#snarky's fic

[snarky-wallflower]

me: I could write some fic around the new characters and relationships we've got so far! After all, Sam's clearly got some history with the Magnus Institute, and Alice is amazing and I love her--

also me: screw you, the angles cut them when they try to think.

[snarky-wallflower]

so. op. i don't know if this'll become a full thing....but here's a snippet of how this destroyed me.

Curt falls to his knees, as Owen’s head sways off and on the staircase. His body hits the floor with a heavy thud, and Owen’s head is still moving with that reverberation. His eyes are open and glassy, wide with surprise. Surprise that will stay frozen on the man he loves’ face until he starts to rot.

He….he really hadn’t been expecting Curt to do it, had he?

Real men don’t cry, a mantra he’s heard since he was too young to remember. Real men are stoic in the face of grief, and soldier on.

But Curt?

Curt wails. He cries like he’s seven again and scraped his knee for the first time, like he’s fourteen and realising how the rest of his life will be wrong because of how his heart thuds when he sees Bobby Dorin throw a football, like he’s twenty-nine and just watched the love of his life die, like he’s thirty-four and just pulled the trigger, oh god, oh fuck, what has he done? He—no, no, no OWEN—

But Owen can’t respond. Owen can’t do anything. Not ever again, and it’s more Curt’s fault than it ever was before.

Curt feels like he’s drowning, sinking, dying as he wails and wails and sobs.

He’s gone he’s gone he’s gonegonegone, his brain shrieks, as Owen’s lolling body finally falls still.

i am willing to bet one hundred million thousand dollars that after curt shot owen, he stared at the body for a long fucking time. he dropped his gun and fell to his knees and just stared at the body of the man he loves more than anyone else, the man who's first death stopped curt's entire world. who curt's regretted killing for four, long years. i bet he started sobbing, after it truly hit, after he noticed some of owen's blood and brain matter had splattered onto his pristine blue shirt. he probably fucking wailed, kneeled over owen's cooling body like a fanatic at a destroyed gods altar, shaking him, desperate to wake him up, desperate to take it back. maybe he thought about shooting himself, right then and there. maybe he pressed the cool barrel of the gun he used to kill owen against his forehead and wonder if he should pull the trigger. in the end, he would be too much of a coward. instead, he would soak owen's shirt with tears, run his fingers through his hair, and just beg him to wake up. beg owen to come back to him. and when the effort would prove futile, eventually he would lie down beside him and stare into his glassy eyes, too drained to keep crying, to drained to do anything at all, but still unable to look away from the horror of it.

in the dim morning light, he would scoop the body up in his arms and quietly take him outside. dig a shallow grave with his bare hands until they were bleeding, and gently place owen face up in the ground. kiss him on his cool forehead and whisper a fervent prayer for him to forgive him, someday. wish that they both belonged to another world where they could've been together. and then he would shove the dirt over owen's pale flesh, watch his face disappear under the earth, and curl up on top of the grave to sleep.

[fairandfatalasfair]

"Edwin can help" says Charles.

Crystal raises an eyebrow at him. He smiles sunnily.

"Edwin would sell me to Satan for one corn chip," she says.

Edwin, from his spot at the desk, lowers his book enough to give her a longsuffering look. "This feels like one of your obscure internet references," he says. He still says "internet" like the word doesn't belong in his mouth.

Crystal gives him a bland smile. "The internet isn't obscure," she says. "You just don't know anything about it because you're a million years old."

"One hundred twenty four," he says, because he's a pedantic little shit.

Charles is chuckling in the corner, because he has low tastes and thinks Edwin being a pedantic little shit is hilarious.

"At any rate," says Edwin crisply, "As a fugitive from hell, negotiating with Satan would hardly be in my best interests. Also, as a fugitive from hell, I have no interest in seeing anyone sent there unjustly, much less someone I have grown... attached to."

She feels her smile warm a little at that, and turns her head so that Edwin won't see. Love you too, Edwin.

"Finally," he concludes, "I am dead, with no need to eat, and therefor have no use for corn chips. This accusation does not make sense."

Crystal chokes at the affronted dignity in his voice, but pulls her expression back under control, only turning back to Edwin when she's sure she can look disdainful without her lips twitching. Charles dying of laughter in the corner isn't helping, but she manages.

"It's a meme," she says loftily.

Edwin's longsuffering expression turns pained. "Half the time, I am sure you are making these things up to aggravate me," he informs her.

She isn't, but only because the reality aggravates him plenty without any embellishment.

"Is it working?" she asks, and finally lets herself laugh when he picks up his book again and glares daggers at her over the top of it.

[ultravioletbrit]

“murder” - Jegulus microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - 312 words

“I want a crow.” Regulus announces as he passes the last of a joint back to James.

Regulus and James were bored. It’s a Sunday night, they don’t have any classes tomorrow, all their friends are busy, and James had a joint left over from the party last weekend.

One thing led to another and now Regulus is lying on his back on the floor with his hands in the air. He interlocks his thumbs and is flapping his hands like a bird.

“You want a what?” James giggles from where he’s lying on the couch.

“A crow.” Regulus repeats. “You know… like the bird.” He flaps his hands in James’ direction for emphasis.

“Why do you want a crow?”

“Because they’re really smart and if you’re going to get a bird, you should definitely get a crow.” Regulus tells him.

“Who said I wanted to get a bird?” James asks.

“I did! Right now. Aren’t you listening?” Regulus drops his hands and rolls on his side to look at James.

“Sorry, love. I thought you wanted a crow.” James smiles at him.

“We should both get crows. We should get a whole murder of crows!” Regulus says excitedly as he crawls towards the couch.

“You want to murder the crows?” James asks with wide eyes.

“No, silly, that’s what a group of crows is called.” Regulus giggles and climbs up on the couch to snuggle in beside James. “We should get a whole group of crows, and we can feed them, and they’ll bring us little gifts.” Regulus yawns and cuddles even closer to James.

“Will they, now?” James says sweetly and wraps his arms around Regulus.

“Yup. That’s what they do.” Regulus says but his words are slurred with sleep and his breathing evens out almost immediately.

James squeezes Regulus one more time before he also falls asleep and has a very weird dream about crows.

