#unnamed fic

[tommarvoloriddlesdiary]

Share your lastest WIP! If you want 👀

which one 🥲😂😭💀 i have a few - will this do?

~

“They’re quite odd, aren’t they?” 

Abraxas is snickering when he says it. He’s just loud enough to grate - nothing new - but in what should be the quiet sanctity of the library, his tone sufficiently pulls Tom from his reading. 

His eyes lock on Abraxas across from him and flick to the ‘they’ in question. 

And, of course, it’s the Grangers. 

Since entering the magical community, Tom has learned a thing or two about their societal norms. An interesting component being that it is surprisingly challenging to be seen as ‘odd’ here. A wixen can be any number of things: lazy, stupid, poor, muggle - the list goes on, but ‘odd’ is a category used sparingly when directed towards each other. Much unlike the muggles Tom has known and grown his whole life around. 

He was always seen as odd by them - freakish - and continues to be whenever he returns to the orphanage for summer. So he doesn’t much care for the word. 

Besides, if anything, the Grangers aren't even worth gawking over and snickering about. Their worst can be summed up to anti-socialistic, codependent, and exclusionary behaviours - probably a trauma response from the war. They clearly have no interest in playing house with their dormmates or the rest of the school, so why bother?

They are sitting beneath the second-story stair landing where the elves have managed to shove one last table. It’s one of the more tucked away and private places on this level — a place Tom would not consider and will not consider; he needs to be visible, available — and they’ve claimed it like it’s never belonged to anyone else. Like it was placed there just for them. Their ease of acclimation to Hogwarts as a whole has certainly raised some eyebrows, yet still, he isn’t concerned. 

He had also known Hogwarts was his home the moment he had stepped foot in it, after all. He is not so foolish as to believe himself an outlier.

Hermione Granger’s hands are waving wildly, turning in circles and gesturing in a vague sphere-like shape. She’s talking aloud - not that Tom, or anyone else, can hear it - and doesn’t seem to like what she’s saying, given the harsh line between her brows. Ronald Granger is sitting in front of her and starts shaking his head. He says something and reaches across the table to take her wrists — expands them — the sphere becomes an oval.

Harry Granger sits beside them pensive, with his head down and reading carefully from a book in his hands. He starts to turn the page but pauses; he frowns and looks up.

He looks right at Tom.

Granger blinks once, slowly. He mouths something, but it’s not directed towards Tom because his siblings turn to look at him. It only lasts a moment before they suddenly turn around to stare at Tom as well, their eyes wide and alarmed. 

Tom watches on as Harry Granger slouches - maybe sighs? He shakes his head and palms his face in something like dismay. It doesn't take a legilimens to read his lips now—

“You are both such idiots.” He says.

The corner of Tom’s lips curl. It’s possibly a smile. He’ll never call it that out loud.

“Very,” he finally replies to Abraxas.

[underburningstars]

SPY AU SPY AU!!

Wow how do I explain this...James is a MI6 agent and someone kidnaps Regulus because James caused them problems. He and Sirius then start looking for ways to rescue him.

I've only started working on this one so the snippy isn't anything great

This fic is a long ride and this scares me a lil

[dev-fiction]

Are you still planning to do that oc weasley sibling fanfic? It's written on your bio so just curious , i love your writing style

i have been waiting for someone to ask me about that fic omg...

so, YES, i absolutely plan on writing the weasley sibling fanfic and in fact i would say that oc is hands down my absolute favorite of all my self inserts. im obsessed with her. i think about her DAILY.

(that's not an exaggeration either btw)

i have so many plans for that fic in particular, it's something i've been building up in my head for many years now. i already have quite a bit written out for it, but im not satisfied enough to post it. i still have lots of tweaking and i want a decent build up of chapters ready before i actually start posting - but, because i genuinely don't know when that will be, here's a small sneak peak. this is work in progress and it is subject to change and very likely WILL go through a few iterations before im happy. realistically? it will probably be years before the finished product is posted.

It’s the truth. Beyond the twirling rays of golden sunlight that dappled her memory in streaks of shifting-lavender she couldn’t recall what led her into the pond. 

It was a miracle, the healers had said, she was dead for so long…there appears to be no side-effects…

Even nestled within the warm confines of her mothers hug and her fathers teary laughs, even beyond the rambunctious energy of her many siblings and the knowledge that she was alive, she could feel a chill deep within her bones. A dread on the back of her neck, the feeling of eyes bearing down on her from the too dark shadows under the bed. 

She’d had trouble sleeping after that, for a long time. Whenever she closed her eyes the red glow of anothers stared back at her and left her gasping for air, choking on an imaginary sludge that worked its way up her throat in thick waves that often took on the form of her last meal. Her parents were patient with her, rubbing her back and comforting her through the long hours of the night. It was draining, she could tell, but they were nothing if not loving and with each comforter she soils there’s a drawn soapy bath and warm honey-milk waiting for her after. 

On the nights that are too hard, the ones where the shadows seem to sink into her flesh too deep, her mother snuggles up close and whispers to her legends of old, spinning tale after tale that she falls and falls and falls into-

Healing is a slow process.

She’s never quite the same after the experience, but she doesn't change entirely either. She still chases after glittering stars and beaming rays of light, she still dances with the leaves and twirling gusts of wind, but sometimes the edge of nothing-nothingness creeps beyond the whites of her vision and threatens to swallow her whole and all she can do is breathe deep and count to ten over and over again until it passes. 

