#fic: september first

[sgtbuckyybarnes]

A year ago today my life changed forever when I had to have my Ollie put to sleep. It started an almost snowball effect of good and bad, losing my mums dog Oscar, gaining two ponies, losing my grandma, gaining two new dogs, my dad getting sick and then ending up getting a new job…

It’s been a wild ride which has taken me away from the things I used to love doing. I haven’t edited much in a while, I definitely haven’t written anything in a long long time and I haven’t really felt like myself.

But changing up my life with my new job seems to have jolted some things back into place and I’m feeling so much more myself again.

So I’m thinking of starting to post my fics again, I pre write a lot so I have quite a bit of the As I Was trilogy written and all of September First. I’m not expecting anything from anyone about it, honestly I’m just putting this here as a way to push myself to do it!

I’m thinking of maybe starting tomorrow and posting Harper on a Sunday and Daxia on a Wednesday but we’ll see how it goes!

If you’ve read this, thank you! If you haven’t, I don’t blame you 😂

Finishing off with a pic of my boy who miss more than anything:

[paracosmicessence]

guys i think maria wrote the very first sonadow fic ever

[steveseddie]

full circle

steddie | rating: t | wc: 3,8k | cw: mention of throwing up | tags: pre-season 4, different first meetings, eddie is afraid of heights, steve is a sweetheart, holding hands, first kiss

for week one of @softsteddieseptember using the prompt “facing your fears” 

read on ao3 here

Jeff and Gareth stumble out of the Ferris Wheel and Eddie snorts out a laugh.  

Jeff is struggling to keep them both upright as Gareth leans all of his weight on him, his face alarmingly green. Jeff manages to get them to the picnic table where Eddie is sitting without Gareth barfing but when he plops down next to Eddie he scoots away, putting some distance between them just in case. 

“Shouldn’t’ve gone on the Ferris Wheel after swallowing three fucking corn dogs, Gare,” Eddie sniggers, taking a drag of the cig he’d been smoking while his two friends were spinning fifty feet from the ground. 

“Don’t-” Gareth mumbles, cutting himself off with a gagging sound that makes Eddie sit on top of the table just to put more space between them. “Don’t mention corn dogs. Or food,” he finishes meekly, hunching forward and burying his face in his hands.  

Jeff gives him a pat on the shoulder. “It’s your fault, man,” he tells Eddie, who gasps, affronted by the accusation. “If you didn’t fuck off to go take a piss then Gareth wouldn’t’ve had to go on it with me.” 

Eddie shrugs, the cigarette dangling from his lips. “Whatcha want me to say, Jeff? When you gotta go, you gotta go.” 

(The truth is Eddie didn’t have to go. 

He lied about it and then wandered around the fairgrounds aimlessly until he was certain Jeff and Gareth had gone on the Ferris Wheel.

Because Eddie is terrified of heights, a fact no one but his uncle is aware of given how cool and unmetal it is.)

“Ugh, I gotta go,” Gareth grumbles, stumbling over to some bushes before throwing up all over them. 

Eddie recoils with a grimace. “Dude!”  

Gareth pulls himself together. He wipes his mouth and glares at him over his shoulder. “Shut up, Ed, you wouldn’t be doing any better if it was you who went up-” He pauses, narrowing his eyes at Eddie. “Wait, how come I’ve never seen you go on the Ferris Wheel?” 

Oh crap. 

“I’ve been on it,” Eddie shrugs, lying as convincingly as he can. “Many times.”

Jeff studies him curiously. “No, no, Gare, is right. We’ve been coming here for three years and you’ve never been on it with us!”

“I’ve been on it,” Eddie insists. “Just you know with other people.” 

They both snort. “Oh yeah?” Jeff asks. “Who?” 

“Yeah, Eddie, you don’t have any other friends,” Gareth adds. 

“I do!” Eddie protests, waving his hands like it will make names appear out of thin air. “I have Freak!”

Jeff raises an eyebrow. “What’s his real name?” 

“Uh-” Eddie shrugs. “Freak?” 

Gareth shakes his head. The color is back on his face but Eddie wishes he’d go back to hurling his guts out. “If I didn’t know any better, Eddie, I’d say you’re afraid to go on it.” 

“Pfffft,” Eddie slaps his knee with a laugh. “I am not.”

“Prove it then,” Gareth says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What?” 

“Go on the Ferris Wheel now.”

“Uh, can I finish my cig first?” Eddie asks, trying to stall.

But his friends won’t let him. “No,” they say at the same time. 

Well, shit.

“Ugh, fiiiiiine,” Eddie says, throwing his arms up in a tantrum before snuffing the cig against the table.

He stands up and, flanked by his two friends, starts walking towards the Ferris Wheel. As he does, he considers the pros and cons of fleeing- he’s gotten very good at running from people and neither Gareth nor Jeff are as quick as some of the jocks he’s had to outrun before.

But Eddie realizes he might not need to run away when they reach the line just as the guy manning the ride opens the last car to let the last two people in.

“Won’t you look at that!” Eddie whirls around, clapping his hands together. “It’s full! Oh well, there’s always next year!” 

He throws his arms around Jeff and Gareth and starts dragging them away. Only for them to stop in their tracks when there’s a voice behind them. 

“We have one spot left!” The guy announces. “One spot left! Who wants to ride?” 

Gareth whirls around. “He does!” He says, pointing at Eddie who curses inwardly. “He’ll do it. Right, Eddie?” 

Through gritted teeth, Eddie mutters ‘if you insist’ because what other fucking choice does he have?

He makes his way to the front of the line like a man stepping into the gallows, jaw clenched and hands balled up into fists at his sides pausing again just as he’s about to get on. 

Because sitting on the Ferris Wheel car is no other than Steve fucking Harrington.

He wants to do this even less now knowing that Harrington will be sitting next to him as he tries not to shit his pants. The last thing he wants is the King of Hawkins High to go around sharing that with everyone.