[muffinlance]

Hey fic rec time! I didn't do these often so you KNOW it's good

If you like Star Wars and Mandos and falling in love with character dynamics you'll never be able to find again because OP just smooshed together things that never existed before

May I introduce you to:

Mando'jekai jedi by Anonymous

Yes Anonymous come out here OP so I can put you in a little jar and provide you optimal writing enrichment and maybe shake you a little to see how you work

Author Summary:

Feemor saves a random Mandalorian and earns himself the position of Jedi watchman for the sector. Now if only the mandos would stop hunting him so that he can investigate this terrorist cell in peace.

Jaster really wants to talk to the jedi who slapped the darksaber into his hands before running off. Now if only the haat'ade could track him down.

My Summary:

Feemor Gives Mandalorians a Life-Changing Field Trip (No They Cannot Exit This Ride): The Fic

The writing is so smooth the humor is HIGH-LARIOUS the angst is wrapped up in the humor which is wrapped up in outsider POV

It's like you went to Fic Restaurant and the waiter slapped the menu out of your hand and said "I've got the good shit" and you were too terrified to protest that actually you were just here for a little hurt/comfort fix-it fic but when they came back

Oh damn

Oh that is the good shit

Anyway click this it's the good shit

[archivewriter1ont]

art by Blairaptor!

[kmesons]

while the concept of samuel existing in maia's room as some sort of afterlife has been wonderfully and sincerely portrayed in some recent fanworks, it's also very funny to me because I imagine the first few moments of samuel being in the room going something like

[mrsackermannx]

— TEASE | GOJO SATORU

MDNI | it feels like all your boyfriend does is work these days. | kinda mean gojo, degradation, praise kink, choking, pussy-slapping, rougher sex, thigh-fucking, mirror sex, established relationship. | 2k |

Gojo Satoru was nothing short of a manhandler. A passionate manhandler at that—but one nonetheless. It was like he didn’t know his own strength at times with you. Especially when he hadn’t seen you all day and had been craving you since breakfast. 

He’d slammed you onto the kitchen counter just this morning, working his way between your legs with hungry kisses. Your hands slipped into his hair on instinct, bracing yourself for his sweet tongue when he’d gotten a call from Nanami. 

He’d been stewing all day. What happened to only calling before nine if someone’s life was on the line. 

You yelped as Gojo appeared behind you, choking on your toothpaste and glaring at him as you coughed into the sink. With a big grin on his lips he tugged his blindfold half down at the sight.

It was always different when he removed it, when you could follow exactly where his eyes were. In one smooth movement he crossed the space between you, his body heat practically engulfing you. He rubbed at your back, slowly dipping his hand lower as his lips brushed your ear, “I’m home,�� he whispered, that teasing lilt to his voice.

You shoved him and hissed, “I wish you’d stop doing that!” before you spat out your mouthwash.

He frowned at you in your reflections, “Well, if you don’t want to see me that badly I’ll just leave.” 

You groaned. “Sator—“ though you were completely cut off by the way his chest was now pressed against your back and how his hands were caging you in so that the marble counter dug into your abdomen. 

“But I know you don’t want that,” he whispered lowly. And then he tugged his blindfold completely off, stuffing it into his pocket. His eyes glowed as they feasted on you without shame. The bathroom was dark, lit only by a few aromatherapy candles from Nanami last Christmas. Casting a golden hue over you both in the mirror before you. Perfect, he thought.

He smoothed his hands down the bare planes of your shoulder blades, plucking the thin straps of your nightdress. He chuckled, meanly, “No comeback? Cat got your tongue?”

You shook your head and he grinned, pressing a kiss to your nape as he started pawing at your hips. Your eyes fell shut, leaning back against him and into his touch. A little hum of approval tickled your ear as he kissed along your jaw, hitching up your nightdress to grab at your ass. “Where’s that mouth now? Or do I have to put it to use, baby? Go on, you were mad right? Keep talking, tell me why.”

“I wasn’t it’s just, I could have been doing anything—“ Your voice shook as he ripped your nightdress open, watching it balloon pathetically into the sink. Glee brought those perfect features of his to life as he eyed you in the mirror. As if he’d just helped you out of your nightdress in a completely normal manner. 

“Anything, like…?” Then he squeezed your ass so hard you had to smother your moan into your palm. “Like what?” he muttered into your hair, “Why don’t you show me what I missed?”

His hand wandered between your thighs, cupping your dripping sex. He groaned at the wet heat of it.“Please, Satoru. Was just gonna go to bed,” you whined, grinding down onto his large fingers.

He withdrew his hand, nibbling on your ear. “No, I think you were gonna have a little fun without me, baby. So now, no fun for you.”

You swallowed at his short tone and huffed at the denial, but you couldn’t deny that it turned you on when he was a little mean like this. But he didn’t leave you for long, though the mere seconds felt like minutes.

His hands caressed your curves until they rested on your breasts, thumbs working your nipples until a breathy groan from you both sang through the acoustics of the bathroom. “Did ya hear me, baby?”

You nodded, moaning when he forcibly shifted your thighs apart. He clicked his tongue, cerulean eyes catching every needy knit of your brow, “That’s not an answer.”

He slapped your clit, again and again—feeling your slick ooze onto his palm with each one. “All these sounds. So you can still use your voice, interesting—I mean,” he chuckled mirthlessly, showing you the slick shining against his palm. 

“Look at this, angel, you really need me this much?”

You turned your face away but he brought it right back to his own, pressing a kiss to your temple before speaking against it. Your eyes locked in the mirror. “Why are you hiding? Why are you embarrassed when you have such an erotic body,” he whispered, voice sultry. “Go on. Look at it.”

“Satoru!” He turned your face to the mirror, drawing his hands up and down your centre, stopping between the valley of your breasts. Then he cupped them whilst he dragged his lips across the curve of your neck and shoulder, flicking your nipples ever so often. “Please.”

He rutted his clothed erection against you at your breathy plea, aching with need. “No matter how many times I see it…I still want to lick every part so I never forget how sweet you taste. That’s how fucking erotic it is.”

“Please, just, don’t tease me,” you rasped, gasping when he turned your jaw to finally kiss you. He smirked against your lips before sliding his tongue against yours in response to your whimper.

Swept away he found himself arching you roughly over the sink top, grinding his arousal against your ass. “It’s okay, angel. You’re okay. Gonna fuck you so good, gonna give you what you want,” he cooed as you whined.

