#a song fic I guess

[nostalgicish]

happy (belated) birthday to @heavilycaffeinatedsblog !

[anna-scribbles]

what a shame, i can see it all now that we’re through

- firearm by lizzy mcalpine

(chapter 5 of call it even is making me feel bonkers insane. thank u @sha-nwa)

[requinum]

misa misa + last verse of please please please (sabrina carpenter) inspired by this post

[s0fter-sin]

the 141 recovering brainwashed!soap but he’s just a shell of his former self; never speaking, never moving without orders. he never even blinks; just stares straight ahead with his unnatural green eyes.

empty.

but ghost can't accept that.

price and gaz can't stand watching ghost torture himself day after day; visiting soap in his cell for hours at a time, trying anything he can think of to bring back his sergeant.

he shows him pictures of the 141 but soap thinks he's being given targets and moves to eliminate them before ghost stops him. he brings him his journal, tries to trigger his innermost thoughts and feelings he never shared with any of them, but after he reads it, soap summarises it like he's giving a mission briefing. impersonal.

cold.

it's late when ghost finally calls it; low and defeated after another long day of being stared at with eyes that don't see him. he isn't thinking when he pulls his mask off and harshly scrubs over his face, grinding his palm into his eye.

"don't worry, johnny; we're still fixin' each other's problems," he promises, little more than a whisper as he tries to summon the energy to leave johnny behind. again.

he pushes himself to his feet, his hand on the door handle when-

"what's my problem?"

ghost freezes, something like grief - something achingly closer to hope - chilling him. he slowly turns and though soap is still starring ahead, there's a faint light in his altered green eyes.

"the mask," he forces out. "take it off."

he knows there's no way to remove the mask - the muzzle - from his sergeant's face. it's too high-tech, even for them; the biometric scanner too advanced for any bypass they know of.

it's just another way he's failed him; bringing him home still bound in their enemy's chains.

soap- jolts; a sharp, almost painful looking flinch jerking his body.

"show my face?" and his voice has changed; no longer the monotone delivery that's haunted ghost's every waking moment.

it's smaller. uncertain. recollection of a memory half-destroyed.

"yes, johnny," he breathes.

soap moves unprompted for the first time since they found him; running his finger along the edge of the muzzle where his skin bulges from the pressure, half-visible scars hidden beneath the harsh metal.

"ugly," he murmurs.

ghost immediately shakes his head, almost stumbling back to the table; haphazardly throwing his mask on it. "quite the opposite," he insists.

it doesn't matter if he has no lower jaw left at all; johnny could never be ugly in his eyes.

agonisingly slowly, soap's eyes shift to the mask. he takes in the balaclava and hard shell skull like for all the times he's looked at it since his rescue, he never truly saw it. his lids fall in less of a blink and more stage curtains closing; slow, heavy, requiring effort and no small amount of strength to open once more

"good... to see you again..." he trails off, his hand shifting up to the top of his shaved head; nails digging unforgivingly into his scalp

"simon," ghost finishes for him; that horrid grieving hope tearing at his heart

soap's fingers flex and a drop of blood trails down his forehead, over the ridge of his nose to catch on the muzzle. "s-simon..."

his nails dig deeper, the drop falling to the table just to be followed by more and ghost aches to stop him but he's terrified to interrupt him. terrified to lose him now when he's so close to something.

soap's bloodied nails scratch down the crown of his head, following the line of his stolen mohawk until they come to rest on the back of the muzzle and ghost's heart drops.

they can’t get it off.

they can't get it off and he doesn't know how to explain that to soap; doesn't know if he can stomach watching soap pull at the monstrosity holding him captive, the inevitable bloodbath as the edges cut into his skin.

"show my face," soap repeats.

"johnny..." ghost begins weakly, reaching out to him but he doesn't know how, doesn't know if he even should-

the muzzle clatters onto the table.

the biometrics they couldn't bypass, the fingerprint they needed that they were so sure belonged to makarov.

it belonged to soap.

how cruel to torture him with freedom he didn't understand he could take; didn't even understand he could want.

just the kind of sick game makarov loves.

ghost doesn't know what's louder; his heart pounding in his ears or the long, uninhibited breath soap takes.

his eyes fall shut as he leans his head back with it, the blood still dripping down his face as he straightens through his exhale. his lower jaw is a mess of scars where he fought against the previous iterations of the muzzle, the corners of his lips cut through and cracked.

but the green in his eyes is duller; that light sparking brighter as blue struggles to break through the glow.

ghost's never seen anything so beautiful.

"good to see you again, johnny."