“Dude, are you getting in or not?” The guy asks when Eddie just stands there, an annoyed tilt to his voice. 

Eddie glances over his shoulder to find Gareth and Jeff giving him two thumbs up, matching smirks on their faces. He flips them off, ignoring the scandalized gasp from a mother waiting in line with her son. 

Then he glances back at the car- at Harrington, who is staring at him with an impatient bitchy look. The King probably isn’t happy about sharing a Ferris Wheel car with the Freak.

Yeah, well, the feeling is fucking mutual. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going in,” Eddie says anyway, sliding into his seat. He does his best to ignore Harrington as the guy lowers the safety bar on their laps- as well as the dread that has settled on his belly. 

It only grows as they start moving. 

“Enjoy your ride,” the guy tells them with fake cheerfulness. 

Eddie fights the urge to flip him off too. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, grabbing the safety bar with a death grip as their car starts to rise. They keep rocking back and forth and Eddie’s stomach falls out of his ass every time. “Fuck me.” 

Next to him, Harrington lets out a snort. “At least buy me dinner first, Munson.”

Eddie snaps his head towards him- Harrington is leaning back against his seat with a smirk, seemingly not caring at all about the fact that they’re about to be thirty feet from the ground. Asshole.

“Hardy-har-har, Harrington,” Eddie says through gritted teeth, trying not to let his voice waver.

As far as comebacks go, it’s a lame one and Harrington must notice. “Geez, man. Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m- I’m fine.” 

Harrington glances down at Eddie’s hands on the safety bar with a pointed look. “Really? Because you look like you’re trying to snap that bar in half.”

Eddie glances down and sees that he’s white-knuckling the safety bar. He loosens his hold a little. “I’m fine,” he says, voice clipped. “Mind your own business, Your Majesty.” 

“Christ, Munson, what’s your problem?” Harrington huffs out a sound halfway between a grunt and a laugh. “And don’t call me that. You don’t hear me calling you Freak.”

To Eddie, they’re not the same. He thought someone like Harrington would enjoy being reminded about his popular status in high school- even if Eddie’s tone is mocking. But it seems the whole King thing struck a nerve.

“My problem is-” Eddie starts, meaning to tell Harrington that it’s him even if Eddie hasn’t had a problem with him in particular since he graduated but then their car jerks and his words trail off into a whimper. 

“This fucking deathtrap, shit. Okay, I’m not fine,” he admits, eyes screwed shut as they reach the top. “I'm like terrified of heights, okay? Which is fucking lame and super unmetal of me so go ahead, laugh it up.”

He waits to hear it- Harrington’s laugh but there’s only silence. 

Eddie peeks at him through one eye.

“I’m not gonna do that,” Harrington says, his eyebrows knitted in a way that’s frankly kinda cute. 

Cute? Jesus Christ, Eddie, not the time.

“Why not?” He asks. “It’s what you jocks do.”

“Yeah, well, I haven’t been a jock for a while, man.”

Eddie guesses that’s true. Even before he graduated, Harrington had stopped being a jock under Eddie’s definition of the word. He still played basketball, but he didn’t pick on Eddie or the other nerds and now he’s not laughing at him for being afraid of heights even though if the roles were reversed Eddie would probably get a few laughs in himself. 

Maybe he should cut Harrington some slack.

“Why are you riding the Ferris Wheel anyway?” He asks after a short silence. “If you don’t like heights?” 

Another mind your own business rests at the tip of Eddie’s tongue but he did just say he’d cut him some slack. Besides, Eddie is slowly realizing that talking to Harrington is helping keep him distracted from where they are right now. 

“Well, my friends think I’m scared-”

“You are,” Harrington interjects with a smirk.

“Yeah, yeah, I am,” Eddie accepts with an eye roll even if he feels his mouth tick up. “But they don’t need to know that, I have a reputation to uphold.” 

“With your friends?”

“With my friends, the school.” Eddie clicks his tongue. “ Society.”

Harrington snorts out a startled sort of chuckle, eyebrows raised in amusement. “Well, I won’t tell society,” he says with a conspiratorial smile. “Your secret’s safe with me.” 

He bumps their shoulders together and it makes the car tip forward. Eddie bites down on a very embarrassing scream. Harrington grimaces. “Shit, sorry.” 

“Why are you- why are you riding the Ferris Wheel?” Eddie asks. “You can’t possibly enjoy this, man.”

“It’s not so bad,” Harrington shrugs. “I like the view, especially at sunset.”

“Ah,” Eddie smiles teasingly. “I bet you bring all the pretty girls up here, hold their hand if they get scared.” 

Harrington raises an eyebrow at him. “Are you suggesting I hold your hand, Munson?” 

Is he? Eddie looks down at Steve’s hands. They’re nice hands and Eddie has to admit that the thought of holding one of them right now doesn’t exactly make him want to jump off this car. 

It makes his heat build in his cheeks actually. “Fuck off, no, I’m-” 

“Because I would,” Harrington interjects, “if you wanted me to.” 

Eddie’s eyes go wide. “I- uh. You- no, you wouldn’t.” 

Harrington tilts his head, watching Eddie with a mixture of amusement and something else. If Eddie didn’t know any better he’d say Harrington finds it endearing- how nervous Eddie is. What the hot fuck?

Harrington holds out his hand, palm up, in the space between them. 

Eddie can only stare at it like it’s going to bite him or like Harrington is going to jerk it back and laugh at him for falling for the joke. He does neither. He wiggles his fingers and Eddie, who might be oxygen-deprived from the height, lets go of the bar with one hand, wipes it on his jeans, and grabs Harrington’s. 

He links their fingers together loosely and gives Eddie a little half-smirk, half-smile that he bets left a girl or two giggling back in the day. Right now it makes Eddie’s heart stutter in a wildly different way than being this far from the ground does. 

