#WHAT?? ME?? MR NEVER FINISHES HIS WIPS?? DAMN

[evansdoodles]

Train doodles!! I miss These fuckers so MUCH i want to analyze them under a microscope.

ALSO BIG NEWS‼️‼️

[ladykailitha]

Never Hold Back Your Step... Part 10

Hello! Just a little morsel of this wonderful for you all. Next week should be me being back on this and the other WIPs full time and hopefully get them done. I'd say this one and Well Met By Moonlight are the closest to being done.

I never intended this one to get anywhere close to canon, but I was talked into going all the way to the end of season four, though it is seriously looking season 5 will get there before I finish book 3.

Not that anything in season five will change the trajectory of this story unless they bring Eddie back.

Anyway...the reason I'm even bringing it up is if you're hoping for a season three re-write, you aren't going to get one. Not really. I'm going to gloss over a lot of it except the end with Billy and the Mind Flayer.

In this chapter a wild, angry, Robin appears. And the shorts. Can't forget those.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

~

It really shouldn’t have been a surprise that Steve got offered the job at Scoops Ahoy. But of all the places he applied at and yes he applied at all of them, dad, only they offered him a position.

But he sucked it up and went to orientation. He sat there with roughly a half of dozen kids his age and tried not squirm in his seat as at least half of them glared daggers at him. The worst offender was a blonde girl with freckles and blue eyes who kept sneering at him.

The manager walked them through the employee handbook and took their information for tax purposes. And then the final nail in the coffin hit and Steve was mortally wounded.

The uniform.

Oh god, was the thing hideous. He was sure that he was going to be the laughing stock of all of Hawkins. The little shorts, the ridiculous red scarf and the stupid hat. If his dad wasn’t so insistent about the thing, he’d quit. He’d beg Mr. Jones back for his job at the rec center.

But as it was he had to take two sets of this terrible outfit with a pained smile and clenched jaw.

The only good thing he got out of this nightmare was that his mom let him buy new sneakers to go with the damn thing.

He stood in front of the mirror with a sickening sense of dread, he was going to have to find something to put in front of the shorts otherwise the things bordered on the obscene. It showed his package to unfortunate degree.

~

Steve’s first day of work was a nightmare and considering the past couple of years, that really was saying something.

He was scheduled to work with the blonde girl who was trying to bore daggers into him with her eyes.

Her name was Robin Buckley, she was about to enter her senior year of Hawkins High, and she rode her bike into work each day.

She looked at the white towel he had tucked into the front of his shorts with a raised eyebrow. “That isn’t part of the uniform, you know?” she sneered, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

He sighed. She reminded him of Mike. A chip on her shoulder and an axe to grind. “I’ve already cleared it with the manager,” he picked up the corner of it and waved it her direction. “It’s either the towel or an arrest for public indecency.”

Robin eyed the towel suspiciously. “And if I talk to Paul, he’ll tell me the same thing?”

He threw his arms in the air in exasperation. “Yes!”

She rolled her eyes and started pulling off the lids of the ice cream, so Steve took that as the matter being closed and got to work pulling the chairs off of the tables and tucking them in.

Once they got everything open, ready for business, and serving customers Steve realized he had another problem. One he didn’t know how to manage.

At all.

“Why didn’t you flirt with her?” Robin asked after a pretty blonde girl left with her double strawberry cone.

Steve blinked at her a moment before he realized what had happened. The girl had been batting her eyelashes and twirling her hair around a finger. She had been hitting on him hard and he hadn’t noticed.

Shit.

“Not my type,” he muttered, wiping down the counter even though it was already spotless. “I prefer brunettes.”

“Ew...” she hissed. “I didn’t want to know that.”

Steve rolled his eyes and just kept his mouth shut for the rest of their shift together.

~

Eddie couldn’t stop laughing. He was doubled over on the couch and just rolling with laughter.

“It’s not funny!” Steve protested. “This is dire. What the hell am I supposed to do?”

Eddie wiped the tears from his eyes as he struggled to sit up. “I’m sorry, babe, but you have to admit that’s one hell of problem to have.”

Steve buried his head into hands with a groan. If it wasn’t him that was facing down this particular barrel, he’d be right beside Eddie laughing his ass off.

“Flirt badly.”

Steve raised his head to look at his boyfriend. “What?”

“Flirt badly,” Eddie repeated. “You know what works, so do the opposite of that.”

Steve scratched his face as he thought about it. That could work. “I can try. I just didn’t want you thinking that I was ashamed of you or that I was looking for someone else if I did that.”

Eddie pulled him in for a hug and kissed the top of his head. “And I appreciate that, sweetheart but you don’t have to worry about that from me. If there is anyone that understands what you’re going through, baby, it’s me.”

Steve let out a shuddering breath.

“Yeah, okay.”

He lifted his head and pressed a kiss to the underside of Eddie’s jaw. Eddie hummed happily.

“I’m going to have to come visit you so I can see you in those slutty little shorts.”

Steve groaned for a different reason. “Please don’t. And don’t tell any of our friends I work there, either. It’s bad enough that the kids are going to find out and mock me.”

Eddie lifted his chin a little higher so he could look him in the eyes. “There might be some light mocking, but it’s not going to be malicious or mean. You’re going to get enough of that from the kids.”

Steve let his eyelids flutter shut as he kissed him warm and tenderly. It was hard for him to let go the fact that he had real friends now, friends that wouldn’t mock or tease him just because they could.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Okay.”

Eddie got to his feet and helped Steve to his. “Come on, darlin’, let me cheer you up.”

Steve willingly follow him into his bedroom. He was just glad Uncle Wayne wasn’t home. He had learned the hard way there was no way that Steve could keep quiet when Eddie was making love to him.

Eddie kicked his door closed behind them and Steve let himself be taken care of.

~

Steve didn’t work with Robin all of the time, but when he did he wanted to pour melted ice cream over her head. She was a bitch and while Steve was a fan of that in general, she was being a bitch to him for no reason he could discern.

Then the first of the kids arrived. It was Mike and Lucas. Which normally isn’t a problem, but without the tempering aspects of Dustin and Will’s nature keeping them in check, the sass was out on display.

“Come on, Steve,” Mike was saying when he finally tuned back into their whining. “We spent all our money at the music shop and now we don’t have any money for the movie.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “And how is that my problem?”

“All the shops have a back hallway that link up to each other,” Lucas explained. “So you if let us through then we can slip into the theater and we can see the movie without paying.”

He was about to say no when Eddie walked in. So because he wanted to actually spend time with his boyfriend, he agreed to them out of his hair.

Plus he knew the movie they wanted to see and thought it would be fucking hilarious for them to have nightmares about it and then have to explain to their parents how they saw a movie they weren’t supposed to without giving up their source.

Mike’s in particular would bring him joy because he would absolutely narc on Steve but no one would believe him because of his strong dislike for him.

He came back from letting the kids through to see Eddie being served by Robin.

“I’ll take a double bowl,” he muttered. “Play-dough and bubble gum please.”

Steve had bit down on his tongue to keep from laughing when he saw how hard Robin was trying to keep the look of disgust off her face.

“Are you really going to eat that?” she asked, handing it over.

Steve patted her on the shoulder. “Yep, yep he is. I’m taking my break, but I’ll be right here if you need anything.”

She looked at the two of them in shock. “You two know each other?”

“Yep! Since before Christmas,” Eddie said grinning at her.

“He helped me out when I was puking in class from the concussion Hargrove gave me,” Steve added.

“Gross!” she sneered.

Steve and Eddie just shrugged her off and went to go sit at a booth.

“That stuff will give you cavities,” Steve said, leaning forward to peer into Eddie’s styrofoam cup.

Eddie threw back his head and laughed. “Like you wouldn’t live off the butterscotch one if you had a chance.”

He cocked his head to the side and then shrugged. “Fair.”

“I will say I’m feeling a little deceived at the moment,” Eddie said with a wink.

“Oh?”

Eddie took a big bite of his ice cream and shook his head fondly. “Those shorts aren’t as nearly as short as advertised.”

This time Steve threw his head back and laughed. “It’s not the length that makes the obscene, sunshine. It’s how tight they are.”

“If you say so, big boy,” Eddie huffed digging into his ice cream for another big bite. “So is the music shop here any good?”

Steve shook his head. “Not for a dyed in the wool metal fan such as yourself. Mike was complaining about how it was all pop and new age. And huge fucking country section.”

Eddie sneered around his spoon. “One day I will find good music in this town.”

“Maybe that’s the sign that you should get out of Ford,” Steve said. “After you graduate for Wayne of course.”

“It’s Dodge.”

Steve looked up to see Robin sneering at him again. “What is?”

“The saying,” she said leaning forward. “It’s get out of Dodge.”

“Why would it be dodge?” he asked with a frown of confusion.

“That’s the name of the frontier town that the saying is referring to,” Eddie said gently.

Steve mouthed ‘oh’ and then nodded. “Gotcha.”

Robin scoffed. “So you’ll take his word for it over mine?”

Eddie and Steve shared a glance.

“Yeah,” he said shaking his head slightly. “Because I know him?”

Robin’s head reared back in shock.

“He’s got you there, birdie,” Eddie said, finishing off the last of his ice cream.

She scoffed again and went into the back to ignore them both.

“I think that’s my cue to leave, darlin’,” Eddie cooed. “I’ll see you tonight, all right?”

Steve nodded. “My parents have left again, with ‘plans’ to return for the 4th of July, so just come on over.”

Eddie nodded back and gave Steve’s shoulder a squeeze as he threw out his cup, wiping his hands on a napkin.

Steve watched as he left, feeling as if Robin’s eyes were boring into the back of his head again.

It was going to be a long summer.

~

Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16

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[synamartia]

❖ This is where I will be posting all of my ideas that will eventually be written. If one idea sparks something in your brains, I will be more than happy to hear it! If you would like to take one of my ideas and write your own version of it, please message me first and tag me in your finished product so that I may read it~!

❖ Alastor

❖ Your Star [ NSFW / Fluff ] WIP [ Inspired by The Big Bang Theory S5xE24, the scene regarding Bernadette's necklace. ] Your 50th anniversary with Alastor was approaching, and you were beginning to feel anxious about such a monumental occasion and the pressure to make it special. Alastor - ever the detail oriented demon that he is - took note of your behavior during the month leading up to your anniversary, and decided to help you relieve the tension. Besides, there was absolutely no way that you would ever be able to top the gift he had waiting for you once he succeeded in calming your racing mind. "Truly, there is no reason to fret over something as small as this," he whispered as he came up behind you, his hands coming to rest gently on your shoulders. You tensed the moment you felt his digits on your skin, quickly pulling away and taking a few steps forward. Despite his urging you to calm down and not be so anxious, you continued to go over each idea in your mind, wondering if maybe you could enlist the help of a certain Princess of Hell. The only problem would be making sure that she kept her mouth shut until it was time to exchange gifts. Charlie never was the best at keeping secrets - especially when it came to things such as this - and you were a bit terrified of her intrinsic motivation to drag Alastor further from his shell. "If it makes you feel any better, I've yet to acquire your gift as well. We are in the same boat, my dear."

❖ Mercy [ NSFW / Slight Dead-Dove ] WIP / Potential series When an ill-advised attempt at recovering a lost treasure for the newly spawned Radio Demon goes expectedly awry, you're left speechless as you witness the events that earned Alastor his famous moniker. Speechless, and soaked... "I told you, my dear..." Alastor whispered as he reached down to pull you to your feet, blood smeared across his cheeks and soaking his white button-up. You could hear the echoing of screams both in the distance and through the speakers of the old radio he had gifted you - one in particular screaming louder than the rest pleading for mercy. Taking your dainty hand in his, Alastor held you against his blood soaked chest, his smile softening as he stared down at you. "You are my only treasure now. I'll eviscerate every damned soul in this god-forsaken hellscape to keep you safe."

❖ Naughty, Naughty [ NSFW / Heavy Dacryphilia ] WIP As one of the few souls within Hell that actually sought redemption, you participated in every exercise and group activity that crossed Charlie's mind. But when one of these exercises leads to Mr. Tall-Dark-And-Creepy being covered from antler to hoof in what was meant to be a red velvet macaron batter, Alastor decides a more hands on approach might be a better redemption method. "Does your jaw hurt?" He asked, his tone mocking as he ground his teeth together, muscles straining as he fought to hold that maniacal grin of his. Your jaw ached as you bent down further, your tongue rolling out to lick another drop of the red velvet batter from his clothed thigh - wishing that it was something else more... provocative. Looking up through tear soaked lashes at the deer demon that this had all been for in the first place, you couldn't stop the needy whine that escaped your throat as you watched him undo the first few buttons of his now ruined dress shirt. "Too bad! You're going to use that pretty mouth of yours to clean up every single drop of the mess you made!"

❖ Adam

❖ A Lover's Quarrel [ NSFW / Heavy Angst / No Comfort ] WIP / Potential Series

Adam really was a douche. It seemed to be something that was coded in his DNA, and he had long since resigned himself to the idea that there was no changing that - especially after Lilith and Eve and the shit shows those relationships turned out to be. But when a previously damned soul that has found redemption comes along to show him there are plenty of opportunities to change, something that he hadn't felt since Cain and Abel were born began to blossom inside the heart he had discarded and forgotten long ago - something that he never wanted to experience again: hope.

"You're not listening to me, Sugar Tits." Adam interrupted you as he spun on his heel to fully face you now. It always caught you off guard when he wasn't wearing that exorcist mask, allowing you to see those gorgeous honeyed hues of his. Every time, it felt like he was peering right through you to the very core of your being. It left you feeling naked and exposed - completely bare with nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and you weren't sure if you liked it or not. With a couple long strides, Adam soon found himself bending down to your level, his face mere centimeters from yours, his breath hot on your cheeks. A taunting smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth when you remained silent, eyes locked with his as you looked for some sort of compassion, some mercy within. You found none. "I don't fucking care if redemption is possible. At the end of the day, these souls are getting exactly what they deserve, and you will too. I promise."

❖ Author's Notes: Has this one been done before? So this little idea snuck up on me like the Alaskan Bull Worm snuck up on Sandy. I'm not a fan of Adam, but he's honestly the character best suited for the base idea imo, and I wanna eventually write for other HH characters beside Alastor. This one will take place maybe a couple hundred years before the main story line, and is my personal headcanon regarding his disgust and absolute refusal to redeem souls. As of right now, this is just a base idea and may undergo several rewrites.

[brbsoulnomming]

Last snippet for WIP Weekend - my as of yet untitled Leverage AU!

(I ended up finishing the next part of Tell Me Sweet Little Lies from this, so I'll be posting that later tonight instead of just doing a snippet)

-----

Steve's been a grifter his whole life.

It's called something different, in the circle the Harringtons walk in now - called being a salesman, a businessman - but his mom had always just laughed, said she called it like it is.

She was a grifter long before she met his father, long before they settled down and she retired from her trade.

Well.

Semi retired.

His father was something of a mastermind. He'd tried to teach it to Steve, but Steve didn't have the knack for it. Steve wasn't cold, or calculating, he couldn't wrap his head around the big picture and plan for every outcome. He just knew people, could figure out what they wanted, play into their expectations. He was much better suited for his mother's trade.

Former trade, she'd always insist, even as she brought him along on a little side trip, just a quick detour. Just to show him how she used to do it.

In case Steve wanted to find himself, before joining his father's firm.

Steve's not sure about finding himself, but who cares about that when he found Nancy Wheeler instead?

He didn't find her right away, of course.

It was natural to hook up with Carol and Tommy first. Mrs. Perkins and his mom went way back - best friends or rivals, it was like they never really could decide. They always had thinly veiled barbs for each other, but he knew that if his mom needed support and his dad was busy, she'd always call Mrs. Perkins. Tommy's parents went way back with his dad, though Steve was never sure which side of his dad's business they worked in.

He guesses it doesn't really matter.

Carol was too cutting to make a really skilled grifter, but she was a damn good thief. Tommy was a hitter, through and through, and if he veered too heavy into violence, if he tried to take it too far, Steve and Carol were always there to rein him in.

Steve kept them both in line, guided them to more appropriate targets, and it worked fine. He could play the mastermind at least that much.

Then they met Nancy and Barb, and Nancy - God, she was brilliant. Her mind worked in ways that Steve wasn't sure he could ever keep up with, but it didn't really matter as long as she let him try. He softened her edges, got her to loosen up, and she slipped right into the crew like she was made for it.

Or she almost did.

Barb hadn't really wanted to join up with them, that was obvious. He and Carol and Tommy had already built a reputation for themselves, already had word spreading amongst others in their line of business, calling them the Royal Court. Nancy and Barb liked to keep a lower profile - then again, they could afford to, with how good of a hacker Barb turned out to be. But for a while, they made it work, and it was good.

[nerdieforpedro]

Wednesday WIP

Hello! 👋🏽 Nerdie here, I am working on a few things:

1. A second entry for @undercoverpena ‘s April Showers Challenge (maybe featuring an agent I haven’t written for a bit). I had a burst of an idea which was different than the original one I had. Such is a Nerdie brain. Don't get lost in there, but there are cookies.

