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jellieland · 1 year

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A week or two after the games, Grian will usually check in with the victor.

It's a habit that's probably more for his own benefit than anyone else's. But it is, he thinks, a good habit nonetheless.

After all, as fun as it all is, things can get a bit... intense, towards the end, and it's good for his peace of mind to make sure the last one standing is ok with how things shook out.

Nothing much has ever really come of it before; they're all pretty resilient. He doubts this time’ll be different. Except- well.

Something about it all itches at the back of his mind, and he hasn’t been able to work out why. There was the actual ending, of course, but also Grian may have been whispering in Martyn's ear about how boring that final showdown was turning out to be, and how narratively satisfying it would be if he just betrayed the other two and got it over with, so.

If nothing else, it feels like he's got no reason to break with tradition.

There's just one more concern.

Martyn seems to have made it almost impossible to contact him.

It's not... unheard of, for players to keep to themselves most of the time, especially when it comes to those they don’t share a server with. It seems a little uncharacteristic of Martyn, but the last time Grian saw him outside the games was before they even started, so maybe he does things differently these days.

There are certainly a great many reasons why that could be the case, most of which are perfectly sensible.

But Grian's never been able to resist picking at a puzzle put in front of him, whether the puzzle likes it or not, so he is going to talk to Martyn. And he can just see what happens, and worry about any consequences if and when they appear.

Luckily, he already has a way to do just that.

He doesn't usually need to do this - although it is very funny to startle Scar or Mumbo with it sometimes when they're concentrating. Honestly it's usually less effective than communicators, with how much effort it takes.

But he does have a way. The same way he used to whisper in Martyn's ear very recently, in fact.

He reaches out, away from his home, away from his body, and it feels a little like simultaneously overextending himself, and putting his foot down on a step he thought was flat ground.

That is... not how this usually feels.

It's odd. Rather unnerving.

But it works.

He finds Martyn. Watches the vague shape of him solidify into something more real.

He’s still wearing his red life outfit, for some reason. His eyes are closed. Around his head, the coral curls like a blood-red crown.

“What do you think you're playing at?” Asks Grian.

Martyn blinks his eyes open slowly, looking less confused than Grian would expect for someone hearing a disembodied voice out of nowhere. “Oh good.” He says dryly. “You again.”

He squawks indignantly. “Hey, what's that supposed to mean?”

There is silence for a few seconds.

“...Hey.” Martyn says, and as flippant as he suddenly sounds, he looks as thrown off balance as Grian feels. “Not sure who this is, but I think you might have the wrong number!”

“I think that's unlikely.” He deadpans. “Where are you? I haven't been able to get hold of you.”

“Uh-” There's a short pause as he looks around at wherever he is right now. “Falling into endless nothingness, looks like. Same old, same old, am I right?”

Grian rolls his eyes. “Yeah, ok. Well, I suppose you don't have to tell me.” A part of him makes a note of Martyn’s wording, though. Just in case.

“...Hm. Well, not gonna lie, I do appreciate the change of pace, but I would love to know what exactly you want from me. You know, just on the off chance that you feel like giving me any clues.”

It's at this point that Grian remembers: one of the main reasons this method of communication is good for messing with people is that it makes him sound, um. A little different. And while he can see Martyn, it’s not as if Martyn can see him.

...Best to just pretend that hadn't slipped his mind.

“You do realize this is Grian, right?” He asks, as though it ought to be obvious.

“Riiight, yeah, sure.” Says Martyn. “And I'm also Grian, did you know that?”

“Oh for- what, do you want me to tell you some secret only the two of us would know, or something?”

“Nah.” Says Martyn. “That wouldn't work.”

“Elaborate.” Says Grian, through gritted teeth.

“You know what? I don't think I will!” Replies Martyn brightly.

Grian takes a deep breath in through his nose. “I'm beginning to wonder why I bother.” He grinds out.

Martyn snorts. “Tell me about it.”

There's a short silence.

“But- ok.” He continues. “Just suppose for the sake of argument that you are Grian.”

“...Yes?” Asks Grian warily.

“I have a question for you.”

“...Yeeees?” Asks Grian, even more warily.

The silence stretches for several long moments.

“What's up?” Asks Martyn.

“Yeah ok, this isn’t worth it, I'm leaving now.”

“Wait! No, I'm serious!” Under the amusement, there's a note of something that sounds almost like nervousness in his voice. It's uncharacteristic. Unnerving.

“What are you talking about?” Asks Grian, trying very hard to keep his voice at least mostly free of annoyance.

“Oh, you know! What's going on, what's the deal, what'd you want to talk to me for?” There's a slight hesitation. “You need help or something?”

“I- ok. That's actually sort of relevant. It's really nothing too complicated, Martyn.” He says, grumpily. “All I wanted to do was make sure you're good with what happened at the end of the last game.”