The ground, which is currently far, far away. Shit. The reminder makes him grip Harrington’s hand tighter and it’s really nice- warm and soft instead of cold and hard like the safety bar. Eddie looks down at their joined hands, and focuses on that- on how big Steve’s hand is and how many freckles are dusted over the back of it, how he doesn’t seem to mind that Eddie’s rings are probably digging painfully into his skin with how hard he’s holding on to him. 

“Better?”

“Yeah,” Eddie admits with a shaky laugh. “Um, thanks, man, for not laughing and like, not being a dick about this.” 

“Yeah, well, I’m trying to be less of a dick these days.”

“And how’s that working out for ya?” 

Harrington’s nose scrunches up. “I’m alone at the Ferris Wheel, Eddie, so what do you think?” 

Eddie chuckles. “Oh, so what am I? Chopped liver?”

“No!” Harrington counters quickly. “Just not who I thought I’d end up riding the Ferris Wheel with.”

“Oh how you wound me, Steve,” Eddie says with an exaggerated pout. 

“Shut up, you’re the one who’s wounding me,” he says playfully, using his free hand to gesture at where his other one is still trapped by Eddie’s. “Think you’re cutting off circulation to my hand.” 

Eddie loosens his hold a little, his cheeks pinking up again. “Fuck, sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” Steve says, giving it a squeeze. “Robin and I went to see this gross movie once called The Thing and I’m pretty sure I almost lost all my fingers from how hard she was gripping my hand.” 

Eddie blinks. “Robin Buckley? From band?” He asks and Steve nods. “I didn’t know you two were friends or is it- are you two like-” 

Jesus, why do you even care, Munson? Talk about minding your own business. 

“Oh no,” Steve replies even if Eddie didn’t finish the question. “I love Robin, but she’s just my friend. My best friend. It’s tectonic.” 

Eddie tilts his head. “Do- do you mean platonic?” 

“Yeah, that,” Steve says, snapping his fingers and shooting a single finger gun in his direction. “She’s actually down there somewhere with- um, with someone else.” 

“Oh, Steve,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “You’re third-wheeling your band nerd best friend? How the mighty have fallen truly.” 

Steve groans, throwing his head back but not before Eddie sees how his mouth twitches. “It gets worse, dude. I’m also here babysitting a bunch of fourteen-year-olds who are also nerds. Except for Max, she’s cool, she doesn’t play that- dorks and dweebs game the others are obsessed with.”

“Hold on, I’m sorry, do you mean Dungeons and Dragons?” Eddie sputters, trying to wrap his head around everything he’s learning about Steve- horror movie enjoyer, nerd-sympathizer, a babysitter who sort of knows what Dungeons and Dragons is.

Steve purses his lips. “I think I like my name better.”

“Sure, buddy,” Eddie says with a snort. “Well, I’m sorry to inform you that I run an after-school club for that game so by hanging out with me your cool-o-meter just took an even bigger nose dive.”

“Well, goddamn it, Munson,” Steve says jokingly. 

“Bet you wish you got stuck with a pretty girl instead of me, huh, big boy?”

Steve falters at the name that truth be told slipped out of Eddie’s mouth without him realizing. A slight pink tinge shades his cheeks.

It’s nothing compared to the deep shade of red Eddie’s cheeks turn when Steve says, “Actually being stuck with a pretty boy is fine by me.”

A nearly hysterical laugh rushes from Eddie’s lips before he can help it. “A pretty- uh. What?” His heart is doing summersaults in his chest and Eddie tries hard to get it to calm down. Steve could be fucking with him. Fuck, is he? “Are you- Steve. Harrington. Are you fucking with me? ‘Cause you might’ve graduated and you might not be a jock anymore but I know you know what your teammates called me, man, you know I’m- and you fucking with me like that is not cool-”

“Woah, Eddie, hey. I’m not,” Steve assures him, pretty brown eyes wide like a startled deer. “It’s true, okay? You are pretty.”

Oh. 

An ugly strangled noise escapes Eddie. “Oh. Okay. Uh.”

Steve runs a hand through his hair and shifts nervously in the seat. “Fuck, just forget I said that, I didn’t want to make things weird, okay? Just- yeah, forget it.”

“Who says I want to?” 

Steve’s eyebrows meet in the middle. Cute, Eddie thinks again. Oh, maybe it was the time after all. “Um, your face, man? You look like I splashed you with water and then threw a toaster at you or something.” 

“That’s- that’s actually a good way to describe how I feel, yeah,” Eddie agrees. Steve cringes slightly. “Not in a bad way! I’m just surprised! I didn’t know you-” liked boys? liked freaks? liked me?

Whatever he means, Steve gets it. “Yeah, I do,” he says, the tips of his ears turning pink. “It’s fine if you don’t or whatever-”

Eddie opens his mouth to assure him he does in fact like boys and freaks and Steve who might be a freak himself if this Ferris Wheel ride has taught Eddie anything-

Before he can though the Ferris Wheel screeches to a halt, their car rocking in place at the top. 

“Why- why are we stopping? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Steve says, squeezing Eddie’s hand. “It’s the last spin, they’re probably gonna stop each cart at the top for a few minutes.”

Eddie whines pathetically. “What? Why?”

“So people can watch the sunset? Make out?” Steve blushes. “Or something.”

The wind picks up and makes the car rock back and forth and Eddie groans. “Fucking great!”

“Hey, what do you need?” Steve asks, rubbing his thumb over the back of Eddie’s hand. It’s almost enough to distract him from being stuck at the top. Almost. 

“To be back on solid ground? Or a distraction. Please distract me, Stevie,” Eddie says, feeling panic bubbling up inside him. He doesn’t even notice when the nickname slips out. 

Steve’s eyes flick over his face looking for something. He either finds it or gives up. Either way, he takes a deep breath. “Please don’t punch me for this.” 

“Punch you for-”

The last word dies in Eddie’s throat because Steve leans in and presses a kiss to his mouth, effectively shutting him up.

For a beat, neither of them does anything. Then Steve’s free hand cups Eddie’s cheek and he moves his lips. Eddie makes a soft, needy noise in the back of his throat, his eyelids fluttering shut, and then he’s kissing Steve back. 

