#stb!fic

[fairyysoup]

Hello!!

I just wanted to hop on here to express to you how much I absolutely adored “it will be back” I have always thought there was a lack of werewolf content in the Eddie Munson universe and you most definitely fulfilled that role perfectly!! Not to mention my uttermost adoration towards maiden/medieval Eddie Munson type of writings and there also a lack of that sort of content imo hahaha! How come a dnd loving nerd that will talk about medieval monsters and knight quests does not star in more medieval fics? 🥺🥺

omg that's so sweet of you 🥰🥰 and honestly idk!!!! his character fits that sort of story so well 😭 but i truly love putting our lil man in historical fantasy situations for sure

in my head the time period for stb and iwcb is like.... roughly early 1700s-ish? but it's absolutely not historically accurate by any means so i'm not gonna call it that in the tags lol. i just know in my head that eddie would love to imagine himself being a dastardly bard in ye olde times wooing damsels and shit <333 king

[superblysubpar]

Simply The Best

spiderman!steve harrington x fem!reader

While his group of young friends unravel a series of extraordinary mysteries and secret government exploits in Hawkins, Indiana, Steve Harrington gains supernatural abilities after being bitten by a spider.

He thought always being the babysitter was plenty of responsibility, but with these superhuman powers, Steve’s need to protect only grows.

With a new threat against his sinister plans, a vengeful enemy is willing to stop at nothing in his quest for power, and everyone Steve loves is directly in his path for it.

🕸 key things to note about this series

Prologue: Meanwhile...

Chapter Eight: The Battle of Starcourt

Chapter Three: The Monster and The Superhero

Chapter Four: Dear Billy

Chapter Six: The Dive

Chapter Nine: The Piggyback

Chapter One: The Crawl

Chapter Two: Dear Steve

Chapter Three: The Weirdo on Cornwallis Street

Chapter Four: Great Power

Chapter Five: Pretty Damn Good Babysitter

Chapter Six: The Disappearance of Nancy Wheeler

Chapter Seven: Yes, My Spider-Lord

Chapter Eight: It’s All Bullshit

Chapter Nine: A Leap of Faith

Chapter Ten: Great Responsibility

the playlist

the vibes

[jen-with-a-pen]

⊹-୨୧-⊹𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐔𝐏 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓⊹-୨୧-⊹

⊹–SUMMARY–⊹ Inexperienced and still freshly-traumatized by his first heartbreak, Steve Rogers decides to finally move away for college after taking two gap years to work, save, and help his Ma around the house. It’ll be good for him. Away from his ex. Away from his hometown. He's excited to finally chase his dreams and begin again as a promising fine arts student at Richards College. Well, almost. Thanks to a generous scholarship spanning the next four years of his life, Steve is required to participate in on-campus Greek life. It’s simple: join a frat. They shouldn't be too intimidating. At least they're not as bad as they are in the movies, right? Right..?

⊹–PAIRINGS–⊹ Art Student!Frat Brother!Steve Rogers x Film Student!Sorority Sister!F!Reader

⊹–WARNINGS–⊹ more to be added as series progresses frat bros being frat bros, sorority sisters being sorority sisters, manipulation, coercion, blackmail, fluff, angst, whump, explicit forced s3xual acts, slow burn, dissociation, nud1ty, dubcon (bordering noncon), forced drvgging, mentions of kidnapping, emotional damage, Steve's just trying his best, Bucky and Sam are major frat bros, Tony and Clint are somewhere I swear The warnings listed here are not exhaustive but generally encapsulate the series as a whole and do not represent every single chapter. Please be mindful and read the chapter warnings!

Read this fic on AO3!

The Richards College Playlist

Steve's Playlist

any art featured in the series title header and story-specific dividers was found on pinterest and is used in good faith. all credit goes to the original artists, as i could not find accurate credit for any. collage done by me

Spam liking my works will result in an automatic block!

ALL TIED UP: STEVE'S WEEK

–⊹– One: Saturday, currently.

–⊹– Two: Last Monday.

–⊹– Three: Last Tuesday.

–⊹– Four: Last Wednesday.

–⊹– Five: Last Thursday.

–⊹– Six: Saturday, still.

–⊹– Seven: Last Friday.

–⊹– Eight: Saturday, again.

–⊹– Nine: Saturday, again.

[starfall-spirit]

@officialfeysandweek2023

🎨: @sarahsoba

Read on Ao3

Summary: Feyre trusted Azriel and Cassian to keep her work as a Wraith secret. Perhaps they had, but it doesn't change the fact their High Lord knew what secrets were hidden in the shadows they share. Angered by her deception, Rhys sends Feyre home, freeing her from their marriage and bargain made Under the Mountain, all too soon finding that to be the worst mistake he's made in five centuries.

AN: The Silver-Tongued Bride, a Feysand fic based on 1,001 Nights/Arabian Nights, has been discontinued so I can write a book with a similar plot in the future, but UBC brought up the fic and I was struggling with my original project for Mates. So I'm closing this AU with a bang. As I said in a previous post there is a major time skip between Wife or Weapon? and Would You Like Me On My Knees? so reading/rereading STB is not vital, but the link is there if you want to see what the original story idea was and get a better idea of Feysand's history in this AU.

For those unfamiliar with 1,001 Nights, you can read the basic plot here.

CW: Dark!Rhys, Smut

“Feyre, you’ve told me a story every night for months now.”

“I have,” she murmured. “Would you like to hear another this evening?”

He gave her a slight smirk from across the oversized table between them, fiddling with one of the strategy pieces. “No, darling. Eager as I am to hear the ending of this last story, I have one to tell you tonight.” He gestured to the chair across from him. “One about a village girl brave enough to save her people.” She narrowed her eyes, accepting the chair. “Once upon a time a wicked foreign commander took control of seven High Lords’ power, trapping all but one in her perversion of a court.”

“Why are you telling me—”

“Be quiet and listen,” he hissed. There was something in his eyes tonight that for the first time stirred something like fear in Feyre. “For forty-nine years those faeries hoped and prayed for some salvation that never came. Until one day a village girl was just desperate enough to go Under the Mountain to save her sisters, and in her dealings with Amarantha, Prythian.”

Though he’d given her nothing but facts she recognized from her own story, something close to dread was coiling in her gut. “She succeeded, at the cost of her life, but was revived by the seven High Lords when their magic was returned to them. One would think after dying, our heroine would be content enough to keep a low profile and stay tucked away with her sisters.”

“You kept me from that, I’ll remind you.”

“Did I? Or did all of this start when you decided to play spy, Wraith?”

She ground her teeth, holding his burning stare. “You live in such wealth and privilege. Tell me, when was the last time you went days or weeks without more than bread and water? I did what I needed to to make sure there was food on the table and clothes on our backs, as I always have. Just because it took you three years to look at who you employ doesn’t mean I did anything wrong.”

He stood from his own seat. “You're right.” It took a moment for the words to register. That he had actually surrendered that small victory to her. “You haven’t actually done anything, beyond failing to mention your other duties to the Night Court. Which is why you will continue those duties, unrestrained.”

That dread began to seep back in, coiled and curdling deep inside of her. “Unrestrained? What do you mean unrestrained?”

“You are vital to Azriel’s network. I will not kill you, but you can not fully commit to your duties as my bride.”

Bride. Never wife, though she wasn’t quite sure why she cared about that little technicality during such a serious conversation. Because what his words implied…

She lurched from her chair.“Rhys, you can’t.”

“It is not your place to tell me what I can and can’t do, Feyre.”

“Rhys, please.” She was begging. Something she vowed she’d never do when it came to him. “Please don’t do this.” Her hand was fisted in the soft fabric of his shirt as if she could keep him there and hold his attention so simply. “They don’t deserve this.”

He cocked his head. “What would you give me, darling, to keep me from looking at another female?”

“Anything.” Dangerous words to offer the fae, especially one so powerful. “I will give you anything so long as these bride killings stop. Name your price.”

“Feyre, did you really think you could stop this, single-handedly? You never had a—”

He grunted as she pulled him down closer, one hand still holding his shirt while the other threaded through his silky hair. Though she initiated the kiss, he quickly took control, lifting her onto the table and disregarding the scattering of figures and marking pins so carefully arranged on the broad map atop it. He cupped the back of her neck, his thumb just brushing across her jaw. “Cauldron, Feyre,” he groaned, holding her in place to deepen the kiss.

She could say the same. Their kiss was intoxicating. He was intoxicating. His scent, his touch, and that cruel mouth working down over her neck, his tongue flicking that little sweet spot just higher that nearly had her whimpering. Apparently he remembered a few tricks from their time Under the Mountain. Each one left something inside her singing. And aching for more.

And then he was off of her, around the other side of the table before she could even open her eyes or try to assess what was threaded between them.

“No,” he growled, gripping the wood of the table hard enough his skin lightened. “You—we needed that distraction back then. I am not about to let you bargain with your body now, Feyre. You’ll leave in the morning, as usual. This time—” He waved a hand and a fresh horror filled her as the ink on her right arm vanished. “—free of our marriage.” Another wave and her left arm was bare. “Free of our bargain.”

She stumbled around the table. If Rhys was letting her go… “Rhys, wait.”

“It’s done. You’re free. You never have to see me again. What more do you want?” he snapped. She stopped in front of him, nearly close enough to share breath. Even wide and wild, those eyes drew her in. “What?” he growled.

“Promise me it will end.” His brow furrowed. “You’re a better male than this. I can see it. Your brothers can see it. I don’t know the others, but—”

“That’s enough.” He tilted his head as he assessed her, looking every bit the predator he proved himself to the world, any trace of the goodness she’d thought she’d seen just as absent as she ink on her arms. Her heart sank as he tutted, stroking his thumb down her jawline, this time almost condescendingly. “So that’s what you’ve been, little temptress. The martyr bride. One day my lover? My High Lady?”

“I’ll be whatever you need me to be if it saves others who are meant to follow me here.”

Reckless, stupid words, and yet she meant every one of them. She refused to release him until he listened.

Or winnowed.

Or layed her down on that war table and reminded her how easy it was to break a male.

Any other male, it seemed.