[angelpuns]

"Lil Hater" Part 1 | Part 2

>:3 I said I was making a comic so I DID. Do I have other projects to do. Holy shit so many. But unfortunately my brain wants THIS rn soooo :)

I plan on finishing it out, it's gonna be like a ' first day with the lil hater' kinda thing :)

ALSO- if you're confused asf about anything, p much everything is under the #unnamedleosagiau or #lilhaterau , but questions are also appreciated and I will answer anything that's confusing/unclear :)

I haven't made a masterpost cause idk how dedicated I'll be to the au as a whole and I tend to get ahead of myself sooo ;-; yeah no masterpost (yet?)

[thevoidstaredback]

I'm still not writing this yet, but I've got a lot of notes down... Anyway:

Spider-Man: "I study both law and medicine ironically."

Deadpool: *snort* "Yeah? I'll be DD over here practices law ironically."

Daredevil: "..."

Spider-Man: "DD? You're being awfully quiet over there.

Daredevil: "...I practice medicine-"

Deadpool: "Bullshit! You wouldn't know medical care if I shoved a textbook under your nose!"

Spider-Man, laughing: "You practice the law? The same law you work outside of every night?"

Daredevil, sighing: "Yes, I'm a lawyer. Can we drop it?"

Deadpool: "No way in hell, man!"

I was thinking about writing a Spider-Man and Batman crossover like Leap of Faith and Dark Matter, but I convinced myself otherwise. Not because I don't think I'd do a good job or because I'm already working on a million and a half stories, but because of this:

I tend to go really dark with my writing if I don't make sure to not let myself get lost in the words. I don't think I could bring myself to put Peter through anything I'd come up with. Maybe in the future, but definitely not right now

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer Park Steve AU part 5

part 1 | part 4

“…Henderson? Oh, holy shit, Henderson!!”

Eddie sounds like a kid on Christmas morning as he comes bounding across the street, movements like a great dane tripping over gangly limbs. He barrels into Dustin and tackles him in a great big hug, swings him off the ground in a circle and puts him back down so they can do some elaborate handshake with slaps and switchbacks and an ending tap-tap of their ankle bones.

What the fuck?

Steve watches this whole thing go down with his hands on his hips and his face doing something horribly sour because seriously what the actual fuck? Stupid handshakes with Henderson are his thing.

“What are you doing here, man?” Munson asks Dustin with a jovial pat on the back. Dustin’s squeezing him around the middle, tucked into his side like a little kid hugging a giant teddy bear, face just lit the fuck up with excitement over this. Steve feels his nostrils flare in a brief flash of petty rage.

“Steve!” he shouts happily. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re neighbors with Eddie?”

Eddie’s face falls when he looks up and sees Steve. Feeling’s mutual, dickwad.

“You’re here to see Harrington?” He asks in a voice like flat soda, all the earlier enthusiasm sucked out into the void. He takes a tiny step away from Dustin — just the smallest bit of distance, a subtle lightening of his touch against his shoulder — but Steve doesn’t miss the flicker of hurt that passes between Dustin’s brows. As if he needed another reason to hate this guy.

“Uh, yeah?” Dustin asks, confusion coloring his tone. “He’s my brother.”

“He’s your what?”

Steve’s chest swells with pride. “He said I’m his brother.”

“Not my blood brother,” Dustin clarifies, and Eddie makes a little noise. “But yeah. He’s fucking awesome. And you’re fucking awesome—”

“Language?” Steve tries for Claudia’s sake, but Dustin’s on a roll now, getting louder and more exuberant as he starts talking with his hands.

“—And oh, holy shit, this is the best! Wait ‘til I tell Mike and Lucas about this. With you guys living so close, we can hang out all the time! And we won’t even have to make two bike rides!”

Dustin leans in to squeeze Eddie in another hug, so stoked he’s bouncing on his toes a little (so stoked he doesn’t even bother to ask Eddie if it’s cool if the whole party shows up at his door, but that’s Dusty for you). His face is turned into the front of Eddie’s shirt, and over the top of his baseball cap Eddie gives Steve this look that Steve’s pretty sure he returns. Serious. Somber. Resigned. A fucking gallows stare, because…

Because fuck. Fucking- goddammit.

They’re gonna have to pretend to tolerate each other now. For Dustin.

Steve’s left eye starts to twitch.

—

“Are you selling him drugs?”

“Excuse the fuck outta you??”

Okay. Yeah. Bad start. Backtrack. Steve knows this is not the right way to approach a conversation, especially not when it’s Saturday night and you just interrupted your neighbor’s house party to be an accusatory dick to him. The Munson trailer door is wide open behind Eddie, and Steve can see a couple guys he vaguely recognizes from school sitting in the living room — a chubby white dude, a nerdy black guy, and a baby-faced kid with a scowl to rival Mike’s. They’re eating pizza and smoking cigarettes and sipping some cheap-ass brand of beer, and Steve is clearly interrupting.

“Sorry,” he tries again.

“Wow,” Eddie smirks. “Didn’t know you knew that word.”

“Shut up, man- just— ugh.” He takes a deep breath, wills himself to stop rolling his eyes at the guy he needs to ask a favor. “I’m sorry, okay? Can I just talk to you for a second?”

