#her brain to mouth filter is broken

[redundantz]

Hideous <3

#ugly(affectionate) #her brain to mouth filter is broken #she’s trying her best #he’s like a cat you call stinky #I think it’s cute people all have characters drawing him but I think it’s so intimate to have someone touching their face and describing it #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion #astarion x tav #faetheri #tav #my art #redundantz art #baldurs gate #also i hope it comes across like he is touched in the last panel #not upset #only she can call him ugly type vibes #astarion x faetheri

[itneverendshere]

a circus ain't a love story - baby daddy! rafe.

request: "baby daddy! rafe where reader and rafe are not together and she’s going on dates with men and he’s jealous but not like possessive jealous but like 🤭 jealous?" @zyafics

warnings: cursing; rafe's an asshole but he's just going through it <3; a lil angsty??; lots of tension and pent-up frustration; they just need to fuck it out honestly.

rafe likes to think of himself as a changed man. 

long gone is the reckless impulsive guy that reigned horror in the outer banks. he’s grown now, the man of the family, and a father. he spends his days working hard, providing for his family, and cherishing every moment with his baby girl. 

but when he learns you’ve been seeing other men after your ‘amicable’ breakup, he feels like he’s nineteen and ranging in misplaced anger all over again. younger days, when his temper ruled his actions and consequences were an afterthought.

old insecurities resurface, whispering doubts and fears into his mind.

you’d broken up before, years ago, and it barely lasted a month before both of you caved in. but now? now, you have a baby together, and for some reason, the breakup feels…permanent. 

he thought you just needed a breather from him, a little space to settle your mind after going through all the changes with your pregnancy. maybe he took you for granted, maybe he became too comfortable, too complacent in the belief that your love was unshakeable. and he’s paying for it. 

“where the fuck are you going?”

he knows exactly where you’re going, he’s just a masochist.

rafe’s always been vocal about his thoughts around you, having virtually no filter between his brain and mouth. it’s something you’ve gotten used to after five years in a relationship, the man is nothing if not blunt and crass. but now, it's different.

you’re not a couple anymore. you shouldn't have to put up with his nagging bullshit. but you have a child together, which means that you’ll never be able to fully scratch him out of your system. 

how were you so good before and yet so terrible once your daughter got here? 

you sigh, choosing to keep your back to him. 

“date.”

you hear him snort, not even having to peek to know he’s shaking his head, blue eyes lingering between your new dress and the ceiling, “my bad. thought you were going to a gala.”

you turn then, hand on your waist as you take him in. it’s hard not to stare at his freshly shaved hair and it only makes you want to slap him stupid for not doing it years ago. what’s the point if you can’t have him? 

“why? it’s not illegal to put in effort.” you tilt your head slightly, ignoring the way his eyes are burning holes through your shiny legs.

he pulls his eyes back to your face, but all you can see is the imprinted vision of your daughter laying on his chest earlier, her chubby cheek pressed against his shirt and her little hand curled around his finger. 

rafe’s heart clenches, the bitterness of your words sinking deep into his bones. he knows what you're implying, knows that you're trying to hurt him.

“he’s worth all that, huh?”

you shrug your shoulder, pieces of your hair falling back as you attempt to act nonchalantly, “maybe he is.”

rafe’s lips twitch into a half-smirk, half-grimace, a familiar expression that used to make your heart race but now just knots your stomach.

“who is it this time? it’s just kinda hard to keep track of your dates.”

his gaze lingers on you, searching for something, perhaps a hint of the girl he fell in love with, buried beneath layers of resentment and exhaustion.

you grit your teeth, the frustration growing beneath the surface threatening to spill over, “you don’t know him.”

he shakes his head, a humorless chuckle escaping his lips. “got yourself a touron?”

“don’t piss me off.”

he raises his hands in mock surrender. “i’m not trying to. just curious.”

“his name is mike.”

rafe's lips quirk into a sardonic smile as he hears the name. "mike, huh? sounds like a guy who sells insurance or teaches yoga on the weekends."

you shoot him a glare, unamused by his jest. "can you just be serious for once?"

catching sight of the offended look in your face, he adds, “it’s not my fault you keep choosing the ugly ones.”

you stare at him incredulously, “you don’t even know him!”

“hear me out, okay? if you’re ever going to give charlotte a sibling might as well—“

you’d throw the mug on your kitchen table at his head if charlotte wasn’t sleeping in the room next door.

“you think you’re so fucking funny don’t you?!” 

rafe hushes you, one of his hands rising to his lips, “what happened to no cursing in the house?”

your eye twitches, fingers itching to wrap themselves around his throat. “i’ll strangle you right here, rafe.”

“you got a new kink, mama?”

his ability to push your buttons has always been unparalleled, and it seems he's mastered the art even more since your breakup. he still manages to evoke a weird mixture of irritation and fondness within you.

“you can’t keep doing this. i like mike, maybe i want to date mike.”

rafe's expression shifts, his brows furrowing slightly as if your words have struck a chord. but then, just as quickly, his facade hardens again. he raises an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "i’m just trying to help. you said the exact same thing about whatever his fucking name was two months ago.”

you scoff, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “see! you’re trying to patronize me.”

“’m not.”

“right,” you mutter, rolling your eyes, “course you aren’t.”

his taunting smirk is more than a little infuriating. “i just doubt this guy is gonna stick around.”

“oh, so that’s it?” you prod him, laughing in his face, hands curling into tight fists. you get closer, staring him down as you look upwards. “we’re back to lying to each other now?”

rafe’s face is contorted into a grimace; eyebrows furrowed, and you can feel his steady breathing before he speaks.

”i can do this all day.” he scoffs, a bitter edge creeping into his voice, “i think the moment you tell him about charlotte he’s gonna run back to whatever hole he creeped out of. you think he wants to be a daddy?”

“who said he has to? that’s your job. maybe i just want to fuck him, you ever think about that?” the admission feels like a betrayal and a liberation all at once.

it’s a familiar dance you two have been doing since the breakup – hurling accusations and blame at each other like weapons in a war neither of you can win.

rafe’s smirk fades into a scowl as your words hit him like a slap in the face. he takes a step back, one of his hands instinctively rising in a placating gesture, but there's a defiant glint in his eyes that tells you he's not backing down without a fight. 

his jaw tightens, “now you’re just trying to get under my skin.”

you throw your hands up in despair, “it’s always about you, unbelievable.” 

you feel like your heart is being vacuumed into your stomach as he stares.

“me?” his fingers dig into his chest, as if you’ve shot him right there, “you're the one who's constantly bringing up other guys, rubbing it in my face like- like i'm supposed to just sit back and take it."

you let out a slow controlled breath and attempt to loose your body movements. “we’re not doing this again.”

rafe knows he's treading on thin ice, but relents, “oh, m’sorry sweets. forgot you hate to be reminded i care.”

“care?” you laugh but it’s void of any humor, “is this your way of showing me you care? making me miserable? slut-shaming the mother of your daughter?”

“didn’t mean it like that, don’t twist my words.”

you square your shoulders, refusing to let him see the cracks in your armor. "you said what you said, and you can't take it back."

his jaw clenches, and you can almost hear the gears turning in his mind as he searches for the right words to say, “you’re pushing it.”

there’s a fiery anger in your eyes that makes his body warm. “so fucking what?”

without a word, rafe closes the distance between you, his movements tentative yet purposeful. his hand reaches out, fingers gripping your cheeks, his rough touch sending your body into a frenzy. you want to push him away, but the pull between you is too strong to resist. you’ve been yearning for his touch for months, no one knows how to pull your strings like he does.

“you drive me fucking insane, y’know that?”

you merely blink, pretending to be bored, “go fuck yourself.”

and then, in a rush of pent-up desire and frustration, rafe snakes a hand around the back of your head to pull you to meet him in a passionate kiss.

it’s all sorts of desperate as if trying to bridge the problems between you, you're arching into him as his hand trails down your spine. his tongue is brushing across yours in a tentative swipe before you’re meeting him halfway, kissing him urgently. there's a hunger in rafe’s touch, a desperation to reclaim what his lost, and you respond in kind, your hands roaming over his back, tracing the contours of his muscles with a familiarity that sends shivers down his spine.

“you’re not going on a fucking date.” he pants between kisses, the way his lips caress your face keeping you close distracting you momentarily.

“you can’t stop me.” 

his hand slides around your waist, over the curve of your ass, grabbing a handful in the process, “watch me.”

#rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron #rafe cameron au #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron angst #rafe x reader #rafe x female!mc #rafe cameron x reader #rafe obx #babydaddy!rafe #this is literally just rafe being an asshole #the angst got out of hand #i was about to write smut but fell asleep

[spacedace]

Dannys graduation class is especially liminal thanks to the portal and frequent ghost encounters/ Their overshadowing. Which means, that they subconsciously prefer places with high ecto ambience.

Gotham University already had their fair share of students from amity park, one of the only people outside from Gotham who would actually stay for the duration of their studies (thanks to them being used to ghost shenanigans). But this year its more than usual + even for Gothamites these Amity Parkers seem to be rather unhinged.

(I just need more liminal!Amity Parker shenanigans :D and thanks to WE Gotham has great scholarships available)

I had a lot of fun with this one! Thank you for the prompt!

-

Robert’s hands shook as he brought the chalk to the blackboard, letter’s jagged and words illegible as he attempted to write the day’s lesson down.

Behind him was a silence beyond what the human mind was ready to comprehend. A room full of people, the sense of others in the room, and yet utter stillness. No soft scratch of pencils on paper, gentle taps of nails upon keyboards, no shifting of bodies or crinkling of snacks or soft murmur of voices of those at the back of the lecture hall whispering to each other.

It was something Professor Robert Herne hadn’t truly noticed before this semester. How much noise humans made even when they were sitting very quietly. Little things the brain filtered out so terribly noticeable until it was gone. The almost imperceptible hush of breaths. The absent hum of a chorus of heartbeats. Things you didn’t realize you were used to hearing until they were suddenly, horribly gone.

The chalk broke beneath his hand.

The students sat in impossible, unbearable stillness, watching him.

They were always watching him.

Unblinking eyes, fathomless and deep and knowing knowing knowing. They looked at him and saw. Empty voids that threatened to swallow him whole if he made the mistake of meeting their terrible, all consuming gazes.

His hand shook harder, the broken chalk in his hold crumbling to fine dust. His breathing came harder, heart pounding. Behind him figures stretched long, twisting and unnatural, more and more unblinking eyes opening to stare at him, mouths stretching, faces warping, skin mottling to impossible shades, sharp teeth and pointed ears. Still as death, unmoving, he could feel the weight of them pressing down upon him from all sides and, and, and -

He screamed.

-

Miriam Schuster, Dean of Gotham University, sat with her head in her hands at her desk. Outside on the quad yet another of the school’s professors was being carried away on a stretcher, screaming and frantic as his class of students all milled about worried for him at a distance.

Herne was the third one in the past month.

Amity kids, she swore, they got weirder and weirder every year. And unlike some members of the University staff, she was qualified to say that. She was an Amity Park kid once upon a time, she knew her home town was weird. Even before the ghost stuff started happening they had a reputation for being odd. She’d certainly creeped out more than a few of her own professors over the years as a student, and still put some people on edge whenever she forgot to make an active effort to appear more…for lack of a better word, normal.

This year’s batch was weird even by her standards though. Far more ecto-contaminated than the students that had joined the university in previous years and it showed. The entire non-Amity half of several courses had dropped in the first week of the semester. They’d had more dorm-room transfer requests than they’d ever seen before. TAs were refusing to work in classes that had Amity Parkers in them. And the professors…

Herne gave another scream of terror outside, shrieking about silence and eyes and being watched. Miriam sighed again.

The professors were not able to cope with the freshmen class at all.

Scrubbing her face in her hands, Miriam leaned back in her seat and looked down at the papers spread out before her. Transfer paperwork to group all the new batch of Amity kids into the same classes so that they weren’t quite so spread around. Keep them contained, as much as it was possible to do so. The problem with having them all in one place though was that the effect of them being so…well, Amity, was far more intense. Which left her with the question of just who she was going to be able to get to teach these classes.

Gotham was more up to Amity Parker strangeness than just about anywhere else - outside of Amity itself of course - and even the Gothamites where having trouble keeping up. It was going to take a special kind of person to be able to handle them.

Miriam glanced out her window again to where the ambulance was trundling away with Herne aboard to Arkham. The civilian mental facilities hadn’t been up to the kind of psychosis caused by direct contact with this year’s batch of Amity Parkers.

Hmm, she considered. That might be an idea.

She’d have to make some phone calls.

-

“Alright settle down! I know you’re all a rowdy bunch, but I’m gonna need yous to sit pretty for me for the next hour so we can go over the new syllabus.”

To anyone else, there wouldn’t have been any kind of perceptible difference to the utter stillness of the room. The rows of seated students were as still and motionless as they’d ever been, not even their chests seeming to move as they sat and stared, unblinking.

The new professor smiled widely. “Thank you! And hear I heard yous were all a bunch of troublemakers, ha!” A deft hand snatched up a piece of chalk, drawing large looping letters on the board with plenty of flourishes. “Welcome to Psych 101! You can all call me Professor Quinzel!”

Harley spun to face her class, smiling brightly at the eager gleam in the eyes of her new students.

The class, with eyes a little too bright and teeth a little too sharp and shapes a little too wrong when viewed from the corner of the eye all smiled back brightly. It was such a relief to finally have a professor that actually had her shit together.