[good--merits-accumulated]

If we for a moment forgo canon events and disagreements then I do wholeheartedly hope and believe that Todd and Neil get married during the '70s. It's a sunny afternoon on the perfect day in mid-spring and the light is at its thickest and most golden and Charlie got registered as an officiant just for this day and not everybody's present - Meeks can't make it from Switzerland on short notice, but they get a photo of him and prop it up on the coffee table at the perfect angle to see. Neil keeps wondering if he's going to get the pre-wedding jitters and does end up pacing around the living room early in the morning, but it's less cold feet and more impatience. (Turns out it's kind of hard to get cold feet when your almost-husband is sitting drowsily on the couch to keep you company and he keeps almost nodding off and you keep remembering all the ways in which you love him.) Ginny barges in at noon with hairspray and a sewing kit and insists on making bouquets with shitty grocery store flowers for both of them and Todd's suit ends up with a hastily added elbow patch and Neil's tie doesn't match his pocket square, because one's from Cameron and the other's from Knox. (Something borrowed, something blue...) It's perfect. In the end they go out on the balcony and Charlie's wearing this really tacky priest outfit, just really shitty fabric so that he's probably sweating bullets, and the collar's come untucked, and at the last moment Chris shrieks, "You forgot your bouquets!" and throws one with such good aim it hits Todd in the face. But they get through the vows and both of them only cry a little, because Cameron cries enough for all of them combined, and then that's it - over - and married. And as Charlie beams and says they can kiss there's a well-timed shower of rice from the balcony above, and congratulations, from some upstairs neighbours and well-wishers. Pitts catches the kiss on his expensive video camera and he also catches the cheering, which is so loud that, four blocks away, a lone man packing up his street food van pauses in closing boxes and thinks that there must be a party going on. He's right. And at the end of the night when the last loved one leaves and shuts the door gently behind them to not disturb the newlyweds lying together on the couch, silent with happiness, it's still perfect. At that moment it doesn't matter that there is no piece of paper, or no registry office, or that if Todd has an accident Neil might not be able to visit him in the hospital room. There will be tears for those things, but they come later. For now they're married. The beautiful thing never changes.

[the-final-high-noon-rings]

my beautiful girlfriend the starship aurora!! she has teeth and flesh and veins btw!! for mechanisms women's week day 4 time/space. this is because she is a woman and i like her a Normal amount

@mechanismswomensweek

[ID: A digital artwork of the starship Aurora from the Mechanisms in a style reminiscent of a construction paper craft, with paper texture and shadows to show the various "layers" of the piece. The Aurora is going upwards diagonally from the bottom right to the top left. Her grey-pink solar sail, which looks like a parachute, is extended to the top left of the image, and there is a muted smoke/fire trail coming from the bottom of the ship leading into the bottom right. The Aurora is a purple-red ship with three darker fins visible along her bottom, and light purple windows on her main body. The O'Neil ring circles her, with six separate light pink spheres representing the rooms located there. The background is dark purple and spotted with stars. End ID]

[total-drama-brainrot]

uhaam. like a dog by ferry. rk noah. Am i insane

I saw this ask, blacked out, and woke up to this on my screen.

So I think we're both a little insane. (The song, for context.)

[ghost-bxrd]

The Owl’s Song ends 🦉🥀

Beneath the ash you’ll find my blood

Buried in the corner of this room

It’s the end of all we love

Swarming inside of your tomb

— We Never Asked for This, Crywolf

[smoothshine]

𝘔𝘺 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘷𝘺 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘐'𝘮 𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

@steddiemas Day 18 -  Classic Christmas Songs (The First Nöel)

pairing: steddie | word count: 1,924 | rated: G

It didn’t take too long after the song started for Eddie to want out.

He debated staying, just to listen to Steve sing along to it under his breath while he meticulously weaved strips of dough over a pie with what Eddie thinks is way too huge a mound of blueberries, but even that didn’t help.

Steve’s ‘everyone over for Christmas dinner before Christmas’ idea made Eddie skeptical at first, having literally everyone (the Hendersons, Mrs. Wheeler along with Nancy, Mike, and Holly, The Sinclairs, the Hopper-Byers clan, Gareth and Freak along with Jeff and his mom, the Buckleys (of course), and even he and Wayne) together under one roof seemed like a disaster waiting to happen.

But no.

Everyone got along great, the lot of them snacking on meats and cheeses, stolen candy and cookies that Steve had made over the last couple days, Wayne, Hop, and Claudia are fussing over two whole turkeys and a huge ham, and Joyce, Karen and Lucas are whipping up huge batches of side dishes.

And it doesn’t usually affect him this bad anymore, but that damned song paired with all of their huge chosen family together under one roof like this, warm, happy, healthy…he had to leave. 

He did not want to get emotional in front of them.

The sound of the door sliding on its track breaks Eddie’s reverie. It was longer than he thought it’d take for someone to come looking for him, but he suspects that it was done on purpose.

He doesn’t look back at who decided to grace him with their presence, but immediately knows who it is when a hat gets pushed down onto his head, just a bit too far down.

“You’re not catching a cold on my watch, Munson.”

Eddie pushes the fold of the knit cap off his eyes, “Wasn’t planning on it Steve-o.”