Eddie considers him for a moment; chin tilted up, lips pursed; and then he steps onto the porch and shuts the door behind him. “I’m listening,” he murmurs around a fresh cigarette, hand cupped around the end to light it.

He holds the pack out to Steve. “You want one?”

“Do I- what?”

Eddie shakes the box for emphasis. “Do you want one?”

“No, I heard you, I just…” The weird ceasefire between them is tripping him the hell up. He doesn’t think it’ll go too well if he says that out loud, though. “…Yeah. Fuck it. Thanks.”

“Sure.”

They smoke in silence for a moment, shoulder to shoulder, looking out into the dark of the woods that kind of freak Steve out if he lets himself look too long. Something about the branches like long, spindly fingers in the dark; like jittering spider legs; like a Mindflayer made of—

“You wanted to ask me something?”

Steve rubs his brow with his thumb, lets the panic out on a slow breath. “Yeah, I just… Look, I’m not trying to— I mean, I shouldn’t accuse you of anything, man. I just spent the afternoon getting myself all worked up thinking about it after he left, and- and Claudia needs me to look out for the kid, so—”

“Who the hell is Claudia?”

Steve tilts his head at him. “Dustin’s mom?”

“Oh.”

“I thought you two were close.”

Eddie shakes his head, curls bouncing around his shoulders, “Nah, man, not yet really. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the little guy’s cool and all — smart as shit, too—”

“Isn’t he?”

“Fucking genius. He’s gonna cure cancer or some shit, I swear.”

Steve catches himself smiling; hides it behind another quick puff of smoke.

“Anyway,” Eddie says, “I don’t really, like, know the dude. We just met because I run Hellfire.”

Oh. “The DnD club?” No wonder Dusty’s obsessed.

Eddie shoots him a look, a quick blink of pleasant surprise. “Yeah, exactly.”

“Cool. He loves that game.” Steve pulls in more smoke, takes his time on the exhale; lets the nicotine buzz swim in his veins. He forgot how nice it feels. “So yeah, Claudia— his mom—asked me to look out for him, y’know? And I just, I know you used to supply the weed for my house parties and shit— and it was good quality shit and all but I don’t—”

“Hold on,” Eddie says, snorting a little in disbelief. “You think I’m gonna sell weed to Dustin?”

Huh. “You wouldn’t?”

“Hell no! One, he’s way too young; that shit’s, like, bad for young minds or something, allegedly.”

Steve frowns to himself, thinking back to him and Tommy smoking weed in Tommy’s basement in middle school; the brain damage they probably gave themselves doing it. Whoops.

“Secondly, can he even smoke? I thought he was sick or something.”

“What? Why would you think he’s sick?” Oh, shit, is he sick? Does Steve not know about it because he missed all those family dinners?

“Dude, take a breath.” Eddie waves a dismissive hand, wafting smoke in pretty tendrils under the trailer’s flood light. “I just meant, like, chronically. ‘Cause of his bones and shit?”

“Oh,” Steve breathes, relieved. “Oh, yeah, no, he’s fine, he’s just like missing collarbones and stuff; he can bend like Gumby.”

Eddie laughs at that, dimple popping out, and Steve can’t help but laugh a little, too, remembering the last time he told someone that. “Don’t tell him I said that, though, he’ll get pissed.”

“Scout’s honor,” Eddie salutes.

“You a boy scout, Munson?”

“Nah, Harrington. Just figured you were.” His eyes are bright and playful, sort of magnetic as he drops the last of his cigarette and stubs it out with the toe of his boot. “Anyway, I gotta get back to the boys. You wanna stick around for a beer, or are you satisfied with my answer, Nanny Steve?”

“Okay, do not fuckin’ call me that,” Steve laughs, sharp and short. Tries to season the words with a glare, but Eddie’s face is too impish and pleased to hold on to any real anger. “And I appreciate the offer, but I think your friends would try to kill me.”

“Mm, yeah,” Eddie agrees, wiggling his fingers as he waves a hand to gesture at the whole of Steve. “Gareth is not exactly a fan of your kind.”

Aaand he’s pissed again. Jesus Christ. “My kind?”

“Yeah. Jocks? Rich assholes?” His lips tip up in a crooked smirk, “Or, well—”

“Don’t.”

Steve’s just done with his stupid jokes suddenly, and Eddie must hear how much he means it because he raises his palms in surrender and steps back. Always stepping back and away, this guy. Fucking coward.

Steve doesn’t know why he reacts like this, but the shame is turning to fiery fury in his gut, curdling his blood like sour milk, pricking hot at his lash line. Damn it; he’s not about to let Eddie Munson of all people see him cry.

He scoffs at himself, shoves his hands into his pockets. “Whatever, man,” he sniffs as he turns his back on him, “Enjoy your party. Screw you.”

—

The most pathetic part, Steve thinks to himself as he writhes and twists in his tangled, sweaty sheets; 2am and he’s up again after a nightmare because of fucking course he is; is that somewhere between the insomnia and guilt over the way their conversation imploded earlier, his staring-blindly-at-the-ceiling-until-his-eyeballs-start-to-burn morphs into, like, daydreaming about how it could have gone.

He keeps repeating the scene in his mind, rewinding the tape to let it play out in richer detail.