“Y’know I wanna cum all over what’s mine too. You know how much you drive me fucking crazy, don’t you, baby?” 

“Satoru, please. Put it in. Need you so bad.”

“Yeah?” He panted, tugging away the clothing on his upper body, and leaving his godly physique for your viewing pleasure. The candlelight illuminated every sweet, carved crevice of his muscle. 

Then his pants were being shoved down, barely under his hip bones before he was sliding his cock between your thighs. “Beg for it,” he urged breathily, before he broke into nothing but moans into your ear. Grunting and fucking your thighs like a madman just to relish the sensations. Your slick coated his frustrated shaft and then the tip of his cock with every slide against your pussy—it was addictive, even. 

“Toru’, baby, please!” He gripped your nape and then held your entire jaw in the other, bringing you both closer to the mirror.

“Want you to look at yourself and tell me you didn’t ask to be fucked the second I got home?” he gestured to the ripped silk of your nightdress. “Want you to be honest,” he moaned.

“No, I, I was just…” His cock was hard and relentless between your thighs, pushing them together just to fuck them harder. 

“Got hard the second I saw your ass peeking out under that dress, admit it—you’re a fucking tease, aren’t you baby?”

“Please-“

“It’s Sa-to-ru, or nothing, or you’re getting even less than this,” he slapped your clit over and over until you moaned his name.

“Say it, tell me you wanted to tease me.”

“But I didn’t-“

Before you could even process it your front was being slammed onto the counter, you turned your face to eye the beautiful but impatient man behind you. He was flushed up to his ears. 

He spread your legs wide and filled you impossibly, bottoming out all at once. The grip on your waist was bruising and inescapable. His pace was so ruthless all at once you could hardly keep up. 

“Satoru, Satoru, feels so good,” you moaned, drool pooling down the corners of your lips. “Too good!”

“Of course it does, you were made to get fucked just like this— that’s why, don’t know why you think you’re worth anything else, huh? When you’re so perfect for me just—like—this,” he growled.

“Satoru. M’ all yours!” You were so breathless it was a miracle you were still capable of words. But you loved it, you loved when he degraded you like this. So much so you suddenly thrusted back onto his cock, impatient and chasing your release.

“Fucking desperate little thing, am I not fast enough for ya? Little praise get you that excited?”

He lifted you so you could face how undone you’d become in the mirror. “To think you were gonna fuck yourself without me, like you can do what I can to your body.”

“I can't!”

“I know, this pussy was begging me to fill it as soon as I gave it a shred of attention,” he purred, stopping to kiss at your face until you grinned against him, pliant and struggling for breath.

“But don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”

He pulled out and threw you over his shoulder. And then before you’d even blinked he was throwing you down onto your shared bed and sliding back in. He tossed both your hands above your head and cuffed them together with one of his own, lips brushing yours. “You and that slutty little nightdress, huh?”

“I was teasing you, wanted you to come home to me in the nightdress cause…” You wrapped your body tighter around his and his heart throbbed in his chest.

“Go on, tell me baby, tell me so I can be nice to you,” he cooed, voice sweeter than honey as his cock bullied that spot inside of you again. “You can come all over my face as soon as you tell me, baby, all night—promise.” 

His eyes widened as tears ran down your face, “'Cause’ you’ve been on so many missions, I’ve hardly seen you, miss you.”

“Why you crying baby?” he wiped away your tears, kissing your wet cheeks as he slowed down his pace. “Hm? Cause you miss me or cause my dick feels too good?”

“Both,” you moaned, laughing shakily into his neck.

“Yeah? Well, I miss you too, guess I'll have to remind you of just how much I love you, huh? In the way we do best, yeah?” 

His lips were sweet on yours as he brought your legs up with careful hands, until your ankles were kissing either side of his neck, hand on your throat as he started to pound in and out.

”I go crazy when I don’t see you baby, when I can’t taste my angel, and have your pussy fucking squeezing me like this.“ He groaned against the the corner of your mouth. “Feeling like heaven. Heaven made just for me.”

“Satoru, I love you so much.”

“Fucking love you so much more.”

He had your hair in handfuls, his mouth seeking full monopoly of your own, his thrusts slowed down to softness, but they were still passionate, still dizzyingly deep but laced with love. 

His kissing grew sloppier, moaning into your lips as you felt him growing closer and closer, his voice strained and shaky. “M’ gonna fill you to your limit, won’t forget anything then—won’t forget that you’re all mine.”

“Satoru!” You felt his cum fill you up and then some, the lewd wet sounds making your cheeks burn. Yet you moaned in tandem, kissing all over his jaw as he continued fucking you just as hard, his broken whimpers sweet melodies to your ears. “More, more, need more,” You chanted, completely lost in him. “Need it.”

He cupped your cheek, lips pressed to your forehead as he started rubbing on your clit, “You wouldn’t be mine if you didn’t.”

Your eyes lulled shut and you finally rejoiced in the sounds of your voices filling the room together. The past few weeks it had been much too silent, but now the walls could hardly contain your whimpers or Satoru’s low moans. “Don’t forget, that I love you, baby—ever,” he panted into your lips, hand squeezing yours as you came apart around him. “So, so much.”

©mrsackermannx: do not repost, plagiarise, translate or modify my works.

[raviola-triggers]

He stayed in the shrine with Miko after the second betrayal

[marlsswrites]

Summer camp AU, part 9!!

July 9th <3

Resume - @jegulus-microfic - words: 511

First part Previous part

Regulus stared blankly at the book on his lap, brushing his fingers over the hem of his sleeve, deep in thought.

He read over the words, and all he could think was, this character reminds him so much of James.

He was bubbly, happy, cute, had a golden retriever personality and was a literal ball of sunshine. The thought made him lift his head up, finding James talking to June, the young person he’d helped out the other day.

After a few moments, James looked up, locking eyes with him and instantly smiling, Regulus nodded in return.

Honestly, he thought that was it, but James now decided to walk over to him, so he clumsily picked up his book and casually tried to act like he hadn’t been staring too much. That probably didn’t seem very convincing, but a man can try.

“Reggie!”

“Didn’t I tell you not to call me that?”

