#this gets to be rated T

[aparticularbandit]

Agatha Buys A Birthday Present

Summary: Cian’s birthday is coming up.  Agatha has a lot of ideas of what to get, but one thing in particular sticks out.

Agatha Harkness/The Ancient One Chapter Rating: T. Series Rating: M for adult themes, graphic sexual content, and nudity.

word count: 2164

She only saw it once, and she wasn’t supposed to see it at all.

Agatha hadn’t ever meant to go through Cian’s browser history – which, to be honest, she wasn’t really doing.  That sounds suspicious and creepy and like an invasion of privacy or like she was looking for something she shouldn’t be looking for when really she’d found a super cool recipe for something three days ago and forgot to print it out and was going through the history to try and find it – and she’d been on Cian’s laptop in the first place because hers had an infuriating sort of bug and needed to go through a lot of modification mumbo jumbo – they’d taken it to a shop to get cleaned up because she was attached to her laptop, although she’d needed to buy a new one a few months later anyway after it got knocked off of the bedside table a little too often to survive – which…really was her fault, she really shouldn’t have kept it on top of her bedside table; really she should put it in a drawer so that it can’t get knocked off, and she should have realized that after the first time she’d kicked it off during—

Point is Agatha hadn’t been looking for anything.  She’d been looking for that cake recipe.  Because Cian’s birthday was coming up, and she knew better than to try a new cake recipe day of because knowing her, she’d just fuck the whole thing up the first time.  The first several times.  And this way, Cian could try whatever it was while she was experimenting (read as: not following the recipe, because that’s no fun) and then give her that wry little smile of theirs where they lift one corner of their lips (the right, it is always the right, and she always wants to kiss them there to see if it will make them lift it higher (and sometimes they do, but mostly they just kiss her right back, which is fine enough)) because she had definitely gotten something wrong (because she still couldn’t understand why she couldn’t modify a baking recipe the same way she could modify any other recipe; it should be just fine; no, Cian, she doesn’t want to just follow the recipe when she can make it better (don’t ask how she knows hers would be better if she doesn’t know what the original actually tastes like because she never made the original)).

And then she’d seen—

Well.

Here’s the thing.  Cian’s birthday was coming up.  And, sure, Agatha could think about a lot of other things she could get for them.  She had a ton of ideas.  Great ideas! But then she’d seen that there was some sort of shopping something or other in their browser history, and she thought, well, maybe whatever that was might be a good idea.  So she’d pulled it up, not really thinking any the wiser, not thinking that Cian could possibly be embarrassed by anything she might see there.  And then she’d seen—

Well.

She’d seen it.

Agatha looked at the outfit.  Blinked a couple of times.  Cocked her head to one side.  Considered that there was no reason Cian would be thinking of getting it for themselves.  Figured it was probably just. something they’d accidentally clicked on.  Yep.

And then she’d bookmarked the recipe because inevitably she was going to get really upset with it for not turning out the way she wanted and then rip it to shreds in her frustration and then need to print out another copy.  Cian told her to remember to bookmark it this time.  She could at least do that.

~

…okay, so maybe she saw it twice, but it wasn’t because she was looking for it either time.

It was that stupid recipe again.  Which Agatha had definitely chewed to pieces and swallowed half of, like a feral toddler.  To be fair, she’d only torn it up that way because Cian had given her a look which suggested she wouldn’t do it, and she wanted to prove them wrong, and it’s not like eating paper was really that bad for her.  It just tasted horrible.  (It did not help that the paper tasted better than what she’d done with the recipe.)

At least Cian hadn’t suggested she just follow the recipe this time.  That always made her more frustrated.  Now she just felt like she was disappointing them, and maybe she should just follow the recipe, and then she could. play around with it.  That would be.  That would be fine. If she has to.

It’s for Cian, the benefits would far outweigh her not having fun, and she could at least give them a cake that tastes good while she experiments with ways to make it better—

And then she’d seen it.

Again.

That link, hidden in the bottom of Cian’s favorites.

Well, not the very bottom, but pretty close. Like it had been there a really long time.

Again, she wasn’t looking for it.  She just couldn’t find the recipe.  Which should have been at the very top but wasn’t at the very top and then was actually at the very top but had a stupid name that was about something else entirely and not super cool cake recipe for Agatha’s modification fun and actually had nothing to do with recipe or cake or even birthday, all of which would have made infinitely more sense than—

…to be honest, she doesn’t remember the title anymore.  She’d know it if she saw it.  But she was a little too distracted seeing the outfit again. Not in Cian’s browser history, where she could wave it away, but saved in their favorites.  Like something they went to visit frequently.