Martyn blinks, and goes very still.

There is a long silence - long enough that Grian starts to feel concerned.

And then Martyn laughs.

It's not a nice laugh.

“Good, huh. You want to know if I’m good with it. That sure is an interesting choice of words.”

“...How so?” He asks, guardedly.

“Grian. Grian, I’m not sure if you remember this, but I won. I won this one, Grian.” Every word he says, however restrained, sounds like it’s had to claw its way out of him. He glares at nothing. “And guess what? It's just like the others. I don’t really care enough for any of it to matter to me, anymore, and that's fine by me.”

Now that's... a lot to unpack. “You- I'm sorry?”

“Well that makes one of us then, doesn't it?” His voice is coated with scorn.

“What are you talking about?”

“Do you actually think I’m going to explain myself to you?” He asks, looking half-amused. “You, of all people?”

“Well unfortunately, Martyn, I can’t exactly put Ren on the line, so I’m afraid I’m all you’re going to get.” He snaps, and instantly regrets it when he sees the look in Martyn’s eyes.

There is a short silence.

Grian shifts uncomfortably. He’s not going to apologize, obviously. But. Well. “That... ok, maybe that was a bit much.” He says.

“...Little bit, yeah.”

There is another silence.

After a while, Martyn speaks.

“I would’ve betrayed him too, you know.” He says coolly.

“What, Ren?”

“Yeah. At the drop of a hat. Soon as it was convenient.”

“I mean sure, I suppose?” Says Grian, caught off guard. “You didn’t, though. Did you? When you had the chance.”

“Eh.” He shrugs, as though that’s an irrelevant detail. “It would’ve been more dramatic later. You know how it is.”

...There's no real way he can justify saying no to that, is there? “Yeah.” He says. “I guess I do.”

He tries to picture the King, betrayed. The Hand, triumphant.

“I dunno, though.” He says, thoughtful. “I don’t think you ever could’ve done it, to be honest. Not in the first one. Whatever it was you were planning, it was just never how that story was going to go.”

“That’s not true.” He says it just slightly too fast. “I know that’s not true.”

Grian scoffs. “You know thinking about something isn’t the same as doing it, right?”

“What, no, really?” He rolls his eyes. “You don’t say!”

“What I’m saying,” He lets his voice turn biting, “Is that you’re being stupid.”

Martyn lets out a startled laugh. It’s surprisingly genuine. “Wow. You’re really bad at this, dude.”

Grian bristles. “Well why am I the one who has to do it then? Why don’t you talk to someone else, if you hate talking to me so much?”

“I mean…” He makes an unconvinced noise. “Obvious problems aside, when do you even expect me to do that? We usually have other things to worry about.”

“I don’t know, maybe at literally any point between the games?” He sighs exasperatedly. “There’s no way you’re that busy.”

“Between the games?” Martyn asks incredulously, and Grian suddenly feels as though something dangerous is hovering over their heads, just about to drop. “What do you mean, between the games?”

“I mean between the games! Like- now! What do you think this is, right now, if it’s not between the games?” He snaps.

“This right now?” He looks nonplussed. “I think we’re usually asleep for most of this bit. Or possibly we forget about it. As you can probably imagine, it’s hard to know for sure.”

“Now I know that’s not true.” He says firmly, ignoring the unease trying to creep up on him. “I know I do stuff between games, and I know I don’t just forget about it. That makes no sense.”

“I mean, I don't necessarily mean everything between the games, more just this specifically.” He gestures around at nothing. “That gets more complicated, though. But you- hm.” He looks curious. “That’s interesting. Where even are you, then, at the moment?”

“I’m at home! Which is where I thought everyone else was too!”

Martyn seems to consider this for a few moments, and then he frowns, and then his expression goes blank. “…Oh.” He says. “Yeah. No, that… makes sense, actually. Yeah. You’re probably right.”

“Wha- what do you mean? Right about what?”

“Everyone probably went home. Or, at least, they thought they did. And hey, what’s the difference, when you get right down to it?”

“...Ok, I’m going to ignore the second part for now, I already got past that little existential crisis after Ren and Doc’s whole… thing… in season eight- if you think everyone went home, why are you- what was it you said- ‘falling into endless nothingness’?”

There’s another pause.

“...You’re really gonna make me say it, huh? That seems cruel, even for you.”

“Wait, no, what do you-”

“Where else do you think I would go?” It sounds less like an admission and more like an accusation. “What ‘home’ do you think I have left, Grian?”

“Look.” Snaps Grian, feeling vaguely tricked. “It’s not my fault that you-”

“Yeah, it never is, is it?” He glares into the darkness. “It’s always a tragic inevitability with you, never a choice you’re making. That way you get to stab people in the back and pretend to be sad about it. Best of both worlds, huh?”