“But you fell asleep on my shoulder,” James started, no doubt noticing the tomato colour of the pale boys cheeks. “I should be able to call you Reggie, Reggie.” He teased.

Picking up his book, he closed it, looked James in his pretty doe eyes and whacked him on the shoulder with the hard back book. The other boy let out a yelp, rubbing his shoulder and looking at Regulus in amusement.

“What is with you and hitting me?” He paused for a moment, then a mischievous smile appeared on his lips, oh that’s not good. “Some might say you’re… hitting on me.” He winked.

“I swear to fucking god Potter.” Regulus dropped his head into the table, hiding the letting himself smile into the wood as he felt pink flush prick the tips of his ear.

The other boy cackled, reaching a hand out and ruffling Regulus’ hair.

Regulus could feel his warm fingertips on his scalp, the way his hand seemed to fit perfectly there and the way his hand lingered next to Regulus’ face for a second too long when he picked his head up.

“I will hit you into that lake.” Regulus pointed over James’ shoulder, face like thunder and an eyebrow raise.

James, like the idiot he is, took his hand and pinched Regulus’ cheek and smiled at him. “Adorable.” He patted his cheek and smiled.

“Don’t even-“ He growled, resisting the urge to spit an insult at his stupid, annoying, beautiful face. He picked his book back up and pretended to resume reading it as he attempted to ignore the boy next to him, that second one proving to be slightly more difficult than it should be.

A few minutes later, Regulus noticed James still sitting there. Actually, he was aware of the presence a tad bit too close next to him for the past minute of two, he could still feel hazel eyes glazing their soft gaze into the side of his face.

“What’s your book about?” James asked out of the blue.

“People.” Regulus replied dully.

“Really?” The brunette replied sarcastically, Regulus looking up at him and tilting his head. “Is it also supposed to be read upside down? I’ve never seen that before.” He tutted.

Fuck.

Next part

[vampiresi]

The time for posting has arrived!! Happy Klapollo Mini Bang 2024!!! Please check out the amazing fic that inspired this piece by one of my partners, @blackquillism on Twitter/X:

And the piece by my other partner @floccesytowne (https://www.tumblr.com/floccesytowne/760351288371347456/dont-think-youre-getting-away-i-will-prove-you)

[snarky-wallflower]

Laws of Motion AU

I write as a way for my brain to break the Laws of Motion! And here we are...

Otherwise known as I had this AU idea nearly a month ago and it's been haunting me ever since.

So, Pulp Roleswap AU! It all started when I started actually thinking about the parallels between Samuel and Kal, how it can be argued that Kal knows where to hit Samuel hard because he's been there in the past - "still all talk", etc, etc...

And then I had thoughts of evil Samuel.

I promptly lost my mind.

(No one can say I'm not predictable.)

Now there's art, at least one published fic, songs, character arc ideas, and hopefully more to come! I have a lot of ideas for this AU. They come to me like visions from an angry god. ...I don't know how I got here either. But I am, and I've dragged a lot of friends along with me.

I hope if you read it, you enjoy it! I'll put most of it behind a read-more, because it got long. I doubt I'll even be able to sum it all up here.

All current art is done by the ever-talented @midnightnautilus!

Kallum and Alessia Peregrine

The Peregrines (last name courtesy of @starlightsparrowfox!) take the place of the Stratford twins in New York City!

Kal, a cunning chemist-turned-writer, fired from his last job pre-Sun for...reasons he would definitely prefer not to discuss. He's determined to get his name out there, feeling suffocated by what he describes as a fog that surrounds in this universe, blinding him with bitterness, willing to lash out if that's what it takes to make him be known. He feels unfulfilled, trapped in this fog. He's smug and can be callous, refusing to acknowledge those he's hurt in his determination to be known. He cares for his loved ones in this AU, but they are few and far between, with Sia being one of the only ones who has truly stuck by him.

(His solo song in this universe is called Kal and the Nebula - thank you, @tapestryoftrauma! Because there is beauty in those galactic clouds of smoke above, somehow grounding Kal. That unknowable, intangible beauty making him believe that there is more than this job, more than this lie, more than the anger burning inside his chest that won't stop.)

Sia, a woman who knows a lot of things, who has a plan for her life she’ll see through. A vision she's had since she was a child, something she feels she cannot achieve trapped at this paper stand. A former gifted child, one could say. She reads as much as she can, often mysterious about just where she's taken her information from. Clutching tight to this assumed future she planned, willing to make so many sacrifices, perhaps too many, to have it come true.

(Her solo song in this universe is called Sia and the Vision. She walks along the beach of Lincoln Island, the vastness of the universe surrounding her. She accepts that she will never be able to fully carry out her great vision, letting go of it. She cannot control the future, and it is futile to try. It isn't the be-all-end-all for her anymore, no longer constraining her--she's opening her mind and heart to new kinds of passion, joy, and love, to spontaneousness and freedom.)

Together, they've written the Hoax, though it's much more...nautical in this universe. The moon is covered by a vast, gorgeous ocean, expanding all across its surface. Sharks, squids, and whales swim through its glimmering depths, merfolk swimming through it, Atlantis-esque.

And this change is because of...

Dakkar Cavendish

Dakkar Cavendish, a brilliant inventor, feels drawn in by the words of the Peregrine twins, of the way they write both the moon and the ocean combined. He has never quite fit in with high New York City Society, finding it stifling and almost…familiar in the worst sort of ways. Being mocked, being seen as not-good-enough, valued only for what creations he can make…it stings at an old scar that he doesn’t know where it came from. Valued for his skills--but what else? He opens his home to the Peregrine twins, and clicks with Kal especially. Staring out the ocean, wondering why it calls to him so deeply.

(His solo song in this universe is called Dakkar and the Depths. The depths of the ocean hold mystery and silence, unable to be truly understood by any one person. The moon reflects off the waves, illuminating just how deep those depths run--they complete each other, make each other known. There is so much about himself that he does not know, awakening from dreams he cannot fully place. A sensation that he has made promises he cannot keep, because he doesn't know who he made them to. The ocean is constantly moving, constantly transforming, and he feels a kinship to that.)

Dame Anna Hanover

(Of course, I have to credit the amazing @faery-people-of-the-future-day when it comes to Anna in this AU! She's had so many wonderful ideas for her.)