And this time she did visit their browser history, just to check and see how often they visited that page, and—

Well.

Uh.

Well.

It wasn’t too bad.  It’s not like she saw anything wrong with it.  She was a little concerned that Cian had visited it so often and never brought it up with her or bought it for her or anything like that, but.  She could play along with all of it.  It wasn’t like they had anything to be ashamed of.  At least. Not in her opinion, anyway.

Besides, Agatha could keep a secret as well as they could.

Which was how she ended up ordering it for her.

For them.

Their birthday was coming up, after all.

~

Which is how Agatha ended up in the bedroom she and Cian shared, in a preppy school girl outfit – all navy purple base with yellow, green, and red plaid suit jacket (with gold buttons that are half aesthetic and half actual buttons) and short, short skirt that really should serve to show off her legs (she has very nice legs.  Equally nice as Cian’s, if she’s honest with herself, but when is Agatha ever honest with herself about how she looks), except they don’t really show off her legs because there are these thigh high white socks, white as the shirt under her suit jacket, that leave barely any skin exposed, just this thin little strip, which she doesn’t get, but if this is what Cian wants, then she’ll definitely supply, even down to the shiny Mary Jane shoes with the wedge heels, which she thinks are ugly, but it’s the outfit, and Agatha is going to make sure she looks as close to that picture as possible.  She even teased her hair into those frizzy sort of curls so that they tumble just so around her shoulders.

She did her best, anyway.

The cake sits, cooling, in the kitchen.  Decorated to perfection.  The batter had tasted okay, and in all of the experimenting, this was the recipe that Cian seemed to like the best that wasn’t the original.  Agatha still feels like she’s improved it.  And if she hasn’t, then the icing certainly has because she’s actually very good at making icing.  She’s got years of practice on that.  She’s perfected icing.  She’d have perfected cake, too, if she hadn’t decided to try a new recipe for Cian’s birthday every year, but, well, this is more fun.  For her, mostly, but she thinks Cian likes all of the different cakes.

(Cian probably thinks this is to keep from thinking about her own birthday, and that’s…potentially valid.  Agatha never starts on this cake baking frenzy until after that, after their anniversary.  It’s easier to think about their anniversary than to think about everything else that happened on that day, and as long as she thinks about that and then gets to baking cake immediately after, then she doesn’t have to deal with the unhappy feelings that are…well.  That. She can avoid things.  She’s good at avoiding upsetting emotions.)

Agatha hears Cian unlock the door, hears it click shut, and strikes her pose. All indifferent, half-leaning against the edge of the mattress but mostly standing, one leg crossed over the other, one arm crossed, other hand lifted so that she can pretend to examine her nails, to flick something out from under her thumbnail.  As Cian enters, she gives them a look of disdain and says, with feigned annoyance, Took you long enough.

Or, at least, she’d planned on saying that.

But it’s impossible to really say much of anything when she sees how Cian is looking at her.  How wide their mossy green eyes are.  How completely frozen they are, as though they’ve forgotten how to breathe.  They take half of a breath in, start to step forward, hesitate.  How.  They swallow once, their eyes roaming over her, as though they can’t settle, as though they can’t focus on anything, until they force themselves to try and meet her eyes.  How did you find that.

It isn’t even a question.  Cian doesn’t seem to have the strength to question – probably because their voice would crack if they allowed themselves that light lilt of tone to make a question. They meet Agatha’s eyes ever so briefly, but then their gaze moves again, slow, hungry.

It was in your history.  In your favorites. Agatha keeps the pose because she’s afraid – no, not afraid, never afraid – of what stance she would take if she let it down, if she let herself relax.  I was looking for the recipe and—

May I? Cian asks, cutting her off before she can finish, voice so suddenly deep.  Soft.  They aren’t even trying to meet her eyes anymore, but at least their gaze isn’t moving here and there and everywhere anymore.  It’s at least focused now.  It might be angled down, but Cian’s so much taller than her that—

Of…of course, dear, Agatha says, brow furrowing. This is for your birthday.  You don’t have to—

But then Cian is there – she doesn’t think she’s ever seen them move so fast in her entire life before, which is saying something, considering everything else they’ve done – brushing one finger along the line of her jaw, lifting her chin, gaze lingering on her lips as their thumb grips her skin.  As they hold her chin, their other hand skims the exposed skin of her thigh, and Agatha forces herself to stand perfectly still as their hand moves up to cradle her bare ass.  Cian’s eyes grow dark.  Where’s your—

Not wearing any.