#spaced asks and ace answers #dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dc x dp prompt #harley quinn #danny phantom #batman #amity parkers are weird #liminal amity parkers #love a class full of Amity Parker weirdos looking at Harley Quinn and being like: oh thank god someone normal #Harley is having the best time being a professor #the batfam are very nervous about the next generation of psychologists and psychiatrists to come out of Gotham U

[holylulusworld]

Designed by pain (9)

Summary: Broken hearts are hard to put back together. 8 years ago, Dean lost something he didn’t even know he had in the first place. Will he get a second chance?

Pairing: former AU!Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, past break-up, arguments, daddy Dean

A/N: This was an alternative idea for the first chapter of my Bucky story: Monster-in-law masterlist. I decided to use it for a story with Dean.

Designed by pain masterlist

Designed by pain (8)

Dean couldn’t find sleep that night. He tried to close his eyes, but all he saw was the ring on the bed while the words from your note echoed in his mind.

You wanted him to stop you from leaving, and he didn’t even know about it. 

His mother stole the only chance he had to see you swollen with his child and hear the first cry of his baby boy.

She stole everything from him. And he let her. 

It’s the first time in his life he doesn’t know what to do. Dean has lost his way, and he’s not sure there is a way to fix what he and his mother destroyed years ago.

Coming here was an act of desperation, nothing else. He didn’t think this through. All Dean wanted was to meet his son, and somehow, he had hoped there would be a chance you’d forgive him. 

Wishful thinking. A daydream he had hoped would come true.

A lie he sold himself so easily while he was clawing at the seat on the plane. Dean is a great pretender when it comes to his feelings. He pushes them away, pretending to not feel the emptiness inside of him since you left his side.

“Can’t sleep?” Sam yawns and slowly sits up. “Dean, you should try to get some sleep. Y/N allowed us to stay and agreed to talk to you in the morning. That’s more than you could’ve dreamed of.”

“I fucked everything up,” Dean sighs, and rolls to the other side to hide the tears well up to his eyes. “I could’ve had a life with Y/N. Sammy, I’ve missed her pregnancy, and the birth of our child. I didn’t see his first steps. His first word wasn’t daddy because I wasn’t around. Do you know how this feels? Do you?”

Sam fights the tears and the lump in his throat. He doesn’t know how it feels because he was there, watching his baby boy's every step. “No…I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Dean huffs. “I got drunk and hurt Y/N. I let Mother walk all over her and didn’t even try to contact Y/N. You wanted me to find her, but I let my doubts and issues get in the way.”

“You didn’t know about the note, and her pregnancy,” Sam slowly sits up. He slips out of the bed to place his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I know Y/N is still hurt, but Mother played you both. If there is a slight chance Y/N will at least let you be a part of your son’s life, take it. Don’t chicken out. Just take it.”

“Fuck’s sake, I’m trying to do the right thing. It’s just…” Dean sniffs. “It’s all so fucked up. Our mother ruined my relationship out of spite. Father tried to hit on my fiancé and still drools all over her. I’m a father and don’t know how to tell my son that he grew up without a father because I was the one fucking things up between Y/N and me.”

“Can you not say fuck all the time?” Sam grunts. “You can’t cuss all the time while a kid is around. Dean, you need to learn to control your mouth and use your brain as a filter.”

“I can curse as much as I want to as long as Michael is not around,” Dean argues. “Now lemme sleep.”

“You didn’t sleep at all. Your grumpiness kept me awake,” Sam bites back. “But fine. Go ahead and ruin your chance. I’ll fly back home tomorrow.”

“Sammy…I…I need you here. I don’t know what I’m doing here,” Dean sits up to look at his brother. “Can she ever forgive me? It was all my fault…my fault alone…”

“Arthur, not now,” you rub your tired eyes while arguing with your boss and best friend. “I know you don’t like Dean, but this can’t be helped. He’s here, and I need to find a way to handle the situation. Michael deserves to know his father…doesn’t he?”

Ketch shakes his head. He stares at the closed front door while you nervously run your hands up and down your arms. “I came here to check on you because you cried last night, Y/N. He’s in town for not twenty-four hours and already made you cry. Let me throw him out of your house.”

“Ketch…” you grab his wrist and stop him from entering your house. “I love you like a brother, but this is something you can’t do for me. Michael needs to know, and I need a conclusion too. Let me handle Dean.”

“Y/N…”

“Do you trust me?” You look him straight in the eyes. “Do you believe I’m a smart and independent woman able to make my own decisions?”

“Yeah… I mean…” He stammers now. “Of course, my dear…”

“Then let me make my own decision,” you pat his hand. “You’re a good friend, and I—”

You can’t end your line because Dean storms out of your house. He immediately attacks catch, landing a blow to your friend’s cheek. “YOU! You kept her away from me! You sonofabitch! Now you come here to get her? Forget it!”

“Dean! No!” Sam tries to stop his brother, but Ketch and Dean are already throwing punches at each other. You can only watch them fight over you, or whatever they believe they are fighting for.

“DEAN!” 

“KETCH!”

You and Sam yell while the men fight and argue. Ketch yells at Dean for leaving you and his baby, while Dean calls Ketch a girlfriend-stealing gremlin.

You’d chuckle at Dean’s choice of words but they are about to seriously injure each other.

“STOP THIS NONSENSE!” Sam yells. He wants to get in between the men. “DEAN!”

“He’s my dad?” 

You turn around like in slow motion to watch your son’s eyes widen. His face falls, and he sniffles. 

“Baby…I—” you try to find the words to explain why you never told your son about his father. “We should head back inside.”

“He’s my dad?” He says again, a little louder this time. “But…” Michael shakes his head. “I hate you! All of you!” 

“No…I…” You sniffle. “Great! I hope you are both happy now!”

Part 10

#dean winchester #dean x reader #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x reader #au!dean winchester #Designed by pain (9)

[sidekick-hero]

dying on your lips is how I wanna go (kiss me you animal)

(steddie | teen | 3.3k | @steddie-week | First Kiss | AO3)

Summary: Robin breaks her ankle and Steve's chance at a dance with Eddie at her wedding with it. Good thing there's always a second chance for true love.

Robin and Nancy's wedding was an emotional roller coaster for Steve, and he's not sure if he wants to kiss or curse Robin. At the moment, both sound equally good.

The day had begun with him wondering if he was going to die alone, probably after slipping in his bathtub and being found weeks later, already rotting away. The bittersweet ache of watching his best friend and platonic soulmate marry the woman he thought he'd marry someday had been hard to bear, and he'd been convinced he'd end the night drunk and sobbing on the bathroom floor.

Instead, Robin had given him the most gorgeous man he'd ever seen. He knew the guy, Eddie, wasn't exactly a gift because Robin had hired the wedding band without a thought for Steve. Still, he'd like to think that deep down, she did it for him, and he could kiss her for it.

Eddie had checked all of Steve's boxes and had single-handedly created a few new ones as well. The dark, curly hair and big, soulful eyes had been what had first caught Steve's attention, followed by the mesmerizing way he played his guitar, talented, nimble fingers dancing across the strings that made Steve think about how he'd like them to play his body in the same way. And his voice. Steve could still feel heat spreading through his body at the thought of that voice.

But what had made Eddie different, truly different, wasn't the way he looked or his sinful voice. It was the way he cared. He had been so nice to Steve, so sweet and interested in him, his attraction obvious without being sleazy. No, he had made Steve feel seen, like he really wanted Steve and not just another pretty body. And yes, maybe Steve was as easy as some of his exes and one-night stands had told him, but in his book, that was enough to make the first butterflies tentatively flap their wings.

When Eddie's bandmate had called Eddie back to the stage to do his job, he had been disappointed, but then Eddie had come back and asked Steve to save a dance for him, promising him a later for which Steve was giddy to take him up on.

This is where his desire to curse Robin comes into play.

Because Robin was one of the smartest and bravest and most wonderful people he'd ever had the pleasure of knowing, and he would die for her. But by God, whoever thought it was a good idea to let her drink and then dance a fast, upbeat song with Nancy should be slapped in the face, hard. Steve would even volunteer. Robin-actual-babygiraffe-Buckley was an uncoordinated mess when she was sober. Add several glasses of champagne on an empty stomach to the mix, and it was a wonder there hadn't been more casualties.

She and Nancy had been whirling around the dance floor in a flurry of flailing limbs, both dizzy and drunk, when Robin had tripped over her own feet, slammed into a table, and broken that table along with her ankle. Eddie had been there, right behind Steve, helping him dig Robin out from among the splintered wood, trinkets, and flower arrangements.

Eddie had examined Robin for injuries in a way that looked calm, collected, and competent, and Steve had swooned, forgetting for a second where they were and why.

"Is there anything you can't do?"

It just slipped out, adrenaline loosening his tongue, and Robin slapped his arm, offended.

"Could you please not flirt while I'm dying, Dingus?"

"You're not dying, birdie," Eddie chuckled, clearly amused by their banter and the way Steve seemed to have lost his brain-to-mouth filter. "But I'm afraid you're going to have to go to the emergency room, that ankle looks broken. Better get it looked at before it gets worse."

Steve looked at him with wide eyes. "How do you know how to do that?"

Eddie just shrugged his shoulders like it's no big deal, and that made Steve fall a little harder.

"Oh, y'know, I got beat up a couple of times in school, nothing bad, but you pick up a thing or two about injuries. Then we started playing in bars and clubs, but most of them wouldn't let us just play, they wanted money to get a spot, so I started helping out as a bouncer or bartender, and one part no one tells you about is taking care of drunks who get hurt," he looked down at Robin and smiled teasingly at her, "like birdie here. That was pretty impressive, I haven't seen that much broken in one go in a long time.”

Robin blushed, Nancy giggled, and Steve? Steve wondered how long he'd have to wait before he could ask Eddie to move in with him. Maybe after he took Robin to the emergency room, because he was pretty sure she'd kill him, soulmate or no soulmate, if he did it right now.

Steve scooped Robin up in his arms, earning a yelp from Robin and something that sounded almost like a Jesus Christ from Eddie.

He put her in his back seat, glad that his last champagne had been two hours ago. Nancy took the passenger seat and off they went. As he drove away, he saw Eddie getting smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror. There went his dance and his bright future as a wedding band player's boyfriend.

They had kept Robin for a few hours, checking her out thoroughly at Nancy's vaguely threatening request. Steve called the wedding venue and told everyone that they wouldn't make it back, but that everything was paid for and they should enjoy it. Then he sat back down next to Nancy and waited.

Of course, Robin was fine. Her ankle was broken, but they told her it would heal nicely if she kept her weight off it for six weeks and wore an ugly looking boot. She was even given her own walker.

At 5am Steve fell into his own bad, face first and alone.

The next few days are spent in a moping haze. Steve knows he's being overly dramatic when he whines and pouts every time he goes over to Robin and Nancy's house to help Robin out when Nancy has to work, but he thinks he deserves it. Because something about Eddie had felt real in a way that nothing else had before, and as impossible and stupid as it sounds, he misses Eddie.

And that's why, he thinks, Nancy finally pulls him aside one night about a week after the wedding and asks him bluntly, "The wedding band singer, that's why you're so insufferable, isn't it?"

"Hey, if you don't want me here, I can--" he starts, sounding petulant to his own ears.

"Steve," Nancy cuts him off, that steely undertone in her voice that says she means business, "that's not it, and you know it. We want you here, always. But if I hear you sigh one more time, I will have to shoot you." She raises her eyebrow, waiting for him to interrupt or protest.

He doesn't.

"So I'll ask again. The wedding band singer?"

They stare at each other in silence, and it takes Steve a full 20 seconds or so before he gives in.

"Yeah, the wedding band singer," he sighs. "His name is Eddie."

"Oh, I know. We hired him. Which means I know his name, his full name, and his number and address." Looking into Steve's wide, surprised eyes, she adds affectionately, "Dingus.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Eddie is just about to bite into his sandwich, flipping off Gareth's nagging voice in his head telling him that nine thirty is too late for dinner, when his phone vibrates.

Unknown number sent 09:32pm: I got your number from Nancy, I'm not a stalker

Unknown number sent 09:32pm: Or does this count as stalking

Unknown number sent 09:33pm: Shit

Unknown number sent 09:33pm: Oh God, please ignore this

Unknown number sent 09:37pm: This is Steve, by the way. From the wedding you played with your band last Saturday. I don't know if you remember, but we talked before Robin broke her ankle and I couldn't get your number so Nancy gave it to me, and I'm sorry if this is weird, I'll delete it if you want me to

Eddie bounced excitedly on his couch, his face aching from smiling down at his phone and his feet kicking. It's a good thing Gareth and Chrissy aren't home right now because they would make fun of him mercilessly. There was no one around to judge him for acting like a teenage girl with her first crush.

Once that was out of his system, he picked up his phone again and tapped out a reply, trying not to sound too eager, but showing Steve how happy he was to hear from him.

Eddie Munson sent 09:41pm: Course I remember you, Steve. You're hard to forget, believe me.

Eddie Munson sent 09:42pm: This isn't weird, I'm glad you did. How is Robin?

Steve (cute wedding guy) sent 09:42pm: Okay, good, I'm glad too

Steve (cute wedding guy) sent 09:43pm: Robin is fine, doctor said she'll be good as new in about 6 weeks

Eddie is glad to hear that, too. He had joked about it, but the accident had looked painful. Even though he's still bummed that they didn't get to have that dance, it's good that Steve took care of his friend and that she's going to be okay. Maybe they can have that dance after all. Just as he's about to type that, he sees three dots appear on the screen, indicating that Steve is still typing. They disappeared without a new message and reappeared after a few seconds, and after several times of disappearing and reappearing, another message from Steve popped up.

