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hitlikehammers · 3 months

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safe under you

rating: t ♥️ cw: criminal-levels of softness ♥️ tags: established relationship, rockstar husbands, writing vows, soul-deep love, slice of life, softness

for @steddielovemonth day nineteen: Love is the comfort of quiet moments (@tboygareth)

the rockstar husbands are back on their soft-sleepy-romantic bullshit idk ♥️ maybe I'll get around to writing the ACTUAL VOWS next time

“You’re so quiet.”

Which meant Eddie should have heard his husband approaching but: as it stands he really, really didn’t, and he jumps hard when Steve whispers from behind his shoulder over the back of the couch.

Steve laughs at the glare Eddie shoots him—a half-hearted one at best but there—as he reaches to start rubbing at the crook of his neck, up and down on either side and the glaring goes away instantly because: Steve Harrington?

Has magical hands.

“Whatcha doing?” he murmurs close to Eddie’s ear and Eddie hums a little as he gathers himself from going immediately-boneless under Steve’s touch, the kneading of his palm against Eddie’s strained muscles because he’s been down here…not too long, he doesn’t think. They’d gone to bed together at normal time, and he’d fallen asleep, too; he’d just been restless when he woke up, and knew it was the kind of thing he wouldn’t get more rest out of unless he did something about it, so he’d kissed Steve’s head and rolled out of bed, regretful for it but hopeful, too, that if he gave in to the nagging at the back of his head, he’d quiet it enough to be able to slip back in next to his beloved, and lean against the mattress just so, so that Steve’s arms could curl around him as they always did: soft and sweet and waiting to hold him.

Eddie just hasn’t…managed to get there, yet.

“Writing,” Eddie sighs, and then whines a little as Steve’s hands leave their place on his shoulders, and he turns to look because where’s Steve going, Steve shouldn’t go anywhere, Steve should stay right—

Here.

And look at that: Steve’s plopping himself down on the sofa next to Eddie, a little too far but then he’s scooting further, and Eddie opens his mouth to protest but then Steve’s dropping down, draping his body over Eddie’s lap and laying against him, looking up at him with still-half-sleepy eyes and just…

He’s just so fucking beautiful, y’know?

“You’re never quiet when you’re writing,” Steve says, head tilted up, eyes closed as he leans back against the armrest where Eddie’s got his notebook, his face so soft. His mouth so soft—

“Campaign, you mumble to yourself,” Steve continues on, his voice syrupy, still only half-committed to waking; “lyrics, you hum if you don’t have a guitar,” and then he reaches down toward Eddie’s knee and taps rhythmic there:

“And you drum your fingers,” and Steve smiles as his fingers dance for a few languid moments before he eases his lashes open and meets Eddie’s gaze, because Eddie’s gaze has been on his since he settled in his lap.

Because: duh.

“Looks like it’s hard, too,” Steve sucks his lower lip between his teeth, face still soft but mouth quirked just a little downward, still a little dream-soaked and Eddie love that part, but: never the downturn of that mouth.

“Hmm?” Eddie rumbles low so Steve’ll maybe feel it a little where he’s pressed; the little hazy giggle Steve lets out as he nuzzles into Eddie’s middle just that tiny bit: he felt.

Eddie likes to think he’s never been so in love, but he doesn’t…he doesn’t believe he’s ever not loved Steve with all of his everything.

He’s just wholly convinced that his everything grows with ever moment beside this man, every heartbeat lived together: it stretches him wider, broader every day for the singular purpose of holding the all of his love ever-bigger.

“Whatever you’re working on,” Steve murmurs, just short of sleep-slurred; “you’ve got this,” and he reaches, bats a little around Eddie’s face before he lands between his eyebrows and smooths the skin there which, okay, fine, had been all wrinkled-up.

“Means you’re concentrating too hard,” Steve comments sagely, patting Eddie’s cheek a little blind as he settles wholly back in Eddie’s lap.

“This happens to be very important,” Eddie counters with a tiny flick to Steve’s ear, which is met with a little squeak that warms his insides so delicate, so thorough and full.