It goes like this:

1. Eddie comes over.

2. Eddie comes over and apologizes.

3. Eddie comes over in the middle of the night to apologize because he’s so, so sorry that he just can’t wait until morning, even though it wasn’t really his fault; no, Steve’s the sorry one; no, Eddie is; no, they’ll both agree to do better, for the kids.

4. It’s two in the morning, after the cars are all gone and the party’s died down, and Eddie comes quietly across the yard; taps gently on Steve’s window so he doesn’t wake his mom.

Steve leans out and snaps, “What?” because he’s still a little pissed, and Eddie makes big, contrite eyes and plays with his own hands; fingers dancing in nervous circles; spinning rings.

“Listen, I, uh—” Eddie begins, “I might have… Shit, man, I might’ve been a bit of a massive dick earlier, and seeing as we have to play nice on account of the kiddos, I— do you- I mean— come have another smoke with me? Please.”

Please.

Please.

Please.

It’s a pleasant dream. Steve rewinds again, lets it play out in his head for a few more loops. Falls asleep just as he’s getting the dialogue right.

When he wakes up, Munson’s van is gone.

They don’t talk again for weeks.

—

part 6

tag list got absolutely outta hand lmao and i can’t tag some of y’all bc of your privacy settings, so sorry if i didn’t tag you but here ya go i did my best 🩷 follow the tag #trailer park steve au for future parts. @steves-strapcollection @discorporatedmess @questionablequeeries @nburkhardt @disrespectedgoatman @a-little-unsteddie @thedragonsaunt @ledleaf @perseus-notjackson @devondespresso @loop-deloo @annabanannabeth @thewyvernkore @callas-shitshow @sentry-nest @aliea82 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @steddie-as-they-go @insominaticthoughts @lofaewrites @crazyhatlady86 @gothwifehotchner @potent-idiocy @discount-izukumidoriya @hbyrde36 @goldensnitchbcs @mightbeasleep @lawrencebshoggoth @beckkthewreck @silversnaffles @dawners @hellion-child @stray-bi-kids @iswearitsjustme @ilovecupcakesandtea @slowandsteddie @gaysonthefloor @pennyplainknits

[chickenlady119]

uhhh day 2: Sweets

[transingthoseformers]

"so are they just going to fuck here and now?"

"looks like it"

"are they allowed to do that??"

"probably not, but they're Optimus and Megatron—you willing to stop them?"

"primus no."

[thisapplepielife]

Submitted for @corrodedcoffinfest.

Funko Corroded Coffin

Day #26 - Tour Date A diorama of a tour date for the Funko Pop versions of Corroded Coffin.

Info: We haven't had many "other" entries for CCF, so I decided to snap some pictures of my little custom Corroded Coffin display for fun, just to add something different to the event.

Road Manager Steve has his red milk crate to stand on, and is carrying a bag of cash. Gareth's drum set is a real Funko one, I just added the Corroded Coffin logo to it. (It's definitely Tuesday's-coded by including Di and the red milk crates.)

As for the figures themselves, Eddie is the only standard-issue Funko. Gareth, Goodie & Jeff were all custom ordered to be painted like themselves from S4. And I made Steve and Di myself by doing some head-swapping, lol.

And, yes, I felt like I was playing Barbies moving them all around to take pictures, haha.

[tommarvoloriddlesdiary]

They had been so, so close. 

Years. Nearly two whole years. It was only a month until they graduated from Hogwarts and sailed back across the lake to their final trip aboard the Hogwarts Express. They had been so goddamn close. 

“Harry…” Hermione whispered, her eyes wide and wild. She was stressed and pleading, and he couldn’t blame her. 

This was all his fault. 

Beside him, he felt Ron tense further. He’d already been twitchy since they’d come down here, memories of their second year definitely not treating him any kinder than they were treating Harry. Hermione hadn’t been concerned in the least, enraptured with the chance to explore something as ancient and magical as the Chamber of Secrets.

Harry jolted as Ron’s wand appeared in his periphery. Hermione nearly looked ready to snatch it out of his hand.

It made matters worse, Harry supposed, that getting here hadn’t even been that difficult. He had enough extensive knowledge of Hogwarts’ hidden passageways to entrust the map to Hermione—allowing her to safely bypass any patrols on her way down—and the cloak to Ron—who couldn’t be stealthy even with a cheat sheet. As a matter of fact, being separated into different Houses hadn’t even stopped them; it probably made them less suspicious.

“Are you quite certain you know how to use that, Weasley?” Tom Riddle asked, standing hands clasped behind his back, not a hair out of place, in the very centre of the chamber. He was blocking their only way out. “From your lacklustre performances in our shared classes, I hesitate to think you capable.”

“Sod off, Riddle.” Ron’s anger was getting the better of him. His grip on his wand was white-knuckle tight, and, again, Harry couldn’t blame him either. 

This was all his fault. 

[prettybabyyyy]

He pulls the lips of your pussy apart so he can lick his own cum out of your dripping hole. He spends what feels like hours down there thoroughly cleaning you up and taking advantage of the opportunity to get another taste of your wetness. When he softly moans against your pussy, it causes you to buck your hips into his face, grinding your cunt against his mouth.

He knows just what you need so he pushes his face into you until he’s practically inhaling and devouring both of your fluids. You never thought you’d get turned on from your boyfriend eating his cum out of you, but as his tongue unexpectedly prods your entrance and brushes past your g spot, your third orgasm of the night starts fast approaching and you cum with a scream of his name that takes all the air out of your lungs.