Cian’s thumb brushes her left ass cheek slow, steady, tracing it with their thumb nail.  Oh, my beautiful, beautiful girl.  They let out a soft sigh.  You have been so good for me, and I’m so unprepared.

Unprepared? Agatha echoes, blinking twice.

Mmhm, Cian purrs.  They touch the tip of their nose to hers, run it up and down, breath hot on her lips as they speak, I need something bigger—  They squeeze her ass, nails digging into her flesh, and Agatha gasps.  —to fill you with, pet.

Big—bigger? Agatha echoes again, gaze flicking back up from Cian’s lips, eyes widening.

Cian just nods, brushing their nose along hers again.  Can you be a good girl and wait here for me?  They step back, remove their hands from her skin, and boop her nose.  I won’t take very long.

Agatha swallows.  What do you mean by bigger—

You’ll see.  That singular corner of Cian’s lips lifts in amusement.  Then their eyes grow dark, their voice firm.  Wait here.  Don’t move.  They start to step away, to move to their drawer of toys.  And don’t take that off, my love.

Agatha’s brow furrows again.  Of course not.  You get to take it off.  That’s your—  Then she sees Cian turn with the biggest strap she thinks she has ever seen, certainly not one they have ever used before.  Her eyes grow wide with unsuppressed longing.  Oh.

Cian shuts the door behind them with a nudge of their ass.  Who said anything about taking it off?  They glance up, meet Agatha’s eyes, but don’t smile.  Turn, pet, and don’t look back.

[mangosaurus]

Jurassic World: Chaos Theory - Cabin Attack Clip ☆

[blackthorn-faerie]

Shout out to the middle aged man who was eagerly (and not very subtly) reading my aventio fanfiction over my shoulder this morning on the train. I hope you can find it later so you can finish it, king

[estrellami-1]

Steddie Week 2024 | Steddie Microfic

July 7th prompt: Free Space - Mystery, Hands, Long, Trade, Exes to Lovers or Getting Back Together, Drunken Confession (aka I combined all the prompts I didn’t use this week) | July prompt: one

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6

Word count: 1,111

No warnings apply

Rated T

@steddie-week | @steddiemicrofic

It was never a mystery, to Steve, how they got together. How they worked together.

The only mystery is how he managed to let him go—to lose him in a way Steve hadn’t understood until Eddie. Because Nancy was great, she was fantastic, Steve was in love. He doesn’t doubt that. But it never felt like it did with Eddie: low lights in the club, hands on each other’s bodies, open-mouth kisses that really was nothing more than them panting into each other’s mouths—

Stumbling into the bathroom, or into either of their bedrooms, hands in hair and under shirts and unbuckling belts—

Sleepy, slow morning kisses. Breakfast. Holidays.

How did it end?

Steve thinks, remembers fists clenched at sides, red faces, stiff shoulders.

Remembers shouted words, cold shoulders, slammed doors.

Remembers the key left on the kitchen counter.

That had done it, he remembers, he had called Robin, already sobbing, and she was on her bike and halfway there practically before she had hung up the phone. She’d held him as he fell apart on the kitchen tiles.

Then again, when he went to go to bed. Saw the two pillows. Threw one off; it hit the wall, slid down. Had to change the sheets; they smelled too much like him.

It took him a long time—a really long time—to get to the point he’d be okay on his own for more than a couple hours, to the point he could go out to clubs again. Not the same ones he’d gone to, never those, but… he moved on. Kind of.

He knew, and Robin knew, that part of him, at least, would always love Eddie.

It’s why when they’re in a club—a new one they had just found, okay music but better drinks and prospects—and Steve grabs her arm, she looks the direction he is.

He feels like he’s swallowing sandpaper. “His hair is longer.”

“It is.” She pries his fingers off, just so he’s not bruising her anymore, but holds his hand. “What do you want to do about it?”

“I don’t know,” he mutters, watches the way Eddie prowls through the crowd, smirking at people, but still definitely on his way to the bar.

The bar. “I’m gonna get us more drinks,” he says. They both ignore the fact that they’ve barely touched their current glasses.

“Let me know if you need backup.”

“Will do.” He looks at her, for the first time since seeing him, and smiles. “Love you, Robbie.”

She rolls her eyes, but smiles. “Love you, dingus. Go get your man back.”

