#and I feel bad about not having the time to work on bigger wips

[museumgiftshoperaser]

Never Better

Jonathan/Eddie | 1.3K | Rated T for mentions of weed Or: Eddie sells weed but he's not very good at it yet <3 (set right after season 1)

Jonathan just wants to eat his lunch in peace.

The cold wind nips at his cheeks because he was too stubborn to get his scarf from his locker. His nose goes numb almost instantly. At least he’s the only one stupid enough to eat his lunch outside in this weather. At least he’s going to be alone.

He tucks his hands deep into his pockets and braces the snow. It’s been non stop since Christmas and the first layers of it have frozen to the concrete. He takes small, careful steps as he crosses the courtyard toward the football field.

He keeps his chin tucked into the collar of his coat so he doesn’t notice the boy until he’s reached the foot of the bleachers.

He’s sitting on the middle seat of the top row, leaned back like he’s enjoying the sun. The sky has been paper white for weeks now, but Eddie Munson might’ve missed the memo.

Jonathan doesn’t really know Eddie, but he knows of Eddie. Everyone does. Another one of Hawkins’ finest, with his last name stitched permanently to his first. That’s Al Munson’s kid. He’s trouble.

It might as well be Byers. It has a similar ring to it. Laced with rumors and preceded by reputation. Their father’s used to hang out. Drinking buddies down at the only local pub that hadn’t kicked them out yet. But that was before.

Ever since November, Jonathan's got a new set of rumors stuck to him. They add his first name, too. It’s not just Byers anymore. To this town he has always been his father’s oldest, but now he’s also his mother’s son.

Eddie turns his head to the side and looks him straight in the eye.

It would be rude to turn around now. Personal.

Jonathan drops his backpack from his shoulder and catches the strap right before the bag hits the ground.

“Uh… Hi.”

He takes two steps up the broad staircase, leaving a few rows of chairs between him and Eddie. He doesn’t seem like the type to keep his head down, but he also wouldn’t have any reason to strike up a conversation. Eddie’s a senior. They’ve haven’t so much as exchanged pleasantries since the start of high school. But Eddie tilts his head back and reaches for a metal box by his feet without breaking eye contact.

“What do you need?” he asks.

“Huh?”

“How much?” He raises an eyebrow and flips open the lid. “I can do fifteen for the half ounce, cut you a deal?”

His tone is so casual, almost like customer service. The practiced ease of a transaction. Oh.

Jonathan swallows hard. He tries to take a step back and bumps his boot against one of the seats on the row below him. The plastic shakes with a hollow thump.

“And… You’re not here to buy weed, are you?” Eddie winces, more awkward than scared, like he just committed a social faux pas and not a crime. “Fuck.”

“You sell weed?” Jonathan can’t help but ask. “At school?”

He holds onto his bag with both hands because he doesn’t know what to do with his arms.

“Where else am I supposed to do it?” Eddie asks sincerely. “Can’t exactly set up shop on Main Street, can I?”

Jonathan can’t really argue with that. Though maybe he shouldn’t be selling weed at all. If the cops are gonna suspect anyone, he’s top of list. Virtue of his leather jacket and that sticky last name.

“You’re Jonathan, right? Byers?

It’s exactly the thing he came out here to avoid. The pity. The gossip. Being poked and prodded until everyone moves on to the next big thing. It’s been almost two months now and the charity has run dry. With the last bits of empathy under thick layers of snow, everyone who wants to ask him about it now is just there for all the gory details.

“I’ll just leave you to it,” Jonathan says.

He turns around and hurries down the steps. Maybe the English teacher left her classroom unlocked. She does that sometimes. He could eat in there. If all else fails there’s always the bathroom.

“Are you sure you don’t want any weed?” Eddie yells after him, far too loud for such a public setting, but Jonathan just keeps walking. “If anyone here could use some it’s probably you.”

He whips around.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He spits. Meaner than he wants to be, but he’s just so done with being Jonathan Byers.

Eddie raises both hands in the air, palms facing out like he’s playing at innocence.

“Just that it seems you’ve had a rough couple weeks,” he says quickly. “That’s all.”

“I’m fine.” He doesn’t know why he’s so defensive all of a sudden. “It was my brother, you know… Who went missing. Not me.”

A beat of silence stretches between them.

“Still… Must’ve been fucking hard.”

Jonathan shakes his head. That’s not what he’s supposed to say. It’s not what anyone else said. Definitely not lately.

“Will’s fine,” he grits through his teeth. “He’s home now. He’s all good."

And he is. His mom is still in celebration mode. Will came back. He’s alive. It’s ice cream for dinner if he wants and a never ending supply of hugs. A happy ending. They don’t have to talk about any of it. Not anymore.

Jonathan looks back at Eddie only to find him already staring.

“And you?” he asks carefully. Eddie’s got those big eyes and that unwavering stare and it makes Jonathan’s skin itch. It bubbles in his stomach like anger, but it stings behind his eyes like something much more embarrassing.

“Never better.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Well then, Jonathan. Guess you won’t be needing my services.”

He closes the lid on his metal lunch box and taps a quick rhythm once it’s shut. Jonathan can’t believe he’s just keeping weed in there. On school property, practically out in the open. He’s never smoked before, cigarettes sure, but he’s never even had a beer.

“What’s your name again?” He’s not sure why he’s asking. Eddie still knew his name. It wouldn’t be weird to skip the introductions all together, but it’s the only thing he can think to say.

Eddie raises an eyebrow, doesn’t buy it one bit.

“You don’t remember me?” He frowns, but there’s something teasing to his voice. “Come on, man.”

Jonathan digs his teeth into the inside of his cheek. Two boys under the table, on the sticky floor of a bar. Jonathan played dinosaurs and Eddie played cars despite being too old for either. Their fathers talked, sloshing beer over the side of the table, dripping down the seats. The bar got darker and their voices got louder. Eddie ran his toy truck over his father’s steel toed boots and got a kick to the ribs in return.

They didn’t talk much. Joyce picked him up before Eddie’s mom did and he wasn’t allowed back after that.

“Eddie.” He sounds it out with a flourish and half a bow. “Pleased to formally meet you.”

“I can’t believe you’re selling weed at school.” Jonathan says it without thinking about it.

“I’m not…” Eddie frowns before quickly resetting his face to a more neutral expression. “I’m not very good at it yet. Only started selling a couple months ago.”

It’s a strangely charming admission. Human.

“Would it help?” Jonathan swallows before he can keep talking. “The weed. Would it help?”

“I mean… Probably not,” Eddie admits like the terrible salesman he is. “But it won’t hurt either. It gets your mind off of shit. If you happen to need that.”

He shrugs casually, bunching his leather jackets around his shoulders like he couldn’t care less. It’s not quite the peer pressure teachers always warned him about.

He glances at Eddie’s hands, still wrapped around his lunch box. Pictures those fingers wrapped around a joint, pictures himself inhaling a thick cloud of smoke and then he quickly shakes his head.

“Never mind.” He takes a step back.

“No pressure, man.” Eddie grins with a comfortable familiarity and suddenly Jonathan feels like he shouldn’t be here at all. Shouldn’t be talking to him. Shouldn’t be out here by himself. “But if you change you’re mind you know where to find me.”

“I’ll see you around.” He slings his backpack over his shoulders and turns around before Eddie can say anything else.

[flufftober]

🍀🍂 Hello and welcome to Flufftober's (first) Fluff Bingo 🍀🍂

In our poll, nearly 50% of you voted for a handful of bingo cards to fill the other half of the year with more fluff before we jump right back into the excitement that is Flufftober - and of course, we're here to deliver 😊

Find all the important info, more cards, and all the prompts in writing below the cut.

We hope you like this event and our prompts, and now

Happy Creating 🥳

🍀 Pick your card - we offer:

🍂 one card with 5x5 prompts (as seen at the top)

🍂 two cards with 3x3 prompts:

🍂 three themed cards with 1x5 prompts:

🍂 and as a bonus, a 3x3 card with tasks instead of prompts:

🍀 How does this work?

🍂 our standard blog rules apply and you'll find answers to most questions on our FAQ post

🍂 aside from that, you can go wild: fill these cards however you like, as quick or as slow as you like, as often as you like, and use as many of them as you like. We just want you to have fun 😊

🍂 if there are prompts on the bigger cards you don't like, feel free to use the 1x5 cards as alternate prompts and switch them out

🍂 download the cards and tick them off once you've finished a square; make a post for every square or only once you have a bingo or even a blackout - it's all up to you!

🍂 as with all our events, this one will never close, you can always use these cards. If you need a timeframe/deadline because (like me) you'll never finish otherwise, consider these loose goals:

finish until July 1st when we release the new Flufftober list

finish during October, maybe by combining some of these with the Flufftober prompts

finish until the end of the year so you're ready for whatever event we plan for next spring

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🍂 tumblr reblogs will still happen but not daily as you're used to during Flufftober. It will strongly depend on how many posts there happen to be at a time and how the modmin team will have time. But as long as you mention us and/or use the tag (and follow the rules, obviously), reblogs will happen

🍂 please use the tag #fluffbingo

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🍂 on ao3, our collection for this event is Flufftober Fluff Bingo

Prompts

We're going left to right, top to bottom!

🍂 5x5 card

Fresh Start

To-Do List

Craft Fair

Creature AU

“This was a bad idea.”

Exploring Together

Plushie

Secret Signal

“You’ll love it.”

Late Night

Hidden (...)

“It’s just so much.”

Free Space

Fake Dating

Carnival

“You’re the best!”

Royal AU

Missing the Other

Never ever, ever

Rainbow

Hanahaki

Pep Talk

“I really mean it.”

Hoodie

Movie AU

🍂 3x3 card I

“Where do I start?”

Famous AU

Traveling the World Together

Enjoying a Lazy Day

Task: Write in a tense you usually don’t write/write less than another tense

“You said you had it handled!” - “Yeah, well, I lied.”

Birthday

“Hey, wait, that’s mine.”

Direction

🍂 3x3 card II

“You’re late!”

Hospital AU

Grocery Shopping Together

Going for a Walk

Task: Write from a POV you usually don’t write/write less than another POV

“Could you not do that, please?” - “Spoilsport.”

Sunshine

“I don’t know, you decide.”

Concert

🍂 1x5 card - Smiles

Secret Smile

Relieved Smile

Honest Smile

Devious Smile

Teary Smile

🍂 1x5 card - Hugs

Soothing Hug

Hug in Celebration

Sleepy Hug

Hug from behind

Desperate Hug

🍂 1x5 card - Kisses

Kiss on the Hand

Kiss to distract

Goodbye Kiss

Forhead Kiss

Kiss on the Cheek

🍂 3x3 card - Tasks

Finish your WIP

Sort all your Ideas and/or WIPs

Edit an entire Chapter or Oneshot

Outline a Story

Work on that hard Scene that is giving you so much trouble it is holding you back

Finish the next Chapter of your WIP

Join in a Writing Event (this card doesn’t count 😉 but the others do!)