“Doubtful,” Steve manages to scoff, like he’s tipping closer to wakefulness but not there yet; “not important enough to make you,” and Steve’s the one flicking now, light at Eddie’s forearm in emphasis:

“Quiet and frowny.”

He’s so…he’s fucking edible he’s so adorable, that’s what he is—Jesus.

“Not frowny,” Eddie lets a little at Steve’s hair, all tousled from the bed; “invested.”

Steve purses his lips and tries—fails, but tries—to peek at the notebook on level with his temple.

“What’s got you so invested, then?” he finally gives up trying to turn and read where Eddie’s hasn’t even bothered trying to hide, not least because there is nothing there, and just asks. And Eddie could dodge it. Steve would respect it if he did.

But he…he doesn’t. Generally speaking he doesn’t hide anything from Steve. Big or small. Their life is a shared thing from top to bottom and Eddie loves that about them so fucking fierce, so. He just sighs and admit it.

“My vows.”

Because that’s what’s been keeping him up, that’s what drove him out of the soft joy of their bed, that’s what amounted to scribbles and cross-outs alone on the page in front of him and it should be this hard, Eddie’s a decent enough lyricist, not to mention most of his songs all this time are for, or inspired by, or just about, generally, all-encompassingly: Steve. It’s always Steve.

Which makes it that much more unbearable that he can’t seem to fucking write his goddamn vows.

Then, though, just then; the most unexpected thing happens. Or starts.

Steve starts shaking against him and there a half-second he’s worried—does it hurt his sweetheart, that he can’t get the words down, does it make him sad, is he cryi—

No.

No: it only takes half-a-second for the anxiety to fade and the sound to register alongside the trembling: Beautiful. Radiant. Still wholly unexpected.

Steve’s laughing.

“That’s silly,” Steve finally tells him, looking up at him with genuine north in his eyes and yes, he’s still a little sleepy-drunk, but the feeling is wholly present and…

Eddie isn’t sure what to do with it—wants to just wrap himself inside it and savor but: his vows…laughable?

Silly?

“What?”

“You’ve already made your vows,” Steve grins up at him, all brightness; “like, three times,” and, okay.

Okay, that’s not exactly wrong, though he could probably try to argue that it was more three proposals’ worth of vows, and are those actually vows, if it’s just a proposal—

“Proposals fucking count,” Steve waves his wrist definitively and…Eddie isn’t sure if he said any of that out loud?

Then: probably wouldn’t make a difference either way. They know each other.

“The first one was legitimately with the twisty-tie from a loaf of Home Pride,” Eddie points out because: because that…that’s probably not as important—

“Mmhmm,” Steve hums, and lifts his left hand: there’s a simple ring on his left hand, pricey for their budget when they’d gathered their family and committed to always in front of them under a temperate Indiana summer’s sky, bonfire and barbecue lively in the background: but that ring wasn’t smooth; it had a long-worn-bare stick of metal wrapped around it and soldered, one that used to be covered in bright paper to stick out against a plastic bread bag:

“I remember well,” and Steve sounds so soft, so blissfully taken in by the memory of that first time Eddie had proposed and, fuck.

Fuck, the butterflies never go away, do they? That effervescent joy stays fresh and vivacious forever.

Thank fuck; he wants no less of this; for them. The love they have deserves no less.

“Still want to melt down the Ring Pop,” Steve says as he plays with his ring; “make it match,” and that’d been the second time: Steve had bought Eddie a ring at a ren faire, and Eddie’d been beside himself to reciprocate, immediately, because Steve deserved no less, and that was how the bum-end of a long-licked Ring Pop came to live eternally on Steve’s keys.

To be eyed for melting into a full-hoop shape for years, now, but Eddie kinda thinks it’s loved and treasured plenty, just as it already is.

“I love you so fucking much,” Steve tells him, apropos of nothing, and that’s…that’s kind of exactly how they work, yeah. They just love.

So fucking much.

Eddie’s pulse kinda skips with it, bounces like pigtails hopscotching along, all unbridled glee. He draws Steve hand to his lips, kisses his knuckles.

“Aren’t you,” Eddie swallows as he lifts his blank notebook and shakes it around a little: “aren’t you stressing over them?”

