal characters #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #the last of us #joel miller tlou #kiss kiss bang bang series #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fan fiction #joel miller the last of us

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honey-badgers-library · 1 year

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Sweet Child O’ Mine

I. Whisper to a Scream

The door swung open as the sky began to turn dark. The sun slowly began to die across the horizon and the March chill bit at her nose. The pink dusting on her cheeks made her seem the normal type of pretty. The pretty you’d expect from her when you met her. The doll-like clothes, the perfectly curled hair, the bright green eyes—the perfect, manicured pretty that wasn’t Nancy at all.

At least not his Nancy.

His Nancy had dirt and blood all over her face and a fire in her eyes.

His Nancy emptied any emotion other than rage at the creatures they had fought back into hell.

His Nancy made Sarah fucking Conner look like a kid playing dress up.

His Nancy was beautifully cracked and sharpened to a drastic point. Fighting since she was fifteen before they finally sent the demons back to the hells of whence they came for Afterlife Inc.

But here she was, standing on his porch in the borrowed cabin in the woods. His scars on display for her to see, and, as he realized quickly after life went back to normal, the scars were only ever hers to see. “Are you okay?” He found himself asking her in a stupid state of surprise.

“No.”

Her voice was hoarse. It cracked in ways it wasn’t supposed to. Her eyes finally dropped the frozen facade of emerald shields to show horror within. The darkness beneath her eyes began to register as dark circles.

Eddie Moore, the only one who had only been with the team for a short amount of time, felt it odd for her to be standing outside his door. Her perfectly curled brown hair a far cry from the wild freedom of her natural, ringlet curls.

Before he could even think to say anything more, her tiny body catapulted into his. Hugging his middle. Tears soaked into his band tee. “Ya want some tea? I have tea,” he rasped out. His heart pounded in his chest, unable to escape. His flush climbed up his neck and showed on his face the tighter her hands wrapped around him.

She wouldn’t let him go and he didn’t want her to.

So he walked into the cabin backwards, allowing her soft, whisper-y sobs turned into a scream just as birds began to fly.

#Spotify #ficlet #ficlet series #sweet child o mine #don’t fear the reaper

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whomst-the-hell · 1 year

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“Tammy Thompson,” says Robin, voice choked.

“But Tammy Thompson is a girl?” says Steve, feeling the full effect of Russian drugs and not seeing what Tammy Thompson has to do with him being rejected right now.

“Steve.”

“Oh.”

So maybe he does see what Tammy Thompson has to do with him getting rejected right now.

Ok.

“Did you OD over there?” fear is audible in Robin’s voice.

He steels himself.

“You know… I was never looking back. At Tammy, I mean.”

“That doesn’t really- Thanks, I guess,” Robin sighs.

“No, I- hm. I wasn’t looking at Tammy because… because Eddie Munson sat in front of me in Ms Click’s class.“

“Steve?” Robin looks confused, but there is a hesitant kind of hope blooming on her face.

“And he always wore those rings, you know? And they’d, like, shine in the light. And he had all those fucking chains so even when he managed to shut the fuck up, he was never quiet and- and- fuck. “

“Steve.” Robin’s eyes are wide, understanding dawning on her face.

They sit, facing one another across a bathroom stall, smelling of blood, sweat and vomit. They aren’t alone anymore.

They never will be again.

#ficlet #steve harrington #robin buckley #steddie #eddie is mentioned but i dont think that merits a character tag?#you can think of this as connected to my last ficlet #and even my ao3 series #but actually im just incapable of writing anything that isnt my #steve had a crush on eddie in highschool #agenda #idk tumblr tagging etiquette yet #im used to ao3 so im still figuring it out

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stevebabey · 1 year

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part one here. ze part two to touch-starved stevie that absolutely no one requested hehe <3 but i gots to let my boys have a wee kiss :")

So, hugs with Eddie become… well, a thing.

Not a thing. They’re not a thing, Steve and Eddie. It’s totally the same as when he gets hugs from Robin. Eddie’s doing him a favour as a friend. It’s got the 100% platonic energy of getting a hug from a friend — a hug that usually melts into some form of a cuddle, limbs all tangled together until they can’t tell whose are whose.

Except, Steve doesn’t really do that second part with Robin. Like he hasn’t done it ever with Robin.

So, it’s an Eddie thing.

But they’re not a thing. Not matter how much Steve would actually very much like for that happen. Okay, maybe Steve’s overthinking the whole thing a bit, but he just can’t tell.

Where’s the line? It’s infuriating not being able to discern between platonic and more, just because Steve wasn’t held enough as a fucking baby. Out of all the things he resents his parents for, Steve’s surprised that this is so near the top.

Because, sure, Steve’s had more than his fair share of hookups. He knows that sort of touch. He knows the shape of lust; the scrapes of fingernails down backs, the tight grips over skin, the push and pull of the heat of the moment.

And this thing with Eddie… is not that.

So, really, Steve knows that it’s all friendly. Eddie is just being nice. He’s being a decent dude and helping his friend out — by catapulting himself into Steve’s arms at every opportune moment.

(Steve’s only dropped 3 mugs of coffee because of this so far. It’s only because Eddie says good catch, big boy with a devilish grin every time that Steve manages to catch Eddie that Steve hasn’t completely told him to knock it off. Just yet, at least.)

And he’s different in other areas. He’ll always seem to choose the seat next to Steve on movie-nights now, content to snuggle right up to him. They get thigh to thigh, arm to arm — and Eddie only needs to get about 20 minutes in for him to do a big sigh, like an old dog, and slump over, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve notices though. He always notices.

It’s impossible not to— the skin, even if there’s 3 layers between them, burns blazing warm. Eddie’s hair drapes over his arm, a curl inevitably tickling along Steve’s collar. He can feel the rise and fall of Eddie’s breathing, the little shake of when he laughs.

It drives Steve a little insane— insane in the way that makes him think about burying his fingers in those curls again, about pressing his lips against Eddie’s pretty mouth just to feel the smile against his skin, about digging into his chest so he can climb into his chest and live there.