Finish a Oneshot

Dig out an old Draft and work on it

Have Fun and Go Wild 🥳

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Locked Out of Heaven 4

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, age gap, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father invites a work friend to the neighbourhood barbecue.

Characters: Nick Fowler (Dad’s friend trope)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

The leaves rustle as you watch a squirrel scale the branch. The moment of peace gives you time to catch your breath. Even so, your head is still spinning. If your dad knew you were here...

You swallow tightly at that thought. Why didn't you think of that sooner? He'll be upset you're not studying. Or that you didn't turn the dishwasher on. Oh no.

"Why so down, princess? You miss me?" Nick comes up the steps of the gazebo.

You look up and wipe away your worry. You have bigger concerns. Like him and the way he makes your insides gooey.

"Sour cherry," he holds out a cone. You lean forward on the bench and thank him. You take it carefully.

He sits next to you with his cone, his thigh touching yours. You eye the scoop of gelato. You swipe over it with your tongue. Mm. That's different.

"Good?" Nick asks.

"Oh, yum," you force a smile. "Yours."

"Let's see," he focuses on the gelato. He sticks his tongue out, spreading it wide, and drags it over the round scoop. He hums and licks his lips. "Delicious."

Your gaze clings to his lips. You tear your eyes away and stare at your own cone. You flick your tongue against it, taking small licks as you watch the grass ripple.

"This is nice. Peaceful," he comments. "I like this."

"Yeah, er, it's...good," you utter.

"Woah, hey, princess, look at me," he says.

You flinch and do as he says. You look at him as his cheek dimples and his lips slant. He reaches to trace his thumb above your top lip down to the corner.

"Making a mess," he pulls back and licks clean his thumb. "Mmm, tart."

Your breath rushes out as you gape senselessly. Did he really just do that? You snap your mouth shut and slowly suck in air through your nose.

"Wanna try some of mine?" He offers.

You look at the pale yellow gelato then his bold blue eyes. You bat your lashes and rub your lips together. You can still feel his thumb there. An image flashes in your mind as you bit the tip of your tongue. You imagine him pushing his thumb into your mouth. Oh god.

"I don't mind. Come on." He tilts the cone toward you.

You can't speak. You want to say no. You should say no. Yet, you really want to do everything he tells you too. Why?

You lean forward and cautiously lick the cone. He watches you intently. Your cheeks burn as you taste the melting cream. You sit back and cover your mouth.

"Very good. Sweet," you say.

"I like sweet things," he purrs.

"Uh... me too."

He leans back against the gazebo railing, resting his elbow over it. He spreads his knees wide as he stretches his arm behind you. He continues to lap at the cone lazily. He pops his lips and tickles along the back of your arm.

"Princess, I got some bad news." He says.

You sit up straight, prickling with anxiety. Stop looking at his chest. It's just that necklace catch your eye, right?

"Bad news?"

"Ha, sorry, I didn't mean to scare ya. You know, I thought you should have my number just 'cause..." he sighs and ways his knee back and forth. "I gotta go away. It's work. They put me up in a hotel and I gotta send back reports." He scoffs. "Gets real lonely. So if I send you a text or two, can you answer me?"

"Oh uh, sure," you shrug. "Okay."

"Ah, sweetheart, that'll be amazing." He pets your arm. "I think I'll miss you. You gonna miss me?"

You raise a brow. You barely know him, really. You hide your mouth behind the cone. You look around.

"No?" He wonders.

"I... I guess. I'm sorry. I guess... well, yeah."

"Yeah? Good," he drawls. "Pretty princess waiting for me. That's something to work for."

"Uh huh," you gulp and press your lips to the cone without thinking. You cringe and pull back, licking clean your lips. You catch him staring at your tongue.

"Mm, mm," he hums and sits forward, bringing his arm across your shoulders. He pulls you closer. You could melt like the gelato dripping down your knuckles. "You do me one more favour, princess." You nod as you try not to choke. "Don't tell dad about this, alright? We both know he's a hard ass. We're just having some fun, aren't we? Getting ice cream, getting to know each other. Nothing wrong with that." He grips your bare shoulder. "Can you keep this our little secret?"

You turn the cone. You bring it closer and hover it just in front of your lips. "Yes, I won't tell."

"Good girl," he cooes as he keeps his arm around you. "I know you wouldn't lie to me."

💜

Your dad gets home at his usual time. You're where you should be, studying at the dining room table. You always move there before he gets back. He gets mad when you have all your clutter on the couch.

He grumbles at you and hollers for Austin to get downstairs. You lean your pencil on your lip and for a moment, it's more than just plastic; it's Nick's thumb brushing the soft skin. You sit up straight as the voices draw you back to reality.

Sometimes, it feels like you're just another piece of furniture. Your dad barely says hello. Austin isn't much better. When he does talk to you, he calls you brainiac or something worse. If only your dad knew he was paying a junior to do his schoolwork. It doesn't really matter anyway. As long as he stays on the team.

You close your books and stack them under your laptop. You head into the kitchen to get dinner started. You don't do much. You put the prepackaged sides and meat in the oven. Your dad never cooked so he never taught you. He just ordered from a catering company. It's expensive but if it's anything he enjoys, he never cheaps out.

You lean in the corner of the counter. You're restless. You keep expecting your dad to storm in. To accuse you of lying. He doesn't.

Him and Austin enter the kitchen but don't even notice you on their way to the deck. The door shuts and you check the timer on the stove. You're not very hungry. You're nervous. There's so many uncertainties. Will your dad find out? Will Nick message? Is this anything or just a game? Better yet, is it all in your head?

💜

You yawn and nestle down into the pillows. Your lab is early in the morning. You'll need to be rested up. You're exhausted yet wide awake. You just haven't been able to settle.

You close your eyes and try to make your body relax. As you do, you stretch your arms to the sides, fingertips at the edge of the mattress. You feel tiny in the bed. Alone.

Your phone vibrates as if on cue. Before you can let him invade your mind, Nick texts. You hesitate before you unlock the phone. The conversation pops up. Shoot, he'll know you read it.

'Hey princess. Got where I need to be. Bed time?'

You chew your lip. You can't figure out how to answer. You type and backspace so many times. You hope he isn't watching those three dots.

'Just laying in bed. Glad you're safe.' That's fine, right? Nothing weird.

'Big room. Far away. Location is confidential but nice. Am I keeping you up?'

'No. Can't sleep.'

You hit send and stare. Ugh. You should say more but you really don't know what to say.

That worry quickly turns to fright. You sit up as you hit the volume button to hush the ringer. He's video calling. Oh no.

You answer just to stop the vibration. You see the rectangle in the corner, your silhouette lit by the glow of the phone. The rest of the screen is taken up by Nick.

"Hey, I can't see you, princess."

You squeak. You twist around and reach for the lamp. You turn it on and sit back.

"Sorry," you speak softly. "Had the lights off."

"That's alright, princess. Just wanted to see that pretty face." He smirks.

"Oh..." you see your own smile in the corner and want to hide. You're so stupid.

"Lonely here. Just me. Observation mission. Real scintillating stuff."

"Really?"

"Nah.Not really." He tilts his head. "How about I show you the room?"

"If you want," you tense and look above your phone, listening intently to the hallway.

"You're quiet, princess. I can barely hear you."

"Yeah, er... sorry, I don't wanna wake anyone up." You say. You know you won't, everyone else is still awake. You just don't want them to hear you.

"So caring," he praises. "Here, let me flip this."

Suddenly, the image switches as the lens view changes. You see the suite. It's nice. The furniture is modern. A round poof to match the geometric pillows on the couch and the square chair. The decor is the sort of upscale that is almost uncomfortable.

"It looks nice," you whisper.

"Yeah, baby?" He walks around. "Got a bar..." he goes to the glass bartop. "Mini fridge," he shows you the transparent door and all the bottles. "Lots...." he aims at the shelves of glasses. "But no one to share it with."

He walks along the balcony doors that look onto a sparkling skyline then back to the room. He approaches an open door and goes through. He shows you the bedroom. It's just as big as the other room. The bed is neatly made in all white and a large circle mirror hangs behind it, reflecting the rest of the space and something more...

You cover your mouth as your eyes round. "It's a nice bed, huh? Haven't tested it out yet. I'm restless."

"Uh huh," you murmur behind your fingers as you stare at the mirror.

He's in nothing but his boxers. You can see his naked torso and legs. He's slightly obscured by the distance and bed, but you can't look away. His muscles are thick and carved out perfectly.

"You okay?" He asks.

"Nick..."

"Princess," he counters.

"I..."

"Go on, princess."

"I can... see you."

He clucks and flips the camera back to his face. He chuckles. "You like what you see?"

You blink. You open your mouth then shut it. You try again. You have no words.

"I work out so... I hope so," he says.

Silence. Still.

You're dumb. You're lame. And he knows it. You can't even speak because he's the first man ever you've seen like that. And the hottest one.

"Well... you saw me, how about you let me see what you got on?" He purrs.

You cough. "Huh? Er?"

"Come on. Unless... you're not naked, are you?"

You gasp and tug at your collar, visible in the lower part of the frame. He laughs again.

"Teasing. Come on, baby. I'm so far away. I miss you."

"Miss me?" You gulp.

"Sure. I think I've been pretty damn obvious." His face turns serious and you can see the movement around him. He sits. "Sweetheart, I could get in a lot of trouble for it. For just saying so, but I'm really into you. You know that right? You probably see right through me, huh?"

You stare. You look at yourself in the corner. You look terrified. You are terrified. Your heart is thumping so loud.

"If you're not into it, you can just end the call right now." It's hard to tell where he's looking but you just know he's watching you. Waiting.

"I...I'm just... surprised," you croak.

"Surprised? By what?"

"That... that... you... you're saying you like me?"

HIs mouth slants, "baby, I more than like you."

Your brows rise and your head pulses dizzily. Woah.

"You okay?"

"Good," you eke out. "I'm... I..."

"So... can I see your jammies?" He asks,

The question helps you focus. You let out a droning 'uh' as you look down at yourself. You glance at him again.

"Once sec."

You get up on your knees then lean on one hand. You put the phone against the foot board and back up. You angle to get yourself in frame. You feel so strange. It's nothing special. Striped linen pajamas; a button-up tee and pants.

He hums. "You look good, princess. Cozy."

You scramble to grab the phone again, "I do?"

"Sure. I think you'd look even better in something... silkier. It's so hot out. I'm sure a cute little night gown would be much better."

"Oh, maybe."

"Something... pink? I think you'd look good in satin."

"You... do?"

"Well, I think a lot of things about you. I can't lie about that," he lays back and holds his phone by his stomach so you can see his chest. Your eyes threaten to roll back. You feel faint. "I keep thinking about how much room there is in this bed. How nice it'd be to have you next to me."

"Oh?"

"Oh," he echoes coyly. "What do you think? You like that idea? Get all nice and cuddly together?"

"Sure," you breathe. "That's... that's... nice."