2. Finally progress of my “Wedding 101 with Dieter” fic! I had been having trouble with it. I’m happy to have more Maya, Dieter and Daisy. 🤭 I apologize to @angelofsmalldeath-codeine in advance for any undue stress I shall cause you.

3. Going to finish up my short Frankie body part series which sounds menacing but is the opposite. 😂 Very much so lol It’s called “Only Parts of you Mr. Morales.”

4. I’m working on a Javier Peña series because I feel like I need to give him something nice. Just one thing. 😆 It's very sweet, I have 2 chapters and no idea what to call it. Pfft, go figure. No idea how long it will be - sorry, won't be ready for a bit. Between Javier P and Joel recent. I need to be nice to them. They’re both very haunted. 😖

5. I'm still working on both Din fics and Benny. I'm redoing the outlines. Bullet points are friends and not our enemies. I think. Will there be more random Star Wars people? Is Obi Wan Kenobi a children’s author and Luke that old man who swings his lightsaber in the yard?! Both these things are true. 😌 Messing with Star Wars canon one character at a time. 😂😂😂 The sweet Din fic will remain so. My walking pile of nervous Beskar. 💚

And that's about it, I've cut back a bit on writing to do more school work (papers...ugh...writing about not Pedro. 👀 Eww...)

Previews under the cut:

Anyway, somehow, I went from being stuck in chapter five for 'Weddings 101 with Dieter' to now being in chapter six. I'd like to thank Hemmy for being so encouraging and @megamindsecretlair for discussing Pedro and Oscar with me the other night. I feel like I should make notes and keep both of those in mind for future fics because it's the right thing to do.🫡 Just thinking about it is… 🫠

This is a small excerpt from chapter six, we should all know Nerdie's humor by now 🤣:

“Who’s banging on my door this damn early?! You better get out of here!” “Dee at least ask who it is.” “I don’t care, it could be the president, pope or, no Beyonce could come in.” “I am not meeting Beyonce in my robe. My hair is a mess, my face is puffy, I haven’t showered yet…that’s not who it is!” “I mean, if she shows up on this door, she’s gonna have to be okay with my bare ass, balls and your robe with your cute puffy face. It’s just us. You don’t need one. I’m just going to take it back off to eat you for-” “MR. BRAVO IT’S ME ZACK! YOUR ASSISTANT!” He screamed, he didn’t need to hear Dieter removing anything off of Maya or eating her in any capacity, they can do that after he leaves later. Never any filter with this damn man, he just needs to remind himself of his loans. This job pays the loans.

Gotta love how....open Dieter is with everything. Even Sasha Fierce is not safe. 😭

Second is from my pending Javier Peña fic (I'll think of a good name, I swear!):

Meeting his gaze had her mouth run dry, the sandy tone to his skin contrasted with more papaya tones in his neck. Dark hair and kind eyes behind a gold pair of aviators perched on his curved nose. Tourmaline waves parted on the left side of his crown were matched by his bold eyebrows and thick mustache. His lips were a lace pink and plush. The sunlight made the sweat along his neck glimmer, accentuating its definition. The light blue shirt made the reds and browns in his skin stand out even more. “Did you need to get some fresh air too?” She asked, he could be doing that, escaping someone like she was doing or something else entirely. Now she was curious too, about this man who’d chosen to sit next to her.

I very much enjoy my description of Javier, hehe 😉

That's it! Normally I have more, but it's either still in bullet form or in my head. 🤭

NPT: @maggiemayhemnj @604to647 @connectioneverywhere @morallyinept @rhoorl

@goodwithcheese @soft-persephone @djarinmuse @pedroshotwifey @magpiepills

@secretelephanttattoo @tinytinymenace @inept-the-magnificent @soft-girl-musings @mysterious-moonstruck-musings

@laurfilijames @grogusmum @alltheglitterandtheroar @jessthebaker @musings-of-a-rose

@julesonrecord @wannab-urs @schnarfer

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

WIP Wednesday

Subconscious (Steve’s Story)

Summary: Steddie Canon compliant/fix-it fic paired with a corresponding story in Eddie’s POV, each chapter happens in tandem with the other. No matter what he does, no matter who he is with or what is happening in the aftermath of their failed battle with Vecna – Steve Harrington can’t stop thinking about Eddie Munson. He’s even begun to see him in his dreams…

(unbeta'd snippet from Chapter 01; follows almost immediately after the snippet from part 1. Joyce has started having mandatory "family dinners" for the kids and young adults that are in their inner circle. They serve as ways to share information on what's happening in town, keep an eye on each member as they deal with their own repercussions of the past few months, and gives everyone a place where they don't have to hide. Steve makes sure all the kids can make it there and back home again, no matter what, but often forgets that he is also on the health check radar. Not just for Robin, either. Oh no. He's not that lucky.

Robin and Steve just finished checking in with each other, while watching the kids gather under the trees of the Byer's backyard to talk about how much Dustin has been missing Eddie. Because sometimes that stubborn kid actually takes his advice...)

--

“Harrington!” Hopper interrupts, when Robin starts to head inside without him – Nancy and Jonathon are visible through the kitchen windows, and every time Steve sees Nancy these days it makes him stop in his tracks. Their time together during those few days in Spring Break seem like a lifetime ago, now. And all the tense ‘what-if’ moments are eclipsed by what happened, what was lost – and for some reason when he looks at her now, Steve only thinks of another person that should be there, also with wide eyes and a head full of curls. But it’s still just Nancy, with Jonathon by her side. The last ones to arrive. 

The gang is all here.

((Almost.))

“Come over here. Help me with this damn grill.” Steve sees the ploy for what it is, he doesn’t know anything about grills in the slightest. But he stands beside Hopper and accepts the beer offered to him. The irony enough to draw half a smirk from his lips that might be genuine.

“I think the last time you and I were in this situation you were taking the beer away from me,” he points out as he tips back the bottle neck. 

“Yeah, I don’t need you to remind me of how fast I’m aging, Harrington.” The man shuffles the burgers and chicken breasts along the searing hot grill, and then – with no preamble whatsoever, and only a slightly softer edge to his tone – he says, “Tell me about Munson.”

In four words, Hopper had requested the information Steve wished everyone else had the guts to ask. It meant so many things, between the lines, that Steve grew silent as he parsed them out. ‘Tell me how Eddie Munson got caught up in all this mess. Tell me how he handled it. Tell me who he was, when it counted the most. Who he tried to be for the kids. Tell me why he stayed involved when any sane person would have lit out of town and never looked back.’

Tell me about Eddie Munson.

Steve didn’t even know where to start.

“Did you know him?” he asks, instead, because the familiarity was hard to miss in Hopper’s question.

“Yeah, I knew that punk,” he says, a growl of a thing that almost sounds fond in a sad way, poking at the burning coals of the grill with a little more aggression. Channeling frustration, the unfairness of it all. “I’d picked him up far too many times over the years. Only had to process him once. All the rest I just dumped him in Wayne’s lap.” 

He spoke of Wayne Munson like they were friends. Steve wouldn’t be surprised if they were.

“... Mr. Munson still puts up missing posters,” Steve tells him, a confidence that aches even as he speaks. Hopper looks even more angry at that. Not at them. At everything.

“He loved that kid.” 

Steve looks up at the group, still huddled together. Having a moment that was giving way to memories, laughter and tears that coincide somehow in the messiness of it all.

“We all did,” Steve mutters, and Hopper is looking right at him, again. Steve has noticed this more and more with every passing ‘family’ dinner. Hop treats Steve like a man, now. An equal. He’s out of school, sure, but it probably has more to do with the fact that he’s somehow adopted six rowdy high school kids and has been taking care of them when their parents couldn’t. And as much as Steve appreciates that, it’s still difficult to level with him and have a serious conversation. To explain everything going on in the group, or in his head, when he couldn’t always make sense of it himself. No matter which way you looked at it, the whole situation was terrible. It sucked. Steve hated being the adult more than he hated being the babysitter.

Really, when it all boils down, he didn’t mind being the babysitter at all. Not after knowing what it’s like to face the consequences and have to deal with the aftermath. Dustin sobbing over Eddie on the ground, the kid not even able to walk with his messed up ankles. Steve doing CPR, time slipping through their fingers. And then… Steve having to drag Dustin away because the gate was closing.

“We didn’t even get to bring his body back,” Steve reveals, swallowing thickly. “We had to get out, I couldn’t –” he couldn’t carry both Dustin and Eddie, so he had to choose. Dustin was alive. Eddie’s body was cold. 

“You did what you could, kid,” Hopper says. The far-away look in Steve’s eyes more telling than anything else the past few weeks. “No one blames you for that, not even Wayne would. Eddie was dead before you left, right?” 

It’s the first time anyone has asked that question. And Steve had never questioned it before. Eddie wasn't breathing, Steve hadn't found a pulse, Dustin's words on the radio echoing in his head to this day. ((Eddie's dead.)) He’d died in Dustin’s arms, and Steve knew Dustin would have done everything possible to shake him back to life if he could. Steve had tried, battered and bruised as he was, to no avail. There was no other answer.

So why did the guilt feel like it was going to eat him alive?

“Yes, he was dead,” Steve murmurs, downing the rest of his beer and wishing it was something stronger.

–

tbc

–

Series Snippets:

- Dreamwalker (Eddie’s Story) (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

- Subconscious (Steve’s Story) (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

[legendarywizarddetective]

Hi everyone, I know it took me a while to finish my part of my lovely joint venture with @nashibirne ... Please don't be mad at me because life was a bit of a whirlwind lately. So now I just hope you will enjoy it.

PART 2: Hidden Treasure

Pairing: Henry Cavill x reader

Summary: you are trapped in writers block but as you saw Henry's new post on Instagram your wheels start to turn

Words: appr. 2500

Warnings: smut, dirty thoughts, sextoys, pleasuring yourself

Featured stories:

Close-up/Up-Close

The Widow and the Witcher

Diegosbutt

No Beta! English is not our mother tongue, so there will be mistakes and they're all ours

Part 1

Writers block sucks so damn much. Y/N was sitting on her sofa trying to write on her WIPs but it didn’t work. She had to face the truth "witchersgirl91" was out of order at the moment.

She felt bad about it. All those followers she had gained since she joined Tumblr that waited for the next chapters. Frustrated Y/N took her phone and started to scroll through her dashboard, hoping that some of her favourite blogs could give her some comfort. Soon she found a story that she loved dearly, "Close-Up/ Up-Close" from nashibirne. Damn was she talented, all her stories were so amazing and well written that Y/N could just wish for being as good as her one day. There were so many super talented writers in that fandom... Which fandom you might ask yourself now... well "witchersgirl91" was obviously a part of Henry Cavill's fandom. She was part of it since she saw the mighty white wolf on Netflix in 2019.

Intrigued and fascinated by his acting skills she digged deeper and soon found fanfics about him, something she read the last time in her teens. Inevitably Y/N fell down the Tumblr rabbit hole and what started as silent reader led soon into a "writing career". Well sometimes she had to remind herself, that she was writing for herself at first hand and that besides the number of likes and reblogs the most important thing was that she herself liked her stories. Up until now Y/N made quite a decent number of followers and found some incredible friends online. One of them she even talked to daily and Y/N was happy to have her in her live because she came close to an older sister she never had. Scrolling further down her dash Y/N found another gem she had already read before but "henryobsessed" "The Widow and the Witcher" was totally worth another go through. In contrast to Y/N many of the writers on Tumblr wrote not just only rpf about Henry himself but also fics about his many characters. Especially diegosbutt who wrote incredible stories about Henry's Captain Syverson. After half an hour into reading about The Witcher and his romance with the handsome widow Y/Ns Instagram notifications came to life. The object of desire, Mr. Cavill himself finally had posted something again. Damn him... such a tease Y/N thought to herself as she looked at the pictures. At first there was a sweet pic of Kal sniffing at some grapes at a vineyard, so gorgeous and heart-warming. Mr. C knew exactly how much in love his fans were with his fury companion. But the third slide made Y/N gasp in shock... "Holy crap these motherfu*****" The photo showed Henry on a boat in nothing else but swimming shorts. His hair all natural and curly, his strong hairy chest nicely on display, a Caipirinha in his hand and the most beautiful smile on his lips. He looked so stunning, relaxed and sexy as hell. So here comes the thirst trap Y/N thought. As she scrolled through the comments below the post she saw that the thirst had already begun. Well who was she to judge anyone, she wasn’t any better. Henry Cavill lived rent free in her mind most of all time and honestly these swimming trunks and his body did things to her and she involuntarily clenched her thighs together, heat spreading through her core. Y/N let her mind flow for a bit and then BANG "plot bunny alert". She was exited, for the first time in weeks she had an idea for a story. Y/N stood up, nearly spilled her coffee and walked over to her desk where her sketchbook laid. Yes, a sketchbook, Y/N was a little old-fashioned when it came to creativity, she had to write down her ideas onto paper, just let the words flow and make them persistent with ink.

Ok so this one will be pure pwp, but that’s a good start to go back to business and the cavillry will hopefully love it anyways. And so Hidden Treasure came to live.

 

Hidden Treasure:

 

you were finally living your dream and made it to be a part of the second season of the Witcher. Even if you were just an extra with just a short amount of screen time, it did not matter to you, you were extremely grateful for this opportunity. It was your sixth week on set now and you were still completely mesmerized by the detailed work and the fantastic world the producers had created. what made your work all the more exciting was the fact that you had a massive crush on the lead actor Henry Cavill. Up until now caught glimpses of him during lunch breaks and when you saw him leaving the hair and makeup trailer. Admiring him from afar was more than you had ever hoped for. He lived rent free in your mind for quite a while now and was one of the reasons why you fell in love with the series. To see him in real life now did things to you. Nearly every night you laid in your trailer and got off to thinking about Henry in his Geralt costume. You were fully content with that situation because you would never even consider that Henry would notice you. But in the last two weeks you had the strange feeling that he watched you during your small scenes and your fight training... but honestly that must have been your mind playing a trick… never would THE Henry Cavill look out for a small nobody like you but nonetheless you enjoyed the feeling of being seen and important.

Today you got a notice from the producers that you needed to go to another filming area with just a small part of the team. Just the two other extras, the producers and camera crew and Henry. As you heard them talk about it your heart nearly stopped... how should you survive this? Watching Henry from afar was one thing but being in the same space as him for nearly two days was something completely different. You knew you would be constantly aroused by his presence and just hoped that you could hide it to not embarrass yourself in front of your bosses.

When you reached your destination it soon became clear that there weren’t enough bedrooms for everyone. So, you needed to share a room with the two other extras. That was no problem for you because you liked your female colleagues very much and the three of you had much fun together, they even made fun of your crush sometimes. After you put your bags in your room you already had to go to hair and make up to get ready for the scene. As you opened the door you thought you must faint. Henry himself sat in one of the chairs... topless, his broad chest on display... his wig already on his head... without thinking you clenched your legs together as a heat started to spread from your centre "get your fucking act together..." you scolded yourself silently and stepped into the trailer and greeted Henry with a short and shy Hello. He looked up to you and met your eyes with one of his Hollywood smiles... "gosh that jawline “As you sat down in your chair you felt how wet your panties already were and started to shift uncomfortably. As subtle as possible you tried to clench your thighs to get some release. From the corner of your eye you thought you saw Henry smirking but you tried not to think about it too much. You grabbed the script in front of you and started to read through the scene for today ... and that hit you hard. Now you knew why Henry was topless... it was another bathing scene in a pond in the woods. great now you had to endure your arousal for the whole goddamn day and you couldn’t do anything about it.

In between the several takes it felt like Henry could smell and sense your arousal and the slick between your folds because every once in a while, he looked at you with an undefinable spark in his eyes...and if you wouldn’t know it better you could have thought that his eyes seemed to be blown by lust... that thought alone nearly drove you mad. You prayed for the day to find an end so that you could finally provide yourself some relief.

Which wasn’t as easy as you thought it would be because obviously you had to share your bedroom and the bathroom too. so, you had to wait until everyone fell asleep and slip into the empty and dark bathroom on the 2nd floor. Fortunately, you had packed your pink dildo so you were able to fill yourself up while dreaming of Henry. As you stepped into the dark room you wasted no more time and placed the dildo onto the wall in the shower and dropped your panties to the floor, they were of course soaking wet from all day’s arousal. You started to play with yourself slowly, stroking your sensitive folds and your clit gently. But you were already so worked up that you needed a quick release. In one swift move you pushed your tight cunt against the dildo on the wall, closed your eyes and imagined Henry grabbing you by your hips and pounding into you relentlessly. You started to moan and shiver... the feeling of Henrys cock inside of you made you dizzy ... he felt so good hitting your cervix with each deep thrust "Oh fuck Henry...harder... deeper...fuck me please" escaped your lips without thinking. You circled your clit to the rhythm of your slapping hips already near the edge to earth-shaking pleasure. You felt your own juices flow down your thighs and kept on fucking yourself with the toy, throwing your head back your moans grew louder and louder. You already lost it now but what was your undoing was your imagination playing you the trick of Henrys deep guttural growl while he pounded even deeper and harder than before "fuck... ahh.. Henry ... I am Cumming" with shaking limps you fell over the edge and your release gushed down between you. With closed eyes you rode out your orgasm not aware of the fact that the growl you heard wasn’t born out of your imagination... not in the slightest.