Because it doesn’t sound like he is, and that’s…sure, they’ve done this before, if not with a license in hand like they will this time. But Steve’s always been more prone to worry over stuff like this. So while Eddie doesn’t want the man he loves to be anxious, he is…kinda wondering, is all.

“Not writing any,” Steve shrugs and lets the motion turn him a little against Eddie’s lap, to look up more straight-on.

“You know I’m not great with words,” Steve tells him simply; “like, planning them out, I’ll fuck it up in the moment and then I’ll just be more flustered.”

And, yeah: okay. That’s a fair point.

Then there’s a hand slipping up his jaw, and crawling his cheek, and turning him down to look at Steve closer:

“Figured I can just look at you, and I’ll,” Steve’s pupils get bigger as he exhales, as he takes in Eddie’s face and beams at him, strokes his cheekbone with his thumb.

“The most important things are always right there,” Steve breathes warm: “so I’ll just say what’s already waiting.”

And shit. The man says he’s bad at words.

“You’re the light of life, Steve Harrington,” Eddie whispers, contorting himself to lean and Steve sees, arches up to press their lips as Eddie mouths against him: “the song in my soul,” and fuck: he means it so many times over he could never count it, could never pin a number to it. It’s too vast.

“See, look at you,” Steve taps his cheek playfully, but so soaked up with love; “you’ve already got all your words, so,” and then he lets his hand slide off Eddie’ face, and he sits up just to grab at Eddie’s legs, swing them up onto the couch and settles himself between them, tugging Eddie from the calves further down until he’s propping himself up by his palms.

“C’mon,” Steve coaxes, and uses his back to ease Eddie down and: oh. Oh, he wants them laid out on the cushions.

And well: Eddie could, would, will only ever oblige, if the question is do you want to lay down with your husband thrice-almost-four-times-over?

Because again: duh. If they were really in the market for silly ideas.

Steve sighs so happily, so airy and bright even as Eddie reaches to flick the light off, and wraps his arms to rest around Steve, sure and close where he holds him to his chest, folds him in where he already nuzzles deeper and:

It’s how safe my heart feels under the weight of your head.

Well, fuck him.

Maybe he does know his vows already.

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson

♥️

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autisticlancemcclain · 10 months

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Lance knows he talks way too fucking much.

He started talking at seven months old. He never stopped. It was his older brother Marco, he thinks, who first called him Motormouth, but honestly he doesn’t remember. He’s been called that and Lancito Lorito longer than he can remember.

He loved the nickname, when he was little. His brothers or sisters or cousins or parents would groan, playfully, when they saw the look in his eyes, but always indulged his constant lectures and ideas and rambling. Motormouth meant you talk a lot but I like to listen. Motormouth meant I know you enough to have a trait I associate with you. Motormouth meant fondness and teasing and care. He loved that name.

When he was seven years old, one of his friends tugged her older sister over to where Lance was colouring with sidewalk chalk on the pavement.

“Look,” she’d said, gesturing to Lance but not talking to him. Lance had looked up from his chalk and smiled at her, opening his mouth to say hello but was interrupted by the subtle elbow she’s jammed into her sister’s side, and her muttered, “Watch this.”

“Hey, Motormouth,” she’d said, and Lance grinned, feeling something warm bloom in his stomach at her use of the nickname, oblivious to the choked-back laughter of the sister. “What was that thing you were talking about earlier? About the comet?”

If at all possible, Lance had brightened further, dropping the chalk and dusting off his hands as he’d launched into an explanation about the comet he’d been tracking with his dad. It was supposed to be visible for the first time in thousands of years that month, and he’d been buzzing with excitement about it. He talked about it to everyone who even appeared like they were maybe going to ask him about it. He’s rambled about it to the cashier at the grocery store the evening before.

“Just look at him,” his friend’s sister had said, something almost like awe in her voice, but not quite. Lance faltered, trailing off mid-sentence. “You were right. He’s like a wind-up toy.”

“Mo-tor-mouth,” his friend had said, in a distinct, sing-songy voice. “I told you I could make him do it on command.”