"It's damn near perfect," he sighs as your eyes stray to his chest hair. Something about the curls makes your thighs clench. "Right now, just talking to you like this, that's close enough."

[contentloadingandstuff]

Gym Headcanons - Lisa & Ningguang x Male!Reader

A/N: I hope you'll like this one! All the others WIPs are staring daggers at me though... CW: Nothing notable.

Going to a gym? Lisa will pass, thank you. 

All the sweat and all the effort could, if she had to exert herself at all, go towards other things than gaining muscles. What would she use them for anyway? Her strength doesn't come from raw, brutish power, but rather from her brilliance and knowledge. 

For Lisa, getting some gains would be a bad thing as far as her appearance is concerned. She feels great as she is - of healthy weight with some delectable fluff on her belly, thighs and butt. A girl's got to have some meat on her bones, doesn't she? It's perfect for touching and resting your weary head on those plushy thighs. She won't ruin that especially since you're far from complaining about her assets. 

Even if she won't train, Lisa will care for her diet, and will keep an eye on yours too if you ask her to. She'll buy more of her natural yogurts, fruits, granola and other healthy foodstuffs. You'll be in good hands - Lisa will buy you shakes and foods with lots of protein to help build that dazzling body of yours. 

If at any point you find yourself tempted to cheat, she’ll gently remind you of your goal and help you resist. 

She's a vegetarian herself, but will not, to any extent of the word, force her views upon you. She just dislikes the taste of meat, especially when it's fried. The heartburn she feels after is straight up awful. Still, she won't object to making you hearty meals with all the love she has. After all, she has all the time in the world. 

Although she wouldn't ever come to the gym herself, it's different with you there. Lisa will gladly tag along to keep you company whenever she can. She won't hesitate to do her research, helping you in maintaining the proper position and form as you train. Need a break? She'll pass you the water and take away the weights (according to her ability). Feeling tired or bored? Lisa will be there, keeping a conversation or reading out loud to you - this way you train both your mind and your body. She'll get you whatever help she can offer. 

Is she accompanying you to gawk at your bare chest, your tensing, sweaty muscles, hear your masculine groans of exertion as you lift inhuman weights and give it your all? See you doing what men do, pushing yourself to the limit to become bigger, better, faster and stronger? Perhaps. Is that an invalid reason? Not at all. 

After a certain amount of these trips, the mage will start eyeing the exercise mats with increasing curiosity. Of course she wouldn't do any actually tiring exercises, but it wouldn't hurt to stretch a little, would it? Being flexible has a few uses Lisa can't think of, most of which involve you~

The first few times would render her limbs and joints crying in pain as years of “rust” come off. It would surely leave her grumpy the next day, but it's alright - you'll do your duty and massage her pains away, won’t you? 

When going at them, Lisa likes to do stretches that let her poor back get some lovely relief. Every time she begins the cobra stretches of the day, she can't help but sigh in satisfaction. The first one's the best, no doubt about that. On the other hand, those exercises that require her to lean down are the cause of her pains rather than the relief. Toe touches aren't easy, and things like forward folds are the stuff of nightmares, the mere thought of which is enough to make her spine ache.

Ningguang isn't one to work out either. She’s on a strict diet, planned out for her by the best dietitian and cooked by the best chef Mora can buy. Each of her meals has its calories counted to the letter, and - should the situation demand it - Ningguang is capable of counting them herself. Even when there's no label, she's able to judge it with impressive accuracy. 

It's thanks to this attentive lifestyle that she can flaunt her wasp waist. Even if a person's worth is more in merit than appearance, impeccable beauty can go a long way too. Oftentimes just her looks alone can charm an interlocutor, leading to favorable outcomes. 

Eating this little has a downside, coming in the form of low energy levels. She can push pencils all day long, but even short jogs can find her out of breath after a while. Ningguang gets tired and sore fairly easily, making it no surprise that she avoids straining herself. 

She avoids training, but that doesn't mean she simply sits around looking pretty. Each of her mansions is equipped with a rich and well stocked gym for use at yours and hers leisure. Before you came they were mostly gathering dust, but your interest in training reminded her of that purchase. It was nice to see they finally had a use. 

Sometimes, on a slow day, Ningguang will bring out her sport gear and join you in the training room. Most of her time she'll do stretches or use the treadmill, since these don't increase muscle mass that much - the high class canon of beauty doesn't include muscle girls, nor does she see the appeal if truth is told. She's the Tianquan, not some… sea captain. 

Besides, that would be threading on your territory. Why be muscular if you're the muscle man here? If you're strong, then she'll be swift and agile. Perfectly complementary, wouldn't you say? 

When it comes to date ideas, a gym date is a unique one to be sure, but she doesn't mind. It gives both of you a chance to show off your hard earned physiques and spend some quality time together. Ningguang enjoys you spotting for her, even if she won't do the exercises by herself. The attention is always appreciated. 

She wouldn't admit that to anyone, but she enjoys goofing around with you. Using her as a dumbbell or doing push-ups with her casually sitting on your back is both amusing and quite flustering - getting a first hand experience of your strength never fails to get her a little red. But don't tell anyone, or else…!

Sometimes when she needs to think, Ningguang visits you and simply enjoys your presence in silence. There's something hypnotic about you going about your business and the repetitive motions of the equipment. Many times she watched you in silence, only to mutter a silent ‘got it’ before getting up and thanking you with a kiss. Each time after she left the room you were left fairly confused. Confused, but happy to be of help nonetheless.

Thanks for reading!

[deathmybride]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ my iron lung | mickey barnes *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

ship: Mickey Barnes x fem!oc

warnings: None

summary: After a rough death, Mickey needs some TLC.

word count: 1982

a/n: BITCH I'M BACK OUT MY COMA 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️

okay, so I've been working on a million bazillion things, not all of them fanfics, but most of them are. I'm trying to update all the WIPs, and I keep writing random things that don't get finished, but for some reason I was able to see this one through to the end. I love you robert pattinson <3

The printer feels different every time. Sometimes I’m gasping for breath as if bursting up from a frozen lake, other times I’m a wailing baby fresh from the womb. A few horrible times I’ve woken silent and trembling, lingering in a flip-book of repeated unnatural death. Invariably, the experience is unpleasant, but never as bad as dying. Mickey tends to handle it better. He sleeps in for longer, yawning and rubbing his bleary eyes as he begins another lifetime of suffering.

Anyway, this will be my twelfth print job, and Mickey’s seventeenth. As waking up goes, it’s not terrible. I don’t cry or gasp, but I feel hot and groggy, and there’s an ash of depression settling over my freshly synthesised mind. The first face I see is Dorothy’s. Her glasses perch at the end of her nose and she smiles warmly as my eyes struggle to bring her into focus.

“Good morning, Minnie 12!” She chirps. “Bright and early as always, huh?”

“Mmmmmm…” I groan, fighting the residual weakness of these baby muscles to tilt my head.

“You’re such a morning person, aren’t you?” She takes my chin and corrects my line of sight back to her, shining her awful little torch in my eyes. “Your pupils are perfect today. Great job!”

“Mm-” She hits my knee with her mallet and I aim a kick at her.

“Woah! Knees are great too, way better than usual. You’re killing it today!”

“Mickey.”My voice grates in my throat.

She sighs, shaking her head in amusement. “He’ll be out soon. He’s bigger than you, he takes longer to print.”

I gather my strength and feebly flop my hand out to point to the second printer across the room. I can hear it clicking and whirring, and I see him bumping and sliding out onto the gurney.

“Mickey.”

“Soon. I need to finish your tests.” She turns her back and goes fishing around in her pack for some fresh implement of torture.

As far as I’m concerned, if she won’t wheel me over I’ll just have to commando crawl. Though my body is too heavy to lift, I manage to prop myself on one elbow and swing one leg over the side. It hits the gurney leg with a resonant thunk.Dorothy gasps and scampers back over, owl eyes wide with incredulity.

“Woah, woah, woah!” She hauls my foot back up and pushes me down, rough enough that my head bumps on the table. “Fine, we’ll do it over there, jeez. This Minnie is so stubborn.”

I huff and try to arrange my half paralysed face into a look of deep loathing. The stupid nickname started as something sweet between Mickey and me. We were just friends then, Mickey Barnes and Clementine Young, but he always called me ‘Tiny.’ One day he let the nickname slip in the lab, and one scientist or other quipped that I wasn’t tiny, I was mini. Hur hur, just like Mickey and Minnie, the mascots of some millennia old company. Somehow it got to upper management and they thought it was funny enough to officially change my Expendable registration to “Minnie Prime.” I have never lived it down, and henceforth will forever be known by it. Just like the unofficial mantra of the folks who work for Disney Intergalactic Enterprises, ‘empires rise and fall, but The MouseTM remains.’

Mickey is nearly out. It’s just his feet that aren’t done yet. I want to reach for him, bury myself in him, touch him and breathe him. I know he will smell of printer gunk, but it’s still his DNA, his bacterial micro-biome that grows within the gooey chamber of the printer. Dorothy takes my temperature, my blood pressure, and a vial of my ‘blood,’ but I don’t care about any of that bullshit. My iron lung is peaceful, his eyes are closed and lips slightly parted, though he is not breathing yet.

Dorothy must notice my shivering, as she lays a heavy shock blanket over me, and another over Mickey.

“Dorothy,” I croak, floundering for words. “Can… you…?”

She sighs. After twelve print outs, she knows what I want without having to ask.

“It’s against protocol to leave new clones alone in the lab without performing a proper physical, you know that.” She loops her braid around her fingers, chewing her lip. “You have fifteen minutes alone with him, okay? Just buzz me in if anything happens.”

It takes some time for him to finish printing, and even longer for him to wake up. I watch his chest rise and fall and try to pace my breath with his. I reach for his hand, my limp fingers fumbling for a grip. He’s cold, but so am I, so it doesn’t really matter. Still, I shudder as my skin brushes against his. There is something vital about the first touch when one of us comes out of the printer. A grounding sensation, a spark that christens the new corpse with life and brings our identities into clarity. At my touch, his eyelids begin to flutter and his hand twitches in mine. I think he might be dreaming.

“Mickey.” I whisper. “I’m here.”

He moans softly in his sleep. I wonder where he might be right now. Which morsel of suffering is he trapped within? I hold on tighter and try, stupidly, to push my way into his dream to protect him. Control is not a thing I’ve possessed in twelve lifetimes, yet I have not felt so powerless as I do now, listening to those mousy whimpers, unable to reach him. I think of all we’ve been through, and how we saved each other every time, imagining my thoughts drifting in through his ears. I know it sounds impossible, but I swear with every new life I am thrust into, I seem to love him just a little bit more. I chalk it up to the printer. After all, we’re made of the same stuff, Mickey and me. Garbage, dead bodies, piss, and shit and vomit. All the unwanted things boiled up into pure bio-carbon. We’re almost like twins. When we die, we both end up in the same pot, so really there’s a bit of me in him, and him in me. I don’t know which of my clones had the most Mickey in her, but whichever it was, that was the best of me. My efforts to telepathically comfort him seem to have had an inexplicable effect; his brow smooths and he begins to stir beside me, bleary eyes blinking into his new life. He huffs softly, a tired smile forming the first expression of this fresh face.