What you didn’t know was the fact that Henry was as worked up from the day as were you. What you didn’t know was the fact that Henry had a crush on you since he saw you first. What you didn’t know was the fact that he needed his sweet release as well and came to the empty bathroom for the exact same reason as you...with the only difference that he didn’t find it empty. In your haste you did not close the door properly and as Henry stood in front of the door he heard your silent moans and the squelching sound of your wet pussy around the dildo. He slowly and carefully pushed the door a little more open and nearly lost his mind seeing you standing there pleasuring yourself in the most sinful but sexiest way. He pulled down his briefs a bit so his already hard cock sprang free and started to stroke himself. Precum dripping down his length. He knew it would not take long for him to cum with the sight you provided and he had to bite his lip hard not to make a sound. but as he heard you moan his name he could not hold back his deep growl ... which surprisingly sent you over the edge hard and fast... that sight alone brought him to ecstasy as well and he spilled himself over his fist. As he came down from his high he was sure about one thing... he needed to have you... he needed to search this hidden treasure.

 

She dropped her pen, leaned back in her chair and could feel the adrenaline rush...yes that’s it... that’s a good piece to come back into action. Now the only thing was to post again. Hopefully her old followers would like what she wrote and maybe she could gain some more. Half an hour later she already had the first notifications on her story and could fall asleep grateful and with of course Henry in mind.

Taglist: @lunedelorient @inlovewithhisblueeyes @willkatfanfromasia @mis-lil-red @agniavateira @kebabgirl67 @omgkatinka @summersong69 @taebfada @xxxkatxo @artandotherdelights @notabronte @littlefreya @eldarwen333 @marantha @liliumdream @enchantedbytomandhenry @greensleeves888 @witcherfan @radaofrivia @a-little-counter-esperanto @starstruckkittyangel @sillyrabbit81 @wheretheriversrunintothesea @kingliam2019 @pandaxnienke

[scapegrace74-blog]

New Ways of Turning Into Stone

A/N  Another long drive, another Outlander fanfic idea that dropped into my brain out of nowhere, shoving aside the historical AU I have been wrestling with for months.  Here’s the pitch: Claire Beauchamp is a psychiatrist specializing in grief counselling.  Jamie Fraser is referred to her by his sister, who is worried for his well-being after a series of family tragedies.  You can probably guess the rest, but I’m going to write it anyway.   The title is taken from a song by the amazing Phantogram that was playing as the story idea came to me.

After losing my WIP virginity posting Ginger Snap, I’m going out on that limb again and posting this first chapter with only a rough outline mapped out in my head.  You people are a terrible influence!  Also, there will be some trigger warnings on future chapters, so please watch out for those.   And now, on with our show.

Claire Beauchamp glanced down at the leather-bound calendar open on her desk.  The ivory page for Thursday was packed to the margins, each hourly block filled with the name of a patient followed by a series of cuneiform symbols she used to remind herself of the last session, course of treatment, overall progress, all while maintaining strict confidentiality.  Not even Geillis Duncan, her office administrator and very good friend, knew how to decode the script.

Geillis liked to laugh at the old-fashioned day planner, reminding Claire that their practice utilized software that could perform the same function electronically, but she enjoyed the act of physically logging each session.  The solid heft of her Mont Blanc pen in her hand, a medical school graduation gift from her Uncle Lamb.  The scratch and grab of the nub as it bled black ink over virgin paper.  It was a tactile ceremony in a detached world.  Geillis would nod and then tell her she needed to get laid.

Speak of the devil, a sharp rap on her office door was followed by the appearance of her strawberry blonde head. blue eyes alight with mischief.

“Yer two o’clock is here.  Did ye need more time tae finish bolting down tha’ chaff ye call a salad, or can I show him in?”

“It’s kale,” she defended.  “It’s full of anti-oxidants.”

A disdainful scoff was the only response.

“Yes, Geil, please show Mister...” she glanced down at her planner, “...Fraser in, thank you.”

The tiny rectangle contained only a name, which meant this was their first appointment.  Geillis vetted all prospective patients, but Claire preferred to go into the first meeting blind, with no assumptions or pre-conceptions.  

She wondered what misfortune had caused Mr. Fraser to seek out her psychiatric services.  The death of a child, perhaps, or the end of an extra-marital affair.  People grieved for very different reasons and worked through or around that grief with a surprising variety of coping mechanisms.   Most called upon her practice in much the same way they would a breakdown truck when their car’s engine failed.  They simply wanted to get back on the road to happiness.

Despite the degrees and accreditations that decorated her office wall, Claire wasn’t certain such a thing was possible.  In her experience, grief was a phantom limb that never really went away.  The best one could hope for was to learn healthier ways of living with it.  

The sound of Geillis clearing her throat snapped her back to the present.

“Was there something else, Geil?”

“Och, no’ really.  Just, when yer considerin’ how tae thank me later on, remember tha’ my favourite stone is an emerald, that I prefer gold tae silver, but platinum is ne’er amiss.”

“What are you on about, Duncan?”  But her friend had already disappeared back into the reception area, leaving behind only the glow of her Cheshire smile.  Claire was shaking her head, bemused, when another knock rang out, this one considerably heavier than the first.

“Come in,” she called as she looked up.  And up.  And up some more.

The man who now practically filled her office door had to be at least six foot four, with powerful shoulders and a broad torso encased in a blue henley.  His nearly endless legs were likewise muscular, as testified by the stretch of his jeans across each thigh.  As if his physique wasn’t remarkable enough, he had a head of outrageously wavy red hair, worn long enough to graze the tops of his ears and the nape of his neck, but swept back from a high brow by a judicious use of product.  His face was angular in a pleasingly unique way, with a day or two’s growth of beard counter-balancing an almost youthful, earnest appearance.  But his most striking feature by far were his aquamarine eyes that shimmered like a tropical sea.  Eyes that were currently observing her with perplexity.

“Dr. Beauchamp?” a deep Scottish brogue inquired.  He pronounced it as though she were French.

“Yes,” she startled.  “That’s me.  And it’s pronounced Beecham.  Please, come in Mister Fraser.”  She shuffled a few items around her desk needlessly as she tried to compose herself.  Damn Geillis for not giving her a bit more warning that her newest client was some sort of fitness model.

“Thank ye,” he replied.  “An’ it’s pronounced Jamie, if ye please.”   She added wit to the growing list of the man’s attributes.

If anything, he grew even more impressive as he approached.  She could see he was nervous, although hiding it well.  His striking eyes darted about the room, trying to get a sense of his environment.  She indicated the well-upholstered armchair that sat to one side of her desk.

“Have a seat,” she invited.

With a surprising amount of grace for one so tall, he eased into the chair but didn’t lean back.  The fingers of his left hand tapped restlessly against his thigh.  She watched him quietly, waiting for him to speak.  This was a trick she had learned when she first started practicing psychiatry, but in this case it also allowed her to continue her appraisal.  He was, she concluded, the most attractive man she’d ever seen in the flesh.

“No couch,” he finally observed.

“No.  That’s a bit of a Hollywood trope, I’m afraid.  Lying prone in front of a stranger is hardly conducive to feeling at ease.”

He nodded his acceptance of her logic, but was otherwise silent.

“So,” she spoke at last, unable to wait him out, “what caused you to seek out counselling, Jamie?”  His name suited him, she thought as she spoke it for the first time.  Both boyish and imposing at once.

“I didna.  Twas my sister, Jenny, who insisted I see a doctor.”  His mobile mouth twisted into a grimace.  She could imagine the sibling discord that such a demand would have caused.  Whoever this Jenny was, she was made of strong stuff.  Unfortunately for her, a hostile patient would receive no benefit from merely visiting her office.  Counselling was a participatory process, and she could tell from the stubborn set of Jamie’s shoulders that he had no intention of participating.

“I see,” she said carefully.  “Well, it’s your time and your dime, Mr. Fraser.  This session lasts for forty-five minutes, and you’ve not been here for five.  There’s a carafe of hot water on the table over there, if you care for some tea.  Or you’re welcome to just enjoy that comfortable chair for another forty minutes.  I��ll be working on some administrative necessities.”

She turned her chair away from him, but from the corner of her eye she could see his gobsmacked expression.  He had clearly expected her to cajole and manipulate him into co-operating, but that simply wasn’t her style.

“I meant no offence, doctor.  I’m certain ye’re verra good at what ye do.  Tis only... well, Jenny is my older sister, ye ken.  She practically raised me.  And so ofttimes she treats me like a muckle-sized bairn, and no’ a man who’s capable of lookin’ after himself.”

As he spoke, Jamie leaned forward until his elbows rested on his knees, expressive hands gesturing in front of his face.  Hostile to the notion of counselling he might be, but he clearly wanted her to understand it wasn’t a slight.  As a physician, she had been trained to never take a patient’s reactions personally, but it didn’t mean she didn’t appreciate the effort.

“No offence taken, Jamie.  If you don’t need my assistance, I’m happy for you.  That’s one less person hurting in the world.”

“I didna say I wasna hurting.  But I can handle it my own way.  I am handling it, that is,” he hurried to add.

Unable to sit still any longer, he rose and walked over to the small table where she kept an assortment of herbal teas and a tray of Geillis’ homemade biscuits.  Bending over, Jamie set about making himself some; chamomile by the smell of it.  The sound of spoon ringing off porcelain as he stirred in some honey made her smile, reminding her of Lamb and his obsession with the lost art of afternoon tea.

“Can I make ye a cup?”

The question was so unexpected, it took her a moment to process it.  The tea was there as a distraction for her patients, to give them something to do with their bodies as they worked through difficult emotions.  None of them had ever thought to offer her a reprieve as well.

“No, thank you.  I just finished lunch.”

He dipped a shortbread into the steaming tea, then ate it in a single bite.  Instead of sitting back down, he began to browse the framed certificates and photographs along the far wall as he sipped his tea.  With his back turned, her eyes dipped to admire his ass, which filled out his jeans perfectly.  When she caught herself, she gave her head a shake, appalled at her lack of professional detachment.  Maybe Geillis was right.  Maybe she really did need to get laid.

“How long have ye been a doctor?” Jamie asked without turning around.

“Ten years,” she replied.  “But I’ve only been a psychiatrist for the last two.”

It was a dangerous topic, and she blamed his ass for letting the words slip out.  Fortunately, his inquisitiveness took him in an entirely different direction.

“Were ye some kind of prodigy, then? Ye hardly seem old enough tae have yer own practice, let alone fer a decade.  If ye dinna mind me sayin’ so,” he added quickly, as though realizing what he’d just said.

“Not at all.  And you hardly seem young enough to be a, what was it? A muckle-sized bairn?”

As he turned to look her way, she understood the expression ‘shot-gun smile’ for the first time.  It spread across his face like a sunbeam, transforming what was already remarkable into a work of art.  If she hadn’t been sitting, she likely would have stumbled backward from the force of the blow.  Scrambling for something familiar to keep her from making a very grave fool of herself in front of this man, she clasped her clinical training with both hands.

“Are you and your sister close?” 

“Aye, when we’re no’ tryin’ not tae kill the other.  Our Mam died when I was only four, and with Da workin’ dawn til dark on the farm, Jenny was parent, teacher an’ playmate all rolled inta one.”

“You’re not from Edinburgh, then?”  Although what that had to do with his counselling, she hadn’t a clue. 

“Nah, I hail from a wee village in the Highlands ye’ve likely ne’er heard of called Broch Mordha.”  She shook her head to indicate she was indeed unfamiliar with it.  Jamie launched into a detailed description of the place, his hands sculpting the landscape out of thin air.  He obviously cared very deeply for his home, and she felt a twinge of jealousy, having never known that feeling of deep belonging  herself.

“And what brought you to Old Smoky?” she asked as he wound down, her interest piqued.  It was like slamming a lead door on his previously sunny disposition.

“Family obligations.” Said in such a way as to make it clear that no further words would be forthcoming on the topic.  She regretted her nosiness immediately, despite what it revealed about his emotional state.  Jamie was most certainly grieving something, but handling it he was not.

Before she could find a way back to the easy flow of conversation, a chime from her laptop indicated that the session was up.  She couldn’t bear to dismiss him without trying to set things right.

“Listen, Jamie, I understand that you only came here today to humour your sister, but I want you to consider something.  Whether we’re grieving or angry or jealous, or any destabilizing feeling, we’re often the worst surveyors of our own landscape.  Just like you can’t know your place on the sea without referencing the stars, it takes something external to ourselves to measure how far adrift we have become.  Your sister obviously loves you.  Ask yourself, what has she seen in you that prompted her to force you to seek help?”

They parted with cordial but muted goodbyes.  The door closed behind him, leaving Claire to stare at the blank rectangle in her planner that bore his name.  No coded symbols flowed from her pen.  When the door re-opened, it was Geillis, closing it firmly behind her.

“Weel, did I no’ tell ye?  Wee fox, tha’ one.  And he told me he liked my shortbread!”   Geillis said this as though it was some kind of sexual euphemism, which for all Claire knew, it was.

“Yes,” she replied distractedly.  “He’s very nice.”

“Nice!  Nice?  Tha’ man is tae nice what Wagyu is tae beef jerky.  Have ye completely lost yer senses, woman?”  

“Yes, well, he’s a patient, Geillis, as you well know.  And not one I’m likely to see again,” she added, acknowledging out loud what she already knew.

“Oh, no?” Geillis sing-songed.  “Thas’ strange, as he just made an appointment fer the same time next week.”

Claire’s eyes flew to where her friend looked on, smug as could be.

“Yer three o’clock called tae say she was runnin’ five minutes late.  I’ll leave ye tae think about yer... patient.”

Claire picked up her pen, trying to pull together something resembling a professional summary of her first appointment with Jamie.  Her mind replayed their interaction, but all she could remember was the way his eyes crinkled when he was listening attentively, the tidy half-moons of his fingernails, the seam of his jeans as it contoured his thigh, and the cymbal-crash in her chest that accompanied his smile.

Patient, she reminded herself.  Jamie Fraser is your patient. 

[catty-words]

2021 fic writing roundup

continuing my tradition of doing this each year, and also my dearest rose tagged me

Total 2021 Word Count: 129,809 published words, but 183,981 words written for the year   Total 2021 Hits: 49,663 Other 2021 AO3 Stats: Kudos: 4,883; Comment threads: 437; Bookmarks: 742; Subscriptions: 18. [a very good year for me, damn. like, look at the number of bookmarks. blessed.]

Total 2020 Word Count: 132,741 published words (i kept a personal tab day-to-day, and my total number of written words for the year is closer to 169,112) Total 2020 Hits: 17,311 Other 2020 AO3 Stats: Kudos: 1,483; Comment threads: 322; Bookmarks: 192; Subscriptions: 140.

links and titles to 2021 works

[crazy ex girlfriend] a chapter of and my heart, under my feet (11,075 words) - the end is so close you can taste it...too bad i am wretched and incapable of looking nearly-finished wips directly in the face

[julie and the phantoms] groupie (n): an enthusiastic or uncritical follower (707 words) - julie is a star and luke does not begrudge her this; inspired by my wanting to harness the 1.07 locker scene energy in a different direction

[julie and the phantoms] from daydreams and waking up (1,078 words) - julie thinks on her mom’s bad traits, as well as her good

[julie and the phantoms] hold what you’ve got (3,750 words) - band snuggles!

[julie and the phantoms] blissed-out inner star (4,206 words) - julie considers stage diving, luke encourages this

[julie and the phantoms] (reggie’s jam) (1,258 words) - a this band is back theory that’s also just an excuse to write the whole band bantering

[julie and the phantoms] one more try (966 words) - the idea that luke originally wrote bright for alex compels me

[never have i ever] i tumble from the sky (you remind me to fly) (491 words) - cross-posted from tumblr for the ‘give me a song and a pairing and i’ll write you a fic’ game that i grew very fond of this year, featuring mr. k before we even had mr. k

[crazy ex girlfriend] winds of change blowing wild (452 words) - rebecca/valencia, name something i’ve written more iconic than Heard about your divorce. :(

[never have i ever] those signals that you’re mixing (548 words) - probably my favorite ficlet to come from the song game; part of my heart is still living in the season two in which this lil fic takes place

[julie and the phantoms] something sensual (though non-conventional) (2,487 words) - luke can say a lot of things with a simple kiss; @nottheleastbrave’s cheer-up fic!