“Can’t let any go to waste” he grins, looking up at you after taking his mouth off your pussy, chin covered in the deliciously salty mixture of his cum and yours. You pull him in for a kiss, smushing your lips together so you can really taste both of your releases.

[dreamwatch]

Know When To Hold 'em

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest

Day #17 - Prompt: This One's For You | Word Count: 999 | Rating: T | CW: death of a parent, depression, grief, referenced drug abuse, alcoholism | POV: Steve | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: Wayne Munson, Eddie needs a hug, protective Steve, hurt/comfort

I'm sorry. :(

The first time it happened totally out of the blue.

It was their first big show in Indy, their home show, and of course Wayne wanted to be there, as much out of curiosity as anything. He didn’t hear a thing; Steve gave him a set of ear plugs and it was like he’d been handed a pot of gold. “I could have done with these years ago.” But he saw everything and he talked about that show to anyone that would listen, and a few that wouldn’t.

Eddie was over the goddamn moon about it so he told the audience, “My Uncle Wayne’s here tonight, everyone say 'hi Uncle Wayne!'” and five thousand people just— did it. Because Eddie asked them to. Even through the ear plugs Wayne heard it. Steve’s not sure he’s ever seen the old man blush before.

So it became a thing completely by accident. If Wayne was there they played The Gambler as the last song of the encore; like the flag at Buckingham Palace telling everyone the Queen was home: Uncle Wayne was in the house. The fans latched onto it straight away, and it was one of only a couple of songs that Eddie would sing. Wayne didn’t see the band play often but it didn’t matter where they were, the moment that song started up the crowd went wild; the roar of “Hi Uncle Wayne!” rolling through the audience before everyone sang along. And Wayne there at the edge of the stage shaking his head, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

Eddie was in Germany when Wayne died. 

‘The best that you can hope for is to die in your sleep’, sang The Gambler, and that’s exactly what he did. Wayne would have got a kick out of that.

Breaking the news to Eddie was the most painful thing Steve’s ever had to do.

Tonight is their first night back after a two month hiatus. It feels too soon, but there are contracts, missed shows, obligations, and there’s only so much their manager can do to keep the label, promoters and lawyers away. 

Eddie’s dead eyed and lethargic; he’s started drinking again, Steve discreetly hid his pain medication when he noticed the bottle emptying faster than it should have. He sleeps with a belly full of Ambien and spends his day wrapped in Zoloft. Neither help.

But the show must go on, right? 

Despite everything, the grief, the fog of depression, when he walks out onto the stage he’s a supernova, the brightest of lights in the deepest of darks. He’s fucking dazzling. 

The crowd at the Market Square Arena are on fire, they explode when the band run on stage but Steve doesn’t miss the extra noise when Eddie gets out there. Eddie loosens up as the gig goes on, and by the end, when they take a bow together, he looks like a different man to the shell thats been haunting their home. 

There will be a crash later. Steve is already prepared for it.

The band come off drenched with sweat. Steve can see the pinched expression on Eddie’s face, the exertion after all this time lying around like a ghost has taken its toll on a body that has seen better days. But he still smiles at Steve as he hands off the guitar to his tech, his Sweetheart, only brought out for the encores now. 

“Was it okay?” Eddie asks him, towelling the sweat from his face.

“You were amazing,” is all Steve can manage right there, but he’s buzzing inside and there’s more he wants to say. But that’s for later, when it’s just them.

The band are handing off instruments, roadies scurrying around, breakdown already underway. There’s a lot happening, and you know, Steve’s hearing isn’t that great these days but there’s nothing wrong with his eyesight. He sees the little commotion over Eddie’s shoulder, the way people halt, ears pricking up like labradors. Jeff turns to Steve with wide eyes and Matt has stopped in his tracks. And then he sees the exact moment Eddie picks up on it, the furrowed brow, the soft tilt of the head.

The crowd are singing Wayne’s song.

Everyone stops. Roadies stand there like marionettes with their strings cut.

And Eddie…

He looks devastated, his hand flying up to his mouth like he’s trying to bury a sob, stopping the grief from breaking containment.

Steve can see the band over Eddie’s shoulder, heads nodding before they’re grabbing guitars back from their techs. He knows what they’re going to do, but there’s no way Eddie is up to it, they have to know that. Jeff slings an arm over Eddie’s shoulder, pulls him in, knocking his forehead against Eddie’s. And then Matty does it, Matty who doesn’t have a sentimental bone in his body, but Gareth is long gone, already running back onto the stage, crowd cheering at the sight of him, before Matty and Jeff follow him out. And they pick up where the crowd are and they play. Eddie usually sings it, but Jeff takes it tonight. 

Steve grabs Eddie’s hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “C’mon,” he says, pulling Eddie toward the side of the stage.

Steve loved Wayne, so fucking much. And maybe with all the help and care Eddie needed afterward, still needs, maybe Steve didn’t get a chance to grieve properly. He feels the ache in his chest, before he notices the calloused fingers wiping his tears away.

“He loved you, Steve.” He can’t reply, just nods, and Eddie holds him like he should be holding Eddie. And then he’s gone, out on to the stage, back with his band. No guitar, just sharing a mic with Jeff and joining as much as the tears will allow. And then the music cuts, Matty and Gareth joining them at the mic, and it’s just voices, nineteen thousand and four. Corroded Coffin, arms slung across shoulders, singing Wayne’s song. 