Steve (cute wedding guy) sent 09:56pm: Listen, I know we only talked once, but I think you and your band are really great. And there's this fundraiser at my school, we're raising money for a new gym. Maybe you and the guys would be willing to help me out and do a benefit concert to raise more money?.

Eddie deflated. Steve hadn't written to ask him out, but to ask for help with his benefit concert. It was a good thing he hadn't suggested they make up for the lost chance at a dance.

Normally, Eddie wouldn't jump at the idea of playing a concert at a local high school - his old high school, in fact, as Steve and he had discovered during their conversation at the wedding - especially for free. But the thought of seeing Steve again, even if it wasn't like that, made him type an answer before he could talk himself out of it.

Eddie Munson sent 10:02pm: Thanks man, I'll tell the guys you said that. I'll have to check with them, but I'm sure we can swing it. Just send me the date.

Steve (cute wedding guy) sent 10:04pm: Wow, that's great! Thanks, Eddie, really. It's next Friday, I thought we'd start the concert at 7pm, so if you could be there around 6:30 that would be great. Just ask for Steve Harrington.

Eddie sighed heavily. He can see Steve's excited face as if he were standing right in front of him and he could tell himself that it was the late dinner all he wanted, but the butterflies in his stomach were hard to misinterpret.

Fuck.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Steve wants to kick himself for making a complete fool of himself as he lies in bed reading over his earlier conversation with Eddie. I'm not a stalker. Jesus Christ, Harrington, that's exactly what a stalker would say.

He's grateful that Eddie has been so nice about all of this. Not that he should be surprised, since Eddie had been nothing but nice and sweet during the wedding. Still, after getting off to a painfully awkward start, Steve couldn't bring himself to ask Eddie to dance, as he had planned. It would have just felt way too weird.

Good thing he remembered the fundraiser next Friday. Sure, he'll have to convince Joyce to allow a concert in the evening, something they hadn't planned, but he's pretty sure she'll be on board. Maybe he'll ask Eddie to go out to dinner or dancing afterwards.

Or both. He'd really like both.

‘In a few days I'll see him again, and this time I won't let him get away,' he thinks as he plugs in his cell phone and puts it on the nightstand.

Steve turns over and falls asleep with a smile on his face.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The fundraiser is a huge success, largely due to Nancy's impeccable planning skills and the combined efforts of all their friends, most of whom don't even work at the school.

Jonathan, another of Nancy's ex-boyfriends whom they all get along with, is manning the photo booth and his boyfriend, Argyle, is handing out homemade pizza. Their friend Will is drawing portraits for the kids and their parents, while Dustin is doing harmless but exciting science experiments and Lucas is managing the basketball court.

Robin sits at the table with the large donation box, collecting checks and bills and thanking everyone profusely for their contributions. Her walker and crutches are out in the open, and if people feel sorry for her and give a little extra, that's on them. The children will be happy about their new gym and will not care how it was paid for.

Steve, who herds the volunteers and students alike, can't help but look at his watch every few minutes. Robin stopped teasing him about it an hour ago and now just rolls her eyes at him half annoyed, half fondly. It's still not even 6 p.m., the same as it was ten minutes ago, the last time he checked.

He sighs, annoyed at both himself and the slow-moving clock hands, when a voice behind him says, "I heard someone requested a Live Aid worthy benefit concert?"

Steve whips his head around to find Eddie standing right behind him, dressed in ripped jeans and a printed shirt under a leather jacket and denim vest combo that made want pool in his stomach. Eddie in a tuxedo had been mouthwatering, but this? This was downright indecent, his jeans looking painted on and the jacket accentuating how tiny his waist looked compared to his shoulders. Screw dinner and dancing, he wants to take Eddie home. He might even ask him to leave the jacket on.

"Steve? Are you okay, man?"

Eddie's voice jolts him out of the dirty spiral his thoughts had been on and he blinks at him owlishly.

"Eddie, hey. Hi. You're early," Steve stutters, looking for the script, any script, that doesn't make him look like an idiot. "Not that that's a bad thing, not at all. I'm glad you're here."

Steve groans and rubs his hand over his face. Great. So fucking smooth. When he looks up, he catches Robin's eyes across the room and her eyebrow rises before she mouths 'You suck' at him.

"You know what they say, Stevie. A wizard is never late, nor early. He arrives precisely when he means to."

"That's Lord of the Rings!" Steve exclaims, snapping his fingers at Eddie in excitement. "Dustin made me watch it last Christmas, it's really good."

The smile he gets in return turns the tentative flapping of butterfly wings in his stomach into a storm.

"Glad you think so. They're my favorite movies of all time, I watch them at least once a year."

Before Steve can reply, 'Maybe next time we can watch them together,' another man appears next to Eddie, and Steve vaguely remembers seeing him with the rest of the band at the wedding.

He slaps Eddie's shoulder and tells Steve, "Don't believe a word he says. He watches it once a month." He extends a hand to Steve. "I'm Gareth, Eddie's band and roommate. Nice to meet you, I've heard a lot about you, Steve."

Steve shakes Gareth's hand, catching the glare Eddie gives his friend out of the corner of his eye. He wonders what that's about.

"Thank you, Gare-Bear, for such a valuable contribution to my conversation. Don't you have something to do? Like, somewhere else, maybe?"

Gareth throws his head back and cackles at Eddie's put-upon expression, raising his hands in a placating yeah, yeah, yeah gesture.

"Me and the boys are going to get something to eat, call us when we can set up, yeah?"

Eddie waves his hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, I'll call you," before turning back to Steve and saying, "Ignore him. I do it all the time. So, Steve, my beneficiary, where do you want me?"

Everywhere but sucking you off in front of all these families will probably get me fired.

"Um -"

"For the concert? I wanted to check out the stage before I set up with the guys."

"Oh. Yeah, right. Follow me, I'll show you."

On the way to the stage Steve tries to get a grip on himself. What the fuck. He can't remember the last time he felt like this, like his skin was too tight and his stomach was churning with nerves.

As they pass the bleachers, Eddie speaks up from behind.

"Do you know how many times I walked by them and saw some jock or other making out with a cheerleader and made fun of them when all I really wanted was to be in their place?"

This makes Steve pause mid-stride and Eddie walks right into him, causing them both to stumble forward, holding on to each other to keep from falling over.

"Whoa, careful there, big boy, it feels like walking into a brick wall," Eddie chuckles, and it sounds nervous, his hands tightening on Steve's biceps. They're suddenly very close, noses almost touching, and Steve thinks he could drown in those bright brown eyes. He swallows convulsively, his head swimming with how much he wants to close the last few inches between them, and then he thinks, fuck it.

"I was a jock," he tells Eddie, eyes locking with his, wanting him to understand what he's putting out there.

Eddie's eyes widen, searching his for a long moment before he whispers, "Are you - Do you -" his voice devoid of all the assurance and bravado of earlier.

Steve may be slow on the uptake sometimes, but he knows when someone wants him.

"You want to cross out making out behind the bleachers with a jock from your bucket list?"

"Who says I didn't want to make out with the cheerleader?"

Steve licks his lips and Eddie's eyes immediately drop to follow the movement, so Steve just smirks and says, "Eddie? Shut up," and pushes him behind the bleachers, pinning him against the nearest beam and catching his lips in a bruising kiss.

Eddie's hands find their way into Steve's hair, gripping it in tight fists, and it stings in a way that makes his hips jerk forward, a gasp coming from his mouth that sounds more like a moan. Instead of using the opportunity to slip his tongue into Steve's willing mouth, Eddie uses his hands in Steve's hair to control the kiss, to make it slower, softer. Gentle. He moves his lips leisurely against Steve's, exploring their texture and shape before letting his tongue slip out to trace the pronounced dip of his Cupid's bow.

Steve melts into Eddie, surrendering himself as he sinks against his warm, inviting body. They kiss and kiss and kiss, the slide between their mouths getting wetter and hungrier.

"Fuck, I never thought I'd get to do this. You're a dream come true, Steve Harrington."

Steve dives back in, kissing him with everything he has, thinking, I never want to wake up.

#steddieweek2023 #steddie #steddie fanfic #fluff #first kiss #teacher!steve #musician!eddie #modern au #stranger things #my writing

[ephemerensis]

It’s Cold // Joel Miller x GN! Reader

you steal something important from joel and he gets a little (lot) angry // platonic ; maybe its bc its 2 am and i’ve been listening to pheobe bridgers but the ending has me open mouthed sobbing !! not proofread

song rec: day after tomorrow— phoebe bridgers

—

You’d been in the bedroom for a couple hours now, with the same three thoughts aimlessly looping through your brain; up until the front door crowed as it opened.

The sound of the door closing soon followed accompanied by heavy footsteps thumping against creaky floors on their way in.

“Did you find it?” That familiar gruff timbre filtered through the walls of your shitty QZ apartment.

“No,” Tess was quick to respond. You’d thought she’d left already. She usually wasn’t home at this time, off running an errand or something of the sort after her work detail. But she stayed today.

You couldn’t see him, but you could feel the tension in the air thicken then. Of course, you knew exactly where “it” was. And up until you got caught by Tess sneaking back into the apartment, you were happy to get rid of it.

I can talk to him. I didn’t know. He’ll understand.

At least that’s what you told yourself. It’s not like you didn’t mess up before, but Joel always came around; albeit in his own callous way. After all these years living together— all these years of him raising you, it was like a silent promise. Joel would be there for you. He loved you.

But this was different. You’d never messed up this bad. As soon as you confessed your undertakings, the look of creeping dread on Tess’s face was testament enough to how royally you fucked up.

You took his watch.

It was broken. Before he found you it was broken, and long after he never fixed it. Between fighting infected and scavenging for survival; there wasn’t exactly time for him to figure it out, you’d assumed. But now that you were safe enough, and life was almost domestic, and the man you considered a father had a birthday coming up— it was high time he got a working one.

So you stole it; with the intention of fixing it. But no one in the QZ had the tools or knowledge. You ended up trading it with a couple ration cards for a smaller, gold one that actually told time. And you were proud that for the first time ever you actually got to do something for him.

All of which came crashing down when Tess fed you the details of its origins.

Sarah.

The floorboards creaked as he got up, rummaging through the counters and shelves in a desperation to find it. Drawers were violently rammed shut in his frustration.

“Joel.” She said it gently. It made your brows furrow; Tess promised to let you resolve it on your own. It didn’t deter him though, hands still rummaging through whatever he hadn’t looked through yet.

“It doesn’t make sense, I take it off for thirty seconds and it just vanishes?” Panic bled in to his usually pessimistic tone. You couldn’t see him but you could picture it; his face stayed stony but in his eyes the anxiety that was starting to bubble up was prominent.

“Joel.” It was sterner this time. Louder. You had your ear pressed to do the paint chipped door at that point, leaning on it to try and gauge the situation.

“What?” The sound of things being shifted around stopped.

“It’s not here. You’re not gonna find it.”

Your eyes widened, and in panic you acted before you could properly comprehend what you were doing. Pushing the bedroom door open, you burst out pointing an accusing finger at the woman.

“You said I could fucking tell him!” Chest heaving, eyes wide as you turned and looked at Joel like a deer trapped in headlights.

“You do not talk to her like that,” he said sternly. Good. If he was still in a position to lecture you that meant he still cared.

Joel looked increasingly confused, looking between the two of you until his eyes latched on the glimmer of gold you had clutched in your hand. His gaze hardened, the change in his demeanor sent waves around the room.

Your breath hitched as you quickly pulled your arm back to hide it behind you, but he saw it. You knew that.

Tess had gotten up from where she was sitting, inching in your direction to try and mitigate the oncoming damage.

“What is that?” He spoke lowly, dangerously so. Everyone stood silent for a spell before you slowly unconcealed your arm and managed to pry your unwilling fingers open in front of him, the watch resting on your palm.

“Well- I-“ You didn’t usually stammer but with the bile rising in your throat and that sinking stomach feeling stomach sick striking your core it was too much. Your mouth opened and closed but the words didn’t come. You fucked up.

“What the fuck is that?” You’d seen him angry before. It wasn’t something he ever tried to hide from you, but you’d never seen him look at you like that. Like you were sidewalk gum.

“It’s your birthday and-“ He took a step forward and you took a step back, heel making contact with the wall behind you. The watch in your hand was too heavy and the thoughts in your head were too loud.

Why didn’t you let Tess do the talking? What were you thinking? Getting the watch? Intervening? Joel was right to be mad. How could he ever look at you like he hated you?

“How’d you get it?” He cut you off. But you were too muddled to comprehend him.

“The other one didn’t even work!” Words fell out before you could know what you were saying, “you just kept looking at it and I know and I—“

The thoughts got louder. Your throat got tighter.

“And I just thought that if I-I— Dad—“

The word slipped from you like a plea. You’d only called him that a handful of times, when desperation felt so thick you could taste it. Your first thunderstorm. Your first clicker. Colder nights.

His eyes would soften. He’d call to you and comfort you and you could burrow in his embrace and then, everything would dissipate.

“You’re not my daughter.”

You blinked. Every nerve you had froze over. The thoughts in your head silenced. The walls in the room started closing in. And the worst part was the way he looked at you. Straight into your eyes with a hate you’d never known to see. Then the world was too quiet.

“I’m not your fucking dad. I’m never gonna be your fucking dad. Your dad is six feet under with mushrooms crawling up his throat and thats what he deserves for bringing a fucker like you into the world!” He spat it at you and all you knew you could feel were the tears pooling in your eyes. You couldn’t breathe and it hurt because he had never hurt you.

“Joel!” Tess interjected, staring at the man in disbelief.

“Fuck you!” You choked it out, pushing past the two of them and bolting out the door.