[community] i’ll go if you go, if you’re cool with that (1,598 words) - the study group ladies run an errand, post-s2 and written for @bethanyactually’s birthday because errand running is a pure expression of friendship and i would visit a target with bethany at the drop of a hat

[julie and the phantoms] just let my love loose again (6,089 words) - the follow-up to something sensual, physical touch is luke’s love language and julie starts talking back

[julie and the phantoms] you know me well, oh, don’t you? (1,630 words) - a flynn/carrie moment pre-season, written for jatp women appreciation week

[never have i ever] eminently practical and yet appropriate as always (606 words) - a little fabiola/eleanor moment based very loosely on the ‘keeps revealing more knives’ trope

[dawson’s creek] feels like home (2,196 words) - remember when i watched dawson’s creek for the first time and privately lost my mind over it? yeah, me neither

[never have i ever] now that i’m in, how do i get out (3,261 words) - oh, this little exploration of ben’s loneliness in his own home post-devi living there was actually written in 2020 but it didn’t feel complete and i got dragged away into other fandom feelings. when i returned to read it over, though, i found it to be absolutely ready for publication.

[sex education] (don’t) tell me anything i don’t wanna hear (2,980 words) - i could not accept where we left maeve and otis post-s2 and had to write a fic about it

[never have i ever] surprise (232 words) - another tumblr prompt cross-post; down with fabiola/eve, fabiola/eleanor riiiise

[buffy the vampire slayer] won’t you meet me in the dark? (321 words) - part of the same prompt game, a bit of s6 spuffy snuggles

[sex education] a good man who went down in flames (387 words) - more from the prompt game, maeve/otis banter vehicle

[sex education] dedicated (206 words) - maeve/otis in ten years’ time; never before have i written a better ficlet based on a prompt

[julie and the phantoms] could be dangerous to keep this up (3,992 words) - written for jukebox week, luke crashes julie’s therapy session

[never have i ever] ...diplomatically renegotiated a pact (1,398 words) - set the summer before high school, because i think more fics about their extra-curricular pact should exist

[never have i ever] start, acceleration, then take it back to square one (34,927 words) - ben teaches devi how to drive, thank you @formal-leatherjacket for galaxy-braining this into being

[never have i ever] double vision, in a rose blush (1,836 words) - a couple d/b moments from season one contextualized in ben’s pov. or, three times ben unexpectedly finds himself in the middle of a daydream about devi and the one time it makes perfect sense to him

[never have i ever] take me up to your mind (1,523 words) - season two hate kissing!

[never have i ever] stop you trying to hide (the way you really feel) (6,554 words) - five times paxton gets dragged into devi and ben’s banter, and the one time he drags ben into a conversation with devi

[sex education] (you are) the glitch in my heart (14,070 words) - the follow-up to (don’t) tell me anything i don’t wanna hear, maeve’s pov as her relationship with otis develops

[sex education] even when the ship is wrecked, tie me to the rotting deck (586 words) - the song fic prompt game returns with m/o sexytime tomfoolery

[never have i ever] makes me feel a little bit closer (to you wanting me back) (712 words) - listen, if someone gives me an in to think about jean jacket ‘verse ben and devi, i’m gonna take it

[never have i ever] you were meant to follow me (but i’ll still act surprised) (561 words) - we can all have a little bit of post-s2 angst. as a treat!

[sex education] two wins & a draw (1,927 words) - i’m unreasonably attached to ruthie and so this is a fic about that

[never have i ever] vertigo so dangerous, you’ll have to sign a waiver (1,159 words) - AU where everything happens the same except mr. shaprio never breaks up the wine heist party

[never have i ever] why don’t you show me the bitty spark you’ve been saving for his mattress? (8,265 words) - the 1.10 canon divergence masturbation interruptus smut we didn’t know we, as a fandom, absolutely needed

[the witcher] clever words and phrases only stain (5,765 words) - properly spiraling about this fantasy theater kid and needed an outlet; or, five compliments on his compositions that jaskier takes issue with and one he doesn’t

Favorite Fic: jesus, how are there 36 of them?? how am i supposed to pick only one?

spoiler alert - i’m not gonna. the shortlist of my favorite darlings from the year includes the driving fic (duh), both fics from the plum ‘verse (though especially the first one), and the d/b 1.10 smut.

Hardest Fic: i kind of dicked around this year more than any other. there are a lot of really short fics on this list that i kind of threw together to keep myself loose and writing but didn’t think especially hard about. so the driving fic gets this distinction with, like, zero competition. finagling it into completion was a Challenge at times.

Do You Plan to Take Prompts in 2022? really really truly obsessed with the song fic prompt game, so i’ll almost certainly reblog that again at some point in the next 12 months.

What was the best thing about 2021? you know what? i didn’t and don’t count it as a fic, but the exhaustive list of things i love about [each song on the jatp soundtrack] was the most fun writing project i completed this year. it was a light and happy time start to finish

What was the worst thing about 2021? i got super busy and, like, physically exhausted the last three-ish months of the year and i wrote comparatively very little. it bummed me out.

Any last thoughts for 2021? i wanted to bring some more gen-focused fic into the world, and i’m glad i managed a few - even if a couple of them had a shippy side-plot to them. here’s to some more gen fic in 2022!

Goals for 2022

to work on whatever i feel like working on and not feel guilty about it (worth keeping year in and year out) [again, excelled at this in 2021]

continue keeping track of my daily writing/writing every day (made it through the year only missing 12 days total, which is two less than last year)

break 200,000 words. just for kicks. (i was closer this past year than the year before, but i didn’t quite make it. rip.)

[thepartyresponsible]

For the wip ask (they all sound very interesting ngl it was hard to pick just one!) LostSteve

lost steve! yeah, so. what if shield defrosted captain america, and he broke out and just...kept running? what if they lost him? what if he ended up hiding out in tony’s tower, away from the fight for long enough to get his feet underneath him?

this fic is mostly about steve and tony finding each other first, so they can form the heart of the avengers, instead of the fault line that splits the team in half. here’s the first part of it.

                                                          —  

There’s an alert from Nick Fury that Tony chooses to ignore, for the sake of his convenience and Fury’s ongoing character growth. JARVIS announces its arrival and then diligently reminds Tony about the message twice before Tony tells him to mute it until morning.

“If it’s really that important,” he says, “they’ll just send someone to break in anyway.”

Which is why, on some level, he’s not at all surprised to find a man sitting on a couch in his penthouse twenty-seven hours later. He will admit to being caught somewhat off-guard by the specifics of the situation, though, because Steve Rogers has been dead for longer than Tony’s been alive.

“Zombie?” Tony asks. “Hallucination? Oh, clone? Are you a clone?”

Steve Rogers looks at him the way people look at wax sculptures. Like he’s interested in the details of the creation in front of him, but doesn’t believe for a second that what he’s looking at is real. “Mr. Stark,” he says, politely. His voice is deeper than Tony would’ve guessed.

“Robot,” Tony theorizes. “Sexbot? Updated Trojan Horse? If I let you inside me, are you gonna--”

The man’s brow furrows, and his mouth twists down, and his eyes are too sad for circuitry. No one would code that kind of grief.

Tony pauses for a moment, rocks forward onto the balls of his feet and then back onto his heels. He studies this intruder carefully. Someone sent him a Steve Rogers lookalike in a white t-shirt and stained khakis. He’s hale and healthy, built like a god, but his feet are bare and dirty.

Bloody, too. There are bloody footprints on the carpet.

“Wait,” Tony says. “Wait. Who the hell are you?”

There’s a long beat of silence. The man on his couch just stares at him, eyes tracing over Tony’s face, his shoulders, looking at him like he’s starving for something. He’s quiet and small, somehow, in a way that doesn’t relate at all to the amount of space his body takes up.

And then he stands, light and graceful on his bloody feet. His jaw tightens, and his shoulders pull up, and he’s an American Hero, suddenly and decisively, like he’s made some kind of choice about it.

“Mr. Stark,” he says, again, “I’m Captain America.”

And he is, Tony thinks. The same way that he’s Iron Man. Because once you put on that kind of armor, whatever else you used to be is irrelevant.

                                                           —

He’s Captain America, and he’s back from the dead. SHIELD had him and lost him, and Nick Fury wants Tony to go looking for him. That’s the message he left with JARVIS over a day ago. And Tony can’t imagine he was the first name on their list, which means Steve Rogers has been alone in the wrong century for an unknown but considerable amount of time.

“Hey,” he says, calling out from where he’s slouched against the kitchen island, watching Captain America dutifully eat through every scrap of leftovers Tony had in the fridge. “How long have you been here?”

“I was born here,” he says, through a mouthful of fried rice that he hides behind a napkin. He chews, swallows, and jabs his fork over Tony’s shoulder. “In Brooklyn.”

Tony knew that. Of course he knew that. He memorized everything about Steve Rogers back when he thought he could become enough like him to make Howard consider him worthwhile. “No, I mean,” he says, waving his hands, “in this century. How long have you been--- Jesus. I dunno. Awake? Aware? Unfrosted flakes?”

Steve blinks at him. He stares for a second and then ducks his head, stirs his fork through the open takeout box in front of him. “Spent a couple days,” he says. “Looking around.”

Looking around. Steve Rogers, unwitting time-traveler, barefoot in New York. What had he been looking for? Why did he come here?

“Why didn’t you get any shoes?” Tony asks, instead of any of the more complicated questions.

Steve tucks his feet under his chair. He washed them half an hour or so back, walking uneasily into the bathroom Tony showed him and then locking the door behind him, like he thought Tony was some kind of pervert who would bodyslam through the door to catch a glimpse of him sudsing up his bare ankles.

“Didn’t have any money,” he says, surprisingly mulish about it.

“You couldn’t smash and grab a pair of Sketchers?” Tony shakes his head. “If you get lockjaw, you’re gonna have to tell Fury you caught it from somewhere else. Fuck’s sake, when was your last tetanus booster? 1943?”

He shrugs. He doesn’t seem concerned. He’s busy eating his way through enough calories to keep your average winter-starved grizzly happy.

It’s hungry work, coming back from the dead. Tony remembers the unholy things he would’ve done for a cheeseburger.

“Didn’t have any money,” he repeats, scraping his fork around the sides of the takeout box, diligent and serious, like it’s the very last scrap of food he’ll ever get.

Tony clears his throat, hip-checks the counter to heave himself to standing. “I’ll get you some cash.”

                                                           —

There’s a weird moment, when Tony gives him the money. It’s just a few hundred dollars. He’s not Tony’s problem, not his project raised from the dead, but he still doesn’t want to give Steve Rogers the means to get himself truly lost in a world he doesn’t know.

Five hundred dollars will get him some food and somewhere to sleep for a few days, but it won’t get him far enough out of SHIELD’s orbit to get himself in trouble.

He looks up when Tony gets close. There’s a well-worn wariness in his eyes. He watches him the way a dog from a bad home might watch him through the bars of the shelter’s kennel. Resigned instead of hopeful, like he knows how this goes, like he knows he can survive it.

“Here,” Tony says. He leaves the money two chairs away from him, within easy grabbing distance. “And I have shoes your size, if you want to borrow them.”

“I don’t need that,” Rogers says, pointing at the money.

Tony lets his mouth tip up sideways, smirks like this is the part of the whole situation he finds truly unbelievable. “You’re going to come into my house,” he says, “uninvited, unannounced, and then you’re going to refuse to accept my hospitality? Rogers, what would your mother think?”

There’s a stall point in Roger’s stare, like watching a bird fly into a window. There’s a moment, right around the word mother, when those blue eyes blank out, and Tony’s just staring into empty space.

“She didn’t,” he says, and it’s fascinating. He’s stitching himself up right here at Tony’s dining table. Tony can practically see it happening, vertebrae stacking up, pulling him taunt like a needle tugging on a thread. “She never liked charity.”

Tony is familiar with pride. He has something of an overabundance himself, although he comes by it honestly. He knows hurt pride hates an audience, so he looks away.

“I imagine she hated the idea of you starving, too,” Tony says. “Probably worked very hard to make sure that didn’t happen. Going to waste all her work now, Rogers? Seems ungrateful.”

He’s half-taunting by the end of it. He’s not sure why. He finds weak points like a magnet finds iron. Sometimes he doesn’t even know what he’s pulling on until after he’s accidentally ripped out someone’s heart. It’s not one of the traits he’s proud of, but, like his pride, he knows where it came from.

Rogers glares at him, but he hooks the next takeout container over anyway.

“I’ll get those shoes,” Tony says. JARVIS has already measured; Rhodey left some boots that should fit.

Steve doesn’t say anything, but, when Tony comes back, the money is gone, and so is he.

                                                           —

Tony doesn’t tell Fury a damn thing. If Fury lost a national icon, that’s his problem. And anyway, Tony’s still not completely convinced that the blonde who materialized in his penthouse was actually Steve Rogers and not some kind of really confused, really well-built homeless man. Or a stripper.

Tony’s never actually met a stripper who showed up in khakis, refused to disrobe, and then ate ten pounds of takeout before silently disappearing, but he’d be willing to pay another five hundred dollars for a repeat performance.

He figures out how the maybe-Steve got into his penthouse. He upgrades the security, but he tells JARVIS to let him in if he ever comes back. He’s not sure what he’s hoping for, but he’s too curious to lock him out.

                                                           —

There’s a bit of nothing that kicks off in New York, some Hammer tech that goes haywire. Tony puts it down like the cheap knockoff that it is, but he gets stuck in debrief with Phil Coulson afterwards, because he’s not quite quick enough to abandon the scene after the fight’s over. In his defense, he was holding a car above a partially-trapped bicyclist, and Coulson caught him before the EMTs could finish disentangling her.

He makes it back to the Tower after an hour of mostly-wasted time. Steve Rogers is sitting at his dining table. Tony bites back the ludicrous urge to “honey, I’m home!” him.

“Hey,” he says instead, as he steps in from the balcony, stripped down to the skintight suit he wears under the armor. He didn’t expect company. “You get something to eat?”

Steve seems somehow offended by the question. “I didn’t break in here and steal anything,” he says.

“Okay,” Tony says, moving past him. “Well, that’s a gold star and an empty stomach for you, Rogers. We’re all very proud.”

“It’s not my food,” Steve tells him. If he had hackles, they’d be raised. Tony wants to pat him on the head, but only because he’s always had a sort of neurotic tendency to see how hard people bite before he decides whether to trust them.

“Yeah, and a twenty-dollar grocery bill is really gonna break me,” Tony says. He takes a smoothie out of the freezer. “You want pizza? I’m gonna order pizza.”

Steve stares at him for a long moment before he shrugs. “I could eat,” he says.

“Great,” Tony says. He has JARVIS order three pizzas, because he wants at least half of one for himself, and Steve Rogers is a human garbage disposal.

Steve takes a shower while they’re waiting. He asks first, which Tony supposes is the polite thing to do, and he takes his backpack with him, like he’s worried Tony’s going to steal his wallet.

“You know,” Tony says, when Steve remerges, wearing another knockout set of some grandpa’s Goodwill khakis and button-down shirt, “you keep showing up like this, and it’s gonna get harder for me to lie to Fury about having no idea where you are.”

Steve flips open a pizza box and carefully selects a slice. His hair is wet and neatly combed back from his face. He’s handsome from a distance but damn near devastating at close range. Tony takes another bite of pizza, hopes it’ll help swallow back the urge to sink a few grand into war bonds.

“Fury’s the guy with the eyepatch?” Steve doesn’t settle into a seat. He takes his pizza and wanders over to the window, stares out at the skyline.

“Yeah, that’s him,” Tony says.

Steve makes a face. Tony can see it, dulled and faded, in the reflection on the glass. “He’s persistent,” he says, slowly. Not like it’s a compliment.

“Yeah,” Tony says, again, “that’s him.”

Steve doesn’t say anything else. Tony finishes his slice of pizza, eats another one. There’s an ache in his right shoulder from being wrenched around by Hammer’s ridiculous creation, and he should be icing it, but he doesn’t want to. Not with Steve Rogers here.

He’s never liked looking human in front of an audience. His problem has always been that he couldn’t figure out how to stop. At least, not until he built his armor.

Steve comes back when he’s out of pizza. He’s catlike in his wariness, in the way he seems pissed at Tony for daring to exist in his proximity.

“That fight,” he says, apropos of approximately nothing at all. “Earlier.”

“Oh,” Tony says, rising out of his chair and moving toward the bar, giving Steve the room to loom over the pizza like he’s defending his kill. “You see that on the news?”

“Saw it on the street,” Steve says. “Heard the screams.”

Heard the screams and came running. So he’s still in the hero business. Fury will be happy to hear it.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed,” Steve tells him. He sounds angry about it. At Tony, not the situation. “Where’s your backup?”

“Backup,” Tony repeats. “Cap, c’mon. Read a newspaper. I work alone.”

Steve Rogers looks up from his pizza perusal just long enough to roll his eyes. It should feel like a slap across the face, and maybe it does. However it feels, Tony likes it. Wants more of it. There’s always been something grounding in being dismissed, like Tony’s never known where he stands until someone shows him how he doesn’t measure up.

“Is that supposed to be impressive?” Steve asks. “Men who work alone die alone, Stark. And they’re not very effective when they do.”

Tony knows he’s meant to be offended. He is, probably. But he couldn’t bite back his smile for anything. “I think I liked you better when you called me ‘Mr. Stark.’”

“Seems to me,” Steve says, “you want everyone to call you Iron Man these days.”

“Oh Captain, my Captain,” Tony says, “surely they had that line about glass houses in the ‘40’s?”

Steve frowns at him. “I never asked anyone to call me Captain America.”