Grian splutters for a few seconds. “Why are you being so rude to me??”

“Because you’re you and I’m me.” He smirks. “Don’t know what you expected, honestly.”

“Oh yeah? Who’s hiding behind inevitability now?” Grian retorts, perhaps a trifle vindictively.

“I never said I wasn’t a hypocrite, sometimes. Also, I never said I felt bad about it.” He replies levelly, and all at once, they’re talking about something else.

“You didn’t need to say it.” Snaps Grian. “You might be good at lying but you’re not perfect. I could see in your face that it hurt.”

He narrows his eyes. “It felt good, actually.”

“Wow, good for you.” He says, almost amused suddenly. “You didn’t say I was wrong, though.”

His expression twists into something unreadable. “I know you, Grian. Like recognizes like.” He says, voice low and dangerous. “You’re a liar.”

Grian shrugs, despite the fact that Martyn will not see it. “And you’re a coward. Your point?”

“I don’t need to justify myself to someone who refuses to admit that he could have chosen to be better, if he’d ever wanted to.” He spits out.

“Hey, at least I don’t try and convince myself I’m a monster just because I want to survive.”

That one strikes something tender; he can tell. “Right, yeah, and you’re just a blameless angel and everyone you cut down had it coming, I’m sure.”

“I didn’t say that. But since you bring it up… how many people did you give up your time for, again?” He grins. “Is it less than one? Because I think it is. I think I’ve got you beat there, Martyn.”

“And where did it get you?” He snarls.

“Home, in the end.”

Martyn flinches back as though he’s been struck.

“Did you forget about that part?” Asks Grian.

There’s a long pause.

Martyn fidgets with the end of the banner he wears around his waist, pulling at where the white threads are coming undone. He stares out into the darkness. “Yeah.” He says. “I guess I did.”

The satisfaction of winning the argument feels less potent, suddenly.

“You’re right.” Says Grian, after a while. “I’m really bad at this.”

Martyn laughs quietly. “To be fair, I’m not exactly helping.”

“You’re really not.”

He sighs. “You know pulling the knife out just makes the wound start bleeding again, don’t you? That’s all we’re doing here. That’s all we’re going to do to each other. We’re too alike to do anything else, unless we just don’t do anything. And hey, we’re not great at that either.”

“Hmm.” Says Grian begrudgingly. “I’d say something about inevitability again, but I honestly don’t think you’re wrong.”

“We both just enjoy pushing buttons too much to be particularly good at not pushing them, I guess.” Martyn sounds half-amused, half-resigned.

Grian makes an irritated noise. “Yes, alright, I don’t need another reminder of the whole button debacle.”

There is more silence.

After a while, Grian speaks again. “There’s something I was wondering about, actually.”

“Oh yeah?” Martyn raises an eyebrow.

“What’s the reason?” He asks.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific with that one, mate.”

“‘This is a death match for a reason.’” He says matter-of-factly. “That’s what you said. So- what is it? What’s the reason?”

Martyn blinks, then lets out a short, harsh laugh. “You think I know that?”

“No, not really. That’s why I wondered what you meant when you said it.”

“It- look. I don’t know if you’re expecting philosophy from me, or something. It’s a death game. People die, and it doesn’t have to mean anything. It doesn’t have to be special, it doesn’t have to be honourable, it doesn’t have to be fair. That’s what I meant.” He frowns. “You know that.”

“I do.” He admits.

“Then why ask?” Martyn looks around as though this time, somehow, he might be able to find Grian’s face in the dark.

He doesn’t.

“I just-” Grian sighs. “What do you want?” He asks. “What do you actually want, Martyn?”

The question sits heavy in the darkness between them.

“What do you want me to say?” Martyn asks. He sounds more tired than Grian’s ever heard him.

“I want you to tell the truth.” Grian says. He needs to know. He needs to know.

“Now, Grian.” Says Martyn, voice gently chiding. “Have you met me? You know I can’t do that.”

“Pretend it’s a lie, then.”

Martyn’s grip on the banner he wears tightens, slightly. There is a long, long silence.

“Or how about,” Says Grian, eventually, “You say something, and I won’t know whether it’s a lie or not.”

There is another pause.

Martyn frowns at the red of the fabric in his hands, as though it might offer him something.

As far as Grian can tell, it does not.

He’s just beginning to give up hope of ever getting an answer when Martyn speaks, so softly he almost doesn’t hear it.

“I want it to be warm again.” He says.

It’s quiet.

For a moment – just a moment, no more – Grian remembers bloody, aching fists. He remembers burning heat.

“Well.” He says. “That makes one of us, then. Doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Says Martyn, voice low. “I guess it does.”