“Morning, Tiny.” He mumbles.

“Hey, Mickey.” I squeeze his hand and he squeezes back.

For a moment, there is no need to do anything but look at each other. It doesn’t matter how many times I see it, I just can’t get over that face. That downtrodden expression and how it brightens just a little when he sees me, that glow of amazement that shows every single time I rest my attention on him, and the way he sets his jaw when he’s hellbent on protecting me. My suffering is nothing but an unfortunate sacrifice to every soul aboard this ship, but when Mickey lays his eyes on me, I feel as though the universe turns around us.

“I had this crazy dream.” He wriggles his feet. “You were there, and Timo and Nasha. They promoted me to be chef, right? You guys were like my food guinea pigs, sampling everything ahead of time. But everything I cooked turned into macaroons. Grey goo macaroons, mock turkey macaroons… They looked horrible, but everyone loved them so I kept winning employee of the month and eventually the kitchen filled up with plaques and medals and they started spilling out into the cafeteria. It was so weird.”

“Weird.” I agree. I have no idea how he is so coherent right out of the printer.

His eyes gloss up in a wistful sort of way. “One day, when we get our debts paid off, I’m gonna take you away from here. Somewhere warm. And I’m gonna make you macaroons with real sugar.”

I can’t speak around the lump in my throat, so I just squeeze his hand.

“Woah, Tiny.” He winces. “Crying already? You’ve only been alive five minutes.” He rolls onto his side and reaches to wipe away a tear, but he doesn’t have his dexterity down yet, so his floppy fingers just smear it down my cheek. “C’mon, you got your whole life ahead of you.”

I laugh my first laugh. It’s short and shallow, but it’s exercise for these new lungs. I wring my knuckles on my eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

He drags my hand to his lips and kisses each knuckle. “Don’t be sorry. That was a rough one, huh?”

It was a rough one. Understatement of the century. The scientists had been developing a new nerve gas, a real gnarly pesticide to combat the creeper problem. Once they were certain of its lethality, they tested it on Mickey and me to see the effect based on the weight of the victim subject. Being smaller and lighter than Mickey, I succumbed to it quicker than him, but I stuck it out for as long as I could, unwilling to leave him alone in his suffering. The process was excruciating. Searing pain, seizing muscles, shaking and twitching, suffocation, loss of voice, loss of expression, loss of everything except conscious thought. We held one another as we died, and as black specks began to encroach on my vision, Mickey’s face was the last thing I saw. He could not speak, but it seemed from his eyes he was saying ‘see you soon.’

“Did you hang on long after me?”

“No.” He shakes his head and kisses the pads of my fingers. “You know I can’t live without you.”

“Mm. Maybe we can do it again some time. Nice Valentine’s Day date, huh?”

“Sounds good to me.” I bury my hand in his hair, soft and clean. He whines softly as my nails graze his scalp. “Dorothy did a full physical on me before you woke up. They must be planning a big mission or something.”

“Oh, joy…” He sighs. “It might be fun, though.”

“Oh, sure. I can’t think of anything better.” I have to laugh. “I hope it’s just me this time, though. You die more than me. You deserve a break.”

“Hey, no… Tiny, no.” He shakes his head, trouble marring his face. “If they’d let me, I’d do it for you every time. Every time.”

I hold his shoulders and press a kiss to his eager lips, cursing the tear that falls down to land on his cheek.

“You know I’d do the same for you, don’t you Mick?”

“Yeah.” His thumb finds its place on my cheek. “But I don’t think I’ll every get why.”

“You too, Tiny.” He lifts his head and meets my lips again, mumbling soft words against them. “More than life.”

I kiss him again, and again, and again. Gentle things, like cats bumping noses.

"I love you, Mickey."

His hold on my waist tightens and suddenly I am melting into him, my clumsy newborn fingers digging into his hair and mouth eager to welcome his tongue.

“Woah, woah! I know you guys are hungry, but you aren’t supposed to eat eachother.” We burst apart, flushing crimson. “Who knew our clones would fall in love? If psychology wasn’t such a -ahem- pseudo-science, I’d say we should do a study on your relationship. Anyway, Mickey,” He’s panting and covering half his face with the shock blanket. “You’d better relax, I need to take your blood pressure.”

He freezes, eyes darting between me and her, then he ducks under the blanket completely and lets out a weak whimper. “Fuck off, Dorothy.”

[afiendishthingynisba]

I put Nelson in a header bc yall liked Fran last time. And here’s a WIP with cats!

Carlos wakes up to his water glass landing on his face. “God– fucking– Beezus, go away!” He splutters at the dainty tortoiseshell cat now sniffing curiously at his eyebrow. She purrs thunderously as she realizes she’s successfully roused him. “Why do you always have to be such an asshole?” He groans.

“Papa!” bellows Jonah, skidding into the bedroom in that way that always reminds Carlos of Kramer. “That’s a bad word.” Carlos breathes carefully through his nose. His head is throbbing again, and worryingly, the bed seems to be rocking back and forth. He really doesn’t want to throw up. The time last night had been excruciating and he had cried while TK held him gently and petted his back and apologized over and over for something that wasn’t remotely his fault, and Ramona purred his head off and took advantage of the opportunity to lick the bathmat while his humans were distracted.

“Hey, Jojo,” TK rushes in behind Jonah, speaking in a register that doesn’t make Carlos’s ears bleed, unlike his brother. “Remember how Papa got hurt at work so we have to be very quiet and let him rest, so we don’t make his head hurt more?”

Jonah’s huge brown eyes grow somehow bigger. “Wait! Still?”

“Still–? Jonah, bud, we talked about it, like, a half hour ago.”

“Yeah and we had breakfast just you and me so he could rest! You’ve been resting forEVER, Papa, does it still hurt?”

The concussion hurts so fucking much. It hurts even more than his pride from the perp getting away after Carlos literally fell on his face chasing him. He suspects Sam Campbell is still, at this moment, laughing his ass off. But Jonah’s eyes are enormous, and he would feel horrible if he knew how much he’s managed to aggravate Carlos’s head. He’s 4. He’s supposed to be loud and boisterous. Every now and then, sometimes after a call with Enzo, he gets much too quiet. Carlos hates those days more than anything. “I’m ok, mijo,” he says through gritted teeth.

Thanks for the tags @bonheur-cafe @paperstorm @annoyingcloudearthquake @heartstringsduet!! I tag

@rmd-writes @thisbuildinghasfeelings @liminalmemories21 @strandnreyes

@everlastingday

@reyesstrand @sunshineacd @theghostofashton @ironheartwriter @emsprovisions

@cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @carlos-in-glasses @heartstringsduet @lemonlyman-dotcom

@ladytessa74 @three-drink-amy @butchreyes @decafdino @never-blooms

@sugdenlovesdingle @freneticfloetry @eclectic-sassycoweyes

@alrightbuckaroo @tellmegoodbye @chicgeekgirl89 @lightningboltreader @captain-gillian

@nancys-braids @pimento-playing-hopscotch @goodways @literateowl @carlos-tk @welcometololaland @henrygrass @rangersoup

[bulkyphrase]

Werewolf Steve Rogers: a rec list

For the last list of 2024, please enjoy some of my favorite fics about wolfy Steve. Features classic comics capwolf and MCU werewolf goodness.

The Law Runneth Forward and Back by Sineala (@sineala) (Stony, Teen And Up Audiences, 11,798 words)

Summary: It's been three weeks since Tony saved Steve's life at Mount Rushmore, and they're not talking about it. It's going to drive Tony insane. But they've got bigger problems, because Nightshade has turned Steve into a werewolf. Again. And all Steve seems to want is to be near Tony. Also available as a podfic read by RsCreighton (@rosecreighton)

Have Sunlight, Too, and Clover by chaosmanor, yamyamyam (Stucky, Explicit, 15,426 words)

Summary: Steve wakes up in the future, only to find that... everyone but him is part wolf now?! Hydra's attempts to replicate the super-soldier serum resulted in a virus that induced wolf-y features and WELP that went poorly. Now he's tracking down an actual full-on werewolf with the Avengers, y'know, to pass the time, when suddenly his body decides to wolf up after all. Dramatically. Meanwhile, that full-on werewolf they were chasing turns out to be oddly familiar...

More below the cut!

and I may never see the light by Effing (@effingunicorns) (Frostshield, Explicit, 8,111 words (WIP))

Summary: Steve is a monster hunter who's sort of but not really sleeping with the vampire next door. And then things get hairy. (Because every ship deserves more trashy monster AUs.)

A Matter of Language by DepressingGreenie (@depressinggreenie) (Thundershield, General Audiences, 774 words)

Summary: Clint is pretty sure Thor has been using some sort of magical mind reading to understand Steve. Also available as a podfic read by Akaihyou (@akaihyou)

(We Are Not) Monsters by lionessvalenti (Gen, General Audiences, 1,630 words)

Summary: Steve wakes up after his transformation to find he wasn't the only were-creature in the jungle that full moon.

A Good Man by quigonejinn (@quigonejinn) (Steggy, Not Rated, 1,541 words)

Summary: The one where the Super Soldier Serum causes lycanthropy.

You Know Where To Find Me by a_sparrows_fall (Stony, General Audiences, 31,307 words)

Summary: After an Avengers mission goes awry, Steve takes a leave of absence from the team, and he and Tony part on bad terms. But then Steve gets turned into a werewolf, and he finds his shapeshifting linked to his feelings about Tony, who’s had a terrible accident. If Steve never sees Tony again, will he be stuck in wolf form forever? A closely-canon compliant 616 Capwolf story.

Nights When the Wolves Are Silent, and Only the Moon Howls by Cluegirl, Defiler_Wyrm (@cluegrrl, art by @defilerwyrm) (Stony, Mature, 77,612 words)

Summary: “Could you drop all that stoic shit and be my freaking-the-hell-out wingman for just like, five seconds here?” Steve wasn’t sure he could think of anything he wanted less to do than to freak out about his wounds just then though, so he reached across his chest and gingerly patted Sam’s clenched knuckles. “It’ll be fine,” he promised, believing it. “Serum’s handled worse.” “You know, I actually believe you,” Sam allowed after a long second of glaring. “Which is deeply alarming, considering how much of your connective tissue I’ve touched in the last 4 hours. Now you wanna tell me what Russoff’s men did to you that made it look like you got mauled by a bear?” Steve flinched, then breathed the memory down to size. “Not a bear,” he murmured. “Wolves.”

Instinctual by mariana_oconnor (@mariana-oconnor) (Stony, Teen And Up Audiences, 17,095 words)

Summary: The true effects of the super soldier serum are top secret. Only a few people know the truth - the serum turned Steve Rogers into a werewolf. Steve still hasn't found a way to tell Tony, even though they've been in a relationship for months. He can't bring himself to explain that he's a monster. But when they are clearing out an AIM base, that decision is taken out of his hands.

