#TOW Ficlet

[minubell]

Spoilers for the new Oneshot being dropped tomorrow: Sauron does not have a good time

[localgirlbecomesobsessed]

Meet the OCS

(I changed cathrines house)

I suck at drawing so hopefully these descriptions will be okay :( i didn’t really proof read as I’m writing this on four hours sleep 😭but the brain rot is real.

Xena- permanent •_• face, is actually very emotional inside just struggles with showing it, once she’s more comfortable with the people she’s around she’s becomes more expressive much to her detriment as it becomes harder to hide how she feels. Loves sweet things, romance stories(she’s a manhwa girlie), rock music, coffee,flowers, horror films . She’s quiet and has a soothing raspy voice. Shes too chilled out for someone in her situation or is she just ignoring her terrible circumstances.

Short black hair, piercings-helix;lobes;daith, she desperately wants a tongue piercing but is too scared. She has brown eyes and a small scar on her right cheek and a huge scar on her thigh(goes from the knee to midway)-she dresses quite punk and has permanent eyebags. She does have an arm sleeve of sunflowers/sun themed on her left arm that covers other scarring(she was in a horrific accident)she always keeps it covered with clothing tho due to judgement.

She got sorted into vagastrom and hates being an inspector as she has to keep herself from acting out.

Hobbies: judo, reading, going to concerts;gardening;propagating succulents

Her parents and her got in a horrific car accident when she was 10, she was the only one to survive, she was taken in by her cousin who was only 24 and trying her best at the time. Xena acted out quite badly after the trauma so she was put into judo to help get her aggression and energy release, it helped dramatically that she’s continued doing it even at 21.

She’s won some contests but hates competitions as they seem like too much effort.

Cathrine- stressed out to the max get this girl a chamomile tea or a Xanax. She tries too hard and is a total people pleaser, sucks at dealing with authority as she can never say no. She likes spicy food, science, vintage jewellery-she’s highly interested in mythology but keeps this a secret.(due to parents and siblings)

She’s quite talkative if she has to be but if the situation allows her too she lets herself be quiet, she has a sing song voice and used to have a stutter that comes back if she’s too anxious or tired.

Long pink hair, piercings;lobes and upper lobe, red eyes, she has insanely short nails from biting them down too much; she dresses quite preppy but prefers to dress more casual but likes to maintain her image so doesn’t. She keeps herself in quite pristine condition, always doing a five step facial routine, makeup always on point. She just very much always looks put together. She does have a huge social media presence but she isn’t really a full influencer (not like Leo)

She got sorted into mortkranken, which wasn’t a surprise to her- due to her role of inspector she’s one mental breakdown away of trying to find a way to fasten the curse so the stress is over with but she’s doing a good job at maintaining an image of mental stability (for now) tho I’d probably say it’s definitely cracking especially after the events in the most recent episode (7)

Hobbies:studying;shopping;researching myths

She grew up as the youngest of three, her parents had high expectations and they were all set to a high standard, being the youngest she was forever compared to the eldest two especially when she’s failed to succeed in something as well as they did. Her parents were quite volatile to eachother and to the siblings and would forever turn each one against the other. She was the first to leave-at 18 under the excuse of needing to stay nearer to the university-she was studying economics/business administration something she had no interest in but was an insistence of her parents and a condition for leaving. She worked part time to raise a secret fund in order for her to properly be able to leave after she gets her degree. Her relationship with her siblings is strained but got so much better after she left the house, to the point they gave her a ticket to her favourite bands last concert for her birthday.

After the concert the events of the game take place and she’s cursed, she’s been in contact with her siblings who are extremely jealous she’s at Darkwick and she is currently debating cutting off contact with her parents but fears losing her siblings, she does only have one year left after all.

Olivia-the sweetest lady to ever exist, she’s a hard worker who can’t hide her feelings. Absolutely adores animals and is a sucker for anything cute, she used to be quite the rebel but had to quickly grow up after her parents died(not that she wasn’t already quite mentally matured#traumatised) and she had to become her brothers guardian. She has quite a soft sweet voice and loves to chat but only if she’s completely comfortable with the person, otherwise she’s quite blunt. She’ll eat anything but her favourite snack is anything strawberry flavoured. She’s extremely caring and hates to see people overwork themselves despite overworking herself on the daily.

She has bleached white hair and light brown roots growing through, amber eyes and a mole underneath her left eye; she has a lobe piercing and a left helix; she dresses eclectically, sometimes she’s casual sporty, sometimes she’s a party girl, gothy literally depends on her mood and sometimes her brother will dress her up-she is literally Adam Sandler one day and Jessie rabbit the next. She likes brightly coloured makeup and clothes.

She got sorted into jabberwock, when she got to finally look around the nature reserve she cursed the chancellor for making her an inspector when she could’ve been working in the reserve. She doesn’t mind being an inspector and just goes with the flow as long as she’s getting paid and has her brother she’s fine but is trying to help out as much as she can at jabber.

Hobbies:feeding stray cats; sketching;baking;working (she works too much it has to be a hobby)

Olivia was a bit of a rebel, joining a small time gang with other girls when she was 14, her parents didn’t particularly care about her whereabouts as long as she took care of her younger brother Karma, which she tried her best too. They were alcoholics who didn’t care for their children and when Olivia reached 18 they died in a ‘freak accident’, leaving her and her 17 year old brother to fend for themselves. They had nothing, no money or family to look after them, so Olivia took on as many jobs as she could to help provide Karma with all the good things in life, she quit her gang and tried to move on although she would sometimes get dragged into fixing a problem for them. She didn’t go to uni and instead has been paying for karma to go to art school instead (he got a scholarship that pays half and they have to pay the other half)

Now, karma joint Darkwick a week after the events after Haku hears Olivia’s complete breakdown at not having her brother or being able to contact him as they’re both the only thing they’ve got to rely on. she didn’t have the breakdown on Haku but on the chancellor he was waiting to speak to the chancellor about a recent mission the general students went on and accidentally overheard~he waited for her to leave and then refused to leave until he got the chancellor to st least consider the idea.

Haku managed to convince them afterwards that her brother could be targeted by a similar anomaly/ it might help in figuring out a cure if they had someone with the same dna

-the chancellor also did it for her ‘mental health’ and assured Karma they’d provide whatever he needed for his studies, they’ve also promised Olivia they’ll pay whatever is needed for karmas education and life if she dies/ a hasty promise after Haku managed to convince him.

Olivia doesn’t know Haku helped her yet and probably won’t know until the chancellor tells her.

The chancellor most likely brought him in more for the assistance in finding a cure/testing to see if anomalies are more attracted to their blood as well as other experiments.

She was much happier snd brighter after he was brought in and Karma was happy to be with his sister and be in THE Darkwick university.

Karma-outspoken and blunt, despite appearing brazen he has a gentle disposition and is very chill as long as you don’t cross him or anyone else he cares for. He’s overprotective of Olivia and tries to get her to take a break as much as he can. He oil paints and enjoys water colours as a treat, he enjoys having a muse to help him paint and is a bit of a player. He worries Olivia cause he seems to jump from person to person and has been since their parents died. He enjoys sweet food and like Olivia will devour anything strawberry flavoured. He wants to be strong like Olivia and tries to copy how she fights.

Olivia is 23 and karma is 21/22.

He enjoys social media but doesn’t like having a presence on there, he does post pictures of his art on there although some are blurry.

He has bleached hair just like Olivia and black roots that come through, he has a mole just underneath his mouth on the right, amber eyes; he has all lobe piercings;helix;conch; Raith; nose piercing and is debating an eyebrow piercing; he is a pretty boi~ tallish and wears loose clothing that always has some sort of paint splatter on them. He doesn’t care about what he wears cause he knows he looks good although he enjoys picking out outfits for other people-mostly Olivia as he is quite the secret loser with not so many friends although he says it’s cause he focuses too much on his painting. Has a plan to get completely covered in tattoos but is awaiting to hit it big as a painter before he does.

He got sorted into vagastrom and had no clue what was going on, only that they okayed him to spray paint the rooms and do car decals so he’s happy enough. He doesn’t care if someone’s a ghoul and will call out someone on their shit if it’s deserved. No one believes him when he says Olivia can fight, but the pictures and vids he has prove otherwise~Leo is interested in the different sides and likes using his paintings for his TikTok’s and using him as a fake boyfriend along with Sho. He did try to stay with Olivia in the cathedral but in case something happens (like turning into an anomaly) then it’s safer for him to stay there. He doesn’t trust Haku and is trying to now stop both haru and Olivia from overworking themselves.

Hobbie:painting;partying; napping and boxing.

[luveline]

hi jade!! i love eddie and roan always, can we get a ficlet from their earlier days where roan is smaller. just whatever you want to write about, thanks love you💖

Eddie isn’t sure how you’ve ended up like this, but he’ll take it. He’s never laid in someone’s lap, at least not with a girl he was dating, never had someone like him enough to start scratching his back of their own volition. You draw sweetly gentle lines up and down the length of him with your nails, never pausing, an automatic expression of love. 

He’s pathetic, pressing his face to your stomach. He really hopes you love him. 

“Can I sleepover?” you whisper. 

“You can move in,” he mumbles. 

“You shouldn’t flirt so much.” Your hand climbs up to his hair, where you continue your awful lovely scratching. “Can I have a kiss?” 

You shouldn’t be allowed to whisper like that. Eddie turns his face away from your stomach and lifts his chin. He’s spoiled —you lean down and kiss him. He doesn’t do any of the hard work. 

“Daddy?” 

Eddie touches your face and finally forces himself to sit up. “Ro?” 

She’s wearing pyjamas you bought for her with good intention but misinformation, the legs pooling around her feet and the sleeves over her hands. Her smile showcases a row of pearly, baby teeth. She looks cute, but her hair is alarming. 

“What have you done?” Eddie asks, cringing. “Babe, are those stickles again?” 

“They’re stuck,” she says. She realises he’s alarmed and begins to panic, reaching up, “Oh no!” 

“It’s okay,” Eddie says, quickly burying his own emotions. He should’ve done so from the start, but you’d yanked his defences down and left him a slovenly mess from all your sweetness. Plus, it’s not like he’s the calmest guy in the world. “Baby, it’s fine. Come here, let me see.” 

“Wait,” she says tearfully. 

“Baby,” he says again, softer still, “come here, I’ll fix it. I promise.”

“Cross your heart?” she asks. 

Eddie pouts at her wobbly lip. “I cross my heart, Roanie. Just come sit down.” 

You squeeze his thigh with a distinct sense of pride, though he has no idea what he’s done. Roan drags herself to the couch and Eddie picks her up to sit her between your leg and his, getting a better look at the problem, red, green, and yellow stickle bricks lost in her hair. It’s not as bad as it seems closer up. 

He draws a line with tow of his knuckles across her shoulder. “It’s fine,” he says, kissing her cheek, “it’s okay, no biggie. I’ll go get a comb and we’ll brush them all out! Your beautiful hair will be fine.” 

“Thank you,” she says. 

You make a funny sound. “Aw, Ro.” You take a stickle brick into your hand carefully. “Can I help too?” 

“Please, please.” She turns her huge eyes on you and grabs your arm. “Please don’t pull.” 

“Never, babe.” 

You and Eddie take some time to pull the bricks from her hair, their tines like Velcro stuck between her dark curls. It takes ages, and she grows frustrated, but Eddie holds her hand in his and says, “Just be patient, sweetheart, you gotta wait,” while feeling especially tender. He forgets sometimes that she’s not his mini me after all, that her experiences of fear are fresh and new. “It’s going okay, Ro, it just takes ages.” 

“It’s hurting,” she whines. 

He doesn’t believe her, but maybe it is a little uncomfortable. “Do you want to take a break? You’ll have to stay really still.” 

“Please pull them out.” 

“Alright, babe.” He tucks his hair behind his ears. “Let’s do this.” 

Eventually, with Roan near tears and Eddie worried you’re overwhelmed, you untangle the three bricks from her hair and brush away the matted tangles. “Sooo silky,” you murmur, leading the comb down to her small shoulders. 

“I think we’re done. You are restored to your former glory, babe,” Eddie says. 

Roan lifts her hands up and feels along her head. “No bricks?” 

“Totally fixed.” 

Roan stands up on the couch. Eddie eyes her suspiciously, but she wraps her arms around him and kisses his cheek, reminiscent of how Eddie thanks her when she’s being good. “Thank you, dad.” 

He snorts. Roan beams at him and spins on her socked foot to hug you. You don’t get a kiss. You look overjoyed anyhow, quick to wrap her up and pat her back. “Thank you,” she says. 

“You’re welcome, princess.” You meet his eyes over her hair. “You’re more than welcome. No more stickles in your hair through, right?” 

“Right,” she says with an eager nod. 

Eddie shakes his head at you. This is the third time this month. 

[lordgrimoire]

A little text ficlet, inspired by Danny being the Wayne’s driver prompt by @stealingyourbones

Danny: What do you mean your in the ruins of Krypton?

Tim: I don’t know man! We’re just, stuck, it’s weird, Connors not doing so hot and while the ship is dead we still have radiation protection for now.

Danny: Give me five, I know a guy.

-Five Minutes Later-

(Knock knock)

???: Pizza Time!

Tim: who?

???: Howdy! Danny said y’all needed a ride? I’m Johnny, was hangin around here since I’m helping figure out Krypton’s scattered ghost problem.

Tim: (opens door camera to see a scraggly blonde teen leaning on a motorbike floating next to the ship) uuuuh.

Johnny 13: Sup! Want me to hook up to the front or back tow ya? It’ll take a few hours to get back to earth.

Tim: The front please, is there a way for us to talk to you without you having to shout?

Johnny 13: Yup! Danny should have sent you my number, I’ll hook ya into my helmet.

(Johnny 13 would be tasked with teaching inter dimensional and long term travel tactics at League seminars for the next two months, he was allowed to break all of Gotham’s traffic laws once a piece.)

[melancholiaincarnate]

so far so good

warnings - none

authors note - hi :P this is my first published acotar fic :3 i mentioned in a post a couple of days ago i wanted to start a series with ficlets about mated azriel x reader who happen to adopt a shadowsinger child named piper. here's the first installment :) i plan on making more so if you have requests for them send em in :D

"okay piper," azriel stretches, an action that causes a swirl in your stomach as his shirt lifts up slightly, revealing the hair decorating his tummy. "ready?"

"i'm ready!" she bounces on her feet, excitement visible on her face. shadows zip quickly around her - faster than you can blink. her shadows are impatient and easily excited, unlike azriel's, who prefer to wait and watch.

"remember, we're practicing winnowing. can you do that?" azriel cracks his knuckles and his wings shudder, then he disappears. he shortly reappears behind piper, and she squeals with delight. "i can't winnow so my winnowing looks a little different than yours but i promise - it's practically the same thing."

"yes! yes! i know! you told me! i can do it, azzy, i swear!" she shouts back at him, shadows twirling at her feet, "it's my turn!"

"alright, alright. it's your turn, pip." he smiles softly at her, crouching down to whisper something in her ear before she shuts her eyes so hard her whole face squishes.

"remember to envision where you want to go." his voice is soft in the child's ear. you watch as he smoothes down her hair as he stands to observe.

piper's body begins to slowly disappear but when she murmurs a "i'm doing it!" her body comes back into focus.

"you have to stay focused, pip." he reminds, giving her a nod. "focus is key."

"focus is key." her small voice repeats, and then suddenly she's at your side.

"hi! wait - woah- hi- hi! i did it! look, i was over there and now i'm over here!" you're sure you've never seen such delight on a single person's face before. "i did it! i did it, azzy i did it! look!"

"good job, piper." his voice is as stoic as ever but pride swims in his veins. azriel assumes that this is why cassian and rhys want children. the pure joy that sits in his chest right now has no match for anything he's ever experienced.

and yet, there's a clawing deep in his mind. it's in his chest, his bones, in the scars on his hand. he feels an attachment to this child - this girl that he and you found in the woods alone. this is not his daughter.

as piper runs off with you in tow, screaming about telling cassia, azriel glances at the scars on his hands. azriel could never think about hurting piper. it'd taken half of the inner court to restrain him from going to hunt down piper's attackers.

piper was not his daughter but he was his fathers son. anger rises through him - how could his father look at his own child and do what he'd done, when azriel could not fathom doing it to a child he had no part in creating?

shadows swarm in his ear chanting incomprehensible words to him. the anger is white and hot and it's so consuming that it sends a throng down the bond towards you.

in return, he feels you tugging the bond, tugging towards you, tugging him towards the light again. he breathes - he is not in that basement. "come, az." you whisper softly down the bond, "please."

and who is he to deny you? he unclenches his fists, steadying his breathing once more before tucking his wings and strolling away from the room as if he hadn't nearly fallen into a pit with no way out.

[cooliestghouliest]

PUTTY, chapter one

(chapter one), (chapter two), (chapter three)

PAIRING: virgin!Eddie/former cheerleader!Reader

SUMMARY: Eddie has a little brother. Eddie’s little brother has a babysitter.

SERIES TAGS and C/W’s: mutual pining, experienced!Reader, inexperienced!Eddie but he’s eager to learn, mostly sub!Eddie, insecurities and self doubt, narcissistic and/or absent parents, jealousy, mean basketball players, hurt/comfort, they smoke weed, eventual smut (18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI), uniform kink, dirty talk, foot jobs, hand jobs, oral (f!receiving and m!receiving), public sex, sex toys, unprotected PiV. more to be added as this progresses!!!

WORD COUNT: 3.7k+

A/N: hi, my friends!!! this is a rewrite/repost and has been edited for a (hopefully) smoother, more enjoyable read. fun fact that this was one of the first Stranger Things fanfics i ever wrote. it was originally titled She Was Straight From Hell, But You Could Never Tell, and featured Eddie alongside an OC. i’ve changed it to be reader-insert, because that seems to be more in my writing wheelhouse nowadays. this fic will be multiple parts — it begins with backstory, but will eventually branch off into a universe of little smutty ficlets where Reader will corrupt virgin!Eddie as much as humanely possible.

—

Eddie hadn't known about the existence of his little brother until two months ago, when Al Munson showed up in the middle of the night with a small child in tow. Eddie didn't even know his dad was out of prison again, and yet here he was, in the flesh, a little boy with a mop of black curls resembling Eddie's own cradled in his leather jacket-clad arms.

Al was lucky Wayne was working or else this family reunion would have gone south fast.

While Wayne wasn't Al's biggest fan, Al was Eddie's dad, and Eddie would always hold onto as many moments with his father as he could get, no matter how sparse, and no matter how much of a self-serving piece of shit asshole Al Munson truly was.

But Eddie didn’t see it like that. Eddie saw it like this: His dad lived a hard life. His dad struggled with addictions. His dad lost a wife, just as Eddie had lost a mother. His dad tried his best with what he had.

Deep down, Eddie knew these were all just sorry excuses, but he kept that truth tucked away, not wanting to deal with the reality that Al truly only cared about himself.

He already had one dead parent. If he cut his dad out of his life, he’d basically have two.

"When'd you get out?" Eddie asked, stepping aside so Al could enter. His eyes followed the child, brows furrowed. The trailer was always Al's first stop on his freedom tour and the older man had always brought some sort of baggage along with him -- never a little kid, though. What the hell kind of trouble had his dad gotten into this time?

"Few days ago," Al replied, heading for the living room. He placed the sleeping child down on the worn sofa, then straightened and faced Eddie. "Listen, son, you gotta do me a favor. I'm not out long this time. I might've robbed an ATM or two last night. I'm kinda on the lam."

Al didn’t even have the decency to look sheepish at his wrongdoing.

Eddie was used to this. Even when Al was a free man, he was never a free man for long. He didn't think his dad knew how to coexist among non-inmate citizens. Eddie didn't think his dad even wanted to. Prison was a creature comfort for the elder Munson. Eddie wasn't necessarily mad at that fact. He was happy when Al was locked up, because then at least he knew where his dad was. Otherwise, Eddie worried his father would eventually get himself into a situation he wouldn't be able to get out of, and Eddie would really never see him again.

Eddie was also used to Al showing up after months and months, sometimes even years and years, such as now, always asking for favors.

"Who is that?" Eddie asked, pointing towards the couch, not being able to ignore the other human in the room any longer.

"Yeah, that's kinda what I need your help with.” Al rubbed at the back of his neck. "Well, no way to do this other than to just say it. That there's your little brother, Eddie. His name's Oliver. And I need you and Wayne to look after him while I'm gone."

"My... what..." Eddie stammered, face scrunching up. He expected Al to burst out laughing and admit he was just fucking around, and that this tiny sleeping stranger was actually just the kid of a fellow convict buddy. Maybe it was said convict buddy’s turn to rob ATMs tonight, leaving Al the babysitter. Irresponsible. Unlikely. And, turns out, untrue.

With Al's silence, Eddie knew his dad’s admission wasn't a joke.

Eddie was beyond confused now.

"Dad, how... you've been in prison for six years!"

"Conjugal visits," Al answered with a bit of a smug shrug.

Eddie shook his head in disbelief. "What the fuck? Wayne can't afford another kid that's not even his... and I'm in school still, I can't watch him... this isn't... I don't know how..."

But Al was already making his way to the door.

"I know you'll figure it out. I can always count on you, my boy," Al prided, tone cheery as if the favor he'd just asked of Eddie was to give him a quick ride somewhere or find an old family recipe.

Al wasn't acting like he was ditching another Munson offspring off on his older brother. He was treating this like an issue of minor importance, just a little speed bump on an otherwise flat road.

Al Munson was not an upstanding person. Never had been, never would be. Because of this, Eddie shouldn't have been surprised or appalled, but here he was, standing with his mouth agape. Surprised. Appalled.

His dad was out the door with a lighthearted, "See ya 'round, son," and Eddie was left speechless in the middle of the living room.

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

Wayne got over the new addition to the Munson household fairly quickly.

While he'd been livid at first, calling up all of Al's old friends he'd still had the numbers of to try and find out where his dumb shit of a younger brother was, Wayne eventually became resigned to the idea that he now had another little boy to rear and mold.

What else could he do?

Wayne took care of his kin, especially if they were innocent bystanders and had no say in being born in the first place. He'd raised Eddie, and although he knew the boy had his struggles, he didn't think he'd done too bad of a job.

Eddie never went hungry, always had clothes to wear, a bed to sleep in, and Wayne was the one who haggled Eddie's van down to a reasonable price so the boy could pay for it with his lunch box salary.

Wayne knew about the weed and the pills, but so long as Eddie stayed smart about where he was selling and who he was selling to, he didn't much mind Eddie's unconventional line of work. It helped his nephew stay somewhat social, and Wayne knew how important that would be for Eddie's future. If the boy was nothing but a lone recluse his whole life, he'd probably end up just like Al. Nobody wanted that.

Eddie was just about grown now. Sure, he was rearing twenty and still in his senior year of high school, but Wayne had an inkling that '86 would be Eddie's year.

Wayne had always thought about selling the trailer and buying an RV with retirement money once Eddie was out on his own. He wanted to travel the country for the remainder of his life.

The idea that he'd have to raise up another wild Munson for the next fifteen or so years caused a knot to form in his stomach.

Would Wayne even be around for that much longer? He may have been relatively healthy, and he was only in his mid 60's, but Wayne wasn't an idiot. He knew anything could happen at any time.

Wayne knew he needed help this time around. He figured he could count on Eddie here and there, but Eddie needed to focus on school this year if he planned on finally walking the stage. Because of this, Wayne decided to enlist the help of someone on the outside. Someone with experience.

So, he posted an ad in the Hawkins Post, looking for a full-time nanny for a five-year-old boy to start as soon as possible, and waited for a response.

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

Wayne didn't have to wait long.

Two mornings following the job post, shortly after he'd returned home from work, he heard a knock on the trailer door.

When he answered, he saw a pretty young thing standing on the front stoop.

"Hi!" you greeted, then immediately began to ramble. "Are you Mr. Munson? I hope it's okay I just showed up... there wasn't a number listed, only an address, and I didn't know if you wanted me to write a response and mail it, but the ad seemed maybe a little urgent, so I thought, hey, what's the harm in just... showing... up..."

You trailed off, feeling silly for word vomiting during your first impression. He was watching you with a small smile, eyes flickering with what looked like amusement, especially as your cheeks began to color to the soft red of embarrassment.

Listing no number on the ad was intentional. He hadn't owned a rotary phone in about ten years, after having tried to cut back on bills, and he knew not just anyone would make the trek to Forest Hills for a potential job offer. He’d figured only committed applicants that wouldn't waste his time would follow through.

"I have a lot of experience," you continued on at his silence, almost as if you couldn't help it, compelled to divulge all the information you could in the first three minutes of meeting. Wayne found it endearing. "I used to babysit for three different families when I was in high school. And I have two little sisters. My mom and dad worked a lot growing up, so I spent a lot of time with them. Didn't get paid, but... I made sure they didn't die or anything..."

From their brief interaction thus far, Wayne knew he succeeded in his method of weeding out flakes. You were obviously serious about the position. He felt he was a decent judge of character, and he'd learned in life that sometimes over-explaining was synonymous with caring.

"Sorry," you said, forcing out a little laugh. "I guess I could have just introduced myself. You didn't really need to know all that." You shot your hand out, giving your name. "I'm here about the nannying gig. Um, obviously. That is, if I didn't already scare you off."

Wayne took your hand in both of his own, shaking it. He placated you with a grin. "It's a lot harder than that to scare off a Munson, sweetheart. Let's go inside and meet Olly."

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

Although Oliver Munson was only five, he had a spectacular vocabulary and a limitless imagination. Wayne knew the boy was a little charmer, quite like how Eddie was when he allowed himself to be, when the teenager wasn't drowning himself in existential teenage angst and nonsense.

You fell under Olly's spell almost instantly.

And it seemed the little boy had fallen under yours as well.

Oliver didn't stop talking to you while you were there, and didn't stop talking about you after you’d left, asking when you’d be back and if next time you could take him to the trailer park's playground and maybe you two could watch G.I. Joe or He-Man together afterward.

Wayne had taken your number down before you’d left and had told you he'd be in touch soon.

Later that evening, after Eddie had gotten back from his club meeting at school, Wayne took the trip into downtown Hawkins to use the payphone and ask you if you wouldn't mind starting as early as tomorrow.

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

You were far from struggling for money.

Your father was a sought-after criminal prosecutor for the entirety of Indiana. Your mother was a real estate agent for high profile clientele who came from old family money; her father was CEO of a day trading business, and his father before him had been the same.

Although you likely would have never had to work a day in your life and could live a comfortable existence off of inheritance alone, handouts and the humdrum of an All-Play-and-No-Work lifestyle was never a dream of yours. That sounded so cookie cutter, so monotonous, so boring.

You liked to feel a sense of accomplishment. You liked setting goals and reaching them. You didn't want to freeload off of money that was gained from the capitalistic professions your parents were a part of. You wanted to be in control of your own finances and be the author of your own future, not have it already be etched into stone simply by being just another rich kid from Hawkins, à la the likes of the Carver's or the Cunningham's or the Harrington's.

You were ecstatic when you got the call from Wayne, asking you if you’d be willing to start the following day. He left for work at 2PM, so you’d have to be there before then, and would need to plan on staying until Wayne's nephew got home around six.

If you were to be completely honest with yourself, you felt a bit nervous, but the job itself wasn't the reason why that writhing feeling accompanied your excitement.

You had more than ten years of babysitting experience under your belt, and you were eager to get back into a job you actually enjoyed as opposed to trying out different careers to see what stuck and what didn't. Having graduated the spring before, you’d been taking an off year to save up money by working odd jobs around Hawkins to be able to buy your own apartment.

You’d worked as a florist for a few weeks, but it turned out your thumb was pitch black instead of green.

You worked as the personal assistant for a group of lawyers from a local law firm, but it turned out they just needed office eye candy and not someone to actually get any sort of work done.

You worked as a veterinary assistant, but it turned out the job was much more than just petting cats and dogs. You couldn't handle it when a sick animal would come in and there would be nothing anyone could do. Your heart broke more at that clinic than it had your entire life.

You were in between jobs when you’d decided to peruse the classified section of the Hawkins post. There, in the shortest blurb on the page, was a listing for a needed nanny, a full-time position offering negotiable pay.

The next bit was where the excitement wavered.

The listing was published by a Wayne Munson of the Forest Hills trailer park.

That had to be Eddie Munson's uncle. There was no way there were two separate Munson families living in the only trailer park in Kerley County.

You couldn't believe that you’d stumbled across this ad, that the geeky metalhead you’d crushed on since your freshman year of high school had a little brother you could be the potential nanny of.

You were two years younger than Eddie, but that hadn't stopped you from losing periods of time to daydreams about the way the wind ruffled his wild mess of curls on breezy days or the way his band tee sleeves always clung perfectly to the soft muscles of his biceps or the way his cheeks dimpled when he teased the other boys he sat with at lunch.

You’d always wanted to introduce yourself, but you didn't run in the same crowds -- you being on the cheer team and Eddie blasting Black Sabbath in the parking lot after his Hellfire meetings. You could never muster the courage. He seemed so carefree, so full of life, so effortlessly funny. Chrissy Cunningham, your best friend, had spoken to him once or twice and had told you how different he was than what other people said about him. He wasn't scary or mean or threatening, and instead was warm and silly and genuine.

But you knew how the people you spent your time around treated people like him. You knew your group of "friends" referred to him as a freak, a Satan worshipper, and did everything in their power to try to bully him into becoming a shell of himself. Thankfully, he never did -- it was almost as if Eddie absorbed the hatefulness and spent it tenfold by mocking the hilarity of the jock hierarchy that ruled the school, as well as using it to strengthen his own ability to embrace every misfit that walked the halls of Hawkins High.

You never introduced yourself because you were afraid he’d think you had an ulterior motive, that you’d be trying to talk to him as a joke or a prank. You knew the company you kept. You were sure Jason Carver had once or twice suggested you do just that, lead Eddie on and make a fool of him in front of the whole school.

You figured it'd be best to just stay away.

But now, you thought finding this ad was possibly a sign from the universe.

Maybe you were getting a second chance.

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

Eddie was running late.

He was supposed to be back home half an hour ago to relieve whoever Olly's new babysitter was of her duties, but the campaign had taken a shocking turn and Hellfire couldn't disband until it had commenced.

The night finally ended with Will's character decapitating Dustin's, and Eddie had to thwart an actual attack when Dustin leapt across the game table at Will in a bout of rage. Dustin was small but mighty, and Eddie had to physically wrestle the boy off of Will's neck, threatening to banish Dustin from the next few campaigns if he didn’t chill out. Henderson had huffed and puffed but had admitted defeat and apologized to Will for the attempted murder.

By the time Eddie arrived back to the trailer park, the sun had almost set. He pulled his van into his parking spot to the right of the trailer and shut it off. Stepping out, he swung his backpack over his shoulder, but came to a halt when he heard Olly's scream sound from behind the trailer.

Dropping his bag and beginning to run toward the noise, Eddie's heart fell to his stomach. Horrible images of what could possibly be pulling that sound from his little brother pervaded Eddie's mind. He had an overactive imagination to begin with, and something like this verbal cue only egged it on. "Olly!" he shouted, panic raising his voice. "Olly, are you okay?! What’s going on, where are --"

Eddie came to a halt when he found the boy in the backyard with a huge smile spread across his small, sweaty face. Olly had a fake crown on, one made of twigs and leaves, and he was carrying one of the biggest sticks Eddie had ever seen. He had a blanket tucked into the back of his shirt, the cloth a makeshift cape. A thin piece of metal, probably from one of the cars Wayne and Eddie sometimes worked on, was wrapped around his center, acting as armor.

Olly had just been playing.

Letting out a heavy breath of relief, Eddie noticed your frame just off to the side. His eyes started from the ground up, noting the shiny red Docs donning your feet, moving up bare legs that were covered mid-thigh by a short black skater dress, one that hugged your curves in a way that had Eddie’s mouth going dry.

By the time he reached your face, your eyes were wide with amusement.

You’d been watching as he slowly drank you in. He didn't mean to ogle. He had to shake his head a few times to clear it, and when he did so, the face before him started looking more and more familiar.

"Wait," he started, head tilting. He spoke your name, tone riddled with confusion. "From high school?"

You were about to answer when Oliver cleared his throat, obviously not wanting to be ignored or to have his playtime interrupted any longer. You looked down at the boy, who pointed up to his head at his crown. You got the gist -- Olly wanted the game to continue. You could indulge him. You’d been doing it all day, and honestly you’d been having the most fun you’d had in a while.

You turned your attention back to Eddie, fixing your posture and jutting your chin out slightly. "I don't know who that is," you began, voice lilting. "I am Princess Guinevere of Kerley County and this here,” you brought your gaze back down to Oliver, “is my most loyal servant, Sir Olly of Castle Munson."

Eddie couldn't help the grin that broke out over his face at your announcement. He then took a moment to fully take in the rest of your appearance. You, too, had on a makeshift crown, this one made up of cherry blossoms and daisies. You had a flowing blanket tucked into the back of your dress, cascading down your back like a veil.

No fucking way were you, last year's cheerleading captain and prom queen, standing in his backyard playing fucking knights and princesses with his little brother. No fucking way.

Olly broke the silence by shouting out, "Hey, Eddie! Who are you gonna be?"

Eddie tore his eyes from you to focus on his brother. He pursed his lips to one side in thought, trying to come up with a character. He was usually quick on his feet when it came to creative play, but he had just spent the last three hours DM'ing a month-long DnD campaign. His brain felt shot. He was pulled from his introspective reverie by your soft, suggestive voice — no, sorry — the soft, suggestive voice of Princess Guinevere.

"Wanna be my dragon, Eddie?" you asked.

Eddie wasn't exactly sure why that made his breath catch in his throat.

He nodded dumbly, silent, then forced himself to speak because he didn't want to look totally lame in front of a Princess. "Okay. Yeah, I'll be your dragon."

You graced him with a smile before Oliver's tiny but booming voice cut through the air of the darkening night. "HEY! Dragons don't talk!" the boy stomped his foot and hit his stick against the muddy ground in annoyance.

A laugh bubbled from your throat and Eddie grinned, jumping into a wide-legged stance before outstretching his arms, tilting his head back, and roaring.

[cha-melodius]

💘 firstprince please :)

💘 fake relationship / mutual pining / dared to kiss  (I skipped ahead on prompts so I could write the companion piece to this ficlet. if you were hoping for fake relationship, watch this space, I have another one of these hearts to do lol. read all the kiss ficlets)

Alex doesn’t know how he got himself into this situation.

To be fair, coming out was entirely his idea. It’d been too long since he let loose and had fun, so when a girl in his econ class told him about this party, he’d put on his tightest pair of jeans and crop top, styled his curls just so, and dragged Liam along with him for good measure (Alex loves his best friend, but the dude needs to get out more).

So far he’s had fun dancing, and he’s been hit on by plenty of very enthusiastic girls, but nothing’s really clicked. There’s something else thrumming under his skin that he can’t put a finger on. It didn’t really help that he nearly ran into Liam making out with Pez Okonjo on his way to the bathroom. Obviously it’s fine that he was, Alex knows (now) that Liam is gay, and he’s free to kiss whoever he wants. It’s not like Alex was jealous. If anything, it was kinda hot—they looked good together, Liam’s pale skin against Pez’s dark tones, which is frankly not a thought Alex is sober enough to deal with right now.

Alex is also not sober enough deal with running into Pez later, who has a tall, blond, ridiculously hot friend in tow this time. Blondie is wearing a plain button down and khakis, like he’s at a business lunch, but somehow the way his shirt is cuffed at the elbows and unbuttoned at the top to let his collarbones peek out is more alluring than most of the half-dressed coeds at the party. Then there’s the way his golden hair flops over his forehead and his blue eyes shine in the low light, and it’s a lot, ok? Fuck.

It’s honestly a bit of a relief when Alex gets dragged away and convinced to do some kind of scavenger hunt, which sounds kinda dumb, but whatever. It’ll keep his mind off Pez’s hot friend. He works his way down the list, taking shots and doing ridiculous dances and convincing people to give him their numbers (not hard), until he hits one in particular—make out with someone you met tonight.

He’s met plenty of people tonight. Lots of girls who’d probably be willing, honestly. Somehow, only one person sticks out in his head.

Apparently he’s not even fucking subtle about it, which is embarrassing. Liam catches him looking down at his list, then back up at Henry across the room, and slings an arm around his shoulders.

“Go on. Ask him,” Liam goads, grinning drunkenly at Alex. “I think he’s into you.”

As if on cue, Henry glances over at them, then quickly looks away again when he sees them staring.

“You’re on drugs,” Alex scoffs, trying and failing to shove him away as something inside his stomach turns over at the thought that Henry might be into him. It’s probably just the liquor. “Maybe he likes you.”

“Nah,” Liam says confidently. “You wanted a wingman. I’m winging. Wingmanning? I dunno, man. Just go kiss him, ok?”

Alex can feel his face getting hot. “Fuck off.”

Liam’s grin goes sharp and wicked. “I dare you.”

Fuck. The best friend dare is sacred. If Alex doesn’t do it, he’ll have to do something else later that’s like ten times worse. Fuck.

Alex crosses the room in some kind of daze, the rest of the party falling away around him. Is he really doing this? Apparently so. He stops by Henry’s elbow, and the other man turns to look at him.

“Hey,” Alex says. Amazing opening line, truly. Fuck, he’s an idiot.

“Alex, right?” Henry replies with a little smile. Alex nods. “What’s up?”

Alex swallows hard. “Can I kiss you?” he blurts. Henry’s eyes go wide, and Alex holds up the sheet of paper. “It’s a dare.”

“Oh,” Henry says, sounding almost disappointed.

“But also, like, you’re really hot and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, and I’m not gay but I— I might be bi, I guess, I don’t really know because my best friend is gay and I never thought I was really into guys but I kinda want to kiss you, I mean, I really want to kiss you, if you’re into it, and oh my god, I’m such a fucking idiot, please forget I ever said any of this to you.”

Alex turns on his heel, ready to flee the house and probably the country, but Henry catches him by the arm and pulls him back. Pulls him in, firmly, so that Alex has to tip his head up, and then Henry’s kissing him. Softly at first, but Alex whimpers and opens his mouth, tilting his head to slot their mouths more firmly together, the taste of cheap booze and sugary mixers blending on their tongues. Henry gets a hand into his hair and Alex likes that even more, likes the way Henry surrounds him, likes the way Henry's waist feels under his palms. Never wants it to end, actually.

Henry does eventually pull back, though. Sadly. Alex promises he doesn’t whine.

“So,” Henry murmurs. He still hasn’t let Alex go, and Alex is entirely ok with that. “Thoughts?”

“I think I need another. Y’know. To gather more evidence.”

“Another kiss?”

“Yeah,” Alex breathes. “Maybe more than one.”

Henry laughs, low and warm, and he kisses Alex again.

[film-in-my-soul]

Future fic- Steddie?!

I had a lot of fun with this :3

.⋆｡°✩ 2015. The time has come. ✩°｡⋆.

At a few years off from fifty, Steve Harrington thinks he should be well and truly through with feeling anxiety so strong it threatens to take him out at the knees. Demogorgans, demodogs, Vecna, seventh graders... he should be over it. And yet, he's thankful he's sitting because his joints are feeling a bit like jelly, and he's been compulsively twisting the ring on his third finger over and over again, the metal warm under his fingers from how long he's been spinning it.

Realistically, Steve knows he's got nothing to worry about. Nancy's been on top of things since he'd asked for her help six months prior, and Robin's been on the warpath since that morning, arms loaded with coffee boxes from Dunkin' and a gaggle of adults Steve still sees as snotnosed little shit-heads in tow. Everything is going fine.

And yet he's expecting a dozen different things happening that will mess it all up, including but not limited to the Upside Down rearing its ugly head and ripping a portal through the middle of the Byers-Hopper's backyard, a shady government worker descending on the ceremony to say "Actually, there's been a mistake," or even Eddie finally deciding after close to three decades he can do better. All highly unlikely, but they run marathon loops through Steve's brain as he sits, knee jumping up and down, twinging on every third repetition.

It's only mid-afternoon; he's still got an hour before he needs to be downstairs. Each second that drips by, slow as molasses, Steve regrets losing the 'who has to walk down the aisle' coin toss. He's about to make a break for the window, just to get out of the room that Robin had locked him in once he'd started pacing, when the sound of the door knob jiggling catches his attention and draws his eyes.

Steve watches, blinking and a bit dumbfounded, as the lock clicks over twice and the door creeps open at a snail's pace. It makes sense why the motion brings to mind someone sneaking in because they are. Emerging from the other side of the door, Eddie in a half crouch, butter knife still held up to the knob he'd just jimmied open, beams at him. His hair, just as long as it was in 1986 but streaked through with silver-gray, is pulled off his shoulders in an artfully messy bun; he's not wearing his suit jacket or tie, barefoot in his dark red undershirt and black slacks.

He's gorgeous.

He's also in so much fucking trouble.

"Are you crazy?" Steve whisper-yells, leaning forward almost so far he topples off the end of the bed. Eddie winks at him, holds a finger to his lips, and closes the door behind him as he frogsteps forward as quietly as he can, only answering Steve's rhetorical question when he reaches his legs.

"Crazy about you, maybe." He's smirking, hands on Steve's knees to keep himself balanced, obviously pleased with himself. Steve is almost exasperated enough to push him over. Instead, he smiles despite the cheesy line and huffs a fond sigh, eyes closing as his forehead meets Eddie's when he bends to lean against the other man.

"Nancy is going to murder you."

"Only if I get caught."

Steve shakes his head and sits back up, one eyebrow cocked.

"You think she's not going to realize one of the grooms has gone missing?"

Eddie's smirk widens, and Steve wants to kiss him so badly that he aches for it (still, even after all these years).

"Not when she's fighting with Mrs. Byers over how the catering needs to be arranged." He sounds amused at having used an opportunity to sneak away, but Steve winces. Between the two women, it's a toss-up who will win, but if he had to put money on it, it's Joyce all the way.

Steve is brought back into the moment as Eddie reaches forward, teetering just a little in his squat, taking Steve's hand, the same one with the ring that Steve's been playing with.

"It's gonna be weird, replacing this." Eddie traces over the raised surface of the black skull ring he'd placed on Steve's finger back in 1992, a promise they're finally fulfilling roughly twenty-three years later.

"I told you," Steve says, turning his hand to tangle his and Eddie's fingers together, "I don't care if we do it with this or ring pops, just that we do it." And he can admit, having a semi-traditional band in place of the heavy jewelry he's worn for so long will be strange.

The expression that takes over Eddie's face can only be described as gooey, and Steve can't stop himself from dipping back in and pressing his mouth to the corner of Eddie's lips. The kiss doesn't stray away from chaste, mostly because even though Eddie isn't dressed yet, Steve is, and if he has to have Max do up his bowtie again, he's going to die of mortification.

"I promised," Eddie says, soft and low, bringing his free hand up to Steve's jaw, tracing the apple of his cheek with his thumb, "I was gonna do right by you, Harrington."

Steve smiles. He turns his head into Eddie's hand and kisses the curve of his palm.

Then he pushes Eddie away and bites back a smile when he falls right onto his ass with a loud thump that will no doubt be heard from the floor below.

"Then get downstairs and help so you can make me an honest man faster."

Eddie's grin is wicked, even as he stands and rubs at what no doubt will be a bruise.

"You're gonna be kissing that better later." He says, just as a call of "Edward Wayne Munson, you get your sewer-rat ass down here right now!" floats through the floorboards.

"Promise, now go. I don't have a lot of interest in marrying a corpse."

Eddie laughs, ducks back in, steals a kiss, and then, far too spry for his age and shit lungs, races back out of the room. Steve watches him, relaxes back against the bed, and finds that all his previous worries have been stolen, too.

Ficlet Bingo! (Still Squares Left!)

[aurumacadicus]

65 for the ficlet pls! I’m loving what you’ve written so far!

--

Steve heard the door open and sighed, leaning forward so he could rub his hands over his face. He sucked in a breath and held it as his palms ran over his swollen black eye, forgetting for a moment that the bruise had stayed. It was a welcome change from the aches and pains he'd forgotten.

"Steve," Tony began as he walked toward him.

"I don't--" Steve cut in, then sighed when Tony circled the couch to face him, hands dropping into his lap. "I came here so I'd be left alone."

"I know!" Tony said, and it sounded as if he was carefully choosing his words. "I know. I just... you left so quickly. Once they said you could leave." He looked down at Steve with calculating eyes.

Probably cataloguing how Steve was lacking now, Steve thought bitterly. He sucked in as deep a breath as he could and let it out slowly. "You know, if you just wanted to gawk, I'm sure JARVIS got tons of video of me struggling with my fucking motorcycle, so--"

"How dare you," Tony snarled before he could finish, and Steve found himself jerking his head back to stare up at him in surprise in response. Tony's cheeks had flushed with anger, his hands had gripped into fists. He'd never seen him this angry before. "I didn't come here to--to fucking gawk, or. I came to see you because I was worried about you, you asshole." His eyes took on a particular gleam that Steve recognized as hurt. As not wanting to show he was hurt. "I thought, hell, maybe you'd want your boyfriend to comfort you while you were--but never fucking mind. Just wallow on your own, see if I care."

"Tony," Steve tried, concerned.

"I can't believe you'd think that's what I came in here to do," Tony continued, jerking his gaze away. "A wizard used magic to reverse the serum in you and you were sickly beforehand so I was coming to make sure that you were okay. I even thought, maybe you'd be happy to see me."

Shame curdled in Steve's gut. It wasn't Tony's fault that this had happened. He'd been nothing but concerned since he'd heard Clint call for medical. "I am happy to see you, Tony," he offered, but he wasn't sure how sincere it sounded when Tony shot him a wounded look.

"Sure," Tony said. He cleared his throat, looking away again. "Well. Far be it from me to bother you when you wanted to be alone. Natasha is leaning on that wizard, Thor has gone to talk to his mother, and Bruce is looking into scientific fixes. I'll be in the lab."

Tony turned to leave, and Steve couldn't stop himself from reaching out, grabbing his wrist. Tony stilled under his touch, but he didn't turn back, keeping his face turned away. Steve swallowed thickly, trying to push back his guilt at the fact that he'd been so mean when Tony had just wanted to help. This was his issue. He'd just thought he'd left it all behind him in the forties.

"I'm sorry," Steve said quietly.

"...I'm... sure this must be... difficult. For you," Tony answered haltingly. "It's fine. I overreacted."

He probably believed that, too, Steve thought, frowning. He lifted his other hand to wrap around Tony's wrist, pulling gently at his arm. "Come here."

Tony hesitated for a long moment, but eventually, after Steve pulled again, he allowed himself to be towed back around. "Steve," he sighed, sitting down beside him. "I'm sorry."

"I am too," Steve promised, hands reaching up to cup his cheeks. "Will you look at me?"

Tony looked at him from under his lashes, which was just as attractive as it had always been, but somehow more, now that Steve had to look up at him. "Weird seeing bruises on you," he finally murmured.

"Weird still feeling the bruises," Steve admitted. "Kiss it better?"

"Wish I could kiss everything better," Tony muttered, but he was gamely leaning in, and as careful as he was, Steve was still so unused to pain that he flinched a little. "Well, there's nothing wrong with your lips, huh?"

"Nope," Steve answered, tilting his head back so it wasn't such a strain on Tony's neck to lean down further and kiss him.

He felt the change almost immediately, aches and pains fading to dull pulses as his body began to work overtime trying to heal them. He was suddenly and incredibly hungry. He hadn't eaten since he'd left medical several hours ago. Tony also looked smaller, where he was staring up at him in shock, mouth dropped open speechlessly. For one hysterical moment, Steve remembered what Bucky had said after he'd rescued him from Hydra.

"Don't," Steve tried, but Tony began howling with laughter between semi-hysterical sputterings of 'true love? that asshole wizard said true love?' until he slid off of the couch and onto the floor.

[kiwiana-writes]

FirstPrince on Broadway, any time within the last 10 years. E rating i totally fine. AO3 is onourownterms

This is my 250th fanwork on AO3, and I deliberately arranged it this way -- because what better fic to celebrate a milestone than the first of these celebratory subscriber shindig ficlets!! Meg, thank you so much for such a fantastic prompt, even if you did change usernames after sending it and cause a brief panic on my spreadsheet lmao. In this universe, A Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder happened a year later than in the real world, both to fall within your 'last ten years' request and also, more importantly, because I googled it and apparently the word 'yeet' was coined in 2014 and I was really fucking dedicated to using it. ✨writing✨

WHEN A MAN HAS FALLEN DOWN UPON HIS KNEES for @blueeyedgrlwrites [rated E, 1886 words]

It’s been a while since Alex has been this nervous. 

It’s just that… this is a big deal, okay? It’s his first job on actual fucking Broadway, and it’s not so much throwing him in the deep end as it is yeeting him out of a plane into the deep end without a parachute. Thirteen quick changes just for one character, all of them meticulously timed, and Alex is the point person for all of it. 

It’s fine. He’s going to fucking nail this.

“Alexander, babes.” Alex’s head snaps up when he hears Pez calling his name, and he grins back, surreptitiously wiping his hands on his jeans as Pez approaches with Henry Fox in tow. And, yeah, maybe this has been a big part of why Alex has been so nervous—Henry’s kind of fucking amazing, and Alex gets to work with him? Unreal. “Meet Henry. Henry, Alex. Your Principal Dresser, and the absolute favourite of my employees.”

“You say that to all of us.” Alex holds out a hand, and Henry hesitates for a moment before taking it. For all his cautious expression, his handshake is firm and warm. “Great to meet you, man. I saw you in San Diego—you were amazing. I’m really excited to work together.”

“Thank you.” Henry’s smile is tight as he lets go of Alex’s hand and turns to Pez, and there’s a weird, brief flash of loss that Alex shakes off. “Shall we continue on?”

[READ MORE ON AO3]

[minubell]

Could I request another chapter of Rapunzel, Rapunzel?

Here's nobody new but instead just Mairon and his feelings.

[tennessoui]

anyone remember the divorce lawyer au?

(first ficlet posted here, along with the explanation post) (1.5k)

“Of all the gin joints in the world, you walk into mine,” the very familiar and incredibly grating voice of Anakin Skywalker greets Obi-Wan mere moments after he settles into a seat at the end of the bar. 

“No,” Obi-Wan says automatically, though he isn’t quite sure what he’s protesting. It’s an instinctive sort of no. A plaintitive no. A for the love of all things holy, I cannot be expected to deal with this now as well sort of no. 

Even though, technically, Mr. Skywalker is right. Of all the damn gin joints in the world, he happened to walk into one already hosting Anakin.

“Well,” Anakin sounds considering now. He doesn’t particularly sound as if he’s planning on leaving. “I guess of all the dive bars in Vegas, you happened to walk into mine. But I’m pretty sure they sell gin here! Though I guess I don’t know how much gin needs to be sold at a bar before it’s classified as a gin joint.” Now his voice sounds even more considering. Closer too.

“What can I get you?” The bartender asks as she slides down closer to him. It’s not very loud in here, still relatively early and so not overly crowded, but she leans forward across the bartop as if having trouble hearing him.

Anakin sits down in the seat next to Obi-Wan rather aggressively, brushing their shoulders and thighs together. “You can put his drinks on my tab, thanks,” he announces. “We’re together.”

“We’re not together,” Obi-Wan tells her. “But yes, you can put my drinks under his tab. Much obliged. An old fashioned, thank you. A double. No cherry.”

“You got it,” the woman says, turning away to make his drink. 

Obi-Wan closes his eyes for a second to pray for patience before he turns to look at Anakin Skywalker.

He is just as beautiful as he was two weeks ago when he’d last stopped into Obi-Wan’s office, tearful, hungover bride in tow for a quick divorce before her plane ride back to Australia.

It isn’t fair.

“We could be together,” Anakin says. His eyes are dark, his head canted forward, his thigh still brushing Obi-Wan’s. “Just for the night.” “You know, I’ve always thought you were a lot less sober when you proposed to strangers,” Obi-Wan tells him drolly, accepting his drink from the bartender with a wave of his hand. “I’ve been picturing you absolutely sloshed stumbling down the aisle.”

“You’re not a stranger, Mr. Kenobi,” Anakin replies. “You’re my go-to divorce attorney.”

“Normal people do not have those,” Obi-Wan says, taking a sip of his drink. It’s strong at least, thank God.

“People get divorced all the time,” Anakin argues, leaning forward to rest his elbow on the bartop to look over at Obi-Wan. “You were the one that told me that divorce can be just as healthy as marriage.”

“Don’t remind me,” he mutters, taking another bigger sip. He really, really does not want to talk about marriage with Anakin Skywalker of all people. 

Yet somehow the words slip out of his mouth and off his tongue despite how much he does not want to talk about marriage with Anakin Skywalker. “How do you do it then?”

“Do what?” Guileless, innocent. Hell, he probably just has to blink wide blue eyes at his fuck of the night and they’d follow him down the aisle as quick as they can stumble.

“How do you—” he waves his hand and takes another sip of his drink. “Convince people to marry you. You’ve got a politician, a bride to be, who knows how many bridesmaids, a foreign dignitary, a man old enough to be your father, a veteran all under your belt. How are you dragging them all down the aisle? You can’t be—”

He cuts himself off. That good in bed, he’d been about to say. 

Anakin grins with his eyebrows raised like he knows it. “It depends,” he says. One finger traces over the countertop. The other hand falls to rest on Obi-Wan’s knee. “Sometimes we’re already in bed,” he murmurs, slow-like. “Sometimes we’re on our way there, in some dark corner booth and I’ve got my hands wrapped around her waist and she’s begging me to whisper dirty things into her ear, tell her what I’m gonna do to her. It’s sort of like marriage vows, you know? Dirty promises sound the same.”

He is far too handsome for his own good, Obi-Wan decides. If he were a little less attractive, he’d probably have a much harder time coaxing strangers down the aisle.

“I wouldn’t know,” Obi-Wan says stiffly, stopping Anakin’s hand from moving further up his leg. “I’ve never been married.”

The words are bitter; the wound is still bleeding. He downs his drink in one go and waves for another from the bartender. 

“You have a girlfriend though, don’t you?” Anakin’s nose wrinkles. “You’ll marry her probably. You’re the marrying type.”

Obi-Wan closes his eyes. “She’s not,” he says shortly. And then, to rip the bandage of the wound completely. “And she’s not my girlfriend anymore either.”

Anakin’s eyes go wide. “What?” “I asked. For her to marry me. And she said no.”

“She said no?” 

“While your disbelief is rather flattering, I’d like not to talk about it, thank you.”

“Why would she say no? To marrying you? Is she alright? Well, obviously not, but—I mean. I don’t understand. Or believe it.”

Obi-Wan’s lips thin, and he reaches into his pocket. “I assure you, if she’d said yes, she’d be wearing this right now and I would not be here.” 

He puts the ring box on the bar in between them and accepts a new drink from the bartender. Anakin looks down at the ring box silently.

“Well?” Obi-Wan asks. He doesn’t know what he wants Anakin to say. He’s sitting in the tatters of his longest relationship, ended because she did not want to marry him in the end and he could not live with that. And he is talking with a man who gets married and divorced more than  perhaps anyone else in the entire world. 

What could he possibly want to hear from Anakin Skywalker?

“‘M going to get you wasted,” Anakin says, and Obi-Wan figures that’s good enough.

—----------

“Marriage is important to me,” Obi-Wan slurs out countless hours later. They have migrated from the bar to a low-level booth, and Anakin has his arm curled around the top of it with his fingers playing with the ends of Obi-Wan’s hair. “I couldn’t com…pro…mise.” He sounds the word out carefully and deliberately. 

“You shouldn’t have to for something that’s important to you,” Anakin decides, and Obi-Wan nods. That’s what he thinks too. That’s why they’d broken up. That’s why Obi-Wan still has the ring.

“All sales final,” he quotes and rubs his hand over his beard. “What am I gonna do with it now?” 

“Give it to someone else,” Anakin suggests once Obi-Wan picks up the ring box again to look at it. “Someone who wants it.”

“Nobody wants it,” Obi-Wan says. That’s the problem.

The other problem is that his drink is gone. This is a very big problem and easy to solve because Anakin’s drink is right next to his empty glass, and Anakin will let him have his drink, Obi-Wan is sure of it. Anakin has been very lovely tonight.

“That’s my drink,” Anakin says. “Get your hands off it.”

“I’ll trade you for it,” Obi-Wan mumbles, gesturing to the ring box. Anakin stills completely.

“You…will?”

“Yes,” he decides. And then a thought occurs to him, terrible and mean and brutal. “Unless you don’t want to marry me either. But you want to marry everyone.” He scowls, though he thinks it may look more like a pout. “Don’t you want to marry me?”

Anakin’s hand carefully resumes its light stroking of Obi-Wan’s hair. “Yeah,” he says. His voice is rough. Obi-Wan likes the way it sounds. “Yeah, I do.”

“Good then,” Obi-Wan says and takes Anakin’s drink. After all, what’s Anakin’s is now his if they’re engaged to be married. “I’m sure you know where the closest chapel is. Though I’m quite disappointed so far.”

“Why?” Anakin’s face is awfully close to his. When did he move? “Aren’t I providing for you like a good husband should, baby? You’ve got my drink and everything.”

“I was told you’d put your hands on my waist and whisper dirty things into my ear,” Obi-Wan says. “And so far you’ve just been playing with my hair.” “I like your hair,” Anakin says. “And I don’t want to tell you what I’m thinking of doing to you. I think I just wanna show you.”

Obi-Wan blinks. His face is hot. Anakin is flushed all over too, eyes focused somehow despite the amount of drinks he’s had. His breath smells sweet, like the cocktail he’s been drinking for the last hour. Now Obi-Wan’s breath probably smells the same. “Well, I suppose tomorrow morning I won’t have to ask you if your latest marriage has been consummated.”

Anakin smirks. “No, you won’t,” he agrees. It’s a promise. 

[mellarked-katnisseverdeen]

A/N- My silly little post about Katniss and a stowaway kitten seemed to tickle everyone's fancy, including mine XD. This little ficlet begged to written. Enjoy! Also, anyone who guesses what inspired the dialouge in the middle gets to be right about their guess!

Honey, The Subborn Kitten

"Come on, just—Arrgh!" Katniss exhales all her air as the cat wriggles successfully out of her arms, walking with its yellow tail held high back into the house. She doesn't know what the score looks like exactly, but she concludes that the little white and yellow cat has won the war—for now, at least.

Following back into the living room with a scowl, the little female kitten stops batting at Buttercup's tail, bounds over to her, and weaves between her legs. Observing her, she crosses her arms. The only conclusion she could make was that Buttercup decided to bring her the most stubborn of whatever litter of kittens he'd fathered. It was the only explanation this kitten was so bent on staying.

Reluctantly, she bends down with a smaller sigh and scratches under her chin to give the tiny thing what she wants.

On top of encouraging the kitten, it's double the mistake as Peeta spies her moment of affection.

"I think you like her."

"No-"

"I think you're ready to name her." He says in a sing-song voice.

"No, I've just tried anything short of drowning the thing." The kitten successfully climbs into her arms and promptly makes a toy of her braid. "I'll bring her to the Hob tomorrow. One of the littles will be besotted with her."

No one is convinced, including the kitten who doesn't take her attention off her.

Peeta just chuckles and returns to drawing until she, with the kitten in tow, comes to sit at the end of the couch he was relaxing on. As she passes, Peeta slowly offers her his hand, and it's her turn to snicker when it makes the young cat react like he smells of death before finding a place on her lap. Katniss melts and, once again, she gives in and pets her. The purring breaks down the last defense. How Buttercup could create such a sweet, loving creature Katniss isn't sure- but she knows somehow that was the case.

She does rationalize it with the idea that perhaps a new mouser around wouldn't be the worst thing. And she brings in plenty of entrails anyway to divide between her and Buttercup.

"Honey."

Peeta gives her a curious look.

"If she is going to stay, she should have a name. Honey seems appropriate."

[cricketnationrise]

Ficlet prompt

Fandom: RWRB

Time: 10:53 pm

Location: Karaoke Bar (did it have a name in the movie? I’ll have to search in the book)

Song: Josh Turner’s “I Want to be Your Man (have you seen the Taylor/Nick duet?? 🔥)

Rating: Author’s discussion

AO3 UserID: Penandra (reader not a writer on AO3 — some (old) stories on FFN

Thank you for what you’ve written so far. Excellent!

was i searching the wrong song title at first? yes. did i eventually realize and find the tiktok of them singing a verse of this almost immediately? also yes. thanks for the prompt, hope you enjoy the ficlet!

read the rest of the ficlets here

❤️🤍💙❤️🤍💙

10:53pm, karaoke bar

Henry’s already pleasantly tipsy before they even get to Alex’s mystery destination. The car stops and Nora and Pez tumble out, pulling June and Bea after them. Henry waits, sprawled across Alex’s chest.

“Let’s go, baby, we’re here.”

“Comfy, though.”

“You’ll like it, I promise. And it’s an anniversary of sorts for us.”

Intrigued despite himself, Henry straightens up, a bolt of heat going down his spine when he spies the neon Karaoke Queen sign out the tinted window. A veritable storm of hazy memories flick through his brain: luridly bright kimonos, an inadvisable amount of vodka shots, an even more inadvisable moment in a bathroom.

“You want to celebrate this anniversary?” Henry asks, incredulous. “Is there a traditional gift for the first anniversary of bathroom sex? A new loo roll holder, perhaps?”

“I was more thinking about what happened later that night,” Alex says softly, a hint of embarrassment playing around the corner of his mouth. “It was the first time I—that we…”

“Oh.” 

The reminder that following his rendition of Don’t Stop Me Now—Henry is sure it had Freddie himself spinning in his grave—the two of them had stumbled into a hotel room and been as close as two people possible could, is a humbling one. Alex had been nervous, but determined to make things as pleasurable as possible for him. Determined to meet Henry’s suggestion head-on, despite his lack of experience with men. 

It had been a tipping point for Henry—what he supposed was the beginning of the end for the two of them. They’d shared a bed before, but it was that morning in LA, Alex watching Henry get ready for the day despite his own exhaustion and hangover, that a pang of sharp longing hit him. He wanted Alex in his space, always; wanted him at every event, in every room, at every hour of the day.

And he and Alex were still “casual.”

“I just—that night was special. So I made sure with Bea and Pez that you were free this weekend so we could come back here, now that we’re out, and not have to hide any ounce of love this time.”

“Alex…”

“Forget it, it’s stu—”

“It is not stupid. Let’s go.”

Henry’s the one to lead Alex inside, fingers laced together. The rest of their group cheers when they make it to the table. Henry busies himself downing the first two shots Pez ordered to avoid hearing the specifics of the teasing aimed at their later arrival. Honestly, Nora should know that two-thirds of her bawdy suggestions aren’t even physically possible.

“As punishment for your tardiness—”

“It wasn’t even five minutes,” Alex protests.

Pez continues as though uninterrupted. “You two lovebirds are up first. And if you don’t suitably impress us, you’ll be forced to do solos until the staff begs for mercy.”

“That seems more like a punishment for us,” June whines, but Henry recognizes the teasing glint in her eyes.

Alex shoves at her. “Fuck you, I’m great at karaoke.”

“Then it should be easy to get us on our feet,” Bea says. “Choose wisely.”

“Y’all are the worst,” Alex says. He downs two shots in quick succession then stands and gallantly holds out a hand for Henry. “Shall we?”

The next few minutes pass by at lightning speed. One moment Alex is cackling over song options and the next he’s towing Henry up onto the stage while the twangy guitar intro plays. At least Alex picked a song Henry’s heard of, even if he’s never tried to sing along before. When the lyrics pop up on screen, Alex starts, lowering his voice in a futile attempt to match Josh Turner’s. It’s all Henry can do not to laugh, but he knows his grin is visible from space.

Baby, lock the door and turn the lights down low

The delighted screaming starts almost immediately, drowning out Alex’s voice as the crowd joins in. Your Man isn’t really an up-and-at-’em kind of song, but the whole bar is singing along with his boyfriend and Henry can’t look away. Alex meets his eyes with more than a little heat as he sings: 

I’ve been thinking ‘bout this all day long 

Never felt a feeling that was quite this strong

And Henry snaps out of his trance for the opportunity to utterly wreck Alex’s concentration. He deepens his own voice and half-speaks, half-sings: 

I can’t believe how much it turns me on

Alex’s face is a picture of shock; the juxtaposition of Henry, Prince of England and usually buttoned-up, singing about being turned on, is apparently enough to make Alex gape. Henry continues, more sincerely for the next line.

Just to be your man

Alex blows him a kiss and then tugs him in closer with an arm around his waist so that they’re sharing the same mic. Henry would protest, but the shots and Alex’s proximity have him relaxed enough to throw himself into the rest of the performance. He looks out and sees Pez serenading both June and Nora, sees Bea tapping her foot and holding up the lighter app on her phone. A group of bar patrons over on the dance floor are doing some sort of line dance, what Henry thinks might be a slow Cotton Eye Joe. Even the bartenders are singing along. 

The words spill out of Henry like campfire sparks shooting into the sky. He feels welcome here, in Alex’s arms, surrounded by family and friends and strangers all united by this one song. Such is the magic of Alex—he lights up any room he’s in and then uses that light to illuminate the corners, to include as many people as possible. But—

Alex sings the next lines directly to Henry:

Ain’t nobody ever love nobody

The way that I love you

Henry can’t help but pull him in for a sloppy kiss right there on stage. Just because he can. Because he loves Alex.

Because he loves.

[dandylovesturtles]

Two of my AUs got into the prelims for the @tmntaucompetition - Sidelined AU and 100 Feet and a World Away!

(for those wondering, I asked for IMBI not to be entered this year; he'll be cheering on his bff Sprout from 2 Arms Left from his bed while he recovers ^^ )

Sidelined AU

After he acquires all pieces of the Dark Armor, Draxum becomes suspicious of why the Foot Clan is suddenly so eager for him to put it on. Instead of wearing it himself, he decides to sacrifice the captured Leo to it, hoping that once its hunger is sated he will be able to use its power for himself.

Things don't go as planned, however, and after a harrowing three days, the Dark Armor is finally subdued and Leo is rescued from its clutches - forever changed.

Info post - Tag link

100 Feet and a World Away

(a separated(ish) AU)

Though Splinter escapes Draxum with all four babies in tow, a few years later disaster strikes again: when he leaves them behind to find food, they are stolen by humans who are very interested in the strange mutants they have found. Raised in a lab, the boys are treated like animals and trained like attack dogs, never allowed to see the sun or each other. But something the scientists don't know is that the boys can talk - and that one of them has a plan to escape.

April O'Neil is an enterprising journalism student looking for her next big scoop. After she's sent a tip about illegal activity in a nearby lab, she infiltrates the building as a janitor. She's expecting to find bioweapons development or illegal animal testing.

Instead she finds Donnie.

Info post - Tag link

I'll probably be writing some ficlets for both of these in the near future, so please watch for that! Thanks to everyone who submitted my AUs! Hoping we can have fun with the competition again this year!

[casualfruit]

Whoops, I kept writing until 2am

Uhhhhh anyway here's that Fast Car ficlet I promised @casscainsbiceps

Logan shouldn’t be driving. Sure, he could drink any human and a lot of mutants under the table, but tonight was intense even for him. 

He’d managed to buy a used car a few weeks earlier, and since then he’d mostly taken it to a bar that was far enough outside the city that Wade wasn’t likely to find him there. He’d told himself that he was weaning off the bottle, slowly decreasing his alcohol intake until he could function without it. It was a lie, of course; any fool could see that. Didn’t stop him from trying, though. 

Then she walked in and ruined everything.

He didn’t know her, and she didn’t know him. But her flowing red hair had tricked him, stopped his heart right in his chest and turned his blood to ice.

“Jean?” he’d said. She didn’t respond. That alone should have told him to drop it, but instead, like a complete idiot, he’d reached out and grabbed her arm. 

“Jean?” he repeated. “Jean, is that y—” 

She whipped around, startled and confused and definitely not Jean Grey. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Thought you were someone else.” 

Not-Jean yanked her arm away with a look of disgust. Logan turned back to the counter, finished his beer, then flagged down the bartender and ordered three fingers of whiskey. Everything between the moment the glass touched his lips and the moment he jammed his keys into the ignition was a blur. 

The road had very few street lights; the moon offered little in the way of visibility. Logan was vaguely aware that he was drifting, but didn’t clock that his foot was pressing down on the gas harder than he meant to. That realization came when he went straight through a bend in the road and rammed into a tree at almost a hundred miles per hour. 

He sat there, unmoving, waiting for his brain to catch up and his heart to slow down. With shaking hands he put the car in reverse and tried to back out, but to no avail. He hadn’t even owned the thing for a full month before destroying it. He ripped out the steering wheel and flung it through the shattered windshield. 

God. Fucking. Damnit. 

He should call one of those not-quite-taxi cars—Uberlift, or whatever they were called. He always had trouble remembering the names of things in this universe. But first, he should definitely call a tow truck. 

A dull throbbing pain was building up behind his eyes as he pulled a piece of glass out of his forehead. Maybe he should just get Wade to pick him up instead. 

No. Fuck no. Absolutely not. He might be the Worst Wolverine, but he still had a shred of pride. He’d go on foot once he could walk in a straight line. In the meanwhile, he would just sit in the wreckage of his car and listen to the radio while he sobered up. Assuming it still worked—which, miraculously, it did. 

He must’ve hit the dashboard when he crashed, because the radio wasn’t set to his usual station. Instead of the pounding drums and harsh metal vocals he was used to, he was greeted by something else entirely. 

“You got a fast car,” came a soft voice, “I want a ticket to anywhere.” 

He reached for the radio dial, then paused. The warm bass notes melted like honey over the drums, gently flowing through the vocals and lead guitar. This wasn’t so bad. He sat back and closed his eyes. The singer continued on, telling a story about joining up with someone to escape a life she didn’t want—small, poor, static. He’d heard this story plenty of times before, but something about this version was different. It was captivating in a strange, solemn way.

He was actually starting to enjoy this. 

Then the fourth stanza began.

“You see my old man’s got a problem. He lives with the bottle, that’s the way it is.” 

Logan’s stomach twisted. This was not the kind of story he wanted to hear.

“He says his body’s too old for working. His body’s too young to look like his.”

How many more decades would it take for Logan’s body to look his age? He’d lived two hundred years, but he still looked fifty. Nothing about him had changed. Not his body, not his habits, not his self loathing. 

“My mama went off and left him 

She wanted more from life than he could give

I said, somebody's got to take care of him

So I quit school and that's what I did.”

Images of the woman from the bar flashed in his mind, but this time she had Jean’s face. What would the real Jean think, seeing him like that? He’d always been a drunk, but at least before he’d been a person. The only thing sitting in this car was an empty husk that reeked of booze. 

“You got a fast car. Is it fast enough so we can fly away?” the singer asked. “We gotta make a decision: leave tonight or live and die this way.” 

How many times had his family tried to tell him the same thing—and how many times had he ignored them until they gave up? It wasn’t just the reprimanding he’d hated; it was the genuine concern, the pity, that got under his skin. He hated being pitied more than anything else. At least, that’s what he had thought.

Suddenly the drums kicked up, drowning out his thoughts. 

“So I remember we were driving, driving in your car

Speed so fast, I felt like I was drunk

City lights lay out before us

And your arm felt nice wrapped 'round my shoulder

And I-I, had a feeling that I belonged

I-I had a feeling I could be someone, be someone, be someone…”

God, it was so hopeful it hurt. Logan couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt that kind of freedom. Maybe he never had. There was something else in the singer’s voice, something he couldn’t quite identify. It floated in the space between longing and giving up. It made his chest feel tight. 

“I know things will get better

You'll find work and I'll get promoted

We'll move out of the shelter

Buy a bigger house and live in the suburbs.”

“Life ain’t like that, sweetheart,” he sneered. “It’s just one disappointment after the next.” Yet somehow, in spite of himself, he actually did feel some hope for the narrator. Her life didn’t have to go to shit the way his did. Maybe she still had a chance. 

The chorus came back, but something about it felt different, even though it was the exact same as before. Like the narrator’s dreams were being tempered—or tamped down—by reality. His eyes began to burn. 

“You got a fast car

I got a job that pays all our bills

You stay out drinking late at the bar

See more of your friends than you do of your kids.”

Resignation. That was the feeling. Tears began to slip out, one by one, leaving wet tracks down his face. If this girl couldn’t make it, what chance did he have? 

“I'd always hoped for better

Thought maybe together you and me would find it

I got no plans, I ain't going nowhere

So take your fast car and keep on driving.”

It was too much. He couldn’t breathe. Guilt was crushing his rib cage and flattening his lungs. After several excruciating seconds he managed to suck in a breath, only for it to come out as a gasping, heaving sob. Decades of grief poured out from him, burning his throat and eyes and skin. 

That was it. The dam had broken. Sobs turned into wails; wails faded into whimpers.

The chorus returned again, but now the sweet naivete of youth had turned as bitter as whiskey. There were no happy times to look forward to. The narrator had tried to take a different path, but it led her right back to the same dead end. As for Logan, all he’d found was that the bottom of a bottle tasted the same in this universe as it did in his own. 

He leaned forward and rested his head on the dashboard. It took a few deep breaths, but he managed to calm down just enough to hear the final lines of the song.

“You got a fast car. Is it fast enough so you can fly away?”

Please, God, make it stop.

“You gotta make a decision: leave tonight or live and die this way.” 

And just like that, it was over. 

Logan barely had time to process anything before the radio let out a horrendously loud record scratch, reminding all listeners that they were tuning into a station that made its money from advertisements. He skewered the radio with his claws before the DJ could get a word out. 

It had been a long time since anything had torn him apart like that. He was an open wound; bleeding and vulnerable. Wasn’t alcohol supposed to help wounds? 

“Not these ones,” he muttered. “Gotta let ‘em dry out.” 

He was so tired. Tired of drinking. Tired of crying. Tired of hating himself. He just wanted to fall asleep and wake up as a completely different person, unburdened by his past. Barring that, he wanted to go lie down somewhere that wasn’t the wreckage of a junky old car. 

Without any conscious thought, Logan’s hand pulled his phone out of his pocket and began dialing Wade’s number. His mouth, now fully disconnected from his brain, started fumbling through the lyrics of that song. Be someone, be someone, be someone…

He’d have to look it up and listen to it again.

This time he’d hear it sober.