Singing to Wayne.

Yeah... I went there.

So, I had this idea months ago and parked it because I didn't know what to do with it. And then this prompt came along and BOOM!

[myokk]

fast sketch of my one-shot with Ominis💓

legilimency

Word count: 1.700

Rating: M (language)

Ominis Gaunt is a lost case - lost to the whims of one very determined Gryffindor sitting at his side.

They sit in the back of the History of Magic classroom, the only two students not lulled to somnolence by their professor. He: trying his hardest to focus on Professor Binns’ droning (easier said than done). She: trying her hardest to distract Ominis while not being entirely sure of being successful or not (easier attempted than understood).

Professor Binns is completely insufferable, of course. Ominis wonders if the ghost is as blind as he is: Binns willfully ignores the fact that all of his students use his class as an excuse to get a nap in (maybe he simply doesn’t see them sleeping - only one of many reasons why Ominis has decided he could never be a professor), rambling on and on in the most boring way possible. As if he were trying to be as dull as possible (maybe he does it to avoid interacting with the students which…can’t be to blame). In a different life, Ominis could see himself quite liking the subject, but as things stand he despises it.

Especially now.

Ominis fervently wishes that he could fall asleep.

Then, he might avoid hearing her thoughts - they’re consuming him and he can’t ignore them as much as he would like to.

Normally, he loves this class - not the subject, obviously - but the class itself, for the sheer fact that it is the only time where he gets some peace and quiet. Everyone’s minds nice and quiet and shut off for the time being while they sleep. Although he has gotten used to ignoring the thoughts of everyone around him, their various voices mixing and mingling with each other into a dull thrum in the back of his mind, it is nice to have some quiet once in a while.

But right now, with everyone asleep except for the Gryffindor at his side, her thoughts are so loud it’s like she’s screaming at him.

So here he is, wishing he could fall asleep, leave the class, maybe turn off the infernal legilimency that has haunted him his whole life.

(His parents and Marvolo insist it’s a gift handed down from Slytherin himself, just like the Parseltongue Ominis despises. It is not. It is a curse.)

He is stuck listening to her.

It doesn’t help that she seems to have caught on to him - something he had managed to avoid until now. Nobody else, not even Sebastian or Anne, has ever suspected a thing. But, in all fairness, those two are extremely loud and say every single thought that passes through their minds out loud even when they should remain quiet, and nobody else has had the opportunity to spend enough time with Ominis to begin to suspect anything.

Until her.

He had to go and let that blasted girl worm her way into his life, not leaving him alone ever, always looking for excuses to talk and ask his opinion, and being so intelligent that he wanted to invite her to study with him and talk with him and…

Since it happened a few nights ago, he hasn’t stopped cursing himself for that stupid offhand comment he made. They had been studying in silence in the library together, by the history books where nobody else ever ventures (thank you, Professor Binns), and he could have sworn that she asked him if he was finally going to walk her back to her common room (he blames a lack of sleep and wishful thinking for this mishap). His traitorous face had flushed and he had jumped at the chance to escort her - maybe she would let him carry her bag, or… - only to feel his whole body go cold and his stomach drop when her response wasn’t what he’d expected.

A pause: then: a confused voice: ‘Ominis, I didn’t say anything.’

His Gryffindor wasn’t stupid like Gryffindors were normally wont to be. He knew her, and he knew that after his monumental mistake, the gears in her brain were turning and he was terrified that somehow she had figured it out.

(His Gryffindor?)

She had been unusually quiet around him since then, although he bitterly noticed that she was still acting normally with everyone else. Still finding every opportunity to punch Sebastian in the shoulder and laugh with Anne, still whispering with Natsai about Merlin knows what, still…

But she had been avoiding Ominis. He couldn’t stand it.

Well, avoiding him right until this stupid class, when she had to go and sit right next to him (ignoring the fact that she always sits next to him in History of Magic, that everyone already has and adheres to their unofficial seats), and he can’t ignore her.

She’s pretending to take studious notes, but he knows better. The scratching of her quill blending with the droning of Professor Binns’ voice but not drowning out her thoughts. They float above the other noises, her voice sweet and piercing. Ominis wonders vaguely what she’s actually writing, because he’s positive it isn’t notes.

Professor Binns looks so sexy right now with his medieval hat, talking about…whatever it is he’s passionate about. I wonder if he would let me talk to him after class without floating through me like he normally does…

Ominis is determined not to react. She’s obviously trying to bait him. But…what if she is attracted to Professor Binns? Is he an attractive man? At the thought, the fist that’s resting on top of his desk clenches, but he works to make sure his face remains impassive. Apart from a twitch of his lips, he thinks he’s been quite successful.

She: huffing and shifting in her chair, her robes rustling as she crosses her legs. He: keeping his head facing forward, steadfastly ignoring her.

She changes tactics.

Maybe she’s just as insufferable as the other Gryffindors, after all.

I wonder what Ominis would say if he knew I woke up moaning today after a dream about him -

He shifts slightly in his seat, hoping that she’s so busy taking notes (who’s he kidding) that she won’t notice his discomfort as his trousers tighten -

…the girls in my dorm have been bothering me nonstop about who I’ve been mooning over but I don’t want them to…

His hand is in such a tight fist it’s a wonder he’s not breaking any fingers as he tries to remain as still as possible, but his traitorous arousal is making her thoughts harder and harder to ignore. Had he ever been able to ignore her?