“And yet,” Tony says, tipping a bottle of whiskey his direction, “that’s how to introduced yourself to me.”

Steve gives him a look like he thinks Tony’s being deliberately obtuse. “That’s who I am,” he says.

Tony rolls his eyes and flips a tumbler right side up. “But when I start using a stage name,” he says, “suddenly I’m a narcissistic asshole who doesn’t--”

“Do you think,” Steve says, looming up suddenly, shifting gears like something mechanical, going battle-ready with more decisiveness than a faceplate clicking down, “that anybody spent years, spent—I don’t know. Millions of dollars? Do you think anybody did that for Steve Rogers?”

Tony’s caught wrong-footed. He did it again. Drilled until he found the nerve, cut until he broke the skin.

“I think you don’t get one without the other,” Tony says, trying now to soothe. But he’s not very good at it. His instincts don’t run this direction. His whole life, the only things he could ever repair were machines.

Steve shakes his head. He steps away from the pizza. He looks around, eyes zeroing in on his backpack.

“Stay here,” Tony says, sidling out from behind the bar, whiskey now in hand.

Steve straightens up like a cobra, like he’s going to spit venom in Tony’s face. Tony wants to put his mouth on him, which is probably only half because he’s always been hellbent on his own destruction. The other half is that Steve Rogers is beautiful like something made in a lab for aesthetics alone, carefully designed for universal appeal. Tony likes to tell himself he has a taste for the exclusive, but the reality has always been he wants exactly what everyone else does.

“You don’t want SHIELD to find you,” Tony says, “then stay here. Trust me, this is the last place they’d think to look.”

He’s not standing between Steve and the exit. He was careful about that. Whatever SHIELD might think about him, he doesn’t have a death wish. And also, when he’s thinking about it, he’s not usually deliberately an asshole. It’s just that, most of the time, he’s not thinking about it.

“Why should I trust you?” Steve asks.

Tony shrugs. Hell, he has no idea. “Why’d you come here? The first time. When SHIELD lost you, you came here. Why?”

“I went home,” Steve says, argumentative, all squared shoulders and tight jaw. “I went to Brooklyn. But it wasn’t there anymore. None of it was—I couldn’t find…”

He trails off, shakes his head, sharp and agitated, a horse bothered by a fly. It’s hard to look in his eyes. There’s something in them that Tony doesn’t want to see. It’s like watching a statue bleed.

“I heard there was still a Stark in New York,” Steve says. “I read about you. I thought maybe you’d--”

“You thought I’d be like Howard,” Tony finishes for him. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“I thought you’d be like me,” Steve says, which doesn’t make any sense at all.

“You,” Tony says. And then, a little helplessly, “What?”

Steve looks away. He shrugs, looks back. “I saw the suit,” he says. “On the news. I saw what it can do. I didn’t think--- things have advanced a lot. I didn’t understand. I thought Howard had…”

Tony squints at him. “You thought Howard did a Rebirth redux and tested it on his kid?”

“I thought a lot of things,” Steve says, snappy. “It was a very confusing couple of days.”

Tony can imagine that it was. “So you thought I was Rebirthed, and you wanted--”

“I didn’t want anything,” Steve says, and there’s that flash of exposed nerve again, that look like a sinkhole in the backs of his eyes. “That’s not the point.”

Tony takes a sip of his whiskey. It settles, warm and sweet, into his stomach.

I didn’t want anything.

I shouldn’t be alive, unless it’s for a reason.

Tony holds the tumbler out. Steve needs the warmth more than he does. “Here,” he says.

Steve takes it, seemingly on reflex. “I can’t get drunk,” he says.

“Well,” Tony says, circling back toward the bar, “not with that attitude.”

[sunnyrosewritesstuff]

Day 6 Birthday Plot Bunnies 2

If you want this to become my next WIP, be sure to shower it with lots of love!!  🥰 💖 All the story starters will be linked back to this masterpost.

Title: A Walk on the Other Side

Summary: Bilbo is a FBI profiler and rather enjoys his desk job when a strange case comes across his desk hinting towards the FBI's most wanted: Smaug. As soon as he makes this connection, he is approached by notorious crime lord, Oakenshield, in an attempt to get him to work for him. Bilbo’s world gets flipped upside down by the suave man, and he may not be a dirty cop, but he does have a personal investment in making sure Smaug is put behind bars.

Bilbo Baggins was not exactly the first person you pictured when you heard the acronym “FBI”. He was a little too short, a little too pudgy, and enjoyed his sweater vests immensely. Yet, he’s been his department’s top analyst for the last fourteen years. He may not be one of the showy field officers (messy, nasty work that), but what Bilbo did was not any less important. In fact, if it wasn’t for analysts like Bilbo, a lot of times the “gunslinging action” wouldn’t take place at all. A rather unpopular opinion but true.

It was shaping into a relatively normal Thursday for Bilbo. They had just finished up a debrief over their latest embezzlement case. He was starting to suspect they were dealing with a serial embezzler. It was different locations, different methods, and different amounts, but there was something about the case that clicked in Bilbo’s mind. He was almost to his desk when he noticed a large manila envelope was draped over his keyboard. He raised an eyebrow as he carefully lifted the sticky note attached to it.

Have a look at these files for me? I know I’m missing something. Call me when you figure it out. -GG

Bilbo plopped into his uncomfortable rolling chair with a sigh. Gandalf was his old AD before he switched departments. And unfortunately, anything with Gandalf’s name on it was usually trouble for Bilbo. He tapped his fingers on the desk and spun back and forth in his chair for a bit when his eyes landed on his mother’s picture on his desk. She was in uniform hugging him at his college graduation. He knew exactly what she would want him to do. Heaving a groan, he pulled the damn envelope towards him and started looking over the files.

Arsons? Those didn’t usually fall under Gandalf’s jurisdiction. His eyes skimmed the reports, not sure exactly what Gandalf was expecting him to do. The evidence was fairly cut and dry. What’s more is the local police caught a suspect that seemed substantially to blame. Case closed. However, if Gandalf thought there was more, he should probably check it twice. It was actually the third time that he caught it. The papers hit his desk as his mind reeled. No...surely it wasn’t? Now he really needed to make sure.

He laid the photos out side by side circling the origin of the fires in each picture. His hand was shaking when he was done. This was big. This was FBI’s most wanted big. He didn’t even bother writing up a report. He immediately got on the server and sent a one-word email to Gandalf.

Smaug.

It was thirty after six when Bilbo finally packed up his work to head back home. His mind had been racing all afternoon, and all he wanted was to be put on the arson case. However, Gandalf never replied to his email, never called, nothing. First thing he was going to do when he got home after feeding Myrtle was grab a beer from the fridge and call the older man. Even if Gandalf wouldn’t let him be part of the team, he deserved to know what happened with that bastard.

Bilbo’s townhouse wasn’t exactly what you would call grand, but he enjoyed it greatly. It had the cosy atmosphere of his childhood cottage while still being rent efficient in a quiet neighborhood. It was a slight commute to work, but well worth it. He unlocked the door and flipped on the lights to the front room as he toed off his shoes and set his messenger bag down. He was just getting ready to move into the kitchen to get some cat food down for Myrtle when he froze. There was a man in his house.

“So you’re Mr. Baggins.” His low voice purred in amusement as he looked him up and down. “You look more like a grocer than an agent.”

Bilbo opened his mouth to scream when the man whipped out a Sig Sauer.

“Don’t.” He ordered calmly. “I only want to talk.”

Bilbo’s eyes hardened as he quickly took in details for a sketch artist. Tall, likely over six foot. Lean, except for he’s slightly broader in the shoulders. Tailored suit. Slicked back dark hair but graying at the sides, hooded blue eyes, well-trimmed beard and mustache. Almost as if he knew exactly what Bilbo was doing, the man smirked before nodding towards the sitting room. Bilbo moved slowly and deliberately as he sank down onto his armchair. The man unbuttoned his jacket before taking the spot on the couch. He set the gun down in front of him on the coffee table. A peace offering, but also a signal that it was within reach if he needed it. Bilbo’s blood was pounding as he forced his dry throat to work.

“What do you want?”

“Gandalf told me you have the information I need.”

Bilbo cocked his head in confusion as his mind raced to process the loaded answer. This man knew Gandalf. He talked to him recently. He knew Smaug.

“What kind of information?” Bilbo played dumb.

“A file came across your desk, and you gave Gandalf a name. I want to know why? What did you see that made you so sure it was him?”

There was almost a maniac gleam in those bright blue eyes. It was something Bilbo related to well. 

“I can show you. I just need to get to my bag.” Bilbo stated, slowly standing up.

The man’s hand twitched towards his gun, but he didn’t pick it up as he nodded his consent. He didn’t take Bilbo as a threat. His mistake. Bilbo grabbed his bag and slid the pistol and cell phone out of the front pocket whirling around on the man. He sighed but put his hands up as he leaned back into the couch. Bilbo’s left hand was shaking as he searched for Gandalf’s number, but his gun hand remained steady and in control. He put the call on speaker so he could watch the man’s face for any slip. However, his expression never changed from slightly bored and exasperated.

“My dear Bilbo, I do hope you haven’t shot our guest yet.”

Bilbo could just kill the AD. He really could. As it was, his posture relaxed just slightly.

“Who is he?” He demanded of Gandalf.

“Someone who has hunted Smaug longer than you.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes at the dramatics and lack of a real answer which seemed to amuse the other man somewhat. This didn’t feel right. Every instinct in Bilbo’s body said to arrest the man across from him if nothing else than because he was dangerous.

“Do you trust him?” Bilbo finally asked, his voice wavering just slightly.

There was a long pause before Gandalf answered.

“I do.” 

Being of no real use, Bilbo hung up the phone after that. He had two choices before him. He could trust Gandalf’s judgement, or he could go with his instincts. He kept the gun trained on the man for a moment longer before lowering it with a sigh. He flipped the safety back on as he stuck it in his waistband, because he wasn’t a total naive idiot, before picking up his bag like he said he was going to initially. When he looked back over, the man’s gun was gone. Bilbo sat stiffly next to him and pulled out the file Gandalf had sent over earlier.

“It was where these fires originated that tipped me off. Here, what do you notice?” Bilbo questioned.

The man furrowed his eyebrows studying the images before he shrugged with a grunt of irritation.

“Placement.” Bilbo pointed out. “There were no traces of accelerant so how do you start a natural fire? Well, very easily. Gas range stove, covered radiator, electrical outlets, but look. Where the spot is most charred we can assume is the start of the fire. It’s nowhere near anything like that. It couldn’t possibly have started naturally. So what set off the fire? Smaug has a very specific MO. He kills using highly concentrated nitroglycerin tablets, smuggable due to their heart relieving counterparts, that when combined with human stomach acid will cause an explosion. And judging by the shape of the darker burn, it’s not a huge leap to assume that there was a human body there.”

“But all of the owners were alive to file insurance claims.” The man pointed out, looking more curious than anything else.

Forgetting that he was a stranger that had a gun trained on him not even ten minutes ago, Bilbo found himself getting more animated at the chance to finally explain his theories.

“So I looked into that after I sent the email to Gandalf. Somehow, every owner was conveniently out of town before the fire happened, and afterwards were able to afford a building or home way above their pay scale. Which even if you take insurance money into account still shouldn’t be possible. I think Smaug was paying them off for access to conduct his dirty work somewhere he couldn’t be tracked. What’s more, all the buildings being used by the same money laundering cleaning service made an easy target for the police.”

The man raised an eyebrow as he seemed to be appraising Bilbo. He smirked before standing.

“Very well, I’ll talk to Gandalf about getting you transferred.”

Bilbo jumped to his feet.

“Transferred? Where? For what purpose?”

“I want you working for me.”

“Now wait just a minute here!” Bilbo demanded as he stomped back into the entry hall. “I don’t know who the hell you are, but I won’t be a dirty cop! And don’t try to convince me anything about what we did was legal. Nobody breaks into an FBI agent’s home and holds a gun on him unless they work outside the law.”

The man shook his head with a snort. “Well aren’t you just perceptive.”

“Hang on!”

Bilbo reached out for the man’s arm at the same time he reached for the doorknob. In less than a second, the man had Bilbo’s arm pinned above his head in the wall out of view of the window with Bilbo’s own gun placed under his chin. Bilbo glared into the ice blue eyes inches away from his own as he tried to keep a cool head in an uncomfortable situation.

“Let’s get a couple of things straight.” The man whispered, his breath hot on Bilbo’s face. “One, I don’t answer to anyone, especially not you. Two, you’ll be whatever I want you to be or you don’t get the revenge you so clearly desire. Yeah, I can see in your eyes how badly you want Smaug. Work for me or get the hell out of my way. I don’t really care one way or the other, but Smaug is mine.”

He gave Bilbo one last smirk before shoving the gun in Bilbo’s pocket and stepping away. Without so much as a ‘good evening’, he was gone in the night. Adrenaline shot, Bilbo slid down the wall until his butt met the floor painfully. He let his head lightly bang into the wall behind him a few times as he just focused on breathing. A ‘meow’ alerted him to his company before Myrtle stepped over his legs to rub her head against his arms and stomach.

“And where have you been?” He croaked.

He didn’t get an answer back aside from another ‘meow’ as she seemed rather insistent on getting her dinner. Bilbo closed his eyes and counted to twenty before getting up to finally go to the kitchen. That beer sounded more prevalent than ever.

***

First thing he did the next day was go straight to Gandalf’s office, slamming the door behind him. The older man looked up and gave the analyst a wide smile. 

“Bilbo! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Who the hell was that last night?!”

“Well…” Gandalf huffed.

“Tell me.” Bilbo seethed. “Or I’ll go straight to the top and tell Saruman everything.”

Gandalf pouted. “No need to get testy. Please have a seat. Do you want some tea? Coffee?”

Bilbo let his face fall into his hands. “What I want…” His muffled voice stressed. “Is some answers. What have I just been exposed to?”

Gandalf sighed. “Very well. I believe you are familiar with Oakenshield?”

Bilbo slowly lifted his head to pierce Gandalf with a baffled glare.

“Oakenshield...the crime family? Oakenshield...who got into it with the Orcs several years back and cut off the hand of their boss? That Oakenshield?” 

“The very one.” Gandalf snapped, pleased. “Well that was Thorin.”

“Thorin? As in the head of Oakenshield, Thorin Durin?!” Bilbo’s voice had risen in pitch at this point.

“Of course.” Gandalf nodded as if Bilbo having a conversation in his living room with a dangerous mob boss was akin to making a friend at preschool.

Bilbo collapsed in the chair across from Gandalf as spots danced in his eyes. He white-knuckle gripped the arms as if physically trying to tether himself to the conscious world. I’m not going to pass out. I’m not going to pass out. Bilbo was an analyst! There was a reason he didn’t go out and meet people...well like that. And Gandalf knew Durin. Even worse, Gandalf leaked FBI intel to him. Slowly he lifted his head.

“Did my mother know?” He demanded hoarsely.

“Did she know what?” Gandalf asked, genuinely baffled.

“Did she know you worked for the mafia?”

“Bilbo…”

“ANSWER THE QUESTION, GANDALF!”

The wizened face hardened, reminding Bilbo of the reason why he had yet to retire.

“She suspected...but I never told her, no.”

Bilbo rubbed his jaw as he chuckled on the verge of hysterics.

“She always told me I had to get in your command. Said it was her best days on the force. That you were a good AD. Tell me. What’s your ratio? How many do you let slip off the hook for every one you put behind bars?”

“Now see here, Bilbo Baggins! I will not let you undermine me or my division! Contrary to your belief system, there is more at work here than what you can comprehend.”

“My belief system?” Bilbo scoffed. “You mean THE LAW?”

“Yes.” Gandalf grumped. “The law. The law which can dictate that a pickpocket is guilty but a corporation stealing hours from their underpaid workers is innocent.”

“I’m not going to sit here and debate...politics with you!” Bilbo laughed. “My job is to arrest people like Thorin Durin and there’s nothing you can say that’s ever going to make me think working with the lunatic is a good idea!”

“Not even if he’s your only chance to take down Smaug?”

Bilbo’s face fell into an emotionless mask, except for his eyes burning holes into Gandalf. Without another word, he stood and left the office. If he slammed the door closed with more force than necessary, well that was no one’s business but his own. Luckily, his black mood seemed to engulf him like a siren warning everyone off. He made it to his desk with no distractions ready to pick up where he left off with the embezzlement cases. Only, he couldn’t move as he stared blankly at the wall of his cubicle.

Understandably, his focus was a little off. He figured he should turn Gandalf in, but for the love of his mother’s memory and nothing more, he deemed it best to leave that stone unturned. His decision was immediately questioned when he got a text twenty minutes later from an unknown number with a time and a location and a charming little warning at the end.

Come alone.

Bilbo snorted as he tossed his phone on his desk. Absolutely not. An hour later, he found himself procrastinating the embezzlement case again to pull up the bureau's database on Smaug, Dracon. It was all information Bilbo had practically memorized at this point. His eyes drifted towards his phone with the text he had already committed to memory before shaking his head and exiting out of his search. Bilbo was an analyst for the FBI. He had his integrity and moral responsibility to ignore psychopathic crime bosses who wanted to use him for a turf war. He wasn’t so single-mindedly driven by revenge regardless of what Gandalf or Oakenshield said. His phone buzzed again.