Dame Anna Hanover, the first woman to ever be knighted by the Royal Astronomical Society, a brilliant and bright mind whose words are used to prop up the Hoax. She believes that nobody should ever lose their place in the world - that everyone has a specific role, a set of rules they must follow. And when you don't know where you are, you begin to give into the panic. She arrives at the Sun with a bright smile and strain barely hidden in her voice, while Sia is mysterious and trying to pick her words carefully. She can't help but be fascinated by this strange woman, her heart fluttering at the sight. But she has a legacy, her father's own legacy of being an immigrant and a proud man hovering over her, trying to make him see her as a scientist in her own right.

(Her solo song in this universe is Anna and the Satellite - her marvelling over her great project, her first great project away from her father, that will help guide the way. All her work, all her sacrifices, all the fear she would not be able to see this through--it vanishes. It's Anna and the stars, Anna and the sky, Anna and the Earth, all possible because of the Satellite. She has created her own place in the world, one where she will never be lost, both outside and in.)

Samuellux

Samuellux, a seemingly young man with a pencil grins far too brightly, as his pencil gleams with ink, ready to take down your words, your signature, in his journal. Only your words, of course.

In this world, Samuel is a famed propagandist for Itzal, having drawn in thousands upon thousands of people to Itzal's schemes...until it was too late, blinding them all with The Light. I'd say he has Radiance and Illusion--his skill with Illusion magic and with words is what made Itzal take notice of him, to me! He's a vessel for empty words--he filters Itzal's words, but when was the last time he truly said something of his own? He may seem nice, may seem kind at first glance--but the more you speak to him, you start to realise that you have no idea whether they’re being genuine or being sarcastic and it’s a Russian roulette of trying to understand this same-y, blasé cheeriness that seems to stare unblinkingly back at you.

His new name comes from both Pollux in Greek mythology, a twin who tried to offer immortality to his brother so that they could be together, and lux, which means light!

His pen sparks with promise, a device designed by one...brilliant inventor, long ago, boosting his Ways and transforming them into something terrible and radiant beyond compare.

(Because, after all, light doesn't equal good!)

Rostelle

In the distance, a Traveller, Rostelle, with far too much behind her keeps on moving. She won't fail anyone else. Rose refuses to look back to the past, always trying to keep on moving forward. She carries the weight of everything that's happened in the past with her, but no matter what, she won't stop.

In this AU, I would say she has Radiance, Movement, Transformation, Perception and Protection. Some are more honed than others, of course, but Rose has always dived deep into learning new skills. Her Vision was something she had long ago, and she will be as reckless and brave as she needs to be to see it through. She won't let it vanish into thin air, won't lose anyone else she cares about to delusion.

Her new name comes from Stelle meaning stars, those that she adores so dearly!

Margaret

In her library on Lincoln Island, Margaret waits, staring up at the Moon, loneliness abated but never quite gone. A view of both the moon and the ocean clear and apparent.

The legacy of all she did as the Great Enchantress looms over her, and so does the brother she had to send away to keep him safe. To keep him safe from Itzal's designs on more of his devices used for conquest and war. She will see her father's reign destroyed, that Light that blinds her people erased. There is something to believe in, and she will clutch it tight to her chest as she trains, reaching out to a brother who cannot respond back yet.

Samuel's memory haunts her, a love who refuses to admit their connection will never be what it used to be again. He may believe there is geniune care there, but Margaret won't be lied to any more. She won't hear him refuse to admit that he made the wrong choice, that he is continuing to lie and commit horrors.

Margaret believes in truth, always. She won't lie to herself about what her home became, about what she did in the past, and where she is now.

(Other swaps include Benjamin with Charles, and Taavi and Ahlaam with Addison. John is, of course, playing Anna's role in this universe as well. I do have notes on them, but they're slightly less important to the series as a whole as of now!)

You can find the current fic series posted on AO3 here (I currently have a fic of Samuel and Kal's swapped version of Gunpowder and Rum up!) and I'll be trying to use the tag #laws of motion AU to organize any other posted work!

And, my asks are open if anyone reading this wants to know more about this AU!

What are you waiting for? Don’t be scared of the dark. That’s where the dreaming starts.

[loneluneh]

Lighting "practice" feat. My "villain" Chris design LMAOO

Maybe one day I'll update my fic hmm

[doodlyreone]

Episode: Ayo, the new guy looks like a sausage

(Also Also check bottom of tagssss)

Untexted images under cut:

[bythepen98]

Severus 🐍

Aside from Harry and Hermione, he is arguably the next character whose pov I read about the most (gen or ship wise). Can't help that he's too interesting of a character for me to ignore when written right.

[harmonictechnicality]

my heart is my armor for @thefreakandthehair's Spicy Six Spring Challenge (mwah mwah!) | *ao3 link here*

Eddie doesn’t understand Steve’s sudden interest in having a garage sale. Everything that they own is junk disguised as furniture. None of it is worth looking at, let alone buying.

Besides, they don’t even have a garage. They’re still slumming it in this dingy duplex, too broke to afford decent cutlery.

“A garage sale with no garage is just false advertisement, babe.” Eddie flops onto his stomach, hears the boxsprings of their shitty mattress groan underneath him.

“We need to do some spring cleaning anyways.” Steve sinks his nails into Eddie’s hair, scratches at his roots the way Eddie likes it best. It’s all mindless now, physical affection. Five months ago, both of them would’ve been scared shitless to behave this way. Now, it’s easy.

Routine bliss.  

“Might as well make a few extra dollars out of it.” Steve adds.

Eddie scoffs. Flattens his face into the mattress, ignores the questionable dude smell. “What the fuck is spring cleaning anyways?”

“Just a thing. Always has been.”

“Hmph.”

Spring cleaning sounds like a tradition that rich assholes invented as an excuse to throw away the winter jackets they never even wore - never even took the tags off of. Eddie can just imagine a gaggle of housewives, swishing their wine and speaking in some fake transatlantic accent: ‘Oh sweet darling lambchop, it’s not wasteful. It’s simply a bit of spring cleaning.’

“I never agreed to do spring cleaning.” Eddie says.

“You never agree to do cleaning, period.”

“That’s not true. I did the laundry last month.”

