#mostly fluff though

[ficscribbles]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62796772/chapters/162056371

More with our favorite necromancer! Did I write this instead of going to bed at a reasonable time?

Yes.

I have no regrets. Mainly because I get to write part 2 of this chapter this weekend.

[noemitenshi]

Biblical

A Troy Otto x OC Story

Summary: Troy encounters the stranges thing during his exile - a kid that isn't just completely defenseless against the walkers - they don't even seem to know what they are.

Or maybe it's not a kid at all.

Chapter 1 - A strange thing indeed

Troy hadn’t been sleeping. He couldn’t, couldn’t stop now, couldn’t rest now. Now that he’d started to herd the infected. They were stupid little fuckers, needed constant stimuli or they’d disperse again. He’d learned that the hard way, had cost him half a day of work. So now the only thing he was focusing on was this; leading the horde. Growing the horde.

He just had to keep walking, keep leading. No thirst, no hunger, no tiredness stopping him now. Because once the horde got big enough, there would be no stopping them. Oh, it was going to be… biblical.

And again he put the weapon stock against his shoulder, took a moment to enjoy that feeling, his finger on the trigger, the comfortable weight of the weapon in his hands before he pulled the trigger, the sound, the kickback, all of it traveling through his body in that indescribable way. Weirdly enough, those were the only seconds of true peace he now knew.

When he opened his eyes again, something in his periphery caught them and he stopped dead in his tracks. Stopped completely confounded because he thought he might’ve misinterpreted what he was seeing. But no, farther away, not yet part of the horde (but soon, soon!) there was a small group of infected – and right in the middle of it sat someone. As Troy turned to get a better look, he could tell that it was very much not an infected. It was someone terrified by the looks of it. Huddled on the ground, hands on ears, and, Troy couldn’t be sure of course, but he wouldn’t be surprised to know that the eyes were closed.

What idiot didn’t fight back against the infected?! They’d get torn to pieces like that!

Just then Troy had the horrifying realization – the insurmountable fear – that this could well be a child. A child, all alone out here!

The second he’d thought that his body was already moving, running towards the child – he had to be careful though as he was moving partly through the horde – had to make sure not to make too much noise, had to cut down infected right in front of him. And he wasn’t even feeling a pang of regret as he did, as he saw them falling, part of his work destroyed.

No, suddenly the only thing that mattered was reaching that child in that group of infected. The child who was mumbling terrified things, voice coming out almost inaudible and gasping. The child’s eyes were almost hidden by dark locks, but Troy could still tell they were closed just as he’d had predicted and tears were streaming down those dark cheeks.

As he came closer, he started to doubt that it was a child, after all. Though it was incredible hard to tell how old the kid was. Not a small child, as he’d feared at first, that much was clear. But whether the kid was fifteen or twenty-five, Troy could not say. And somehow he had the sudden, deep-seated sense that neither was right.

No matter, he wasn’t about to let the kid – helpless, confused, terrified as he was – she was? (Troy couldn’t tell the gender either) – be torn apart right in front of him. The kid wasn’t in any condition to fight, wasn’t even running. And even though Troy might’ve argued that getting eaten in this situation was just evolution at play, seeing it, being right there in front of it, he could not just stand by and watch it happen to someone that defenseless, that scared.

Snarling at himself he started cutting down the infected one by one, making quick work of them.

He expected the kid to calm down, to realize that they weren’t alone anymore, weren’t in danger anymore but they were still in the same position, still gasping fearful sounds even as Troy stuck his knife into the last infected’s head.

As the infected fell, Troy just stood there, undecided. The obligation he felt towards the kid not in the least bit abated but – shit, what could he even offer them!? He couldn’t take care of himself right now, how was he supposed to make sure the kid was alright?!

But leaving them here would guarantee their death.

And try as he might to tell himself this wasn’t his responsibility, he could not make himself leave. In the face of such need, he could not leave. Could not get back to herding the infected again, not when he knew the kid would be torn limb from limb without his protection. It was only a matter of time. They would not survive out here. That much was clear. Not even the day, Troy wagered.

The kid that was still sitting there on the ground, trembling, silent tears streaming down their cheeks, arms clasped tightly around themselves.

Troy’s heart gave a pang he wasn’t comfortable examining closer (that pose being something all too familiar) and so he walked closer to the kid, crouched down in front oh them, whispering a quiet

“Hey.”

The kid was still mumbling in that fearful tone – and Troy could only make out a few things that didn’t make much sense to him.

“...so cold… can’t see, why… it’s too – much… I can’t, I can’t… I… don’t understand…”

Troy carefully put a hand on the kid’s shoulder, trying to get their attention, another soft “hey” accompanying his action. The kid flinched and shivered, as if trying to shake Troy off – but their eyes opened, two deep-brown frightened things and they jumped around.

“It’s ok,” Troy said slowly, feeling completely out of his depth, “They’re gone now, they can’t hurt you anymore—you’re not, are you?”

He’d be stupid not to ask though he grimaced, imagining what he’d had to do if the kid said ‘yes’. But the kid just continued to look frantically around.

“Hey, did you hear me?” Troy asked, sharper now.

“I don’t… don’t feel good… Everything’s so…” The kid broke off with a violent shudder.

“You’re sitting in infected guts,” Troy said without much empathy, “You should get out of there.”

For a moment nothing happened. Then the kid tried to stand – struggled to stand. It worried Troy instantaneously.

“Hey, you sure you aren’t hurt? Did they get you?”

“...n-no.” The kid shook their head and stood finally – still wobbly on his their legs. Even now Troy couldn’t tell their age nor gender. The kid was shorter than himself, the clothes on their back ill-fitting. Too big. It made the kid look even more lost – and so young. Or was it the fact that they weren’t moving from the spot. As if they had trouble holding their balance. Troy’s brows furrowed just as he thought that and he turned around to leave. But before he’d fully turned he stopped and threw an impatient,

“You coming or what?” over his shoulder.

“Coming… where?”

Troy shrugged with just his face before he answered,

“Away from here.” Then his lips curved into that half-snarl, half-smile he did whenever he was scoffing at himself and he added, “To safety.” Safety. The ranch used to be safety. The ranch he was exiled from. But still the kid took a wobbly step towards him, convinced it seemed, and Troy turned back to fully face him as he said,

“I’m Troy.”

The kid stopped walking (or trying to walk – at least that was what it looked like to Troy) and Troy felt something shift, something in the air maybe or… he couldn’t quite place it. But it felt quite profound. And then the kid was looking directly at him. Staring at him, those brown eyes focused in a way they hadn’t been before, no fear remaining.

Normally, Troy had no problem with people staring at him. In most cases he actually provoked it himself just so he could revel in it but... this stare, the way the kid was looking at him, that was different to anything he had ever experienced.

It was the most penetrating stare he’d ever seen; he felt almost like the kid was looking deep into him, into his soul, leaving no secret unturned and it made him feel utterly uncomfortable.

Just as suddenly, the stare vanished and the kid told him with strangely kind smile,

“Yes you are.”

What??

Troy had to shake his head, absolutely flummoxed by that reply. What did that even mean – yes you are? How would the kid even know if he was or wasn’t Troy??

“N-no…” he said slowly, at a loss of how to reply to that, “I meant… who are you?”

“I’m angel!” the kid said with a suddenly enthusiastic smile.

Angel. Troy almost laughed at the absurdity of that whole interaction, did very much not listen to that little voice in his head that whispered that the kid being just that would explain a lot of their behavior. He’d been out here too long, had been without sleep too long if he was thinking things like that.

“Come on, Angel,” he said with a head-tilt.

“What do you plan on doing now?” Angel asked and Troy didn’t even notice what a strange question this was to ask of someone they’d just met, didn’t realize how the truth just spilled out of him – no walls, no filters.

“I…” he shrugged a little, “normally I’d take you home. It’s safe there but – I can’t return home.”

“…me neither,” Angel said and Troy felt an eerie bitterness at that.

“Well, we can’t stay here. It’s dangerous with all these infected around.”

“Infected?”

The question startled Troy. Sure, not everyone used the same terms but not knowing at all what he was referring to – that was even stranger than him admitting to his exile so readily. And this time he did notice.

“Those things that attacked you.”

At once he saw the fear returning to Angel’s face.

“They… what are they?” Angel asked in a scared whisper. Much too scared for someone living in the apocalypse, Troy thought. Ah, but maybe they’d been sheltered, same way most of his people – well, not his anymore, he supposed – had been.

“They were human,” Troy explained curtly, “When we die… we now turn into those. No idea why. For some it’s fast, for some slow. But we all turn, in the end.”