It’s a slow and lazy kiss but it’s enough to make Eddie forget where he is or that he’s supposed to be panicking. He even lets go of the safety bar just so he can get his fingers in Steve’s hair. 

They don’t break apart until the Ferris Wheel starts moving again, their car making its way down so they can finally get off this stupid thing. 

(Though it might be starting to grow on Eddie. Just a little.)

When they stop again so that the people in the next car can have their go at the top, Eddie’s stomach merely swoops and it might have more to do with the way Steve licks his pink, wet lips than with anything else. 

“Well, that’s one way to distract someone,” Eddie says, his voice coming out a little breathless. “Thanks, Stevie.”

Steve snorts, hanging a hand from his neck. “Thanks for not punching me.”

“I’m a lover, not a fighter, baby,” Eddie says and watches delightedly how a flush creeps up Steve’s cheeks at the pet name. “I’d never punch you, your face is too pretty for that.”

A startled laugh tumbles from Steve’s lips. “So I could kiss you again?”

“I could be persuaded to do that again, yeah.” Eddie tilts his head, eyes darting a little anxiously over Steve’s face. “First I gotta know if this is like a ‘what happens in the Ferris Wheel stays in the Ferris Wheel’ kind of thing, you know?”

“Nah,” Steve says with a smile that edges on soft. “I was actually gonna drag you with me to the Hoop Shot game after this. Impress you a little.”

“Oh yeah?” Eddie asks, grinning widely. “Gonna impress me with your jock moves?”

“Mhm. By winning you a stuffed animal too.”

Eddie clicks his tongue. “Stevie, Stevie, Stevie, I told you, I have a reputation to uphold-”

“With society, yeah, yeah. Don’t worry, I’ll get you something metal like a bat! Or a dragon.”

“Hm,” Eddie taps his finger against his chin. “Get me both and it’s a deal!”

Steve’s eyes twinkle. “Does that mean I get two kisses?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Eddie says, pitching his voice low and deep. Steve’s eyes widen slightly. “You can have way more than that.” 

They’re almost at the bottom now which is probably why Steve doesn’t lean in for another kiss right then and there when it’s clear that he wants to. This close to the ground, people could see and the last thing they want is an angry mob waiting for them at the bottom. 

They’re happy to just hold hands for what’s left of the ride. Despite Eddie not being scared anymore, neither of them considers letting go, not until the guy from before yanks the safety bar off their laps, stares curiously at their clasped hands for a second before his expression turns bored again, and waves them out of the car. 

Eddie climbs out and jogs down the steps, past the people waiting in line. His eyes dart over the people hanging around the Ferris Wheel, looking for Gareth and Jeff but his friends must’ve gotten bored and wandered off at some point because they’re nowhere to be seen. Whatever, he was gonna ditch them to hang out with Steve anyway. 

But Steve gets the wrong idea when he sees Eddie scanning the crowd. He scruffs his Nike against the ground and hangs a hand from his neck. “It’s okay if you wanna find your friends-”

“Fuck, no,” Eddie says quickly. “They’re big boys, they can get home on their own. Or not and it serves them right for forcing me to go on that deathtrap!”

“Oh, come on,” Steve says with a playful grin. 

“Fine, I guess it wasn’t that bad,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes, the corners of his mouth ticking up. “What about you? You don’t have to find your baby nerds and make sure they’re okay?”

“Nope, those shitheads can take care of themselves,” Steve says. “I have more important things to do.”

“Like me?” Eddie asks with a ridiculous waggle of his eyebrows. It makes Steve tip his head back with a laugh. Eddie’s eyes zero in on the moles in the column on his neck, thoughts drifting to wanting to kiss every single one of them. 

“Maybe later,” he tells Eddie with a wink. His stomach swoops and this time it has nothing to do with gravity and heights. “C’mon, man, let’s get you that bat.”

Eddie holds his finger up, wagging it in front of Steve’s face. “And the dragon!” Eddie says, getting all up in Steve’s space as he starts walking in the direction of the Hoop Shot game. “Don’t forget the dragon!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Munson.”

(Steve gets him the bat. And the dragon. And cotton candy. And later follows Eddie home after dropping off his herd of fourteen-year-olds. Eddie lets him have two kisses and more just like he promised.)

(And he rides more than just the Ferris Wheel that day.)

[coolnonsenseworld]

(to know more about the story and the calendar on pre-order check out previous posts! LESS THAN 2 WEEKS LEFT)

In September they don't feel like going anywhere or doing any bucket lists - no getting out of the comfort zone this time around. All they need is a little comfort of one another - they take breaks for a movie night when they wouldn't, buy extra cakes they haven't tried previously, go on date-walks and take bubble baths with new scents.

Enjoying simple things in life and appreciating your own presence here feels like it should be a basic part of any bucket list.

How is your September going? Do you have any plans or achievements this month?

[sept-stobin-extravaganza]

Taking place from September 1st to 30th, artists and writers will have the opportunity to share their Stobin creations and works.

There will be no minimum or maximum word count, we just ask that after 1000k you add a 'read more,' to your post. Please rate your works accordingly and use warnings at the top of your post if you believe your content could be triggering to some users. When posting make sure to write the prompt of the day at the top of your post and tag @sept-stobin-extravaganza so your post can be added to the queue. Expect to see a '🍦' commented in the replies of your post, that's when you'll know it's been added to the queue. After receiving a '🍦' in your replies please add your works to the Ao3 Collection. Same goes for artists.

But most importantly, get creative and have fun!

Please no AI.

If you have any questions or concerns please feel free to send a message @sept-stobin-extravaganza or @little-annie

[lulublack90]

Prompt 8 - Taking Chances

@jegulus-microfic September 8, Word count 80

For @samynnad102687

James Potter was known for taking chances. He flew a little too fast towards the ground. He stood a little too close to fanged Frisbees, and he got a little too near the riled-up werewolf on full moons. So, of course, when Regulus Black moved a little too close to him, he took the chance and closed the gap between them, capturing Regulus’s lips with his own and making that prickly Slytherin swoon. James Potter was all about taking chances.