Which isn’t a lie. Eddie did three (two) loads of laundry after Steve refused to go anywhere near it. Claims that the final straw was seeing some sort of mutated rodent emerging from their hamper.

“Oh that?” Eddie had fished his brain for a plausible explanation. “That was just a mouse or a rat or a… miniature possum. Something like that.” At the time, he phrased the whole thing like the weirdest multiple choice quiz - the most suitable answer being Something Like That. 

“Whatever.” Steve snorts, likely recalling that same night. He turns off the lamp, lets the dark bleed into the room, swallowing the light. 

They both inch into the middle of the bed, where it’s naturally starting to dip at the center. All of their belongings are used, including this mattress. If money weren’t an issue, they would invest in a new one.

Or not. Eddie kind of likes that it sags in the middle, where they always meet. Like it’s giving in, shaping itself around the weight of their relationship.

The thought makes him smile, a stupidly smitten grin at his stupidly pretty boyfriend.

“What?” Steve pokes a finger at the corner of Eddie’s mouth.

“Nothing.” He catches Steve’s finger, pretends to gnaw it off his hand till Steve laughs. Best fucking sound, even better in their bed. 

Christ, he’s so in love. Wants a megaphone to scream about how in love he is with Steve Harrington. Wants to call a local radio station and request the sappiest love songs imaginable. Wants to be able to just say it, then never stop saying it.

That feels colossal though. Like the playfulness will fizzle out or the blissful routine will rupture. 

So he just says it in other ways, like tonight. 

“Okay, fine. You win.” Which is a direct translation to those three important words, because Eddie hates losing. One of his top ten least favorite things in this world is losing. 

He folds Steve’s fingers into a fist, kisses over every knuckle. Looks up to see Steve blinking slowly, half-asleep. Looks happy. 

And damn, that makes it all worth it, right? Losing so Steve can win. That makes it tolerable, almost enjoyable, for a soft expression like that.

“I’ll do the non-garage garage sale.”

Steve yawns, nuzzles into his side of the pillow. “I knew you would.”

Eddie complains the entire time they clean. Makes the biggest fuss, stomps from room to room. Their place is small, sure. Yet somehow, they generate enough dust and dirt to fill multiple trash bags. Which means multiple trips to the dumpster.

Fuck Spring for making cleanliness a seasonal personality trait.

It’s late into the afternoon when they finally take a break. Both of them are pretty disgusting, so they sit on the front steps of the duplex.

“Quit scowling, you big baby.” Steve passes a glass of water to Eddie. Takes a long chug from his own glass, throwing his head back to get more down. 

No human being has the right to look this sexy without proper legal representation. But Steve wears dirt and sweat like an accessory. Makes the grime so damn rugged, utterly hot.

Yeah. Eddie finally can relate to all the women that drool over erotica novel covers. Fully gets the appeal.

“So, find anything worth selling?” Steve asks. 

“As a matter of fact, yeah. I did.”

Eddie reaches to his side and grabs a black binder: Steve’s baseball card collection. An extensive one at that. 

He smooths over the plastic cover, fluttering his lashes up at Steve, who seems to be seconds away from hulking out over the suggestion.

“Oh fuck that, man!” Steve yanks the binder from Eddie’s hand. “I’ve had those since I was a kid!”

“Which is exactly why it’s time to retire them. Give them a new home. One that’s not a brothel for cockroaches.”

Really, Eddie gets far too much pleasure out of this. Watching people squirm under the uncomfortable magnifying glass of his sense of humor.

Steve cracks his neck to one side and snarls.

Ha. Perfect. Eddie has dwindled him down to nonverbal replies. Just caveman actions that are equally as sexy as the dirt and sweat.

But Steve throws a curveball, too quick to catch. He slips into the house and returns with one of Eddie’s favorite cups. “And what about these, huh? What about your dorky Star Wars glasses?”

Okay, ouch. This game is not funny anymore. Totally bypassed Humor and went straight to Dire territory.

Han may have shot first, but Steve Harrington is aiming where it hurts. Cutting him deep (deeper than that very unlucky tauntaun…).

“These are collectibles, Steven. Collectibles!” Eddie exaggerates every syllable, first-grade teacher style. “I spent two years tracking down the complete Empire Strikes Back set. Still missing three from Return of the Jedi, but whatever. Progress is progress.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is, these are valuable.” 

“Like, worth a lot of money?”

“No. You know what I mean…” Eddie stands. He carefully grabs the glass from Steve and holds it up to the sun. 

All the designs are just as vibrant as the day he found them. Him and Wayne had searched almost a dozen Burger Kings before he found this design - the scene on Endor. Eddie will never forget that day. 

“The memories.” He finally answers. “These are sentimental and shit.”

Steve hums, nodding. “They mean something to you.”

“Precisely.”

“Noted.” He takes the cup back inside. There’s silence for another minute before Steve lurks around the door, saying: 

“Then I guess we’ll have to sell one of your guitars instead.”

Oh shit.

Another direct hit to Eddie’s blackened heart. 

“You little fucker!” He chases Steve all around the kitchen and into their bedroom. Wrestles him down on their saggy bed, instantly dirtying up again.

They end up with a decent amount of items to sell that Saturday morning. Duplicate records and cassettes, a few kitchen gadgets from Steve’s grandma, and some trinkets that Robin kindly donated. A hodgepodge of treasures, that’s what Steve keeps saying.

He’s so proud of their three tables of junk. Hodgepodge treasures, whatever. Just keeps rearranging things and straightening them out. Concentrating so hard that his eyebrows crease together. Adorably focused. Eddie loves when he gets like this. If they weren’t in a conservative small town in broad daylight, he’d kiss Steve’s twisted-up lips, make him relax a little.

“I…” Eddie starts, quickly tripping on his own tongue. Stumbles over that dumb fucking word. Four letters should not hold the power of an entire emotion, goddamnit. 

He scoots out of his lawn chair, stretching upward. “I think I’ll go pester the lemonade stand across the street. Haggle the price down to a penny or something.”

Steve huffs out a laugh. “You get more bizarre every day, Munson.”

“So does the economy, Harrington.”

The lemonade stand is an immediate mistake. A little girl peers up at Eddie, eyes starting to swell with tears. Maybe the clouds are casting a big, scary shadow over him, making him look twice as evil.

Or maybe he severely underestimated how badass his look really is, who fucking knows.