“Coulda fooled me. As if trying to withstand a whole winter in a leather jacket isn’t gonna give you a cold.”

A snort of a laugh escapes Eddie’s lips at Steve’s sarcastic tone. “I have, and no colds yet.”

“Uh huh. Sure.” Steve says, sitting down beside him.  “That’s why you borrowed my old puffer coat last time you were here, right?”

The lone poolside chair not packed away for the season wasn’t his first choice of seating, but it was the only one. Though Steve’s dry heat beside him is already a welcome balance to the cold metal and plastic of the chair.

Eddie’s lips twitch up into a brief smile, “I didn’t want to get mine all wet.”

They fall silent after that, and Eddie fishes his lighter and pack of Marlboro’s out of his pocket, pulling one out of the carton and lighting it up.

He offers one to Steve, but he waves him off.

“So.” Steve says after about half the cigarette was gone.

“So?”

“Are you alright, Eddie?”

He stays silent, debating whether or not to actually tell Steve what was wrong or just brush it off again.

“Was it something I–we said? Or did?” Eddie caught the slip, and decided he was going to tell him, but Steve continued on, “I know you’re not the biggest fan of Christmas anyway..”

“No, it’s not—” Eddie heaves a sigh, and even he can hear the exasperated relenting in it. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Steve. None of you did.”

He takes a drag and blows out a long stream of steamy breath and smoke. It hits him then, before he even speaks, that he’s being dramatic. Has been being dramatic. What a stupid thing to get emotional about.

“My middle name is Nöel. Like, fully, exactly how it’s supposed to be spelled for the holidays. The two dots over the O and everything. So it’s just me being dramatic; it gets annoying to hear all season.”

At first, Eddie thinks he’s gotten away with it, that Steve’s silence is just satisfied understanding, but just before he’s about to put himself back on the right way to go back inside, Steve speaks again.

“Where’d the name come from?”

Eddie finally looks over at him, taking in the comically mismatched pink My Little Pony scarf (Erica’s) and bright safety green beanie (Robin’s) he’d thrown on before coming out to the patio. “..Huh?”

Eloquent as ever, Munson.

“C’mon man.” Steve says, rolling his eyes fondly and nudging Eddie’s shoulder with his own. “You act like I don’t know you.”

Eddie’s “You don’t.” is automatic.

Steve just scoffs, “You disappeared without a word, man; normally you announce, with wildly different levels of dramatics each time, that you’re going to smoke, or you ‘gotta take a leak’. You didn’t do that this time so naturally that means this was more than just getting annoyed by a Christmas carol.”

Eddie blinks at him. Stunned by the proof that he, Eddie Munson, was one of the people Steve used his almost insane levels of observation on after all. Usually it’s wasted on the kids; Steve’s acute ability to hone in on exactly what each of the party needs at any given time—how Steve has encyclopedic knowledge on each of their favorite snacks, their preferred drinks, games, movies, which blankets they like to steal from the Harringtons’ nearly bottomless linen closet—almost always goes unappreciated. 

“I may not get a lot of things, but I do pay attention to the people I care about.” Steve continues on, voicing Eddie’s thoughts.

“You a mind reader now too, Harrington?”

Steve grins at him, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Nah man, I’m just a damn good babysitter.”

Eddie huffs out another laugh, “Sorry to tell ya this, but I don’t need to be babied or sat.”

He doesn’t say anything more, just waits for Eddie to continue.

“It was my mom.” Eddie finally concedes, “She gave me the name Nöel. So you kinda hit it on the head, there is more to it than just the song.

“Wayne says she chose it because she loved the season, that it was when she felt most at peace no matter what else was going on in her life.”

Steve is quiet beside him, just existing in the space while Eddie finishes off his cigarette.

“And that’s why I get so salty about Christmas. It’s not because she died around this time of year, which doesn’t help of course, it’s because she loved the holiday so much. I mean,” he snorts, “She named me after it after all. So this time of year always felt so wrong without her.”

He stubs the flame under his boot, scrubbing it into the concrete and promising himself he’ll come back for the butt later (he’ll forget). 

The younger man is silent for two more breaths.

“Eddie, I am so sorry..”

All he can do is shrug, “It’s fine Steve, I’m used to that song by now–well, I was.”

“What changed?”

Eddie lets out another steadying breath. “When I was little, down in Tennessee, it was worse because I was little. All the crafts and games and things they did with first and middle names in elementary school y’know?” He sees Steve nod out of the corner of his eye. “The kids down there would sing the damn song at me to make fun of me. After I came up here to live with Wayne it got better…kinda.

“The kids here didn’t know what my middle name was, and Wayne would switch the radio station if that godforsaken song would come on come December, but even then, every time it did come up…it was like a pointed little finger poked into the bruise left behind after mom died.” Eddie says, jabbing the air in front of him with his own finger in a harsh movement before letting his hand drop back down to his lap. “It was starting to get better, hearing my name like that.”

“How so?” Steve’s voice lilts into something eager, but just barely.