Belladonna Took’s son was meant for more than sitting behind a desk for the rest of his life. Thorin was impressed. At least hear him out tonight, and if you absolutely feel like you can’t join the team, we won’t bother you ever again.

Bilbo threw his phone with a string of curses that had everyone around him staring with wide eyes. Bilbo dragged his hands down his face. This was such an easy decision. He just had to say no! No, no, no, no. Why couldn’t he say no?

Because you’ve never felt more excited about any case before? Because you trained for months to be a field agent before making an abstaining promise to your father at your mother’s grave? Because you’ve never felt closer to getting your mother’s killer, and that’s a sweet taste that just won’t go away?

Bilbo cursed himself with every swear in the book when the cab pulled up outside the restaurant that was texted to him. His nerves were singing. Everything about this felt wrong and dirty. And yet...he opened the door to let himself in.

[strawberrycamel]

Fic Writer Review

tagged by: @aj-itated <3

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 30!

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 46,254 words

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they? based on my Ao3 and my old ff.net account: 3 - Fairy Tail, BNHA, DP (though I haven't written for Fairy Tail or bnha in years)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? in order, that would be How to Take Out a Ghost by TooFineFoley, Bad Luck Tuck: The Sequel, ignorance is your new best friend, What Could Have Been, and, surprisingly, A Connoisseur of Fine Art (all DP or DP crossover fics)

5. Which of your fic do you want more attention for? both they're siblings, your honor and Big Boy Tucker. i can't choose, they both need love

6. Do you respond to comments, why or why not? i used to respond to them as often as I could at the start, but i kinda slacked off sometime around the beginning of summer classes. I used to respond to them because they made me really happy and i wanted to let the commenters know I did actually read it and am very grateful for their comments, but after a while it became... idk, draining? I felt bad about leaving the same response to each commenter and got caught up in my own head so I just kinda,, stopped all together. I wanna start responding again at some point, but uh, probably not anytime soon.

7. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

oh definitely One More Time; I think that's the only fic I've written without some kind of happy ending (anything in the Not Your Son series doesn't count since it's not finished yet :3) and I can't tell you how much it pained me not to make it happy. Don't get me wrong, I loved writing that for going angst week but hole-y shit did it fuck me up

8. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you’ve written? I do write crossovers! The craziest, I think, is my Strange vs. Work: Wife Swap AU, it's not done because I'm seriously stumped for it right now, but it's essentially a DP Marvel crossover where Clockwork and Dr. Strange are forced by a TV host ghost to switch bodies and mentor the other person's 'apprentice'. Peter and Danny have to help them get adjusted to their new environments/bodies and they all have to figure out how to turn things back to normal. This whole series is meant to be based off the show 'Wife Swap'. I have fun making Stephen suffer >:)

9. Have you ever received hate on a fic? not that i can remember? like i think it was more grammar and dialogue punctuation nitpicking on my old ff.net fics, never hate

10. Do you write smut? if so what kind? not really, but i have a singular wip that im working on that's definitely spicy

11. Have you ever had a fic translated? nope

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before? no? (i was working on something a while ago but we havent finished so, I'm going with no)

13. What’s your all time favorite ship? i don't think I really have one. Usually I just read whichever fics have cool summaries or tags and just dive right in, ships be damned. Lately I've been reading a few TimKon fics and I've been thinking about Dark Ages, UFS, and Gray Ghost stuff a lot over the summer

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will? oh, oh god. I'm going to say it and I'm going to feel real shitty about it because it's such a good fucking concept, but I can't bring myself to write anything more than what I already have written and all the notes I just randomly add onto it every once in a while. It even has a title: "Ectoplasmic Pudding".

It's a DP DC crossover fic wip and the plot is about Danny being called by Batman to help with a kidnapping case he suspects to involve ghosts; he needs Danny's expertise and help to capture the ghost. Danny agrees and he meets Batman and Robin (Dick Grayson) on the roof of the police station (after dropping face first onto it because he got blinded by the bat signal). They go by Batmobile and arrive at the scene of the crime where Danny confirms a ghost is involved. A bunch of different scenes of Danny and Robin having a blast while Batman's trying his best to stay on task and then, eventually, they find a warehouse where the box ghost is interrogating a bored looking Mr. Trand, the victim, about some fancy box commissioned by Vlad.

Danny figures out this guy is Bertrand in disguise and since Bertrand's essentially on vacation, they both agree to lie about how they know each other. And then I got stuck around here, but I imagine it just ends up being a series of dumb events where Batman, Robin, and Danny have to 'protect' Bertrand until they catch Boxy and throw him back into the Ghost Zone while the disguised ghost tries to make the most of the rest of his vacation.

Batman and Robin definitely don't believe whatever lie Danny came up with to explain how he knows Mr. Trand, but they go along with it until it's revealed in probably the worst way possible and leads to both of them trying to take the former kidnapping victim to the GIW while also trying to keep Danny from stopping them and barely listening to a word he says (maybe they think he's being threatened somehow or being controlled or smth, idk). Absolutely no clue how that whole fight goes, but in the end Danny kicks Box Ghost into the Zone and Bertrand is told very explicitly never to bring Spectra to Gotham.

15. What are your writing strengths? evoking emotion in my writing? yeah i'm going with that

16. What are your writing weaknesses? planning out plot ahead of time. I can write outlines and write a bunch of notes about what i want to include, that's not the problem. My problem is that all my motivation to write just drains away the moment I have a somewhat concrete plot planned out for a fic- this applies to one-shots and longfics exactly the same. And past that, sometimes I'll make one change to the planned plot and feel like tossing the whole thing out the window and going freehand without the 'constraints' of an outline or anything ..........

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? try not to offend anybody? like, look at good examples of how others have done it and do a lot of research and stuff. Also, be aware that not everything will translate perfectly from the original language you wrote the fic in and whatever language you're translating it to.

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for? Fairy Tail

19. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written? Hellbent. A few others come close, but I seriously cannot express the joy i felt writing that first chapter (and when I'm done my minibang fic, I literally cannot wait to get back to it)

20. What fic are you most proud of? that's a tough one, there are a bunch i fucking adore but i think it's tied between The Big Dipper and ignorance is your new best friend

Tagging: @guardianrex, @shinygoldstar, @cleanlenins, @princessfanonanona, and @ghost-pasta!

[lookturtles]

Thought I’d post part of the WIP I’ve been working on. It’s a fill for the Cobra Kai kink meme where Daniel is obsessed with Johnny’s blond hair. Hopefully I’ll be able to finish it sometime this week

Daniel went up to Johnny’s apartment door to go over next week lesson plan with him. He didn’t technically need to go over it, he knew each student and their strengths and weaknesses, but it had been two weeks since his divorce was final and he needed a distraction; nothing distracted quite like Johnny. He was so irritating, but more than that they had quite a few things in common and had tentative friendship since they decided to combine their dojos.

Different but same, as Mr. Miyagi would have said.

He still couldn’t believe that Johnny agreed to call their dojo ‘Mr. Miyagi’s Little Eagles’ but apparently all Johnny wanted was to have lasers coming out of the eagle’s eyes on the logo.

He knocked.

‘Yeah! Yeah. Keep your pants on unless you’re a hot chick!’ Johnny yelled from inside the apartment.

He opened the door a crack and smiled when he saw Daniel.

‘Hey. What’s up?’

‘I thought we could go over our lesson plan for the week.’

‘Lesson plan? I have never made a lesson plan and I’m not going to start now. I’m not some nerd.’

Daniel rolled his eyes. ‘Just let me in.’

‘Yeah. Yeah,’ Johnny opened the door and the rest of what Daniel was going to say died on his lips. Johnny was wearing a crop top and a blond strip of hair started just below his navel disappeared under his jeans. He might be in his 50s but Johnny’s stomach was still toned and flat.

He tore his eyes from Johnny’s stomach. He could feel his cheeks heating up.

‘Something wrong, LaRusso?’ Johnny said with a grin.

‘Crop top. Why are you wearing a crop top?’

Johnny shrugged. ‘Laundry day. You still wanna come in?’

He thought about it, but thought being close to Johnny while he was wearing THAT shirt would be a spectacularly bad idea. They had a truce and he didn’t want to jeopardize it; he didn’t think Johnny would appreciate Daniel making a pass at him and Daniel didn’t trust himself not to. His fingers were already itching to touch that golden treasure trail.

‘Um... I just remembered... I have to do something,’ Daniel stammered out as he turned around and ran from Johnny’s.

‘Don’t be a stranger!’ Johnny yelled after him.

Daniel got into his car and rested his forehead on his steering wheel.

He had no idea where his desire to touch Johnny (more specificity his treasure trail) had come from but he needed to nip it in the bud. Growing up in the 80’s he had seen quite a few guys wearing crop tops and he had looked (who wouldn’t) but it was different with Johnny.

He drove home and the more distance he put between them the more he convinced himself he was a one-off. He was just tired and lonely.

He walked into his house and dropped his keys on the counter. While going through his divorce, he had asked Amanda if she wanted the house, but she just said it was too big for her. He could see what she meant. Sam and Anthony lived with Amanda most of the time, but they did stay with him every weekend.

He was thankful he still had a good relationship with his kids, but when they weren’t in the house it did feel empty and huge.

He turned on a radio and classical music filled the house making it not so quiet.

Loosening his tie, he decided to take a shower and just relax for a while and not think about Johnny and his golden hair.

Walking into the bathroom, he stripped off his clothes and stepped into his large blue tiled shower. The shower had several different shower heads that had different spray patterns. Amanda had laughed when he had the shower installed, but he enjoyed it.

He and Amanda had tried having shower sex but he almost threw his back out and never again. Still, he had jerked off in the shower probably more times than the average man.

He turned on the water and groaned when the warm spray hit his aching muscles. Maybe it was the warm water, but after a few moments he felt his cock harden and started to stroke it.

He tried to just let his mind wander and it seemed to be working. He felt his orgasm building and as he stroked himself faster he pictured Johnny’s treasure trail and came hard.

‘Damn it!’ he yelled. Perhaps it hadn’t been a one off after all. He was just going to have to try harder to ignore it.

Stupid Johnny and his stupid crop top that showed off his stupid treasure trail.

[carelessannie]

maybe it goes like this: steve builds his pack (part 3)

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

Read on A03

Read the Tony courts Peter wip

Stuckony (focus), Stony, Winteriron, Stucky

A finale to the sweet, slightly angsty backstory in three parts (ending in Stuckony).

Major warnings: D/S Au, A/B/O Au, Dirty dancing, Steve’s got a grip on Tony’s balls

Maybe it goes like this:

Tony doesn’t miss having a pack.

This is the lie he tells himself as he sees a sweet, intimate pack sharing a day out in the city, and later, a young, familial pack with a few pups eating ice cream in the park.

He can vaguely remember his parents buying him ice cream— or maybe he had snuck ice cream out of the kitchen— and eating that alone once. He doesn’t let himself dwell on that for too long.

And being a part of a familial pack by association hasn’t been the worst. He knows worse.

It wasn’t even that his pack growing up had been that bad. Maybe a little emotionally detached, sure, but he’s old enough now to recognize it wasn’t his pack that made the mistake— it was him.

He’s the one who decided to leave after graduating college, convinced that at the mature age of eighteen that he could conquer the world by himself.

Good job, Tony. Where has that left you?

Tony smiles, remembering his dad’s words: Your mistakes are outweighed by your effort to correct them; the damage done is outweighed by your success.

From that day until his dad’s death two years later, his dad was one of his best friends.

Wow, that’s sad.

He’s thankful that his dad followed his own mantra, making up for decades of indifference with calculated companionship and counsel in the last years he had with his family.

Tony guesses that if he had cancer, he would do something similar.

Tony guesses that if he had cancer, he would do something similar.

Tony guesses that if he had cancer, he would do something similar.

Tony used to tell his dad everything: all of his ideas, dreams and hopes for the company. Everything, that is, except his desire for a pack. And his dad, in turn, made sure he was prepared to take over Stark Industries, and had transferred his personal assistant, Pepper Potts, to Tony once he could no longer work in the office.

After his dad’s death, things took a while to get better. He eventually reconnected with Rhodey, his college roommate from MIT. The Air Force Colonel hadn’t been in his Ado-pack out of college, thank merciful god, but they were roommates for a few years and Rhodey had always treated him like a younger brother.

He understands now why his friend was out of touch for so long— his military career took precedence until he accepted a position in New York, working in intelligence. He’s proud of Rhodey, honestly, but had always felt abandoned by his friend. And Tony was also a little bit disappointed when the older man refused to form a pack with him.

“Tony, be realistic,” Rhodey had planted his hands on his hips, giving a twenty-three year old Tony his best disappointed Colonel look, “we aren’t compatible. It would never work.”

It was a repeat argument between them, and had only escalated since Rhodey started dating Pepper a few months earlier.

It wasn’t a secret that Tony was jealous.

“I am being realistic! We’re together all the time, and it would be so easy for you guys to move into my place,” he was desperate, hoping for something he could never have.

Rhodey had sighed, “Dammit Tones. You know I don’t think this is a good idea…” but Tony had jumped on his friend’s hesitation, and eventually convinced the young mates to move in with him.

Two years later, they’re still living with him in his penthouse.

Tony feels alone, sure, but living platonically with a young familial pack is better than living by himself. Or, god forbid it, with a toxic intimate pack.

He shudders as he tightens his tie, taking a long look in the mirror, shaking off the last of his thoughts. Tonight’s a good night.

His suit is tailored perfectly— accentuating his waist and shoulders, lengthening his legs in expensive slacks, and completed with his favorite burgundy tie and gold cufflinks. Damn he looks good. With a wink he’s through the door, heading to the garage and grabbing his wallet off the counter.

He takes the Lambo, because why not and shows up only fifteen minutes late, tossing his keys to the valet and skipping up the stairs to the Met.

A few people try to talk to him on the way in, and he gives away a couple smiles, weaving through the crowd to find his friends and making his way up to the Great Hall and Balcony.

“Tony!” a familiar voice calls across the Hall, and Tony spins to find the happy couple heading his way.

“Rhodey! Pep! What a crazy party, congratulations,” he pulls both of them into a hug, giving Pepper a brief kiss on the cheek, and then, at Rhodey’s pouty-face, swooping in and giving him one too.

Pepper giggles, squeezing her fiancée’s cheek when he recoils in disgust, “Thank you, Tony. And thank you, again, for pulling the strings necessary to get this place— it’s absolutely breathtaking.”

“Hey, it was no problem,” Tony deflects, forcing his smile a little wider, “they set up the sculpture court, right? Pep, I know you’re gonna love that—”

Rhodey’s smile is back, and he laughs, clapping Tony on the shoulder, “Yeah, Tones, they gave us the tour when we got here, it’s great.”

“Good, good, that’s… good.” Tony awkwardly pauses, and his friends exchange a look, Pepper winking — which is terrifying— before smiling secretly.

Both of them turn, and Rhodey motions behind him, “Hey, I’ve gotta find someone. You’ll stay put?” he gives a pointed look to Tony, disappearing before he can respond.

Pepper shakes her head affectionately, grabbing Tony’s hand as he tries to escape. He whines a bit, turning his best innocent eyes on her, “But Pep, I haven’t even had a drink yet. And he wants me to meet people.”

“Hush. You trust us, right?”

Unfortunately, yes.

“Ah, great,” Rhodey comes up to them, towing someone else. Okay, understatement. Towing a large, hunk of a man behind him, filling out his Army blues like they were designed with his body in mind. He’s young— baby faced and adorable— completely out of his depth, probably. His smile actually looks genuine, because Tony can easily see the confusion breaking through his perfectly clear complexion.

Damn, Tony wants a bite.

“Tony, I’d like you to meet my friend, Captain Steve Rogers,” Steve puts forward his hand, and Tony grasps it as Rhodey continues, “... and Steve, this is Tony Stark, my best man.”

Steve looks appropriately stunned. He places his left hand right over top of where they are still joined, and meets Tony’s gaze with a small nod, “Mr. Stark, it’s a pleasure.”

If Tony wasn’t so sure this man was the most dominant piece of military Alpha in the room, he’d ask the good Captain to get on his knees. And beg. Fuck. As it stands, he’s never felt this enamored and respected in an initial meeting— damn, this man knows how to make a first impression.

“Tony, please,” he corrects, smirking into Steve’s beautiful face, “and the pleasure’s all mine, Captain.”

He waits for Steve to release their hands, but all he gets is a similar smirk in return. The larger man squeezes where their hands are joined, brushing his thumb over Tony’s knuckles, and leans in to murmur, “You can call me Captain all night long.”

He releases Tony from the magnetic hold on his hand, and Tony is slightly embarrassed to feel his face heat up, and clears his throat. It’s been years since someone could fluster him like this, and this man has been able to do it in seconds. Before Tony can respond, Steve adds, a little louder for the public ear, “—but just stick with Steve for now.”