His hand dropped to wrap around her throat. One last security blanket, a means of control, even as she watched his resistance fracture. “Gods. Feyre, you don’t know how you tempt me to break the one code I can keep.” At this point she didn’t know how else to express she wouldn’t be as unwilling as he believed. Again, he tore away from her, leaving her cold and aching. What had gotten into her? “Your village and family will be pardoned in the future. If you’d like to take anything I’ve given you home then you’re welcome to pack tonight. As a Wraith, you can leave at your leisure. I trust you’ll be gone before breakfast?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, turning his back to her to repair the map she’d unknowingly torn. She should have felt relieved at the dismissal, but all she could currently think was that this was so wrong. On a scale larger than this sexual chemistry.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

It rang in her head loudly enough she double checked her shields. Still impenetrable. Body and mind steeled, she gave him five parting words meant to sting after all this time in each other's company. “As you wish, High Lord.”

And she walked away, gaining her freedom, and losing so much more.

But what was still the question. 

~~~~~

Her sisters were elated. At least, Elain was elated. Nesta only felt the need to interrogate Feyre about what she had done to earn her freedom. “I wanted out,” she lied. “I told him I was a Wraith and he decided that was important enough to the war to release me.”

Neither of them seemed to believe her, especially with her vow to keep telling stories to maintain her position as a Night Bride and save the girls he’d yet to draw into his cruel game. Half of the town had started to treat her like a plague. The other was in awe when they saw her arms were bare of ink and her head was attached to her neck. 

Feyre didn’t have enough energy to care.

That was more frustrating than anything else. That empty feeling that grated against the anger and hurt she couldn’t find a way to justify. The dangerous tumble of thoughts that kept her awake in her bed until she was watching the sunrise. Because Cauldron damn her, she missed it. Missed him. The smirk on his face and the light in his eyes when she encouraged his flirtation. The glide of his hands over her body before that brutal dismissal. The taste of him, endless and all-consuming. The abyss she was too ready to leap into if she’d find him at the bottom.

That desperation scared her more than anything, and opened up a very unwelcome thought when the evenings went quiet. So she locked it away in a little mental box, shoving it behind that wall of steel and stone, down, and down, and down where she couldn’t feel even a flicker of want or worry.

But then, she had never been very good at compartmentalizing. And too many things in the home and village around her brought those feelings back to the surface. What they meant. But if she didn’t give it a name it didn’t have to mean anything. Not after he freed her. And with that mindset, she kept going, day by day.

She kept moving though life, waiting to hear the Bride Killer had returned to find his next target. But he never did. Not for weeks. She didn’t think it was possible for a town or village to simply freeze, but there was a feeling in the air all the same. As if the villagers around her, the birds and bugs and cattle, the very land around them was holding its breath.

It was excruciating to endure.

Still, she made herself go about town. To the market each morning and social functions in the evening. Nodding along as other females tittered about the latest gossip and just how lucky she was to be alive and marriageable again. It was positively disgusting. But she’d endure that too, for Elain and Nesta. It was where they thrived and she could tolerate being labeled the odd ball a while longer. It’s what she’d been her whole life, after all.

She should have known things wouldn’t be left there. That she wouldn’t be given time to heal and pass this strange emotional lull without some grand interruption. And grand it was.

In typical fashion, Rhys arrived at the height of the evening, his announcement by rolling thunder. “What a pretty little party.”

~~~~~

The house cleared remarkably quickly between the families scurrying for the door or flat out winnowing as he commanded them to leave. The only people to disobey were her sisters, frightened as they were by the intrusion. There was something to be said for their improving loyalty, she supposed.

He didn’t speak again until the door snicked shut behind their last guest. “Good evening, Feyre darling.”

“Rhys.” His name was hardly higher than a breath, but its weight did enough to heighten the already unbearable tension. “What do you want?” she asked a bit more confidently, pushing off the wall and shoving the flare between them down as deep as she could. If he wanted the… connection… between them, he wouldn’t have sent her away like he did. “You said you wouldn’t return to this village. Especially not this house.”

“It’s not your sisters I’m here for, Feyre.” The promise in his voice paired with the heat in his eyes sent a fresh bolt of want through her. “The last time we spoke—”

“The last time we spoke, you promised me my freedom, Rhysand. Peace from your games.”

“I think you like my games more than you’re willing to admit, darling.”

She scoffed, putting more distance between them as she moved behind the couch. “What do you want, Rhys? Say it and leave.” Her father coughed pointedly from where he had joined them just seconds ago, some small effort as the technical head of the house. It was a reminder to check her tone, speaking to a High Lord. She snorted. “He won’t touch me.”

Rhys winnowed across the room, his broad figure a mass of warmth against her, his scent flooding her senses. She pressed forward, hips digging into the back of the couch as she focused on taking shallow breaths, pointedly ignoring everything her body was demanding she do. “The last time we were this close—”

“You sent me away. I didn’t beg and plead for you to erase the bargain and wedding vows. I said I’d stay there for good. I’d be whatever the hell you needed me to be and you sent me away.”

“Is that what you want from me? Do you want me to beg and plead you come home to me? Do you want to see me on my knees for you? Should I grovel, love?”

“It would certainly be a new look for you, wouldn’t it?” she spat.

Ignoring Elain’s squeak, she shoved at his arm to escape his hold, fiddling with anything and everything that was already in its perfect place to ignore the male behind her as best she could. The next time she turned around he didn’t give her the choice of distancing herself. 

One hand caught her hip, the other cupping her face. Though his touch was loose and gentle, after weeks apart she was helpless against the pull of their bond. She sank into his chest, trembling slightly, finding that thread between them raw and open. “Darling.” There was a tentativeness to his voice she’d never once heard. Not in their most vulnerable moments Under the Mountain and certainly not in their time together in Velaris. “I’m sorry.” His right hand slid up, winding in her hair to keep her eyes level with his. “You need to know, you are worth more than what you thought I needed. I’ll have you as my mate—my High Lady—or not at all.”

She stiffened. “I don’t know a thing about leading a court.”

“You’ll learn.” Before she could say another word about it or explain anything to her family, she felt him start to winnow. 

“Rhys, wait! Don’t—” Her protest was cut off with her air, as they were folded in shadow, surfacing in the dining room of the town house in Velaris, his family already occupying the table. She jerked free of his hold. “You can’t just abduct me from my home,” she growled, ready to send herself right back.

“Just wait. Please.” The house was dead silent. She froze, watching with wide eyes as he sank to his knees. “Feyre.” The vulnerability between his actions and that one word was enough to clear the house, leaving the two of them alone, save each other. “Feyre. I’m sorry.” He ran a hand over his face. “But this is a discussion we need to have… unmonitored.”

“Tell me it's over.”

“It’s over.”

“Tell me that even if I turn around and go home, no more innocents will die at your hands. By your orders,” she clarified.

“I will never kill an innocent again. I will not call a priestess to an altar unless it is you by my side. You being pronounced my mate. My wife. My High Lady. My Forever. Feyre, my name is a stain on the history of this court. That will not change.” She shuddered as he wrapped his hands around the backs of her knees. “Help me do what I can to pave a better future.”

Because what would the world think when their Cursebreaker willingly married the Bride Killer? When she bore the ink of his court again? What would the world think of her when they realized she’d fallen in love with their greatest evil? 

She sank down to the ground, knee to knee with her mate. “I’ll be your equal? Respected in this court and the others.”

“The other High Lords will favor traditions. Especially those of the seasons. I can't promise you their respect. But no citizen of Night will question your authority and keep their life.”

“And… the other expectations of a High Lord’s wife?”

“One day, with this war behind us I would want to build a family with you. Raise children beside you. But not yet, Feyre. Not with this war upon us. I don’t—”

She kissed him, throwing her weight enough that he twisted his legs, settling on his back to let her set the pace. Though he didn’t object to her straddling him she didn’t think the privilege of control would last long, considering his grip on her waist was already beginning to tighten. She reached for the buttons on his shirt, working them open with an impressive dexterity, considering her mind felt like a muddled mess.

“Wait.” Feyre paused, confused. Then they were winnowing again, this time to a cabin in the mountains. “We won’t be disturbed any time soon,” he promised, walking her backwards through the cabin until she stumbled, only to be lifted upright in his arms before she could hit the floor. She locked her legs around his waist, gasping against his mouth as he pushed her up against the wall, her hands pinned over her head. “I’ve been aching for you,” Rhys confessed, “from the moment you left my bed three years ago, I’ve wanted you back in my arms.”

Years. Not just the weeks they were apart, but since they found freedom from Amarantha. Feyre tried to look back on those days, recalling the vulnerability between the pleasure they shared. Where they had let those careful masks crumble to dust. A single brief moment where she had let herself wonder if Rhys was more broken than he let on.

She pushed those thoughts down. “You sent me away.”

“Love is a dangerous thing,” he told her, letting her stand on her own feet again, his arms braced on either side of her. “And you were offering yourself to protect others, not for your own happiness. You would have come to hate me if I tried to act on our bond. I couldn’t see you reliving my mother’s story.”

“It may have seemed impulsive then, but I wanted it. Even without the mating bond established I wanted you.” 

Now that they’d both said it aloud it felt a thousand times more real. They were mates. A perfect match by nature or fate depending on who you asked. “Oh, and if we’re to do this in some sort of reasonable order.” She parted the panels of her gown. “It has pockets, see!” He was clearly confused about the relevance of her dress having pockets but stayed quiet to humor her. “I was keeping this for myself since they were just about the only enjoyable thing at that party, but here,” she told him almost conspiratorially, unwrapping the small linen napkin holding the cookies she was saving for a snack. “I didn’t technically make it myself, but… Food. Eat. Now.”

Confusion softened to something like awe and she realized for as cruel as he’d been in his time as High Lord, he had grieved the simple pleasures he thought he’d ruined his chance of finding. Like a female offering him food and truly accepting an eternity with him. He had a better future to look forward to, starting with half-crumbled cookies. “You’re exquisite,” he breathed, his thumb sweeping tenderly across her cheekbone. “I don’t deserve you, Feyre.”

She just smiled, nodding to the meager offering again. They were gone in seconds, the napkin so clean she wouldn’t have believed there were crumbs at all if she hadn’t seen the mess of crushed dessert herself. There was something to be said for a newly mated male’s dedication.