Yeah, it’s— well, it’s safe to say that the effect of Eddie’s touchiness has sent what was once a fleeting thought of a crush into mind-melting levels of affection.

But he can’t fucking tell.

To Steve’s credit, neither can Eddie.

Which is not surprisingly considering sometimes he catches himself wondering how the hell he ended up here; in a close-knit friendship with band-geek Robin Buckley, princess Nancy Wheeler, and King Steve Harrington.

Okay, the Robin one sort of makes sense. He thinks that if no matter when their paths crossed, he and Robin would’ve always even some sort of strange friends - her snark complimenting his bitchiness. Also, the whole super queer thing helps too. Even the friendship with Nancy works, in its own weird way.

Steve though? He’s the fucking curve ball.

It works though, the two of them. Surprisingly well, actually — the two of them get on like a house on fire, bitchy quips back and forth. Even better, is the quiet that they can share. Steve loves to come around and do… nothing. Do nothing with Eddie, though.

So, even though Eddie had noticed the tension in Steve with touch, little moments where he turned rigid when Eddie’s usual wandering hands got too comfortable — Eddie chalked it up to the usual. Guys bring too uncomfortable with him, too weird about another guy being touchy. It didn’t matter than Eddie wasn’t even out to Steve yet, he was still might be that type of guy.

Well, Eddie had certainly thought so. Sure, Steve might not be one of those jocks who smacked around boys who looked too long in the locker room, but if he knew a smidge of the truth, who really knows. It would explain the tenseness at least.

But then— ‘Can I… have a hug?’ There had been a dozen things Eddie was thinking that Steve could’ve asked for but that? Wasn’t even in the ballpark. It was so left-field it left Eddie speechless for a whole moment. And Steve had been staring at the ceiling, his hands curled up tight again like- like he thought Eddie might say no.

A ridiculous thought, honestly. Anyone who knew Eddie well enough knew he was touchy; loved giving it, loved getting it. Like an overly affectionate cat, Wayne had once called him, just 11 years old, because Eddie’s need for affection seem to never be sated.

After that night, Steve’s lack of touch became far more obvious. It’s always hair ruffles or high-fives, yet never hugs. Normally, Eddie would keep to that boundary; some people are less touchy other than others, he knows that.

But… “Sometimes I realise it’s been awhile, since I’ve had some touch.” That’s what Steve had said, his words. Eddie doesn’t even think he meant to say something so heartbreaking. In fact, the guy seemed embarrassed.

It had thrown Eddie for a loop— because Steve gets around. He’s nearly notorious for one-night stands and failed flings, as Robin loves to drone on about considering she’s subjected to all the flirting. What had originally been a point of envy for Eddie, just saturates the bleakness of Steve’s words. Sex but without a moment of intimacy.

So, while Eddie is miles away from being the person who gets into Steve’s pants — not for lack of want, mind you — he does try hike up the touchiness. Little things. Lingering when he taps him on the arm, hooking his chin over Steve’s shoulder to peer over it, leaning up against him when they’re side by side watching a film.

It’s good. It helps Eddie release the pressure of his stupid monumental god-awful crush he has. Yeah, yeah, it’s laughable, even to Eddie. It’s like Gay 101; don’t get crush on straight dudes, especially the ones you’re friends with. And yet…

Steve lets him. He lets Eddie give him touch, more than he lets anyone else. He still tenses; there’s still always a moment before he can remember to relax, like he’s trying to shake off bad thoughts but then he melts. He always melts into Eddie’s touch eventually — in a way Eddie knows Steve actually loves it, drinks it up as much as he can.

And maybe, Eddie is the biggest fool to grace the Earth to let that fact give him some hope. Sue his gooey heart, he’s a romantic. It’s a quiet hope but, it’s there.

Tonight, it seems relaxing for Steve is been harder than usual— several times has Eddie traced a quite long along Steve’s arms, a subtle point that they were far too tense for someone who was wrapped up in cuddles on the couch. ‘Cos that’s 100% what they are now. Eddie will still call them hugs, but usually, when it’s just the two of them, it becomes this.

Steve, tucked up into the corner of the couch, one leg flush along the back of the couch and one hanging off the edge. It’s the prime position for Eddie to crawl up, wind his arms around Steve’s middle and give him a good squeeze and then settle there. Head on Steve’s chest, lying in the cradle of his hips. Safe. Warm.

It makes him warm, oh very warm to know that he gets this. That Steve doesn’t give this amount of trust to many, if any, other people but Eddie — he trusts Eddie.

“Y’know,” Eddie says, cheeks smushed against the plain of Steve’s pec. It feels deliciously warm and Eddie’s fairly sure he can feel how toned it is just through his cheek. Hot bastard. “I’m actually real glad you asked for that hug all those weeks ago.”

He leaves it there ‘cos he knows Steve will ask. Eddie’s eyes stay on the buzzing tv-screen even as Steve’s head shifts, turning to peer down at the boy slumped on his chest. Eddie’s pretty sure he can see Steve’s mouth twitch up into a smile.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” Eddie affirms, giving a nod and his eyes flick up to meet Steve’s for just a moment. “Think I’ve had some of the best hugs in the world.”

Okay, that was maybe more honest and sappy than Eddie was going for. He is just letting Steve know he isn’t just doing it for Steve — that he enjoys these moments just as much. He lays it on thick, tries for a smarmy angle.

“Swept up in these pillowy arms?” He croons, giving Steve’s bicep a quick squeeze, making the other chuckle softly. “Who wouldn’t think so? I’m a lucky guy.”

Despite the joking tone, there’s no quick comeback from Steve. That’s alright. Eddie’s quite happy if this is one of the times Steve just takes the compliment; let’s the word sink in and hopefully, believes them, even if it’s just a little bit. He watches the film and doesn’t read into the silence.

Not even when Steve says, “Eddie?” all soft. Nearly shy sounding. It doesn’t quite register to Eddie’s ears.

“Mm?”