There’s another short second of silence before Martyn speaks again, sounding cheerful. “So, suppose I’ll see you in the next one, huh? If that ever happens.” He grins. “Wanna take bets on how hard Scott’ll have to try not to win it? I’m gonna go with very.”

Grian snorts. “I’m not taking that bet. That man is infuriatingly good at surviving.”

“You’re not wrong! You are not wrong.” He gestures into the void. “And don’t even get me started on Timmy’s whole thing, I think we both know how that one’s gonna go. Unless you want to bet against him being gone first next time round?”

“You’re not Scar.” Says Grian. “There’s no way you talk anyone into taking that bet in a million years. Except maybe Timmy.”

“Fair, fair.”

There’s a short pause.

Grian hesitates for a moment before he speaks – almost, but not quite, reluctant. “Why do you keep looking back?” He asks. “There’s nothing left for us there. You know that, right?”

“I mean, let me know when you find a better place to look.” He tilts his head to the side slightly, curious, and frowns. “Do you really never want to go back?”

“No.” Says Grian. “Never.”

Martyn opens his mouth, and then, uncharacteristically, closes it again. “Yeah.” He says. “Me neither.”

Grian is tempted, momentarily, to tell Martyn to take the banner off and let it go. Let the darkness take it. Prove it.

But just like Martyn, he lets it drop.

Mutually assured destruction is a potent thing.

Now all he has to do is the hard part. The part he’s dreading most of all.

The main concern is phrasing it correctly. Making it sound just how he wants it to sound.

After some thought, he thinks he’s found the words he's looking for.

He could always be wrong, though. He’s usually more one for incredible violence than smooth talking.

“Martyn?” He asks cautiously, casually. “Do you want me to help you?”

The expression that crosses Martyn’s face is unreadable.

He processes the question for a few moments, before he answers.

“Nah. I’m good.” He says, voice guarded. “Don’t worry about it.”

And that’s the rub, isn’t it.

Because now Grian has to decide whether he’s going to let Martyn lie to him or not.

Whether he’s going to pass the test that’s been set before him, or not.

...

Grian’s not a monster.

He’s just realistic.

There's nothing he could do, anyway.

“Well.” He says levelly. “Just let me know if that changes.”

(Martyn would do the same to him. It’s not a justification, or an excuse. But he knows it to be true.)

Martyn stares out into the darkness. His eyes are almost, but not quite, resentful. “Sure thing, man. Why wouldn’t I.”

It’s not said like a question, so Grian doesn’t answer it. “Well, you know I can’t stay here forever.”

“I do know that.”

“Any messages you want me to pass on to any of the hermits? I know you haven’t seen Mumbo in a while.” It’s not really a compromise, or a peace offering. Hopefully, however, it’s close enough to one or the other of those to act in their stead.

Martyn closes his eyes. Breathes in. Breathes out. Opens his eyes again. “If you were Grian, then maybe.” His gaze is cold. “But I think this hypothetical has gone on long enough.”

...It’s a lot easier for both of them, if Martyn believes that.

He’s positive Martyn knows that.

Just this once, perhaps he can manage to not look a gift horse in the mouth.

“For what it’s worth,” He says, looking away, “I moved on from the Bad Boys when it got too expensive to keep them alive.”

“It’s not worth a lot.” Says Martyn flatly. “And it would be worth even less coming from Grian.”

Grian sighs. “Alright. Fine. I’ll see you around, Martyn.”

“I know.” Says Martyn. He closes his eyes.

After a few moments, Grian does too.

When he opens them, he’s home.

…

Oh, that doesn’t feel good.

It really doesn't.

He could dwell on this. It wouldn’t be hard. He could drown himself in guilt over what he’s done, or not done, or will not do.

But- well.

Grian never really saw the point in letting someone else drag you down with them.

#once he's sure that the thing he's decided to pretend was not grian is gone #martyn goes back to falling #and wishes he still felt enough grief to be able to cry.#limited life smp #life series #grian #martyn inthelittlewood #my writing #i finally managed to finish this. it took me. a while.#they're narrative foils to the point of absurdity is the thing #they're incredibly similar and also completely different #it's fascinating

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captainhysunstuff · 13 days

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22 more images (with some saucy shenanigans and immature "seduction" tactics towards the end) below the cut:

Ryuk makes his grand return and is brought up to speed with Light and L's immoral union. The date seems pretty successful~.