“Delicious,” he purred against her ear, tossing the pristine cloth over his shoulder. “But I can think of something else I’d rather taste at the moment.”

~~~~~

Rhys had never gotten a female out of a dress so quickly. He had never felt so close to losing control of himself. Not just that spiral of desire and the need to please his mate and satisfy their bond, but something more. Ancient and dark and primal. The need to claim in every respect. 

He hadn’t felt the cage swing open. Not until the thing within him was stalking out, his skin itching and tight as onyx scales rippled over it in patches. He groaned against Feyre, the taste of her on his tongue was doing nothing to help his attempt at suppressing the creature he worked so hard to hide. He knew it was only a matter of time before his talons would make themselves known and draw his mate’s attention to the steady shift claiming his body. She gasped as one of those obsidian claws nicked her tender flesh and an ugly guilt began twisting inside him at the single drop of blood that bloomed. He released her instantly. 

“Rhys…” He had been bracing himself for horror or disgust, not this quiet curiosity. 

“I normally have better control than this,” he said, jaw clenched tight. He hadn’t lost control of his beast form since he was a youngling. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It's…” Her eyes shared the words her tongue couldn't find. She wanted this. Was hungry for it, even if it would temporarily cost him his sanity. 

He growled as she tried to guide him back between her legs. “As you wish, darling.”

She shivered at the next slow stroke of his tongue, her legs tightening around his head. “Stop teasing me,” she ordered.

A chuckle rasped out of him, even as he felt his control slipping little by little. “So my bossy little mate thinks she knows what she wants, hm? We’ll see about that.” While his body was only half-his own at the moment, he managed to retract the talons that had scratched her a moment before. Beast or not, he promised his mate his mouth, fingers, and cock tonight and he had no intention of disappointing her again. 

He didn’t quicken his pace, not when he had the absolute pleasure of drawing her steadily higher and higher until she was on the precipice of falling, flushed from head to toe and clenching around his fingers. He grinned as he heard her let out another frustrated whimper, her short nails dragging down from his scalp to scratch the back of his neck, bringing about as much pain as a kitten might. 

Do you need something, love? he teased, withdrawing entirely.

She gave a hard shove and he let her flip their positions, folding an arm beneath his head as he watched her straddle him. Seeing as her patience has been rather unremarkable thus far, he had ultimately expected her to take advantage of her position over him and claim the pleasure they were both aching for. It appeared she would once again surprise him.

“You take far too much pleasure in keeping me from mine,” she told him, almost in reprimand. “It’s high time the roles were reversed—” She slid back, wrapping her slender hand around the base of his swollen, scaled length. “—don’t you think?”

“I think, Feyre, that you should be very careful,” he warned her. Both of them knew she had no physical leverage over him. That he had let her turn the tables and could reclaim control the moment he decided he was done with this game. But for now he’d pretend he was a decent male, if only so his mate could feel proud of herself for this momentary victory. “Go on, darling. Do your worst.”

She grinned, sinking down to take the first inch of him in her mouth. Rhys could feel her smugness rippling down the bond, multiplying when his free hand flew to her nape. “Look at you,” he praised her, his fingers carding though her hair as a means of comfort as she took him deeper at her own pace. “So pretty, taking my cock down your throat.”

She wouldn’t be able to take all of him like this, not with him half-shifted this way. But she was trying her best and it wasn’t a sight he would forget anytime soon. She dragged her teeth against him and he jerked forward on instinct, choking her slightly. “Careful, pet,” he warned, the tension in his voice betraying his own state of mind. Her little hum told him she knew he was close to spilling down her throat and he had no intention of letting things end so soon.

He twisted her hair around his hand, pulling her up to face him, “As pretty as you’d look drooling on my cock, I think I’d rather watch you ride me, Feyre.”

She wasted no time, letting him guide her down onto him. “Look at you,” Rhys murmured again, his breath fluttering against her hair. She whimpered. “Slow down, darling. Almost there.” He hissed as she clenched around the full length of him, a new instinct roaring to life within him. Claim, claim, claim. 

For the millionth time that night he found himself grieving the absence of the  ink that clearly tied her to him before he granted her her freedom. He’d remedy that problem after they dealt with the frenzy.

He watched Feyre for a moment, taking in the glaze of lust in her eyes and the love beneath it, And deep down, even under that, the instinct that mirrored his own. He shifted on the bed slightly, preparing to flip them again. “Do you know what it wants, Feyre? Hm?”

She blinked down at him, trying to piece together what he was asking. “Do you know what the beast beneath my skin wants to do to you when you’re taking this cock like such a good girl?” She moaned again, hips jerking against his unyielding hold. “Needy little mate,” he admonished softly. “Good things come to those who wait.”

“I’ve been waiting. Now fuck me.” 

She yelped as he flipped her onto her back, pinning her hands to the mattress. “I told you to be careful, little mate.”

“Rhys—”

“I warned you to be careful, Feyre. That I was close to losing control. That there was only one thing the beast in me wanted from you.” She shuddered as he shifted both of her hands under one of his, bringing his free hand down to stroke her clit. She keened. “But maybe that’s what my little mate wants too.”

“Rhys.” A foreign, desperate sound left her as her release rattled through her. Rhys didn’t let her come down from it, refusing to acknowledge how she felt clenching around him as he aimed to bring her to her second orgasm. “Rhys, wait. I need—”

“Darling, I thought you needed to come,” he teased. He had almost forgotten how easy it was to overstimulate her, scrambling her senses and bringing her pleasure over and over. It had been his greatest joy in those moments they stole when they were stuck Under the Mountain. His only joy, actually. But that time was behind them. “So, so pretty like this, filled up with my cock,” he praised her, tensing slightly as the dark scaled patches rippled and spread over his skin. “Just imagine how pretty you’ll look when you’re carrying my baby.”

She let out a low groan that had new pride blooming, a jerk of his hips sending her over the edge once again. “Rhys, need you to fill me up.”

“I know, baby. That’s a good girl.” He sighed, pressing his lips to her neck as his slow drag turned more deliberate, bringing them to the next high together. He ducked his head again, slanting his mouth over hers as they came together. “I love watching you come undone for me,” he murmured. “I’ve missed it more than anything.”

She hissed as he pulled out of her slowly, watching onyx scales revert to brown skin, the possessive glint in his eyes fading to something softer. “What took you so long? The ward on the house was pathetic. Why did you wait so long to come for me?”

“Because I never deserved you. And one day I stopped caring about what was deserved and decided to be purely selfish. So I made you a Night Bride.”

“And then you sent me away.”

“I didn’t deserve a mate either. And I knew you would begin to recognize the bond for what it was. But the weeks apart, knowing it would be final, I couldn’t stand it. So I swallowed my pride and came to grovel.”

Feyre sighed, laying her head on his chest. “I’m very glad you did, Rhys.”

He smiled against her hair, holding her a little tighter. “So am I, darling. So am I.”

~~~~~

Taglist:

@lulling-night-sky // @edgyellie // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @darling-archeron // @goddess-aelin // @the-lost-changeling // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @elentiya-whitethorn // @acotar-fanns // @jealousveronya // @acourtofwips // @reverie-tales // @gwynkyrie // @corcracrow // @thelovelymadone // @rosanna-writer // @toporecall //@popjunkie42-blog

[lem-argentum]

it took me until dt to change rudy's hairstyle, but i ACTUALLY think he would've cut it back in post-stb when he became a reaper. the trope of "character cuts hair to feel more in control of their life" is cliché but REAL. and also the visual of him cutting it with his scythe is fun

[mistythedritten]

What's your favorite writing piece that you're working on right now?

Hmmmm that’s a tough one. They are all my babies.

But I really like Share the Bounty. I think it’s because I’ve worked on it for so long, and it’s nearly finished.

Otherwise, it would have to be whatever fic I’m currently writing



[makethiscanon]

You guys who swoop in, mass-like my stories, then leave without a trace: I see you and I love you.

[biff-adventurer]

FFxivWrite2023 Prompt #18: A Fish Out of Water

“Th-There she is,” whispered Biff.

He nearly made to point with his finger, but his mindful friend gently caught his hand and returned it to his side. Biff, knowing not what else to do with it, tucked it behind his back. That was what mannerly folk did, right? He shifted a little, double checking his posture.

“Your Lady Greensleeves?” teased Haurchefant, a smile playing at his lips. “She is as lovely as you said she was. But are you certain you wish to proceed?”

“I have to try everythin’,” said Biff. “Ye don’t just throw a love like that away. I know she’ll remember. I can’t explain it, but… It was important to us. More than I can describe.”

Haurchefant looked as though he wanted to reply, but couldn’t find the words. Biff turned pink. Maybe it was stupid of him to keep trying. He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure of much of anything. He simply couldn’t make himself believe Ana’s words. She’d never said anything like that to him, and she’d never spoken to his family like that, either. Lowborn? Farm boy? Come up from the dirt… Those things never mattered to her. She’d said so herself. He’d made sure to ask, back then. But his kind friend wore his concern plainly, and it nudged free the doubts in Biff’s heart.

“Good luck to you,” said the good lord, finally. His smile shone warm, like the sun tempered by winter’s air. “If anything should come up, I promise to intervene at once.”

“You won’t have to,” Biff insisted. “I won’t make a fuss.”

Could he really keep that promise? He wasn’t sure. There wasn’t much time to doubt it. Haurchefant patted his back gently, encouraging Biff to begin. 

Enunciate, came Ever’s voice. Speak slowly. Lengthen your vowels.

“Hullo–Hello, my lady,” said Biff, stumbling before his long lost love. “Will ye–Would you–Could I have this dance?”

Ana de Pelderain met the question with a soft, red-lipped smile. The women who’d kept her company began to whisper from behind them.

“I would love to,” said Ana, placing her hand in his. “Lead the way.”

His heart pounded. He grinned as he escorted her, casting away his doubts of the weeks before. She drifted into his arms gracefully, her dainty waist in his square hand, her fingers entwined with his. Her emerald dress shone under the light of the grand chandelier. The color of La Noscea’s rolling hills, the color of the Shroud, the color of joy. It gleamed in her eyes just the way it always had when they were alone together. They moved lightly, though he heard not the music over the thunder in his chest. 

“You’ve always had such audacity,” chuckled Ana, looking to his shoulder. “Please don’t make me repeat those ugly things I said to you. It’s the truth and you must accept it.”

“Ye–You won’t… even let me… be your friend,” said Biff. “I worry… about you.”

“What on earth is that?”

“W-What?”

“That sound coming out of your mouth,” said Ana, wrinkling her little nose. “Smoothing your tongue is a parlor trick. It doesn’t change anything.”