He dives right into his haggling-monologue, when the girl points to his latest Iron Maiden patch on his vest. Asks in the thinnest voice who the ‘skeleton man’ is. 

And look, Eddie doesn’t mess around when it comes to educating this fine nation’s youth. So he answers honestly:

“Eddie the Head. A vessel for soul-sucking metal.”

The answer is probably what makes her run. But it’s definitely the voice that opens up the floodgates.

Anyways, he’s not just gonna let all this freshly-squeezed goodness go to waste. That would be a shame. A travesty, even.

So he helps himself to two full cups of lemonade. Makes a quick escape before the kid’s parents bring pitchforks.

Eddie sneaks up behind Steve, whispers nervously in his ear. “Well… there’s good news and there’s bad news.” 

“What did you do?” Steve doesn’t miss a beat. 

“I got the lemonade for free.” He hops up on the table, waves the proof around with a big, cheesy grin. Still no reaction from Steve, so what the hell? Might as well get all the information out there. 

“Bad news is, I made the pigtailed kid cry.”

“Dude!”

“It’s not my fault!” Eddie is suddenly very defensive. “She asked who this ‘skeleton man’ on my vest is and I couldn’t lie.”

“You lie about shit all the time.”

“Not about history, Steve! Get your head out of your perfectly-shaped ass.”

Steve puts his hand over Eddie’s mouth, gesturing to the nearby shoppers. Not that Eddie is overly concerned about what the elderly couple can hear from this distance. And he assumes that the suspender-wearing dude admiring the Barry Manilo record, would probably agree on his Ass Opinions.

However, Steve is shrinking further into his chair from Eddie’s commentary. Grunting something unintelligible but mostly likely explicit. 

“Here.” Eddie determines that the safest solution is to back down. Ease off until Steve’s complexion returns to normal colors. “You can have the lemonade that isn’t diluted with the tears of a child.”

Steve laughs into the cup and takes a long swig. Chases it with an exaggerated ‘aaah’ like all of those airbrushed models do in the commercials. 

Eddie is just so damn crazy about this guy. Would drink a thousand tear-soaked beverages for Steve if it meant getting to experience every day just like this. With a smile like that.

“How is it?” Steve asks. 

“Tastes like citrus and fear.” Eddie responds proudly with a wink.

There’s a pause before they both erupt into laughter. Steve slapping Eddie’s knee rather than his own. Eddie snorting like a sitcom dweeb. He’s laughing so hard that he almost misses Steve uttering the most incredible sentence:

“God, I love you.”

Says it just like that. Clear as water. Easier than oxygen. Like he has told Eddie that very phrase a thousand times before.

And Eddie… Eddie can’t locate a single word in his brain. His access to language is padlocked after hearing that. Experiencing that. 

All he can do is move. Move away from the table. Move behind the clothing rack full of used jackets. Move his arms outward, pulling Steve along with him.

He kisses Steve before he does something stupid like scream or flail around. If he’s going to open his big mouth, it’s going to be against Steve’s lips. Licking the drops of lemon clean off his mouth. Pushing his linen-soft hair back and holding it between his fingers.

They’re obscured by clothes and scarves, but it’s risky. Too risky to linger into a deeper kiss like Eddie craves to do. So he lets go of this moment and ducks into the house to catch his breath.

The rest of the day goes by at hyper speed, too fast to notice details. Not that anything could possibly top hearing Steve say what he said. It’s tattooed deep into everything Eddie hears, permanently inked in his mind. 

Once they head back inside, Steve flicks through the wad of cash, counting their profit. It’s not much, merely pocket change - but certainly more than either of them expected. Eddie chalks up the surprising amount to Steve's charm and short-shorts. The yummiest eye-candy of the whole damn neighborhood.

“We should save up for a trip.” Steve suggests.

Eddie raises his brows. “A trip?”

“A vacation. You know, get away from this shithole town for a weekend.” The more he talks, the more Steve’s face glows. Fucking shines with daydreams. “A change of scenery might be nice.”

Eddie holds back the urge to remind Steve that he’s the best scenery in the solar system. He already gushes too much, too often. It’s bound to scare Steve off at some point.

So he simply kisses Steve’s shoulder instead, agreeing with a soft hum. 

He starts to fall asleep while listening to Steve name all the places they should travel to. The last one he remembers is Boston.

“Boston would be fucking awesome, right?”

Eddie nods. Drifts off.

Thinks that anywhere with Steve Harrington would be fucking awesome.

Eddie heads up north for a couple of weeks to help Wayne move into his new place. Since Hawkins was previously sliced apart like pizza, Wayne wisely decided to retire early. Used his government hush-money in the most predictable way he could.

“All I need, son, is an empty mind and lake full of fish.” And that’s exactly what he gets. A one-story house near the top of Lake Michigan. Has one hell of a view too.

They head out to the private dock to chat and fish. Except Eddie isn’t too keen on jabbing sharp metal into a water-dweller’s mouth, so he keeps Wayne company on the dock. Lends an ear for all of his stories.

“Shame that Steve couldn’t make it.” Wayne waits to bring him up till they start packing up for the evening.

“Yeah. It is.” Eddie agrees. Misses him already. “Next time though.”

During his last weekend with Wayne, a package arrives on the front porch. It’s addressed to Eddie, which is strange. The only people that know he’s here are his boyfriend, his bandmates, and his boss. More than likely, Steve probably told their crew of demon-destroyers too, but still…

Why would anyone bother to send him a package if he’s driving back home in three days? Doesn’t add up.

He cuts into the cardboard, practically ruins the box. Inside, there’s an absurd amount of tissue paper. It’s stuffed in every corner, overflowing at the top, just a sea of noisy paper.

“Whatcha got there?” Wayne peers over his shoulder.

“Not sure yet.” Eddie sifts through the noise. Digging around more carefully now because he takes notice of the ‘Fragile’ labels on every side of the box.

He pulls out one of the overly-wrapped items, begins removing it from the tissue paper. After twirling through a few layers, he realizes exactly what it is. 

Glass. Colorful designs. Fits in the palm of his hand.

The Star Wars cups. The last three Star Wars cups that had been missing from Eddie’s collection. 

“No fucking way.”

“Watch it.” Wayne warns.