The creeping feeling in your throat magnified, tasting something like betrayal. But it pained you more to know that it was true. He never belonged to you, he just volunteered to be there for you. And it was unfair and anger inducing and all so real.

You didn’t know where you were going, you just ran. Feet pounding against the wooden floors until you made it out of the building. You felt the knobs of the watch face indent your skin as you gripped it in your flight. Even then you didn’t stop; you needed to get away.

The apartment felt frozen, locked in a stunned silence. Tess had her mouth agape, staring at the still open door you’d just burst out of. She was first to break the stupor, “Joel what the fuck was that?”

His gaze was hardened, turned towards the floor. But he said nothing.

“I know you’re upset, but we could’ve talked about it!”

“What, Tess? Talk about what? They’re not Sarah and they ain’t ever gonna fucking be Sarah!” He’d only raised his voice at her once before, when he thought she was going to be mauled by an Infected, but never more than that. And for the first time in a long time, she couldn’t read him.

“They never needed to be.” Tess knew he hurt. How could he not? Before everything, Sarah was all he had. But you were alive now. And you were a person, and not a replacement. You weren’t a ghost, or a symbol, or a chance of redemption. You were a, albeit stupid, kid.

“It’s curfew,” she said, going to sling a bag over her shoulders, “we have to go after Y/N before Fedra throws their ass in lockup. I don’t think they could’ve gotten far so if we—“

“I don’t care.” He cut her off. So she left without another word.

If he continued not caring, he had a shitty way of showing it. When Tess pushed the door open a couple hours later, he perked up to crane his neck at the door. Silently crestfallen when you didn’t follow her in.

The next couple days were the same. He asked around on work duty, radioed Bill and Frank when he could, searched on his off time. They both did, but you never turned up.

And then it was two weeks.

And almost a month.

There was a window in the bedroom with a broken latch. It can’t stay closed. So, most days, especially in summer, you all just kept it open. But, as you scaled the fire escape, you found that tonight it was pushed shut.

Inside it was dark, but the moonlit let in enough for you to see that no one occupied the bed. Placing a hand on the glass, you pressed it open with relative ease. Slipping your hand in your pocket you pulled out Joel’s watch. You ran a thumb over the cracked face, watching the glow in the dark numbers fluoresce in the night.

You clambered in slowly, getting half way through before hearing an all too familiar creak. You forgot to check the armchair.

Your head whipped in the direction of the sound, heart pounding as your eyes made contact with the ones that looked at you with such malice a few weeks prior.

“Y/N?”

Dropping the watch on the nightstand, you immediately moved to climb back out but he was faster.

Before you’d made it one rung down, your wrist was caught in the palm of his calloused hand.

The tears sprung before you could stop them. You gave your arm a sharp tug, but he held fast. So you gave up, the both of you just opting to stare instead.

He looked tired, if the bags under his eyes were any indication. But his gaze wasn’t the one you left him with. You saw a warmth that made it hurt worse than before.

You were worse for wear, but you’d sen darker days. A bruise bloomed over your left eye, and your clothes had a few more holes than they did to start. He studied you, cupping your face with his free hand. It was so gentle you cried.

“I thought you were mad at me.” He couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him. Of course that’s the first thing you think to say. Shaking his head, he released you, gesturing for you to come back in. You did.

“Of course I was mad at you, I’m still mad at you. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you.” Your bottom lip quivered. He’d never said that before. Yelling and nagging, he could do but he never told you he loved you. Or that he cared.

“I brought it back. Your old one.” Your hands were balled at your side, trying to fight the tears you knew were inevitable.

“I didn’t— if I knew I never would’ve—“ You gasped as he pulled you into a tight embrace. You missed it, the way his arms around you felt more secure than any walls erected on earth. The way it was warm, and so familiar and it was just so unbearably cold outside in the middle of June. You couldn’t help but sob.

“I know, baby. I know.” He almost whispered it, the words felt so secret. They were yours.

You shoulders shook, “I’m so so sorry, Joel.”

“Dad, will do just fine.”

#tlou #tlou fanfiction #tlou angst #joel miller #joel x reader #joel x male reader #joel x female reader #pedro pascal #daddy pedro #joel miller x reader

[siriusleee]

i'd imagine i don't fit into your view

a/n: this is really just my attempt at using different prompts as a way to write when I'm bored and they all take place in the same universe find the other drabbles in this series here

This is the last place he expects to see her - some run-down fuckin pub in the middle of Ireland. The place is packed, bodies pressed against each other, beers held high to avoid getting spilled.

She looks different - of course she does it’s been years - but he knows it’s her. Her hair is longer, longer than she used to ever be comfortable with, and she’s dressed differently than he’d ever seen her dressed: in a tight dress with the back open, a trace of ink peeping out at her rib cage.

Beside him Johnny is speaking - something about being ready to get a fucking break from Price and his overbearing training - but Simon can’t pull his attention away from her to give Johnny any attention.

When she moves through the crowd, he moves with her. He hears himself tell Johnny something about grabbing a drink. She slips through the crowd easily, turning to laugh at something someone says to her. His heart is beating so fucking loud in his ears he can’t hear the shitty music playing over the speakers, can’t hear Johnny shouting after him -y’ok Ghost?- he can’t focus on anything other than trying to figure out why she’s here of all places.

He nearly loses her as she slips out the door, a black coat slinging over her shoulders. The sidewalk is nearly empty as she walks- there’s a voice inside his head screaming for him to turn around, to go back to the bar, to forget her. He remembers the way she looked at him the last time he saw her - broken and angry - and knows that no good can come from following her, from seeing where she’s going.

But his feet don’t listen to his brain as he tails her. She never looks back once, never worried that someone might be behind her. She turns left, turning into a dark staircase that goes overtop a set of shops. Simon lingers on the street, eyes scanning, looking for a sign of life on the second story, for something - there. A light comes on in the flat upstairs. He’s not sure how long he stands there, waiting, watching as the light flips off. It must be hours before his feet move, his boots heavy on the wooden staircase that feels as if it’ll turn to a pile of match sticks beneath his feet.

The staircase dead-ends at the door. He thinks about knocking; thinks about what she might say if she opened the door, if she would even recognize him under the mask and layers of Ghost over Simon - layers that she’d never seen before. His hand rests on the door before a horrifying thought strikes him: what if she’s not alone in there?

He doesn’t think before he tries the doorknob; it turns easily beneath his hand, the door swinging open with a quiet snick. His feet are silent on the carpet - the room is lit up with the light filtering through the window. It’s clean, but not tidy - everything is thrown around everywhere. Across the room is an open bedroom door, his feet carry him silently across the room.

A picture on the wall stops him in his tracks. It’s the two of them - taken when he was on leave his first few years in the military. They’d gone to some stupid carnival in town and she’d kissed him for the first time, her mouth sticky with cotton candy - some stranger had taken the photo for them on a film camera she’d carried with her everywhere back then. Simon can’t remember when they took the picture, but they couldn’t have been older than seventeen.

Underneath it another photo of the two of them - Simon in his dress uniform, a fresh-faced soldier on his graduation day from the academy - her beaming beside him, their hands interlaced. She’d been the only person sober enough or who cared enough to show up for him even though it had drained everything in her bank account to be able to afford to come. Simon traces his fingers over the photo, over his face. He can’t remember the last time he took a picture without the mask on.

The sound of stirring from the bedroom pulls him out of his reverie. The sound of bedsheets moving, a stir in the tranquil bubble of her house. The sound rips through Simon - what the fuck is he doing here, in her house and she doesn’t even know it. Shame burns through him, and he backpedals across the living room, slipping out of the front door. Before he leaves, he turns the lock so the door locks as it swings shut behind him.

His ears are roaring with the shame of being a fucking creep - intruding on her personal space without even letting her know he had seen her. He’s rattled on his way back to the hotel, his hands shaking around the cigarettes in his jacket.

#ghost cod x you #ghost cod x reader #ghost #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost cod fic #simon 'ghost' riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley #my fics

[stobinesque]

the firmament in you ✨

For Lex’s Spicy Six Summer Challenge! Thanks again for putting this together, @thefreakandthehair! rating: T | wc: 4k | cw: Insomnia, Sleep Paralysis, Suicidal Ideation, References to past self-harm, hurt/comfort | tags: Stobin, Stargazing, Dancing, Post-Season 3 prompt: Dancing under the stars [ FIC PLAYLIST ] [ READ ON AO3 ]

Robin stares up at the ceiling, the glow-in-the-dark stars she’d stuck there when she was a kid winking back at her. The only sounds she can hear are the hum of the box fan in her window, and the rasp of cicadas beyond it. She’s resolutely refusing to turn her head to the side and face the blinking numbers of her clock taunting her.

Every time she closes her eyes, she sees smug faces leering down at her. Feels Steve’s dead—not dead, just slack, just passed out—weight strapped to her. She invents horrors that never happened.

If she keeps her eyes wide open, she only catches it in snatches and brief whispers.

Who needs sleep, anyway?

She thinks maybe the meat-monster spider should be getting more traction in the waking nightmares of her insomnia. And there are certainly times when she squeezes her eyes shut and fireworks burst behind them to a soundtrack of shrieks and groans and echoing fears. But they haunt her far less than the memory of cold fear gripping her chest when she thought, for just a moment, that she had a corpse tied to her back.

She moves to burrow herself into Steve’s side, hoping his warmth might trick her brain into thinking she’s safe.

It’s not a trick. We are safe.

There’s no way of knowing that for certain.

There’s no way of knowing anything for certain.

She rests her head on Steve’s chest and feels his heart rabbiting against her cheek. It makes her lever herself right back up to get a look at his face. She can barely see it in the darkness of the room, but the pale light of the streetlamps filtering in through her curtains is just enough to make out the way his eyes are darting back and forth beneath his eyelids. His breathing is coming in ragged pants, broken up by the occasional pained moan. Fine tremors course through him, like he’s fighting against something, but can’t actually move.

Robin’s own heart kicks up to a racing beat. Steve has spent the past couple weeks trying to explain the last two years of horror to her, and she can’t help the panicked thoughts that start running through her head. What if it’s back? What if it never left? What if it has Steve? Because apparently possession was totally on the table in their lives.

“Steve? Steve! Can you hear me? You’ve gotta wake up.”

His eyes stutter open like he’s being dragged to wakefulness. Hazel eyes stare back at her; unadulterated fear glinting in them. The small whines and groans he’d been making shift into muffled humming, like someone trying to talk through a gag. Like he’s trying to say something, but can’t form his mouth into words.

Robin is seconds away from grabbing the phone off her nightstand and calling anyone and everyone who might be able to help—wishing she had a walkie instead to radio out an all-purpose Code Red—when the dam breaks, and Steve sucks in a giant gasp of air and jerks upright like he’s surfacing from underwater.

“Steve! Steve, are you okay? Are you there?” She’s gripping his shoulder so tight that her nails are biting into flesh, but she can’t loosen her hold on him because if she lets go, he’ll float away.

“Couldn’t—” he gasps out. “Couldn’t move.” He’s nearly hyperventilating; chest heaving as he sucks in big gulps of air like he’s just been drowning. “Tied up. Frozen. I can’t—” He bites out each word like it hurts to speak. “Robs, I can’t—” He breaks off as something seems to crack in him, and collapses into her chest with a muffled sob.

“Hey, it’s alright,” she murmurs, trying to force her voice low and comforting as she wraps an arm around him. “I’ve got you.” She rocks him back and forth, gently, like she’s trying to coax a scared child back to sleep. “It’s okay. You’re safe. It’s all over now.”

It has the bitter taste of a lie on her tongue, but she just has to pretend that it’s true for now. Between the two of them, they can just barely afford a scrap of empty hope.

“—The kids are safe, and the gate is closed.” She knows Steve won’t really accept that until he sees everyone with his own eyes. But they’ve gotten used to telling each other these kinds of lies in the dead of night.

The band that’s been tightening around her chest snaps, and a tidal wave of exhaustion crashes over her. Sleep is all but a lost cause for the night, but they’ve each been at their wit’s end since Starcourt, and the unending turmoil of it all is finally catching up to her.

“I’m so tired,” she whispers into Steve’s hair.

“Robs.” his voice is croaky—strangled with some emotion she can’t quite place—and a calloused thumb sweeps across her cheek. She hadn’t realized she’d started crying.

“I’m tired too,” he admits. He lets out a shaky exhale. “I just want it all to be over.”

Fear catches in her throat. The way he says it makes her think he’s not just talking about the monsters and the torture. She remembers the scars she’d found littered across the skin of his thighs the other day. Remembers tracing a finger over them gently; begging him to never leave her.

The fear she felt in that moment is still lodged in her, tucked firmly behind her heart. But in the grey emptiness of the witching hour, she thinks she understands him.

“We should get out of here,” she says, not really knowing the scope of what she means when she says it.

“Where would we go?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. Anywhere? Paris, maybe.”

Steve laughs, but it’s watery. “Might be hard to do on short notice.”

“Let’s just drive then. See where the road takes us.”

Steve sits up and looks at her, expression open and honest. “I mean…I’ve got the Beemer back. We could, if you wanted?”

Robin hooks her fingers through his. “Maybe just for the night?”

They sneak through the house, careful not to wake her parents. They haven’t bothered to change, so Steve’s still wearing an old marching band shirt and checked boxers; Robin, a Hawkins Swim Team shirt with a worn neck, and a pair of Steve’s sweatpants.

They pile into the car silently, Robin curling into the passenger seat, tucking her socked feet underneath her, and resting her head against the window. Through some unspoken agreement, neither of them makes a move to try to pick through Steve’s glove compartment of mixtapes. Steve just reaches over to tune the radio until he lands on something that seems to suit his mood well enough, and turns to her with a questioning tilt of his brow.