His throat closed. Suddenly, her beauty was too brilliant to behold. “I ain’t tryin’ t’ trick ye, Ana. I just… I want ye t’ know I can change.”

“You’ll betray your true nature eventually. I mean, look who you’ve brought with you! The bastard of Fortemps? The audacity, I tell you.”

“He brought me,” said Biff. “An’ don’t call him that. It ain’t… It ain’t nice. An’ it ain’t like you.”

Ana huffed. “Even if I loved you back, do you think I’d leave my husband?”

“You don’t love that old codger.”

“I don’t love you, either.” The music slowed and the two parted. She curtsied, he bowed. “Get out of my sight.”

“But you promised–” He caught her fingers in his hand. He dared not squeeze. ‘Don’t ye remember our promise? I kept it. I was there. I waited fer you.”

“You shouldn’t have,” said Ana, drawing her hand away. “I had no intention of showing up, you buffoon. Now, bury that summer in the past and let me alone.”

He watched her walk away, unmoving. His whole body was a burden too heavy to bear. Or perhaps the pain in his heart throbbed in his every muscle. He couldn’t settle on which. It hurt too much. His legs wobbled. He could not feel his face. Then, there was the pull of a friend, escorting him off the floor. A wicked laugh rang in his ears, bouncing off the black walls of his mind. 

You’re stupid, plain-faced and lowborn. Like a popoto come up from the dirt! What would I want with a man like that? 

[heartsandmuses]

stb bingo round two roundup

AND BABY MAKES FOUR (N-3: “free space”) // read here

1.3k. rated t. bucky barnes/tony stark. a/b/o au. omega!bucky/alpha!tony.

Alpine’s affectionate, but usually not this affectionate.

She butts her head against Bucky’s arm when she needs attention, she nuzzles against his hand when she wants to be pet — but recently, she’s been doing something new. More and more often, whenever Bucky finds himself laying in bed or sprawled out on the couch, Alpine will come over and burrow under his shirt, curling up next to him.

He has to admit, it’s pretty cute when it first happens. It starts becoming strange the second time. And by the third, Bucky’s downright confused.

ARTIST’S STUDIO (O-2: “artist’s studio”) // read here

1.1k + mood board. rated g. steve rogers/tony stark.

“Tony,” Steve breathed, as he did another lap of the room, taking his time to admire the easel set up in one corner and the stacks of blank canvases by the window. There wasn’t any furniture in the quaint, cozy brownstone, at least not yet, but there were more than a few wooden crates overflowing with paint and brushes and sketchbooks lined up along the wall. “This is way too much.”

Tony just offered a casual wave of his hand. “Oh, c’mon, I’m sure you’ll use it all up eventually,” he said from his spot in the doorway, where he’d been taking in Steve’s reaction with a pleased grin. “You go through pencils quicker than you go through punching bags, no harm in having a little extra.”

Steve shook his head, gawking at the boxes of art supplies tucked away neatly just for him, still slightly overwhelmed by the sight of it all. Everything Steve had ever mentioned wanting, even in passing, was here, from a homey studio in the heart of Brooklyn to his favorite brand of watercolors, and while all of the thought that Tony had clearly put into this was very much appreciated—and heart-meltingly touching—Steve was having trouble wrapping his mind around the scale of it.

Over the course of their relationship, Tony had given him some pretty extravagant gifts, but nothing as big as a four-story art studio.

[lily-ohfally]

W.i.p

Here's a very small peek at the HaurcheLily fic I've been writing for like.. half a goddamn year with too many words, but I really enjoy this part as it established Lily during ARR-HW.

A path of stars ran through the sky, as if they were guiding something or someone towards a destination unknown to anyone but those who would walk it. An oddly comforting thought for Lily, having the feeling of knowing that someone out there too, didn’t know what their purpose was or where they were headed in life. The whole “Warrior of Light, Slayer of Primals” -thing was nothing he could have ever imagined would be tasked upon him, Lily, of all people in the world… He was just a lowly guy from the gutters of Ul’dah, he was just someone who wanted to earn more money to feed his family, working alongside the Ul'dahn merchants. He was just some guy, he wasn’t worthy of a title as grand as The Warrior of Light.

“Why me?”

He thought of himself as unworthy and undeserving of this love, so how was he going to be able to love someone else? Or maybe this was what he needed? Someone who loved him when he himself was unable to. Someone who could teach him how to love himself?

[fairyysoup]

please tell me part two of sever the blight eddie’s version is coming soon 🫶

[superblysubpar]

series masterlist | <- Prologue | Chapter 2 ->

chapter summary: As terror reigns in the food court when the Mind Flayer comes to collect, an old friend returns to Hawkins.

🎧 : tracks 02-12

7,615 words // my blog is 18+ // please see the masterlist for warnings - this chapter contains canon-typical gore, mentions of alcohol, blood, vomit, nausea, and parental death // spiderman divider made by @saradika-graphics

“Hey,” his voice cracks, the back of his hand wipes at his nose.

“Hey,” you echo, looking down at the duffel bag at your feet.

A trunk slams closed, knocked twice by your dad’s palm in case you didn’t hear it the first time.

When you look up, he’s smiling at Steve and that same palm is clapping him on the shoulder. “Hey, son, you coming with to the train station?”

Steve still hasn’t looked at you, and a mumbled, “No Sir,” and your mom’s unsubtle glare at your father and frantically waved hand from the porch makes him finally catch on.

“Oh, right…um…” he looks at his watch then you and Steve apologetically, “We gotta get going soon, kid, okay?”

“I know,” you nod along with the words and blink about a billion times to keep them at bay, but it doesn’t seem to be working.

Your dad squeezes Steve’s shoulder before he jogs up to the front steps and raises his hands in surrender to your mother, the pair ducking their heads and hissing whispered scolds and apologizes at each other that you try to ignore.

“Did you, um,” you clear your throat and kick the toe of your converse against the crack in your driveway, desperate to say anything impressive, lasting, monumental in terms of your feelings and the moment, but nothing seems right. “You…um…”

Steve doesn’t give you the chance anyways, stealing the air from your lungs when his arms wrap around you quickly, tightly, and like they have no intention of ever dropping. Yours move just as fast, wrapping around his waist and pressing you as close together as possible, your nose squished against his shoulder that dampens beneath your cheek.

He squeezes you harder, a shaky breath slips out of him as your fingers curl into his shirt, knowing what he’s about to do and you can’t stop it.

“Don’t,” he gasps, like speaking is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, he sniffles, and he lets you go, “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

“Steve-“ your tears slip further down your cheeks, turning the cement at his sneakers a darker gray.

His fingers press to his eyes as he quickly jogs down your driveway, a small shake of his shoulders, and then he’s around the corner and gone from your sight.

Your hand presses to your mouth, but the sob still escapes.

It’s all a blur after that.

The getting in the car, arriving at the station, the getting on the train and resting your temple against the cold glass of a window as your mother’s thumb soothes over your knuckles.

The town of Hawkins, Indiana turning more blurry each second, like it’s a distant and underwater memory, until it disappeared altogether.

Your eyes snap open as your forehead smacks the glass window, hard, as the brakes beneath the bus scream in protest at the sudden stop.

Simple Minds blares then fades from your ears and as you push down your headphones to just catch the driver’s apology.

“…‘Bout that. Looks like we got some kind of road closure, let me go see what’s going on folks.”

By folks, he means you and two other passengers who are rolling their own necks and rubbing at bleary eyes.

Around your neck, Simple Mind fades, whispers of We Belong tickle your ears as you look out the window.

At first, you just blink at what you see. A weary and anxious version of you stares back, one with frizzled hair and sunken skin under her eyes and stained and wrinkled clothing. The night beyond her too dark to make out more than the top of a tree line and the edge of a road sign. But then you catch the faint trail of dark clouds against the darker sky.

Not clouds, but a plume of smoke.

“Hawkins!” The driver’s voice whips you and your reflection’s attention to the front of the vehicle, not realizing you’ve stood while staring, hand now gripping the seat back in front of you so tightly, your knuckles hurt.

A uniformed soldier stands next to the driver, solemn faced and waiting.

The bus driver waves his hand at him and says, “Maybe you should have missed the bus, kid.”

“I’m sorry…” your finger slams the stop button on your walkman as you step into the aisle of the bus, “What’s going on?”

The bus driver rolls his fingers at you and your things, motioning you to pick up the pace so it seems as he sighs. “You’re getting off here, since your destination is Hawkins.”

The military man starts towards you, his boots heavy and thunking the whole way down to your seat ominously as the other two passengers just stare and don’t offer any of their help or even a reassuring smile.

“What do you mean I’m getting off here? What am I - hey don’t, what do you think you’re…” your tone sharpens as the uniformed soldier picks up your bags. Feeling as if you have no choice but to start following behind him as he walks back the way he came with each of your bags slung over his shoulders. “Excuse me? Where are you going with my things? Hello? What’s going on?”

“Some sort of fire or something blocking the road,” the driver’s tone attempting to assure you but doing the opposite as he adds on, “The military will escort you the rest of the way into Hawkins.”

“The military will…” you start, confused, as you’re basically shoved down the steps of the bus and you turn back to face your driver with wide eyes as your feet hit the road, “Why is the military in Hawkins?”

The driver snorts and just yells, “Good luck!” then the door slams closed in your face.

Your hands run through your hair as you watch the bus continue without you, watch as it turns down the road it’s directed towards instead of going straight - a blockade made out of olive and tan vehicles and accompanied by flashing blue and red lights in it’s original path.

“Miss,” a deep voice to your left makes you jump, a hand flies over your heart to settle it.

“Sorry,” the uniformed man apologizes, but his hand gestures to an open military Jeep, your bags in the back already as his brisk voice urges you, “I’ll be driving you to where you need to go.”

Your feet carry you a step towards him, seeing now that he can’t be much older than you.

“What’s going on? Why is the military here? Why…”

“The National Guard is usually called in for these sorts of things miss,” he encourages you forward with a gentle tug of your elbow, voice less severe and more soothing.

“These sorts…what? What happened?” You blink at him as he helps you take a step up into the jeep while holding your door open.

“Relief aid after a disaster, miss.”

“Relief aid after a disaster?” You clarify, certain you’d misheard him.

“Yes.”

Your hand stops him from closing the door as you frown, narrowing your eyes.

“What sort of disaster?”