…his tongue was deep inside me as I screamed his name…

He feels his face heat up at the thought - where had she learned such vulgar language? - and his whole body stiffens. He’s sure that she can feel the tension and warmth radiating off of him in waves but that…she…his insane little lion keeps shouting at him in the silence of the classroom. She’s now stopped all pretense of taking notes and is sitting stock still.

…his cock deep inside of me as…wait…what else did I hear Garreth say to Leander that night?…um… She shifts uncomfortably, her knee grazing Ominis’s as she moves to squeeze her legs together. It’s all he can do to not groan and remain impassive. Oh god…I…what’s that feeling? This was just supposed to get back at him for probably - maybe - reading my thoughts and I’m officially insane because how would he even be able to do that?…his ears turning red from embarrassment are so adorable and I can’t stand this anymore and…

Ominis tries his hardest not to move his head in her direction. His jaw flexes. Maybe he can drown her out if he starts reciting potions ingredients, or if he focuses on what Professor Binns is saying, but even he knows its futile. He’s hanging on to her every word - thought? - and his head slowly turns in her direction as she keeps going.

…does he know how much I think about him? Oh god, what if he dreams of me the same way I…

He slams the open book in front of him shut, the loud noise causing Sebastian to jerk awake and babble incoherently for a moment before slumping back over his desk, drooling and snoring lightly. Nobody else in the class seems to notice except her of course. Blissfully, she has stopped talking - thinking - and he can finally -

It’s no use. He needs to get out of there. She has invaded his mind and…What if she starts up again with her filthy thoughts that are bleeding into his own and -

Did he hear me? I didn’t actually think…oh god, can he hear me now? What have I done?

Ominis very slowly brings his hand over to where he knows hers is. The quill falls out of her hand and he hears a sharp intake of breath at their contact. His fingers trace her knuckles and then he slowly trails them up her arm. His fingertips are so sensitive that he could swear that he feels every thread that he passes, her skin warm and alive underneath the fabric. Then to her neck, her throat bobs and he feels her erratic heartbeat. Finally, he reaches her face. She remains very, very still as his fingers brush over her features for the first time.

He has never touched someone like this before.

Her skin is like velvet, soft everywhere he touches. Now that he knows what it feels like he’s not sure he can go back to before. His fingers trace the curve of her eyebrows - he finds that her nose is straight before it flares up a tiny bit at the tip - his fingers ghost over her impossibly soft lips. He drags his thumb across her bottom lip as her tongue darts out to wet them. It’s impossibly intimate and the world has melted away and it’s just the two of them in that moment.

He leans forward.

“Ominis, I…” she whispers, stricken.

His hand moves to tuck some of her loose hair away from her face - does she always wear it like this? - and his lips brush against her ear. He inhales deeply, her sweet smell invading his senses. She shivers under his touch and he breathes, “I heard everything.”

[morganski-19]

Chills Right to the Marrow Part 14

part 1, prev part

Dustin walks down the halls of the school. Just trying to get to his next class without anyone noticing. Watching as the eyes of his classmates follow him, waiting for him to do something. It was the same for the other Hellfire members, the same for Mike and Lucas. For Will and El as they were transferred back into the school.

Everyone wanted to know what they did, but no one really wanted them there. They were freaks. outcasts. Blind followers of the devil or whatever shit they believed. None of it was true, but they didn’t care. No one could tell them what was true even if they wanted to.

All he could do was take it and act like it didn’t bother him. He was an outcast before all this started. That was obvious. But he could still pretend that there were other people out there that might want to be his friend. Might actually like him.

Now he’s left with the fact that the only people that do are sitting at this lunch table with him. Shoved in the corner so no one has to think about them. While the insults are thrown around as words or balls of paper. Eddie’s wanted signs still plastered around the school. A new one taped to his locker each morning.

Didn’t matter that he was innocent. Didn’t matter that Hopper held a fucking press conference to make sure the town knew it. Once an opinion is formed, it’s not so easily broken. Eddie’s had opinions made about him his whole life. He couldn’t even catch a break in almost death.

In his nightmare, Dustin pictures Eddie’s name carved into a gravestone. Overshadowed with words sprayed over the engraving. Branding his final resting place with his burned legacy.

Forever a freak, never a hero.

“How’s Eddie doing?” Jeff asks across the table. They haven’t gone to see Eddie since the first week.

Dustin said it didn’t bother him, but it did. They gave him up, put Eddie in danger. Now their stuck in a puddle of their own guilt that they can’t find a way out of. Eddie was struggling to live, and they couldn’t even try to come and visit him more than once. And they were his best friends.

“He’s doing better,” Lucas supplies. Making Dustin bite his tongue.

They don’t deserve to know it.

“That’s good,” Gareth says while stabbing his food. The guilt still ripe in his eyes. He can’t even look at Dustin. Knowing that he didn’t just give Eddie up, he gave Dustin up too. “The band hasn’t been the same without him.”

“You’ve been practicing without him,” Dustin spits.

The table freezes. Everyone looking at Dustin. Either with surprise or pleas to let it go. Lucas especially.

None of them understand. None of them were there. It was just Dustin and Eddie on that trailer. It was Dustin that Eddie chose to risk his life for. They aren’t burdened by that. None of them know what it’s like to be burdened by that.