[yaralulu]

wdym lucien week is over.

[gregorovitch-adler]

Nobody Cares

"No, no, no. No!" Crowley yelled as he witnessed the humans nail Jesus to the cross. He turned to look at Aziraphale with a desperate look on his face. "Can you not make them stop?"

Aziraphale shook his head with his brows furrowed and a sinking feeling in his heart. "I am not the authority here in Jerusalem. I'm only meant to follow what the people upstairs say," he said and swallowed.

"You mean these are Heaven's orders? Why? What did he even do?" Crowley's desperation had been turned into anger, going by his tone.

"Not Heaven's orders, per se," the Angel said, closing his eyes and raising his eyebrows, in an attempt at reasoning, "but they have explicitly told me not to interfere with the humans' job."

Aziraphale swallowed after realising how equally horrible that sounded. But what was he to do? He was obeying the rules, was that not good? That was what Angels were expected to do, weren't they? Good, at all times?

When Crowley stared at him incredulously, Aziraphale cleared his throat. "I'm expected to be here and ensure the job carries on without any interference."

"By 'job' you mean brutally hammering nails into someone's body against a cross, after stripping them in front of everyone?" Crowley asked in a low voice and lowered his glasses. The piercing yellow eyes never failed to make the Angel's heart race.

Aziraphale broke eye contact after a long moment and stared at the ground as all three crosses had been hoisted, and the humans were waiting to go home. At that moment, he wondered the difference between a human and a demon in terms of moral standpoints for the first time.

"What did he do?" Crowley asked again.

Aziraphale kept staring at the ground. "Questioned too much."

That made the Demon shut up. When Aziraphale looked up at him, Crowley swallowed visibly and nodded.

*

Later that night, Crowley and Aziraphale found themselves amid a tribal celebration in Western Europe.

Distant from all the humans socialising with each other, they sat down on the ground, leaning against a tree, observing their surroundings.

Crowley was sitting right next to Aziraphale with a drink in his hand. Aziraphale sighed, staring ahead; still upset with what they had to witness during the daytime.

"Was it the idea of your lot?" asked Aziraphale, looking at the Demon, marvelling at the bright moonlight that illuminated his handsome face.

No matter how much he trusted Crowley, he knew no one else in Hell with even an ounce of compassion.

Crowley sipped from his goblet. "What, capital punishment of an innocent individual? In a way which was that brutally creative and humiliating? I think you give too much credit to the demons' intellect." He paused for a second to look at Aziraphale out of the corner of his eye. "Only humans are capable of this, after all."

Aziraphale shuddered internally and broke his gaze from Crowley's face. "It went too far this time, don't you think?"

"Yes, well." Crowley cleared his throat. "Not that Heaven is any better."

"Crowley -"

"Humanity had only begun to heal because of his teachings, angel! At least in Israel. Heaven could have done something to stop that. And they did not."

Aziraphale bit his lower lip. "Now, who are we to question God's plan." He winced at his own words.

Somehow, they sounded idiotic even to himself.

Crowley let out a bitter laugh. "Or what? They'll publicly have the humans crucify us too?"

Aziraphale took a deep breath. "I didn't say that."

Crowley shrugged. "Everything is over now. Nobody cares."

Aziraphale parted his lips and tried to protest. "Crowley that's not -" he cut himself off. He could think of nothing to counter that.

A long silence fell between the two of them. Crowley kept drinking from his goblet. Just when Aziraphale decided to change their location, Crowley began to speak.

"Listen."

Aziraphale turned to look at Crowley again.

"Time and again, it's been established that when it comes to showing some basic kindness to any living creature, Heaven and Hell prove that they're the two sides of the same coin. They are both horrible places..."

Aziraphale held up his forefinger, trying to interrupt.

"...and trust me when I say that! I would know." Crowley inhaled deeply and tightened the grip on his goblet. They had locked their eyes with each other. "You and I, on the other hand, are better than that. You keep talking about the good side and the bad, and that Demons and Angels have to pick their respective ones."

Aziraphale nodded, and let Crowley continue without any further interruptions.

"I agree with that, to some extent. But you and I - I think we're different." He paused and looked at Aziraphale with expectation. "Come on, you can't deny this, can you?"

Aziraphale furrowed his brows. "I suppose, I can't. So what?"

"So, we can pick our own sides. We can be on the same side. One that's separated and free from the shackles of Heaven and Hell." Crowley reached out for Aziraphale's hand and held it in his own.

Aziraphale stared at the joint hands. He looked up at Crowley and was taken aback by the amount of pain and longing in his eyes.

Suddenly, it dawned upon him. He thought he had a faint idea of where this was going. Aziraphale entwined their fingers and squeezed Crowley's hand.

"What do you say, angel?"

"Are you saying..." he couldn't breathe.

Crowley just nodded.

Aziraphale did not know how to feel. This was just what he had wanted: to be with Crowley together forever.

But at the same time, he was an angel. This could go wrong on so many levels. Also, uniting with a demon, wouldn't that be disloyalty?

He was never taught that in Heaven. Aziraphale did not care how much his input was always neglected in Heaven by other angels. He had his duties to fulfill.

But Crowley's fingers interlocked with his, how could he let go of that?

Aziraphale swallowed. "I don't know what to say." Crowley's mouth was turned upside down. "Neither of our lots would approve of this. They'll call us traitors."

"Nobody cares, Aziraphale," said Crowley with a shaking voice. "They didn't care about us today. Then why should we?"

"We could end up in big trouble."

"Not if we're together."

"What if they give you the Holy Water?"

"After having lived with you, in that way, even for a few hours? Worth it."

Aziraphale's breath became shallow. The corners of his eyes stang. "Oh, Crowley," he said and grabbed the front of Crowley's black fabric to pull him close.