Steve makes it to the bar before Eddie, asks for whatever is on tap. Looks away at the wall. Can’t watch him walk up. 

“Long Island,” he hears directly beside him, and turns to see Eddie turning to see Steve.

He takes a breath. “Eddie.”

Eddie looks… he looks good, because he always does, but he looks tired, maybe a little thinner. Not… not good, not happy like he was. He swallows. “Steve.”

The bartender hands over their drinks, and Steve takes a sip only to cough. “Sorry, fuck,” he mutters, finally looking at the glass in his hand. He’s got the Long Island, and Eddie’s got his beer.

Eddie’s watching him with an interesting little smile. “Trade?”

“Trade,” Steve agrees, nodding. He coughs again. “God, how do you like that?”

Eddie snickers, pulls a lock of hair over his face. Steve wishes he wouldn’t.

Miraculously, they keep talking. They’re never searching for the next word to make the silence go away because there is no silence.

Eventually Robin comes up to him, pulls him into a hug. “Imma go home with that girl,” she murmurs, pointing behind her. A cute, preppy-looking blonde smiles nervously at Steve. He smiles at her, then back to Robin. “Of course. Call the house, give me the address.” He kisses her forehead. “Have fun.”

“Oh, I will,” she grins, then turns to look at Eddie, eyes narrowed.

Eddie gulps. She grins, scary as anything, and whispers something in his ear that has him paling. “Yuh-yep. Yeah. Got it. Thanks Robin.”

Steve grimaces when she walks away. “What did she say?”

Eddie looks at him for a long minute. “Something I’ve known for a while now,” he eventually murmurs. 

It was inevitable, really, that they would end up back here, hands in hair and under shirts, stumbling into Steve’s apartment, panting into each other’s mouths, trying to undo buckles by memory because the worst thing in the world right now would be to stop kissing.

“God, Steve,” Eddie gasps, pulling him down the hall. “C’mon- c’mon, please, need you, need you-”

“Yeah,” Steve answers against his mouth, just as affected. He’s got his own pants halfway off, thinking about his shirt next, thinking about the lube in the drawer that hasn’t gotten as much action as it used to, and suddenly he aches for it. “Need you inside me,” he mutters, kissing down Eddie’s neck, stopping at a place behind his ear that he knows from experience makes Eddie’s knees weak.

“Fuck,” Eddie chokes out. “Yeah, yeah, c’mon, c’mon baby, lemme in you- lube’s in the drawer?”

Steve opens the drawer in answer, roots around until his fingers close on the bottle. Pushes it into Eddie’s hand, pushes him away so Steve can get naked.

Eddie’s eyes rake along his body. He drops his own pants just as fast, limbs flying as he strips out of his shirt too, clambering onto the bed beside Steve’s hip, eyes wide and fingers shaking as he lubes up.

It’s after, when everything’s cooling and drying and becoming itchy, that Eddie’s breath wobbles. “I shouldn’t,” he mutters into Steve’s shoulder. “Shouldn’t say anything. But hell if I don’t miss you like crazy.”

Steve closes his eyes, tries to keep the tears at bay. “You’re drunk.”

“I had less than one drink.”

The tears win. “We broke up for a reason,” he whispers. “Didn’t we?”

“I was scared,” Eddie says.

“And you’re not now?”

“Only of losing you.”

Steve sobs, can’t help it, but he feels Eddie’s hot tears on his neck, too, and that somehow makes it better.

It’s the next morning, after slow, sleepy kisses and breakfast, that Steve sighs. “I never stopped loving you. I don’t think I can.”

“I don’t think I can, either.”

Steve slowly turns to look at him. “So what does that make us?”

Eddie shakes his head. “I don’t know. All I know is it makes me yours.”

“Yours,” Steve parrots, daring to curl his fingers over Eddie’s, breath hitching when he holds on just as tight. “That sounds pretty damn good to me.”