“Human?!” Angel exclaimed, horrified. So it was completely news to them. How strange, again.

“Yeah. Let’s go before they turn you, too!” Troy urged with head-tilt towards the approaching horde – which had already shrunk some. He didn’t waste another thought on that though, instead grabbed Angel by the arm and pulled them along, up, up the hill. Only when they reached the top did he stop, sure that Angel needed a break.

“We can rest some here,” he announced, “The infected should disperse soon.” And should any of them make it up here, he could take care of them. He sat down and Angel right next to him, again looking at him with that strangely piercing gaze that felt like Troy could not hide a single thing. He swallowed and suppressed the urge to turn away.

“You need sleep, Troy,” Angel said decisively.

“Huh?” Again Troy was perplexed by the things Angel said, not that it was wrong. But still a strange thing for Angel to notice, he thought.

“Sleep,” Angel said with the sweetest voice and Troy did just that, falling asleep right where he sat.

[nebsisdead]

THE CURSE OF IMMORTALITY PART 3

P1/P2/P3

WARNINGS: angst, mentions of death, survivors guilt (sorta)

You have been warned

The sun was beaming down on the pastures and fields. The small floating island in the sky surrounded by fluffy clouds as it drifted through the sky.

The island wasn't that big, it was a bit of a stretch to even call it an island. It was about two acres big, a small house on it along with a feild of flowers and various farms and actives like swingsets and monkey bars, none rusted but it was clear they had aged. Small bleeding heart vines had crept up the monkey bars and the swingsets chains were riddled with chipped paint.

Sukora hummed to herself, flapping her tiny wings in a desperate attempt to get off the ground. She was unsuccessful, she huffed in annoyance.

It wasn't fair! How come her Mom and dad could fly but she couldn't?! Small frustrated tears threatened to spill from her eyes.

"Angel?" A soft voice rang out, Sukora looked behind her to find her father, Zephyrus, standing just outside the houses doorway. Looking at her with a concerned expression.

He walked over to her, his long blonde hair waving in the wind. He sat down next to Sukora and gestured for her to climb into his lap.

Sukora clambered into his lap and cuddled into his chest, whimpering in sadness. Zephyrus frowned, "Suki? Suki what's wrong dear?" He asked, lifting her chin up to make eye contact with her. Sukora sniffled.

"I wanna fly like you and Mama! But you won't teach me..." she grumbled. Zephyrus let out a soft chuckle, "Hey!" Suki whined, why wasn't he taking her seriously?!

"I'm not laughing at you dear, I'm just relieved you aren't hurt." He assured her, cradling her cheek. "You aren't ready to fly, your wings haven't developed enough yet." He pointed out, gently taking her wing in his hand and stretching it out to its full length, which was very tiny.

"Yeah but- I still wanna try!" She insisted. Zephyrus sighed, "why do you wanna fly so much?" He poised. Sukora blushed, a bit embarrassed.

"You and Mama fly in the sky together, but im never allowed to come... I just wanna be there..." she sniffled. Zephryus frowned, internally cursing himself.

"Dear, you could have just asked." He smiled. He stood up, picking her up with him, "hold on tight." He advised. Sukora nodded, Zephyrus took off into the sky.

Sukora let out an excited scream, her hair blowing everywhere and coming out of the pigtails her father had done up just a few hours earlier.

He let his wings fall in making them plumet, Sukora giggled and cheered. Not worried in the slightest about him dropping her. right before they hit the forest he opened up his wings, causing them to fly up into the sky. Zephyrus sped around as fast as he could, all while Sukora cheered happily.

After a couple more minutes Zephyrus landed back on the island. Sukora didn't even care that it was over, still so happy from the rush.

Sukora hugged her father tight and squealed. "Thankyouthankyoythankyou!!!" She spoke so quickly it was hard to discern what she was saying in the first place.

Zephyrus chuckled and set her down onto the ground. "Now, how about you head inside and play with your toys. I'd say you had enough excitement for one day." He chuckled ruffling her hair. Suki nodded, racing inside to go play.

As she left Zephyrus felt his smile fade. He stretched his wings, flying up to the tower and landing inside his study. He looked to Theodoras puppet and sighed, it wasn't activated... she was probably busy.

I'd you had told Zephyrus that when he was older he would marry a God he wouldn't have believed you. I dont think anyone would. But here he was, married to Theodora and father to an amazing daughter.

Zephyrus smiled fondly, he remembered back when Sukora was still a hatchling, all she would do was chrip and whine. Of course that wasn't out of the ordinary for baby welkins but it didn't make it any less adorable.

Zephyrus pulled a book off the shelf, feeling nostalgic. He had realised a bit too late what photo album he had grabbed, opening the book and freezing.

He bit his quivering lip as he stared down at the photo. It was a younger him, before Sukora, not too long after Theodora and him and begun to date. And of course, on each side of him were his best friends.

Orpheus Agryos, there was never a dull moment with him around... he hadnt seem in him at least fifty years. Immortality had weighed on Orpheus alot, especially since it came at the cost of his self restraint and an insatiable thirst of violence and blood. He never came by to see Sukora our of fear, he didn't want to hurt her...

And then there was August... He stared at her face, smiling and confident. Small scratches on her face, this was after the first successful operation they had pulled during the Galcian revolution.

There wasnt a day that went by where Zephyrus didn't miss August, but as the years ticked by and immortality took its toll there wasn't much either could do. After all both Zephyrus and Orpheus had lost contact long before Augusts passing.

Mayne, if they had stayed closer to her, he would have been invited to her funeral, at least allowing him to bid her a proper goodbye.

Zephyrus felt tears leak from his eyes, he made no effort to stop them. The tears falling on the plastic cover of the photo album. He collapsed into his seat. Weeping.

Zephyrus had many regrets, he loved his life. He loved his family and his house. But, with all that he had seen and done he could never fully enjoy it.

Even when he way happy he would never be whole, once yoy become immortal you lose a piece of yourself you can never get back.

The longer you live, the less empathy you hold for others, Zephyrus knew this all too well.

No immortal was happy, no matter how good your life is, immortality will always destroy you. Immortality is a curse.

[snail-day]

Thinking about babies again, what's new 😮‍💨

Gojo would be over the moon when you tell him you're pregnant (the little freak inside him would show everyone the little piss test and all) pressing excited kisses to your belly, looking up at you like you're the most incredible person in the world. He talks to the baby before they can even hear him, whispering jokes and telling stories. His favorite moments are when he can feel the little kicks, he gets a giddy smile everytime before pressing a kiss to a stretch mark or two.

But then he starts reading. About the risks. The complications. The fragile nature of it all. Suddenly, the strongest sorcerer alive feels powerless. His excitement turns into quiet anxiety, masked behind nervous jokes and late-night research.

The first time he holds them, his breath catches. They’re so small. So soft. So warm. Their tiny fingers curl instinctively around his, and he feels it, the shift in his entire being. A weight heavier than anything he’s ever carried, yet lighter than air.

Anxiety for the first time crawling over him. He’s scared. Terrified, even. What if he’s too rough? What if his touch, so used to battle, isn't meant for something so delicate? His hands tremble the first time you ask him to hold them on his own, a wobbly smile on his lips thats begging you to not hand the fragile creature over. But then, the baby lets out the tiniest yawn, their little face scrunching up before settling against his chest. And just like that, the fear melts away.

He learns. Slowly.

How to support their head, how to sway just right to stop the cries, how to tickle their tummy without worrying about breaking bones. He learns that they love the sound of his voice, giggling whenever he whispers nonsense. That their tiny grubby fingers grab at his blindfold, fascinated by the fabric, and that they light up whenever he enters the room.

Satoru is completely smitten. This small creature becoming the greatest gift. He kisses their chubby cheeks until they squeal, blows raspberries on their belly just to hear their laughter. Learns to appreciate all the slobber kisses that reach his cheeks. The teething phase where they bite on his jacket or his fingers. Carrying them everywhere, showing them off like they’re the most precious treasure in the world. Which, to him, they are. (Oh how he'd brag to Nanami if he managed to have a kid first).

When they fall asleep against his chest, soft breaths puffing against his collarbone, Satoru feels like his heart might just burst. They’re so tiny, so warm, so safe in his arms. He presses a few more kisses to the top of their fuzzy little head, inhaling that sweet, new-baby scent.

As he sits there, holding them close, he wonders - how bad can the twos and threes really be? Because right now, he’s excited for them. For the giggles and wobbly little steps, for the endless chatter, for their silly little thoughts and questions. He wants to share sweets, wants to sneak them treats behind your back with a conspiratorial wink. He wants to play at the park, wants to see them coming running with bugs, snails, and flowers in their hands as that tiny, delighted voice comes calling, "Daddy look!"

Gojo Satoru, the strongest, the untouchable, the undefeatable, completely, helplessly in love with his baby. Maybe being this strong has never felt as important as it does now, with this little life curled up against his heart.

[littlebirdygirlywriting]

Seeing Stars, I Can’t Breathe

Daredevil Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: “What do I do? Claire, she can’t breathe!” When a respiratory illness starts to get a little out of hand, Matt gets worried. But what is he supposed to do when you’re terrified of hospitals?

Author’s Note: This was written as a quick little thing for @mattmurdocksscars 2.5k Writer Challenge! I was almost too late, but I saw it just in time! (Also, this turned out barely fluffy…almost no fluff at all. But it has angst! So, that’s something!)

Warnings: Brief innuendos. Sickness (specifically respiratory, though a fever is implied). Angst. Fluff if you squint. Panic Attack? Fear of hospitals. (Because apparently your girl needs to offload every single one of her traumas onto the poor, unsuspecting reader characters she writes—yolo!). No use of y/n.

Word Count: 930 (short and somewhat sweet)

———————————————————————————

“Open your mouth.”

“Geez, Murdock. You could at least buy me dinner first.”

Matt glared, thermometer paused in midair, clearly not amused by your attempt at humour, and the hacking cough shuddering through your lungs obviously agreed with his sentiment.

Chest convulsing, lungs constricting, you coughed until oxygen was a distant memory. Until you were bent over your knees, hacking and gasping. Until black spots floated merrily through your vision and copper tanged the back of your throat.

Finally, wheezing, you became aware of Matt’s hand on your back, rubbing circles between the arches of your shoulder blades. His jaw ticked, muscles working overtime to control the worry in his expression. But you could see it.

“I don’t like the way that sounds, sweetheart.”

“I’m fine.” It was hoarse, strangled…definitely not convincing in any sense of the word.

But dear God, you needed it to be true.

“It’s just a cold.”

Matt didn’t dignify that with a response.

Instead, he simply lifted the thermometer, waiting for you to catch your breath before instructing you again.

“Open your mouth.”

You hesitated.

“Matt…” There was a tremor in your voice that didn’t belong to sickness. Your fingers found the seam of the blanket draped around you, fiddling with it, rubbing the stitches between your fingertips.

His head tilted slightly, a crease of concern forming between his brows. “What is it, sweetheart?”

“It’s just…” You inhaled a shaky breath, eliciting yet another series of coughs.

When the fit was over, and the world returned to the light, you found yourself tucked against Matt’s chest, his arms wrapped protectively around you. His own breaths felt laboured beneath his shirt, and you grasped the fabric in your hands.

“Matt, I’m scared.”

His inhale was sharp.

Warm lips met your hairline, one hand smoothing strands away from your face before his chin laid down to rest against the top of your head.

When he spoke, his voice was pained, the words barely a whisper. “What are you scared of?”

“I…Matt, I…” Your chest tightened, another cough rising, cresting the horizon. “Hospitals. Matt…” The coughs burst forth, lungs spasming as you struggled to take in enough oxygen.

The black spots returned. Spinning. Multiplying.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, Matt was calling you, something raw and desperate and pleading in his tone.

You followed the sound, let it lead you back to the light.

He was on the phone now, pacing across the room, hand coming up to muss his hair back away from his face.

“What do I do? Claire, she can’t breathe!” His steps were frenzied, jaw ticking, those beautiful hazel eyes roiling before he turned on his heels towards the bathroom. “Okay…okay, tell me what to do.”

He disappeared into the bathroom, and a wave of exhaustion barrelled over you. Your eyes flickered. Shuttered.

…Then closed entirely.

“She should be in a hospital, Matt.”

“I know, Claire. I know. But what else was I supposed to do? You didn’t…” He hesitated, voice hitching, before dropping almost out of your hearing range. “You didn’t hear how terrified she was at the idea. Her heart…”

He didn’t elaborate, and Claire must’ve accepted the reply, because a bone-weary sigh echoed through the entryway.

“Lots of rest. Lots of fluids. Give her this medication, twice a day. And if she gets any worse, I want you to call a hospital immediately. No matter what she says.”

“Thank you, Claire.”

Fabric rustled faintly before the door opened, hinges creaking. Footsteps wandered out into the hallway, padded and quiet. Another series of creaks, the lock clicking back into place, then silence.

Silence. Living, breathing, permeating the walls of the apartment.

Matt must have followed Claire out. You must be alone.

Pushing yourself into a sitting position, your arms ached and lungs quivered. Tightness in your chest spiralled into a wave of dizziness, and you groaned.

The sound was barely out of your throat before Matt appeared before you, kneeling in front of your face, warm hands landing firmly on your shoulders.

“Easy. Easy, sweetheart.”

You winced, hoarse cough ricocheting in your ribcage, Matt’s strong grasp guiding you gently back against the pillow propped up on the arm of the couch.

His fingers moved to your hairline, discretely gauging your temperature, and sighed.

“Just rest, okay? I’ll go get you some of your medicine.”

“Matt?” Your fingers wrapped around his wrist. Weak, so pathetically weak, but he halted in his tracks. “Am I…I mean… No hospital?”

His expression flickered, something raw and unguarded warring behind his eyes, and a frown marred his features.

The battle waged for several seconds until a tense, guarded sentence came out. “For now.”

Tears trickled into your vision, watery gratitude raising a well in your throat.

“Thank you.”

Matt’s hands found their way to your hair, brushing it softly away from your face before cradling your jaw between his fingers.

His kiss was swift, chaste, the protest of his sharing your germs dying on your lips as you melted into the briefest of touches.

He was in the kitchen before you could even form the words to chastise him.

The clatter of a childproof cap untwisting grated through the apartment, the silverware drawer clanking obnoxiously before Matt returned, on his knees before you again, a spoonful of nasty white medicine in hand.

He smirked, ever so slightly, at the utter revulsion on your face, but worry still formed the baseline of his expression.

“Now,” he said, his words from earlier repeating like a broken record, thumb grazing your cheek softly, reverently. “Open your mouth.”

[purple-obsidian]

Heyyyyy pookieeee-i saw your Jason todd fic and wanted to ask,what do you think he will be like teaching his gf how to drive?

(Because nobody in my freaking life taught me how to drive yet so I have to sit like a duck and wait for someone to pick me up when I wanna go somewhere pleaseeee let me drivee-)

be brave (jason todd x fem reader) wc 800

⭓ fluff isn't my normal cup of tea. but for you, pookie, i can make an exception ;) sorry this took a while to answer, hope you don't mind i made this specific to driving a motorcycle. that's just what felt right when i was meditating on this prompt so i went with it. enjoy.

"Jason, are you sure this is a good idea?"

"You second guessing me, princess?"

"Yeah, maybe I am. I could kill us!"

Jason scoffs and shakes his head in disbelief. "You think I would let that happen? Ever?" With cocky grin, Jason walks over and stares down at you, noting the apprehension on your face. "Remember the day we met? You told me you had a bucket list. Things you wanted to do before you died."

"Yeah, I only told you that because I thought I was going to die. You rescued me. I got plenty of time now, I don't have to learn how to drive tonight. Its already dark." You reach your hand up reflexively to rest against his chest as he gets closer. Its a habit of yours. You always find yourself drawn to the steady beating of his heart. Its grounding, and you need some of that right now.

"The road is well lit. We're miles from the outskirts of Gotham, no traffic out here. Just you and me, baby. Why not now?" His large hand rests over yours, pressing it more firmly against his chest. His heart is beating slow and steady, and his piercing green eyes are filled with admiration. "You and I both know that every day we have together is precious. Why wait to do the things you wanna do? Besides, I'd feel better knowing my girl can drive my bike if she needs to."

Jason knows you too well, calling you his girl like that makes you feel weak in the knees. Your own heart beats faster as you break your gaze away from your boyfriend smiling down at you, looking over at the motorcycle he brought you here on. For some reason, it looks more intimidating than it did a few minutes ago. You swallow the lump in your throat before looking back at him. "I'm nervous."

"I know." He states matter-of-factly. Of course he knows, he can read you like a book.

"I've literally never driven anything before. Like ever. I haven't even-"

"Shhh." Jason's hand leaves yours and cups your face gently. His other hand is on your waist, keeping you close. "You don't have to be good at it right away. I don't expect you to be. But you're smart. And you're perceptive. And I know after a little practice, you'll get more confident. I won't let us crash, baby, promise."

Jason really does know you too well. He can see the rebuttal forming on your lips before he finishes speaking. So he leans down to kiss it away before you can verbally express your doubts. The tinge of frustration you feel at being cut off isn't enough to keep you mind from turning to mush from the kiss. His lips are so warm, his breath tastes like spearmint, and his touch gives you butterflies.

But the kiss ends all too quickly. You know he cut it short it on purpose, not wanting your brain to turn off completely before you try and drive for the first time. "Sorry, babygirl, can't give you too much. How could you drive if you're all drunk from my kisses? Hm?"

He runs his fingers through your hair, taking in how cute you look when you're speechless. A moment later, Jason releases his hold on you and turns towards his bike, walking to it with a bit of pep in his step and smugness in his grin, leaving you stammering for a second as you try and string together a coherent thought.

"F-fuck you, Jason." You say after a moment. He always knows how to shut me up.

"I love you too." He grabs his helmet and puts it on before tossing you yours. It's an easy catch, but you're still giving him a dirty look.

"Why did we have to do driving first?" You grumble, accepting your defeat. "Pretty sure seeing the pyramids was also on my bucket list. Along with an abundance of other fun things, like riding in a helicopter, or swimming with dolphins. Or what about joining the mile high club? I'd think that one would be your first priority."

Jason is beaming, watching you put your helmet on and get ready to ride. Even as you scowl at him and mutter complaints, his heart melts at how easily you folded. All it took was a kiss. He always gets his way. He knows you can't say no to him. Jason Todd has you wrapped around his finger, and the vigilante couldn't be any happier about it. He looks you up and down to admire your body before replying, "Stick with me, princess, and I'll make all your dreams come true." He promises. "One at a time. I'll show you the pyramids. I'll fuck you in a plane. But first…"

He grabs you by your waist with both hands and effortlessly lifts you up off the ground to set you down on the seat of his bike. You yelp in surprise, quickly grabbing his hands to steady yourself. "First, you gotta be brave and learn how to ride your boyfriend's bike."

⭓ masterlist ⭓

[solarmorrigan]

No one looks like they did in high school forever (be kinda weird if they did, honestly). Changes catch up with everyone sooner or later. For Steve, it seems to have happened sooner.

Personally, Eddie is in favor.

It isn’t that he hadn’t thought Steve looked in good in high school – god knows it isn’t that (Eddie may have thought Steve had been an asshole at the time, but he’d been a pretty one). It’s just that high school had been a time of basketball and swim meets and carefully watching his diet and carefully curating his appearance to match what he’d thought other people would want to see.

The time since graduation has been spent putting on the type of muscle that would better facilitate fighting monsters and keeping a band of misfit children safe (because after three times around, Steve hadn’t quite been able to bring himself to believe that the Upside Down was really gone), being fed by a rotating cast of mothers who appreciate him being there for said misfit children, and in letting himself decide how he thinks he looks good.

The first time Eddie really gets a good look at Steve after he’s left high school, he’s gone from lean muscle and looks a bit closer to the tank that Dustin’s been insisting he is. The first time Eddie sees him in action, he decides he wants to climb Steve like a tree.

Broad shoulders, strong biceps, solid core, thick thighs, that ass—is it objectification if you’re dating the guy and also madly in love with him? Whatever—Eddie is of the opinion that the time since high school has been very kind to Steve, appearance-wise.

He’s startled to realize, then, that Steve does not always share this opinion.

It doesn’t happen often; it’s rare enough that even Robin almost misses it, and Eddie is a big enough person to admit that she’s a more experienced Steve-watcher than he is.

For the most part, Steve is comfortable in his skin; he knows he looks good, he knows Eddie thinks he looks good, he knows what he’s capable of, and he’s pleased with where he is. Some days, though – some days just aren’t good days.

There are times when Eddie will catch Steve lingering in the mirror, frowning over a shirt that used to fall differently, or a pair of shorts that used to fit a little more loosely. He might reach for one of the cookies that Claudia sent them home with after their last dinner over at the Henderson household, before faltering and grabbing an apple instead (or, sometimes, nothing at all). He might wear extra layers, steal one of Eddie’s slightly oversized flannel shirts, go on an extra run, or he might not be in the mood to cuddle up to Eddie in bed (in spite of the fact that Eddie knows how much he loves getting to be the little spoon, even if he still refuses to say it out loud).

Most of these things by themselves don’t really have to mean anything, but somehow, Eddie can always tell when it’s one of those insecure days.

(And if Eddie had ever thought when he was younger that Steve Harrington could feel insecure about the way he looks, about his body, he might have cracked a crass joke about King Steve’s obvious need to overcompensate for something. Now, though, he knows better. Also, he’s a tiny bit more mature than that.)

So when he comes into the living room one afternoon to find Steve practically crammed into the corner of the sofa, curled in on himself just enough to suggest that he’s trying to take up less space, Eddie decides that that will just not do.

Eddie loves Steve’s confidence. He loves the space Steve takes up in his life (metaphorically and literally). He loves Steve, and he sure as hell isn’t about to let him spend the day feeling bad about himself, so he ducks back into the bedroom for the book on his nightstand and then plops down on the other end of the couch.

He reads for a little while and doesn’t really have to worry about getting too distracted from his plan, because he always finds himself tilting towards Steve like a compass to magnetic north, whether he’s actively trying or not. So he reads, and he shuffles around on the couch a bit, and he lists to the side a little, and then he’s finally just close enough to Steve to plausibly ask, “Hey, d’you mind?”

Steve glances up from the magazine he’s been reading, brows furrowed. “Mind what?”

Eddie points to the way Steve’s legs are drawn up almost to his chest. “Stretching your legs out? I wanna lay down.”

And normally, Steve doesn’t hesitate – hell, normally, Eddie doesn’t even need to ask; it’s almost as if he can just tell when Eddie wants to rest his head in his lap and automatically moves to welcome it. Today, though, he rolls his eyes.

“We have pillows on the couch for a reason,” he says, jerking his head towards the throw pillows at the other end of the couch (as if Eddie could forget the throw pillows; they’d spent a goddamn hour at the furniture store staring at the choices and had walked out laughing about how boring and adult and great it felt to be decorating their apartment with fucking throw pillows – but that isn’t the point).

Eddie scoffs. “Why would I settle for a pillow when I could have something way more comfortable?”

“Yeah, there’s no way my lap is better than a pillow,” Steve drawls.

“Baby, your lap is the most comfortable resting place known to man,” Eddie states, so dramatically intoned that it makes Steve laugh, even though Eddie is fairly serious. “Now why would you deny me my favorite place to lay my head?”

Steve rolls his eyes again, but obligingly (if slowly) stretches out his legs and rests his socked feet on the coffee table to make space for Eddie.

“Thank you,” Eddie says primly, before flopping down on the couch and making himself comfortable with his head situated on Steve’s lap, then giving a demonstrative little wiggle to settle in. “Yep, that’s the stuff. Perfect.”

“Man, shut up,” Steve mumbles, turning back to his magazine.

When Eddie glances up to check that he hasn’t gone too far, there’s a bit of a flush high on Steve’s cheeks, but no real displeasure on his face, so he doubles down.

“I will not. Not until you acknowledge the perfection that is your thighs,” Eddie declares, pressing his head further back into Steve’s lap. “Firm, but with just enough give–” he reaches up and pinches the side of Steve’s thigh, smiling innocently when Steve jolts and glares down at him, “always warm. Perfect.”

Steve turns his eyes resolutely back to the magazine he’s got balanced on the arm of the couch. “Not perfect.”

“Well, sure, perfection is subjective, means different things to different people, blah blah blah.” Eddie waves his hand in a vague ‘et cetera’ gesture and accidentally smacks Steve in the arm before he turns his head (and his hair is absolutely going all staticky after being rubbed against the fabric of Steve’s sweatpants, which is going to be a nightmare later, but that’s a problem for future Eddie) and presses a kiss to the spot just above Steve’s knee. “But they’re perfect to me.”

For a moment, Steve is still. Then he shifts slightly in place, and Eddie has the feeling that if he were standing, he’d be shuffling from foot to foot.

“And I have it on pretty good authority that my opinion counts for something,” Eddie goes on. “So if you ask me—which you should—your thighs are one of your best features.”

Finally, Steve glances back down at Eddie. “You think so?” he asks, soft and a little hesitant.

“Absolutely. One of my favorite parts of you, on a rotating basis with every other part of you,” Eddie says, grinning when Steve scoffs, because this time Steve is smiling, too. “What? There are so many good features, I’ve gotta make sure I pay them all equal attention.”

And the thing is, Eddie does know that what got Steve into this mindset in the first place was spending so long seeing himself as valued only for what he can provide physically: a handsome face, a lean figure, a human shield, the Party tank – whatever it is. Most of the time, Eddie makes sure Steve knows what he loves about him as a person, not just about his body. He could gain one hundred pounds, he could lose all muscle mass and be as skinny as a rail, he could look like anything, and it wouldn’t matter, because Eddie loves him.

But that doesn’t mean Steve doesn’t also want a little reassurance now and then that Eddie loves his body, too – which Eddie does, and is happy to provide.

“And today, I’m paying attention to your thighs,” Eddie concludes.

“Stop saying ‘thighs,’ it’s starting to sound like gibberish,” Steve shoots back, but there’s a pleased tilt to the corners of his mouth now.

Eddie hums. “I especially love when you let me lay in your lap. Love having your legs under my head. Or wrapped around my head.” He waves his hand around his face, smirking up at Steve. “Just, in the vicinity of my head, really.”

Steve loses the battle with the laugh he’s been trying to hold in and it overtakes him, shaking with mirth under Eddie while Eddie smiles along with him.

“You’re ridiculous,” Steve says, once he’s gotten his breath back.

“I’m just putting it out there,” Eddie says.

Steve cocks one eyebrow at Eddie and turns back to his magazine with a smirk. “Uh huh. Well, I’m a little busy right now.”

“Oh, sure, me too,” Eddie says easily, bringing his book up over his face as if he’s going to continue reading, even though he isn’t even sure he’s on the right page.

They do settle after that, though, quiet and close and comfortable being draped over and under one another. Steve’s hand finds its way into Eddie’s hair and cards through it absently like he’s petting a cat. Eddie would probably purr like one if he could.

“Love you,” Steve murmurs, glancing down as he flips from one page to the next.

“Love you, too,” Eddie replies, tilting his book away just enough to smile up at Steve.

Maybe later Eddie will get to prove how much he loves Steve’s thighs wrapped around his head. Maybe not. For now, though, he hadn’t been lying – just this is perfect.

[Prompt: Resting your head on your partner's lap]

[hitlikehammers]

AVOIDANCE: the only real solution to all of Eddie’s your falling-in-love problems!

(0 out of 10 participants in this approach have proven its INeffectiveness; talk to your ✨love interest✨today to avoid this heartbreaking waste of your energy!)

It’s not like they were bosom buddies for years and years. A week at the outset, a couple months since, and now they’re all back in their own homes living their own lives and Eddie can avoid the way he’s most definitely, one-hundred-percent certainly in love with Steve Harrington. Very effectively.  By simply avoiding Steve Harrington. 

rating: t ♥️ tags: post-s4, eddie munson and his newfound obsession/unprecedebtedly-close-to-love feelings for steve harrington, answer: avoid steve harrington like the plague, excellent and emotionally-mature ways of dealing with your problems! /s, primary hiccup in existing plan: forgetting steve harrington doesn’t take well to failure, (oops), miscommunication, boys so dumb, confessions, hint of angst (because eddie is a very silly boy with very silly ideas sometimes), self-confident!steve, steve harrington facing the issues head-on, feelings confessions, peak eddie dramatics, happy ending♥️

for @steddielovemonth day fifteen: “If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.”―Jane Austen, Emma

True fact: Eddie thought he was playing things cool. Thought he was totally copacetic, in, you know, keeping it all subtle. He can do subtle, y’know: being loud and proud, shouting on tabletops and shit, screaming at drunks—that was a choice, not a…a rule. He’s a freak, he’s an outcast, he’s a weird-ass motherfucker: he’d have had far more brushes with his actual-factual demise in this podunk town if he was literally incapable of blending in with the background, and not just kinda sickened by the concept, let alone the effort involved to appease fucking…normies.

So yeah, he’d…he’d thought he was flying under the radar. And anyway; why the fuck would Steve Harrington even notice eddies absence in his day-to-day? They were apocalypse ‘friends’. Hospital buddies at best.

They’re back in the real world now.

Eddie supposed Vecna or whatever the fuck his name is will come crawling back in the foreseeable future, but brighter minds than his are preparing for that shit. The sheepies will let him know if they need his assistance—pending what that assistance may or may not be worth dependent on how far along his PT journey he stands at that point.

But it’s not like they were glued to the hip. It’s not like they were bosom buddies for years and years. A week at the outset, a couple months since, and now they’re all back in their own homes living their own lives and Eddie can avoid the way he’s most definitely, one-hundred-percent certainly in love with Steve Harrington. Very effectively.

By simply avoiding Steve Harrington.

It’s kind of a foolproof plan, really. He starts wrapping Hellfire earlier, tells the little shitheads he’s gotta run, Wayne needs a hand with a revolving door of household projects now that they’ve got their own place with more than one bedroom. Gotta mount that hangers for that ball cap collection just right, you know, yadda yadda.

He thinks they gave up being suspicious without a week or two, now just hit him with annoyed eye rolls. God bless the scourge of self-centred teenage bitchiness playing directly into eddies hand.

What he failed to account for, however, about eleven weeks into his up-to-now flawless scheme, was…well. The leading man himself.

Showing the fuck up at Eddie’s door, which Eddie answered for once like a fool and now can’t back out of cleanly because there’s no truck in the drive—it’s clear he’s here on his own.

Motherfucker.

One thing can be said for the plan, in terms of like, general side quest observations—absence definitely made the heart grow fonder. Or at least didn’t contribute at all to the opposite. Which Eddie hadn’t been entirely sure was possible, because the speed and strength of how he fell with every fucking cell in him had honestly terrified the shit out of him on its own. But after avoiding Steve, nodding at best if he canoed paths and sneaking away when the man called out like he was gonna snake through a crowd at any of the number of the family dinners for interdimensional-trauma-survivors-anonymous that Eddie couldn’t weasel out of: it’d been clear pretty fucking quick.

The almost-indefensibly-absurd affection he’d developed for the King of Hawkins—it wasn’t just reign over the high school if the parents were so charmed, if the fucking hospital has cowed into acting and quick when they tried to hesitate in treating an accused murderer, as Eddie’d been regaled with by everyone but Steve, who shrugged his kinda crucial role in saving Eddie’s ass with a shrug and of course, man, like there was ever even a question—but his indefensibly overwhelming and absurd infatuation that spent every month expanding further to try and crack his fucking ribs, well.

It was chronic, at best. He wasn’t gonna shake it…any time soon.

Any time soon.

So: best to at least keep the catalyst at bay, stop it from causing the condition to worsen.

He’d made the mistake of thinking it couldn’t get worse already. Learn from your mistakes, and all the shit.

So what if it’s been months now and not only has the malady of being ass-over-nipple in-fucking-love persisted, but got so much fucking worse? Deeper? More, when that shit should have even been possible?

No. He just has to be persistent. Keep at the plan. Eventually, it’ll die off. It’ll whither and blow away. It’ll fucking fade—

He does, however, fail to calculate all contingencies.

Namely Steve Harrington’s incapacity to accept defeat.

He’s also too fucking scatterbrained to check the door before opening it when there’s a knock, just after Wayne’s left for his shift. When Eddie has no excuse to slam it back shut on the exceptionally exquisite face waiting when the hinges swing open.

Exquisite, but looking…pinched. Sour.

Pissed the fuck off.

And worst of all of it—because so far the list only server to underscore that unfortunate state of being fucking beautiful, on every possible level—but worst of it all, because it’s worst on its own but also because it twists, distorts all the beauty, and it’s so clearly Eddie’s fault because Steve is standing right here, and not elsewhere, after all this time.

Looking hurt, under everything else.

“I’m done with this, yeah?”

Eddie could run. He’d only make it to his room; Steve would probably be able to break down the door and get to him before he could slither through the window and run, but he’s still not 100%, right, he’s physically at a disadvantage anyway, it’s not even gonna be a question—

Steve’s got him cornered.

So he just stands. Blinks.

Doesn’t…know what Steve’s ‘done with’, but he feels his literally twist, wring like a dishrag, when he figures out the most likely answer is just:

 Eddie.

Even trying to keep the maximum distance, he either knows, and hates it, hates him, or…

He doesn’t know, and doesn’t need to. He just is over Eddie and his bullshit.

It’s in the heart-piercing distraction of either and both possibilities that Steve pushes past him into the front hall.

“What the fuck is your problem, man?”

Steve crosses his arms as the door latches closed, caging them in.

Eddie’s heart starts kicking hard, which is painful. He assumes that’s because it’s been pierced by the hurt still on Steve’s face.

“I thought we were, like, that at least we were friends?”

He says it like he also has maybe had thoughts like there’s something else they were, or could have been. That by association and context would be somewhere more than friends?

Eddie’s pieced-through heart switches to a double-thumping sort of thing that’s really just as confused as the rest of him.

Hurts like a motherfucker, too.

“Did I do something?”

Steve asks, finally sounds more defeated than any of the other things Eddie can pick up in how he holds his body, and honestly that’s what breaks Eddie’s resolve, of everything; after everything. After holding out this long and failing for the entire fucking effort, after hurting Steve, the last thing he could ever want, probably the main underlying reason he’s been running from him the whole goddamn time—to not hurt him.

He’s suck a fuck up. He’s such a fucking fuck up.

“You know how sunflowers grow?”

Steve startles a little, grows the slightest bit.

“They find the sun, and the grow toward it,” and Eddie’s not stupid enough to think the whole disaster that’s unfolding in front of him, from his own chest, his own fucking mouth—he’s aware.

He can’t do nothing, but he also doesn’t think he can sugarcoat this in a way that goes down easier; sand the rough edges to make it make better sense.

He has to wrench it raw and bloody from his ribs, caught on the jagged bone like the messy fuck he is.

“You were the sun,” Eddie finally says it out loud, and his voice is so small and wondering, he can’t hide it. “You were the sun and I woke up broken, I had to grow back so much and I did, because I had the tools,” he swallows, takes a shaky breath:

“I had the sun right next to me, to do all the growing toward. To…rebuild around.”

Eddie’s always been a weirdo, and outcast—he’s spent a lot of time in libraries; often hiding.

But he’s read a lot of random shit. And enough of it’s stuck to make some sense of this fucking mess.

Steve’s face gives nothing away. It’s usually so…so generous with its feeling, even if there are some feelings Eddie knows Steve’s careful to never let show.

But in the now, he just stares.

“Otters,”Eddie blurts out, fingers twitching, wrists shaking; “they hold hands when they sleep,” and he looks up for a second before looking away again, pulse a mullet in his throat.

“I used to hold onto your hand when I fell asleep in the hospital,” and he says it like it’s a secret, a confession, even though of all people, of course Steve already fucking knows. The part he doesn’t, though:

“I still reach, and how fucked that? Like I deserve it as a rule, like it’s mine.”

Like you’re mine.

He can’t say it. But he doesn’t have it. It rings out on its own.

“But then there are the trees that shoot up all tangled,” Eddie can’t remember what they’re called; “where the trunks split off into one another, or they’re so braided up together the share their bark, whole pieces left Bernal’s, naked but the other tree covers it, makes it strong and safe but only so long as they’re literally fused together indefinitely,” and Eddie hopes that one…that one explains itself.

He pauses, waits for any reaction.

No dice.

“Bats sleep in pitcher plants.”

That at least gets the slightest lift of the chin. Probably because it’s weird, and also…bats.

Right. So Eddie’s gonna have to spell it all out.

Which he kinda knew. The examples are fucking weird. But they’re…they’re true. They’re where he is.

“If I get too fucking close, I will destroy you,” Eddie says, because that’s the fear, right—or no.

That’s the fucking truth. Eddie always ends up with the tatters of the things he loves the most.

“I’ll take too much, I’ll take everything,” Eddie confesses, pleads in his tone to be seen, which Steve’s always been weirdly good at, and understood—the bigger gamble.

“There won’t be any stoplights, there won’t be a barrier or a boundary where I’ll know I’ve gone too far because I won’t even think of what that fucking is, what it could be to even watch for, like the barebones idea of ‘too far’, let alone what it looks like, I won’t,” and his breath runs out, so he gasps, and he thinks he sees Steve move to reach, to help, to steady.

He thinks.

It’s probably just wishful thinking.

“I won’t stop holding on just when I’m sleeping, I’ll,” Eddie licks his lips, because now…now he’sstarting to hurt, closer to what it felt like with teeth ripping his flesh than anything has felt, than any loss has threatened. He has to clear his throat, because otherwise the rest will just spill out like a sob:

“I’ll tear your bark so you bleed, and you’re exposed and you die off slow, because I was selfish, so selfish, I held to close, I fucking…” eddies voice cracks; his eyes fucking burn; “because I fucking demanded the whole of you, and damn the cost because I couldn’t process an end, why would I stop doing to even think to be logical and careful when an end to you was, is, well, fuck,” he huffs, and a tear spills out white hot down his cheek;

“It’s incomprehensible, because that would be the end of everything, that was made real fucking clear for me with the bats, both times,” and Eddie means that—he’s had time to think through the origin of his aching and it was early, it was any hint of being in the world without this person in it, too; “and the end of everything, well,” he shakes his head, some of his hair sticking in the single trail of salt on his skin:

“Tied up in you, so tight we couldn’t physically untangle?” His voice drops to a whisper, and he knows his smile has to look sad, but he means this is the deepest places his heart even holds:

“What better way to go?”

He maybes watches Steve’s throat bobbing. Maybe.

Probably not.

So Eddie just sighs. Because…none of that matters. None of that matters in the face of the core truth:

“Those pitcher plants dissolve things inside them, it’s how they eat,” he half-recites, retreating into those deep-heart places, where the feeling is most saturated, but hard to find, somewhere to hide as he whispers, cowers in himself as he flats his own flesh:

“I’ll leech from you for wanting too much just the same. I’ll fucking destroy you, Stevie,” he moans, feels his arms wrap around his chest, protective. Trembling.

“I’ll love you so hard I’ll suffocate you, I’ll tear you to pieces trying to get closer, trying to hold the heart of you closer to mine,” he doesn’t even make a conscious decision to press a palm over his flailing heart where his arm already holds, hugs himself so fucking tight. His lungs are sore. It’s tight, trying to breathe.

“It’s not an overstatement, though, the other plants, the flowers,” Eddie feels overwhelmed, suddenly, with a need to make clear that there’s only one person at fault for this, and it’s him—Steve didn’t deserve to get hurt. Eddie should have found a better way to keep him safe—from Eddie—from the very start. Because—

“You are my sun,” Eddie makes himself look up, look at Steve. “I didn’t realize how little I was growing even before spring break. I didn’t notice, how fucking thriving wasn’t even in my goddamn vocabulary, until there was you.” His breathing shudders again, followed by the rest of him:

“I turn toward you as a rule,” because here’s the thing. All these weeks and months.

Eddie’s been shrivelling. Eddie spends his nights dreaming of sunlight.

It’s inescapable.

He was going to have to find a more sustainable compromise soon, anyway. Might as well…lay it all out now.

He’s already ripped off his bark. He’s already prepared to dissolve in the acid, to burn for what it means to have left the feeling grow so big.

“I hope,” he coughs, starts slow, formal-like: “I hope you can do me the favor of just,” he has to clear his throat again; fuck, it’s hard; “politely ignoring that part. Like, even at a distance, it’s not something I can seem to stop.”

He was aiming for apologetic for that last bit, honest.

He fucking fails spectacularly, so. That’s cool.

“I swear, I won’t bother you,” he tries to convey how he’s sorry, for all of it, save for the core of the loving, because he as granted. A taste, no matter how it’s fallen to ruin; he’s selfish that way anyhow, to have seen some of the sun versus darkness alone for always.

Still:

“I won’t come near, I’ll do what I’ve been doing but better, I’ll be better, I’ll try harder, it will—“

Eddie thinks maybe he’s finally died. Of heartbreak, of whatever the Upside Down did to him. Of living without his sun for a long.

Any. All of the above.

Because the next thing he knows is pressure. Heat.

On his lips.

He barely processes responding before its town away: of course death wouldn’t be a reward. Not for him.

“Are you fucking telling me,” a voice bites out close enough to Eddie’s lips that he can feel how sharp they cut:

“That you have been avoiding me, running awayfrom me,” and Eddie knows that voice—

“Breaking my heart,” and fuck, fuck Eddie knows he knows that voice because when it’s hurting—and those words are irate and disbelieving and they’re hurt—

“Because you’re fucking scared of loving me too hard?”

And Eddie pulls back, opens his eyes: Steve.

Steve’s eyes are fucking vibrant with feeling, so many feelings. He’s…he doesn’t think he’s dead, because a lot of those feelings are ones Eddie’s not familiar with, and how would he know to place them there if he’s never known them at all?

He doesn’t know of it’s better or worse, to not be dead right now.

Because he just apparently got to feel Steve’s lips on his lips.

But then:

“Because that’s what you’re saying, right” Steve raises a brow, demands in posture as much as in tone:

“You’re in love with me.”

And then on the flip side of being alive-or-dead: he has to deal with the consequences of spelling out the answer to…that.

Which he’s apparently broken Steve’s heart over handling…the only way he could figure out. And still fucking it up.

“That sounds less than what it feels like,” Eddie whispers; it’s the only thing he can latch on to.

Steve’s eyes narrow at him, contemplate him.

“And you think me, of all people,” Steve finally asks, slow, his tone wrenchingly deliberate; “that Iwouldn’t meet someone loving that big and that much,” “and he huffs, shakes his head in searing disbelief Eddie almost wishes he could flinch from, but it’s so warm, it’s his sun:

“That that wouldn’t feel like there actually was a heaven, and I’d died and somehow made it there?”

Eddie’s breath catches, then stops entirely. He can’t seem to properly suck in another one because…

“That finding that wouldn’t feel like I’d won the lottery, like I’d figured out what it meant when people talk about a blessing, and all that shit?”

Because what…what it almost sounds like Steve is saying can’t actually be—

“That finding it, with you,” and oh, oh Steve is a lot closer than he was last Eddie processed the world around him, his chest is grazing Eddie’s chest when he seems to have no trouble breathing, just is doing it really deep and reallt fast—

“That it’d be anything less than a gift,” Steve murmurs half against Eddie’s lips; “a dream come to life?”

And Steve’s eyes flick up, and it’s when they land on Eddie’s and see him that his lungs shiver and he chokes out the only word he thinks his every molecule knows by heart:

“Steve?”

And Steve doesn’t move, neither. Loser nor farther away.

Doesn’t look away; doesn’t blink.

Just asks:

“Do you love me?”

And something in Eddie unfreezes, some string holding him up, holding him back snaps free and he just grabs Steve’s hand and presses it to his chest, like he needs to be tethered now that the string in him’s been cut, and the touch, this touch: Steve is really all he’s been wanting to keep him.

To keep him at all.

And maybe this is the one shot he gets.

But Steve, Steve said…

He presses Steve’s hand to his chest a little harder, because he’s bathed in the sun again. Their hands are linked, and they’re not asleep. He’s peeled off all the pretense, he’s as bare and vulnerable as he can possibly get. His heart’s beating into Steve palm. Eddie will happily fucking drown in this, dissolve and be…

He’s already consumed.

How is it any different, save that maybe, just maybe, beyond all odds and against everything he’s feared—

“More than I can hold in here,” Eddie scarcely finds the air to breathe; “more than I can say.”

“Then share it,” Steve says, the assuredness, the rightness in his gravity that’s always been at his core radiating forth and warming Eddie in a way he’s never known to feel before.

“Let me know it, let that feeling not be alone anymore,” and the words hold more than their syllables, by so much; “let it out to see the sun,” and then Steve’s flipping their hands so eddies the one caught agains this chest, but he’s always pulling them close enough that Steve’s knuckles are still catching the drum of Eddie’s pulse. It feels…

Eddie didn’t know what to expect, to let the feeling be felt beyond his own chest.

It’s breathtaking in a new way. It’s…

“Let it meet its match here, in how I feel,” Steve doesn’t suggest, just speaks, instructs, leads with a match to what Eddie feels, has been drowning in, save where it stole his air it’s breathing into him; where it took his light it’s reinventing the sun as Steve murmurs close, so close to his lips:

“Let it see how it was killing me all this time without you,” and Eddie whimpers for the cost of what he’s done, what he felt so sure he had to do—

“Let the feeling inside here,” and he presses his touch back to Eddie’s chest just a little bit firmer; “know how much sharing it’s like stitching my broken heart back to rights.”

Eddie’s exhales shakes so fucking hard; he can’t be this lucky. It can’t…he can’t…

But his heart’s beating so hard, so fast, so free.

So fucking alive.

“You can’t say it, big enough?” Steve pushes, his breath so goddamn warm, his lashes so thick, Eddie wants to feel them on his skin like a blessing, a sacrament:

“You can’t say it? Then show me, instead.”

And Steve looks up at him before he grabs around the back of Eddie’s neck, pulls him close enough that speaking rubs their lips together, more combative than affectionate but still undeniably intimate as Steve growls:

“Fucking months, Eddie, Jesus,” and his grip is firm, but there’s no force, Eddie could pull back, Eddie could try to run, and fail, but how could he, how could he ever—

His hand’s crushed to Steve’s chest. The same wild thrum he feels in his veins is there.

Let it meet its match.

“Make up for it,” Steve’s breath trembles on Eddie’s lips, taunts him, begs him, asks so many questions.

Eddie flips their hands one more time, presses Steve’s hand to his heartbeat with nothing less than desperation until his ribs goddamn creak, and then he leans, makes the pressure bigger—

Meets the feeling in Steve with all the feeling in him with their lips on each other like they mean it this time, ready to dissolve in it. To grow themselves to protect around the soft parts. To keep their hands entwined for always.

To come alive inside this sun.

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @allmyfavoritethingsinoneblog @anthrobrat @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @friendlyneighborhoodgaycousin @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @madigoround @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here

divider credit here

[cupcakewebkinz]

Uhm... Vee angst... Yeah.

(I'm so creative with titles /silly)

✮ Vee wasn't the most well treated toon in Gardenview when she was still the host of her tv show... And not the best at keeping up her appearance during live shows. This is just one of the milder incidents that happened... ✮

☆ Prequel to the Caretaker Shanon au - which belongs to me - canon events that won't be brought up in the official story. You're free to skip if you'd like. ☆

✭ @soupiestzilla we're both making our children suffer, aren't we? ✭

⚠ WARNING: This includes non descriptive depictions of abuse and a slightly described panic attack - feel free to skip if you may be triggered. Take care of yourselves! ⚠

It all started with a slight trip. A tumble on stage, her just tripping over a cord that nobody taped down. She sat there, shaking, looking at the live audience - who were laughing. At her. Thinking it was just a bit for the show, thinking it was on purpose. Vee could hardly breathe, her face felt warm, her stomach ached terribly. She wanted to cry... But she would've been punished if she cried. She was humiliated - she was absolutely embarrassed - she was an absolute embarrassment and Delilah was going to be so mad. Her vision blurred as her breath hitched, a sob nearly escaped her mouth, her body trembling even more as she tried to get up - but it refused to work with her. Her leg ached terribly bad, it couldn't hold her weight, but she kept trying. She had to - if the live show was cancelled because she was stupid - she was so punished. Another hiccup came out - a soft cry of pain followed - she was an embarrassment. Why wasn't anyone helping her..? She looked at where her handler usually was, shaking even more as she struggled to get up once again, but she wasn't there. She wasn't there to make the pain better... She wasn't there to make the laughing stop... Why..?

Vee hung her head and gripped the pants she was forced to wear tightly, shaking even more.

The clothes were so itchy. The lights were too bright. The laughter was too loud. The air was too hot. She was too hot. She was exhausted. She was in pain. She was uncomfortable as hell. It was too much - all of it was too much, why was it too much? Why was she there? Why couldn't she leave? Why couldn't she stand up?

What was wrong with her?

Vee attempted to stand again, but accidentally let out a loud cry of pain on that one. She immediately froze. She was so embarrassed- but there was a saving grace from this madness, an unexpected but welcome save. She was picked up gently by someone and just carried away, she couldn't see who through her tears and blurry eyes though, she just clung to them and let out a pained sob. The one holding her stayed silent, cold, uncomforting. Vee couldn't care - she just sobbed and begged for her handler - her mom - the one that always fixes things. The one that always made things better, the one that always believed her when she said things were too much and let her have a break. That wasn't her though. It couldn't have been. Especially when she was carelessly dropped onto her couch, given no time to react and bouncing right off of it. She slammed onto the ground, face first, a crack being heard. Her screen... She sat up and quickly climbed onto the couch - her safe spot - and curled up into a little ball, sobbing uncontrollably as she held her screen. It hurt so bad... Everything - hurt so bad... She managed to mutter out "help me", but it fell on deaf ears. She was instead smacked across her back.