“Yeah, we have,” Jeff slowly answers. “We have a gig coming up, can’t just cancel it.”

“So, you’re just going to play it without Eddie then?” Dustin can hear the anger in his voice. Watches as it makes them flinch.

“It’s not like we want to,” Grant adds. Not helping. “He just . . . wouldn’t want us to cancel it.”

Dustin bites his cheek so hard it’s threatening to break skin. “But he would want you to betray him?”

Gareth stumbles to find his words. “You weren’t there. Jason wasn’t going to let up if we didn’t tell him-.”

“You could have lied,” Dustin yells. Noticing how the cafeteria quiets for a moment before rumble of voices resume. “You didn’t have to single me out. Tell me Eddie would have wanted that.”

He didn’t give them the chance to. He slings his backpack onto his back so hard it slams into him. Picking up his lunch tray and dumping what’s left in the trash. Slamming it into the pile before walking out into the empty hall. Not caring if he gets detention.

The door opens again behind him.

“Dustin,” Lucas calls out to him. Jogging slightly to catch up.

“I’m don’t need this right now.” Dustin continues walking down the hall.

Lucas gets in front of him, making him stop. “I get that you’re angry,” he tries to reason, “but that doesn’t mean you can just lash out at anyone you feel like.”

“So you think what they did was ok? I don’t have a right to be mad at them for stabbing both Eddie and me in the back?”

Dustin got over being angry at Lucas fast. Knowing that with his lie, he saved them all some time. Was only with the guys on the basketball team because of pressure. The rest didn’t have that excuse.

“No, I don’t think it was ok. But you weren’t there when Jason jumped them. He had Gareth on the ground with his fists ready. What was he supposed to do?”

The anger inside him is rising again. “Not put a target on my back,” he echoes through the hallway. “He put all of us in danger just because he couldn’t think of a lie. I’ve thought of a thousand lies in the middle of danger. It’s not that hard.”

“And Gareth’s not you. He’s not used to this stuff like we are.”

Maybe he’s not. But still, if Dustin was completely new to this, pinned down by someone much larger than him and given a choice, he would never choose to betray his friend. Without a doubt in his mind.

“Are you really that mad they’re still practicing,” Lucas asks when Dusting stops talking. “Life doesn’t stop just because people we love are in the hospital.”

Lucas finally found the right nerve.

“He almost died, Lucas. Life almost stopped for him.”

“I know. But that doesn’t mean-.”

Dustin cuts him off. “He died right in front of me. Do you know what that feels like? Holding someone as they die, being helpless to it.”

“I do,” Lucas cries. A thin line of tears forming in his eyes. “Max died for a few seconds before waking up again. The only reason she’s here is because El restarted her heart.”

Dustin suddenly feels horrible. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“Of course, I didn’t.” Lucas crosses his arms. “You were so focused on Eddie, and I knew it was killing you inside. I thought it would have been easier for you if you didn’t know the full story.”

“I’m sorry,” Dusting whispers. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. You just seemed to be taking it better than I was.”

Lucas takes a deep breath. “Max is blind. She’ll never see me again, not in the way she used to. I miss the color if her eyes.” He blinks away tears with another breath. “One of my friends is still in a coma, my sister is terrified, and I had a gun held to my head. Does that sound like I’m ok?”

Dustin shakes his head, feeling sheepish. “No, it doesn’t.”

“We’re all going through something, Dustin. It’s better if we stay together than force each other apart.”

He can’t find any reason to disagree with him. Dustin takes a few steps towards Lucas, the anger completely dissipated. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Lucas nods, smacking Dustin’s shoulder. “I am too.”

Next Part

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[fiendishthinking]

UGH can’t stop thinking about hunger tropes and vampires, ‘tis the season I fucking guess lmao

Particularly those scenarios where the vampire in question, normally either newly turned or just too pure-hearted, just…denies themselves the blood they need. And that in turn has so many physical effects. So many loud, eventually painful growls.

Especially when they can’t control themselves anymore? Ugh. Driving themselves so crazy trying to not hurt anyone that they end up losing their humanity altogether until their aching middle gets fed.

Whoever the unlucky victim (or lucky victim, I know I would be) ends up being would be able to hear just how hungry they are easily.

..definitely gonna elaborate and write some shit when I get off work, this is too good

[thezombieprostitute]

You've been feeling fragile lately. That's really the best way you can the to describe it. One wrong word and you'll shatter to pieces. It makes you move slowly, speak little, if at all, and you just can't bring yourself to ask for help.

Your partner is sitting on the couch, reading. You want to ask them to tell you you're okay. You need to hear them tell you reassurances, words to bolster yourself and help ease the feeling of fragility.

But you can't. You can't speak. You don't dare ask for help. Part of you knows it's self-imposed. That you could just give yourself permission to do so, but that voice is drowned out by the fear.

Instead, you sit yourself down next to them. They give no reaction, nothing to indicate they're upset by you sitting there. You scoot a little closer, still no dissuading looks or words from them.

You snuggle up to them, partially curled up into a ball. You hold your breath as you wait for them to tell you to leave you alone. Instead, they put down their book and move you so that your legs are across their lap and they have an arm around your back, holding you to them.

You lean into their touch and they kiss the top of your head.

"Would you like me to read to you?"

You simply nod and let yourself relax in their hold.

@alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @irishhappiness @lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly