#Writing practice post

[arcadiabaytornado]

Concept: The idea of Max and Chloe becoming a ghost story after Arcadia Bay is destroyed

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"There was a storm that destroyed Arcadia Bay."

"The few that survived said it washed over them in a wave of death. There was no time to run. Or hide. And their screams and prayers were drowned out the roaring rush of wind. All there was, was the cold sting of rain, and two girl's standing on the cliff's edge."

"The account's of this are always contested. Many atmospheric scientists and research meteorologists agree that no one could survived Armageddon by staring in the face of it."

"Yet, no bodies were ever found near the cliffs. And the people who survived the storm swear that two distant figures watched the town from up high."

"Some say they were harbingers of death that wrought a wave of destruction with a gleeful grim. Some say they were angels meant to usher in the sun. Some say they were just innocent bystander's who were in the right place at the right time."

More Undercut

"But what people always say is that the figures were connected, holding hands even as they faced the world ending around them."

"Experts in lore and local legends agree that it is odd for the survivors testimony to stay so....consistent. While they acknowledge the wind and rain would obscure sight to the point a tree could easily warp into a figures, it is odd the amount of stories that stim from the ruins of a disaster no one has been able to explain."

"Maybe that's all it is, a story told by people who would rather accept a mystery than a tragedy. But one thing's for sure: We will never know what happened in Arcadia Bay on that fateful October day, or if there were two figures holding hands as a town was swallowed whole. This has been your host, John Doe on "Mysteries Of The Unexplained."

...........................................................................................................................

Max turns off the motel tv off with a sigh, knowing she shouldn't have watched that but also knowing that she couldn't look away. She looks to Chloe asleep beside her and is nothing but grateful that she didn't have to see the program. Even if that mean's she has to come to terms with being a ghost story alone.

There's no mystery to her as to what happened that day.

There was a storm that destroyed Arcadia Bay.

And she is the ghost who watched it.

[fromcainwithlove]

author’s notes today: hey guys so just a warning there isn’t 100% explicit verbal consent even though they’re both really into it so remember this is FICTION, also they don’t use a condom :((( but in real life safe sex is important!!! please be safe out there everyone

a/n back in the day: kept thinking about ____ stabbing knives through both of _____’s hands to pin him in place while they fucked so here you go lol =P

[bruciemilf]

I think Bruce's anti-murder philosophy would translate better if it wasn't portrayed by writers who obviously want him to kill someone lol

[starscream-is-my-wife]

This is part 1 of a continuation for my other post where LL Megatron gets trapped in the G1 universe, I was thinking about how someone would go insane in this cartoon world and thought "what if Megatron had someone else to accompany him" so, I gave Starscream an existential crisis

Edit: pt 2 here

[basket-of-radiants]

A comic about Szeth and cooking. Or that's what it's going to about. Part 1/4.

(In case it wasn't clear, Nale is 100% just messing with him. Honestly they both kinda are.)

[scribble-dee-vee]

Seeing a bunch of writing posts lately like “it’s okay if you only wrote a couple hundred words today :))”

As someone with a full time job, diverse hobbies, and a commitment to proper rest/self care, I would amend that. It’s okay if you don’t write anything at all on MOST DAYS OF YOUR LIFE. You’re still a writer if you’re passionate about creating stories and putting words on paper when time allows. Life is busy and full of possibility, and that’s beautiful, actually. Kill the hypercapitalist productivity demon in your head.

[calebverse]

SOUTHBOUND

synopsis: caleb doesn’t ask much of anything from you. but you were willing to indulge him anyway.

cw: explicit content mdni, oral sex (female receiving), clothed cunnilingus, pet names, use of gege/meimei, pseudo-incest, hints at them being forbidden, pwp, coming in panties, praising, they still banter in the midst of eating out, biting, marking || 2.8k words

notes: this work is inspired by this post from twitter! there was a user who said it was very caleb coded but they deactivated T__T so i'm linking the original post instead. the fic was supposed to be a panty sniffing fic (classic caleb things) but i kinda went off the mark... but oh well... also note that i took inspiration from the characterization from the cn dub, using the gege and meimei terminology. i went insane writing this by the way i think i need a whole business day to recover.