“Eddie.” Steve says again, a little firmer and that catches Eddie’s attention. He turns his head and rests his chin on Steve’s chest, his brows drawn together in silent question.

But the moment he makes eye contact, Steve’s doing that scrunched up face again. Is studying the ceiling instead of facing Eddie. And just like all those weeks ago, his hands clench up tight. Twists up the fabric of Eddie’s sweater in between his fingers and uses it to ground himself.

Last time, he asked for a hug. Considering he’s currently just about squishing Steve beneath his body weight, Eddie can’t fathom what he might be worked up to ask for. Unless he was going to ask for something more than a hug— which, well, just wasn’t going to happen, even if Eddie really wanted it to.

“Can I-” Steve starts. He sucks in a breath, almost like he’s gathering courage. But he’s not, because he’s not about to ask for what Eddie hopes for, he’s not, he’s—

Unless…?

“Can I… have a kiss?” Steve asks, barely audible. The sentence is murmured, soft words that hit Eddie like a gentle kiss in itself — imprinting right onto his heart. Steve Harrington wants a kiss — from him!

“Oh.” Eddie says, in a breathy delightful way. He’s fairly certain the little monkey in his brain is clapping its cymbals at double-speed as the words process; or maybe it’s his heart, which feels like it’s leapt up his throat.

“Oh?” Steve echoes, a smile already playing at the edges of his mouth, because he can see Eddie’s want. Because he knows him.

“Yes.” Eddie says suddenly, with a frantic nod, pushing up closer so their faces are aligned. “Yes, absolutely, you can.” He affirms.

Steve huffs a quiet laugh at the eagerness and then his arm that had been slung around Eddie shifts. It moves up til his hand caresses along the line of Eddie’s jaw, tilting him just how he likes.

Eddie holds his breath. Counts the freckles he can see this close. Tries to feel Steve’s heartbeat through where they’re pressed so closely together; can Steve feel his? Thundering and hurried, beating so hard Eddie thinks he might bruise the inside of his ribs.

Then Steve kisses him. And shit, Steve’s lip are better by ten-fold than every daydream Eddie’s ever had about them. They’re warm and so soft — plush and pressing against his own and Eddie is freezing. Fuck, wait, how does this go again? Right, Eddie’s never… well, kissed anybody before.

Steve pulls back and Eddie screws his eyes up — not ready in the slightest for the disappointment of his own shoddy kissing skills. Fuck, did he really just freeze? Steve — Steve Harrington — asks for a kiss and Eddie decides to stab himself in the back by not figuring out how to fuck to kiss back.

“You call that a kiss?” Steve teases and Eddie’s well aware of the parallel — of the irony of Steve repeating his own words back at him. But he can’t make himself laugh even though it��s funny. Instead, a little groan wiggles out his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, earnest. He forces his eyes opens — he needs to see what’s Steve’s thinking. Where he’s expecting disappointment or perhaps regret, is only patience. Maybe a touch of concern. Eddie continues, despite the humiliation that makes his throat sticky.

“I haven’t- I don’t do this often.” He coughs awkwardly clearing his throat and hoping it hides the next word. “Ever.”

There’s a jump in Steve’s eyebrows, a moment of surprise in his eyes that lets him know he did, indeed, hear that final word. It makes Eddie feel… well, it’s nice that Steve had expected him to have been kissed by now. Even if he hasn’t. He tries to take it as a compliment.

“That’s okay,” Steve assures. Absentmindedly, his thumb rubs soothing along Eddie’s jaw. It makes Eddie shiver, some outrageous amount of joy clawing into every nerve. Steve likes Eddie. He wants to kiss Eddie.

“Do you want to try again?”

Eddie nods before the questions even out of his mouth. Steve smiles, all sunshine. This time when he draws Eddie in, he notices the way Eddie holds his breath — the rigidness in his body.

Steve kisses him again, another short and soft one and then whispers against his lips, “Relax.”

‘Cos isn’t tonight just full of the parallels, Eddie thinks. He listens, tries to focus on how sweet Steve’s kiss is than his panicky heart, forcing out a breath between the kisses. His hands along Steve’s sides find a grip, grounding and good, and by the fourth kiss, he begins to feel a bit melty.

It’s good. It’s really good. Kissing Steve is top 5– nay, the top moment of his life so far. Somehow, it’s made all that much better knowing the build-up behind it. Knowing that Steve knows he isn’t just kissing him for a heat of the moment — that Eddie wants kisses here, kisses before bed, in the morning, on dates. Eddie wants Steve.

And with the way he kisses, Eddie’s pretty sure Steve wants him just as bad.

It doesn’t take long for Steve to reach what Eddie decides is an ultra pretty fuckin’ state; lips swollen from kisses, cheeks flushed, hair a little mussed up. He bets he looks no better. The thought makes him grin, enough they have to break the kiss ‘cos Eddie can’t stop his stupid happy grin ‘cos shit— he actually gets to have this Steve.

“What?” Steve asks, somehow half heart-eyed and half suspicious at the mischief in Eddie’s eyes.

“Can I... have a hickie?”

now with a part three !

#at this point call this the 'can i' series #sweet boys asking each other for things they most certainly would be given <3 #but don't think they will <3 #tried to flip it and make it so even tho eddie is used to touch. the romantic touch? he's got none! that's where he's touch-starved #ALSO EVERYONE'S TAGS WERE SO NICE ON THE LAST ONE #trust i am. not feelin so bad nowadays (me saying this like 4 days later lmao)#but <3 thank u all #gay ppl in my phone.... you know what to do #ruby writes steddie #steve x eddie #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #touch-starved steve harrington #not rlly anymore hehe #does anyone notice that it ends with yet another 'can i?" question? HEHE #yet again stib gets kisses where ruby doesn't but alas <3 dis is way fluffier this time #nearly went the angst route! and went hmmmm naur #ok ok i'll be quiet now

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steddieasitgoes · 8 months

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Eddie survives the Upside Down but ends up losing his leg in the process due to blood loss and the bats going too deep. With the help of Dr. Owens and some highly expensive, expert doctors, Eddie is granted a prosthetic leg free of charge -- thank you guilty government.