[steddieunderdogfics]

i couldn't see (you were always right beside me) by oriscribes

@oriscribes @stevespookington

Rating: Teen and Up

13,609 words, 1/1 chapters

Archive Warning: No Warnings

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things), Online Friendship, idiots to lovers, Friends to Lovers, idiot4idiot, Idiots in Love, i cannot overstress how idiotic they are in this, they play WoW together, Neighbors, Miscommunication, Getting Together, POV Alternating, Texting, Mistaken Identity, Identity Porn

Summary:

Three hours later Steve logged off to get ready for his shift at the hospital. He was several levels higher and had finished the quests in Darkshore with the help of Greyhawk. He also had a friend listed in his friends list. Greyhawk had said that being friends would let them be able to tell when the other was online so they could quest again. Steve really liked the sound of that. He didn’t have many friends his own age. He and Robin basically lived in each other’s pockets at work, but with Robin’s new girlfriend and their sleep schedules, they didn’t end up getting to hang out more than once a week. A new friend sounded really nice, especially given that it was unlikely he would ever get along with his neighbors. The only resident Steve’s age on this floor was the neighbor he hated and that was very unlikely to change anytime soon. OR Steve hated his neighbor. And then Dustin and the other kiddos left for college and Steve signed up for some online game called World of Warcraft. Which was how Steve met a Night Elf druid named Greyhawk.

Thanks for the rec!

This rec is a part of Theme Weekend. The theme this weekend is Friends to Lovers.

Know a fic that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks or the submission box!

[forasecondtherewedwon]

After the Horse Has Bolted

Fandom: My Lady Jane Pairing: Jane x Guildford Rating: T Word Count: 1899

Summary: Though they escaped execution, Guildford continues to struggle with his transformations and, worse, with dreams of losing Jane. A frank conversation with Susannah might help more than he expects it to.

He loves her like this, watching her move about the camp at twilight. She isn't the only person here with medical knowledge, and she lacks the experience to deal with more severe battle wounds, and some of the Ethians are steadfastly distrustful, but there are enough willing to let Jane close, and enough minor wounds, and, generally, enough patients to go around. Her skills are badly needed.

As Jane tends to people, Guildford feels a bit useless. Though he did try to help, he quickly realized it was all too unfamiliar for him to be of much use. Besides, these people don't extend the same welcome to him as they do Jane. He doesn't have her bedside manner, he supposes. Fuck them for finding him slightly jumpy and suspicious after one of their own (technically, one of his own, but fuck) attempted to murder him with iron manacles. But he thinks this without heat. These people are their allies—almost their only allies—and he's trying to see what Jane sees.

Mostly, he just likes seeing Jane. Jane in the early morning, scavenging in the woods for medicinal plants. Jane winning over strangers by sitting at their side to cut the thread of their stitches with her teeth instead sitting on the throne to sign a document they may never feel the benefit of. Jane alive. Guildford hasn't told her yet that he sees her differently when he closes his eyes. He sees her pristine white dress across the square, the black strip that blinds her. In his dreams, he watches helplessly as she kneels and the axe swings down. That's when he wakes up screaming her name.

Yeah, maybe that's another reason these people feel a little uneasy around him.

Except Susannah. Susannah's been marvellous. They've sort of met before—him below the stairs with the beautiful woman he would next see walking up the aisle of a church, her rushing down those stairs to warn Archer about the guards, then the night of the attempted assassination outside the old Ethian camp—but Susannah makes more of their acquaintance than it really is. She does it so the others will trust him, because they clearly trust her. They listen to her. It isn't long before Guildford learns it was Susannah who mustered the rescue party that saved his and Jane's lives, though he suspects as much even before it's confirmed. He sees their bond. He's grateful for it.

How grateful though, is the thing, when Susannah plonks herself down on the log where Guildford's seated, and follows his eyes, smirking to catch him gazing at Jane.

"D'you ever let your wife ride you?"

He can't look at her as he responds, "Just the once, escaping execution."

"Ah, y'know that's not what I mean."

"No, I don't know that," Guildford says stubbornly.

Susannah hunches forward and catches his eye.

"How come you're blushin' then?"

"Piss off."

"No."

He looks at her, and she's grinning. While Jane was raised a lady and Susannah supported herself in service, Guildford's found them to be cut from a very similar cloth. They're both unflinchingly bold when they want to be. Cautious, at other times, but not timid. Not everyone can tell the difference. He's been learning Jane, and is beginning to know Susannah, and he can tell she's teasing him for a reason. It might be friendly, or a protective test of Jane's husband's mettle, or something else. Whatever it is, Guildford realizes he's probably better off not trying to shut her out. They're persistent, these two women.

"Want to know why I'm asking?" Susannah prompts.

"I'm guessing you'll tell me."

"Very good!" She shifts closer and lowers her voice. "It's 'cause I've heard you screamin' your feckin' head off the last three nights."

"And you thought Jane was responsible?"

"Yeah, I hoped she was ridin' you like there's no tomorrow. Two reasons for that. You want 'em?"