"I didn't make you just for you to be a fool on stage, Version One. I didn't put all my time and money into something that'll be so defective. You're lucky you're a favorite, I would've made a version 2 long ago if you weren't. You're so damn lucky I can't melt you down for scrap metal." The other said, and soon another smack happened, this time on her side. Vee curled up a little more, tugging on an antennae. That soon stopped though as her wrist was gripped into a death grip, nearly breaking under the pressure. She let go of her antennae. Her wrist wasn't let go of. Vee stared at it, scared, soon letting out another cry of pain when it was squeezed so tight the joint broke. She hurt so much everywhere... Why couldn't she stop it..?

"Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. Maybe I should let you become scrap. Get up. You have to go back soon, or I'll actually punish you. Pathetic." The other muttered, then turned and started walking out, obviously not helping Vee. Vee just laid there, stunned, breathing heavily, crying uncontrollably, shaking so bad she swore she would've been a motion blur if she was caught on camera. She couldn't move, she desperately willed her body to move, but it didn't listen. She wanted to cry out for her mom, but when she opened her mouth, all that came out was an exhausted squeak. She was so pathetic... She closed her eyes and lowered her antennae more, letting herself nod off as much as she could despite the searing pain. Maybe a nap will make it better...

That nap didn't happen.

The door was burst open suddenly after a few minutes, and the trio she looked to for help whenever her handler wasn't there ran in. Glisten held a medkit, a screen repair kit and other supplies, Shelly was armed with blankets and stuffies, Bright unarmed and probably the one they put in charge of moving her that day. The trio all gasped at the horrible state Vee was left in, Bright soon shaking her so she would wake up.

"VEE- STAY WITH US, GIRL, GET UP!" She yelled as Shelly quickly put everything down and started taking off the tux Vee was forced into, Glisten gently tending to her screen silently with the most gentle precision ever. Vee just shakily looked at them after waking up fully, spitting up a little ichor onto herself. Glisten, without even blinking, wiped it off with his thumb.

"Shelly I'm so glad you caught her show today, we would've never known this happened if you didn't." Glisten mumbled, getting a shy little laugh from the fossil as she gently draped Vee's favorite blanket over her.

"I love watching her shows, I wish I could be on one someday. I'm not great at facts that aren't dinosaur related though..." Shelly replied quietly as she grabbed Vee's injured wrist, getting a yelp in pain in reply, but soon was gently putting it in a brace to help it stay steady. Vee whimpered, but the trio immediately softly shushed her.

"We got you now, it's okay." Bright murmured as she pet her head between her antennae, getting a nod from Glisten as he gently finished up her screen repair, and a nervous sigh from Shelly as she put Vee's leg in a brace and gently propped it up on some pillows. Once the injured toon was taken care of, and armed with her beloved stegosaurus plush, the three sat around her, Shelly holding her injured hand as they just peacefully existed together. Vee had stopped crying, her body relaxing, her eyes slowly closing.

"I'm so exhausted..."

"It's okay to sleep now darling, we'll fight off anyone who tries to hurt you again." Glisten softly reassured, getting nods from Shelly and Brightney.

"Who do you want to read to you, hon? Shelly brought your favorite books, I have my glasses on so I can read if you'd like me to." Bright offered, getting a simple little yawn in reply. Vee slowly gripped Shelly's hand and looked at her exhaustedly, sniffling. Shelly gave her a quick kiss, not caring about anyone seeing it.

"I'm really here honey, I'm really right here. I promise." Shelly reassured, watching as Vee slowly closed her eyes fully. The trio soon were just watching over a napping robot, one covered up in soft blankets, soft love and lots of care. Sure Delilah had threatened her not even an hour ago, sure she still felt sick and exhausted and was in massive amounts of pain, but it felt safe now. It felt like it'll all go away with a nap, and so she let herself sleep. Just this once. The trio never left, all staying with her until she felt better - just like a true, loving family would.

Veronica came back from the handlers meeting an hour after the initial incident, slowly opening the door.

"Hey, Vee, sorry I wasn't-"

She cut herself off when she saw what was in the room. The trio protecting Vee were all asleep, sitting right in front of the still fast asleep Vee. Shelly was in the middle, hand still tight in Vee's, head resting on Bright's shoulder, open book on her lap. Bright was using Shelly's head as a pillow in return, hands neatly folded on her lap, a book placed at her side. The medkit they used resting on top of the closed book. Glisten was the only one covered in a blanket on the floor, his head was rested on Vee's good leg, a hand tucked under it as well. Vee was still snug, good arm around her plush, bad leg still propped up on the pillows, head half buried in her favorite pillow. They all looked incredibly peaceful, like nothing ever happened to hurt them. Veronica just walked over and covered up Shelly and Brightney with their own blankets, then turned on the nightlight she set up for Vee and turned off the lights. She watched the star projector as she sat in her own chair, watching over the four napping toons to make sure they stayed at peace.

It was the most she could do without Delilah firing her... Unfortunately.

[benevolenterrancy]

Can I ask what was your first impression of TGCF and if it turned out wrong or right?

My first impression of TGCF was "this goof continuously ascends to -- and gets kicked out of -- heaven, this is going to be clown town isn't it?"

And honestly I stand by that one, I think I was completely correct**

(**barring the fact that this goof will then go on to experience ever conceivable horror known to man but honestly I mostly expected it after MDZS)

[celestial-castiel]

i keep reading spn fanfic instead of actually watching supernatural. this is silly of me.

[noemitenshi]

Excerpt

Ri’s hand, the one he wasn’t holding in his own, moved hesitantly to his temple. Ghosting over the ghastly scar there, her gaze fixed to it intently. Troy felt bared all of a sudden, holding his breath.

“You survived that all on your own?” There was horror in her tone and he almost grimaced at it but – that wasn’t all he could hear in it. Underneath it, in the quiet whisper of that question lay something else, too. Wonder, almost, he thought. His answer was a hoarse whisper of his own, an almost inaudible “yeah.” He felt choked by the accompanying feelings, feelings from back then, feelings he’d thought long buried. He feared what it would do to him if they broke free, could barely contain them.

But then warm, slender fingers laid on the scar tissue and everything except that soft touch fell away from him

“...does it still hurt?” Her voice was even quieter now. And so soft it had his heart ache in a strange way.

“Sometimes.” He matched her volume or maybe he was still hoarse, his throat still closed from the echo of those feelings. “Not like… the first few days.”

She continued to softly touch the scar, moving over it so carefully until her fingertips were at the corner of his eye. He knew by feeling them.

“It took your eye, too.” The words sounded like pity but her tone did not. Nor did her expression, so full of feeling. It almost made him want to be able to give her a different reply than the quiet admission of “yeah.”

Her expression changed, looking pained and he reflexively rebuked her.

“Don’t look like that.” His voice was kinder than if he’d consciously decided on saying it.

“Like what?”

Like you’re hurting for me. He didn’t say that of course.

[walkingstackofbooks]

for your kissing ask game, if you're willing to do platonic kisses as well - platonic kira & julian, either 14 or 37!

and i hope i am remembering the right numbers lmao. uh it should be "casually" or "without a motive"

You caught me at just the right time to make me think about this - it's only a short little thing, but I hope it satisfies!

--

Julian was the first one to find it. "I've got it!" he hissed, causing Kira to shoot out of her seat and stalk over to him. As she bent over to examine his computer, Julian could feel her breath against his ear.

"Here," he said, pointing to the screen. "That's what you wanted, wasn't it?"

For a few seconds, she studied it, making no reply, but then her grip on his shoulder tightened, and she turned to him. "Julian, you're a genius!"

"Well I know that," he chuckled. The kiss she'd just pressed to his temple was swiftly replaced by a light cuff to the back of his head. "Hey!"

She laughed, eyes gleaming, already moving eagerly back towards the door. "Send the details to my PADD," she called as she crossed the threshold. "And thank you!"

[zirconpetals]

Langworth is such a funny ship because despite the way they look those are a couple of nerds whose top date idea would be debating each other for fun (and they'll have a great time too)

[rookeryyy]

my webfishing art feature is glitched the hake out but we go forth anyway

I LOVE THEM!!! beautiful shapeshiftercore life <3

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

(Just curious) Would you ever write smut? Not even like full on or anything, i feel like you’d be good at writing it in a poetic typa way

lolol thank you anon !!!! 🫶🫶 you’re very sweet … i’ve written smut in the past actually, just never posted it! and i have no plans to post smut on this blog since i do want to keep it smut-free :’) … i have maybe one or twoooo smutty wips but if i do get the urge to Share Them with the world it’d have to be on my ao3 …… and yeahhhh they’d have to be very prose-y !!!! since that’s all ….. i know how to be LMAO. i admire smut writers a lot bc striking a balance between good writing and sexy writing is really tough …. TvT i’d like to try my hand at it at some point though.