…because a vision softly creeping / left its seeds while I was sleeping / and the vision that was planted in my brain / still remains…

Robin’s breath hitches, and she turns to look at Steve, whose face is now glowing in the light of the streetlamps. His hands tighten on the wheel, and the corners of his mouth are drawn tight. She doesn’t want to ask what he saw. She thinks she can guess. Even with the whole gallery of horrors his mind has to choose from, she thinks there’s only one that would leave him paralyzed.

The song bleeds into another as Steve pulls out of her driveway, a soft bass line humming beneath a lilting guitar riff, filling up the car like it has physical presence. It leaves an ache in Robin’s chest, and she reaches out with a shaky hand, laying it palm up on the center console. Steve’s slots home a moment later.

They pull up to the quarry. The chorus of crickets and cicadas echo so loudly it’s like they’re the only sound left in the universe, even though she can still hear the music drifting like smoke from the radio (stars fade, but I linger on…)

“Here?” Robin turns to Steve with a frown. She tries not to think about them standing together at the precipice. Tries not to think about the drop. Tries not to think about how much a part of her wants it.

L ’appel du vide.

The thought scares her, and she has to force herself to back away from it.

Steve meets her gaze with a gentle squeeze of his hand. “There’s a clear view of the sky,” he says. “Thought we could stargaze.”

Robin’s face twists up into an expression she doesn’t think she could put a name to, even if she was looking in a mirror. Eyebrows scrunched, lips twitching upward. She feels some funny mix of fondness and bemusement, tangled up with love. “You wanna go stargazing?”

Steve shrugs. “Figured you’d rather see the real things.”

Robin doesn’t say anything, just stares at him. In defiance of all sense, Steve always drifts to sleep fairly quickly—his troubles are always with staying there than getting there—so she’s had no reason to think he’d noticed her tendency to go cross-eyed staring up at the stars on her ceiling.

“That…that would be great, yeah.”

Steve nods once, decisively, and turns the engine off, but leaves the car on so the radio keeps playing. Robin steps outside, wiggling her toes where she stands. She stretches them out wide; presses them down against the rough, rocky ground.

“C’mon, hop up.”

Robin jerks her head around at Steve’s voice. He’s produced a threadbare quilt from somewhere and is throwing it onto the hood of the car, before climbing up and patting the empty space next to him. Robin settles at his side and under his wing.

“So. Tell me about the stars.”

Robin looks up at him. “What do you wanna know?”

Steve shrugs, rustling her hair. “Dunno. They’re all, like, stories, right? Tell me one.”

Robin hums, considering. “Okay.” She grabs Steve’s hand, arranging his fingers so he’s pointing up at a spot in the western sky, a bit above the horizon. “See that group of stars up there? Looks kind of like two trapezoids smushed together, with little spokes coming out from the corners?”

“I…think so? Maybe?”

“It’s kind of hard to find sometimes, because there aren’t any, like, super super bright stars in it like there are in a lot of the other big constellations? Tonight’s a pretty good night for it, though, especially out here away from all the streetlights. And the new moon, too—it’s always harder to see things when the moon’s out—she’s so bright, you know?” Robin directs Steve’s hand along the constellation’s path. “If you wanna do this again some time I can bring my laser from home and help point things out to you that way.”

Steve nods against the top of her head. “I’d like that.” He lets his hand drop back down between them, but keeps their fingers entwined. “So, which one is that supposed to be?”

“Hercules,” she says. She raises their hands again to continue tracing over the constellation’s shape as she speaks. “That’s his head. And those are his legs—he’s kneeling—and sometimes people draw him with a club in that arm.”

Steve hums. “He was like…some big hero guy, right? Had to kill a bunch of monsters as, like, his job or something?”

Robin chuckles. “That’s not really what ‘labor’ means in this context, but yeah, that’s the basic gist. His whole story’s actually pretty long and complicated, though.” She rubs her thumb over the back of Steve’s hand. “Hercules—or, really, Heracles, if we’re talking Greek myth; the constellation is just named Hercules because that’s the one people know—anyway, he’s kind of cursed from the beginning. His mom gets pregnant with him after Zeus tricks her into sleeping with him, and then Hera—that’s Zeus’ wife—basically makes it her life’s mission to make sure this kid doesn’t exist, right? To the point where his mom just abandons him, because she’s so scared of what Hera might do.”

“Wait, if Zeus tricked the mom, why is Hera taking it out on the kid?”

“Great question! The actual answer is probably that the men telling these stories had really shitty opinions of women. In the context of the story, though, I think it’s supposed to be like…Hera is the queen of the gods, right? And the Olympians as a whole are a mess; they’re fucking mortals left and right, and also fucking each other indiscriminately, but at the same time they’re all, these, like, fundamentally prideful and jealous creatures? So Zeus constantly sleeping around with other people isn’t just a betrayal of Hera, it’s also humiliating to her. But what can she actually do to Zeus, right? So instead, she goes around trying to eradicate all the symbols of his infidelity.”

“That’s dumb,” Steve says. He stares up at the sky. From her vantage point Robin can’t quite make out his expression, but she thinks maybe it’s contemplative. “There’s probably a decent chance I have a half-sibling or two running around out there. And I guess it’s different, because if I don’t know about them, that means no one who would matter to my mom is likely to either. But I still can’t imagine her going out of her way to make another kid’s life miserable just because my dad fucked their mom.”

Robin’s brow wrinkles. Steve hasn’t really talked about his parents. Just told her that they usually spend summers outside of Hawkins, and otherwise carefully side-steps any allusion to the subject. The silence speaks for itself, though. Or so she thought, at least. The way he’s talking now…there’s a bitter edge to it, but he also talks about his mom like he loves her, if in a messy way. “I think…I think that, maybe, it’s easier to hurt people who can’t hurt you back.”

Steve sucks in a sharp breath, but doesn’t say anything. Robin doesn’t either.

Morissey’s crooning slips out from the Beemer. I am human and I need to be loved…

“Yeah, that makes sense, I guess,” he whispers—more like he’s talking to himself than to her. “So how does the rest of it go?”

“Athena finds him, and takes him to Hera, without telling her who he is. And the irony of it all is that she’s the goddess of, like, marriage and childbirth? And since she doesn’t know who the baby is she feels bad that he got abandoned, and she ends up nursing him. But baby Hercules is already so strong that he bites her breast so hard that she spills milk all across the sky—and that’s how we got the Milky Way.” Robin brings their joined hands up again to run along the bright band of stars cutting a path through the heavens.

“…what the fuck?”

“Mythology is super fucked up, dude.”

“That feels like an understatement!”

“Yeah, well, how else would you explain the Milky Way if you didn’t know about astrophysics yet?!”

“Not with some chick’s breast milk!”

Robin purses her lips and gives an exaggerated head shake. “You just don’t appreciate the power of the female form, Harrington.”

“Yeah, sure, that’s it.” Their hands are still raised high above them, and he idly plays with her fingers. “Tell me the rest of it.”

“You are so demanding,” she scoffs, but carries on anyway. “After he accidentally creates the Milky Way—or, I guess, accidentally causes Hera to create the Milky Way? Whatever, not important. After that, Athena brings him back to his mom to raise him. Which, y’know, passes more or less uneventfully—except for him murdering his music teacher, in some retellings—”

“What?”

“Yeah, I don’t really get it either. It’s just kind of a blip, and then he’s passing from ‘boyhood’ to ‘manhood’ and has to make a choice about whether to follow the path of Vice or Virtue for the rest of his life.”

“Isn’t that a little late since he’s just murdered someone? Also, that seems…overly literal.”

“Yeah, well, it’s mythology. They’re all basically parables.”

“Isn’t that a type of graph?”

“No, it’s like…fables? Moral tales.”

“Sure. Okay. But that still doesn’t make sense, because it’s not like you just make a decision like that once and never get the chance to try again.”

“Well, take that up with Prodicus.”

Steve blows a raspberry, and Robin can picture him rolling his eyes in disdain.

“Do you want me to finish this story, or not? You can give your review at the end.”

Steve is silent for a beat. Squeezes her hand. “Yeah. Keep going.”

“Okay! So, he’s having trouble deciding which path to take, when these two women approach him. One claims to be ‘Happiness’—nicknamed Vice—and the other, Virtue. And each of them presents their case for why he should follow their path. Vice runs up to him first, promising a life of wealth and happiness, and freedom from hardship—”

Steve snorts.

“Have something to share with the class, Harrington?”

“You told me to wait until you were finished!”

“And yet you still interrupted me.”

“What, so I’m not allowed to make sounds?”

“Not like that!”

Steve shakes his head with a laugh. “You’re unbelievable! Keep telling me your little parabola, then.”

Robin rolls her eyes with a dramatic sigh. “Vice promises him untold riches and blah blah blah, and then Virtue comes up and tells him that there are no good things in life to be had without hard work and sacrifice, and that following her path is the only way his memory will be honored and immortalized in death.”

Steve lets out a small disapproving sound. “And? Which does he pick?”

“He picks Virtue, just like any good hero, right?” Robin’s goading him intentionally now, but it’s worth it for the way he actively works to stifle a groan of annoyance. “Anyway, then he starts going on various adventures as a big hero man. He helps defend a city against an invasion, and the king is like ‘here, marry my daughter’ as a reward.”

“Yikes.”

“Very. But the two of them end up being pretty happy together. They get a house, have lots of children. Happily ever after, right?”

“Something tells me the answer to that question is gonna be ‘no.’”

“Yeah, because Hera’s still obsessed with getting revenge. So she induces this, like, godly madness in him, which drives him to kill his wife and kids—”

“What the fuck!!”

Robin shrugs. “Like I said, Greek Mythology, man. Anyway, that’s how we get to the part of the story most people know: Heracles goes to the Oracle of Delphi and asks how he can atone for what he’s done, and that’s how we end up with the Twelve Labors of Heracles/Hercules.”

“Absolutely none of that made any sense. Why would going around killing a bunch of monsters make up for killing his entire family? Especially when it wasn’t even really in his control? Also, if this is how he ends up with his name getting immortalized or whatever, how is that any better than just choosing vice? He didn’t actually really sacrifice anything! His family did! If the way you get to have honor or glory or whatever is by killing your loved ones—even if you ‘atone’ for it later—how does getting those things make you any better than the person who chose happiness?”

“All great questions, young Padawan,” Robin says, affecting an exaggerated, sagely tone. “To answer the first one: arguably, it isn’t. The Oracle was basically working for Hera and sent Hercules to offer ten years of servitude to a king who hated him. As for the others: I don’t know, something to think on, I guess. But. It’s not like Hercules knew he was going to lose his family. And Vice’s path hinges on exploiting others.”

“I don’t know, it just sounds like either way you spin it he’s choosing a path based on what he thinks it’ll get him.”

“I think the way the Greeks thought about morality is probably different from how we do now.”

Steve makes a sort of disgruntled sound. “I guess that makes sense.” He sighs and presses his face into her shoulder. “So, tell me how these ‘labors’ go, then.”

She does, launching into dramatic retellings of Hercules slaying the Nemean Lion and the Hydra; capturing the Minotaur and the Erymanthian Boar; stealing Hesperides’ golden apples, and King Diomedes’ mares.

The music from the radio keeps playing in the background, a strange sort of backing track. Robin hasn’t been playing close attention to the songs as they roll through—just enough to notice that whoever’s in charge of the late-night programming has been doing the musical equivalent of throwing spaghetti at walls. It suits them, though. She’s halfway through regaling Steve with Hercules’ capture of Cerberus when conscious awareness of the music knocks into her by way of Steve bopping along to the opening bars of “Dancing in the Moonlight.”

He’s up and off the hood of the car before she can say anything.

“Steve!” she yells in protest as he yanks at her arm for her to join him. “I wasn’t done!”

“You can finish later! We’re not going to pass up the opportunity to literally dance in the moonlight when the universe decrees it, Bobbin!”

“There’s no moonlight tonight, dingus!”

“Starlight, then,” he says, shimmying his shoulders at her with a wide smile on his face.

And Robin is a lot of things, but immune to the delight of one Stephen Richard Harrington is not one of them. He starts doing a little swaying and snapping number, beckoning her to join him.

This was how the early seeds of their friendship were planted. Dancing to Dolly and Madonna as they mopped the floor; yelling and laughing together as they worked. It’s easy to slip back into. Into that space where Robin was just starting to see the first glimmers of who Steve Harrington could be—who he is. That time when she started to suspect that—maybe, just maybe—he could be something like a friend to her. Before they were SteveandRobin, sure, but also before they were trapped in a metal box with two kids they’d led into danger. Before Steve was bloodied and bruised for information he didn’t have. Before Robin learned that monsters were real, and the Russians were punching holes through reality to try to reach them. A time when—for once in Robin’s life—it felt like there was moonlight in the darkness of her life.

So she dances. Shoulders swaying, and feet tapping. Hips bumping with Steve’s. Lets him twirl her under his arm like he did in her kitchen last week while teaching her how to make the best grilled cheese sandwich of her life.

She smiles, and she laughs, and for a moment she forgets about heroes, and monsters, and gods.

Her cheeks are aching from smiling so hard, and even though it’s a short song, she’s panting with exertion by the end. It trails off into the night air, and Glenn Miller’s “Moonlight Serenade” fades into place.

This time she extends her hand to him, pulling Steve into her arms. She’s never been that great a dancer—clumsy, and awkward, with limbs that won’t heed her command—but she’d dragged her father to a father-daughter dance thing during the handful of years she was a Girl Scout, and she’d picked up some basics. Enough to know how to lead in a dance without structure.

Steve follows without comment, making himself smaller so he can tuck himself in against her. It actually makes it a little harder to steer them without occasionally stepping on Steve’s feet, but she takes it as the unspoken request to be held that it is, and she dances in the starlight with her best friend. Feels it sparkling through him.

She knows the constellations that dot his skin, the streaks and starbursts of light of his scars, and his nebulae of bruises. The stories written on his skin are just as mythic—just as full of heroism—and all the beautiful contradictions those things entail. And she hopes he knows it. Hopes that she can show him someday.

Notes:

This fic is in the same universe as my other Stobin-centric Summer Challenge fic, which you can read here, and to my Steve-centric fic lay your cuts and bruises over you skin, which can be read on AO3 here. I'm including this at the end since this fic works just fine as a standalone :) Also, my Classical Studies major partner feels it is imperative that I point out that Robin's description of myth vs. parable vs. fable is inaccurate. These are each distinct categories of stories, and not all of them have or are meant to have a moral. (She's right. Don't believe everything fictional teenagers say when explaining complicated concepts to other fictional teenagers :P )

taglist of people who have requested snippets of this as I worked on it! @devondespresso @theheadlessphilosopher @delta-piscium @steves-strapcollection @bifuriouswaterbender @spicysix @inairbinad and @starryeyedjanai. thanks for all the encouragement, pals!

#lexssummerfanworkschallenge #stobin #platonic stobin #stobin fic #stranger things #read writes #me last week: this fic is gonna be 3k. max. #me now: 🤡 #(at least i was only off by 1k this time) #also in case anyone is wondering i did indeed look up #the moon cycle and star chart for indiana in 1985 #for the day this is set on in my head

[voidendron]

wanting to figure out the extent of Varkhal's face injuries resulted in a little concept sketchdump

info under the cut, it's a bit rambly

warnings for: ableism, internalized ableism, descriptions of injuries

for context: he and his twin brother were attacked by rivals when they were apprentices. his brother didn't survive, while Var sustained serious injuries that would have killed him had Teeres not helped him. he ended up:

-needed to have both lungs replaced (one was stabbed twice, the other badly bruised and filling with blood thanks to being punctured by a broken rib) -with a few broken ribs -trachea was crushed (had to have tracheotomy, couldn't get air) -vocal folds took some minor damage from same Force choke that crushed trachea (now has kind of a raspy voice, speaks softly, can't raise it without it hurting/voice cracking) -lower jaw was crushed (through the Force, left side so bad it had to be completely replaced with an artificial section to the mandible) -multiple teeth knocked out or otherwise chipped/broken (combination of shattered jaw and having face slammed into ground) (not actually silver like in sketches, that's just to show the artificial sections) -among other more minor injuries like a black eye and broken arm and nose (bridge healed somewhat crooked)

upon recovering:

-has breathing difficulties. while he can technically breathe on its own, it doesn't get enough air when he does. needs to wear a rebreather, or have some other source of oxygen, at pretty much all times. can take it off for a short while (if room has clean, well-circulated air) to eat or shower (only if with shower chair) etc so long as he's not exerting himself, but can't go very long without it. the rebreather's rasps are hiss-like and somewhat soft if he's exerting himself more than usual, his rebreather can start struggling to keep up, so he'll need to pause to adjust how much oxygen it's giving him and to catch his breath -on immunosuppressants likely for life. lungs being artificial, bioengineered ones, plus the fact cybernetics don't integrate well with his body and he has a few in his head, he needs to be on meds to keep his body from attacking them. has locked stashes of the stims throughout his home, and also starts storing a few in Koboh's chest compartment after getting her. he's pretty good at staying on top of taking them, but Koboh does also give him a ping at the same time every day as a reminder. -immunocompromised as a result of immunosuppressants. filtered rebreathers and that he often has gloves on, keeps hands clean, and doesn't touch his face keep him from getting ill most of the time. also does his best to clean himself up after sex. when he does get sick, it hits him hard, and there's a good chance he's bedridden for at least a few days (honestly probably got pretty sick after the uh. blood ritual shenanigans. worth it™️) -jaw didn't quite heal properly. while he was still recovering, he stayed with his mother. she couldn't stand to look at his face, and made him start wearing a rebreather instead of using the nasal canula connected to a machine like he should have been doing while he healed. jaw ended up healing out of alignment because the original rebreather she got him was too rigid and tight. likely the cause for some of the pain he has now -cybernetics in its jaw are connected to various nerve endings and block a lot of the pain signals he'd otherwise have from reaching his brain. while they can't block everything, they at least keep the pain from being debilitating -has a lot of nerve damage around the lower part of his face, with it being particularly bad on the left side of his mouth. multiple surgeries to put everything back together have left him with a permanent curl/"snarl" on his lip. has very little movement in that side of his mouth and cheek -talks through his teeth to move his jaw as little as possible. makes it sound at though his irritated or growling. keeps it short and sweet when he's speaking, trying to do so at little as it thinks it can get away with. has too much internalized ableism to learn how to use sign language, thinking that avoiding speaking just because it hurts makes him weak -his jaw is weak so he has a hard time eating certain foods. he's gone to a mostly vegetarian diet, as meat tends to both be too tough (very hard to chew) and gets stuck in his teeth (hard to clean, can't fully open mouth). he took to growing a lot of his own food -he feels incredibly shameful over his scars and doesn't like anyone else to see them. his mother successfully convinced him that they're "gross and ugly and signs of failure and that no one would ever want to see them, he ought to hide them like the shameful brands they are". to the point he apologizes and won't look someone in the eye if he has to take his rebreather off. his home has no mirrors, and he won't look at reflective surfaces because he just can't stomach looking at himself

#swtor #sith warrior #voids ocs #void attempts art #oc: varkhal haysh #guild polycule #long post #ableism #internalized ableism

[deadboyfriendd]

Brave | E.M.

I write this lil fic-let one shot Drabble thing for @luveline . Jade has been providing us with some *Chefs Kiss* top notch work always. I saw someone finally ask her what she wanted to see written, so I snaked one of the prompts from her response. ily Jade thank you for putting out banger after banger for us &lt;3

There is a stark difference in your personage when you cross the threshold of the nearly-cardboard trailer walls. It was as if they were a portal and not mere plywood and tin. Corrugated bravery. A diamond in the rough. 

He took notice of the way your legs crossed at the ankles instead of the knees. You breathed a little deeper and hunched a little further. You discarded your own rigidity at the door like a woolen coat, discarding the itch of your own painful self-awareness with it. 

Out there, your words were careful and calculated, kept at a minimal volume and never daring. Your words came out in the most Times New Roman-esque way he could possibly think of. Your face was a stone, keeping every semblance of composure you could muster at any given time. Out there, you were graceful. 

Here, though, you seemed more organic. Your words were slightly more abstract, coming out of your throat as it came to your mind. Here, you were more obnoxious, you laughed from your core, your body moved with it in a calculated dance. Your face was a mirror image of your brain. 

He felt lucky. He was a Cour de Miracles insider watching you peel the leprosy-laden sore of your own hyper awareness back. He never looked for too long, this rare state still wavering in your own insecurity. .

Eddie ebbed and flowed with whatever person you decided to be that day. He always had a coat to match your hat. He loved every version of you, even if he did it in silence. 

But tonight, you were a republic of voices. He knew how you would react to this mixtape- you always reacted this way to this mixtape. Head accepted long ago that music was your first love, and that even he couldn’t scrape past it in the confines of your heart. 

He laid back, the hum of the speakers fading into the background as he tried to feel the vibrato of your voice in his chest- so stark from your usual barely-above-whisper notes. 

“I love when you’re like this.”

The phrase slipped from his mouth- his speculation missing the filter and funneling into the direct pipeline from his brain to his mouth and spilling from his lips like a broken dam. 

“Like what?” You questioned, body already buzzing less than it had been seconds ago. 

“When you get excited. You talk louder.” He explained, knowing he was already in deeper than he expected. 

“Oh… sorr-”

“No, honey. Not sorry. Never have to be sorry with me.” 

He was quick to reach out, arms sliding across your triceps and around your back- arms a blanket of please, thank you, I’m sorry, and I love you. Moreso the latter part. 

Your head rested just below his collarbone, on the plush of his chest. All of the smells that made you wrinkle your nose in distaste now smelled like home. Behind the fresh burn of the still-lingering cigarette smoke, Eddie smelled so distinctly human. He radiated warmth like the best parts of a sunburn. He was all of the best things about the human experience in one tangible being. 

“Hey, Eddie?” You asked, pulling your face off of the soft warmth of him. 

“Yes?” He asked, chin wrinkling when he pulled back to took at you- his arms never leaving your back fully. 

“Do you like me better when I’m… ugh, I don’t know… like this?” You asked, sheepishly, your arms snaking between two bodies to bury your face in. 

“What do you mean?” He ran his hand gently up and down your back, slow, in a you’re okay kind of way. 

“Do you wish I was braver?” You asked, noise muffled from between your hands. He reached up to pull them from your face, wrists locked in a grasp. 

“Sweetheart, absolutely not. Where did this come from?” His gaze was intense, eyes worried and brows furrowed in concern. His expression, though worrisome, radiated nothing but love from its confines. 

“I don’t know, I just- ugh, don’t you wish you were with someone like you?” You asked, more broken than before. You willed the tears not to fill your eyes, especially not at something a remedial as the tone of your voice. 

“Like me how?” He mimicked your tone, his own growing soft to match yours. 

“Oh come on, Eddie. Loud, walking around on tables and up on a stage… Brave.”

“No. I don’t. I fell in love with you. Didn’t I?” He asked, dropping his grip on one of your hands to smooth the hair on the back of your head in a loving cradle. He couldn’t help but to press a kiss, molasses sweet, to your forehead. 

“But do you love this part of me more?” You asked him, sheepishly. He felt his heart shatter in his chest. He wanted to rip it out and eat it if it meant you never felt like this again. 

“No.” He said, pressing a kiss to your lips. And then another. And then another. Each one a bandage for every pinprick against your own heart from insecurity. 

“I love every part of you.”

#gives Jade a kiss #right on the lips #eddie stranger things #eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson fluff #flea writes

[storyhuntress31]

Irina's gaze fixed upon him, focusing and tried to made the slight blur she suffered from since her head hit that pipe, go away for a second. She wanted to see him as clear as possible, his eyes, his face...she felt the urgent need to engrave every single inch of him into her memory and never forget him. Her body, had other plans tho. As battered as she was, the blur on her sight should be the last of her worries right now. Her punctured lung and broken ribs reminding her through constant waves of excruciating pain, how critical her current state just was. Yet, her grab on Jean's sleeve gained some strength, relief filling her body at his presence, her will to fight and survived, reignited.

"But it may be the end, Kirschtein. I want to make it. I truly want...just don't know if my body will be so supportive of my will in this state..." A wave of pain rushed through her body and she trembled. "Anyway...why do you care...So...much? Aren't we just...rivals...?" She managed to ask. She noticed his composure breaks a bit. He was just as aware about how bad the situation had become.

Still, the firmness of his voice, sparkled resolution within her, the way his hand lingered on her cheek for just a moment, was just what she needed. She looked into his eyes and saw the tide of emotions rushing through him just like a tsunami. She then lifted her own hand, placing it over his, her eyes never leaving his. "Yes, Sir." She obliged.

This time, she was absolutely aware that his tone was not admitting a reply. He was indeed there to save her and knowing how extraordinarily stubborn and determined he was, after all the time they had ( forcefully or not) spent together, she knew it better than to contradict him in these occasions.

" You are still a terrible liar... You know that, right?" She remarked smiling weakly. " We should work on that once we get back to the headquarters....Kirschtein." She said, opting for truly belive what he was saying. That maybe this wasn't the end, that she wasn't gonna die. And that they would make it to the medical point. The way he lifted her up, mindful of all her injuries, still light as a feather, with the utmost care in the world as if she would break at any moment, truly got into her. It felt as if he truly, sincerely, cared for her in a way deeper that she had ever dared to think about. "Am I too heavy...?" She asks, her voice a low wishper as her breath shortens, sending pain all over her body. Exhaustion taking all over her making every little move she made like pure torture by now.

"Did you just made me a promise....?" She asks, trying to connect herself to the living world, trying to gain some time with him, a soft smile painting her face at the thought. " my sarcastic brain?" She looks at him for a second " the one that always counters back at you with... Smart replies you can't stand? That brain? Thought you couldn't bear it..." She admitted, nothing but sincerity coming out of her mouth, pain and will to survive leaving no room for filters or masking her feelings. "Why is it that you hate me so much as to expose me the way you did with all our friends...? That hurt like hell, Kirschtein. But I don't resent you... I just can't and I know I can't resent you...because it's you. That is the only reason. It's...it's that stupid? Why are u helping me now...?" She asked confused. "Both seeing who will become the best soldier sounds...just so good...I just want to understand why are you so mean sometimes...so caring and sweet others..." She forces herself to keep thinking and talking to avoid the knock out.

Yet, every single step felt like the worst of tortures. And at some point, her body just collapsed. She lost control of it, falling into the ground and trembling. She still managed to take a discarded smoke gun and fired a string of red smoke from their position, in hopes of them being seen from the medical area. She couldn't stand it anymore. Her body betrayed her in the worst moment. She needed answers....she looks at Jean, trying to calm herself. Being in his arms felt like heaven. " this...may be... Our last moment together... Jean... Would you just be so kind for once to give me some answers? Please..." She practically begs " If I have to go... Last thing I would want to take with me is your voice. So please..." Her trembling hands lifted to his cheek, in a desperate attempt to feel him closer, Craving his touch. "It's cold...it's really cold...." She mumbled, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth, due to internal bleeding. " Please...I don't want to go...I want to stay with you..." She says, noticing how her consciousness slowly fades away, still, she tries to resist. She wants to stay by his side even if just for a few more seconds.