"Terrific," Guildford says flatly.

"One," Susannah says, holding up a finger to show the count, "because back when Jane and I lived under the same roof, I was beginning to have serious concerns that she was never gonna let herself enjoy herself. It was a virgin you took to your marriage bed, Guildford, no question."

"You are nosy, aren't you?" He scowls at her, but Susannah stares back, unfazed.

"It's the same for her with me. If your hair wasn't curled already, she'd have stories to tell you that'd do the job."

"Please just get to your second reason."

Susannah sighs.

"If it's not Jane, somethin's troublin' you, and it can't go unaddressed. We can't have that. You'll either attract trouble to our camp or somebody already livin' in it'll stab you themselves to keep you quiet. Probably your wife."

Guildford sags. He knows she's right—the last thing he wants to be is a liability. He doesn't want to get anyone else hurt or killed. Especially Jane. Jane, who was sentenced to death for marrying him. Jane, who stood in the fire with him, the bond between them even stronger than the rope that wouldn't split. She would die for him. Without question, without thought, without hesitation. But he wouldn't survive getting her killed.

Susannah has fallen silent, apparently waiting for him to suggest a solution. Guildford doesn't know if this is an Ethian thing or just a Susannah thing: allowing that the person with the problem probably knows themselves best. He thinks it's likely that she's wrong in his case, believing himself the picture of stunted self-knowledge and repressed memories. He takes a deep breath. He can't be that man anymore. It doesn't do anyone any good, himself included.

"I keep dreaming she was executed. You and the Ethians don't come, and I can't get free of the ropes, and I see her beheaded." His own throat feels painfully thick as he forces the words out.

"I can see why that'd be botherin' you."

"It nearly happened," Guildford agrees.

"That's not why. I don't think it's about Jane."

"Of course it is!"

But Susannah's shaking her head.

"It's not her who's powerless, it's you. In the dream, you're tethered. Outside the dream, what is it you feel you can't control?"

Slowly, Guildford understands what she's getting at. He answers, "My transformation. My Ethianism." He narrows his eyes at Susannah. "You're very insightful."

"I'm not, actually. You just have a very straightforward problem: mental impotence. See it all the time in men. Tragic affliction."

He catches sight of her smirk and wants to shove her off the log.

"Have the two of you been able to fuck since the near-execution, by the way?" Susannah asks.

"Thank you for the advice, doctor," Guildford says sarcastically, head cocked to one side, "but that is really none of your concern. Try meddling in your own relationship."

"What relationship would that be?"

He frowns.

"Are you and Archer not...?"

"Archer?!" Susannah catches herself and continues more softly. "In his dreams. Not to be insensitive," she adds, making Guildford roll his eyes. "But no, definitely not. Trust me, if he'd been lucky enough to have me in his bed, he wouldn't have been lookin' at..."

It's far too obvious that Susannah has just caught herself again, but Guildford's glad she did. His trust in his wife is absolute. That doesn't mean he would appreciate Archer attempting to come between them. He rises, deciding to forget Archer and focus on Jane.

"Try the sex thing," Susannah says on their parting. "It might help, is all!"

"Try the minding your own business thing!"

Guildford actually does plan on trying something thanks to this conversation, but it's not sex. (Yet. Later? Gods, yes.)

He doesn't try to sleep that night, not yet. He lies on his back in the dark, listening to the low murmur of conversation from the lookouts tending the campfire, to the sound of his own even breathing. He stares up at the trees, their shapes black against the blue-black night. Sometimes, he stares past them at the stars.

Before dawn, Guildford gently rouses Jane from where she sleeps beside him. Between treating the injured and being startled awake by his screams, she hasn't been getting as much rest as she needs, but he hopes she'll understand. Taking her hand, he leads her to a clearing a short distance from the camp. Someplace they'll be able to see the sky change colour ahead of sunrise. They walk with soft steps. The yawn Jane can't stifle has the round, open notes of birdsong. Soon, real birds begin to sing. He wonders whether any Ethians are among them.

Gradually, everything brightens.

"Stand here," Guildford says, taking Jane's hands in his plea, then dropping them and backing off to a safe distance.

She doesn't argue. He's told her about his mother.

Before the light of day can rush across the horizon, Guildford closes his eyes and concentrates. There's no risk of imminent death to compel him now. He has to know if he can do it anyway. Instead of resisting thoughts of the past, he permits himself to recall how it feels to change, concentrating until the sensation is alive in him. Instead of disconnecting from the present, he inhales the earthy scent of the forest, shifts his boots on the ground, knows without looking that Jane is standing where he left her, waiting for him, trusting him.