The girls burst into giggles. Lance had looked around, hesitantly, and found a number of his classmates giggling to themselves, at him or not he didn’t know, but he did know that he felt, distinctly, like he was in a zoo, and his friend was not his friend but a keeper who’d brought spectators to observe him and his freakish oddness.

Motormouth had felt, for the first time, like the insult he didn’t know it had always been. He felt trapped.

He’s grown since then. He’s no longer seven years old and oblivious to the fact that some people are quietly cruel. He knows the warning signs, now, of when someone is mocking him, of when he’s being treated like a pet, like an amusing little weirdo to cart around and show off. He knows the difference now between amusement and endearment.

But that feeling, that realization. The brick-to-the-face understanding that he was wrong about how other people cared about him the whole time he loved them.

He has never been able to un-know that.

———

He and Keith have a system. Lance starts work earlier, and is home earlier too, so he makes dinner for them. Keith cleans up after, crawling into bed next to a half-asleep Lance if they eat late enough. Sometimes, though, Keith gets home early, finished a repair faster than he’d anticipated, and decides he wants to make them supper for a change. Today Lance sits on the counter, kicking his legs and eating half the vegetables Keith has cut, grinning every time Keith lets him get away with it.

“…And there was this one woman who came on the trails today, babe, I swear to God, she’s the same nightmare lady you had to deal with a couple months ago. You remember that?”

Keith hums, hiking up one shoulder.

“The cooking oil lady. Who threw her baby’s rattle at your head because you told her you couldn’t put canola oil in her engine to make things cheaper.”

Keith snorts. “Oh, that nightmare.”

“Yeah!” Lance says, muffled by the four slices of bell pepper he’s shoved in his mouth at once. Keith stares flatly at him and smacks his hand, but the corner of his mouth twitches, and he walks over to the fridge to grab a new pepper without a word of admonishment. Loser.

Lance doesn’t say anything for a moment, following a new, bell-pepper related thought, and startled slightly when Keith clears his throat slightly and prompts, “You met cooking oil lady?”

“Oh yeah! On the trails today. We had to shut down one of them because Selena — remember the red wolf I told you about? The one who sings the loudest in her pack and has the reddest fur? I named her Selena after the singer, yeah, you remember — had her cubs the other day! So she’s super duper extra protective of the whole area, basically, and so is the rest of the pack, so humans going near their area is going to freak them out and that’s not fair to anybody. Hey, did you know red wolves are monogamous? Most wolf species are but red wolves especially show a really strong family unit. It’s really cute, actually, Selena her mate always go on wolf dates and stuff and terrorize the park-goers —”

“Trail,” Keith redirects gently, turning off the burner and scooping their food into two plates. He grabs them both, flicking Lance’s hand away, and sets them at the kitchen island, arranging the plates so they’re sat next to each other instead of across.

“Right, trail,” Lance says. As soon as he sits down and starts to eat, one of Keith’s hands comes to rest on his thigh, palm curving around the inner flesh and fingertips resting gently on the ankle tucked under it. He moves his thumb back and forth slowly, not to instigate, just to touch. Lance leans against him without even thinking about it.

“So. Trial closed. Not even that busy of a trail, honestly. One of the least popular ones. But this lady shows up, stroller in camo and packed to the nines like a fuckin, tactical mom, or something, and starts just hauling ass down the trail, breezing past the closed sign. And I’m like.” He points his fork in Keith’s direction, so he can Get The Vibe. His boyfriend smiles into his stir fry. “I mean, I didn’t want to be the one to handle her. But no one else did, either, and let me tell you she was hauling fucking ass down that trail, and I didn’t want her to actually disturb Selena or anything, so I had be like ma’am. Please. The sign very clearly says closed. And she ignored me, so I just stopped in front of her, and then she started screaming at me! All about how she has been to this trail all the time and she’s a loyal park-goer and it’s a public park, as if that means anything. I seriously thought she was never going to stop.”