Next (not yet)

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Master List

Transcript

#drawn by me #my fanart #my fancomic #Death Note #The Chain #lawlight #Light Yagami #L #Ryuk #smooch #saucy shenanigans #suggestive dialogue #Ryuk third-wheeling~#L meets Light's quirky-deadly roommate #henh not much to say about this one. basically a continuation of the previous entry despite the absurd update gap.#I've lost the ability to keep anything brief anymore~#L seems a bit out of character with his willingness to go with the plan huh? And don't you think he'd have gotten used to Light's teasing b #now? Maybe it hits a little different knowing for a fact that it's coming from Kira's mouth directed towards him of all people~#Also the picture where Ryuk is saying he'll scram when things get heated is probably my favorite drawing of him that I've done!#he was so intimidating to draw especially over and over in comic form. such a far cry from my usual human style #but like all things I gradually became more and more comfortable drawing him. I'm very happy about that! :)#I have a dumb idea/headcanon concerning the nerds' first copulation attempt~.#if I decide to include it here I will definitely try to age restrict it even though it won't necessarily be graphic.#don't wanna get in trouble lol #I have more trouble drawing spicy scenes than I do with shinigami subjects XD #tw: food issues #they both eat the sketchy 'apple' to prove they're not cowards... despite it not being the smartest idea in the world. >_>

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wentian · 9 months

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THE STELLARON HUNTERS 🌠

"Death and despair followed wherever the Stellaron went. For many civilizations who have experienced the disasters it brings, the Stellaron was a symbol of destruction. However, even knowing its destructive nature, the fearless few travel between the worlds to obtain the Stellaron. They call themselves the Stellaron Hunters."

#honkai: star rail #honkai star rail #star rail #hsr #kafka #blade hsr #silver wolf #stellaron hunters #gamingedit #honkaiedit #hsredit #they're team Rocket of hsr #i've spent an absurd amount of time working on it 😭#my gifs

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otrtbs · 7 months

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not ppl hating on ahb! bc the whirlwind romance of it all is an unbelievable trope and for it to happen with three separate couples is just so unrealistic. like. my brother in christ that's the point of this fucking fanfic thanks for noticing.

i prommy nobody is rawdogging piloting a plane over an ocean either. or building life-sized replicas of museums for practice heists. LEAVE ME ALONE! JUST LEAVE ME ALONE. no need 2 tell me u fucking hated it. just keep ur mouth closed and get the fuck out!

#sorry u don't know how to have fun. go read the fucking encyclopedia or something!#like idk abt yall but i DO read fanfic for an element of the absurd sometimes #for the things that would never make it past a publishing house #yes give me three whirlwind romances #yes give me characters forgiving the unforgivable over and over again instead of leaving.#or being overskilled at everything bc they're the main character #like put those guys in the most extreme situations and make them have the most extreme reactions to things and just have fun #where is ur whimsy ??? WHERE IS UR FUCKING WHIMSY ???

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post-it-notes7 · 1 year

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he is just a little guy

#meta knight #sword knight #blade knight #kirby right back at ya #they're ALL just little guys #but MK specifically because I think it's hilarious that that much absurd power and skill is stored in an orb that small

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hitlikehammers · 2 months

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Starring Steve Harrington in a Leading Role as 'Mom Husband Disappointed in YOU PERSONALLY'

rating: teen tags: future fic, established relationship, Eddie commits a capital offense, bitchy Steve strikes again, Eddie loves him so much, married steddie, rockstar husbands ✨for @hbyrde36 at my BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST for the prompt: “I assume I deserve this, but can you tell me why you want to kill me this time?”

One look is all it really takes.

As in: Eddie doesn’t have to do more than pulls his key from the lock, kick the door closed behind him, open his mouth to spill his usual litany of adorations, multiple at least tenfold for the uncommon days—plural, two whole days—spent apart from his husband, from his beloved, from less his other half and more his entire whole, the soul and breath of him, the rhythm-maker of his heart entire, his—

Eddie gets so far as turning to start on spilling all the love he’s had to bottle up because Steve wasn’t next to him for a whole 63 hours, and voicemails are fine, phone calls are nice, texts are a gift from god but also the bane of his existence because they’re starting to pretend—as in, the wider-world-of-they—but they’re starting to pretend they’re sufficient, that they’re enough and, and…

Fucking never.

But Eddie’s been gone—label negotiations, shit they were digging their heels on being in person for no goddamn reason, as proven by the actual days in person—and now, as he takes in his husband at the island, sat on one of the bar stools, those legs danged low and crossed at the ankles, the fucking socks on him tantalizing, good goddamn, but he’s leans back from the waist and those…those arms. Crossed over his chest.

That’s never meant anything other than judgement. Than what the kids used to term Mom’s disappointed in you personally.

Except Steve is his partner. His til-death-do-us-part-and-then-some. And…

Oh. Oh, he’s got his glasses on when he’s not working—Eddie scans the countertop for papers, nothing obvious—which only enhances the effect of the look; gives it a whole new dimension of accusation as he looks over the tops of the frames and lets his gaze fucking…just sear into Eddie. Uncompromising. No mercy.