Sure, Eddie can get around perfectly fine without it, but he does enjoy the prosthetic especially since he thinks it makes him even more metal. Plus, it's great for drama. He's been known to slam it down on the table during D&D sessions to get the Party's attention when they get too rowdy. And, don't even get him started on the party tricks he can do with it.

There is one disadvantage though.

He's constantly forgetting it behind.

Turns out Wayne's constant teasing over the years about Eddie forgetting his own head if it wasn't attached to his body was right.

Somedays, Eddie makes it all the way to school before he realizes he forgot to attach his leg that morning.

On other days, he catches the mistake when he runs back inside for something else he forgot. Usually his weed or D&D notebook, never his leg.

He even left it lying on Steve's bedroom floor for three whole days until Steve finally got tired of waiting for Eddie to realize it was missing and showed up at his house leg in hand.

"You found my leg," Eddie screeched, yanking it from Steve's hands before pulling him in for a hug. "Now I don't have to make missing posters for it."

"Did you think it just got up and walked away?" Steve asked, bemused.

"Well, it is a leg, Stevie. That's what it's supposed to do."

#eddie munson ficlet #eddie munson #steddie #steddie ficlet #steve harrington ficlet #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve harrington/eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #steddie fluff #steve harrington #stranger things ficlet #stranger things #maybe that should be a new series silly sunday lol #enjoy this silly little thing on this silly little sunday #dani writes

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hairmetal666 · 1 year

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It starts in Eddie's second senior year, close to the beginning of the semester. Eddie's in trig (again). He's good at math, but Mundy fucking sucks, always giving Eddie shit for breathing, or his shoes squeaking on the linoleum, or whatever, and he ends up with detention most days. So, he hardly ever shows and can't be bothered to do the homework, even though he knows the answers more often than not.

On this particular day, Mundy is in a bad mood, on Eddie's case way more than normal. In the heat of frustration, Eddie scrawls, "I fucking hate this class" on a scrap of notebook paper, and for reasons he can't begin to explain, leaves it folded on the window ledge. He doesn't think anyone will answer; fully expects the paper to be gone come morning with maybe another detention slip under his belt to show for it. He's a little flabbergasted, the next day, when the note is still there, and loses his mind a little when he sees the words "tell me about it" underneath his first message. He doesn't recognize the handwriting, sloping and a little looped, and for most of the class period, he's too bemused to respond. Right before the final bell rings he scrawls, "trig. You?" He leaves the paper on the ledge again. "Algebra 2 :(" is the response.

They keep it up, just a few words at first, before Eddie accidentally doodles on the page, and the other guy scribbles a hasty formula, the math spectacularly wrong. There's a little arrow leading to the words, "this shit sucks." Eddie re-writes the formula with the correct math, leaving careful notations of how and why. The next day he sees, "Shit, dude, I totally get this now. Mundy should retire and let you take over." Which pleases Eddie down to his core.

The messages get longer, nothing super personal, but complaints about life, math help, Eddie's silly little doodles, bad jokes, the slightly lewd drawings typical of teen boys. Eddie's never had a better attendance record in his life, but there are some days where his notes are left unopened. Most remarkably a couple week period before Thanksgiving, where he goes unanswered for so long he figures whatever thing they had going is done. But after the holiday, the notes start up again, with no acknowledgement they ever stopped. Eddie doesn't bother questioning it.

They keep it up almost all year, and they're definitely friends, even though they're totally anonymous. And that wouldn't have changed, except it's the day before spring break and Eddie's vibrating out of his skin with anticipation of the time off, so he forgets his dnd notebook in Mundy's class. He makes it all the way to Click's before he realizes, then sprints back across the school. He crashes through Mundy's door, tripping a little over his own feet.

"Sorry," he pants. "I just left--" he looks over to his desk, far corner right by the window, and then forgets every word he's ever known because Steve Harrington Steve Harrington King Steve, stares right back at him. And he just. He stops and fucking laughs, because all this time--this whole goddamn year--it's been Harrington he exchanged notes with. And sure, the jock's star has fallen in the last few months, with the breakup with Nancy and all that shit with Hargrove, but it's still Steve Harrington. With his big house and his fancy car and his girls. It's pretty Steve Harrington, the focus of Eddie's most hopeless daydreams.

He has a few seconds to see Harrington's hazel eyes go wide, before Eddie spins on his heel and makes a hasty exit. He absolutely doesn't spend the break thinking about the notes, matching what Harrington wrote with the gossip Eddie heard on him from the past few months.

Once break ends, he doesn't bother going to Mundy's class at all.

The Friday of the first week back, Eddie walks out to his van, only to find King Steve leaning up against it. He's doing that obnoxious thing where he has one leg bent, foot resting against the side panel, arms crossed over his chest, stupid hair falling in glorious cascades around his face. It's ridiculously, unfairly attractive.

"What do you want?" Eddie asks. He opens his front door without fully looking at Steve.

"Can we talk?"

Eddie snorts, "what could you and I possibly have to talk about."

Steve narrows his eyes. It's so bitchy and so fucking cute it makes Eddie queasy. "You know what."

"Enlighten me, Harrington."

"C'mon, man, the notes!"

"What about them?

"Don't be stupid, Munson, you know what. Why'd you stop?"

Eddie pulls a pack of camels and his lighter out of his jacket pocket. "Lost its appeal once I knew who was on the other side. Surprised you even want to keep it up now that you know you've been writing to the freak."

He pointedly ignores the little jolt Harrington gives at that, like the words hurt. Which is pretty rich from Steve Harrington, former #1 bully of Hawkins High.

"I've always known it was you," he says.

"You don't--wait what?"

I've known since, like, the first week, Munson."

"How??"

"What do you mean 'how,' dude, you're always drawing little pentagrams and d20's. Writing the word "Slayer" over and over. Who else would it be?"

And he can't even deal with the fact that Harrington knows what a d20 is (what the fuck) with everything else the other boy just said.

"I gotta go," is his only response. He ducks into his van, slamming the door basically in Harrington's face, before peeling out of the parking lot.

✏️✏️✏️✏️

It's the last day of school. Eddie's failed again. His grades, which weren't great to begin with, took a sharp nosedive after spring break, and he just can't wait to be done with this place for a few months. Harrington hasn't spoken to him again, and Eddie tries his hardest to ignore the other boy (aside from seeing him hanging out with Robin Buckley, a junior and a band geek, besides, and he forcibly has to remind himself that he doesn't care what Harrington does).

He slouches into his last math class of the year, slumping over in his seat. He rests his head on his desk, eyes blankly staring out the window as Mundy talks about what a joy most of them were to have in class. His eyes are unfocused, he contemplates a nap, and then he sees it. The tightly folded piece of paper resting on the window ledge.

Eddie almost doesn't take it. He almost ignores it, but he physically can't stop himself for reaching for it, unfolding it, staring at Harrington's now familiar handwriting.

Hey man, I'm pretty sure I fucked things up with us, and I owe you an apology. I've always known who you were, but you had no idea I was me. Buckley helped me see how that maybe freaked you out a little. I know I used to be a piece of shit. But I'm better--or I'm trying to be. And I'm so fucking sorry for the shit I did to you before and the things I didn't bother to stop. You don't owe me forgiveness, but you should know that I regret all of it. I liked passing notes with you. You made me laugh, and I don't know. It was nice to think someone liked me for reasons other than that I'm Steve Harrington, or whatever. I'd really like it if we could be friends. I get if you can't do that or don't want to.

Whatever the note actually ended with is scribbled out in pen so thick Eddie can't make it out.

All day he thinks about the note, the apology, all of it. Eddie thinks, if he's smart, he won't forgive Harrington. That he knows better than to trust him. But Eddie's never actually been that smart in this way, so he's not totally surprised to find himself walking to Steve's car after the last bell rings.

This time, Eddie's the one with his foot resting on the side panel of Steve's BMW, arms crossed over his chest. He doesn't have to wait long before Harrington makes his way to the car, chestnut hair dancing in the breeze, biceps on display in a short-sleeve polo. A little smile dances across his lips when he spots Eddie.

"So, you gonna tell me how you know what a d20 is, Harrington, or do I have to guess?" Eddie offers the other boy a cigarette.

"Babysitting?

"Babys--Are you serious??" Eddie splutters. Steve Harrington babysits. Steve Harrington babysits little dnd playing nerds. Steve Harrington wants to be his friend.

A full grin spreads across Steve's perfect face and Eddie is absolutely, 100%, fucked.

(Part 2)

(Steddie Notes is now posted in full on ao3!)

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ninjigma · 2 years

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Part 1/7 - Next

Track: ‘This Is War’ - Thirty Seconds to Mars

Rex’s general, his friend and brother, was laying beaten and broken below him. Anakin had done everything he could, had done everything right, and in those last moments realized that he was still in the wrong. That if he was the one to kill Palpatine it would be in hate, and that the war would never end as a vindictive evil was born. Anakin would lose everything he was, become everything he hated. And it was with shaking hands he had lowered his saber from the Sith Lords neck.

The former chancellor barely hesitated a second. As soon as he realized Anakin had managed to hang on his light Palpatine had struck him down in a blaze of lightning; and Anakin now clung to a life he felt he didn’t deserve at Rex’s feet, amongst the ash and carnage of Mustafar.

The battle around them continued to rage as everyone, Jedi, friends, brothers, continued falling left and right. Rex could see Palpatine slowly recovering atop the factory, his cackling seeming to resonate over the entire battlefield. He had won. The chosen one had failed, and Palpatine could feel the hope, the light, draining from the galaxy.

Rex gasped and turned away, eyes meeting Ahsoka's. They were worn, older than they should ever be. The white of her montrals was a mess, and her face pale, but she fought on and Rex found it in himself to feel proud of who she had become despite everything. Even now he could see her thinking, trying to find a solution. Her eyes suddenly closed and after a breath she seemed to have found one.

In him.

“Rex,” she rasped, face suddenly lighting up. “Rex, this isn’t our fight. It’s yours.”

Rex stared at her, instinctively going to argue before something stopped him. The world around him seemed to become muted, and a tug, or a pressure, something in him was insisting she was right. It whispered assurance like the Jedi, laughed like his brothers, and gave him hope like his sister before him now, with her eyes as sure as beskar.

He felt himself hold out his hand, and her lightsaber was placed firmly in it. Then he was bending down and picking up Anakin's from where it was gathering ash beside him. And as Rex took a breath the whole world came flooding back, showing Ahsoka had run to the cliff edge.

“Ready?” she shouted.

Maybe it was nerves, but Rex couldn’t help the small laugh. “To be thrown? Never." He ignited the lightsabers. They hummed in unison in his hands as if they were singing a song he had heard before, from a brother he loved like a son. And Rex spared a small thought that perhaps Fives was still with him, fighting as hard as ever. “But to be free? More then.”

#I still don’t know how to write #but hopefully this makes sense #clone captain rex #star wars #clone wars #fanart #mustafar #give clones lightsabers #writing to music #ficlet series #part 1 #this little story is eating me alive #my writing #my art

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virgilsjourney · 1 year

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Summary: They have tipped over into the land of 3 a.m. where everything is inexplicably funny. The couch is shaking with Roman’s silent laughter, which only makes Virgil laugh more.

Tags: Ficlet, College/Uni AU, POV Virgil, Banter, Late Night Conversations

Content warning: brief horror movie references; past unhappy home life (briefly implied)

Relationship focus: Roman/Virgil (pre-relationship); background Roman & Logan’s friendship; friendship/found family for all

_____________

“One, two, Freddy’s coming for you…” Virgil sing-songs under his breath—with the perfect amount of menace, if he says so himself.

Roman squeals in a perfect imitation of a hamster who’s just inhaled helium.