Eddie sucks in a deep breath and the cold, dry air burns his nose as he does.

“You.” he states, using all the breath he’d taken in on the one word. 

“Me?” Steve asks in disbelief.

“Ever since I found out that you also think November 1st means Christmas decorations need to be up.” Eddie nods, he wasn’t about to tell him about the soupy gut feeling he’d gotten when he heard Steve singing along to that stupid fuckin’ song. “Annoying, but it was the same when I was little.

“You should see the pictures,” he grins, continuing on, “A little Batman helping mom put up the tree because I didn’t want to take off my costume–even slept in it a couple times, waking up the next morning to hot chocolate, candy canes, and popcorn garlands.”

“That’s adorable.” Steve laughs, and Eddie laughs with him, his chest feeling miles looser than when he first came out here.

They’re silent for a bit, listening to the muffed yells of the kids coming from inside about who knows what.

“I’ll follow Wayne’s example,” Steve says eventually. “I’ll make sure to change the station, won’t sing it any—”

“Nah, no way man. You don’t have to do that. Like I said, it was getting better.”

“Still, I don’t want to make you upset.”

“Don’t worry about it Stevie,” he sniffs, looking over the empty pool, “I like when you sing it.” he admits before he can stop himself. 

Aw fuck.

“You do?”

 “I do.” 

What the fuck are you doing?!

“You do.” Steve states as if he doesn’t believe him.

Eddie nods silently, gulps around the nerves in his throat. “It’s stupid, but it’s like you’re singing about me rather than at me. It’s…nice.”

Steve falls quiet, so he turns to face him again; Steve’s eyes are wide, cheeks red from the cold and otherwise pale.

Shocked. And not in a good way.

“Just don’t tell any of the other jerks, ‘kay?” Eddie laughs, it comes out strained. “They’d definitely be singing it at me if they found out.”

Steve’s face thaws into something softer at that, his lips twitch like they want to smile. 

“Also, I hardly doubt Henderson’s got nearly as good a voice as you do.”

That finally melts him completely, “Henderson’s actually got some pipes on him.” he laughs softly and knocks his shoulder into Eddie’s. “You should hear his Madonna.”

“Yeah no. No thank you.” Eddie says as he stands, “C’mon Stevie, let’s go back in and eat. It’s time to eat already, right?” He offers him a hand.

Steve takes it and pulls himself up, “After you, Edward Nöel.” he does a sarcastic half-bow, waving Eddie forward.

Eddie scoffs at him, but starts toward the door nevertheless. “That’s not even what Eddie’s short for.”

“Aw, what?! What’s it short for?”

“Nuh uh, I already bared one part of my soul tonight.” (“Aw come on!”) Maybe I’ll tell you after we’ve been friends for another nine months or so.”

Steve laughs as they reach the sliding door. “Lookin’ forward to it, Eds.” 

Eddie’s about to slide it open when Steve suddenly stops him, grabbing his wrist.

“Wait–Eddie, before we go back inside, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Uh, yeah, sure. Shoot.” he turns to face him properly.

Eddie watches Steve’s eyes flicker over his face. They hover somewhere below his nose before coming back up to lock onto his eyes.

“Can I kiss you?’

“C–can you kiss– What?! Why? When—”

Steve stops Eddie's spluttering when he tilts his head back to look above them.

God. Damn. Mistletoe.

yes, my first name is noelle. why do you ask? no, no, of course i didn't give eddie that middle name just to vent about that damn song... 😳😅

other parts! Pt. 1 (Day 1) | Pt. 2 (Day 2) | Pt. 3 (Day 5) | Pt. 4 (Day 6) | Pt. 5 (Day 7) | Pt. 6 (Day 11) | Pt. 7 (Day 13) | Pt. 8 (Day 18) [YOU ARE HERE] | Pt. 9 (Day 21) | Pt. 10 (Day 25) also on AO3! this year

[midnight-mourning]

mmmmm take these and panic:

Chapter won't be out this coming week (like I said on ao3, need to do every 2 weeks for a bit) but should be on track for the week after!

For now, do what you will with these out of context ch. 35 spoilers :)

[ravendruid]

Because I'm still waiting for that "rain check" to be cashed in the future, how about "slow dance" with Vax and Kiki?

Hello! Thank you for the prompt!! This fic was inspired by the trailer for Season 3 of The Legend of Vox Machina. Spoilers for anyone who has watched/is watching TLOVM but has not watched Campaign One!

If I could hold you for a minute

(Read on AO3)

Vax leans over the rail on the high balcony that overlooks the scintillating lights of Whitestone, far down below him. The light of Catha shines brightly in the new leaves of the Sun Tree in the center of town, a sign of hope and prosperity for the newly rebuilt city. With two dragons down, Vax allows himself to feel that slight burn of hope, too, even though he is not entirely confident about their alliance with Raishan. The day will come when Vax will enact his revenge on the creature who murdered his mother, but for now, he will enjoy the warm feeling of hope and the respite after an arduous battle.