He hears the irony as soon as he says it. I thought she was never going to stop. He’s like a wind-up toy. He manages to stop himself from tensing, barely, diverting into something like a twitch. He’s aware suddenly that he has been talking nonstop from essentially the second he walked in the front door and was delighted to find Keith’s boots already at the door, hear the quiet clanking of him in the kitchen. He can’t even remember if he’d bothered saying hello, or if he’d just launched right into whatever word salad was on his mind. God, did he even start with a full sentence? He does that sometimes, he just starts from the middle of his own thoughts like anyone would have any idea what he’s talking about, he’s honestly just kind of obsessed with the sound of his own voice, he thinks, he must be, because he just never stops, does he —

“I hope I die first.”

Lance blinks. He looks over at his boyfriend, wondering if he spaced out long enough that his brain just made something the fuck up to get him back on track (wouldn’t be the first time).

“…Pardon?”

Keith continues to eat, unbothered, casual. He’s not even feigning casualness, either — he tends to half-lid his eyes when he’s pretending something doesn’t bother him. He’s completely at ease, right now, hand still warm and heavy on Lance’s thigh.

“Sometimes I just think about how there’s a possibility that you’ll die before me, I guess.” He turns to Lance, finally, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry. That was emo. I just…you go silent, sometimes, and I’m worried I’ll have to miss every time you spoke.”

Lance doesn’t know what to say. For once, his revving engines are completely silent. He sits there, frozen, staring almost blankly at his plate. Keith is humming quietly to himself, something ridiculous and made-up. They’re still in each other’s spaces, the two of them, and so Lance knows Keith feels it when he shudders, slightly, as a lump grows in his throat, as he desperately blinks away the tears in his eyes.

Keith turns his head slightly to press a kiss to Lance’s hair. He holds his face there, lips pressed to Lance’s skin, soft exhales blowing strands of Lance’s curls.

“What’s wrong, Motormouth?” Keith murmurs. The concern is evident in his voice, and maybe some panic, too, like he’s worried he’s the reason Lance is upset.

Lance smiles. A tear escapes from the corner of his eye an burns a trail down his cheek. He wipes it, quickly, swiping a hand across his face before resting it on the hand that Keith still holds on his leg. Keith flips his hand palm-side up so he can interlock their fingers together. If he feels the wetness of the wiped tears, he doesn’t say anything, only their squeezes their hands together three times in quick succession.

There is no mistaking the fondness bleeding from Keith’s voice. There is no mistaking amusement for endearment, here.

Lance can be annoying. He knows he can. And he no doubt has moments where he annoys Keith, even. But he’s not seven, anymore. He knows to watch for the signs. And for whatever he can’t catch — he’ll just have to trust.

“Nothing,” he whispers, turning his head to catch Keith’s mouth against his. “It’s just nice to…know, I guess, that you love me.”

Keith hums, kissing back, reaching his free hand up to curl around Lance’s cheek, holding him gently. “Good. Don’t forget.”

———

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ninemelodies · 7 months

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i think about that ten & donna deleted scene from doctor’s daughter a lot. like i KNOW why scenes get cut and i could even feasibly see why this one got cut but i think it’s so so important for donna’s character & her relationship with the doctor.

like you’ve got the doctor, who knows more about pain and loss than anyone - he’s the last of his people, his whole world has been destroyed and just when he finally, FINALLY thinks he won’t be alone again, he loses jenny. the icing on the cake is not only does he lose jenny, he loses jenny for the same reason he lost everyone else - a pointless war, pointless fighting and violence

and then you’ve got donna - loud and brash and headstrong donna, who has been viewed in the past as vain and shallow, who comes up to him after and forces the doctor to look at her, to face his grief and stop running from it (she physically turns him from where he’s fiddling with the tardis) and she tells him that the pain is a sign that he was right to let jenny in, that he was right to have loved her and cared for her even for just a minute

and the doctor, who has spent who knows how many years running from or ignoring the grief he felt over his people and his home, asks “what do we do now?” to a human, to someone who doesn’t even live a fraction of the amount of time he does and who hasn’t experienced even a portion of the heartache he has.

donna tells him, “we go on. we live. we remember. what else can we do?” and she’s right - the loss cannot be undone, but we can always honor those lost by living and remembering them.

i think it says a lot about the doctor, that he’s so so smart but still struggles with this but he knows that humans are so good at it. he isn’t ever lying when he says that he thinks humans are amazing or giant or impressive - enough so that in a time of hurt he turns to a human for advice on how to cope