“Oh my god,” Virgil says, delighted, “what the hell was that?”

Roman claps a hand over his mouth, as if he is even more shocked at the sound. “You—you shut up,” he wheezes ineffectually, and Virgil starts to giggle.

They have tipped over into the land of 3 a.m. where everything is inexplicably funny. The couch is shaking with Roman’s silent laughter, which only makes Virgil laugh more.

“Okay,” Virgil attempts to get himself under control. “We’ve got to stop. My ribs.”

Roman prods Virgil accusingly in the side. “You started it!”

Virgil, very maturely, kicks him in reply.

“Ah!” Roman throws an arm over his eyes. “I have been slain.” Then he promptly sits back up again.

“Wow. He lives.”

Roman grins triumphantly before nodding at the T.V—it’s still playing the movie’s credits, now on mute. “I think we should call it quits; I don’t think my brain can handle another.”

Virgil hums in agreement; he stretches for the remote and turns off the T.V, plunging the room into darkness.

Silence.

Virgil sighs. “What?”

“Nothing!”

Virgil reaches over and flicks the side of Roman’s face.

“Ow! How can you even see enough to have perfect aim?”

Aha: so, it’s the dark that’s bothering him.

“I can put my phone light on,” Virgil suggests. He does so for half a second and immediately regrets it; the harsh light makes the two of them wince in unison. “Yeah, maybe not.”

In darkness again, he blinks the spots out of his vision.

“This is your fault,” Roman says with an audible pout. “Your stupid movies—”

“Yeah, cause God forbid if Halloween movies are actually, y’know, scary.”

“—making me think of all kinds of… shadow demons!”

“Aw,” Virgil says in a sugary sweet tone that he absolutely knows will wind Roman up, “you and your imagination.”

Roman, predictably, splutters in offense. “I don’t know how you cope. Seriously, Virgil, look over at the window.”

Virgil does. Blinks. “Roman, that’s a clothes rack.”

“Sure. But aren’t you worried that it could be a—a spindly demon disguised as a clothes rack?”

Virgil tilts his head and reconsiders the shadow. “Well, now I am.”

“See! What we need is… atmosphere. Something to banish the shadows.”

“That makes sense,” Virgil says indulgently, conveniently ignoring that his favoured sleeping environment is a pitch-black room, accompanied by the soothing white noise of Jack the Ripper conspiracy theories.

“Ooh, I know,” Roman says, with a worryingly enlightened tone for three in the morning.

“Uh, what are you—oof, get off, you klutz.”

Because Roman has clambered off the couch, treading on Virgil’s legs in the process. Virgil hears the kitchen door creak open, then Roman closing it as silently as possible. All is quiet for a few moments—Virgil smiles at the mental image of Roman tiptoeing comically down the hall—and he strains to catch muffled speech from Roman, voice rising in question…

… And then, what is unmistakeably Logan: “I’m going to fucking kill you.”

Virgil snorts.

The kitchen door swings open again and Roman re-enters with a whispered, “Success!” There’s a little scrabbling noise, a click, and the blackness gently dissipates. Roman must have woken Logan to ask for his desk lamp: it has a standard lightbulb setting, but it also has a mode for projecting galaxies on the walls and ceiling, a kaleidoscope of soft indigo hues. It’s the perfect balance between light and dark, illuminating the shadowy corners without being dazzlingly bright.

“He still gave you that after you woke him up?”

“We negotiated,” Roman says. “And I left before he could murder me. Oh, but,” his voice switches to something more serious, “the cable’s fraying a bit; I thought we could—”

“Birthday present?” Virgil guesses.

“Yeah.”

“On it.” Virgil makes a note of it on his phone.

“Woah,” Roman says, apropos of nothing, then dives back onto the couch again; Virgil narrowly avoids a stray elbow to the face.

“You literally almost broke my nose.”

“Your hair,” Roman says with a hushed reverence that, to Virgil, is hugely misplaced, especially considering his method of hair dye application is ‘hunch over the sink and hope for the best.’ “It looks so cool with the lights.”

“It’s fading.” Virgil ruffles a hand through his bangs—his usual streaks of dark purple have become much paler through time, washed out. “I’m dyeing it again at the weekend.”

“I like it either way,” Roman says, and he wriggles up the couch so they’re sitting side by side, one leg draping over Virgil’s; and Virgil doesn’t really care that it’ll probably result in pins and needles later. Up close, Roman takes another look at Virgil’s hair. “It’s kinda… lilac-y,” he says, then adds, with a little gasp of realisation, “like in Sleeping Beauty!”

Virgil is used to Roman coming out with random observations—particularly sleep-deprived Roman, leaping from topic to topic with the most obscure of links between them. It’s entertaining, and Virgil likes to think that he has a handle on guessing the connections Roman makes; takes a secret point of pride in it, actually, as if he and Roman sometimes speak a language only they can understand.

But tonight—ugh, this morning, really—he can practically feel the cogs in his brain grind to a halt in protest: dude, it is way too late, try again later.

Still, he tries. Fails. “What,” he says flatly.

“Sleeping Beauty,” Roman repeats unhelpfully. “The Lilac Fairy, c’mon, Virge.”

Virgil wrinkles his nose. “There isn’t a lilac fairy.” It’s been a while since he watched the Disney movie, but the details are there, albeit fuzzy. He counts off on his fingers: “There’s red… green… uh… blue—”

“Oh!” Roman laughs. “Sorry, my fault; I didn’t mean the Disney version. I meant the ballet.”

“Huh. I’ve never seen it.”

Roman gasps. “Oh my god, Virgil, you must, it’s—” He stops, laughs again, a bit sheepishly. “Well, technically, I’ve not seen it, either. Like, years ago, I must’ve been… eight? Something like that. There was a recording on T.V at Christmas; the VHS got taped over, but there was one scene saved—I kept watching it over and over ‘til I broke the damn thing. I wonder if…” He takes out his phone, taps rapidly at the screen. “One sec.”