It’s funny, though, how Vax sees the light go off two rooms down and the corner of his mouth immediately curls up into a smile. He exits the balcony and waits by the door of his bedroom, listening to the not-so-quiet footsteps of his favorite druid, and, right on cue, she knocks at his door.

Vax opens the door, not entirely surprised to see Keyleth still in her battle gear—he is still in his armor, after all—with a tight smile on her face. “Can I stay with you tonight?” She asks. Gods know how much Vax wants her to stay, but instead of opening his mouth and accidentally saying something shitty as he is prone to do sometimes, he simply takes a step back and invites her in with a smile.

“Were you outside?” Keyleth asks, noticing the open glass door. Vax nods, still too scared to speak. He holds out his hand to her, which she takes, then leads them both out into the chill of the night. “Today was hard,” Keyleth whispers as if she is afraid the city will hear her vacillate. “I was afraid I was going to lose you for a moment, there.”

“I’m sorry,” Vax manages with a hoarse voice. 

“You know, I’ve been afraid for so long that I would lose you–all of you, but you specifically,” Keyleth turns her back on the city and looks up at the stone walls of the castle above her. Vax glaces sideways at her and waits for her to continue as he knows she is not done yet. “And I guess it’s a valid fear considering…”

“Considering what?” Vax persuades her when Keyleth takes too long to continue.

“I don’t think I’ve told you this but, if by some crazy chance we all somehow make it through this alive—with the Chroma Conclave, I mean—and I go on to complete my Aramente, I will still watch you all die.”

Vax shifts uncomfortably, looking at Keyleth more seriously now. She is still so young and she already bears a heavy burden, but then again, don’t they all? Doesn’t Vax, too, now that he thinks about it? Doesn’t the weight of the armor press on him in a permanent reminder of his bond to the God of Death?

“By becoming headmaster of the Air Ashari, I will enter a bit of a realm of immortality of sorts, where I could live for a very, very long time. And I’ve been afraid every time I look at one of your faces that it’s going to be the last, and, deep down, I know that day is coming.”

Vax turns sideways to look at her, noticing the downwards curl of Keyleth’s lips, and says, “I know that with everything that has happened, between my new patron and killing dragons, we haven’t had the time to talk properly, but I need you to know, through everything, nothing has changed about how I feel about you. I know death is unavoidable,” Vax snickers at that seeing that he now works for the God of Death herself—whatever that means—then continues, “even if you go on to live a long time, if you are willing to spend some of that time, any time, with me, then I will simply count myself lucky to have it. You’re very dear to me.”

Vax is shocked at the tremble in his voice. In his head, his speech sounded more confident, but hearing his words be spoken in the cold air of Whitestone makes them sound less solid.

“I’ve… had an interesting talk with Vex’ahlia recently, and then with Pike. They have helped me see the other side of the coin.” Keyleth says, then she pulls away from the rail and re-enters Vax’s bedroom. He observes her through the open door and sees the half-elf light the fireplace with her magic—a sight that makes Vax warm and fuzzy inside—and stand by the fire. He follows her then, closing the doors to make sure the heat doesn’t escape, and joins her.

“You know… I’ve been thinking and I think I realized something,” Keyleth approaches Vax and grabs one of his hands by the side of his torso. The touch is warm and comforting, but her hopeful smile is even more. “I realized this whole time that I was afraid of losing you to a future that ultimately has not yet been written, which I know it’s stupid, and I realized that it’s okay to be scared. We still have a lot of demons to face, but we can face anything if we’re together, and I know I, personally, would rather face them at your side.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I love you, Vax. I have for a long time, and I’m sorry it took me this long to say it.” Keyleth finishes, placing a hand on Vax’s chest. The touch burns through the thick leather of his armor, through his skin and muscles until it reaches his heart and encloses itself around the organ. If the sight of the moonlight on the Sun Tree’s leaves and the flickering of life in the city of Whitestone were already hopeful boons, Keyleth’s words and touch practically make Vax float with hope.

“I–I love you,” Vax smiles brighter than he’s ever done recently. Keyleth sniffles and chuckles lightly, then says, “I love you, too,” and, for a moment, Vax thinks she raises her hand to ask for a high-five, but then thinks better of it and wraps her arms around his neck. 

“May I kiss you?” He asks, knowing full well Keyleth is not as experienced as he is and not wanting to scare her. She nods bashfully, so Vax leans down and kisses her softly. Her lips are warm like fire and sweet like the berry wine they had for dinner. Vax could easily get lost in the softness of Keyleth’s touch, of her lips responding to him, of the tip of her tongue timidly searching for his. Vax indulges his curious druid and slips his tongue inside her mouth. Gods, if he already wanted to leave it all behind for her, now truly feeling the buzzing in his stomach at the contact and the love he has for this woman, he wants to disappear with her from the face of Exandria and live a secluded life, just the two of them.