caleb doesn’t ask much of anything from you. 

in comparison to all the times you would ask him for various things – snacks, sweets, little favors, random requests – he barely does any of it towards you. not because you were unwilling to give it. in fact, you were ready to jump on any opportunity to do something – anything – for him. 

he’s the one who doesn’t give you a chance to. 

caleb is stubborn like that – he has to do things his way, has to prove something, has to bear it by himself. so even if he is juggling multiple things at once, even if he is obviously in dire need of help, he will probably have to be on the brink of death to even think of asking for it. 

you would pout, throw fits about this to him. he is one of the most important people in your life, if not the most. so naturally, you want to be there whenever he needs you to. but classic caleb would always shut you out for it gently with a ruffle of your hair or a pinch to your cheek. 

“i want to be 100% reliable to you,” he reasoned with a soft smile one time, wiping your tears with his thumb. “if i can’t help myself, how will i be able to help you?”

caleb doesn’t ask for much, but tonight was different. 

at his request, you sat at the edge of your bed while he was kneeling in front of you. he also asked you not to touch him in any way, and he seemed to be doing the same as he kept his hands to his sides. the moon from your window was the only source of light in your dark room, but it was enough for you to see his ragged breathing, his clenched fists, his glassy eyes. 

he sat still on the hardwood floor, afraid to speak as his mind ran for miles. his ears were red down to his chest. you could see the slight shivers of his form. he looked like he was hurting, and if it wasn’t for the tent emphasized by his sweatpants as his knees stuck to the floor, you would’ve thought he was in actual pain. 

“what can i do for you, gege?” he hasn’t spoken for what felt like an eternity. so you asked him softly for the third time that night, resisting the urge to cup his face into your hands. you held onto your bed sheets instead. 

“p-please…” caleb said, but you weren’t sure what he was asking for, or if he was talking to you or to himself. he looked up with wet eyes and you thought he was in tears. “you already do so much for me, meimei…  you already—i can’t possibly ask for more. for this.” he gritted his teeth. “i never should’ve come, i never should’ve knocked, i should’ve just passed by your door and –”

“but you are here now.” you told him. “please tell me what you need, caleb. i’ll give it to you.”

“i don’t know if you—”

“if i can give it? really? you wouldn’t have come to me if you thought i couldn’t.”

“right. right, pipsqueak. i know you can give it. all of it and more. i just—” he let out a shaky breath. “i don’t know if you want to. i don’t want to scare you.”

you leaned down and nudged his knee with your foot, urging him to look up to you. “you can never scare me, caleb.” 

his adam’s apple bobbed up and down, his gaze never straying from yours. there was a hint of doubt and uncertainty happening behind his eyes. you were about to speak again, wanting him to come out of whatever shell he was hiding within his brain, when he spoke in a breathy whisper.

“i just need—” he clenches his fists. “i-i need you to stay still for me. hands on your sides, at all times. could you do that for me, pipsqueak?”

you nodded. 

“and if anything makes you uncomfortable, you tell me, yeah?” 

you nodded again. 

“words, baby.” he whispered. “i need to hear you say it, i need your words.”

“yes.” you breathed. “yes, i’ll tell you.”

but you know your gege, your caleb. he loves you dearly, and you knew he would never do anything that will hurt you. you trust him completely to the point you would let him have his way if it meant his relief, his comfort, his happiness.

caleb searched your eyes for any hint of hesitation or regret only to be met with none. with a small frown, he seemed to be mumbling to himself, as if he was at war with himself, and you were only able to catch a few words. “okay. right. i’m so… i can’t believe… i just need this—one act of selfishness and i’ll get over it.”

with those last words, he leaned in closer, nuzzling his cheek to your knee. he kept his hands behind his back. with closed eyes, he planted a small kiss on your knee. 

your mouth parted in slight surprise, but you did as he first instructed – to remain perfectly still. he laid his face on your lap, his hair tickling you lightly. he seemed to just stay there for a while, the only sounds filling the air was his quiet and content breathing. and when you thought that was it, he started to place kisses all over your thighs.

every kiss left a burning mark on your skin, spreading all over until it reached the heat between your legs. he nuzzled his nose along the expanse of your skin, his damp lips gliding along. he looked up to you with his gemstone-like eyes, the ones you grew to know and love. the heat in his gaze sent shivers down your spine, your legs involuntarily widening. it was only a small and subtle movement, but caleb took advantage of it, moving his face in between your knees. 

his kisses moved inward, and you can feel him smile against your inner thighs. “so pretty, so so good…” he mumbled. “all you have to do is sit still, and you still affect me so much. do you know, pipsqueak? do you know how much you make me feel?”

you pulsed between your legs as he whispered to you. an involuntary whine escaped your lips when his face moved another inch inward. he hushed you with a nuzzle of his cheek. 

“how are you feelin’?” he asked. 

“t-ticklish.” you replied. “but i’m okay.”

he smiled. “and you’re still keeping your hands to yourself, remaining perfectly still. my pipsqueak is so good… you’re doing so well.”

you can feel every inhale and exhale he took, increasingly aware of how close he is to your heat. as if he could read your mind, the teasing fucker casted his eyes down and lightly blew against your clothed pussy. you squeaked, visibly shivering at the action. 

“sensitive,” he remarked with a small smirk. 

you couldn’t even come up with a snarky reply. your brain was occupied screaming and blaring caleb’s name. 

caleb. caleb. caleb. gege. caleb. your caleb. caleb, who sat right between your legs. caleb, who looked up to you as if you held the world in your hands. caleb, who raises the hem of your nightdress with his sharp nose, letting them bunch up on your hips. caleb, who kisses your clothed stomach. caleb, who trails down lower, only to stop by the small ribbon of the panties you wore. stay still for caleb. be good for gege. your caleb. caleb. caleb. caleb—

“i can smell you from here, baby.” caleb said, disrupting your messy train of thoughts. he plants one more kiss on your clothed stomach. “is that your arousal? your desire? god, it’s all i can think about right now. do you still want it? think you can still give me what i want? you kept asking me what i want, no? can i show you? will you let me show you?”

“you talk so much,” you whined, shaking in anticipation.

“now now, i’m the one who is in need, but you’re the one complaining?” he chuckled lowly. “always so impatient, pipsqueak.” 

caleb rose up from his knees. he leaned towards material of your sleepwear that met the underside of your breasts and made a trail of kisses down to your stomach, your abdomen –

“good thing for you, i hate making you wait.” 

– and finally, your clothed pussy. 

he lets out a moan, as if the very contact was enough to pleasure his whole being. but he doesn’t stop at one kiss. oh no, not at all. if you had to describe greed as a person, it was the way caleb’s face never left your heat. 

caleb peppered it with small teasing pecks all over. he moved lower, closer to your hole, and you let out a moan you were holding. one kiss, two kisses, and another two more until he finally raised his head to give you what almost looked like a drunken smile. his lips were shiny and moist. your eyes widened. there’s no way—

“so wet.” he said, and the husk of his voice went straight to your core. he licked his lips, making sure you were watching the way his tongue moved. he hummed at the taste. “so good, baby.”

before you could even feel embarrassed, caleb dived back in between your legs. gone were the sweet small kisses he had spread from your stomach to your knees. he gave open mouth kisses against your clothed core obscenely, making him look like he was a man dying of thirst and the only way to save him was to drink from you. if you were damp then just as caleb commented, you sure as hell were wet now, a combination of your slick, sweat, and his saliva. your poor panties were ruined, basically sticking like second skin from caleb’s actions. 

you were unable to hold your noises back as you were trying to keep your hands to your sides and sit upright. suddenly everything was overwhelming – you were too dressed, he was too dressed, he was too far for your liking, you needed his lips everywhere else. there was nothing you wanted more at that moment but to discard your clothes along with your underwear and put your hands into caleb’s hair, to pull his face towards you even more, rutting against his mouth. but you remained still except for the involuntary squirms of your hips, desperate for more friction. 

“ah– fuck, caleb!” you gasped as you felt his tongue lick a long stripe over your clothed slit. you closed your legs involuntarily, trapping his face in between your thighs. he nipped at your skin lightly, but you yelped in response. 

the drunken look in his eyes was replaced with a warning gaze. “i said stay still.”

you shivered, widening your legs again. “m’sorry, gege.”

his eyes softened once more and kissed the same skin he bit, an unspoken acceptance of your apology. you watched him dart his tongue out over your clothed center, licking and drawing small indiscernible patterns that drove heat to build up under your belly. it felt heavenly – caleb’s lips and tongue gliding all over your pussy as it weeps for him – but the barrier that was your panties was becoming annoying, keeping you from feeling all of him.

“caleb,” you said, eyes heavy and chest heaving for air. 

he hummed in response, the vibrations going straight to your cunt.

“m'wanna feel you.” your words were heavy and slurred, struggling to come out of your mouth.

he shook his head between your legs, his nose nudging your clit, and you whined. 

“why–”

“can’t touch you.”

you had the energy to roll your eyes. “s’very funny of you to say, considering you’re basically – oh, oh– fucking me with your tongue.” 

“this isn’t fucking you with my tongue yet.” he said, eyes full of mirth as he tilted his head to the side. he leaned against your thigh. “but it seems like that’s what you want, huh? did you mean this?”

his tongue darted out, relentlessly lapping over your bundle of nerves, causing you to squirm. his licks went from short and quick to long and slow until he reached your slit. his tongue probed at your entrance along with the thin and soaked layer of your ruined panties, moving inside and out.

“caleb!” you moaned, nails digging into your palm. “fuck– please, i need more.”

“greedy.” he mumbled. 

“says you.”

“oh baby, this is nothing. you haven’t seen greedy.”

caleb wished nothing more but to have you all to himself – he could imagine you with your back arched as he fucked you until your walls were molded to the shape of him. he wouldn’t make a grand effort to keep his hands behind him and instead let his fingers roam all over you, touch your skin, smoothen the tangles in your hair, embrace you through it if he could.

but he knew that this was already overstepping the line. he wasn’t supposed to do this, you weren’t supposed to agree. caleb made a pitiful excuse that, if there was a barrier, if you two were still clothed, if the two of you didn’t touch each other with your hands, if you remained still, it was ‘modest’ enough. it wasn’t past the breaking point enough. that the two of you can still have a way to back out, or to pretend it never happened, that it never counted. 

(oh, but it does count. to caleb, especially. the taste of you will haunt his dreams. he is beyond ruined, he fears. he might never be able to taste anything as sweet as you. might never stop craving you.)

your only response was a shameless moan. all sense of modesty and embarrassment was thrown out of the window as your brain was cloudy with pleasure.

“please…” you moaned. you raised one leg up on the edge of the bed, giving caleb more access to fuck his mouth into you. he groaned, and you could’ve sworn you saw his cock twitch through his sweatpants. you bit your lip; if he doesn’t want to remove the barrier, then you might as well give him room so you can feel him as much as you can. 

caleb gathered enough spit into his mouth and let it drool all over your heat. you threw your head back as he swirled around your wet slit. lips and teeth worked around your swollen bud, causing you to whine and clench onto nothing. 

“yes, right there, oh my god,” you panted, completely disregarding the fact he instructed you to stay still and rocked your hips into his face, matching the rhythm he settled with. “please please please–” 

he doubled his efforts, flicking and sucking your clit with the occasional probing of his wet muscle into you. heat engulfs you as you chase your high. and when you came, it was in white and scorching hot pleasure that you thought you were going to burn right there on the edge of your bed. caleb helped you ride it through, kissing your pussy as it spasmed against his lips, your release coming in gushes. he drank in as much as he could through the cloth of your panties, moaning at the taste. 

caleb looked up as you came down from your high, committing everything into memory. the sound of sighs, the feel of your body twitching above him, a sheer amount of sweat dripping from your neck and disappearing into the valley of your breasts.

it was a view he would dream of for days. maybe even longer. 