#doctor who #donna noble #tenth doctor #10th doctor #i wish with all my heart that scene hadn’t been cut #i didn’t put this in the post but i love how soft-spoken donna is about it #we’ve seen her be loud and brash and headstrong this entire time and now we get to see her soft and quiet and comforting #because at that moment ten needs someone like that #he doesn’t need someone to yell at him to get him moving he just needs someone who understands

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vargaslovinghours · 29 days

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And never let you go ♥

Bonus without the overspill lighting:

#💟#Digital art #Full Art #Art #Edgar #Scriabin #It's that time of year again where I get real sappy about Vargas ♥ Because yes! Once again it is my own personal Vargasversary! 🎊 Yaaaay #Seven years now - I don't know what to do with seven years it feels like a hard to define number haha #Right in the middle between five years and ten years! A while to be certain but hard to define as a Long Time either hmm #Well whatever it doesn't matter <3 The important part is that I still love Vargas and them very much ♥♪#I actually didn't really have any specific plans for this Vargasversary :0 I haven't been drawing them much again #Other things have drawn my focus and attention hehe ♪#So I just kinda set my hand loose - no sketches on paper no defined idea - this is just what my hand/brain came up with in the moment #I'm pleased :) I think it accurately expresses how I feel about them hehe <3 #I wrote down what ended up being the text/caption a couple months ago while I was in Big Love in their direction #I don't remember what inspired it anymore other than just - They ♥ Themst ♥ Do love them <3 #I've planned my next reread now ♪ Barring anything drastic (like an update lol) I know when I'll be rereading next #I'm looking forward to it! :D As always hehe <3 #It's still a bit a ways off which works well for recharging :)#And of course I'll be doing my usual in the meanwhile - this and the main anniversary and my sketchdumps and Requestober haha #The caption is as much me as it is Edgar after all <3 #Even quiet and sleeping I still find them as a comfort - a place I find rest and joy in ♥#Inspiring and lovely and wonderful - pretty and tender and dear!#Oh and #Always finding a way to flip up the bottom of the shirt #Hehe <3

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aphroditusiscorroded · 8 months

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Day 1: Quiet Moments

I wanted to contribute something to Sonadowtober! Happy spooky season!

#sonadow #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #sonadowtober #quiet moments #i like drawing shadow like an absolute behemoth #nothing more comforting than your 6’1 immortal boyfriend staring at you with love in his eyes #gay hedgehogs

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alexturne · 2 years

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@BBC Radio 6 Music:

“It looks partly like some sort of 70s Spanish TV drama” @steve_lamacq speaks to the @arcticmonkeys about the visual direction of their new album, The Car 🚗 Listen to the full interview at 6pm tomorrow on @BBCSounds

#arctic monkeys #alex turner #matt helders #steve lamacq always does incredible interviewz #s #interview #I AM SO EXCITED ABOUT THIS #alex obviously enjoys being interviewed by steve too #like he respects his opinions that much is obvious #and can i just take a moment to appreciate how calm alex seems these days? so gentle and present and ??? idk #there is just a gentleness to his words and his voice and the introspection is so clear at all times #but at the same time he seems so excited to share this new stuff #you can tell he is proud of it in his own quiet little way #the introvertedness of his true being is really being shown off these days #more genuine than ever before id say #there is less facade going on atm and i love that for him #that he feels more comfortable being himself and being transparent about stuff

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unproduciblesmackdown · 5 months

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also was revisiting a little bmc bway interview ft. william last night & him saying his favorite part of the show was probably doing the agtikbi reprise scene on the couch at the party & mentioning the Nonverbal aspect of jeremy & christine's interacting / communicating there & a way of exploring/depicting Love & Affection in a way you don't always see everywhere and like aaaarghhhhh so true good lord that specific scene. and Again the bway obcr version Existing and being like that, it's just like. winded exhale yeah obsessed 5ever thank you all