The moment their lips met, Aziraphale sighed in satisfaction. Crowley pulled away a bit to remove his glasses before placing his hands on Aziraphale's face.

Their mouths opened and moved together in a synchronised fashion, and the kiss just felt right.

This was where Aziraphale belonged - with Crowley.

They continued to kiss under the tree; bright moonlight lightening the mood. One would call it groundbreaking, give them hell - quite literally so - for being rebellious, but Aziraphale could not bring himself to care that night.

He just revelled in the warmth and softness of Crowley's lips against his with his eyes closed. Aziraphale loved the little breaths Crowley was letting out on his lips in the middle of the kisses, and he never wanted this moment to end.

***

AN: And voila! My first fic in Good Omens fandom. I enjoyed participating in this month's challenge. ☺ See you later.

Sherlock September Challenge.

Prompts Moonlight and Kiss by @onesmallfamily

Tags: @helloliriels @topsyturvy-turtely @gaylilsherlock @keirgreeneyes @lisbeth-kk @inevitably-johnlocked @missdeliadili @peanitbear @a-victorian-girl @lookingforlifeoutthere @calaisreno @kettykika78 @totallysilvergirl .

[cuubism]

Hey, i hope i'm not being super annoying by asking this but do you ever plan on finishing 'In Waking Dreams'?

This fic is probably one of my favorites of you (along with 'some kinda benefits', 'The Apocalypse Is Nigh!', 'my eyes are up here' .... honestly if i go throught all my bookmarks we would be here all day, your writting is just that incredible aksjka) and it has lived in my head for so long, i love how hob's initial reaction to the news of "you have a husband" is simply oh fuck yeah, i love the whole set up of the marriage just happening because dream said yeah sure why not, what could ever come from this? and then slowly actually falling in love with hob, i love the tenderness that which you write them with when they actually reunite and just, i really love the whole fic 😅

So yeah, i hope you find in you that Dante Alighieri spark of fanfiction inspiration to pick it up again it one day, is a really good story ^w^

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

i am, yes! i've been ever so slowly working on it

i often find that after the climax is the hardest part of a story to write, especially if it's a really obvious and delineated climax like 'hob rescues dream' - before that you always have the climax as a north star, if you start getting lost you just remember that you're supposed to be going in that direction, but afterwards it's like... where does it go now? there's a lot to wrap up and you want to try to do it organically, not just like... infodump all the answers to the outstanding questions XD so i'm slowly poking away at that.

this is making me think that i should probably just write the very last scene of the fic (don't know what that is yet) and then i'll have a new north star...

but here's a small bit from the beginning of the chapter

--

Hob’s home was in a bit of a state, thanks to all the crazed research and rescuing he had been doing. Books and ledgers left open, a mug of tea still cooling on his desk, jumper thrown across the couch instead of put away. He tried to remember, as he led his husband to bed, hand low on his back to guide him, if their home in dreams had ever been in such disarray. Home was a bit of a nebulous concept, in their dreams. They had had many different houses over the years, the details of which were hard to remember upon waking. Really, home was the man beside him, an inexorable force that drew Hob back, across landscapes and time, from cottage to manor to palace. King, he thought, it coming to him again, the way dreams appeared and disappeared as context called them. The ragged, slumped form of the creature beside him, leaning into Hob’s side for support. Hob remembered taking his hand, pressing his lips to those fragile bones. My king, he’d murmured, at his side, in bed, like he was in a fairytale. A king would have a kingdom. A kingdom of dreams? His king of dreams turned to him as they stopped by the bed. Now that the rush of power, of darkness, had bled off him, he looked haggard, swamped in Hob’s coat, which was still all he was wearing. Strange, so strange to be here, in Hob’s so ordinary bedroom. Not the half-remembered palace of a hazy dream-life, but just here, standing by the bed. Hob, and his dream-walker. He had come to him, hadn’t he? Once, or so he’d said. Hob didn’t remember the specific instance of someone ringing his doorbell and not being there, but he could imagine it. God, if he’d been just a moment sooner in opening the door. If his Dream had been just a moment sooner in knocking. “Hob,” said his husband, in his solemn, sleepy voice. Hob had missed that voice. The dreams he had had of him, the ones that were memories, were never quite the same, never quite right. He said nothing else, like Hob’s name was all he had wanted to say. So Hob said it back—“my Dream”—and the softening of his husband’s face was worth everything.

[hidey-writes]

six sentence sunday

Abruptly, disorientingly, Gu Yiran thinks of the birthday party they’d surprised him with — the cake, the sodas, the sparklers. The almost-imperceptible feeling of the paper crown on his head. The close warmth of Zheng Bei beside him on the rooftop. He wishes now, that he’d thought to take a photograph of it. Just one photograph, to put with the other photos hidden under the lace-draped glass top of his coffee table. Just to remind himself that he’d had this, before it was taken away from him, before he had to walk away from it.

lightly discouraged by how slowly this is going ... but steady progress is still progress! it's starting to seem that a big underlying idea of this fic is going to be "holding on to something that's leaving" and that is delicious to me :3

[ryokawa]

ᜑ ﹙🜸﹚ toru oikawa — love, trust, and further abnormalities (scifi au)

y llorar, y llorar, y llorar por el. 🔭

┈ ⟡ basics :

age : 275

appearance : late 20s to early 30s

height : 6’5 ft

bday : july 20

job : poses as a pro athlete in the sport of giant pumpkin kayaking

species : josali

planet of origin : small moon called johsai, circling around the larger planet of seijoh

species details : he’s quite humanoid in all the ways it matters. he’s only slightly too long; from his height to the length of his arms, to the length of his legs and fingers. he also doesn’t blink frequently enough, and when he does it’s usually slowly, one eye at a time. he’s also much less tolerant of booze than humans. one shot is more than enough to get him tipsy. the only real way to find out he isn’t quite human, though, would be to do an x-ray. there it would quickly become evident he has an extra set of almost every single one of his organs. he only has one kidney, and half a liver, though.