“Alright, Steve— how do you know…” and as Tony goes to bring Rhodey and Pepper back into the conversation, he realizes that the couple has left without a word. Tricky bastards.

Steve doesn’t seem phased, though, and answers the question as if Tony had even bothered to finish it,

“I met Jim a year ago during my summer post in Taiwan— both of us were stationed there, doing a few months of consulting for specialized ops, and were fast friends. I swear, Jim was my only buddy over there, and he’s one of the most honorable men I’ve ever met,” the smile that follows his words is soft and remembering, “how about you, Tony?”

“Rhodey and I were roommates at MIT— he’s always been my big brother, and both him and Pep live with me now—”

“Oh,” Steve interrupts, “I didn’t realize you were pack, I just assumed—”

“No, definitely not,” Tony stops him, laughing to help lighten the sensitive subject, “I don’t have a pack. But if we were compatible, I think the two of them would be it for me. It just… it doesn’t work for us,”

Steve shakes his head, a serious expression falling over his features, “No, I get it, that’s personal— I shouldn’t have brought it up. Please, can I— can I grab you a drink?”

Tony resists the urge to reach out and grab his arm, to reassure Steve that there’s no harm done, but instead agrees, “Sure, yes— uh… why don’t you surprise me?”

The flirty, light smile is back, and Steve easily agrees, leaving Tony to find the open bar. He’s thankful for the time to process, easily dismissing a few guests who try to start a conversation with him.

How could Rhodey have kept this guy hidden for so long? Tony barely got a whiff of him, almost getting enough scent to determine compatibility, but not quite. How old is this guy, anyway? And Army? What is Rhodey thinking?

“Here ya go,” Steve’s voice breaks through his thoughts, and he jumps a bit, turning to see the Captain holding two glasses and wearing an unsure smile,

“Damn, Steve— warn a guy?” and he grins playfully, thankful to see Steve laugh along. Tony makes a grab for the glasses, and Steve pulls them out of his reach, laughing even harder, before handing Tony the low tumbler with dark amber liquid and a single orange peel garnishing the top.

Tony peers back up at Steve, “Old Fashioned? With—” he takes a sip.

“Bourbon,” Steve answers before Tony can, and sweet lord, this man has good taste.

Swirling the drink gently, Tony hums and closes his eyes at the taste. Just like his dad used to make.

“I’m glad you like it,” the low voice adds to the moment, and for just one second, Tony allows himself to get lost in the fantasy of drinking sweet Bourbon in his den, with a strong, blonde man by his side.

He opens his eyes to reality, “It’s perfect, Steve,” earning him a satisfied hum in return, “now tell me, what are you drinking this evening?”

“Oh, well—” Steve looks a little hesitant, holding up his larger glass for inspection, “it’s called a Tom Collins.”

“A craving for something sour, Captain?” Tony takes a step closer, sipping his drink slowly.

Steve licks his lips, “I like a good balance,” he takes a long drink of his gin, “and the orange is my favorite part.”

Tony watches his mouth move, admiring his full bottom lip as it’s tugged back by his teeth, breathing in the faint scent of Coffee and Thunderstorms, “You know what,” Tony dips his head forward, peering up at Steve through his lashes, “the orange is my favorite part as well.”

There’s a sharp clink clink clink sound, and the moment is broken between them as attention is called back to the engagement. Tony realizes, regrettably, that he’s supposed to be up front, and gives Steve one last desperate look before leaving to address the crowd.

After the party, he searches for Steve. He asks Pepper, and then Rhodey— both of whom haven’t seen Steve since their introduction earlier.

“Sorry, Tones, but if you want to see him—”

“No, no,” Tony dismisses the suggestion, “it doesn’t— don’t worry about it, it’s— I’m okay, I’m fine, alright? All good.”

Rhodey tries to protest, but Tony just ignores him, kissing Pepper goodbye as he makes a hasty retreat out of the museum. If he can get home first, maybe they won’t ask him to talk about his feelings.

---

Tony doesn’t miss having a pack.

It’s been exactly a year since Pepper and Rhodey moved out, and Stark Industries has never been stronger.

Probably because every spare moment he has is poured right back into his company.

Every. Spare. Moment.

Which is probably why Tony’s late for his best friend’s wedding.

It had been a rough night— Rhodey had insisted on staying up late to bar hop, and their small bachelor party had torn up the most cutting edge and expensive bars all throughout New York City. The downside, unfortunately, is that coming back home at 4 AM— drunk and somehow already hungover— leads to the absolute worst morning a twenty-seven year old could ask for.

So honestly, it’s not Tony’s fault that he shows up a half hour late, barely dressed in his tux, and sunglasses practically taped to his face.

His saving grace ends up being Rhodey. Again.

An assistant meets him at the door, ushering him into the dressing rooms, and tugging off his tux as he moves. He’s handed a cup with a vague order to drink, and the sunglasses are unceremoniously tugged from his face. He struggles a bit under the attention, but after a few minutes of the world’s worst smoothie, blinding light, pressing, steaming, ironing, shaving, and makeup application that will not be mentioned again— Tony is shoved into a larger room with the rest of the bridal party.

Before he can even begin to apologize, Rhodey is stepping forward,

“Tony, this is the least I owe you, brother.”

The statement alone almost has Tony in tears, and he closes the distance to pull Rhodey into a tight hug, whispering, “My body will never forgive you, Rhodey-bear.”

And the wedding goes on without a hitch from there. Pepper, as it turns out, had told Tony to arrive an hour before he even needed to be there— fully expecting him to arrive late. Because of this, he’s sober and aware when his best friends walk down the aisle. It’s a moment to remember.

Pepper looks like a queen— the Beta wears a perfectly tailored trumpet gown, trimmed with delicate lace and a scalloped neckline. Her mate cries— hell, Tony cries.

And a few hours later, he’s sitting alone at the open bar, swishing his drink and thoughtfully picking at the orange slice at the bottom of the glass. He knows he’s one of the only people avoiding the dance floor, but can’t find it in himself to join the party. Instead, he nurses his glass and silently watches his friends dance and laugh together.

“Tom Collins?”

Tony turns to the voice coming from his left, and is greeted with ice-blue eyes, the sharpest jaw known to man, and a filthy pair of lips.

“Tony, but close.”

“Tony—” his name sounds like sin coming from this man’s mouth, “wanna dance, sugar?”

“I really shouldn’t—”

“— c’mon, sweetheart. You’ve spent enough time with this drink, don’tcha think?”

His glass is stolen by this tempting man, who sets it down with a sweet smile and stands to his feet. He extends a hand, and Tony hesitates. He really shouldn’t— it’s been a long day, and he’s not exactly sober. Plus, Pepper might kill him if he makes a scene.

He takes the man’s hand, “Just one song, got it?” and all he gets is a wicked grin in response before he’s pulled off towards the dance floor.

The song playing is low— thrumming and hot. Most of the younger packs have already checked in for the night, saving their pups from the close grind of desperate bodies, scents mingling in Desire and Arousal. It takes only one sweep of the crowd to notice Pepper and Rhodey in the center, leading their guests in a sinful dance— magnetic and dangerous.

The man from the bar stops at the outer rim of the circle, pausing for a moment to strip off his tie and suit jacket. His eyes sweep over Tony’s appearance, and he steps closer, breath tickling the nape of his neck as he asks, “May I?”

Speechless, Tony nods. He’s surrounded with sweet Oranges and creamy Milk Chocolate as the Omega gently loosens his tie, pulling it over his head and folding it onto the table before slipping his hands up Tony’s shoulders, pushing underneath his jacket, and tracing his arms until the jacket falls, forgotten.

Chest to chest, the Omega looks up through his eyelashes, “Dance with me, Beta.”

Pulled closer to the center of the crowd of moving bodies, Tony keeps the man pressed against his side, then shifts to face him. He’s only an inch taller than this Omega, but the similar height works to their advantage as Tony grabs his hips, starting a slow grind that has the man in front of him clutching at his neck, his hair, and breathing out a sigh.

“Like that, baby?” Tony growls, digging his fingers into the Omega’s hips as they move together, foreheads touching, enjoying the friction and small sounds coming from his partner.

“Don’t stop, please,” Oh, begging sounds divine coming from this younger man’s lips. Tony wants to do absolutely wicked things to this guy.

They move together, the Omega shifting to follow his rhythm and relaxing under Tony’s hold as he moves his right hand higher, scratching his nails along the gentle arch of the man's back, as his left hand moves lower to firmly grip his ass. He squeezes, and the sweet Omega moans Tony into his neck.

“I’ll give you what you need, baby.”

“B— bucky,”

“Bucky?”

He gets a smile in return, along with a particularly dirty move of his hips, “My name is—”

“Bucky?”

A third voice breaks the spell, and Bucky sighs, stopping their dance and putting a bit of space between their bodies— which does absolutely nothing to hide their shared arousal.

“Whaddaya want, Stevie?”

Tony looks over his shoulder to see a hulking, blonde and horrifyingly familiar Alpha standing behind them— arms crossed and a face that screams unamused.

“I wanna know why my mate is putting on a show with—” he finally looks at Tony, and his expression blooms with shock and recognition, “— Mr. Stark. Of fucking course.”

“Language.”

“— shut up Bucky, of course you’d happen to find him of all people…”

“Well,” Bucky starts to defend, “you wouldn’t make a move, so I thought I’d get things started.”

Now Tony’s confused, “Wait, hold up,” he looks between the two men as they glare at each other, “did you… are you trying to get with me?”

The couple turns and looks at Tony like he’s an idiot, Steve gesturing at where he’s still hard in his pants, “You didn’t get that from the reenactment of Dirty Dancing a few minutes ago?”

Bucky lets out a sharp laugh, cutting through the tension, and Steve’s face practically melts at the sight and scent of HappyAmusedOmega. Tony bets his face is doing something similar as he shakes his head in protest, “You guys are really serious? Can we— can we talk somewhere… more private?”

Definitely the wrong thing to say, because Bucky practically cackles in glee, “Darlin’ you can do anything to me in private,” and Steve reaches over to smack him on the shoulder,

“Slow, Bucky,” and he earns an eye roll from his mate, “Tony, let me see your phone.”

Right now, Tony feels like putty in his hands, which is probably why he gives over his unlocked phone without a word. Bucky slings his arm around Tony’s waist, and he notices that the crowd has thinned out, music slower and without the charge from before. Steve types a few things before handing the phone back,

“I put in our numbers— Tony, if you want to see us again, for dinner or even just coffee, please text us,” Steve squeezes his shoulder, and then moves his hand to cup Tony’s elbow, pulling him— and Bucky, by consequence— in closer,

“Tony, I need you to know: you are not obliged to see us again, even though we come on a little strong. You are— we are—”

“You’re all he could talk about tonight, Tony,” Bucky cuts in, turning Tony to look into his eyes, “and maybe you’ve never given him a second thought, but he met ya last year and has been dyin’ to see ya again—”

“— Bucky—” Steve warns,

“No, sorry Alpha, but it needs to be said. Tony, I have a feelin’ the three of us are damn compatible, and it would be a waste not to try. Give us a chance, yeah?” and the silence that follows is paired with twin expressions, eager and hopeful.

“Guys, I…” Tony is tired of being alone. He’s tired of denying what he really wants.

“... I’ll text you soon, okay?”

At the startled look from Steve and whispered oh, okay Tony from Bucky, he flees. He’s a perfect Cinderella alright— too afraid of honest confessions to stick around long.

But maybe he’ll keep his promise.

---

It takes a week for Tony to text them, and he does it as a group message. Both mates seem relieved to hear from him, and set up a date for that weekend, insisting that they pick him up and pay.

It takes two weeks after that, and three more dates, for Tony to realize that they want to formally court him.

A month after they start courting Tony, he asks about their intentions.

“I’ve gotta wonder, guys— are you really that serious about building a permanent pack? Or is this just a seasonal pack for you guys while you’re getting out of the Army?”

Bucky looks hurt by this, but it’s Steve who spells it out.

“I know we’re young, Tony. I mean— you’re not even thirty, Buck is twenty-one and I’m just twenty-two. Look, I know I’m really young to be a pack Alpha. Neither of us have experience leading a pack, but… it’s been something we’ve wanted for a while. It’s the reason Buck and I haven’t bonded yet, and it’s a dream of ours to have an intimate pack to start a family with.”

He’s stunned by Steve’s words. His pack growing up definitely wasn’t intimate, and after his horrible Ado-pack, he had completely dismissed the idea of ever having something like that again. But now.

“Tony, darlin’,” Bucky reaches forward to take Tony’s hands, “I think we have something really special, here. It could take years to build our pack, but Steve is pretty sure six is our magic number. Don’t ask me why. And also,” he hesitates, looking down at his hands, "I’ve gotta tell ya somethin’ important. Two things, actually.”

“What is it, sweetheart?” Tony asks, concerned, as Steve gives Bucky a nod of encouragement.

“Well, first of all,” Bucky looks back into Tony’s eyes as he continues, "Steve and I are compatible by memory. Like— when we first scented each other, a few years ago, we had a scent memory. We— we haven’t bonded because of the pack, but we will. And second,” he pauses a moment, “I’m not pack omega.”

“You’re… not?”

“No, I— I’m not a submissive, Tony. I’m Vers and swing submissive for Steve most days. But I can’t fully submit for a pack, and this means there will be a fully submissive Omega who mates with us. And gets— gets to—”

Steve cups his mate’s cheek, “Baby,”

“No, it’s. It’s fine, Stevie, I—” Bucky tries to pull out of Steve’s hold, but the tears are already falling as he rubs them away, “— I just can’t. I can’t give you pups.”

Oh. Oh. Tony did not know that.

Bucky is tucked under Steve’s arm as the Alpha continues to explain, “When we bond as a pack, if we decide to bond, it’s very likely that only the submissive pack Omega will pup for the pack Alpha. It was— hard, you know? Realizing that Buck and I can’t have a family—”

At this, Bucky buries his face in his hands and lets out a single sob,

“— but we’re willing to give that up if it means having the perfect pack, okay?”

Tony is shocked. He guesses it makes sense that the pack Alpha and Omega would be biologically directed to mate together. It seems unfair, though, that a scent compatible, soulmate pair wouldn’t be able to start a family. But—

“What about other bonded members?”

Both men look up at Tony in confusion, “What do you mean?” Steve asks.

“I mean, what if two other packmates decided to mate. Is there a chance they would pup?”

Bucky still looks confused, but Steve’s face lights up in understanding,

“You mean, what if we all bonded— would you and Bucky be able to get pregnant?”

“Wait, is it possible?” the hope in Bucky’s eyes is devastating as he looks between Alpha and Beta, gripping onto Steve’s arm with fresh tears shining on his cheeks, “could I still have pups?”

“It’s possible, Buck, but I have no idea.”

Bucky ignores Steve’s response and stands from his seat, moving quickly to Tony and straddling his lap, throwing his arms around the Beta’s neck. Tony steadies him with arms around his waist, and rocks them gently as Bucky starts to cry into his neck.

After a few minutes, Steve looking at them with overwhelming affection, Bucky’s tears run out and he sniffles into Tony’s neck, “Thank you, my Beta.”

“For what?”

The Omega pulls away, pushing Tony’s hair out of his face as his smile widens,

“Giving me hope.”

---

In May, Bucky finally graduates from West Point, and decides to work in engineering in the city. Steve has been working with Rhodey in “intelligence” for a year, and Tony finally feels happy.

They spend most of their time at Steve and Bucky’s apartment in Red Hook. Tony doesn’t mind the drive, and absolutely hates being alone in his penthouse— plus, he’s come to actually like Brooklyn. And if he spends his free time searching for the perfect spot to build a house, no one has to know.

And it works fine for now, because Steve still insists on taking it slow— although if Bucky and Tony had it their way, the three of them would already be mated. It sometimes feels like just the two of them are dating and Steve’s their chaperone, drawing boundary lines of, “Hey, clothes stay on, boys,” and, “Bucky, get off Tony’s lap, I swear to god.”

So Tony corners Steve.

Or more accurately, Steve is fixing them dinner and Tony pins him to the counter from behind, grinding up into his ass and growling.

He feels Steve stiffen beneath him, and Tony laces their fingers together where Steve’s are resting on the counter, nibbling on the back of his neck inches from his bonding spot.

“What’re you doin’ Tony.” it’s barely a question, and Tony just tightens his grip and bucks his hips forward, letting Steve feel his arousal.

Steve growls in response and turns in his arms, breaking Tony’s hold. He looks into the Alpha’s eyes, blazing red, and Steve slowly prowls forward, backing Tony into the fridge. His arms come up to frame Tony’s face as his back hits, forcing eye contact and baring his teeth in a predatory smile.

One of his hands reaches lower, gripping Tony and causing the Beta to groan at the friction, “Is there something you want, baby?” Tony shakes his head, losing the confidence from earlier, but Steve continues, “you need to use your words, Tony. I can’t help ya if you don’t tell me what you need.”