“Oh, wow,” Keyleth pants. Even though their foreheads are touching and they are too close, Vax can still see the deep red blush on her cheeks, which he finds adorable.

“That was pretty fucking great,” He says, short of breath, too.

“That was pretty great, yeah,” And this time, Vax doesn’t imagine it. Keyleth does raise her hand in a high-five motion, which he awkwardly and giggly replies.

“I–I owe you a dance, don’t I?” Vax remembers all those nights ago in a lost tavern in the ruins of Westruun. Gods, has it really been that long?

“We don’t have music,” Keyleth points out, but Vax shrugs, “We don’t need music.”

Vax places Keyleth’s arms around his shoulders again, then wraps his own arms around her waist and leans foreheads with her one more time. He starts swinging them, side to side, with only the flames of the fireplace and the stray rays of moonlight lighting the room as he murmurs an old son his mother used to sing when she worked on her clothes. Keyleth sighs as she allows herself to relax and leans into Vax, following his lead, which he savors, not knowing if this is the last time they get to do this.

With two dragons to fight, and who knows what’s going to happen next, Vax can’t still fully relax, but right now, in Keyleth’s warm embrace, he tries his best to leave his fears at the door. It’s the least he can do for for the woman he loves.

[emily-mooon]

So honey take me by the hand, and we can sign some papers

Forget the invitations, floral arrangements, and breadmakers!

[pizzaqueen]

I was listening to Bruises by Chairlift a few weeks ago and got this idea and then I forgot to finish it until now. More pre-slash with silly boys being silly / just over 660 words / rated T

“Hey, Steve,” Eddie says, waiting until Steve, who is lounging on the plaid picnic rug nearby, looks his way.

Steve crunches into his apple. “What?”

Eddie rubs his hands together, blowing on his palms, winking at Steve, who merely raises his brows. “Check this out,” he says, then he bends at the waist and lets his hands sink into the sun-warmed grass.

He takes a moment to gather himself and is about to push when something hits his ass. The apple core falls at his feet and he looks back between his legs to see Steve whistling in a purposefully fake innocent way.

“Hey, I’m trying to show you something.”

“Your ass?” Eddie wiggles his hips from side to side and Steve barks out a laugh. “Wish I had another apple,” he says.

“Shut up,” Eddie says, and then he pushes his weight forward, transferring it to his hands, and then his legs are in the air and the world is turned around. “Yes!”

But the victory is brief because a second, or, okay, not even a second, later his legs are flailing and then he’s flat on his back on the ground. If he were a cartoon, this is about where little birdies would be flying around his head. “Ugh.”

“You can fall on your ass,” Steve says, “I’m impressed.”

“I was trying to do a handstand.”

Steve snorts and Eddie sighs. Mission amuse (and hopefully impress) Steve only half accomplished. A shadow falls over him and he looks up to see Steve staring down at him, one hand on his hip.

“You wanna see a handstand, huh?”

Eddie props himself on his elbows and nods. “Sure,” he says, “show me what you got.”

Steve moves a few feet away, making a show of rubbing his hands together and blowing on them the way Eddie did. And then his hands are on the ground and his feet are in the air and Eddie can’t see how he did it any differently than Eddie but seconds pass and he’s still on his hands, his stupidly pretty arms supporting his weight (seriously, how are his arms so pretty) and his legs pointing skyward.

The seafoam green t-shirt he’s wearing wasn’t tucked in, so it slips up, bunching under his arms, showing his strong back, the hint of the scars on his shoulder blades.

And his shorts… The shorts that have already been torturing Eddie all day for being so damn, well, short, they ride up too. His briefs are dark blue and that’s when Eddie’s brain short circuits.

“Now, that’s a handstand,” Steve says.

“Okay. You’ve made your point. I’m impressed.” Shit, impressed doesn’t even begin to cover it, Eddie thinks miserably.

And then Steve, the asshole, actually turns around. It should look ridiculous, someone essentially walking on their hands, but he makes it look cool. Even with his hair all sticking up (or down) and his face going red from the rush of blood he looks cool. And gorgeous. Steve winks and then his feet are back on the ground—one, two—and in one swift move he turns around and offers a hand down to Eddie.

Eddie takes it numbly, feeling more turned around than when he tried to do the handstand. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised you can do a proper handstand.” He resolutely doesn’t look at Steve’s biceps when Steve crosses his arms over his chest.

“I can show you.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll show you. You’re nearly there, anyway.”

“I’ve already filled my falling-on-my-ass quota for the day, thanks.”

“I’ll spot you,” Steve says, “I won’t let you fall.”

Something warm unfurls in Eddie’s chest at that and all he can do is nod.

They practice and practice, Steve’s hands light on Eddie’s calves and, once or twice, his thighs, until between the blood rush and the little touches Eddie thinks he’s losing his mind. He declares he’s going to barf if he does another handstand after this one and Steve laughs but he doesn’t let Eddie fall.