@shiiptowreck

#roleplay #aot #jean kirstein #jean kirschtein x reader

[drstonetrivia]

Chapter 231 Trivia

"Aaaaaaaah primitive technology noooooooooooo!"

This is definitely worth looking at closely: we have post-America-arc Chrome shedding a tear, young Suika again, Ishigami Village, the Soyuz capsule…

Oddly, Senku's chest piece is missing and Byakuya's name may be incorrectly spelled in Cyrillic (Б НШНГАМН vs Б ИШИГАМИ)

We get some insight into how the Medusas see things: we already know they can sense EM waves from chapter 229, and especially radio waves, but they may be able to selectively filter which wavelengths they see.

If they could only see radio, then it'd be impossible to see bones as the waves pass right through us. Given the image, it's very likely they're using x-rays to examine the people, but if that's true then the gun would appear as a bright white rather than partially transparent.

It's possible that they can see all wavelengths at once, and they're able to parse what would be "pure white" to us in such a way that they can selectively see the "layer" they want, but even picking a specific wavelength to view would result in the gun blocking the bones.

Alternatively, they only emit a specific range of waves at once and see what gets returned (like radar), but they'd have to know which wavelengths to use without knowing anything first. This echolocation seems slightly more likely since we have panels of them emitting waves.

It's possible that that's why they interpreted the humans as skeletons: they chose to see in x-rays rather than in the visible spectrum (=our vision) and thus only saw bones.

Maybe they assumed both the space suit and "meat suit" (skin, muscle, organs) were the same thing?

It's amusing how the Medusas scanned Senku, but then didn't bother making a perfect copy: the skull is more realistic/less manga, and his hair is upright, despite it being flattened against his head because of the helmet.

Not even they can make his hair look good though…

By mimicking Senku here, the Medusas effectively fulfilled all the previous depictions of Whyman.

Senku uses "me" and "us" here, but he does only mean "me"— the time between his revival in April 5738 and this date* is 10 years, not counting the 7.5 years he spent petrified. Apart from maybe Xeno, no one else shares the same timeline.

*(~Sept 5755, if it's exactly 10.)

List of weapons on the moon:

Grenade-net launcher.

Stone axe.

And the latter was the one that drove them away, haha!

Xeno was one of the ones most excited about what the Medusa tech could mean for humanity, which is why he looks especially grim when they decided to call humans pea-brained one last time before fleeing the solar system.

I have no idea how they retrieved the capsule since it and the Medusa inside seemed to disappear into the swarm, and the one that chose to stay didn't bring it back. It's also definitely the same capsule (with a few new additions) because the broken string is the same.

The capsule got a little upgrade to make it easier for the Medusa to communicate: the speaker was moved to the outside, and was replaced with a tiny Yagi–Uda antenna!

The antenna type is mostly for clarity, because at that range a monopole would have worked, or even none at all.

I'd like to think this Medusa has an affinity for Kohaku, since it chose to give itself up to her. They also had a nice conversation together! :)

(I'm sure it had nothing to do with the fact the other two were holding things at the time & Kohaku is the least busy one onboard…)

This piece coming off the main rocket is the ascent stage of the lunar lander. Similar to how parts of the rocket come off when leaving Earth, the ascent stage only gets the astronauts back to the rocket before it is discarded, destined to fall back to the surface of the moon.

The moon bunnies have a little 'x' for a mouth, and the capsule's face has a mouth shaped like that too… Coincidence?

I wonder who drew the face:

Senku, because he had a marker and likes drawing faces on things?

Kohaku, for fun?

Stanley, for the gap moe/Xeno 'x' (and because it seems like something he'd do somehow)?

Ryusui, to welcome his new crewmate?

If we'd gotten a name/species as an answer, then fans would inevitably be disappointed by not meeting them after they'd been hinted at, or been angry at how "unrealistic" whatever they got was.

This may not be a satisfying answer for some, but the alternatives are much less so.

I love this admission of Kohaku's, does she not have anything to think about!?

#trivia #dr stone #chapters #231

[kitchenisking]

its Friday! im pretty sure that Christmas break has started so to everyone who's home snuggle in and enjoy some stories!😘

Batman Band-Aids by the_flawless_four - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 61186, sterek)

It wasn’t uncommon for Stiles to call Derek’s number, even if it was his old one and he never responded to any of his messages. But now Stiles can't stay, he needs to go. He's breaking, he's broken. Living in his house, driving his jeep, trying to save the town that's been beating him down for years with the death of his father over his head, he can't do it. He calls Derek, not thinking he'd actually get a response. But one way or another, Stiles is leaving.

Derek comes for Stiles when he calls.

Derek has been healing from his own loses, and now he's helping Stiles.

We Play In The Shadows by words_reign_here - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 40729, sterek)

"This is my dad, Stiles." Emeri said and patted his belly. Emeri did not know what personal space was. "This is my godfather, Scotty." She said and patted Scott next. "This is my godmother, Allison." Emeri lowered her voice, "She works with Pops. She's a deputy." Mr. Hale nodded seriously, his full attention on Emeri. "And this is Lydia. She let dad borrow her uterus for nine months. But she's not my mom. Well. Biologically she is, but she doesn't have the legal rights." 

Stiles put a hand over his face and sighed.

I See You Better by theroguesgambit - (Rating: T, Words: 4686, sterek)

He dreams, sometimes, of his last moments of seeing.

At the church in Mexico, Stiles is blinded by a Berserker. Derek uses his new wolf status to act as a guide dog, while Stiles adjusts to his new reality.

'cause you gotta survive by jacyevans - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 17219, sterek)

Stiles is a master at pretending he’s fine when the opposite is true. On the cusp of a breakdown, he falls into a relationship—and in love—with Derek. An injury courtesy of Beacon Hill's monster-of-the-month and a heat of the moment confession force them to re-evaluate their entire lives, including their relationship with each other. 

Stiles starts to build a new future, piece by painful piece. But that future isn’t complete without Derek.

My Alpha by IntoTheAbyssWeGo - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 14672, sterek)

He didn’t want this. Had never wanted it. He wasn’t supposed to be the alpha. It was all wrong and had been wrong right from the very moment he laid eyes on Kate fucking Argent. Unable to hold back a whimper at that thought, he clutched his arms more tightly around his head. 

Stiles. Of course, it was Stiles. Stiles whom he had treated so horribly all of these years. Stiles who had gone from annoying and hyperactive and unbearable to funny and interesting and reliable. Stiles who never let him down. Stiles who always had a plan and could see the whole picture. Stiles who led everyone when Derek couldn’t. Stiles should’ve been the alpha. 

Should've been his alpha.

Hot Boxing by Sam_Haine - (Rating: Mature, Words: 2613, sterek)

Derek fulfills Stiles' fantasy of getting fucked in the back of his older boyfriend's car.

A Princely Knight by Dexterous_Sinistrous - (Rating: Mature, Words: 25195, sterek)

He would stand by Stiles’ side, a constant shadow of protection until his death. A life for a life, one worth much more than an orphan turned thief turned royal guard could comprehend. In truth, Derek saw the one person he would gladly give his life for, because Stiles made this world better.

~*~ Or, Stiles is a prince and Derek is his knight.

Drunken Words I said Last Night by i_might_be_in_over_my_head - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 2717, sterek)

Drunk Stiles was the funniest and most annoying thing at the same time. Funny because his almost nonexistent brain to mouth filter completely disappears and he loses all concept of person space. Annoying for the exact same reasons. 

Derek was standing in the middle of his loft watching as Stiles danced to music he had brought along with him. He showed up at Derek’s loft about an hour ago with a bottle of whiskey and his portable speaker and announced they were having a drunken dance party.

From This Moment by SylvieW - (Rating: Mature, Words: 16711, sterek)

After discovering Derek is pregnant, Stiles offers to be his “Pregnancy Buddy.” On top of the usual difficulties of carrying a child, Stiles has to navigate Derek’s emotional turmoil from the traumatic event that conceived the baby, and his own feelings that he’s developing for Derek.

Love Story (Stiles' Version) by KaliopeShipsIt - (Rating: Not Rated, Words: 6413, sterek)

"I got prego. Just like you wanted."

Stiles Stilinski receives a rather unexpected text. Questionable life choices ensue.

#stiles x derek #stiles stilinski #sterek #derek hale #fanfic #fanfiction #ficrec #kitcheniskingficrecs

[shadowolffie]

Okie dokie, it’s crack fic time!

KiriBaku in the world of Red Dead Redemption 2. Two of my biggest obsessions, I had to try my hand to smash them together.

Writing snippet of some of the story below! Let me know if it’s worth continuing to share!

——————————————————

The Bakugo’s were rich.

Like filthy rich. Like, the kind of rich that their only son, Katsuki, would never have to truly work a hard day in his life.

His fathers family owned a good chunk of the railroad system but it was his mother, who came from the cutthroat fashion industry, that was the real ruthless brains behind the operation. Through cold calculation, (and minor bribing or blackmail), she had steered her husband to buy up nearly all of the competition, making them the sole transportation conglomerate in the lower half of the known states. No one moved product or rode a train without them getting a cut.

They lived in a huge house in Saint Denis, enjoying servants, fresh foods, rich clothing, fine horse breeds, and the latest in technological advancements, the luxuries only an option to the few that could afford them. Everyone in town and the surrounding counties knew who they were; they were respected, envied, feared, loved, and hated.

In hindsight, a privilege he definitely took advantage of, and probably something he should have taken a little more seriously.

Out drinking with acquaintances (because he didn’t have friends) at an upscale bar, having drank too much, Bakugo got in an argument over accusations of cheating at cards with one of the other boys. With his known hair trigger temper only enhanced with liquor, it quickly escalated to a full scale fist fight and both were kicked from the establishment for the rest of the night.

Bruised and seething, he stomped through the darkened nighttime streets towards another bar down the way when the heavy bitter scent of horse, sweat, and cigarettes flooded his nose a moment before a crack across the back of his head and everything went dark.

—————

The first thing Katsuki realized as he came around was that with every footfall of his horse, his head throbbed in pain. Groaning he gripped with his thighs to not flop directly off the beast as he blinked owlishly at the bright sunlight filtering through the trees. The mix of that and chipper birdsong assaulted his pounding head and watery eyes, further muddling his broken thoughts.

Instinctively he went to bring his hands up to his face to wipe the sweat matted hair from his eyes, but his hands were yanked to a stop. Frowning he glanced down and realized he was tied tightly at the wrists and around his waist then secured to the saddle horn. The familiar weight of his pistol was gone from his hip as well. Actually, upon a quick inventory inspection, he was stripped bare save his thin undershirt and pants. Even his feet were naked, boots and socks gone.

What the fuck?

Blinking some of the fuzz from his brain, both a mixture of a nasty hangover and being clocked in the head, he glanced around at the two scruffy men riding alongside him then at the back of the one leading his horse. He didn’t recognize any of them.

Shit.

Had… had he been kidnapped?!

“Ah, good t’see yer awake sleeping beauty,” the man to his right chuckled, weathered face pulled back into a nasty grin. “Here we were afraid that Tenshaw here whacked ya too hard and scrambled your brains fer good and lost us our ransom.”

“Fuck off,” came Katsuki’s automatic groan, wincing at the throbbing of his brain that speaking racked up. “And tell Tenshaw he hits like a bitch.”

A cigarette raspy laugh wheezed from the kidnapper. “Ha ha! A feisty little spitfuck ain’t cha. Hear that Tenshaw? You hit like a bitch!”

The man leading his horse just turned in his saddle to spit out a wad of tobacco in Katsuki’s direction. “And you whine like one. Shut your whore mouth.”

As if.

“Ha, like a whore, you have to pay extra for that. You all are gonna hang and I’ll make sure to piss on your corpses. Do you have any idea who the fuck I am? My parents have connections beyond–”

“Of course we know who fuckin’ spawned you; you’re the Bakugo brat, the only one they bothered popping out. Which means your parents will pay handsomely to get their one and only heir back. Unscathed and unaltered,” was added with a pointed look, a dark glint in Tenshaw’s gaze.

Katsuki just snorted and rolled his eyes, not intimidated in the least. “Tch, you’re seriously threatening to cut my balls off? How fucking original. All it’s gonna do is prove they’re bigger than yours.”

That sent the talkative one into a cackling fit, and earned another death glare from Tenshaw. “You need to learn to keep your mouth shut, spitfuck, or it’s gonna get you in trouble.”

“And you can go fuck yourself raw on that fence post back there–”

The butt of a gun cracked across his jaw so hard that as he careened sideways in the bindings securing him to the saddle, he felt his horse stumble to keep its balance. Spots danced in his vision as he gasped, the metallic tang of copper filling his mouth. The inside of his cheek had been sliced open on his teeth and a bruise was already blooming from the force of the blow.

Defiantly he spat a huck of blood back at the cowboy on his left and instantly received a harsh first to the side of his already aching jaw as punishment. His head swam as he was once again rocked in his saddle. Reflexively, he sucked in air from the absolute throbbing of his skull but managed to hold in the whimper of pain.

“Biki, you kill him, I’ll kill you,” Tenshaw snapped over his shoulder but didn’t make any other move to intervene.

“Tenshaw said to be quiet, so quiet you’ll be,” Biki, the one on Katsuki’s left who had been silent up until this moment, reiterated as he tucked the shotgun back against his shoulder with his knuckle split hand.