“It’s a warranted response, I promise.” Eddie hands the pristine Darth Vader glass over to Wayne.  “Look!”

Wayne examines it for a while before letting out a long whistle. “Well I’ll be damned. Haven’t you been looking for these since-”

“1983.” Eddie answers. He gently picks up each glass, thumbs over the artwork to feel the tiny ridges of paint. 

They’re in perfect condition too, more than perfect. No chips, no blemishes, no smudgy fingerprints (except for Eddie’s now). He has to place them back into the box because his hands are shaking with excitement. Smooths his palms against his jeans, head shaking in disbelief.

“That romantic asshole.” Eddie grumbles. “Couldn’t just wait to give me these once I get back home.”

Wayne cuts him a vicious side-eye, one that makes Eddie’s spine shiver. He's received this look many times throughout his childhood, even more in his teenage years. It’s Wayne’s signature stare before he calls Eddie out on his bullshit.

Apparently, it still has the same effect on him too. Works like witchcraft.

Wayne looks over the gifts, then back up at Eddie. His edge melts away, turns into something softer. Kinder.

“You know… some things can’t wait, son.”

With that, the tension in Eddie’s spine unravels. His chest inflates, warming up a few extra degrees. His whole body knows exactly what he needs to do - the thing that can’t wait another second.

The phone only rings through one time.

“This is Steve.” That voice. Hits like a homemade remedy.

“Hey, it’s Eddie.” His nails are tapping next to the phone speaker, rapid and impatient. “Listen, I just got your package and-”

“Oh, god.” Steve sounds pained all of a sudden. “Was it too much? Is it gonna be too difficult to transport back home? I know it would’ve just been easier to wait, except-”

“I love you.”

There it is. The words that can’t wait. The phrase that demands power.

“You… what?”

“I love you. Just, so much.” Eddie feels lighter, weight lifting from his lungs each time he says it. “And I couldn’t wait another second to tell you. So, yeah. Really, really in love with you, Steve.”

All Eddie can hear is Steve’s breath. Just as rapid as his nails tapping.

“Wow… um.” Steve clears his throat, but the sound comes out small. Strained.  “Do you mind if I call you right back?”

Not the response Eddie was expecting. “Oh. Uh.”

“Just - hold on a sec.”

And the line clicks dead.

After the third hour of organizing pans in the kitchen, the only room close enough to launch himself at the phone if it were to ring, Eddie accepts defeat. Retreats to the guest bedroom, contemplating what the fuck went wrong.

He groans into the bedspread, claws at his hair till it’s a fucking jungle. Frizzed out beyond repair, just like his nerves.

“That’s enough moping.” Wayne knocks at the door, creaking it open. “We’re going down to the lake.”

There’s no point in arguing with him. The man is the human embodiment of Stubborn - more so than Eddie, which speaks volumes.

Besides, moping in a different location won’t make him any less pathetic.

Wayne is a master in the art of distraction. Doesn’t waste any time before telling Eddie all about the local gossip he overhears downtown. He quickly transitions into asking Eddie questions about his job. Continues this pattern till the sun falls into the horizon. Not allowing Eddie’s mind the chance to jump to conclusions until they get back to the house. To the phone. 

The phone that’s still not ringing.

Wayne nudges Eddie’s arm. “Wanna give him a call?”

Yes. Desperately yes. 

“Maybe. Gonna go change first.”

Eddie opens the door to the guest bedroom, and his lungs slingshot out of his chest.

Steve is there. Sitting on the bed. Looking at him with that knockout smile and slightly tired eyes.

“Hi.” He sits up a little straighter. Gives Eddie the tiniest wave. 

“You’re… you-”

“Caught the first flight out here.” Steve cuts him off. “Had to.”

“How?”

“The vacation cash jar.”

No no no. 

Eddie’s throat feels swollen with that realization. Knows just how fucking much that potential trip to Boston meant to Steve. 

“But-”

“Please don’t be mad.”

“I’m not, I’m not.” Eddie spits out. Needs to swallow this barrier of emotion in his throat so he can form an actual sentence, for christ’s sake. “Fuck. You just… have no idea how much I love you.”

Steve perks up even straighter, seems fully awake now. His smile creeps up to one side of his face, outright mischievous. He tilts his head to the side and holds an arm out, reaching for Eddie.

“Get over here and show me then.”

In one fluid motion, Eddie lands on the bed, draped in Steve’s arms. They kiss and cling to each other as if they might float off somewhere. It’s all too good, too delicious. Just can’t get enough of how Steve tastes, needs to savor it after not having him around for ten days. 

Being under the covers, kissing wildly, is becoming dangerous. And if Wayne weren’t in the room directly across from them, Eddie would have Steve in unspeakable positions by now. Steve tugs multiple times at the zipper on Eddie’s jeans. Causes physical damage to Eddie’s horny soul to pull Steve's hand away.

They stay like this instead. Leisure, molasses kisses. Knotted fingers and tangled legs. Closer than skin.

Steve lifts up onto his elbow, swipes Eddie’s bangs off of his forehead to make room for another place to kiss. “Can’t believe it took a few dorky cups to make you realize you were in love with me,” he says, lips still smushed in that spot before backing away.

Eddie flips onto his back with a heavy sigh. No way he can look at Steve’s face while admitting this outloud. “I’ve loved you since the day you fed me a curly fry that you had twisted around your pinky.”

“That was the moment?”

“That was the moment.”

He can hear the smile in Steve’s voice. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Never gonna dodge that ‘freak’ reputation, am I?”

“Not a chance.”

The sky is dusted with stars that night. Not the kind of night sky they ever get to see in Hawkins. Steve marvels at them, mentions that he’s never seen so many at once, not even through a window.

“We could go outside?” Eddie offers. “See even more, if you want.”

“Fuck that.” Steve burrows his nose into Eddie’s neck. “Too comfy.”

Eddie agrees with a laugh. “It’s a good bed, isn’t it?”

“Ours is better.”

It’s not, it’s really not. Their bed is rotting, the oldest relic of their home.

But it bends with them, forms to their bodies perfectly.

And since this bed has yet to learn their language, Eddie takes the lead.

“You’re right.” He curls himself around Steve. Leans in closer and Steve follows. “Ours is definitely better.”

Even miles away from home, they somehow always manage to meet in the middle.