“A fire,” he sighs, eyeing your hand, and you think he might honest to god be considering slamming the door anyways.

“The National Guard was called in to help after a fire?”

“A big one. Can you please-“

“Where?” You accuse, pointing to the smoke, “That’s not Hawkins. Why can’t we drive into Hawkins on the bus?”

“The mall just outside of town. The new bus route to Hawkins goes by the mall. There’s a stop there. Can we go now?”

He glares at your hand until you move it to your lap, then slams your door closed, like that’s all he’ll be saying on the matter.

Turns out, it was all he’d be saying period.

The entire twenty minute drive into town is silent after your several follow up questions go unanswered. And when he lets you out at your unlit and locked house, he quickly climbs back into the driver’s seat and goes back the way he came.

Your fingers brush your temple before they drop in a half-hearted salute as you scowl and mutter under your breath, “Protect and serve, alright.”

You’ve been awake for nearly twenty-four hours now, save for your nap on the bus that left you more unrested than rested. And now, standing on your front porch, no keys and no lights on and no car in the driveway, you’re beyond stressed, tired, and in need of a gallon of coffee and a hug from your mom.

As you stare up at the stars and think of some sort of plan - it dawns on you what day it is and why your parents might not be home. Your legs and back ache and beg you to sit as you make your way down the driveway once more, leaving your bags right there on the porch - nobody is going to steal your shit.

This is Hawkins.

The worse thing that’s ever happened here is when Sarah Gillespie’s mom had that owl fly into her hair in 5th grade.

As your feet bring you around the corner of Cornwallis, you see the big house at the end of the street is just as dark as your own.

There isn’t a line of cars down the block or kids playing with sparklers or running around with flashlights for night games. There’s no adults all boozed up and laughing around a bonfire, waiting for fireworks. No grill smoke in the air or splashes from the pool in the backyard.

Just one woman, mumbling to herself in a matching skirt and blouse as she yanks a large trunk down from the brick step to the curved walkway.

“See how you like it when I’m not here to buy the groceries, or take your car in for its wash, or pour your whiskey and tell you dinner’s ready you lying, cheating, son of-oh!”

Vivian Harrington’s hand jumps to her chest as she turns to see you next to her car. A mess of your old best friend’s hair and eyes and a few of the same freckles as she blinks at you for a few seconds and then gasps your name and envelopes you in a surprising hug.

Not so surprising though, when you smell brandy on her red lips as she takes the smallest of steps back and asks, “What on earth are you doing here sweetie?”

“I…” It’s a shock to hear her voice after so long, shocked that she’s still Mrs. Harrington, though a slightly more tipsy one, but maybe that was just naivety shielding you from that before, “I was looking for my parents. You didn’t have your party for the fourth?”

“Gosh,” she says, grunting again as she bends to pick up her luggage, offering you a charming smile when you pick it up easily for her. She wipes her brow before resting her hands on her hips to watch you with the next two matching bags. “Honey, I think they might still be at the carnival? Larry threw a whole big thing this year. And we haven’t had one of those parties in…four years? Five? Whenever…John,” she grits out his name before continuing, with a smile you can hear her teeth grinding in, “Started going to the office in Chicago more.”

She slams the trunk down as if it’s an axe and the closure a head.

A shiver drips down your back as she glares at the house.

“Chicago?”

“So he tells me,” she waves a hand and sniffles, dramatically, scrunching her nose as her forehead furrows in a way that you’re sure she’ll be pulling and tugging at in a mirror and fretting over later. “Anyways, that’s where John is and I,” she huffs as her heels sink in to the gravel over their driveway before she tugs open the driver’s door, “I will be in Michigan. At my sister’s house on the lake for the rest of the Summer.”

She makes a little oof noise as she misjudges the seat distance from her butt, righting herself and patting at her hair.

“Mrs. Harrington, are you…” you trail off, unsure if it’s really your place to ask her if she should be driving. Especially when she eyes you cooly and her tone is icy.

“Am I, what, dear?”

Your mouth clamps closed as your clammy fingers flex at your sides before they close the door for her.

“Um, before you go,” you force your best smile and polite tone, “Would you happen to know where Steve is?”

Her fingers turn the key and the car rumbles to life loudly as she squints her emerald eyes at the windshield.

“Work? Could be still at work I suppose probably not at this hour…maybe a date? The carnival perhaps? I never know anymore with him, he’s very…moody, lately.”

“Moody?” You ask, your smile turning into a frown.

“God, yes,” she moans and leans out the open car window, forehead in her palm as she stage whispers to you, like she’s told this secret to everyone, “Just sits out by that pool but never swims in it anymore. Ever since that Wheeler girl broke up with him. It’s honestly been a terrible time trying to fix it all. I mean, I’m well respected, as you know, but there’s only so much I can say and do, you understand?”

“Su…sure,” you nod along like you know what she’s talking about and she reaches out and grabs your hand and gives it a squeeze.

“You’re welcome to wait here for him if you like, I’m sure he’ll not be too long and he can give you a ride to look for your parents? I would, but…”

When she trails off and smiles at you, you take a step away from her car, message clear.

“Thank you, Mrs. Harrington, drive-“ She’s already halfway down the driveway, fingers waggling out the open window as you finish, “Safely,” with a wince of your shoulders as she nearly takes out the mailbox.

Your shoulders fall as the taillights burn red, then disappear and the quiet night returns. A pricey perfume lingers in the air and floats on the warm Summer breeze. An owl hoots as you sit on the brick doorstep and lean your head against the post, wondering what in the world you’re going to say to him.

Originally, you thought you’d have so much more time to prepare. Thought on the bus ride from New York to Chicago you’d think of something. When you didn’t, you were sure from Chicago to home you would. And even then, you were supposed to be home - supposed to see your parents, sleep in your childhood room and wake up to pancakes with a smiley face made out of bacon and whipped cream before attempting to go find Steve.

And why hadn’t your parents told you about the carnival? They were expecting you, shouldn’t they have been home? Though your dad can’t pass up a corndog, so maybe they just lost track of time. It’ll be fine. Once Steve is home, you’ll…

“You’ll what?” Question muttered under your breath as your head falls into your palms, elbows resting on your bent knees. “Hey Steve, remember me? No? Cool, can I have a ride home?”

A frustrated laugh and groan slip past your lips as you knock your head against your knees and fight off the urge to scream. You know it’s not reasonable to think he wouldn’t remember you at all, his mother did and who knows how much she’d had to drink.

But you know it’ll be weird. Know you’re both very different people than the ones who saw each other last. Know you’ve had lives outside of one another for a very long time.

You’ve gone to school and graduated. Had jobs. Dated, and thensome, multiple people in the years it’s been. He probably made new friends. Has a social life you don’t fit in to anymore - that was already becoming clear the last time you were here.

The words ‘that Wheeler girl’ and ‘moody’ make your teeth scrape against your bottom lip, cheek to your knee as your back rests against the post and you keep your eyes on the end of the driveway, waiting.

The sound of loud, dragging footsteps makes your eyes pinch closed harder before they start to flutter open. Your mouth is dry and your back and neck may be permanently curved from the crouched position you had been sitting in for -

Every bone in your body protests in the snap of you standing upright, blinking at the dark blue sky just starting to turn lighter, pale pink brushed across the top of the trees. The sound of birds chirping barely breaking through the cotton in your ears until you hear a low, deep laugh that pulls your attention to the end of the driveway.

A boy who looks familiar and yet not at all is walking up his driveway. Longer than you’ve ever seen it brown locks all pushed back in a futile attempt as strands fall over his forehead when he smiles at -

“Oh fuck,” you whisper to yourself and blink your eyes closed then open as your tongue wets your lip and you wonder how the hell you’re going to explain just hanging out at his doorstep as he’s showing up with a girl after being gone all night long and -

Your stomach clenches at the sound of his voice, clearer as he gets halfway up the drive.

“That asshole better have my car in the driveway by tomorrow, is all I’m saying, okay?”

Steve’s got his arm slung around the girl’s shoulders, her’s around his waist as they walk slowly, like they need help themselves, but they’re supporting the others weight too. She stifles a yawn with a free hand before speaking.

“I just think you need to sort out your priorities and also…”

The girl’s voice is a little raspy, tinged with sarcasm and sleep as she trails off when she looks up and spots you.

Steve looks at her, the same furrowed lines his mom had hours ago forming on his forehead and the corners of his mouth curved down in a frown when his gaze leaves her eyes to follow their line to you.

He stands up straighter, his arm lingers against her but then falls limply at his side as he takes a step towards you. He scuffs his heels over the loose gravel of the walk and blinks at you.

Steve’s entire body is one big bruise from what you can see, the worst of it all being one of his eyes swollen and dark purple, his lip split fairly fresh from the way the red on his chin and cheek are so stark against his tan skin. His hands go to the top of his head, all of his knuckles broken, blue and purple or dried maroon and the gesture makes his shirt that’s covered in something that looks like a foul mixture of puke, blood, and something slimy lift, exposing the faintest line of skin and dark hair that disappears into his very short shorts.

It all makes your stomach burn and your chest feel so tight when he swallows and he just keeps staring at you. Part of you wants to find whoever did this and strangle them with your bare hands and the other part of you is…well you don’t know what it is except confusing, and all you can think to say is:

“What are you wearing?”

The girl’s laugh barks out of her in one short burst before her hands slap over her mouth. Until she’s letting them drop and saying, “Steve? Steve!” As he takes off in a run.

His shoulder slams into the gate of his backyard as you and the girl run after him, only skidding to a stop on his back patio as he falls directly into his pool, fully clothed.

Turquoise water illuminated by the underwater lights splashes up and out over the lips of the pool as his body sinks to the bottom. A dark blue Adidas hits the bottom and pushes him back up forcefully, his body shaking as he gasps loudly when his head breaks the surface of the water.

“Fuck! Shit! Oh my god this hurts!”

“Yeah no shit, Harrington! You’re covered in cuts and you just dived into chlorine!” The girl throws her hands up into the air.

Steve’s hands push him up and out of the pool so he can roll out of it ungracefully. He lays with his back against the cement, chest heaving while he keeps his eyes closed.

When he opens them again, he looks at you, then stands with difficulty it seems. Water drips off of his outfit, it curls his hair behind his ears, and pools in his cupid’s bow.