Work of Art by veryvincible (@veryvincible) (Stony, Mature, 5,656 words)

Summary: Tony smelled… off. Wrong. He smelled strange in a way that would justify the cold, Steve thought. There was a metallic layer to blood that Steve was used to smelling, and in Tony, that was distinctly not present. So, Steve concluded, Tony must have had an iron deficiency. Something to that effect, at least. He became faint without warning, he was chilly as the dead, and he was as pale as any man Steve had ever seen. - Tony Stark is a vampire. It's common knowledge, at this point. Somehow, Steve isn't aware of that little fact.

A Little Confused But He Got the Spirit by jellybeanforest (@jellybeanforest-a-go-go) (Stony, Mature, 3,298 words)

Summary: On their third date, Steve decides to come clean about his lycanthropy. Tony is surprisingly understanding, almost too much so. Based on a prompt by DepressingGreenie. For the 2021 Cap-IronMan Holiday Exchange.

Under the moon, I howl for you by captainstars (@capnstars) (Stony, Teen And Up Audiences, 1,047 words)

Summary: Tony had been in quite a few fucked up situations in his lifetime. Being stuck in a cave together with Steve who had been turned into some kind of half wolf half man, while trying to maintain his secret identity, sure took the cake. —-

howling for you by starvels (dinosaur) (@starvels) (Stony, Explicit, 4,922 words)

Summary: Steve wakes up because the moon is screaming at him. He howls just once before he slips off the bed and slips out of his skin.

[tinytalkingtina]

WIP Weekend

Thanks for the tags @vthx @yesdangerpls @nureyevsins and @queenofshenanigans!

Rules: Send me an emoji in an ask, and I'll write 3-5 sentences and/or paragraphs from that WIP. No limits to the amount of emojis you can request, please feel free to send multiple (just in different asks please) Finally finished up the mermay fics this week, so those will begin publishing soon huzzah! So back to 3 WIPs we go:

🐶 B.A.D. D.O.G. (sequel to the college AU puppy play Stomeddie/Stommie fic) is...still in the same spot as last week. Made the final push on other projects, so let's see how this weekend goes!

🏴‍☠️ Eddierotica: "Eddie writes the world's worst erotica about characters who are just poorly disguised versions of himself and Steve. They're not dating." continues, with Steve descending into confused horny madness

💥Steddie Big Bang: Secret fic is at 6.5k now! This can't be publicly shared yet, so if you send in this emoji feel free to pick another fic as well, and I'll write 3 sentences for both.

Tagging some folks to join in and work on their own WIPs this weekend!

@hbyrde36 @pearynice @queenie-ofthe-void @onirislanding @apomaro-mellow

@dame-zoom-a-lot @fkinkindagauche @just-my-latest-hyperfixation @augustjustice @hitlikehammers

@little-annie @strangerthingswritersguild

Enjoy a NSFW snippet from 🐶 below the cut:

Their puppy sighed, turning to nuzzle his face into his legs. Eddie couldn’t help but melt from the sweetness, reaching down to stroke a hand through Stevie’s hair. “Oh sure, now that you get what you want you’re behaving,” Tommy complained. “Sorry puppy, you know the rules. Now stand and present.” Stevie pouted, but got on all fours and arched his back. He spread his legs wide, exposing his balls and hole, as a pink flush slowly spread across his body. Tommy moaned appreciatively. Their puppy turned his head to smirk as he swayed his ass back and forth a little. G-d, Stevie was such a vain attention-seeking diva. He was also already half-hard from this little bit of show-boating. Tommy moved quickly, lubing up a silicon cock ring to sit just beneath the head of his dick. A matching band fit just above his balls, stretching them out away from his body. Eddie shivered as Stevie woofed happily, knowing firsthand from experience (thanks to a very enlightening weekend spent under Tommy’s hands) how intense orgasms felt with them on, even if their puppy would have to work a little harder to get there. Once Stevie was properly collared everywhere, Eddie squirted some cold lube without warning directly over their puppy’s hole, enjoying both the shocked yip he got in response and Tommy’s snorting laughter. He took his time to tease, stroking his fingers along all of the gorgeous skin presented in front of him. As he passed it, Eddie’d let the tip of his thumb just barely catch on Stevie’s rim. Their puppy whined and bucked around, trying to force it deeper. “Hey, bad puppy, stay!” Tommy swatted at Stevie’s ass hard enough to leave a handprint. “Be happy Eddie’s being so nice, I wouldn’t give you anything after how much of a brat you were to him this afternoon.” Eddie jumped and moved his hands away, feeling guilty. “Shit, should I leave him alone?” Tommy cocked an eyebrow. “Why? He’s yours too. Do what you want to him.” Their puppy woofed and laid his face on Eddie’s feet. Tommy smirked and gestured down as if to say see? Eddie flushed a little at the sign of support from both of them and nodded, picking back up with only light touches. He kept at it until Stevie was a whining slobbering mess, barely able to hold back from humping the air. It was only then that he finally picked up the tail-shaped butt plug and gently pushed it into their puppy’s waiting asshole. Stevie barked and groaned at the intrusion, relaxing his muscles and rocking back and forth on the plug to pleasure himself. Eddie now knew he could take much bigger and thicker dildos, but the rubber tail brushing against their puppy’s ass with every movement drove him further and further into that warm fuzzy headspace. “There you go sweetheart,” Eddie murmured. “Finally filled up the way you wanted?”

[saras-almanac]

holding on [robert/aaron - emmerdale, letting go sequel, #wipweek]

Fandom: Emmerdale (UK Soap) Ship: Robron (Robert Sugden x Aaron Dingle) Rating: T Content Warnings: None Summary: This is a sequel wip to a fic (you can find it here) I wrote years ago where Robert and Aaron break up and eventually find their way back together. Still trying to work out if I want this to be a long multi-chapter story or just a longer one-shot or even just a few parts... still feeling it out since I've been absent from this fandom for years. Written for day 3 of @wipweek - most popular wip

Everything was claustrophobic here, the walls closing in. Everywhere he looked there were reminders of Aaron—of their relationship, of the life he’d thought he had. It was getting to be too much. Especially with all the daggers Chas kept throwing his way because obviously Aaron could never be in the wrong; everything was always Robert’s fault.

He needed to get away. He wasn’t sure for how long, but he just couldn’t be here anymore. Not with the reminders, the pain, the guilt.

Robert knew that he should be the bigger person and apologize, but if he was truly honest with himself, he was tired. He knew that he had a lot to make up for to Aaron, to everyone, but this time he really didn’t do anything to warrant this.

And it wasn’t about Liv, not really. She was just a kid and yeah it sucked that Aaron’s sister hated him without even knowing him, but that he could have dealt with.

It was the fact that Aaron lied to his face all day. That’s something he couldn’t get over, not yet anyways.

“Robert are ya—” Victoria stopped as she came into his room, seeing him pack a bag. “Oh, you and Aaron made up then?”

“No,” Robert said. “I’m going away for a bit.”

“Robert, running away isn’t going to fix whatever is happening between you two,” Victoria said. “You just need to talk it out, properly.”

“I’ve said all that I can,” Robert said. “And right now I need some space to think things over, away from everyone glaring at me and trying to guilt me.”

“Is it a going away forever?” Victoria asked quietly.

“No,” Robert said. “I don’t intend for it. I just need a few days away, clear my head.”

“And then you’ll talk to Aaron?”

“I don’t know.” Robert rubbed the back of his neck. “I want to. I miss him so bad, Vic. But I just can’t… keep putting myself through that.”

“You never really said, exactly what happened,” Victoria said, sitting on the edge of Robert’s bed.

“Well you know Liv hates me, yeah?”

“She doesn’t hate ya,” Victoria said.

“She got me arrested,” Robert said.

“She what? How?” Victoria asked him.

“It doesn’t matter,” Robert told her.

“It does matter.”

“No, Vic, that’s not the real issue,” Robert said.

Victoria didn’t look like she wanted to drop that, but she did. “Okay, then what is the real issue?”

“That Aaron knew this, knew that she was the one who set it up, and left me stewing and worrying for an entire day after spending the night in the cell,” Robert said. “He knew it was because of Liv and never said anything to me—even when I was practically tearing my hair out trying to figure out what had happened.”

“Oh.”

“And the thing is, I just don’t think Aaron gets it. When I was talking to him, trying to explain, he just went on and on that she’s just a kid and didn’t know what she was doing, but my problem is Aaron did. Aaron knew what had happened, why it had happened and chose to say nothing to me. Not a single word,” Robert said. “And it makes me feel like I can’t trust him to have my back, to even just be honest with me.

“What kind of relationship is that?” Robert asked sadly.

“One that’s had a stumble but it doesn’t mean you should just give up,” Victoria said. “You love him and I know that he loves you. I think if you talk about it, really talk about it, you’ll be able to work things out. If you want to that is.”

Robert sighed and sat down on the bed next to Victoria. “I honestly don’t know. That’s why I thought getting away from Chas and her pestering and just think for a minute.”

“What about asking Aaron to go away for a weekend? You two could have some proper alone time, and really talk about things without distractions?” Victoria asked. “It might be worth a shot, if you do want to work it out, or at least try.”

 “Yeah,” Robert said. “I’ll think about it.”

“Okay. Promise you won’t sneak off in the night? At least say goodbye to me so I know when you’ve gone?” Victoria asked, standing up.

“I promise I’ll let you know when I’m leaving.”

“Good.” Victoria went over and hugged Robert tightly. “Everything will work out between you two.”

I don’t know if we will, was all Robert could think as he hugged his sister.

[mosaickiwi]

Meowdy~

I'm Momo/Mosa c: either one

I like to write!!! Except it's just for 14DWY 99.999999% of the time sorry. I need to reformat this pin at some point... getting too long 🧍‍♀️

if u wanna support me here's a kofi link :3c

if u wanna read stuff on ao3 instead here's another link :3c <- it's very empty rn tho!!

anyways ur here for some silly fics??? have a list ⬇⬇⬇ most recent ones are at the top and/or highlighted!

14 Days With You

14 DATES WITH YOU!!! VALENTINE'S QUIZ!!!

Excuses, Excuses

your angle... or yuor devil

An Offering for the Koi God (AU)

Home Away From

For Two

Logic Puzzle

Patience

Leaping In

All Clean!!!

Kabedon (politely)

Little "Love" Notes

14DWY as a Drama (AU)

Fall Unto Me (Demon!Ren AU) part one, part two, part three, part four, epilogue info dump

Everything and Anything (pls read cw tags)

Soft - Light

Hide and Seek

Illusion of Choice

"Bad" Gift Giver Angel (head canon list)

Nails, TV, Moving

Sick Nasty

Someone in Between, Something Intertwined

Masterlist of NSFW [REDACTED] fics and blurbs

These aren't posted publicly at the moment, so it's a WIP with ao3 versions slowly being uploaded

REQUESTS: OPEN FOREVER!!

i get to it when i get to it

Request Guidelines

~PLEASE READ~

While I currently don’t write smut for requests, 14 Days With You is intended for an 18+ audience, so please keep that in mind and have your age visible in your bio! If you prefer to be anon remember to send another letting me know it's you from your main account! <3

ALL REQUESTS ARE FOR 14DWY [REDACTED] AT THE MOMENT (but other characters can just so happen to be there too!! but angel is still dating/interested in redacted only sowwy)

Please be clear and concise about what you want. A few sentences works great, but if you do want to paint a bigger picture, 70 words at most! <- This applies to the request itself not the entire message! Feel free to get silly in my asks otherwise.