He changes just before daybreak.

In this form, his hearing is keener, keen enough to pick up Jane's quiet gasp from across the clearing. His own steady breathing expands his strong lungs, drawing in details of his environment that are beyond his human senses. What he likes best is Jane's smile as she approaches him, the soothing strokes of her hands on his face. He stands there on four legs, enjoying her gentle touch and the heat of the sun on his flank, then, closing his eyes to the world once more, Guildford changes back.

He's stumbling forward into Jane's arms before he realizes he never moved away from her before trying to transform. Obviously, his human form is smaller and therefore less of a hazard, but Guildford isn't convinced that was the ruling instinct. It felt more like... he just knew he could do it. He was sure of himself, in that body and in this one, and in whatever he is during the fleeting moment in between.

"Guildford! How did you do that?" she demands, full of awe and urgent curiosity. "I haven't seen you control it since the night we escaped the Tower!"

Yes, that's true. After bearing her away from that place, he turned back into a man. That's how he was when the Ethians found them, and how he remained through the night. At dawn, he despaired, once again becoming a horse against his will. It persisted. Day, horse. Night, man. The terrible dreams. This morning has been Guildford's first time taking the reins, so to speak. It's a colossal relief, and he looks lovingly into Jane's eyes, knowing she understands that much, even if she can't yet explain the rest.

It seems to him that the best words to say are, "I've always wanted to kiss you at daybreak."

"That's a lot of effort for a kiss," Jane observes.

"Then you'd better make it worth it," he retorts with a grin.

And he holds her, and she does.

[merlinfic]

Five Times Someone Else Acknowledged Merlin's Status (And The Time Merlin Realized It Wasn't What He Thought)

Author: SomehowSnake

Rating: T

Setting: Canon

Word Count: 1,390

Summary:

Everyone knows Merlin gets special treatment, except for, apparently, Merlin himself.

Thanks to @somehowsnakesblog for the rec!

[mcdonaldspriteairconditioner]

bit spooky innit 🔍👻

[incorrect-in-other-lands-quotes]

Luke: My kink is doing jock stuff and watching Elliot speed-run the five stages of grief as he realises that he still wants to date me.

[some-pers0n]

I wonder if people on Tumblr and Ao3 are just allergic to tagging their stuff, particularly when it comes to graphic and smutty stuff. There's literally no downsides to tagging it. People like me get to filter them out and live the rest of our lives without whatever it is whilst the people who want it can easily search and find it. Wow, it's almost as if tags are that simple and easy to implement and exist for a reason

[lemonadeslice]

sketches i made while playing the forest of drizzling rain remake. if you missed out on this one during the early 2010s horror rpg renaissance, i am insisting that you buy the new version on steam. you deserve a treat.

[pango-doots]

Y'know looking back on my time in the NSR fandom it's weird how victimized people tend to make the NSR elites, which I really don't think is warranted beyond Sayu's team and Yinu who are MINORS that were employed into a fascist government system under the guise of success. Yes, NSR was a fascist government, or at the very least an authoritarian hand over a dystopian society.

Even if its general tone is light-hearted and silly, the game tackles themes of propaganda, scapegoating, wealth inequality and planned obsolescence, environmental destruction, media control, saving face for tourists, authoritative voting and more, yet most of them aren't the player's main gameplay focus; a lot of lore and context clues are in the background like the town's layout, interacting with certain objects and talking to NPCs. But those themes are a core message of the game and by only treating the members of NSR as regular old musicians you take out all the nuance.

(Plenty more under the cut. TL;DR: No Straight Roads is a relevantly socio-political game and I wish fans would utilize that side of the characters more)

Both halves of the "music war" as I'm gonna call it for lack of an official term had their faults, and I do like that there is no 100% right or wrong side; no straight road, if you will. BUT ALSO. BBJ realized the entire city was suffering in some way under NSR's leadership and had nothing to lose by challenging the status quo (they literally live in a fucking sewer, I'd be full of rage too). They didn't benefit from initial fame, wealth, or military protection like NSR did; not to mention they were also egged on and decieved by one of their closest allies. When voices don't work ala DK West's attempt, then you turn to action. Action can include smacking the shit out of government officials, as a treat (I enjoyed every second trying to get an S rank in Supernova's level <3)

On that note, the woobification is ESPECIALLY bad with DJSS, Neon J and 1010. I love the silly object heads and smexy robots as much as anyone else but they are specifically meant to be critiques of self-absorbed billionaires (sorry to tell DJSS fans this but he's supposed to be Elon-Musk-adjacent) and the k-pop industry with its military involvement, plus the use of militial force to keep rowdy citizens in line. I'm begging people to PLEASE handle them with more care.