He swipes at his eyes, wincing, and blinks at you but talks to the other girl, “Rob-Robin,” he shivers through the words, teeth clicking together, “You see her too, right? I’m not…this isn’t like a weird dream, right?”

The girl, Robin, looks at you, then Steve, “Yeah, I see her. Who’s…her?”

“I’m-“ Your voice breaks when he gasps out your name in a barely choked back sob.

He falls forward, head landing heavily on your shoulder as his body curls into yours, while shaking fingers grip your shirt at your hips and he just sobs. Cool pool water and his warm breath compete to make you shiver as you run a hand over his spine.

Your eyes widen as they stare over his shoulder at the girl who’s watching him with as much worry as you feel. It’s a whisper against his temple, and it’s all you can think to say, “Hey, stranger.”

His sob rattles your chest as he holds you tighter, like he has no intention of letting you go.

Steve’s staring at you.

And, to be fair, you guess he doesn’t really have anywhere else to look and you’re staring at him too.

“Take a picture,” you soak another piece of cotton with alcohol as you whisper, “It’ll last longer.”

“Sorry,” he clears his throat as he looks down at the floor then immediately back up into your eyes. His one good eye bounces between yours before his tongue pokes at the cut that just won’t quit on his lip as his adam’s apple bobs and he says, “You shouldn’t have come back.”

The words make you flinch, just barely, but enough for the cotton next to his eyebrow to nudge against his skin just a little too hard.

“Shit,” he hisses, grabbing the hem of your shirt and tugging while his lips pout, and he whines, “That’s not what I meant. Don’t attack me.”

Your eyes roll as your fingers go back to tenderly swiping over him, being more gentle with him than you would an egg you don’t want to crack just yet. Each second you slowly patch him up a new discovery about the boy you don’t really know anymore reveals itself in forms of facial hair, freckles you’ve never seen, something that smells an awful lot like your mom’s hairspray, and eyes that haven’t changed one bit aside from almost swallowing his pupils whole because they’re so dilated.

“Glad to see you’re still a dramatic baby,” your voice is as soft as the touch of your fingers against his jaw. Your pulse quickens when he leans his weight into the hold more, his eyelashes fluttering while you turn his eyebrow into the light. “Maybe if you sat still and kept your mouth shut for more than two seconds I could finish this.”

“I like her,” Robin’s voice rises with the steam from behind the closed white shower curtain directly across from the counter Steve is leaning against. Her words breaking up the quiet ‘Never-Ending Story’ theme she had previously been humming.

Not for the first time tonight you wonder, a) if Steve didn’t have something to lean against, would he collapse, and b) how long Robin and Steve have been dating.

You still aren’t sure what is going on. Why they are so beat up. Why Robin didn’t want to shower alone or why the silence seemed to make Steve crazy until his shoulders relaxed when you suggested turning the stereo in his room on. The voices and music of Journey faintly coming from the other room as Robin threw clothes over the shower curtain and Steve spread his legs for you to stand between while he dripped pool water all over the white tiles. All mumbled apologies as knees and thighs bumped, as his hand squeezed at you whenever you started on a new injury.

Like now, as some sort of healing ointment rolls over his brow and his fingers dig into your hip. Your murmured sorry lost as he frowns at the air and sarcastically asks, “Oh do you? Nobody asked for a comment from the peanut gala Buckley.”

“Gallery,” Robin and you say together.

Steve’s frown turns more pout and you sigh when his lip starts bleeding again. He holds an arm over his stomach, fingers twitching at his ribs when you carefully place a bandage over his brow.

“I’m pretty sure it’s gala.”

Your thumb gently swipes over his lip with a towel, his gasp warm against your nose as you lean in to inspect it.

“Dingus,” Robin’s sigh more dramatic than his, “Please, I have to hear, why you’re so certain it’s gala. Peanut gala? Why would peanuts be going to a gala?”

“Oh,” he speaks around you trying to get his lip to stop bleeding, a useless attempt since he won’t stop moving, “And gallery makes so much more sense? At least mine gives Mr. Peanut a reason to wear his top hat and coat and eyeglass thingy.”

“Monocle,” you offer quietly, taking his hand from your elbow and assessing the damage to his knuckles. “And I don’t think peanut gallery is about Mr. Peanut at all.”

Steve’s hand pulls out of your hold, his fingers curl under your jaw and nudge it up, so you’ll look at him. He shakes his head no. “You shouldn’t have come back. Why’d you come back? Why are you here?”

Your pulse races, far too close to his fingers, and you wonder if he can feel it. Wonder if he can see it in your eyes how scared you are and how brave you’re trying to be.

“Why shouldn’t I be here?”

He seems to think you thought he meant here, at his home, and not Hawkins, because his jaw clenches as his thumb taps at your chin and you wonder if he even realizes he’s still holding your face.

“I didn’t say you shouldn’t be here. I asked why you’re here. Because,” he laughs, he shakes his head like he can’t really believe it, “I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around it. And sure, I’m not the smartest guy around and I took some pretty hard hits tonight, but even I know that it’s weird for a girl, one who I haven’t spoken to in over three years, to have been here, sitting at my doorstep, waiting for me, and is now patching me up like…like…”

“Yeah?” Your voice cracks as tears threaten to spill over your lash line. Body too hot as steam from the shower clings to your skin and anger starts to boil over inside of you. “Well I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around why that boy who doesn’t understand why the girl, one who he used to call his best friend until he stopped calling her and never once came to visit her, started sobbing when he saw her and is covered in injuries he won’t explain!”

“I’m sorry,” Steve laughs, and stands up, toe to toe with you as he looks down his nose and huffs a breath out of it, hand letting go of your face to grab your shoulders and shake, “But when he stopped calling her? And yeah, I didn’t visit! Because you stopped visiting, because-“

“I only stopped calling because it was embarrassing!” You shout at him, shoving his chest and watching his face twist in pain when you do.

Steve gasps and you swipe the tears falling down your cheeks away as you both glare at each other. He rubs his hand over his chest and side with a grimace.

“Take off your shirt.”

He shakes his head no.

“Take off your shirt right now Harrington or I swear to god I’ll-“

“You’ll what!?” He pouts at you.

Your fingers tug at the hemline of his shirt, yanking at it as you grumble, “Still so fucking stubborn, I can’t stand you-“

He swats at your hands and grumbles right back, “I can’t stand you…”

His name is gasped out of you as you get his shirt up and over his ribs. He gives up, arms falling limply at his sides as you continue to pull at the shirt until it’s around his neck. He stares at you, both of you not saying a word but understanding as he slowly raises his arms with a wince and you pull the fabric carefully over his head.

It falls at your feet as tears fill your eyes, your fingers brush over purple and red splotched and angry skin. Steve flinches as your fingers glide over his collarbone, hands instinctively going to your hips again and squeezing. Goosebumps rise to the surface of his skin as your tears fall down your cheeks once more.

“Hey,” he whispers, he pulls you into his chest, one that you can’t believe is covered in dark hair. Arms that ripple with muscles you’ve never seen circle around your waist as he mumbles into your hairline, “I’m okay. I’m fine.”

Your nose presses to his neck, dragging against his skin as you shake your head no and pull away from him.

“You tell me who did this right now.”

Steve stares at you and then he runs his hands through his hair and closes his eyes.

A throat is cleared and you jump, hand over your eyes as Robin’s voice cracks behind the curtain, “Sorry, didn’t really know when to break that up, but I’m getting pretty cold in here…”

Neither of you had heard the water turn off, or noticed the mirror was growing far less foggy during your screaming match. Steve’s cheek blossom pink as he throws a towel over the curtain.

Your arms cross over your chest as Steve’s do the same while she pulls the shower curtain back.

Robin smiles shyly at you and then looks at Steve.

“You got cocoa?”

His brows furrow together and he looks at her like she’s crazy when he asks, “What?”

“Hot cocoa,” she clarifies, holding the towel to her chest and then walking into his bedroom.

She starts pulling open drawers until she finds what she’s looking for. When you both just stare at her, she whistles and turns her fingers for you to spin.

Steve rolls his eyes but does as she asks and you do the same. A towel drops and clothes slip over skin while the radio plays quietly.

“Conversations like this are always easier with cocoa, I think,” she says, much closer now and you turn to find her digging around in his drawers for a comb, a sweatshirt and shorts on.

Steve hands her one as he asks, “Conversations like this?”

Robin shrugs her shoulders, looking at you in the mirror as she detangles wet hair easily and mumbles, “Understand why you got your nickname now. Top tier products, dingus. I approve.”

He rolls his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, “Robin. Focus.”

“Right, well she,” Robin nods her head back towards you, “Wants to know about all of this,” she gestures to all of Steve’s face and bruised body with a hand. “Christ, you’re hairy. And after tonight, I think I deserve to be filled in on quite a bit, don’t you? So. Cocoa? Marshmallows?”

The way Robin raises her eyebrows at Steve and doesn’t leave much room for arguing has you rolling your shoulders back and asking him, “Your mom still keep that fancy cinnamon kind on the top shelf in the back of the pantry?”

Steve’s a terrible story-teller.

He paces while he talks, he gestures with his hands and leaves sentences hanging in the air as he waits for you to fill in gaps he doesn’t quite remember or know all the details of himself. He asks you to give him a second when he sips his own cocoa and closes his eyes trying to remember things, rubbing at his Hawkins Phy Ed sweatshirt while he thinks. Steve bounces around in a non-linear, confusing timeline order that has you and Robin asking question after question and him clenching his jaw and telling you that, “He’s getting there, alright?”

And none of it makes any sense. None of it.

Not Will Byers going missing but not missing. Not the spray paint on the theater and Nancy Wheeler sleeping but not sleeping with Jonathan Byers. Not the dinner with Barb’s parents and oh yeah his party with the pool and Nancy and Barb going missing afterwards. Not the supernatural dogs that are actually lizards. Not the gray fleshy human not human that he hit with a baseball bat full of nails while Jonathan and Nancy set it on fire in a bear trap and the Christmas lights talked to Joyce Byers. Not the world that’s somehow underneath you but not anymore because the gate, whatever the fuck that is, is closed. Not the girl with superpowers who doesn’t have superpowers anymore though, you guess.

Because that’s what Steve thinks, now, caught up to tonight and the few days leading up to it. He’s just finished telling you about the creature, the giant thing made out of people that destroyed the mall and caused the so called “fire” the National Guard was called in for.

Your name is barely heard through the ringing in your ears as you frantically search his entryway for keys.