Please don't direct me/give me a script! Gentle reminder that I am not a bot.

Additionally, since some requests might be similar in content I may combine or do only one of them.

With that said, please don’t rush me! I have other things I’m working on + irl c:

All fics are a gender neutral reader unless otherwise specified in the request through certain topics.

If any of these are unclear, ASK so I can clarify <3

Requests CAN be:

SFW, fluff, angst, comfort, implied/mentions of smut i.e. aftercare, roleplay before the action, ~vaguely~ alluding to school/college/etc., AUs as long as they aren’t someone else’s (unless the creator has stated to be okay with it), death and murder!!

Requests CANNOT be:

smut/explicit NSFW, cheating, self harm, student life stuff (studying or something similar is fine just pls spare me from having to think about college/campus bullshit 😭), angel being mean to redacted

Request List (please check to avoid repeats!)

Anxious, Clingy, Nervous Angel

Lazy Cuddle Day

Low Motivation Angel

Super Obsessed Angel

A Little Free Time

Touch Averse Angel

Wedding Day

Literal Domestic Fluff (Fox Ren)

A Sick Angel

A Riding Lesson

Your Actual First Kiss

Flip the Script(s) - Isekai AU

Very Cherry

Redecorating

Shorts

Beach "Date"

[rocketbirdie]

how do you keep yourself motivated when working on bigger/more time-consuming projects ?? I've been working on the same ff7 fic for almost seven months and im like gnawing at the bars of my cage because i wanna post it so bad but it's not done yet!! im so torn, part of me wants to refuse to post WIPs because im convinced im going to jinx myself, and part of me wants to go absolutely ham posting WIPs.

Honestly, I think posting a wip would be a good idea! Getting feedback is a huge motivator, at least in my experience. Hell, post a lot of them! Make memes about it! Turn it into a big deal! Because if you can get people hyped up about it, then that feeling is super contagious. Like when I was slogging through my demake of Demon Gates, making some silly doodles is what helped me stay sane 20 hours in.

And even if you do wind up losing interest in the project, think of it this way: How many fics have you read that were abandoned years ago? How many of those do you still think of as your favorites after all this time, that you re-read occasionally because they're still SO good despite being incomplete? I would much rather see more writers post fics that never get done, than for them to keep them hidden forever out of preemptive guilt.

POST 👏 THAT 👏 WIP!!!! 👏

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Not a Word 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live a life in hiding, away from your father and the world, until a man decides to drag you into the light. (non-verbal reader)

Characters: Captain Syverson

Note: Happy Monday.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You can’t hear your father’s voice anymore. You stand at your door, listening for any sign of life. It’s not him you want to avoid, though he’s rarely happy to see you, but his company. You’re pretty sure they left but not entirely. You feel asleep working on your diamond art. 

You can’t wait much longer. You have to pee so bad that you can feel it in your throat. It’s late. You’re sure you’re alone. 

The door hinges scrape like they always do. You hate that noise. You tiptoe down the hall, towards the yellow blare of the kitchen light. You turn into the bathroom and shut the door. You sigh as finally you get your release. 

You flinch as you stand up and pull your elastic waistband over your hips. The hollow metal tink of a metal can sounds from outside. It could be your dad. That would make sense. He probably got up to get water or another can of beer. 

You wash your hands and go back out. You head towards your bedroom without a look in the other direction. The grizzly pronunciation of your name draws you back. Your eyes round as you scuff to a halt. 

You turn to face the burly man at the end of the hall. “Did I wake you?” Sy asks. 

You gulp and shake your head. He’s one of your dad’s coworkers from the shop. He comes over with a six-pack and they sit on the porch to enjoy it. Or they linger in the kitchen and play cards. 

As the shadows shroud him, he looks even bigger than usual. You’ve only ever seen him from a distance. Usually he’s sitting down. Maybe you just never noticed how gigantic he truly is. 

He flips on the hallway light and you blink. His dark beard adds to the squareness of his jaw and his shaved head has dark stubble in a deep peak on his forehead. His blue eyes sparkle despite his naturally fearsome posture. 

“I just got your daddy to bed,” he says. “He should be just fine. You check that he’s on his belly tomorrow morning.” 

You nod again. He does the same. He doesn’t appear frustrated as your father. He seems almost intrigued as he stays there, scratching above the collar of his tee. 

“You okay?” 

You nod. 

“Checkin’, ya know? It’s late. Dark can be scary, huh?” 

Yes, your head bobs in agreement. 

“Right, well, you have a good night. Let me know if ya need anything in the morning. I put my number on the fridge.” He taps on the door frame and turns away. 

Most of your dad’s friends or the same. They don’t pay you much mind. You prefer that. You’re not one for chatting. That fact irks your father to no end. You just stay out of his way, and his friends’, and hide in your room. 

You wait until you hear the front door. Then you go to lock it as Sy’s footsteps clamour on the porch. You stay there, his headlights shining through the window as his engine rumbles to life. The gravel crunches as he reverses out and steers off into the night. 

You go around and shut off the lights. You take your time in the kitchen tidying up the beer cans. You wipe the counters quickly and rinses the dregs off your fingers. You leave the light on so you can find your door. 

You shut yourself in and go back to bed. You leave the small lamp on next to it and turn your back to the glow. You yawn and close your eyes. 

Another night. It’s a bit sad that the best part of your day is going to sleep. Your waking hours aren’t very interesting. When you’re not doing the chores or the cooking, you’re in there, busying yourself with something meaningless. Nothing you do will ever make a difference; not for you or anyone else. 

That’s why your dad hates you so much. You can’t blame him. There’s no jobs out there for someone like you. You tried and all you got for it was embarrassment and a new slew of insults. 

You cross your arms over the top of the blankets and sigh. When you lay in your bed, you can be anything. Behind your eyelids, you can’t paint pictures more gleaming than those etched in the small plastic diamonds. You could be a princess or an actress or even just someone normal. 

What keeps you awake, isn’t your dreams. It’s the dread of the inevitable. Once you fall asleep, you’ll have to wake up again and face bitter reality. 

🩶

Your dad’s snoring rocks you through the walls. The house is small. You hear a lot more than you like. Often, you leave the old Casio radio playing on low to gloss over the cricks and cracks and groans. 

You get up, knowing better than to wait until he does first. If you have the coffee waiting, it will appease a fraction of his temper. With a hangover racking his skull, he won’t be in the best of moods. 

The dead heat of summer roils through the house. Your dad has an AC unit in his bedroom window but it’s not big enough to do much beyond his door. He keeps that closed most days anyways. On the cold days, he also keeps the small electric heater locked away with him. 

You change into a pair of loose linen capris and a plain tank top. You don’t go anywhere so you don’t dress for any occasion. Most of your clothes are akin to pajamas, or nothing more than. 

The machine is old and dingy. No matter how many times you descale it, it keeps that yellow stain in the plastic. You snap the lid shut and flip the red button so it lights up. Dad says once it stops turning on, he’ll waste money on a new one. 

You get yourself a glass of water and wait. It’s early still but his alarm won’t let him sleep in. As it goes off, you keep busy.  

There’s a slam and a grumble. Your dad stirs violently and his door hits the frame as he swings it open. He lumbers out as you pour him a mug. He belches and ignores you. You put it on the table as he turns down the hall and goes into the bathroom. He leaves the door open and you hear his stream piddle into the toilet. 

You ignore it and turn back to your task. Breakfast. It’s the same thing every day. You do his eggs, sunny side up, toasted Wonder bread, and six strips of bacon. The smell soon has your mouth watering. The chair scrapes the floor loudly as he drops into it heavily. 

He slurps loudly behind you as you put together his plate. You set it before him and he wiggles the empty mug at you. You take it and pour him another from the carafe. 

A car door snaps shut. You wince. You didn’t hear an engine, but you’d been too swept up in cooking. You give your dad his refill and go to check the front window. 

“Is it that mailman already?” He hollers. 

You shake your head, even knowing that he won’t see.  

“Don’t know why I fucking ask,” he snarls. 

You watch Sy jump out of his truck. While the axle is high, it isn’t very treacherous for a man his size. He kicks up gravel as he steps around the door and shuts it. You back away as he heads towards the house. 

He clomps up the steps, thump, thump, thump, and you jitter as he approaches the other side of the door. You wait until he knocks before you answer it. You peek out through a single inch of space. He grins. You don’t think he’s ever smiled at you. You assumed he never did at all. 

“How’s the old man?” He asks. 

You blink and let the door open a bit more and give thumbs up. As good as he’ll ever be.  

“That’s good,” he drawls. “So...” 

His eyes drift down, just a little. You squirm. Your shirt feels thinner as you stand there. Your nipple poke into the fabric and you hug yourself awkwardly. You remember you asked your father for a bra once. He laughed and you never brought it up again. You try to stick to loose clothing. 

You point over your shoulder then make a gesture as if you’re holding a fork and scooping. 

“Having breakfast, that’s nice.” 

You don’t have enough for him. You’ll wait until your dad’s at work before you sit and have your single slice of toast and peanut butter. 

“I already ate, in case ya worried,” he assures. “Was just comin’ to make sure I didn’t give him too much sauce.” 

He laughs. His booming humour makes your flinch. Your brows pop up and he quiets. 

“Sorry, I know, I’m a loud one, huh?” He snorts, “I don’t mean ta scare ya.” 

“I told ya, she don’t say shit,” your father growls into a yawn. You step back and the door opens all the way as you press yourself to the wall. He saunters forward in his boxers and tank top. “No point goin’ on like that when she probably don’t even understand.” 

“She understands me,” Sy avows confidently. “After a night with your drunk ass, it’s a breath of fresh air to have someone not yammer on.” 

“You’re the one brought me the piss,” your father retorts. 

“And you didn’t complain when I did,” he counters. “Wanted to see if ya were going to make it in today. Just in case I gotta finish up Dubeau’s clunker.” 

“I’ll be there,” your father sneers. “Why don’t you go and get it all warmed up for me?” 

“You’re a prick, Don,” Sy huffs. 

“What? No, you can’t see it,” your father covers his crotch and you blanch, looking away embarrassed. 

“Don,” Sy rebukes, “there’s a lady.” 

“It’s my daughter, dammit. She’s too stupid to get it,” he spits. “Hey, you, go on, kitchen’s a mess.” 

You nod and avoid looking at the other man out of embarrassment. Your father is crass, sometimes even at your expense. And he knows you can understand him. He must. You do everything he tells you too. 