[mandiemegatron]

𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕡 𝕞𝕖

Reader x Doflamingo [reader x Rosinante if u squint reeeeal hard]

Rated 18+ // mentions of sex, Doflamingo fantasizing about killing reader then decides 'nah'.

A/N: My first song fic in YEARS. This song has been on repeat for a few days and I've been itching to write something for daddy doffy 🥵 I hope you guys enjoy 💖💋

Please listen to the song Worship by Ari Abdul while reading this, it will make more sense lmao

It isn't often that Doflamingo takes time out of his busy day to search for you around the manor. There was a prickling feeling over his skin as he thought about you, a deep frown etched into his face as the time ticks on. Door after door opens - eventually, the Heavenly Demon gives a low growl of displeasure, ripping open another door only for you to not be there either.

As he moves deeper into his home, he stalls for a moment as the sound of a piano meets his ears. 'Of course,' he thinks to himself, rolling his eyes at himself as he made his way towards the music room.

He peeks through the cracked door, his frown softening slightly as he takes in your shape at the piano, humming under your breath as your fingers dance over the keys. The frown returns in full force as he notes Rosinante sitting across from you, an almost dreamy look on his face as your kept your focus on the piano.

When you finally figure out the right notes, you give a triumphant "Ha!" as you play it out a few times, clearing your throat gently before singing out,

Worship me...

Ice runs through Doflamingos veins as his frown deepens once more, leaning against the outside of the doorframe as he stares down the hall.

Make you believe,

I'm what you need,

So beg, darlin', please...

The King felt like he'd been thrown into an ice bath set on fire. The burning started at the bottom of his feet, coursing through his skin until the tingles reached the top of his head, a soft huff brushing past his lips in irritation at the feeling. He crossed his arms, his fingers digging into his clothed flesh. He couldn't place it, the unknown feeling of either anger or hunger running through him as the words flooded from you.

Who were you to demand to be worshipped?! He was the King, the Heavenly Demon, the one who deserved and demanded praise. He brought entire villages and peoples to their knees and burned them alive - he was both saviour and destroyer.

Baby, don't lie,

It's okay that you crave me -

Your eyes on my body, you're shaking,

Get high on me for you're forsaken...

While you had strength that caught his attention, he found it nearly repulsive at the thought of you being worshipped. The more he thought about it, the more rage filled his stomach, hating more and more about the thought of some worthless whelp showering you with attention and praise, your name falling from their mouth as a prayer.

He swore it made him sick.

He peeked in again, and the rage grew tenfold, his teeth clenched tightly as fire bubbled up in his chest at the sight before him.

Pretty when you're looking up like that,

Pray, but Heaven won't let you back,

Good on your knees...

His brother leaned on the piano, a cigarette hanging from his lips as he stared you down, a dark blush on his painted face. While Doflamingo knew his brother had the world's largest crush on you, Rosinante knew better than to try and take something that belonged to him.

Though, at that moment, it was your expression that infuriated him the most.

Worship me...

Your cheeks were tinted pink, doe eyes wide and staring back up at Rosinante as the words tumbled out of you. Your fingers brushed over the keys almost mindlessly, the motion a second nature to you even as you kept your attention on the man in front of you. One of Rosinantes hands went under your chin, his fingers slightly curled under it as his thumb traced over your bottom lip for just a moment, retracting his hand with a cheeky grin as your cheeks darkened.

Neither of you were aware of the seething King outside the door.

Whisper, give me your life,

Yeah, we're both sinners;

Your body is close, your tongue lingers,

You feed me the taste of your fingers...

Something snapped in Doflamingos head at your words, the intelligent man finally coming to the conclusion that it wasn't the song, or the fact that you were singing it -

It was the fact you weren't singing to him.

If Doflamingos glare could crumble stone, the manor would have been a wreck by now. He loved his brother, but this felt like betrayal - his heart clutched in a vicegrip as he wondered lightly if you were worth keeping around anymore. While you were an asset to him, his family always came first.

Worship me-

Make you believe,

I'm what you need,

So beg, darlin', please;

The longer Doflamingo remained outside the door, the stronger the feeling of crushing your throat under his grip rose. His fingers twitched, itching to summon threads and simply remove your head right from where he stood. As your song came to a finish, you cleared your throat again before asking Rosinante timidly,

"S-so? What did you think? Do you think he'll think it's stupid?"

Doflamingos' mind came screeching to a halt. The only sound his brother gave in response to your question was clapping, causing you to laugh and retort,

"Wonderful! I thought it was kinda corny at first but, the more I kept writing, the more I just... I don't know. It just, came out of me."

There was a sound of scribbling, a flicker of paper being slid across the paino and you sighed. Doflamingo strained slightly, trying to listen as you murmured out what Rosinante had written down. Your response surprised the king somewhat, his frown washing away from his face as you spoke,

"Cora-san, I don't expect him to love me back. At the end of the day, I'm a goddamn nobody and I accept that; But I'm his goddamn nobody, and that's all I could ask for."

Doflamingo remained for only a moment longer before pushing off the wall, making his way towards your room. He began thinking of the ways to tease you about this, a wicked grin slowly coming over his features as he ripped your door open, nearly shaking as he thought about how your expression would look as he pushed you down onto your knees.

The feeling of your warm mouth around his cock, tears staining your cheeks as he fucks your face, demanding that you worship him for the rest of your life. A chill ran up his spine as a low chuckle left him, a dark look painting his face as he sat in a chair, facing the door and waiting for you to return.

He would never let you live this down.

A/N: HEHEHEHEHEH a tasty lil snack for my fellow Doffy/Cora-san lovers 💖 I've been wanting to write something with both of them for a while so this is what my lil brain burped out. If you see any mistakes, no you fuckin' don't! 💖🥰 maybe I'll make a part two if it's something the people want 👀

I love u all my lil tangerines! Be good! 💖💖✨️✨️

[strangersteddierthings]

You Left Me Scars Through Memories (Tangled in my DNA) - Prologue

"I love you so much," Stephanie Harrington says, reaching out a hand to tuck some hair behind his ear. It's more an excuse to touch than to clear his face of hair. It's at a length now that will result in the tucked hair falling back into his face with barely a shake of his head.

Steve blinks up at her from where he's sat in her lap, his face far too serious for a toddler just a few hours shy of three years old.

"Your life is going to be so difficult and it's my fault. I'm so sorry," she whispers, sweeping him into a hug. He snuggles into her embrace instantly and it brings tears to her eyes. He should hate her for what she's done. Perhaps he will, once he's older and can understand what she's apologizing for.

"I'm going to tell you a story," she settles back into the chair, a big plush thing that she sits in every night to read a bedtime story to Steve, or tries too anyway. He's at the age where he's wiggly and full of energy until he drops.

"Once upon a time, there was a man and a woman. Husband and wife. And they loved each other very much," she starts, running one hand up and down on her baby's back, soothing, "and they wanted nothing more than to have a child.

"But try as they might, no child would come to them. And soon resentment began to grow. The wife, convinced that having a child would remove the resentment, set off to make a bargain with a witch, said to live deep in the woods.

"She told her husband she was going to visit her family so as not to arouse suspicion. Consorting with witches wasn't something that was done, you see."

This is the longest Steve has sat still in her lap in months. She thinks he might be asleep but continues the story anyway.

"It took her almost three weeks to find the witch, deep in the woods. Upon arrival, the witch had tried to turn away the wife. But the wife was persistent. 'Please,' she begged the witch, 'if we can have a child then my husband will love me again.'

"The witch was not moved by this plea. 'You would bring a child into a loveless marriage?' and the wife argued that once they had a child, their marriage would no longer be loveless. The witch disagreed but the wife would not be deterred.

"'What would you give up to have this child?' the witch asked after being pestered by the wife for almost a week. And the wife had said anything.

"'Anything is dangerous,' the witch said. 'I can give you the means to have a child, but the universe will decide the price.' And so, the wife agreed, and the witch pressed a folded piece of parchment into the wife's hand.

"When she finally returned home, she had been gone for eight long weeks. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, they say, and husband and wife reunited. Still, the wife waited three more months before preforming the ritual the witch had pressed into her palm.

"Soon, they had a child, a daughter. But with her arrival came the universe's price. A life blessing is not an easy thing to give, and the price for life is the highest to pay. Free Will was that price. And when the daughter turned three, she learned her daughter also paid the price. Her daughter, and her daughter's daughter, and her daughter's daughter's son. Forever more. The wife, now mother, was angry to learn this. Why should her child have to suffer for her own sins?

"She told her husband what she had done. She had to, you see, because how else could he be expected to raise a child that would do everything you told her to? Words would need to be picked carefully.

"It was years later before the mother could track the witch down again, to demand the witch undo the curse. 'I made the bargain, why must my child also suffer the consequences?'

"'You said anything,' the witch responded, 'and I told you that was dangerous. It was foolish of you to think your actions would not affect others. All actions do.'

"The mother said, 'can it not be undone?' and the witch said, 'All curses can be broken.' When the mother asked how, the witch just looked at her and said, 'go away, and do not seek me again.' And the mother had no choice but to obey."

Steve still has not stirred on her lap and when she looks down, she can see he is asleep. Even if Steve had stayed awake for the whole story, she knows she'll have to retell it to him when he's older. When he'll remember all of it. Perhaps she should write it down, too, just in case.

"You see, Steve, what was supposed to be a blessing became a curse. One of obedience. People will tell you to do things and you will be compelled to obey. You will become someone you will never truly know, because anyone can make you anything," she says as she stands and places Steve in his bed. "But don't worry. Mommy will teach you how to trick and cheat the curse as much as you can."