His hand shakes your shoulder, hard, and you stop, blinking tears away as he asks you, “What are you doing?”

“Keys,” you gasp, fingers rubbing at your eyes, “I need your car keys. I need to go home, I-“

Steve shakes his head, “I don’t have my car. They had to keep it to sweep it for bugs and explosives and-“

Your head shakes as you rip your shoulder from his hold and yank his front door open. Heartbeat thudding in your ears in time with the soles of your sneakers against the pavement as you run down his driveway.

Sprinklers tick on lawns and mowers wave to you as you run down the street. The town of Hawkins oblivious to what’s been happening underneath them, around them, oblivious that their loved ones could be gone, could be in danger.

Your stomach heaves at the thought, anger with yourself fueling your sprinting legs to go even faster. How could you stay at Steve’s so long? Why’d you go there in the first place? What if-

Your feet only slow when you reach your house.

The driveway still sits empty.

Your bags still rest on the porch.

A sob rips out of you as you run around to the back of the house and search the ground. A large rock hits your fingers, and you don’t think twice about grabbing it and throwing it at your back door.

Your hand pushes through the shards of glass as you unlock the door and push it open.

Steve finds you on the ground, clutching your stomach and screaming, chemical bottles open and drained on the tiles around you, bags of your mother’s gardening soil ripped open on the table and his stomach heaves.

He pulls you into his chest and tries to get you stop, pressing his nose to your cheek and rocking you as he pleads, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, you have to stop. You have to stop screaming. Please be quiet, don’t-“

Your hands shove at his chest as you scramble over your bags and boxes that had been shipped a week prior, left in the entryway unopened.

“Get away from me,” you sob, rushing to the stairs as you yell, frantic, “Mom! Dad!”

Photos of you and them stare back at you each skipped step up the staircase as you turn on the lights with shaking fingers and beg the universe for this to be some sick and twisted nightmare. When you push open their bedroom door and find the bed unslept in Steve says your name softly, behind your shoulder.

Your hands shove at him when you turn to face him, smacking at his chest and hoping it hurts as you sob, “Why didn’t you check on them! Why didn’t you call me!”

Steve’s eyes fill with tears, “I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone! I shouldn’t have even told you! I could get in a lot of trouble, I could-“

“We have to call the police, we have to call-“

Steve shakes your shoulders, begging you to listen to him. “We can’t. Hopper knew. He’s dead. There’s nobody else to tell. The government already knows. It is the government.”

“Why’d you stop writing to me! Why didn’t you come with them to visit! Why didn’t you…you…” Your hands shove at him harder, tears and snot all over your face as your fight drains out of you. Anger turns to grief turns to hatred turns to hopelessness in seconds within you, not even knowing what to be the most upset about anymore.

“You stopped coming back,” Steve chokes out, grabbing your hands and pulling you towards him slowly. “Because every time I ran into your dad at the store and he asked me if I wanted to come over for dinner I knew I had to say no because I’d feel like a loser. Coming over here and pretending I was a part of your family still, knowing you didn’t want that anymore. Would have to pretend like the pictures of you and hearing about how much better your life was in New York wasn’t killing me because you didn’t need me or Hawkins anymore, okay?”

He falls to the ground with you in his arms as you sob, clutching his shirt in your fingers and pressing your screams to his chest so they’re muffled.

“I’m sorry,” he sniffles into your hairline as his arms squeeze around you tighter and he presses his cheek to the top of your head. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

The key to your dad’s Bronco swings loosely from your fingers as you hop up the step to the door and tap your knuckles against it.

When he doesn’t answer, you let yourself in and close the door softly behind you as you glance up the stairs.

Music plays loudly from the cracked door of his bedroom and when you hear his voice singing along, you lift the camera from around your neck and start fiddling with the settings, pulling the shutter back as you climb the staircase quietly.

As you peek through the ajar door, you find Steve in front of his mirror, twirling a can of Farrah Fawcett spray in the air while his other hand runs through damp, not wet, hair, before he catches the can in the air and sprays twice.

Then, he sings directly into the can and you snap a picture of it.

He spins at the sound of your laugh and frowns at the held aloft camera in his face.

“Please,” you smile timidly at him as your shoulder rests against the doorframe and the toe of your sneaker nudges the door open wider. “Don’t stop the performance on my account.”

Steve quickly presses the power button on his stereo and picks up a vest from his desk chair. His cream colored shoulders slip into the maroon vest and your lips twitch at the coincidence of the song and outfit he’s chosen today.

“They don’t knock in New York?” He asks, pulling on a pair of Nikes. Lacing them up and avoiding your gaze as he looks around the room, eyes landing on a sheet of paper and nodding his head, like he’s reminding himself of its location.

“Oh they do,” you shrug your shoulders, “ S’why I left.”

“Ha-ha,” he bites his cheek when he stands, hands finding a home on his hips, “So what’s up? Why are you here?”

Something in your chest tightens at the question, especially when he grabs the sheet of paper and looks at you with a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes and adds, “Don’t you have work?”

Your head shakes no, as you beg yourself to say something, anything, to let him know how sorry you are. To let him know even an ounce of how you’ve been feeling lately. But nothing seems right and it’s selfish to want to have this conversation right now, so you just say, “I start on Monday. Wanted to come say good luck on the interview today.”

He sighs, cheeks and tips of his ears pink as he walks past you out of his room and down the stairs. “Thanks.”

“Family Video, right?” Your tone forced into something light and pleasant as you follow him. “Sounds like a good gig.”

Steve snorts as he grabs his car keys from the table. “Yeah, okay.”

He holds his front door open for you as he walks out it and you follow with a confused, “You don’t think so?”

“No, I do,” he locks the door behind him, shoulders staying up at his ears even after the shrug of them is over, “I just don’t think you, the newest photo journalist and first female one at The Hawkins Post, actually thinks being a clerk at Family fucking Video is a good gig.”

“Well, I do, and that’s all I wanted to say so…” your sweating fingers fiddle with the key as you try to catch his gaze and smile at him, deciding that everything you actually wanted to say isn’t worth it, not when you’re not even sure he’ll want to listen to you. “Good luck, Harrington.”

Your back turns to him as your hand waves pathetically when you start down to his mailbox and Robin Buckley bikes up his driveway.

She smiles at you and hops off her bike, “Hey! How are you?”

“I’m good, good…” your tongue licks over your bottom lip as you squint from the sun at her friendly smile, shielding your eyes with your hand, “Good luck on the interview, today.”

“Thanks!” She turns to Steve behind you, “Ready, Dingus?”

He must nod or something because she waves at you and starts guiding her bike up the rest of the driveway.

When you hop into your dad’s car and turn the key in the ignition, the cassette you’d been playing starts blaring loudly. Your fingers curl around the steering wheel as you inhale then exhale, trying to find the courage to face another day without them and without the Steve you desperately needed, but weren’t even sure existed anymore.

Things weren’t the way they had been with you two, maybe they wouldn’t ever be that way again.

Your head smacks the roof of the car when Steve says your name at your open window, breathlessly.

He winces as your hand rubs at your temple and the other turns the stereo down.

“Sorry, but do you…” he swallows and crosses his arms, uncrosses them and shoves his hands in his front pockets and rocks back on his heels.

“Do I…?” You offer, heart thudding in your chest when Steve looks up from where his sneaker kicks at the gravel and smiles at you.

“Would you um, if I get this job, I’ll get free rentals, and I was just thinking that maybe we could, if you wanted to, have a movie night this Friday? Grab a pizza or something and…talk?”

“Yeah,” you clear your throat and sniffle, blinking your eyes about a billion times and telling yourself to just wait until he’s gone to start crying. “Yeah, I’d really like that.”

“Cool,” he smiles around the word. A real one. One that meets his eyes.

“Cool,” you echo with your own smile.

Steve taps the roof of the Bronco twice and it makes something in your chest tighten and melt at the same time. He hooks a thumb over his shoulder and starts walking backwards, “Well I should…”

“Right, yeah, good luck,” you tell him again, yelling it out the open window.

Steve smiles at you once more and then jogs up to his car, whistling along to the song playing out of your car. Robin stands at the door on the passenger side of his BMW, pretending not to watch but blatantly watching while Steve says something you can’t hear. His arms held out in a gesture that seems to say, ‘what?’ ,before he’s clapping and motioning for her to get in the car. Even from this distance you can see her eyes roll.

Your smile is barely hidden, bottom lip squished between your teeth.

Maybe things not being like they were between you two will be a good thing.

Change is inevitable, and time will keep ticking by whether you’re ready for it to or not.

[plounce]

rob plounce's ffxiv fic reclist

this will update as i continue to find stuff i enjoy. (it also exists as a page on my desktop blog!)

disclaimer: this is just stuff i’ve read that i’ve enjoyed! i have my own favorite characters and pairings, so my reclist skews heavily towards those. i’m not super into in wolshipping, so there won’t be much of that, sorry! i have not read everything in every pairing and character tag, so don’t take this as a comprehensive guide. these are just things that i liked and think are worth reading.

fics are noted with wordcount, pairing (or as gen), and rating (e = explicit). * means it's been recently added to the list.

spoilers ahoy!

scions

*flight of an anorak (17k+, G) gen - urianger childhood backstory fic with transfem urianger! incredibly well-characterized urianger narration. breaks my heart and brings a smile to my face with every update.

lost and found (8.8k, T). gen, light moenuri - you know how moenbryda’s parents basically adopted urianger after they basically abandoned him? this fic is about that. also urianger autism :)

while eating (2.2k, G) gen - more baby autistic urianger with bastard parents. sob. at least moenbryda’s parents are there.

foster (1k, G) gen - pre-canon, thancred overhears fourchenault and louisoix talking about him.

second impression (4.8k, T) gen - fourchenault is a bit more of a classist bastard than in canon and is a dick to thancred, but gets past it. mostly. thancred does his best.

the stars in their abundance (2.7k, T) gen - pre-canon from the perspective of g'raha’s mom in corvos!

cross (1.1k, G) gen - minfilia and thancred clean up the mess of thancred’s possession.

your song, carried onwards (4.9k, G) gen - thancred’s rescue of alisaie from the WoD in the hvw patches.

a stranger in the woods (4.3k, E) thancred/marcechamp - you know, the guy from tailfeather in heavensward? they hook up. thancred gets taken care of.