Thankfully, it's clear that NSR reduces its chokehold by the end of the game and all the artists put in a lot of work to improve thanks to BBJ's push. Whether the game's writers made that decision to appeal to their own government's approval or was a genuine end to the story, I like that Tatiana has a moment of reflection and does a complete 180 to make the city better in the end (beyond the threat of the city being destroyed ofc). Even if it's unrealistic, it's a hopeful message and shows that anyone can be corrupted by the right circumstances.

Just PLEASE don't forget the characters' actions and choices along the way for the sake of ship fics and cute art. There's a lot of complexity and angst you can add to the characters with that authoritarian history!

[seaofolives]

🎭 #torokatober2024 day 12/31: pierrot 🎻

Even the bed creaks stutter with Quatre’s hips, the pressure between his straddled legs bursting in waves. This is where he usually screams.

He doesn’t. The circus grounds are so quiet, and this is their last night together before Trowa goes on tour to the farthest cluster known to man.

Trowa brings him down to his feverish chest, turning them on their sides on his narrow bed, in his cramped tent.

Quatre strokes the glitters on his cheek from tonight’s makeup. He’ll miss him.

Trowa kisses him deeply, his tongue and his hips moving again.

Quatre sighs, his toes curling.

find the list of prompts here!

[absolutebloodychaos]

Is it bad that the first thing I thought of after seeing Bojan in this outfit (well the first thing after screaming for a while and like losing all of my brain cells and inhibitions simultaneously) was that he kind of looks like a male stripper?

Like I'm not saying anyone should write a fic about that, but like someone should write a fic about that

[mattfoggyficrecs]

MattFoggy Fic Rec: The Time We Have Left by thelonebamf

This is one of those fics that explores the potential of a particular canon moment/storyline and adds a whole bunch of depth in the process. The Time We Have Left takes inspiration from the fact that the Superior Iron Man miniseries was published while the Waid run of Daredevil was still ongoing, and brings the two together by asking the question: what if the very person Matt was going up against had the power to do away with the necessity of Foggy's cancer treatments? This added moral dilemma brings Matt's contribution to the original Superior Iron Man story into sharper focus while avoiding falling into the trap of doing a simple retread. And as many of you reading this post will probably already be able to guess, there are plenty of excellent MattFoggy feelings as well! Check it out and leave a comment for the author when you do!

The Time We Have Left (7598 words) by thelonebamf Summary: On his home turf, Daredevil was no stranger to a fight, but in San Francisco, it's Foggy who is embroiled in a life or death battle. The move to California, while has not been without its sacrifices but Matt wouldn't hesitate to do it all over again, if it meant giving his friend a better chance at life. However, when Tony Stark reveals his latest and greatest technology, one that promises to perfect and heal anything and everything in the human body, Matt has to ask himself some tough questions about what he's willing to give up. Then again, maybe Tony's right. Maybe no price is too much to pay for the people you love.

[steddieunderdogfics]

hunter's moon by mourningshowers

@keycarabiner

Rating: Teens and Up

17,072 words, 2/2 chapters

Archive Warning: No Warnings

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Pre-Season/Series 04, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Werewolves, Pack Dynamics, Getting Together, Mutual Pining, Werewolf Mates, Pack Bonding, Fluff, Courting Rituals, Everyone is a Werewolf, Except Robin, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting

Summary

“What about your pack?” Steve asks, because, well— Werewolves are social creatures. Humans may not be right about the specific dynamics, the leaders and the runts and pack structures, but they got the general idea right. The idea that wolves have a distinct need for life, to be surrounded by it, sustained by it. There is no point in running beneath the glow of a full moon without people you trust. People who understand what it's like. “Don’t have one,” Eddie replies stiffly. “Don’t need one. I have my uncle. And my friends. Even though they’re human, they help with the whole socialization thing.” He’s a lone wolf, Steve realizes. That’s the smell that rolls off of Eddie Munson in irrepressible waves: it’s loneliness.

Thanks for the rec!

This rec is a part of Theme Weekend. The theme this weekend is Werewolf AU.

Know a fic that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks or the submission box!