┈ ⟡ little facts :

he’s such a hater specifically to things iwaizumi likes. he adores humanity so much, thinks they’re all so cute, no matter how boring they are, but then he takes one look at iwaizumi and he just. he has to be a hater.

but, while he does call iwaizumi boring and lame, he is quite fond of him. he is the one human he chose to save, after all. he even finds his cat adorable.

oikawa’s very good at being persuasive, charming to a fault and able to talk his way through most situations. when he cannot, he simply glances over at iwaizumi and expects him to handle the more violent aspects.

if not doing anything exciting, he will be driven to madness. his brain needs to constantly be firing, if not he’s almost 100% sure he will die. (he will not. but it feels like that.)

his moon has been destroyed because of him, because he fled it to earth. he is NOT supposed to be on earth. it’s a crime—literally! he’s a man on the run!! his family is dead because of his choices!! and he lowkey doesn’t care. he enjoys the thrill of being chased.

he’s also a revolutionary that hates seijoh’s government.

he does not tell iwaizumi this, afraid that if iwaizumi finds out all the terrible things happening around them are his fault, he will leave.

[butteronabun]

first of all. i can’t believe it’s october now

and second of all, i really am writing one of the requests y’all 🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️ HERE’S PROOOF AGDKJDKD

[beetled-juice]

I'm A Bunch Of Broken Pieces

Summary: When your favorite mug accidentally meets the kitchen tile courtesy of your ghoulish boyfriend, you simply spare a moment of passing sadness before going to clean it up. For some people, a broken cup is just a broken cup - for others, however, it’s a reminder of times they’d rather forget.

beetlejuice x gender neutral reader.

TW: mentions of abuse

AO3 link here

It began with a broken cup.

Not just any cup - it was your favorite! It held the perfect amount of tea, and the handle fit like it was made for your hand. It also had a deep blue glazed finish, something that always reminded you of the cold Pacific Ocean you’d grown up with.

You’d been doing the dishes while Beetlejuice told you one of his fantastical stories, feigning disinterest so you’d get the whole story rather than an increasingly embellished work of fiction. You’d learned early on that letting him think you weren’t paying attention was the best way to find the threads of truth in his words - he let down his guard, little slivers of his true thoughts and feelings bleeding into the tales he wove for your amusement. Unfortunately for you, he also tended to get so caught up in his stories that he’d begin physically throwing his body around as if trying to reenact the images in his head.

And this is how your favorite cup met its untimely demise.

It took a moment for the sound of shattered ceramic to compute in your mind, so out of place amongst the quiet running water and his excited chatter. When your brain caught up with your ears you turned to see what had fallen, and to your dismay you saw the broken remains of your beautiful cup scattered on the kitchen floor. Beetlejuice, seemingly unfazed by the broken shards around his feet, just kept talking. You reached out to pull the faucet to an ‘off’ position, a bubble of sadness working its way up from your stomach. You clamped down on it, knowing it was irrational to get upset over a stupid mug, and turned to grab the broom out of the kitchen closet.

When you returned with the broom in hand, you noticed that he had absentmindedly stepped on one of the pieces and crushed it beneath his foot. Frowning, you dropped the dust pan onto the floor with a loud clatter, and this finally seemed to get his attention.

“- and when I dropped that rat on his head, well he just started... babes? Are you listening?” Beetlejuice asked, looking put out that you’d interrupted his story. Huffing, you started sweeping up the remains of the cup nearest to you.

“No, I’m a little busy,” you snapped, shooing him out of the way so you could get at the pieces around his feet. He looked down, finally realizing what it was he was standing on, and stepped back. You'd expected him to launch back into his story, but instead silence fell over the kitchen as you finished sweeping everything into a pile.

Satisfied you'd gotten all the shards collected, you looked around to find where you'd left the dustpan. Seeing it out of the corner of your eye, you turned to grab it off the floor, but when you stood back up you saw Beetlejuice was staring at you. You noticed the ghoul was paler than usual, something you'd not thought was possible, and his hair had lost its bright green hue. His eyes were wide and dark, and you were startled to see what looked like tears in them. Setting the broom and dustpan aside, you stepped towards him.

"Beej? What's wrong?" you asked, reaching your hand out. He flinched backwards, his eyes darting between your face and your hand. Freezing, you dropped your hand, not wanting to startle him further. You wondered if he was upset that you'd snapped at him, and you immediately felt guilty for hurting his feelings.

"Beej, I'm so-" you began, but Beetlejuice interrupted you.

"I didn't mean to! Please, I'll get you a new one!" he yelled, flinging his arms out in front of him as if to ward you off. Completely caught off-guard by the defensive posture, it took you a moment to process what he said.

“...what?” you asked, internally face-palming at your eloquence. Before you could try again, however, he began to ramble at you.

“I know it was your favorite, I know that, but maybe I could find you another one? Or maybe I can fix this one! You know, pull out the Gorilla Glue and it’d be like a puzzle! You like puzzles, right? Who doesn’t like puzzles? Except when you eat a few of the pieces and suddenly nothing fits together anymore and turns out you have the wrong box so the picture isn’t right, and-” You watched as he talked himself in circles, slowly pressing back against the wall like he could shrink out of your sight. You’d never seen him like this, and you desperately tried to get his attention.

“Beej, I-” you started, but your voice was quickly drowned out by his.

“- and I knew the thing was right on the edge, but I wasn’t thinking and I wanted to tell you that stupid story, and-” Beetlejuice continued, his hands moving up to grip at his hair. The usual dark color around his eyes was taking on the appearance of mottled bruises, and his suit was beginning to turn ashen gray. Something about all of this seemed eerily familiar, and after wracking your brain for a moment you remembered a friend from school - a story about a broken glass, and the marks they’d tried to hide from the teachers. Realization struck you, leaving you feeling sick, and you had to grip the counter next to you to keep upright. Oh.