Eddie will not try to pretend his doesn’t fucking gulp, the violent motion of his throat around it undoubtedly obvious: but Steve doesn’t budge. Doesn’t grant him quarter.

Fuck. Right. Okay.

Diffusion tactics.

“I assume I deserve this,” Eddie starts, pitches the words to land gentle because, well, they’re honest. Steve’s a fucking drama queen, absolutely: but it’s never been without his reasons, and Eddie loves him with his everything, right, so he respects his reasons.

Even when they’re fucking absurd.

But there’s no evidence here yet either way, about the what, about the cause of the sheer fucking inferno blazing in those eyes, the venom that Eddie can almost taste in the air that seeps from his lips for just breathing, that could probably land a death blow on its own when he actually deigns to speak, and so: yeah.

Eddie does assume he deserves it, one way or another. Because Steve loves him with his everything, too, like for like and then some, both ways and all ways. So he doesn’t react quite like this; doesn’t pull this sort of shit lightly.

“But” and he’s still picking his way through the minefield, takes only the barest step closer palms open near his hips, plaintive-like as he…yeah, kinda he pleads:

“Can you tell me why you want to kill me this time?”

Steve—okay, so, in any other circumstance: the sounds Steve makes, the guttural fucking growl that rumbles from his chest: that’d be hot as shit.

In fact it’s still hot as shit, but: not the time. Because those eyes are still…like, third-degree-burn to the touch.

“You lied.”

Eddie blinks, because…he hears Steve’s words. They’re very simple, and very clear.

But they’re nonsensical.

“What?”

“You lied to me.” And then Steve’s grabbing something behind him, flinging it closer to where Eddie stands at the end of the island and oh, okay, a magazine and—

Oh. Oh.

Okay.

A magazine with Eddie on the front with some…

Wait.

“Stevie,” and Eddie’s not gonna be placating, he’s not going to be evasive or dismissive—Steve knows the other party hanging off Eddie in the photo, it’s Lance, the band’s media intern who has a not-so-secret infatuation with Steve of all people, and is about to be replace by a kid, Marvin maybe, in his senior year in PR and media studies who, honestly, Eddie suspects may have an even bigger infatuation with his husband, but that’s not a concern for right now; the concern for right now is that Steve’s looking at Eddie, glancing every half-second toward the photo again and looking…somewhere between enraged and betrayed.

And it’s so fucking sour in Eddie’s chest, god: he needs to fix it. He’s just, he’s got to fic it but—

He doesn’t know what the hell it even is.

“Baby, I would never, not ever lie to you. And you know Lance,” Eddie tries to point out soothing, rational, no hint of patronizing because he wouldn’t, he would never, especially not like this.

Steve’s scowl just depends, and he taps hard enough on the page to leave an indent, to score a line with his nail.

Right. Okay.

“Stevie—“

“You,” and Steve leans toward the far side, grabs something out of view before he points the something at Eddie almost threateningly:

“Lied.”

“Steve,” and Eddie’s eyeing the instrument leveled at him carefully before he notes what it actually is: a pen.

A red pen and oh. His Stevie. Always the consummate educator.

And Steve does the growling thing again, probably because Eddie’s face goes lax, all soft and shit in the face of Steve being all competent in his profession in the small, sweet ways that pop up all the time, that Eddie loves so deep, so hard, but then Steve’s scribbling and oh, it’s one of the fancy pens, more like a marker that’s bright against the magazine gloss and he’s circling, he’s making arrows, there’s no rhyme or reason—

“Lies!” Steve declares, definitive as he throws down the pen and shoves the marked-up photo toward Eddie so it’s skids across the island, so Eddie has to catch it, and he squint a second, tries to make sense of what’s circled over and again and—

“You fucking promised me,” and Steve…yeah.

Steve sounds like Mom’s disappointed in him personally to a fucking T.

But so much worse again: because this is his husband.

“I did—“

“No!” Steve cuts him off; “no more bullshit,” and oh, fuck, Eddie knows it’s serious, that word’s got a premium still in their household, and then Steve’s leaning closer pointing forcefully at the image, at the red-ringed offenders:

“That,” Steve snarls; “is fucking frizz, Edward,” and Steve looks up at him, again, some combination of livid and offended on principle; “why did I even bother to pack you the conditioner that you swore to me you’d use—“

“I did, Stevie!” Eddie protests, pleads for leniancy; “I did, I swear, my bag got delayed the first night, it was only that first night that I showered without it,” and fuck, how’d they even get that photo, how the fuck did it get to print and in Steve’s hands even, how—

“You cannot maintain your curl pattern without proper maintenance,” Steve grits through clenched teeth and yes, yes: Eddie knows. He’s learned, and learned again, and learned some more, for…for years.