#sooo true so true....#bmc #love putting it right in like the eye of the storm #both of them basically just having had these breakups & with jeremy that means mitb scene And [all of that A Time he had prior]#also now reflecting on how you know obviously he was Not ready to hear it w/michael & ofc he was affected by what all Just happened #but it's also like probably the worst time to be very pushy even with the best intentions & thinking it's Urgent & right abt all that lmao #but jeremy's Just had like whoops autonomy revoked ten ways to sunday from two different squip figures like #even [being correct! having jeremy's wellbeing in mind!] behind trying to yank him into some outcome; he's gonna be like Not Again #& ofc the sunk cost re: his squip & he has not had time to catch his breath like literally; not in a place to Confront Shit #if even his missed bestie is; from his perspective here; not at all comforting & not giving him what he feels is a real option....#& anyways ofc we can sympathize / understand them both b/c that's what the show is giving at all moments re all characters #all this to say like jeremy & christine like having such a time being very at sea very uncomfortable but then having This moment #and the refreshment & relief finally of having this successful genuine connection & relative security being with this person rn #love & affection for sure....just say what's on your mind....lord first of all that they improvise those Noises every night. i'm gonna cry #second of all imagining not knowing how that scene goes & the pause & jeremy like [augh] & then christine just Yes Anding. aaaugh #head in hands haven't even relistened for a moment despite all this reflection. the downtempo quiet reprise waaah #it's Pretty killer to sit & chat with you....it's pretty killer for me too....sooo true Not getting this everywhere always & Waaugh ;;m;;#and wasn't even thinking of it as a joke like [and talking about devote specific focus on the Nonverbal aspect of such a scene: im putting #my hands on the shoulders of that & keep drawing a deep breath to start talking abt it but instead going Whew & making Expressions]#i.e. the significance of my nonverbal response as per conveying emotions & thoughts lmao. and just....You Know

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beeapocalypse · 7 months

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henryk gives levi a bowl of soup at the train that he ends up throwing up bc of withdrawals + it being more rich than the food hes used to and karin IMMEDIATELY goes to thinking he just poisoned levi and comes very close to shooting him

#i love silly moments like that. signs of what is to come #karin being the one to save levi from caligura and trying to temper down her brusqueness around him bc she feels shit whenever he goes--#--quiet around her righteous anger (ESPECIALLY regarding his situation when she immediately goes for condemnation of those in power--#--and the shit she is comfortable+used to going to rather than compassion+attentivity towards what he just said. does that make sense) is--#--SO good. think the karin levi abella team up from mine karin run is one of my favorite hypotheticals #also kind of like the idea that as spurned by abella telling him to do something useful henryk ends up tailing daan into old town prehevil-#--bc they shouldnt be leaving the resident doctor alone in a strange situation and ends up spending the whole time wincing away from the--#--organ harvesting and the attempted moonscorched treatments like doctor can you PLEASE stop sticking your hands in holes. we need to--#--find food .

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quietwingsinthesky · 2 months

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thinks about child-but-growing-fast amara and lucifer in the same room and gets ill.

#im gonna get called a homestuck again im SORRY its a good trope #she’s not his mom but she is. older than him and older than god and a being he helped imprison.#and the effects of that. here and now. are that she is so weak she has to relearn how to exist.#that she has to eat souls. tear them out one by one. you have to imagine that lucifer once saw her devour whole galaxies on a whim.#back when everything was moving in constant flux between destruction and creation. you have to imagine.#what is it to see her like this. is it pitiable. awful. comforting because she can’t hurt him right now and if he struck first maybe she #never could?#would he think about this moment this experience later when he’s made human. when he experiences a similar powerlessness.#anyway. lucifer gets out of the cage and trashes crowley’s place to kidnap his aunt-who-is-baby-right-now #u know me i love when characters go on the run together. what a weird little bond they’d form.#how do you overcome the anger at someone who helped cage you for eternity? does it help to know he didn’t escape your fate just because he #helped seal it when it was you? do you think they trade cage stories.#do you think lucifer tells her about how michael is still trapped in there and when he goes quiet. it’s not him who says he’s glad michael #knows what it’s like. it’s amara who says it. with an anger older than time. bitter enough to sting.#arms curled around herself because she’s hungry now. always hungry. tries not to think about what lucifer would taste like. (powerful)#sitting on a bench together watching people (souls. meals.) walk by. talking about prisons. talking about justice. maybe. or revenge. same #thing. and amara is leaning against him coiled tight through every muscle in her body and so so hungry. and when she says she’s glad michael #is suffering she isn’t really talking about him. but when she says it. lucifer lets out a breath. and says. me too.#and then he goes to find her something(one) to eat.#u see my vision. u do.