“Beetlejuice!” you called out, and the use of his full name seemed to pull him out of the spiral of his own thoughts. He watched you warily, his expression drawn and his shoulders hunching down further. You hated seeing him like this, his usual grin and bubbling exuberant energy completely replaced by anxiety and panic. Having his full attention, you continued: “Beej, I’m not mad - it was just a mug.”

It took a second for your words to register, but when they did his expression morphed to one of skeptical confusion. For a moment he simply stared at you, trying to process what you’d said.

“You’re not…?” he croaked out.

“No, I’m not! It was an accident, you didn’t mean to,” you said gently. Beetlejuice, however, shook his head violently, and his grip tightened in his hair.

“But it was my fault!” he wailed, tugging hard on strands of his nearly black hair. You took a moment before continuing, trying to figure out how to redirect him. 

“Okay… so you’ll be more careful next time, right?” you asked. Pausing, he considered your words before slowly nodding.

“Yeah, I guess, but-”

“Then everything’s fine!” you said, interrupting whatever the demon was about to say. In response, Beetlejuice muttered something unintelligible and fidgeted in place. He didn’t offer another argument, but despite your reassurances you could tell he still wasn’t entirely convinced. His hands had slid down from his hair, but his shoulders were still hunched in a way that looked painful and his back was still pressed against the wall.

Your heart broke seeing him like this, and you raised your arms in a silent offer of a hug. He watched you closely, head tilting like he was waiting for a trick, but he never could resist the offer of a hug from you. Seeming to unlock one joint at a time, he lurched forward into your arms, his body stiff and tensed as though waiting for a blow. You carefully wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pressed your entire body against his, simply holding him until you felt him start to relax.

The two of you stood together in the kitchen for a long time, though you couldn’t tell for sure how long. His arms were wrapped tightly around your middle, keeping you in place while he tried to calm himself. You kept running a hand through his hair, trying to gently smooth out the places he’d pulled on it, and you could feel where he had his nose pressed to the pulse point on your neck. Eventually he began to squirm, unused to staying still for so long, and you pulled back to look at him. His coloring was still too pale for your liking, but he was slowly coming back to his normal forest green. You untangled your hand from his hair and brought it to his face, cupping his jaw while stroking your thumb across his cheek.

"Hi," you said quietly, smiling as he leaned into your hand.

"Hi," he replied, turning to place a kiss on the palm of your hand. His scruffy beard tickled the inside of your wrist, and when you said as much he grinned and did it again. He then began trailing kisses across the delicate skin of your wrist and inner arm, making sure you could feel the scratch of his beard as he went. When he reached the inside of your elbow he blew a cheeky raspberry, startling you and making you laugh. After your laughter subsided, Beetlejuice reached down to take both of your hands and began to swing them side to side between you.

“So that was, uh, very unsexy of me,” he said, his eyes moving to look somewhere past your shoulder. He kept swinging your arms, now rocking his entire body along with them. You gave a noncommittal hum in response, squeezing his hands.

“Well, I always love having an excuse to hug you,” you replied. Freezing, Beetlejuice whipped his head around to look at you before leaning forward to bounce on the balls of his feet. 

“Yeah?” he asked, a slight smile on his face. You couldn’t help smiling back, noticing his hair turning back to its brighter green shade.

“Yeah, you’re very huggable,” you said, your voice taking on a mock-seriousness. Beeltejuice’s smile shifted into a cheeky smirk at your words, and he suddenly tugged you closer to him. You stumbled, not expecting this, and all but fell into the bastard’s waiting arms.

“So what you’re saying is you can’t keep your hands off of me? That’s okay babes, I know I’m a hot commodity!” he snickered, leaning down to press a sloppy kiss to your forehead. You thought he was being sweet, until you felt him start to lick you. You spluttered at the feeling of his tongue leaving a trail of spit across your skin, yanking yourself backwards to wipe it away.

“Beetlejuice, that's disgusting!” you groaned as you wiped your hand on your pants, but you allowed him to pull you back into his arms with only minimal amounts of complaining.

“Come on, you know you love it,” he teased.

“No, I love you - I only tolerate your drool,” you groused, adopting a pout. The ghoul blinked a few times, always taken aback whenever you casually stated your feelings for him, before a goofy grin spread across his face.

“Aw, you love me? Gross,” he said. Rolling your eyes, you leaned more of your weight against him.

“I’d love you more if you cleaned up this mess,” you said, nodding your head toward the pile of shards still on the floor. With a snap of his fingers it was gone, and with a final squeeze of his middle you pulled away to go finish the dishes. You were expecting the slap to your ass when you turned your back to him, used to his antics, but you weren’t expecting the surprisingly quiet voice that followed.

“Hey babes? Thanks.” Smiling, you nodded, turning your focus to the dishes in front of you.

“Of course, Beej.”

[wuxian-vs-wangji]

Every time Prapai gives Sky medicine, he's narcoleptic inside 5 minutes.

[n7punk]

I'm looking forward to some outlandish stories this month, but I'm already confident that your MOST surreal Sapphic September contribution was Day 2, an N7 fic where Catradora *didn't know each other* yet.

there's actually multiple fics like that this month! when it's only going to be like 3k im kinda like eh why not. and then they ended up 10k. oops. the weirdest ones are like that LOL

[allalrightagain]

Pocket Dad Year 2-- Every Promise and Lie

A quiet conversation in the Gryffindor boys dormitory about what it meant to be brave.

Peter woke to the mid-November sun dipping below the horizon. He wasn’t sure how long he’d slept for, but he was fairly certain it had just been early morning.

It didn’t take long to determine the reason for his waking— the second year boys’ dormitory was empty except for a soft sniffling. Peter scrabbled gently at the windowsill he’d been napping on to draw Harry’s attention and put on the most disapproving face he could manage as a rat.

“I know, I know,” Harry mumbled, wiping at his cheeks, “boys don’t cry.” He said something after that sounded like ‘unless you’re mumbly’.

Read more on Ao3!