“Well, then, I’ll see ya round,” Sy calls, though you only realise he’s talking to you as your dad changes the subject to some tail pipe. 

You stop and peek back. Sy watches you over your dad’s head. You give a wave, just a tilt of your hand, then continue into the kitchen. 

You can’t help but be thankful for the interruption. Sy’s boisterous intrusion offered a buffer between you and your dad’s hangover. You wash his plate, cutlery, and mug, before you move onto the pots and pans you used to cook. 

You can hear your dad barking outside at Sy. The other man responds with a deep rumble. Are they arguing? 

The front door swings open, “hey, girl,” you dad whistles, “more coffee. Bring some for this lump.” 

You take the order in stride. You don’t have enough for two cups, maybe half of one. You start a new pot and wait. When it’s finished, you dry your dad’s mug and pull out another. You carry both to the front door and elbow through. 

You hand one to each man as they stand by the porch railing. Your dad takes his gruffly, spilling some on your fingers, but Sy thanks you. 

“You didn’t even ask if he wanted sugar or cream,” your dad chides. You give him a startled look. He snorts. “How’d ya do that, huh? Maybe blink your eyes real big.” 

You frown at his mocking. Sy exhales and you back away. Now you have two men annoyed with you. You glance over at the bigger of the pair as he stares at you. You should’ve thought of you. Coffee is bitter, it’s why you don’t drink it. 

You point to his cup and he shakes his head, “coffee’s fine,” he insists, “I’ll have something sweet later.” You nod and retreat. You turn your back to them and step inside. Before you close the door, you hear Sy, “you know I take my coffee black, Don. No needa to give the girl a hard time.” 

You shut it before you can catch whatever snide remark your father tosses back. You know he won’t take kindly to being told what to do, especially if it’s to do with you. Or because of you. You’ll hear it all later, you’re sure. 

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Sorry, just this little ficlet, and then I'll continue taking my break. I actually got some progress made on my WIP . . . Whoops, I accidentally wrote a little bit of smut. It was supposed to be just an accidental kiss.

18+ MINORS DNI

Eddie and Steve were friends. To them, they were like Steve and Robin, bound by trauma whilst being completely platonic. Oh, how very wrong they were. The realization came to them by complete accident. Eddie and his band finally had a gig that had a crowd a lot bigger than the crowd back in Hawkins. Corroded Coffin was playing at a decently sized bar just outside of Indianapolis. Steve and Robin were the only ones who could get away. Well, Robin had happily invited Vickie along with them, too. The three of them cheered when Eddie walked up to the mic and threw up devil horns in their direction. The horns slowly dropped, however, when he saw what they were wearing. All three of them were wearing homemade Corroded Coffin t-shirts, and they were all bright pink. He scowled at them and began to play.

Steve was thrilled to watch him play. He couldn't be more delighted at the sight of his friend ruling the stage. . .fucking owning the stage is what he was doing. Steve’s heart rate skyrocketed as he watched Eddie's long hair flow backward, exposing his throat as he tilted his head back. Eddie's crop top was drenched with sweat, and droplets ran down his stomach. God, Steve wanted to lick it. Wait. . .what? Before he could question that thought, the show ended, and Eddie was leaving the stage. Steve had to go see him.

"You go, we have to pee," Vickie said, her eyes shining.

Steve scoffed and waved them off. He knew exactly what they were going to do. Steve went into the back, only to find that Eddie wasn't with the rest of the band.

"Yeah, Eddie's in the back office there. He's getting out his excess energy. He was scaring Frankie again," Gareth said.

"I am NOT scared of Eddie, asshole," Frankie muttered.

They hadn't been kidding about Eddie's energy levels. He was practically bouncing off the walls when Steve walked into the room. He threw himself into Steve’s arms and hugged him tightly before pulling back. He was beaming like the sun.

"So, what'd you think?" Eddie asked.

"You were awesome, man! If this is what metal sounds like when you play it, then I could listen to it all of the time," Steve said.

Eddie grabbed his face and pressed a hard, grateful kiss to Steve’s lips. When he felt Steve tense up in surprise, he pulled back, his face red.

"Sorry, I don't know where that came from," Eddie said, and Steve gazed at him for a moment, his mouth open.

"Don't be," Steve quickly. "It was a, uh, nice kiss. Very nice."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Fuck, I liked it too."

And that's how Steve found himself pressed up against the wall of the office, Eddie's mouth against his in a hungry kiss. God, it felt like Eddie was trying to devour him. Maybe he was, and maybe he wanted to be devoured by him. Was that what that feeling was? Yeah, he knew it. It wasn't any different than when he had strong feelings for a girl, but it was different in a way that felt more final, like he didn't want to kiss anyone else ever again. Maybe that's why he chose to ignore it all these many months that they had spent hanging out together.

Steve moaned as Eddie's hands wandered up his shirt. Eddie cupped his pecs, his thumbs brushing over his nipples and working them as he moved his lips to Steve’s neck. Steve cursed. Suddenly, Eddie's hands were back over his shirt again. They gripped the collar of the shirt tightly as Eddie moved back. He tore the shirt cleanly down the middle.

"Pink, really?" Eddie asked, and Steve grinned wickedly. "I knew you did that shirt on purpose. Bad Boy. Don't worry, I have a couple shirts I brought with me. You can wear one of mine."

Eddie's eyes darkened at the thought of Steve wearing his clothes. He slipped the rest of the shirt off of him before tearing off his own shirt. Steve gripped his hips, pushing him backward until Eddie's legs hit the back of the small couch. Eddie sat down, and Steve straddled him. Steve’s hand dove in between Eddie's legs and cupped Eddie's clothed hard on. Eddie moaned and cursed Steve’s name as he pressed his hand further against him.

"Goddamn it! Fuck you, Steve," Eddie cursed again.

"So, you don't want my hand inside of your pants. . .hand pressed against your hard cock. . .hard just for me, huh?" Steve whispered in his ear.

The image of Eddie with his head tossed back, just like he was now, on stage fueled the fire that was burning inside of Steve. His tight pants were constricting him. They almost hurt.

"Yes! Fuck! I want you to touch me!" Eddie exclaimed and whispered.

Steve unbuttoned his own pants before doing the same with Eddie's. He wanted to stroke their dicks at the same time. Once this fire was lit, it seemed difficult to put out. Steve had slipped his hand into Eddie's pants when the door burst open. Robin came in with Vickie. Everyone froze. Robin stared at Steve and Eddie. They stared back at her while Vickie backed away slowly out of the room.

"This is exactly what it looks like," Eddie said, Steve’s hand still down his pants.

"What the hell?! I thought the three of us were all platonic with a capital p!" Robin exclaimed.

"Sorry," Steve said, not looking sorry at all.

"It's alright," Robin said softly. "I'll forgive you since you're being queer and all. Eddie finish getting fucked by my best friend and buys us some drinks. You owe us for scarring my girlfriend."

"I'm not scarred! I think it's great! I just didn't want to see it!" Vickie hollered.

"Bless her, she's delusional," Robin said and backed out of the room.

"Tell Gareth to bring us some shirts!" Eddie hollered.

Steve climbed off Eddie, laughing with them as he collapsed next to him.

"Ugh, she ruined the mood," Steve complained.

"Yeah. . .so, queer, huh?" Eddie asked.

"Well, what we did definitely wasn't straight," Steve said and they laughed.

The door opened and Gareth came in with his eyes shut.

"Robin said that I should close my eyes because there's something scary going on in here. Eddie. . .did you really try and fight Steve? We told you before you can't take him," Gareth said. "Even in a hypothetical fight."

Eddie scowled and crossed his arms while Steve struggled to contain his laughter. He watched with a fond smile as Eddie pouted, his bottom lip jutting out. He had really been buried deep in his denial because how could he have possibly thought that he and Eddie were just friends?

[stabbyfoxandrew]

I am awake early enough!

Asking for.... hm. Vampdrew I think 🤔 or if you're not feeling that then Arsonneil 🥺 -- @quiescentdestiny

WIP Wednesday (9/25) | Vampire Andrew AU (Part 183)

When they get back to the dorms, after everyone's had their little check up with Abby, Andrew brings Kevin to the bedroom and locks the door behind them. He doesn't want interference from his relatives and unlike Andrew, they can be stopped by a simple lock. Andrew turns to find Kevin sitting on the bottom bunk just how he'd been earlier. He glances up at Andrew and back down at his shoes. 

From a simple peek into his head, Andrew can see Kevin isn't scared of him. Not really. Not that way. He's just mildly terrified of what Andrew's going to say. He knows Andrew heard all his thoughts back at the stadium. But he also knows Andrew is still pissed at him.

"I was pissed at you, Day. Not anymore. We already talked about it, remember?" Andrew says, answering his thoughts. Just after he finished cleaning up Kevin's arm, Andrew went out for a bite of something with slightly less brains than Kevin. (He managed a couple of bunny rabbits and a weird-looking bird. Speaking of which, he thinks he's got a feather stuck in his teeth. It's driving him more insane.) 

He got back just before the team meeting began. Just in time to pick up the others. His little trip to the woods hadn't completely dampened his thirst. As soon as Neil stepped into the parking lot, Andrew was focused on him. Since he was focused on not biting a chunk out of Neil's shoulder for the whole car ride, Andrew didn't get a chance to break the news to Neil about their upcoming party. He'll do it later.

"I'm sorry. I—"

"Ah, ah, ah. This is not Kevin Talk time. This is Andrew Talk time." Andrew says, zipping Kevin's lips from across the room. "I do not want any more apologies. We spoke about it in the hallway, we did that then. Apparently it bears repeating: You have no reason to be afraid. I am with you. More importantly, you are with me.

"I will never let anyone hurt you. Ever. From Neil to Riko and Tetsuji to the National fucking Guard. No one will touch you. I will not allow it. You are mine and I will keep you safe. Stop worrying. I am here. You are here. You are never going back there.

"I don't care how worried the others are, I don't care how big and scary Riko thinks he is. I am bigger; I am scarier. And like you said— thought— earlier, I will hear them coming."

Kevin's heart is a herd of wild mustangs in his chest, the sound of it inviting and addicting. Andrew listens to it and to Kevin's thoughts until the human finally opens his stupid, pretty mouth. "I know. I know you'll keep me safe, Andrew."

"Then we have no problems. Except for the matter of you choosing Coach over me. That was bad, Kevin. You hurt my feelings."

Kevin lets out a laugh and Andrew smiles with all his teeth.

"I'm serious Kevin. You've mortally wounded me."

"I can tell," Kevin says, then his thoughts stray a bit. The thought of being wounded takes Kevin to his scuffed up arm earlier, then his mind jumps into horny territory. Andrew clears his throat and Kevin swallows. "It's not my fault. You're the one who was licking me all sensually."

"Sensually." Andrew starts to work a fingernail in between his teeth.

"Yeah. My eyes were closed but I could feel it."

"You lie. I licked the blood off you as clinically as possible."