In the silence, Virgil replays Roman’s words in his head thoughtfully. He doesn’t have much information about Roman’s home life—from Logan, he only knows that Roman moved out of his family home for good last year, back when Logan and Roman had shared a room. Roman stayed in the dorm that Christmas, Logan said, and Logan had joined him. Before Virgil could even think about asking anything more, Logan, reticent about his family in his own way, had clammed up.

Virgil got the hint and didn’t pry.

Still, what little he has gleaned has sparked something fierce in his chest. Now he has half a mind to scour the internet for a full copy of the ballet that has entranced Roman since childhood.

“Aha, no way!” Roman exclaims. He shuffles even closer and puts his phone in between them, landscape, displaying a paused video. “Okay, this is a more recent production, obviously, but it’s the same scene!” He presses play. “So, this is, like, the first showdown between the Lilac Fairy and Carabosse—”

“Carabosse?”

Roman waves a hand. “Maleficent, then. Ooh, ooh, and, this is so freaking cool, they use ballet mime, which is—actually, I’ll explain after, ’cause even if you don’t know what they’re saying exactly, you can get the gist…”

He falls silent as Tchaikovsky’s score fills the room, punctuated with ominous cracks of lightning.

After a minute or so of watching the video, Virgil furtively types on his own phone. It’s funny, he usually is never one for making impulsive purchases.

He glances over; Roman doesn’t even notice, still staring at the screen, captivated. The blue light from Logan’s lamp only seems to make his eyes shine even more.

Virgil, quietly smiling to himself, buys the ballet tickets.

_____________

Ballet scene referenced:

Ballet mime: Carabosse's curse from "The Sleeping Beauty" (with subbed mime)

#sanders sides fic #prinxiety #sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides college au #sanders sides uni au #ficlet series

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salemoleander · 4 months

Text

His thumb shakes, resting over the send chat button.

"Grian?" Martyn asks, floating nearby. "Everything alright with the server?"

Blunt as ever, Lizzie chimes in, "Why haven't you killed him yet? C'mon, we need to get going. Some of us have already been waiting ages for this one to wrap up." She punctuates her statement by sweeping an arm towards Mumbo and Jimmy, loudly talking with Bdubs a few dozen blocks away.

Could ghosts sweat? It didn't seem like ghosts should sweat. Grian feels stress prickling over his skin anyways.

"I'm- I can't," he admits, voice small. "Not like this."

Grian would happily kill Scar in PVP, in jest, in competition. But the idea of just striking him down is... uncomfortable. No chance of survival, no fairness, no fighting back at all. He's already done that once to Scar, at the end of the start. Grian won't do it again.

THIS IS WHY HE IS THE WINNER thrums through his mind. From the winces around him, everyone else can hear the Secret Keeper's message too.

"Why? Because he was willing to kill?" Grian snaps to its stone face, mouth twisted down. "That's sort of the point."

NO, INSOLENT ONE the Secret Keeper rumbles. HE WON BECAUSE HE OBEYED MY INSTRUCTIONS BEST. NO MATTER. I AM EQUALLY CAPABLE OF ENDING THIS GAME.

Cowardice sits like blood in his throat. Grian screws his eyes shut a moment before lightning strikes and thunder peals out below.

#slsmp #secret life #grian #life series #salem fic #slsmp spoilers #secret life spoiler #:D just a little ficlet while im inspired. tomorrow is gonna be such a Writing Day i can feel it #wanted to explore scar not dying in his ep and what happened after the end

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marriedtobigfoot · 1 year

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It was creepy. Eddie knew it was creepy. He knew it was weird. It was bad enough that he spent all class watching Steve goddamn Harrington while he scribbled in his notebook, but fishing through the trash to find the paper that the king had torn out and crumpled up? It was a new low.

But...he had just looked so focused. The poetry unit is the one most people hate. Even Eddie has been fudging it for the most part, and he actually kind of likes writing when there's a chance he can turn the poems into songs later down the line. But Harrington? He spend the class period in the zone, barely looking up from his paper while he crossed things out, found the perfect words.

And Eddie has a tiny, miniscule, all-consuming crush on the guy. So he wants to see what the hell kind of poem he was writing, okay?

He manages to find the paper (the trash wasn't actually all that full, thank god), and he smooths it out as carefully as he can. Steve's name is written in the corner of the page, and at the top in big letters, he just wrote "Poem." There's little doodles, some words written on the sides where Steve was clearly debating the right one. And then there was the poem itself.

Wild curls, shaking chains, Those shining teeth, that lion's mane. Stalk your prey, the one called king, Stuck in a cage, scared, stupid thing. You are the one, free and proud, He hides away, smiles for the crowd. Silver rings, painted claws, He watches, wishes, holds applause. Devil's tongue, wicked smile, He should be tame, you make him wild.

It isn't about him. Couldn't possibly be about him. There had to be plenty of kids at school with chains and rings and wild curly hair. Eddie was the freak, the weirdo. More than that he was a guy! There was no universe where King Steve wrote a poem about Eddie Munson, nomatter how coincidental some of the descriptions are.

There's words crossed out in some places where something else was almost used. Twice instead of saying 'he', Steve almost wrote 'I' or 'me.' Even if he hadn't, 'the one called king' is pretty obviously reffering to him. That bit isn't what gets Eddie's heart racing, though. It's the description of the other person. Wild curls, chains, rings, painted claws? Every single thing applies to him. Eddie fits the description perfectly and realizing that makes a swarm of vicious butterflies take up residence in his stomach.

Knowing that doesn't stop Eddie from pocketing the paper. It's probably about some edgy girl, and that's fine. But Steve threw the paper away, so it's not like he'll miss it, and Eddie isn't above a bit of daydreaming. It couldn't hurt to pretend, just for a little while, that Steve wrote it for him.