dust in your eyes (8.8k, T). background ships include wolchefant, wolcred, and haurchefant/urianger, but is mostly about thancred being a sad bastard who is always too slow, too late, and trying to be his best self but not totally succeeding. and haurchefant being a great guy. good character stuff.

how massive is the spirit in us (2.2k, G) gen - ryne character introspection… makes my heart hurt.

testing the waters (1.8k, G) gen - thancred teaches ryne to swim.

the shimmering light (2k, G) gen, light thanuri - urianger settling into the bookman’s shelves. fun il mheg worldbuilding.

almost crystal, almost ascian (10k, T) gen - minfilia and the exarch meet up a few times over the course of a century. their parallelisms. the horror of being “minfilia.”

off the hook, provisionally (974, G) gen - y'shtola talks to the exarch in the wake of 5.0 about his deception.

among the shelves (5k, G). gen - the twins and ryne hang out and talk about the other scions.

portentous news (842, G) gen - urianger’s first morning on the moon in the middle of endwalker.

adventures in unlikely friendship (23k, T) gen - wol+cred friendship! i really like these. the bozja one is delightful. passively-suicidal bestiessss

void parsley sojourn (4k, T) gen, light thanuri - urianger hotboxes the rising stones. very charming depiction of urianger as a weed nerd. makes me laugh and smile every time i read it!

there is (maybe) an ascian among us (11k, T) gen, minor side pairings - post-endwalker, the scions try to get to the bottom of a conspiracy about thancred, who just wants to grill for gods sake! comedy.

two scions walks into a bar… (26k, T) gen, but eventually thanuri - a series where the author intended to just analyze and write about thancred & urianger’s relationship as gen, but then slid into shipping lmao. covers ARR-early STB with a bit of post-SHB. great character work for both of them!

respite, despite (25k, T) thanuri - urianger pining from pre-5.0 to the close of endwalker… good pining, good urianger misery, good romance. wagh!

erasing all the lines in the sand (30k, E) thanuri - mutual pining, miscommunication, coparenting! bookman’s shelves fic.

(in parantheses) (9.9k, M) thanuri - thancred's rescuing of minfilia, time in the first, and the mental stress that emet-selch gives him due to ascian trauma during shadowbringers. also getting together with urianger.

sleepy-eyed soldier (4.6k, M) thanuri - elidibus puppetting ardbert's body brings thancred’s ptsd over having his body used by lahabrea roaring back to the surface in the form of nightmares and hypervigilance. (mind the CWs)

trouble in paradise (2.3k, E) thanuri - transfem urianger!!!! :D :D :D great kind-of-an-asshole thancred character work. hurting each other but trying to fix it.

sole conundrum (412, G) thanuri - pre-edw garlemald scouting mission. urianger autism :D

three of swords reversed (3.2k, T) thanuri, moenuri - urianger dealing with grief over moenbryda and thancred in the later half of endwalker.

another sunrise (5.8k, T) thanuri - post-edw wanderings - urianger deals with a mystery, sudden solitude, and a crisis of doubt! ends happily.

take root in this barren soil (and grow back stronger) (7.4k, E) thanuri - thancred shares what the training regimen of a sharlayan spy entails, not expecting urianger to react so strongly.

to wander is a dream (46k, M) thanuri - post-edw. i don’t tend to enjoy hanahaki fics but this fic is so so so good. thancred being an emotionally stunted asshole, urianger being the world’s most beautiful martyr (for better or for worse), lots of fae stuff, both of them struggling to not be repressed.

why do we forbear? (9.3k, E) thanuri - modern au fake dating, which would usually not appeal to me but this one’s real cute. (currently unfinished)

*to care for those we love (11k, T) ryne and her parents, thanuri - ryne drags thancred to the bookman’s shelves and does her best to administer first aid in urianger’s absence. each chapter is from one of the trio’s pov - i’m usually not super into 1st person, but this fic uses it really effectively in imparting each character’s mindset. it’s very sweet!

ancients

on call (2.5k, T) hythades - emet-selch goes out of town, and hyth is asked to step in for a soul-seeing duty. and he futzes with emet-selch’s office.

mail run (840, G) hythades - “A young archival intern keeps finding completely legitimate reasons to do all the deliveries to a very specific Bureau of the Architect clerk. For no reason at all.” young love!

as stars to a sky (1.8k, T) hythades - little vignettes about life in the pre-sundered world.

the seat of destruction (13k, M) hythades - canon-divergent au where hythlodaeus is the one to take the seat of emet-selch, and the sundering still happens. my favorite ascian!hyth work.

affective memory (9.3k, T) hythades - pov from the shade of hythlodaeus as he wanders around emet-selch’s reconstructed amaurot.

for good health and opportunity (14k, T) pre-emetexarch - emet-selch visits the crystal exarch numerous times over the course of a century. frenemies!

other characters

“nero tol scaeva did nothing wrong”… (5k, G) gen - a bunch of job npcs try to arrest nero for driving without a license. goes about as well as you might think.

biohazard (1.1k, G) gen - nero hates valens’ ass. not because he has “morals” or anything he just thinks valens is a dogshit project manager.

left in the dust (3.9k, T?) cidnero - ARR nero finds amnesiac marques working in the lichyard. miserable little man.

adrift in memory’s fog (16k, T) cidnero - cid’s frequent bouts of amnesia have led to a patchy memory - enough where he forgets that he and nero were betrothed as teenagers. (trans cid!)

the troubled envoy (1.3k, T) gen - maxima’s diary entries during the stormblood patches, including his thoughts on his weird boss.

the last abandonment (1.9k, M) gen - maxima wanders the ruins of garlemald and reflects on his time in the garlean left. by the same author as above - i really rec all their maxima fics.

this cathedral where your face stains the windows (2k, G) ysayle/igeyrohm - “Someone had to teach Ysayle summoning.” great ysayle heresy stuff + toxic yuri.

this blessed day (80k, M) gen - lucia’s journey from a captured garlean spy to aymeric’s right hand. lucia……

cadavre exquis (6.4k, T) gen - emmanellain helps pack up haurchefant’s things at camp dragonhead ft ishgardian homophobia and an underground queer zine scene.

the lantern jar (19k, T) cirisadu - OH MY GODDDDDDDDDDD. this fic is so good. cirina and sadu growing close. lots of development of steppe spiritual traditions and beliefs.

duet (13k, T) estivrtra - estinien encourages vrtra to live more fully as a dragon. cool dragon stuff.

a view of you (14k, M) estivrtra - estinien gets fatally wounded, and vrtra keeps him alive via a great sacrifice (sadly unfinished, but what’s there is a great read)

veteran advisor (15k, E) vrtra/estinien/gaius - really great gaius character work here where he and allie are on vacation in radz-at-han, and the impact that has on both of them. but also? it's mostly about big!varshahn getting railed. good for him!

this home wrested forth (2.5k, T) gen - sidurgu from DRK quests and alaqa from WHM quests meet up and deal with some gridanian wrongdoing.

a fervent desire (111k+, E) sanson/guydelot - an incredibly in-depth retelling of the BRD quests. great work developing these characters and giving them really in-depth motivations!

and love you shall find (9.8k, E) sanson/guydelot - BRD quests, but what if sanson journals as an accommodation for short-term memory loss?

[starfall-spirit]

In that awkward position where I’m missing the vibes of my discontinued fic and want to reopen it, but have absolutely no plot ideas.

[smallturtlebomb]

(old) !!!MASTERPOST!!!

Yo my name is smallturtlebomb but u can just call me STB. I’m here to post abt my art, hyperfixations, fics, my ships, and random stuff. I’m gender-fluid (but typically prefer they/them pronouns). And I’m omnisexual. I am also a MINOR so please for the love of god, dont send anything weird.

My carrd:

Roleplay Blogs:

@c0m1c-c0llecter (Odyn from the last ronin)

@n0-1sc0ttp1lgr1mfan (ML my tmnt oc)

@s3a-sc3n3-k1ng (Akira my tmnt oc)

@s0ur-fl0wer (Mina my tmnt oc)

@th30r1z3r (Rae my tmnt oc)

@gradient-orange (My version on Michelangelo!!)

Right now I’m obsessing over: tmnt (mostly rise), dungeon meshi, monkey wrench, regretavator , splatoon, and a bunch more…

Tags:

#stb/smallturtlebombart

#stb/smallturtlebombwriting

#stb/smallturtlebombyapping

#stb/smallturtlebombrp

#stb/smallturtlebombaskbox

#stb/smallturtlebombfanart

100 dtiys!!! ^_^ (no time limit)

DNI: basic dni, transphobia, homophobia, heavy nsfw, proshipping, incest, pedophilia, zoophiles, ableism, racism, sexism, just people who are mean and weird like that...

oc lore thingys:

How the Mad Dogz met TLND

ML’s backstory.

AU’S:

New Generation (rottmnt bad future au)

Voice claims for the Mad Pupz and L.I.T.A.

Splatwrench (mw x splatoon):

no info yet

Turtlewrench (mw x rottmnt):

The plot✨

Raph, Mikey, Leo, and Donnie ref sheet

This user:

annndddd that’s about it.. hope u have fun here!!

[otherworldseekers]

A Handy Guide to Severia x Nero Universes

Follows MSQ with only slight diversions.

Happily Ever After

Fics:

Something's Gotta Give- covers ARR, WIP, I'm working on it I promise.

It Had to be You- covers StB, very WIP

Tag: All My Tomorrows

An AU where Severia and Nero are two simple people from Sharlayan.

Married archeologists find adventure.

Their daughter is the WoL of this universe.

About Sharlayan AU

Tag: Through Seasons and Centuries

Nero gets amnesia from a head injury, forgets Severia.

Not to ruin the climax for you, but they are reunited.

Later, Nero joins the Scions and is present during EW.

Battle Couple

Happily Ever After

Fics:

They Can't Take You Away From Me- Amnesia AU, Completed

Tag: As Rivers Reach the Sea

Severia and Nero meet just after the Bowl of Embers.

They begin an extremely physical relationship. There will be smut.

Bad End: Severia loses to Nero at the Praetorium.

I won't tell you what happens next but it is very dark and not at all healthy.

I wouldn't call it a Happily Ever After but it's not a tragedy either.

Seriously, stay away from this one if you don't like toxic relationship dynamics or lots of sex.

Fic coming soon (tm).

Tag: I've Got You Under My Skin