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softquietsteadylove · 1 year

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Gil braiding Thena’s hair when her mind is going a little funky and just generally being sweet and kind and loving to her when she is feeling low. That’s it, that’s the whole prompt!! Pls feel free to make me sob like a baby over this tyvm, love your works so so much!!! 🥰

Thena hadn't spoken in over three hours. She was always dazed after an episode, and this one had been rough.

Rain didn't happen often in their part of Australia. And when it did, it tended to be the storming variety. Thunder and lightning had come over them, rain washing out the landscape and the skies going dark. Not only had the thunder been so on top of them that it felt like the house was rattling, but lightning had struck around them without so much as a tree to draw it.

Gil had fought her for hours, rain pouring down around them, washing away the evidence of their wounds just as fast as they came. He'd only managed to escape by pulling them to the rain basin and completely submerging them. He had done so a few times before to shock the Mahd Wy'ry out of her. It had worked, but that didn't mean he liked doing it.

He had brought her inside, run a hot bath for her, run his fingers through her hair as he whispered soft nothings to her. And now she was in front of the fire as he brushed her hair out gently.

"Gil?"

"Yeah?" he answered, although nothing came after it. He gave her shoulder a squeeze, "I'm right here."

Thena looked around for another second before looking up at him. Her eyes were still a little foggy, but they were green, and that was all that mattered to him. "Gil?"

"Hey," he whispered with a smile.

Thena tilted her head at him. Her hand raised up, hovering close to him but never actually touching. "Gil."

He nodded, cautiously drifting closer to her touch. "I'm here."

Thena stared at him, letting her fingertips touch first, then pressing her palm to his cheek, "my Gil."

"That's me," he smiled at her with the fire casting shades of red over his skin. He turned his head, kissing the thumb against his cheek. She nodded, not startled, not confused. "C'mere."

Thena let him pick her up off the floor, scooping her up into his arms on his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck, the sleeves of his shirt slipping up her slim little biceps. "How long?"

"At first, not long," he told her honestly. There was no use lying about it, and she didn't need to be coddled. Taken care of?--certainly. Protected?--he would do absolutely anything. But she didn't need him to lie to her, so he wouldn't. "It's been a few hours since you got back, though."

Thena just set her head against his shoulder, pressing her forehead to his cheek. "I've been thinking."

"Anything to share?" he asked, perfectly ready to accept it if she said no. He adjusted her in his arms, reaching for her hair.

"I love you."

Gil looked at her with just a hint of surprise on his face. He smiled, though, combing his fingers through her hair. "I love you, too. I thought you knew that."

"I think I did," Thena sighed, still weighed down by the day's events. Her eyes drifted down as Gil carefully sectioned out her hair and wove it over her shoulder. "I know I did."

"What made you think about it now?" Gil whispered, braiding her hair gently, moving his fingers over every plait.

"You, here," she murmured vaguely before looking down at her braid again, "this."

You: Gilgamesh, her trusty partner, for thousands of years. A soul so entwined with hers that they shared a singular heartbeat. Here: Australia, where they had made a home, all their own and completely separate from their family, and Arishem, and any greater mission or higher purpose.

This: braiding her hair over her shoulder, like he did any time he felt like it. In soft moments like these, after hot baths, or on cold nights.

Them: here, like this, just being together--together in a way no other Eternals had been or still were. They weren't like Ikaris and Sersi, but they weren't like Druig and Makkari either. They were something completely different in a lot of ways.

"Done," Gil smiled, tying off the end of the braid and moving the ends of her blonde curls between his fingers. He looked at her, "how do you feel?"

"You're here?"

"I'm here," he promised, leaning his head against hers with only the fire and their heartbeats to fill the silence. He let her lean in, just touching her lips to his before settling against his chest: the safest place in the galaxy for her to find rest.

"Then I'll be fine."

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