#Eddie Munson #Steve Harrington #Steddie #Steddie ficlet #Stranger Things #Stranger things 4 #This story takes place pre-series though #When Steve is a junior and Eddie is in his first attempt at senior year #Poet Steve Harrington #He likes to write his feelings out sometimes #And he likes to rhyme

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henreyettah · 2 months

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Happy (belated) birthday to the boy 🫶

(Lil ficlet under the cut)

SIMON

We’re on the train, headed to Baz’s parents new house. It’s in some place I’ve never been before, but that’s ok because Baz took care of the tickets (I did offer to fly us, but again, I don’t know the way) (it’s also a bit away and neither of us were sure I’d be able to carry myself and a grown vampire for that whole flight)

He’s had a long day; he’s got this posh office job now which he wanted very badly, but the hours are horrendous.

As usual with Baz, this change in lifestyle has brought with it changes to his wardrobe: he wears loungewear now, as soon as he gets home. After particularly awful days he won’t even have the strength to change into them himself; he’ll step through the door and spell his office ones off and the cozy ones on. They complement his sharpness nicely; makes him more tangible, more like something within reach, that I’m allowed —encouraged, even— to grab a hold of and not let go.

Our luggage is stuffed beneath my seat, and my heels keep bumping into the side of it when I shift. We’ve only brought enough for the two nights we’re staying over, but Baz has this new suit set he wants to wear for his birthday dinner tomorrow and apparently it required ‘room to breathe, Snow’.

Whatever that means.

I’m not going to complain about it, however. It looks absolutely stunning on him; he’s started leaning into the vampire look again, like in school when he slicked his hair back to show off his widows peak, and it’s working wonders now just as it did then. The suit is a sleek and slender thing, paired with a blood red shirt that somehow manages to shift in color depending on where you stand. Baz said there was something special about the fabric (“Is it magic,” I’d asked, rubbing the sleeve between my fingertips. “In a sense,” he’d said. “It’s Normal magic, the art of weaving.”)

We had a drink with Penny and Shep before we left the flat, and the alcohol burns warm in my gut still. I don’t drink much, these days. Haven’t the need to.

#simon snow #simon snow series #Baz pitch #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #snowbaz #ficlet #art #doodle #henreyettart #carry on rainbow rowell

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honestlydarkprincess · 12 days

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settle

buck & chimney || rated: g || wc: 702 || read on ao3

A week after he’d been there to tell Maddie, Buck found himself once again at the Buckley-Han residence. Although he knew that she wouldn’t, a part of him hoped that Maddie would have told Chimney so he didn’t have to. But alas, here he was. Buck had already come out to three people so he was feeling a lot more sure of himself. He had however taken the bisexual pride pin Hen had given him and put it in his pocket for good luck. He felt around for it and turned it over with his fingers while he waited for Maddie or Chimney to answer the door.

Chimney swung the door open, a wide smile on his face. “Buckaroo! Just in time, you can settle this argument for me.”

“Oh, um, if you’re having an argument I’ll come back later,” Buck said, putting his hands up. “I don’t want to get in the middle of anything.”

“Not a real argument,” Maddie called from inside the house. “Chim’s just being ridiculous.”

Chimney scoffed, stuffing a gummy worm into his mouth and making Buck realize that he had a handful of them. “Come on in, Buck, we were just having a little movie night until your sister started spouting nonsense.”

Buck stepped into the house, his shoulders relaxing at the sound of Maddie’s laughter. It never failed to soothe him, knowing his big sister was there and that she was happy. “Where’s Jee?”

“She’s with Mrs. Lee for the night, she wanted some grandma time,” Maddie replied, patting the seat next to her on the couch. “Come sit. What’s up?”

Buck took a seat next to her and Chimney sat down on the armchair, munching on his gummy worms. “I, uh, came to talk to Chim,” Buck said, giving Maddie a meaningful look. Understanding dawned on her and she glanced at Chim who was looking at Buck with open curiosity.

“What’s up, Buck?” Chimney asked. “Why do you look so nervous?”

“Uh, well, you see— wait, you said you were having an argument?” Buck stalled.

“Yeah!” Chimney exclaimed, letting himself get distracted. “Maddie said that Henry Cavill isn’t attractive! I said that everyone thinks he’s attractive. You’re the deciding vote.”

Buck snorted. “Of course he’s attractive, I don’t have to be bi to know that.” He flushed when he realized what he’d said. “Uh, I mean— well actually, that’s kind of what I came to tell you, Chim.”

Chimney’s brows drew together. “That you find Henry Cavill attractive? Not that I’m not happy to see you man, but that could have been a text.”

“N-no,” Buck shook his head, biting his lip. “That I’m— I’m bi.”

“Oh,” Chimney looked surprised.

“When you said I made you my basketball beard, you weren’t exactly wrong,” Buck rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “I, uh, yeah.”

Chimney grinned. “I knew I was a beard,” He crowed. “It’s not the first time I’ve been one, you get a sense about these things. Anyway, good for you, Buckaroo. Who’s the lucky man?”

“Uh, well, Tommy actually,” Buck flushed a brighter pink, a small smile playing on his lips. “He kissed me and we went out on a date. We’re, uh, taking things slow.”

“Oh, I’m surprised it’s not Ed—” Chimney was cut off from saying anything else when Maddie cleared her throat loudly. He looked at her and she shook her head slightly. Chimney pasted a bright smile on his face. “I’m happy for you, Buck. Congratulations.”

Buck gave them a confused look, but ultimately decided not to question it. He wasn’t sure he was ready to hear the answer. “Thank you,” He said, ducking his head. “I should get going. I’ll leave you two to your movie night.”

The three of them stood up and Maddie gave him a huge hug before passing him off to Chimney who hugged him just as tightly. “I’m proud of you, brother. Thank you for telling me,” Chimney said softly.

Buck’s breathing hitched and he squeezed Chim back. They pulled apart and Buck gave them both a happy nod before he headed out, humming a cheerful tune under his breath. That had gone well.

Now he just had to tell Eddie.

#the coming out series #jess.fics #jess.writes #my writing #my fics #evan buckley #evan buck buckley #chimney han #howard chimney han #maddie buckley #911 #911 abc #911 on abc #911 fic #911 abc fic #ficlet #bi buck #bisexual buck

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