“You hit better than Tenshaw at least,” Katsuki grumbled back, unable to tamper down the need to have the last word, but begrudgingly took the hint to shut the fuck up after that.

—————

They rode hard, pushing the horses at a steady lope as they worked to put distance between them and Saint Denis. Katsuki knew the area enough to be aware that they were nearing Rhodes (how long had he been out?!) and sticking close to the shoreline to avoid main roads and attention. If he was taken out of Lemoyne county, his chances of being rescued drastically slimmed. He had to act, somehow.

“I need to piss,” he suddenly spoke up.

“Then piss,” Tenshaw responded uncaringly.

“And then have to sit in it? Hell no, I’m not an animal,” Katsuki griped with a disgusted wrinkle of his nose.

“Ain’t my saddle, deal with it bitching beauty.”

Katsuki inhaled in a breath to interrupt the scathing retort that sprang to his tongue as a default and instead tried to be tactful. “Alright, look asshole, I’ve honestly been an upstanding kidnapee so far. I haven’t been sobbing my eyes out uncontrollably or constantly begging for freedom, or generally making a lot of fuss. Just a little back talk, which honestly, I feel is deserved considering the circumstances. So. To keep me in this fucking chipper and compliant mood, I don’t think stopping for five minutes so I can piss in peace is a lot to ask for.”

“Hmm, he does have a point Ten,” the chatty one hummed.

Tenshaw just grunted.

But mercifully, a while later they came to a heavily wooded dip in the earth and Tenshaw led the group down into the thicket before flicking a hand towards the blonde. “Skeet, untie the spitfuck and let him piss. You have three minutes,” he added with a scowl towards Katsuki.

The chatty one, Skeet, leaned over to untie the rope knotted at the back of the saddle that held him secure then grabbed under Katsuki’s knee and yanked up hard, flipping him from the saddle with a startled yelp. His still horn attached wrists were the only thing that jerked him upright, keeping him from straight up eating dirt face first.

Growling at Skeet’s snigger of amusement, Katsuki found his feet to right himself then glared at the other male over the back of the animal. “Gonna get the hands too or you gonna drop my pants and hold my dick for me, you perv?”

“Skeet quit fuckin’ around, I wanna get back on the road,” Tenshaw snapped as Biki simply lit up a cigarette to watch the exchange boredly.

Skeet rolled his eyes but whipped out a knife to slice the bonds to the saddle horn. Still tied together but free from the horse at last.

“Try anything funny and you’ll get a bullet,” Biki deadpanned as the cha-chuck of a shell loading into a shotgun chamber sounded menacingly behind him.

“Yeah yeah, Jesus, just let me fucking pee,” Katsuki groused as he stumbled saddle sore legs towards a tree to turn his back and gratefully relieve his bladder, his mind running a mile a minute as he felt Biki’s gaze weigh heavy between his shoulder blades.

All of the horses were secured so that wasn’t an option. Though barefoot, his best chance was to run for it and hope Biki’s aim wasn’t the best in this heavily forested area and that gun fire would draw attention. Once he got to Rhodes and the sheriff office there, he’d be golden. Nevermind the fact that he actually had no idea how far he was from Rhodes, but he had to try.

Rough plan of action in mind, he finished up and turned to head back towards his horse. He stepped his foot into the stirrup and made to reach towards the horn to swing on, before suddenly twisting to instead smack his horse hard on the rump and pushing off of the startled beast to book it into the trees.

A chain of events rapidly played out. With a squeal his horse lashed out with its hind legs at Skeet’s mount at the sudden smack, which instinctively shied sideways to bodycheck into Biki’s horse just as he shot. The firearm roared as a bullet zinged into tree bark a few inches above Katsuki’s shoulder as swearing and chaos erupted from the three kidnappers.

“Don’t kill him you fucking moron! Get him, just leave him alive!”

Heart pounding, adrenaline lent speed to his bare feet as he crashed through the dense underbrush. Brambles and branches scratched and grabbed at skin and tore clothing as he bolted towards what he prayed was the direction of a main road. He heard the stuttering pounding of hoofbeats behind him, but thankfully in this thick of wood they weren’t able to rush after him as quickly as they’d like.

He dove over a fallen log just as another bullet whizzed off the bark at knee level. With his shoulder ducked as he hit the earth, he rolled smoothly back to his feet to continue to run. Who would have thought that parkouring all over the back alleyways and housetops of Saint Denis with some of the common street brats would actually be a useful pastime?

Suddenly, amidst the anxiety fueled fleeing, he noticed a spot where the trees thinned and an obvious pair of parallel dirt tracks tore into the earth from carts and wagons and horse hooves alike. Thank fuck, the road!

As he bolted towards it however, Katsuki was quickly realizing he couldn’t outrun them for long on open ground. His only chance was to maybe find a tree to climb and hope they drew enough attention to warrant investigation. If he could just somehow manage to do so with his wrists tied–

“Hyck!” tore from his lips as something snapped around his neck, yanking him off his feet and heavily onto his back, knocking his breath from his chest. Dragged through dirt and grass, he clawed desperately at the braided rawhide cruelly cinching around his throat, convulsing, choking, at the crushing of his windpipe and lack of oxygen.

“Thought you’d be slick, huh little spitfuck,” Tenshaw snarled as he backed his horse up to reel in his catch towards a waiting Biki, who was gleefully watching Katsuki’s face redden as he panic thrashed for air. “Nice try you slippery little shit.”

Another blow to his already abused head had Katsuki blacking out once more.

#my hero academia #red dead redemption 2 #crack fic #fanfic #fanfic snippet #kiribaku #bakushima #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou #bnha bakugou #mha #snippet

[scienceoftheidiot]

Haunt me for Roy Mustang (about any other character, whether it's Hughes or Riza or another)

Thank you so much for sending this ! 🥰❤️

I went for the obvious scene that came up in my head when I read the description of the prompt (one character watching over another), I hope you like what I did with it ! This will probably find its place into my Ishval WIP 😅

Put it under the cut because it's relatively long (idk, between 1 and 2K I think I didn't use the usual software to write)

Roy, sitting on the ground, leans back against the wall, hands on his knees. He allows himself to close his eyes for a brief moment.

An image superimposes on the darkness of his eyelids. Riza Hawkeye writhing in pain, crying silently.

Roy opens his eyes with a shaky breath. He'd rather see her how she is now, sleeping on her stomach, head laying on her hand, turned towards him. The heavy dose of painkillers he's been feeding her is still not enough to smooth the frown on her face, but her breathing is even and calm, and she rarely shifts. Her bare back is covered in gauze and the thick, greasy ointment Knox had given Roy a month before.

The evening light that filters from the barred windows of the hideout draws warm stripes on Hawkeye's barely covered body, makes her short hair shine golden. Everything is calm, time stuck. Dust dances in the sun rays, and Roy watches their slow descent.

She looks frail. Broken. Roy wants to pull something over her, cover her, not to hide her nudity - he's long past being awkward because of it, long past thinking of her as anything else than a victim of his hubris - but to make her feel safer, protected. He shan't. That would hurt her.

He has hurt her enough.

That hand under her head must be painful, and the blood flow cut, Roy remarks. He takes the folded blanket he's brought just in case - in case of what, in this scorched desert, he doesn't really remembers now - and walks closer to her with the intent on replacing her hand with it.

He kneels at her side, brushes her fingers, notices they're cold, and a wave of panic takes him.

She's dead. You've killed her. If you didn't, the shock did. And it's the same. You killed her.

Roy knows. He knows she's alive. He can feel her breath on the back of his hand, that he places in front of her mouth. He knows she's as good as can be in her situation. But that part of his brain won't be silenced.

You killed her. And if you haven't yet, it's coming.

Stop this.

Roy forces his breath to slow, steadies his hand as much as he can. On a whim, before he does anything else, he brushes his knuckles on Riza's flushed cheek. It's hot, and soft. But it's hot, not cold, and she squirms slightly under his touch, without waking up.

See. She's alive.

Roy gulps, and breathes in. He slowly, gently pulls her head away from her hand, his palm on her clammy brow. He pushes her hand to the side, and replaces it with the folded blanket. Roy delicately lays her head back again on the blanket, and goes so far as to dare to push a couple of short bangs off her forehead.

She looks too young and too old at once. She feels as eternal and as fleeting as the desert wind in the dunes. He's afraid of her withering away in this barred, abandonned house that miraculously isn't as wrecked as the rest. He's afraid of her taking roots here, never waking up, sleeping for a hundred years like in the fairy tale.

He would keep his watch, should it last as long and more. He's promised. To her.

He's already failed the father, he won't fail the daughter.

He retreats to the wall again, and sits down with a sigh. His right hand instinctively goes to the top of his thigh, where all this moving has made what was a dull, low level kind of pain flare up and throb.

Under the wool of his uniform and a small patch of the same gauze he's put on Hawkeye's back, the burn is healing. Slowly, painfully, but it is healing. The new skin that has grown is thick, bright pink and ugly, twisted. It'll turn dark later. It fits the task that had him try this on himself before he raised his hand above Hawkeye's back.

After all, he'd never used his Alchemy on people for anything else than killing. And he's good at that. Too good. He got more precise and accurate, and quick, as the war went on. But the finality is always to kill.

He had to try on a living being, first.

No one but Knox would ever know, and Knox already though him insane - not that Knox himself was anything but. Hawkeye, here, too. You'd need to be a little crazy to ask for what she did, even if it came from the right place.

They were all insane, here. Those who weren't were dead, or soon to be. There was no escape.

Hawkeye stirs slightly, pulling Roy out of his reverie. Her frown has deepened, and new beads of sweat have appeared on her forehead. Roy ponders waking her up to feed her more painkillers, and maybe some of the soup he keeps in canteens next to the table where he's laid all the medical supplies, in the corner of the room.

But she doesn't wake by herself, and he decides to wait. He's inflicted enough pain on her, now. Time to let her rest. She'll wake up soon enough.

#royai #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #prompt #ask game #musing and music #fma #fma fanfiction

[crinkle-eyed-boo]

Sunday Snippet

I’ve recently been tagged by @disgruntledkittenface, @princelyharry, and @littleroverlouis to share a snippet of my WIP. I’ve been working hard on Chapter Six of Arise, Fair Sun this weekend, so I thought I would share. THINGS ARE GETTING TENSE. 

“We open in six days,” Liam continues, the stress in his voice palpable. “Six days, Harry! You’ve gotta dig deeper. You’ve got to give this everything you have. It’s about more than the steps, can’t you see that? You’ve got to–”

“For fuck’s sake, Liam, that’s enough!” 

Rosie’s piano accompaniment stops at Louis’ sudden outburst, her eyes going wide behind her thick glasses. The room falls completely silent, save for the sounds of Harry’s ragged breaths, and it feels like the silence drags on for hours as the entire company watches in interest as Louis and Liam stare each other down. 

Dancers just don’t talk back to the directors like that. Not in this company. 

“What did you say?” Liam finally asks, his voice chillingly even. 

“I said,” Louis says, his chest heaving as he catches his breath, “that’s enough.” 

“Do you have a problem with my direction, Louis?” Liam asks pointedly, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Whatever happened to giving notes at the end of the run through?” Louis challenges, his hands on his hips. 

“I’ll give a note whenever I see fit,” Liam fires back. “That’s my job.” 

“Well, I can’t do my job with you fucking shouting at us all the time,” Louis insists. “It’s distracting!” 

Harry looks down at the floor, his cheeks burning with embarrassment and tears stinging his eyes. He blinks them away furiously, subtly wiping under his eyes as he takes several deep breaths, exhaling slowly and trying to rein his emotions back in. He’s never broken down crying in the middle of rehearsal, not once over the course of his entire career, and he certainly doesn’t plan on starting now. 

“You’re already distracted, Louis,” Liam counters. “You have been all week. You’re just going through the motions up there.” 

“Jesus Christ, Liam, it’s a rehearsal,” Louis says with an audible eyeroll. “Our last rehearsal of the week. We’ll turn it on for the performances, you know we will.” 

“If you can’t turn it on in rehearsal, how am I supposed to know if you can do it in performances?” 

“We are working our asses off up here!” Louis practically shouts. “We’re never not working our asses off up here. I’d like to see anyone else in this room even attempt what Harry’s doing, what he’s been doing for the last five weeks. Give him a fucking break!” 

Harry looks up at that, his eyes widening. Louis isn’t looking at him though, his attention entirely fixed on Liam. 

“Well if you don’t like the way I’m running my rehearsal, Louis, you’re free to leave,” Liam shrugs, the serious expression on his face belying the casualness of the gesture. “I’ll just put Ethan in, he could use some time with Harry.” 

Harry glances over to where Ethan, Louis’ understudy, is sitting in the corner, suddenly sitting up much taller in his seat. He’s a first year soloist, and he’s a very good dancer with the potential to be a great one in a couple of years, but he’s not Louis. 

And Harry doesn’t want to dance with anyone other than Louis. 

“Or maybe I’ll put Ethan and Sergei in,” Liam proposes, gesturing to Harry’s understudy. “They’re doing a couple of matinees after all, maybe we should just focus on getting them ready for performances instead. What do you think, Louis?” 

“Do whatever you want, Liam, I don’t give a fuck,” Louis says witheringly, throwing his hands up in the air as he starts towards the door. “I’m out–”

“Louis, stop.” 

The words are out of Harry’s mouth the instant he thinks them, his brain to mouth filter completely vanishing. Louis whirls around and looks at him, really looks at him, for what feels like the first time all week. The expression on his face is inscrutable as Harry looks back at him imploringly, biting his bottom lip. 

“Please,” Harry whispers, his voice raw with all the emotion he’s desperately trying to keep at bay. “Don’t go.” 

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