Ooo, Tony’s blood burns with the challenge, and he rocks forward into Steve’s grip, his own hands reaching forward to hold onto the Alpha’s shoulders. Steve presses in closer, and Tony licks a small stripe up his throat, stopping centimeters from his ear, “I need you, Alpha. Why can’t I have you?”

“Oh, Tony,” Steve chuckles, releasing his grip and sliding both hands around to cup Tony’s ass, pulling them closer until their fronts are pressed together, betraying Steve’s obvious interest, “you can have me all you want, baby. I just need something from you first.”

“Yes, Steve. Fucking anything.”

He’s pushed away, back hitting the fridge as Steve steps back, “Be ours. Promise it. Move in with us, and then we’ll mate.”

“Alpha,”

“Those are my terms, Beta,” Steve puts a hand on Tony’s shoulder, pushing him out of the kitchen and into the living room, “and until then, let me finish cooking and go keep Buck company, okay?”

He doesn’t wait for a response, and turns back to his meal while Tony stands frozen in the doorway. He can see Bucky lounging on the couch, wrapped in soft blankets and pretending he hadn’t just heard their whole conversation. He sees the way Steve moves around the kitchen, natural and dominant in his home— caring and providing for his pack.

For my pack, Tony thinks to himself.

“I’m yours.”

Both sets of eyes are on him, and Steve drops everything in his hands. He sees Bucky stand up from the couch.

Steve takes a step towards him, “W— what did you say?”

“I said— I’m yours. And you’re… you’re mine. My pack,” he looks into Steve’s eyes as the taller man steps into his space, “My Alpha.”

He hears a soft exhale, and feels Bucky grab his arm. Tony turns, “and My Omega.”

“My Beta,” Bucky breathes,

Steve kisses the Omega’s cheek, smiling wide, and pulls Tony into his arms,

“Ours.”

No, Tony doesn’t miss having a pack. But here— wrapped up in between his Alpha and Omega— he’s wanted, he’s safe, and he finally belongs.

[mchalowitz]

the woman is the king

summary: a throughline of the matriarchal scullys; be they ethereal, sharp-witted, and ill-omened. 

this is a revamped version of my unfinished wip chain reaction. some of it will be familiar but don’t worry, there’s plenty that’s brand new. it’s been a minute and i wanted to give the idea what it deserved. i’m hoping to post a new part every friday for the month of october! so with that we have

part 1: melissa

----------

Her door is barely open enough for a hushed conversation.

“It’s Friday night, Mulder.”

Scully keeps attempting to have a separation between work and home. After the underwhelming experience with Rob, she is sure Mulder is aware of this; that she wants to have a semblance of a personal life, even if she is dedicated to their cases. He is making it prove difficult, with his work and his interests so intertwined. It never ends.

“I know, but these reports just came through,” he insists. “You need to see them before…”

A cacophony of flatware and curse words comes from the kitchen. Scully continues to stare up at him, unperturbed, but Mulder’s eyes flash upward over her head. Behind his eyes, he is creating a story; putting together puzzle pieces that do not exist. 

“Got a date in there, Scully?”

A female voice, its volume raising in comparison to the muttered expletives, calls, “Dana, is that the pizza?” 

“My sister,” she corrects. 

Scully has seen Mulder reserved in the face of criticism, but he seems sheepish, maybe even embarrassed, at the idea that his obsessive nature was exposed to this audience. She finds the bashfulness radiating from him to be endearing in a boyish sort of way.

He gives her the stack of papers held together with a binder clip. Not one of the small ones, no, one of the big ones meant for thick analysis that will take an entire weekend to sift through. “Just look them over when you get a chance,” he tells her.

She nods, and when the door is shut, Melissa appears behind her like a graceful apparition. “Working on a weekend,” she marvels. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

“Shut up.”

“Are you going to ask him out?”

Scully turns away, retrieving her wallet from her purse, and starts counting out bills for their soon-to-arrive dinner. “It isn’t like that with Mulder, our relationship is professional,” she babbles. “I already got caught up dating in the bureau before and people that really matter in the FBI are finally starting to see my value after two years of paying my dues at the Academy, I’m not going to jeopardize my future by consorting with my partner.”

"Consorting?” Melissa retorts. “Come on, Dana, be honest. If he were just a guy on the street, would you?”

She thinks. Mulder is ambitious, brilliant, and has an unrivaled sense of humanity. His dedication is frighteningly thrilling. It gives her an enthusiasm to strive for more.

Scully realizes the list could go on. Mulder’s positive qualities are more than can be said about most of the men she’s been involved with and in only a short amount of time knowing him.

Yes, she probably would. If he were just any guy.

The doorbell rings.

“No.”

--

Exiting the elevator, Mulder has anticipation in his step. His keys are already out and he hopes he’s beaten Scully to the door. It’s her first day back in the office.

And after interviews, and doctor’s approvals, and signatures, she’s been fully cleared to be back in the field. Fearing desk duty or reassignment, both of them are quietly ecstatic that they can pick up their work.

He nearly jumps when he sees a flash of copper in front of the door. Damn. But then he notices it’s attached to an unfamiliar head on a taller body. It’s Melissa.

“How did you get down here?” he asks, no introductions. Melissa steps aside so he can unlock the door. He invites her in with a wave of his hand.

“You would be surprised how far you can get with some kind words and a good explanation,” Melissa says. She runs his hand over the books on top of a filing cabinet. She looks over her shoulder at him. “Something to consider for the future, Mulder.”

He continues to stare.

“I told security I had an appointment with you. No one argued,” she smiles, almost amused with herself. “Dana tells me we’re very similar. With all of our ‘wild ideas.’ You know what wild ideas I have, Fox? The concept that my sister can go to work and no one has to worry that they’ll never see her again.”

Scully knows the risks of the job, Mulder wants to say. Do you really think I get a vote on the decisions she makes?

“I care about Dana.”

“Then you’ll go easy on her.”

He nods, even though it’s a lie. He wants it to be the truth. The question isn’t whether he’ll go easy on her or not. He already knows, and he believes Melissa does too, that Scully will only push harder if he tries to lighten her load.

When Melissa leaves with a warning glare, Mulder shuffles papers until Scully arrives with Dr. Pierce. He promises himself that he will not be compelled by whatever this guy presents to him. Above all else, they will not take this case.

Listening to the tale of something possibly wandering around in temperatures of 130 degrees, he repeats not interested to himself, even though he is really, really interested.

“I want to work.”

He reminds himself of his conversation less than an hour ago.

Lead investigator is not a title Mulder takes that seriously. He has never been able to successfully sway Scully in her beliefs and pulling the authority card doesn’t seem like a tactic that would go over well. And while it’s a fact he will keep to himself, in her absence, he sees how utterly incompetent he can be without her.

He’s got an angel and a devil on his shoulders, two dueling Scully sisters. He suggests time off anyway.

“I’ve already lost too much time,” she replies. Oh, that guts him. She knows how easily convinced he can be with some good poetic phrasing.

It won’t be a very intense case. Probably just watching that same footage, giving some opinions on the evidence. It’ll end up being something they can toss to another, more equipped agency. The explanation soothes him enough to not block the door when Scully leaves to pack a bag.

Lying in a month-long quarantine, he has a lot of time to wonder by what means Melissa Scully will kill him.

--

Mulder toes the line between agnosticism and fairweather judaism; a fact that Scully has always respected, and never pushed back against. 

He normalizes empty pews and suspicious clergymen. The sea of mourners for Melissa Scully is a foreign sight. 

Guilt feels like a target on his back and he hopes no one will shoot the proverbial arrow, hoping for a bullseye. Or maybe he does. 

He sits right behind the reserved row and his eyes follow Scully as she walks gracefully up the aisle. She once described her sister as ethereal to him, a gossamer darling, but in her sorrow, it is she, it is Dana, that is the diaphanous messenger of all that is holy and light in the dark.

Scully doesn’t acknowledge him as she sits. He averts his eyes when he briefly meets the eyes of Mrs. Scully. Behind her crow’s feet and unwaveringly maternal gaze, he sees Dana, he sees Melissa.

The priest tells the legend of Melissa Scully that Scully never divulged to him. She studied anthropology at Brown and spent two years on an archeological dig in Peru. In her thirty-three years, she lived in four different countries, but felt a special connection to her teenage years in California. It is possible she cared more for her community than for herself, she appreciated art in all of its forms, and she loved writing letters to her beloved sister, Dana, while she was away at medical school.

Almost imperceptibly, Mulder sees the sharp raise of her shoulders, the sudden intake of breath. Her hand covers her mouth. He reaches forward and places his hand on her shoulder. She lays her hand over his. 

“The dynamic presence of Melissa Scully is a gift to the Lord,” the priest finishes. “Let us bow our heads in silent prayer.” 

Mulder wonders how Scully even allows his presence in the same space as her, allows him to breath the same air when they both know he is the reason her sister is dead. This stupid, this idiotic pursuit of his, that ruins lives with no remorse, and yet he remains powerless to surrender. 

[theladysexpistol]

Can i get Josuke, Polnareff, Formaggio and Narancia trying to jumpscare their s/o but they were holding a kettle with boiling water and they spilled it on themselve and getting a bad burn ?

Hi anon! So my character limit is 3 unless it’s a team, I hope you don’t mind me just doing Polnareff, Josuke, and Narancia 🥺 don’t get me wrong i like Formaggio too (I’ve got a veryyyyy spicy WIP for him on the side), but I think him and Polnareff might be pretty similar anyway.

Also awww this kinda fluffy angst, the poor reader!

~~~

Polnareff

I cannot for the life of me remember what ep this is from lmaoo Pol you just really look so funny

To say Polnareff was devoted to you was almost an understatement. In the months he had been gone, investigating something for a friend he wouldn’t tell you about, he made sure to smother you in affection from afar. Love letters, flower bouquets ordered from vendors down the street you weren’t quite sure how he did it. You knew he missed you terribly, and you missed him too.

Especially on mornings like these, with the sun so bright and warm, not a cloud in the sky. You smiled to yourself at how cheesy it was to think of Jean Pierre just over a normal, sunny morning, but you imagined he would make a morning like this anything but mundane. You made yourself a cup of tea and went out to the front porch of the little cottage you lived in.

Polnareff wanted to surprise you when got back. It was incredibly difficult for him not to call you instantly when he was finished investigating. He wanted to hear your voice, to see you, to hold you and catch up on the months of time he had lost with you. He made his way up to your house with the widest grin on his face, and the largest bundle of roses in his hand that he could possibly afford.

Both of you had the perfect reunion set up in your mind. You reached for the door at the same time Polnareff swung it open.

You jumped back when the door appeared to come alive, spilling your tea all over yourself. The boiling liquid burned your arms, and as if you wouldn’t have already started crying upon seeing him, you burst into tears.

Polnareff’s smile fell and the roses were discarded to the ground as he lunged forward toward you, putting his arms around your back to steady you.

“Mon cherie, what happened? I am so sorry... I didn’t mean to frighten you mon amour! Let’s get that treated right away.”

Despite his hulking frame and rather large muscles, Polnareff was gentle and tender as he helped treat your minor burns. Eventually your tears gave way to laughter. He had just been trying to surprise you and look what you had done. Any sort of romantic reunion was completely thrown out the window as the two of you had grown worried, spent the first hour together again trying to fix your stupid mistake.

He gave you a very confused look when you started laughing, and his face almost made you laugh more. Finally, you gathered yourself enough to bring your hand to his face, and pull him down into a kiss.

“Not what I had planned but...” you smiled as you finally got a good look at his face again. “Welcome home.”

Josuke

“Oh! Hello Josuke,” your mother greeted him after he’d knocked on the front door.

“H-hello, ma’am... uh, I mean Mrs [L/n],” he bumbled, internally flinching at his own trip up. It didn’t matter how many times he talked with your parents, it made him incredibly nervous. There wasn’t even any reason to be! They were incredibly kind to him; and if he could deal with his own mother, he should be able to deal with anyone. He sighed, ran a hand over his pompadour habitually, and gathered himself. “Is [y/n] free? I was hoping we could go together to meet up with our friends at the cafe.”

“Hm? Oh yes, [y/n] is awake in the kitchen. Go right on ahead, Josuke.”

As he stepped past your mother, however, he noticed she had a coat and her purse thrown over her shoulder, as if she was leaving. She seemed to notice him staring, because she smiled once more at him.

“I’m just running to the grocery store. You two kids better not get up to anything while I’m gone!” She said before stepping outside and closing the door.

Even though he knew she was teasing, Josuke felt a blush crawl across his face. He heard that all the time from his own mother, but there was something different about your mother saying it to him.

Now that he knew the two of you were alone though, he wasn’t embarrassed to give you a little surprise kiss. Purposefully, a miscue IOU’s grin crawled on his face as Josuke snuck toward the kitchen; for someone of his height and stature, one might think this was impossible, but Josuke had learned by now the art of stealth in order to play video games while his mom was sleeping down the hall.

He peeked his head around the wall, where he found you standing at the counter, humming a song to yourself. He was so overcome by the thought of how cute you were that he didn’t notice the kettle of boiling water in your hands as he lunged forward.

“Gotcha!” Josuke gleefully yelled as he seized you by the hips, but his lips did not make their way to your face.

You, aware that Josuke may be stopping by today but assuming you were alone when your mother left, shrieked upon the feeling of someone grabbing you. The kettle in your hand went flying, as did the cup of tea you had already poured in the other. By the time you realized it was Josuke, and that your mother must have let him in, you were already crying as the hot water burned you.

“Wha- shit! Shit!” Josuke immediately grew agitated when he recognized you were hurt, it then took him several moments later to realize it was his fault.

If there was one thing Josuke was devoted to, it was protecting the people he cared about. That was the basis behind the restoration ability of Crazy Diamond. And he was the one who had hurt you.

You didn’t flinch when he reached for you, that much was reassuring to him. He took both of your hands in his and manifested his Stand. It never mattered to him in the moment when people who couldn’t see Stands realized he had healed them somehow; all that mattered was taking away the pain, making it anew. And he wanted nothing more than to take the pain away from you. Even if Crazy Diamond’s ability made him feel the pain instead, he’d gladly take it. The burden belonged on him, it was his fault.

A minute passed and you passed your fingers over where the burn had been, mesmerized and stunned. You had no idea how Josuke had healed you. In fact it was somewhat of a miracle. But you didn’t want to think about it now, pushing it from your head as you looked up toward him.

“I’m sorry,” your boyfriend muttered, looking utterly defeated.

“It’s okay Josuke,” you cooed softly, wanting nothing more than to see his smile in that moment. “It was an accident, that’s all.”

As you pushed your head into his chest and hugged him, Josuke tenderly wrapped his own arms around you too. Right, an accident. And Crazy Diamond had healed you, restored your skin without fail. So that the only thing left of the incident was the dripping countertop where the kettle had spilled, and the guilt already weighing heavily on his spirit.

Narancia

Waking up in your arms was what Narancia lived for. You werent living together yet, but it was something you discussed often; especially considering how much time he spent at your place anyway, and how much he slept over. He had an extra bag left in your apartment just in case he got called out to a mission while in your home.

But when Narancia woke up to an empty bed, he found something he like even better - the smell of breakfast wafting from the other room. You were cooking for him?! It was like every day, you got more and more perfect to him.

Narancia hastily got dressed, pulling on much of the clothes he had been wearing the previous day. He assumed that in all his fumbling and swearing, you would have heard that he was awake from the open bedroom door.

He stretched, mussled his hands through his bedhead hair to make it more of an even unruly mess, and bolted out of the room straight to where you were standing in the kitchen.

“Buongiorno!” He yelled as he wrapped his arms around you tightly. His eyes were closed and a big grin was over his face, delighted to spend another morning with you.

But when Narancia heard you gasp, felt something hot drip ever slightly on his arms, he opened his eyes and his wonderful morning shattered.

“What happened?!” He growled immediately, as if he thought someone had attacked you. You were clutching your arm against your chest, gasping over and over again. But then Narancia’s eyes wandered over the stain on your shirt and the liquid on the floor, the shattered cup, and Narancia realized exactly what happened. Espresso was one of his favorite things, but right now he hated it more than anything else in the world.

“Cosa ho fatto? Damn it! Oh god, [y/n], I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to spook you!”

He couldn’t help but panic a bit, upset that he had caused this. All you had wanted to do was make breakfast for him and he repays you by burning you? Eventually, Narancia calmed down enough to bring you a wash cloth of cool water to wrap the burn in and guided you over to the couch. Your voice helped calm him down too, assuring him over and over that it was an accident.

Of course, how much more pathetic could he be? You were in pain, you were the one who had been hurt and yet you had to comfort him? Narancia was visibly upset as you brought him down to sit next to you, and cuddled into his side. Narancia was tense, but wiped the tears on your cheeks away and watched as you fell asleep with him. He was surprised by this trust; the anxiety that you might not feel safe any longer in his arms would keep him wide awake at night from that moment on.

~~~

[A/N: so like I spent a long time trying to come up with these and liked my ideas... but after writing them idk how I feel. I feel like I made the Polnareff one too lighthearted and the Narancia one too serious. But I put so much effort into them that I can’t see them coming out any other way. The Josuke one turned out exactly how I planned though. I hope you like them all anyway!]