"Clinical like a porno set in a doctor's office maybe." Kevin says, leaning back on the bed.

Andrew scoffs. "I think you need a new adult website. Yours sounds supremely boring."

"Andrew, you know it's not just..." Kevin trails off for a moment, thinking about what to say. It’s idiotic because Andrew is getting both the edited and raw versions. Kevin seems to remember that and looks back up. "It's not just physical. I care about you. The fact that your mouth is on me once a week is just a bonus."

"Don't word it that way." Andrew finally dislodges the bit of feather from his teeth and fishes it out of his mouth with a couple fingers, grimacing at it before flicking it away.

"How should I word it?"

"You are food to me, Kevin. The fact that you haven't got fur or feathers is just a bonus."

"Okay." Kevin doesn't seem happy to hear it, but he nods. "Fine. If that's all you want, fine."

"That's all I want."

Kevin doesn't hear the lie. Instead, he sighs and changes the topic. "I assume Neil made it back to the dorm alive?"

[musewrangler]

Jedi Piett WIP

I'm sorry, but I have to share a snippet because this is SUCH a fun story to write! Can't fully publish yet as I want to finish another one first, but it's moving along!

“Look,” he said, struggling to his feet and coming over to the shorter boy. “I was a slave. Back on Tatooine.” Firmus’s already big eyes got bigger. “You mean with…with a chip?” he whispered.  Anakin appreciated someone who got the problem immediately. Who knew how the Rim worked. “Yeah. I mean, it’s Hutt territory and you know how they are.” Firmus bit the inside of his cheek and nodded. “Some. They had dealings around Axxila. But our biggest problem was the Black Sun.” He said the name as though he wanted to spit. Anakin had heard terrible stories about the smuggler cartel. “Were…were you a slave too then?” he asked. Firmus sighed and turned to lean his arms on the balustrade, resting his chin on them. Anakin stepped beside him and joined him. “Not exactly,” he replied at last, his emotions turbulent in the Force. “I was never chipped or anything. I had a collar but it wasn’t the lethal kind.” “So what happened then?” Anakin pushed, knowing somehow that the other boy needed to tell him. He was reasonably sure this was a prodding in the Force. He’d need to ask Obi-Wan later. A single tear tracked out of the corner of Firmus’s left eye as he stared sightlessly out over the vast city. “My…father sold me. My powers were a problem. But to some people they were worth a lot of credits, so…” Anakin took this in, something strange and sick feeling in his stomach. “Wait. You—-you knew you had powers?” “I knew something was weird about me,” Firmus replied grimly. “The…the men who bought me made me tap into my power by…” He closed his eyes, jaw working against his memories. Anakin waited.  “I had to kill,” Firmus said at last, giving Anakin a nervous glance, clearly fearing how he would react. “Kark,” he said with sympathy. “What um…?” “Animals,” Firmus said, voice so sad. “To save people. All for entertainment. I hated it. So you see—-I’m pretty messed up.” “Nope.” Firmus raised both eyebrows at the certainty in Anakin’s voice and half turned to look at him. But Anakin was certain. He’d been here long enough to know these Jedi masters. Okay, Windu was a hard ass, but Plo was great and obviously so was Obi-Wan and lots of others. Further, his master always encouraged him to watch a being’s physical reactions at the same time as their Force sense.  “One informs the other, Anakin. It’s important to note both when assessing a being’s character.” “Look,” he said, “Master Plo wouldn’t bring you here if he thought that. And I can feel that you…you were hurt. But you’re not dark or something. Kark, you’re not evil. Bad things happened to you. Same for me. My mom is still a slave back on Tatooine.”  His throat got tight as he said this, and he saw Firmus wince in sympathy. But he plowed on. “I want to save her. So I want to be a Jedi.” There was a long pause. The wind tugged at their hair and far below Anakin could hear the noises of Coruscant.  The words, when they came, were very soft. “So…you think I can be one too then?”  Firmus said it almost shyly, and shivered a little in the breeze.  “Of course. And I’ll need someone from the Rim to help me free slaves. Someone who gets it.” A full smile graced the Axxilan’s face then. “All right.” “Now come on. You’re too skinny to be out here this long. And I have another set of tunnels to show you before you sneak back to bed. Even Obi-Wan doesn’t know about them.” And the two boys slipped back inside the vent, the grate sliding into place with a light click.

[kinomiakai]

Hello! I think I need some advice :(

I've been struggling with comparing my writing/fics to others based on the ao3 stats. I know it's been said repeatedly that "stats don't reflect the quality of your writing" but like. It's still a major bummer to see those numbers. I write for a small fandom, ~1k works till now for the ship I write, and the average kudos is around 300-500 per fic (and I've gotten that kind of stat on my older fics from '23-'24), it's just that my current multi chapter WIP is pretty much collecting dust, and I've noticed the number of my usual readers sort of.... Falling off with every chapter ;~;

So.... Is there anything that helped you deal with this feeling of "low numbers" = "my writing must have become shitty" ? 🥲

Ohhh, my friend. This is such an eternal struggle of the online world. This is such an eternal struggle of humanity! Comparison! And numbers are so EASY to compare, they’re right there in your face. Hang on I need to find a meme for you HJKDSHFKSJHF I CAN’T FIND IT

[Insert the meme that is a graph going up and down through the writing process, with a huge dip when you post the fic with “I have lost the ability to write”]

I don’t know if I will ever get over the initial feeling/fear of posting something new - when all the stats are at 0, no matter how much people like your old stuff, it feels like - “oh. It’s finally happened. I do suck! I knew it!!!!” And then you have to beat that fear back with a pool noodle and tell it you go through this every time.

So. Here are my thoughts about all that:

You’re never going to write for everyone. You don’t WANT to write for everyone. Think about the assholes in the world. You want them to like your work? Hell no, it’s a compliment when they don’t!

If you want to write a story, you are one person in the world it resonates with. THERE IS ALWAYS ANOTHER PERSON. I can’t tell you how many stories I’ve written off as bad that I still get comments on that someone connected to it in some way. You are not necessarily writing for that person, but you are writing a story that resonates with you, and it will undoubtably resonate with someone else. And if you don’t ever hear from that person, that’s okay - the story wasn’t for them. It was for you.

There’s that post that talks about how like 10% of any fandom has people that are balls to the walls bonkers. In bigger fandoms, this number increases proportionally; that’s why smaller fandoms - or groups, or forums, etc etc - tend to have that nicer community feel. Niche is nice. You have the people that are actually invested. You might not have the numbers, but you have the quality, and is so important. I’m thinking particularly of one of my lowest liked fics that I am still quite obsessed with and still really resonates with me - I’ve gotten two or three comments where I am like YES. YOU GET IT. And THAT is what it’s all about.

Numbers lie. Your newer stuff always looks like it’s doing worse than your older stuff, UNLESS you get on a fic rec list. I can genuinely tell when a fic breaks containment in some way because the numbers stop following a year when posted trend. People also tend to bookmark long fics vs. kudos shorter ones (in my experience). The more tags you have, the more people might see your stuff (or have it blacklisted). Long fics pop up on feeds more often because they might be there every time a new chapter is posted. Particularly artsy or more obscure writing styles will have lower numbers - I just went through my stats and yep - all my lowest ones are new, or poetry, or haven’t been on a fic rec list. Rebuilding was my highest in all stats for the longest time (basically my first fic when I properly came to writing and ao3), until Waiting for an Answer broke containment somehow. Numbers are a cool way to see how your writing is being read, how people are experiencing it, if they tend to come back to it, etc etc - but they’re not actually at all related to writing skill. I think Rosaceae is one of the best? toughest? my favourite? things I’ve ever written, but it’s very low down, and Bare is even further, pretty much the bottom - they’re just not a traditional type of story that people in the fandom tend to click on. OH ALSO - about tags again, easier-going stories tend to be more “popular” than stories that deal with heavier content, because people are almost always in the headspace for something light vs. they have to manage their emotions & energy and decide whether to read something darker. It’s not that one is good and another is bad, it’s just that it’s much easier to open up and casually read something that’s meant for casual reading. (I also think this is super fandom dependent and that fanfic tends to almost take an opposite structure to canon material - aka angst and drama in Naruto means people crave seeing stability and fix-its, vs. stories that are super chill and easy-going tend to have people wanting to see how those characters would deal with dramatic or dark situations. This is not 100% the case at all, but more of a general theme I think I’ve noticed)

When people are clicking on fics, they’re managing their time and energy. So - WIPs tend to be less read than complete fics, shorter fics can be quickly read through and commented on, longer fics can lose people in the middle NOT because the story is bad BUT because the person gets 50 work emails and then they forget when they’re frantically closing all their tabs so their phone stops freezing.

Also about WIPS: in my experience, comments & read pattern of a WIP are a U-curve - a bunch at the beginning because people are curious about the premise, and then interaction tapers off - then it will jump up again when completed. The most interaction I’ve gotten on my WIPs are like,,years after they’ve been completed, and that includes the ones where I posted a chapter a day. I think this is for a couple reasons; it’s a lot harder to commit to reading a WIP that is like 30 chapters in with no signs of slowing - and if it’s like 45/50? I want to read it when it’s 50. A lot of WIPs never get finished, so people have trust issues with getting really invested into a story - and stories can also totally go off the rails, so people manage their time (consciously or unconsciously) in that sort of way.

SO. Back to your actual question - yeah. Having enough evidence over the years of just pushing through and writing and not having my writing suddenly become the world’s greatest dumpsterfire means I can effectively bat away those thoughts with “yeah, yeah, this is what you said last time. And look what happened? You’re fine, and your writing is fine.”

But I’ll also use this answer to say this is one of the reasons a lot of writers really, really call for comments. For me, those comments - among a ton of other things - can become a little evidence bank that I access to prove doubts and fears wrong, and that lets me more easily keep writing. It is harder when you don’t have that external evidence, but it’s also really important that you’re able to keep going without it, because your writing really has to be for you.

When I first started writing properly, after my experience with How to Break a Mask, that’s one of the reasons I decided to write Enter Naruto and Rebuilding in full before posting them. When writing How to Break a Mask originally, I found myself being influenced by the comments to the point of really needing to keep people happy - this often became a big source of writer’s block (anxiety can be a big thing that makes your thoughts freeze!). Writing a fic all the way through can be really challenging, because it pushes you to write just to write. You might be finishing it to post it, sure, but you have no idea if people like it halfway through. But do you like it?

Writing takes ages. It’s such a grind. You wouldn’t be pushing to write chapter after chapter if you didn’t love your ideas. So my advice is really - have faith in yourself and your ideas. They are good, whether other people say so or not. They have to be. You wouldn’t be writing them otherwise.

And if you still can’t tell yourself your skills are up to par, consider this: how much writing is out there for Naruto? How many people trash talk Kishimoto’s ability to write? Is it the writing we love, or was it the ideas? What makes a story so worth reading? So worth loving? Is it not the author's ability to hold those ideas out, and offer them for consideration, thought, inspiration?

Just something to think about. All my love to you, anon <3