He kinda loves it. But he’ll never love making his husband sad. So, because he’s skilled on his feet, he tries for a compromise. A Hail-Mary, in sports ball speak—or he thinks that’s the right thing to call it.

“Maybe you can salvage it,” Eddie proposes, damn-near begs, and yeah, yes: he means that wholehearted, too; “maybe we can go upstairs and you can save it?”

And Eddie’s not even trying to make his eyes big, knows Steve’s largely immune unless he chooses not to be, but his eyes are stinging for how wade they’re stretched, and he holds the gaze, stares pitifully at Steve, pleads so hard, and then—

Steve smacks Eddie’s forearm with the rolled-up magazine and makes to leave the room; Eddie just stands, a little frozen, a little bewildered, until—

“Well, get your ass up here,” he hears from the staircase; “you better hope I can work miracles, dipshit, else your photocalls are gonna be stringy and sad all goddamn week.”

And Eddie grins because like: he knows his husband—and the man himself is already kind of a miracle.

So miracle working is kinda his area of expertise.

permanent tag list (comment to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690

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snek-eyes · 9 months

Text

Andi Osho as Sitis (wife of Job) in Good Omens 2.02

[Image ID: A series of gifs from Good Omens season 2, featuring the character Sitis, an older dark-skinned woman dressed in blue.

The camera zooms into a Bible illustration of Sitis lamenting to the sky.

Sitis's face becomes concerned as Job says: "Sitis my dear, this person was looking for the children." She turns, looking defensive, and asks, "Why? Who're you?"

Sitis looks stressed as she chuckles humorlessly and gestures to their ruined house. It is slightly smoking. She says: "Not now, Bildad the Shuhite. Good of you to look in, but we're a tiny bit busy weathering the wrath of God."

Close up on Sitis as her face becomes confused, then changes to horror and disbelief. "…No. God wouldn't!"

Sitis holds back tears as she asks something of her husband. He is about to burst into tears as he shakes his head no.

Sitis implores the angels as Job falls to his knees beside her. "I don't, I don't want more children." A close up of her desperate face. "If my children are dead, then… I will curse God, and—"

Crowley, as Bildad the Shuhite, clasps his hands and rubs them together in a "let's get started" motion. Sitis looks scared and backs away.

Crowley stands framed between Sitis and Job, who are facing each other. He makes a switching motion between them as he says, "Now good lady, simply turn to your husband, reach into his robes…" Sitis looks dubious but reaches towards Job, who abruptly looks very surprised. Crowley interjects: "N-h-higher. Higher."

Sitis and Job's children stand between them. Jemimah throws her arms around her mother who embraces her joyfully.

Job, looking confused, gestures to his restored children as he says to the angels. "But, it is—" Sitis quickly reaches out to Job and interrupts. Clearly frantic and trying to hide it she says, "A-a miracle. It is a miracle, that our new son should look so much like our old son."

Sitis explains very deliberately to Job as she pats her son who is definitely not Ennon on the arm: "No, Job. Look, it's not Ennon, it's… a new child. These are all… They're all… new… children."

Sitis anxiously watches Job speak, and starts to relax until a baffled and annoyed Ennon says something. She tenses and turns to him.

End ID]

#good omens #good omens 2 #goodomensedit #good omens spoilers #job flashback #a companion to owls #v watches good omens #v posts things #there's that thing they say about how comedy works best if they're playing it honestly and not like they're trying to be funny #and that there has to come a moment when the comedy stops and it gets real #and i really liked Sitis as a side character because you feel that everything is real for her #it's got this absurd coat over it but this is a horrifying situation and she is devastated about it!#it makes the whole thing work.#also we usually bring up him saving the kids but #can we talk about Crowley starting out by breaking Sitis's faith just on the truth alone #but then swooping in right before she fully damns herself #yknow i uh. don't feel like God really won this bet

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a-dauntless-daffodil · 28 days

Note

I’ve returned from my sketchbook quest , and here’s a drawing for dauntless-daffodil , who came up with the idea for the spear baby au.

THEM HAS COOKIE!!! ;A; <3 <3 <3 <3 SMOL WITH COOKIE!!!

AWWWWWW~

oh gods looking at that cute little innocent face i can just FEEEEEEL baby spear watching as chaggie and the hotel all stand around them hotly debating What Food Is Even Healthy For A Baby Spear Spawn Child To Be Eating

Charlie: "A cookie??"

Angel Dust: "They don' need cookies, ya useless gays, they need milk!"

Charlie: "We had cookies in the hotel??"

Vaggie: "Why would they need milk? They've got teeth already! Fangs, even!"

Angel Dust: "That ain't how nutrition an' shit WORKS toots!"

Niffty: (shakes jar full of money) "SWEAR JAR!"

Angel Dust: "Fuck. Shit." (hands over three dollars)

Charlie: "Since when are there cookies in the hotel that I don't know know about???"

Cherri: "If they've got fangs and like chewing stuff, maybe they need meat or something?"

Niffty: "OR BLOOD!!!"

Vaggie: "We are NOT-"

Angel Dust: "Ain't no baby under my watch gettin' fed steaks and BLOOD!"

Charlie: "Where did the cookie even COME from?!"

Husk: (coughs)

Charlie: "Husk! You gave them-?"

Husk: "....bar's always got snacks. And they were just. Staring at me."

Angel Dust: "Husky noooooo....!"

Vaggie: "How? I did a double sweep for undeclared cookies just two days ago- you KNOW what Charlie does to your bar if she goes snack hunting in the middle of night and actually finds something. She's like an adorable cookie gremlin."

Charlie: "Heheh!"

Husk: "Yeah well, she's not the only one allowed to like f- fffffffudging cookies. And your kid seems to take after her, so whatever."

Angel Dust: "Baby cat, that's no reason ta- oh for cryin' out loud, now what Vaggot?"

Vaggie: "...what? I didn't say anything."

Charlie: "Vaggieee, you're smiling~"

Vaggie: "Huh?"

Husk: "Like a dumb... dumb."

Niffty: "Beaming! Grinning! AS WIDE AS A SLIT THROAT-"

Cherri: "-fuck fuck fuck, shit shit, damn crap hell- here, take my money and don't fucking talk like THAT in front of the kid either, what the fuck."

Angel Dust: "Sickening."

Niffty: "Thanks!"

Angel Dust: "I meant Darth Vaggie getting all googey eye'd over her an' Charlie chip having a kid."

Charlie: "Oh so you think they're my kid too, huh?"

Angel Dust: "Are ya gonna let Vaggie raise 'em without ya?"

Charlie: "No~pe~!!!"

Angel Dust: "Then congrats on parenthood ta both of ya, it's already going to hell."

Vaggie: "Okay, uh-"

Husk: "You're gonna fffffeathering cry again."

Vaggie: "-no I'm not, I'm just glad the... my kid isn't still crying. Our kid. They, really are pretty happy with the cookie aren't they?"

Charlie: "Of course they are! It's CHOCOLATE CHIP!!"

Angel Dust: "It's not. Baby food."

Charlie: "It is if it's my baby, and they get milk to go with the cookie!"

Angel Dust: "V-gal, stop her! Use ya dang mom veto!!"

Vaggie: "Eh. Charlie was a hellborn kid and she grew up fine. I trust her."

Charlie: "AWww!!!"

Angel Dust: "Unbelievable."

Husk: "Whipped."

Vaggie: "Yeah? My kid didn't even have to say anything to get a cookie out of you, fluff boy."

Cherri: "Uh, guys.... gays...?"

Husk: "What."

Charlie & Vaggie: "What?"

Angel Dust: "Both and speaking, baby."

Cherri: "Where did..... the baby go...?"

Hotel crew: "....."

Place where baby was: (empty except for crumbs)

Spear Baby: (gone)

Vaggie: (wings bristling) "The-"

Charlie: "OUR!"

Vaggie: "Our-"

Demon Charlie: "-BABY!?"

Niffty: "MOTHER OF FUCK." (throws down swear jar) (tries throwing herself onto the broken shards but angel dust and husk grab her)

-meanwhile, elsewhere in the hotel-

Alastor: (walking quickly)

Spear Baby: (crawling after him)

Alastor: "....shoo."

Spear Baby: "Guh!"

Alastor: (nervous sweating) (walks FASTER)

#hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar #vaggie #chaggie #angel dust hazbin hotel #husk hazbin hotel #niffty hazbin hotel #cherri bomb hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #chaggie spear baby au thing #incorrect quotes #silly stuff #Alastor: here. this is yours i presume #charlie: oh thank f- ALASTOR! WHY IS MY KID HANGING OFF YOUR MICROPHONE BY THEIR TEETH??? THEY'RE NOT A F- FIDLING FISH!!#vaggie: ...are you scared of our kid?#alastor: wha-ha-ha-hy! What a marvelously strange suggestion! Don be absurd~!#vaggie: (holds kid out at them)#spear baby: (starts crying)#alastor: (static hiss) (summons husk in front of him as a living shield)#charlie: vaggie /no/. don't weaponize our child please #vaggie: (giving her the kid) (Grinning) aw babe it was only just a LITTLE bit of weaponizing them...#alastor: for the record- I was NOT scared ha HA!#husk: then why the f- fandangle am /i/ here?#alastor: (tight-lipped smile) (banishes him)#vaggie: (SMIRKS)

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