“my pipsqueak,” he muttered, soft pecks all over your thighs and lap, just as how it all started. there was nothing but adoration in his eyes. mouth shiny, lips wet, your release all over his chin and cheeks. “you were so beautiful… you gave me everything i wanted and more– thank you, thank you baby.”

you vaguely remember what happened after. only hazy visions of him helping you to bed and getting you a fresh set of sleepwear, of kissing your forehead and thanking you once more before leaving your bedroom. you were almost sure you dreamed it when you woke up the next morning if it wasn't for the cold and ruined panties you still wore. along with the mark of his teeth imprinted onto your inner thigh. it was proof enough; it was real, he was there.

caleb doesn’t ask much of anything from you. 

but if this is where it gets you when he does, you were willing to give him everything and more.

[bananafire11]

Redraw of the new Jax render cuz im normal

And some stupid doodles ft. Wretched! Jax

[katnissmellarkkk]

suzanne collins : “so in the epilogue of mockingjay, katniss only refers to her children as the girl and the boy-”

people who read with one eye shut : “BECAUSE SHE DOESN’T LOVE HER KIDS AND WAS FORCED INTO HAVING THEM BY THE EVIL PEETA MELLARK?”

suzanne collins probably : “because i couldn’t decide on two names i liked.”

[hitlikehammers]

POV: when you overhear your boyfriend’s bandmates who ⛔️do not like you⛔️ talking to him—about YOU

“Be real though, Ed. Harrington? You can’t actually be serious, here.” Steve doesn’t like to eavesdrop, like, on principle. Which is to say he totally does it. He just doesn’t wholly approve of it, or think it’s a very good habit to have, while still doing it. “You got me,” Eddie sighs, longer and deeper than can be taken wholly seriously. “I’m running my longest successful con to date.”

rating: t ♥️ tags: post-s4, established relationship, corroded coffin, as in: the gang’s all here and being VERY JUDGEMENTAL of eddie’s taste in men, and maybe steve had to pick eddie up from practice today so he overhears it WHOLLY WITHOUT INTENDING TO OKAY?, no one ever REALLY want to hear what the people they love really think of them when said people don’t know who all’s actually listening, true love, declarations of feelings, it’s actually really fucking hard to stand up to your friends, happy ending♥️

for @steddielovemonth day ten: "We are all a little weird and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall in mutual weirdness and call it love." —Dr. Seuss

also! Unnamed Freak is Doug for the purpose of this fic because the book can fuck itself I say so 🖤

“Be real though, Ed,” the voice that filters through, and holds Steve’s hand from pushing the car door shut loud enough to notice, is fairly reasonable, like trying to talk down a suggestion absurd enough to send someone to the ER—which means, of the subjects at hand? It’s gotta be Jeff.

“You can’t actually be serious, here.”

Steve doesn’t like to eavesdrop, like, on principle.

Which is to say he totally does it.

He just doesn’t wholly approve of it, or think it’s a very good habit to have, while still doing it.

“You got me,” Eddie deadpans, but it’s like, venom-laced. It stings just to hear and Steve’s struck with how much his life’s changed since Spring Break, and more still since…well.

Since Eddie.

Because Steve is well aware the man can cut glass with how sharp his tongue can get, they did go to high school together whether they ran in the same circles or not.

It’s just strikes Steve in the moment that not once since Vecna, has Eddie turns that tongue on him.

Now, other uses of his tongue—

“I’m running my longest successful con to date. Yep, totally pulled it over on all you bitches,” and where it could be playful, every single word is sharpened to stab, to pierce, to drag the wound out so it bleeds, like a shiv to remind someone where they fucked up, in perpetuity.

“Please applaud.”

And oh, even Steve flinches at that tone, and he’s not even the target. Hell, he’s still in the driveway—he doesn’t make a rule of crashing band practice, no matter whose parents’ garage they’re using; Eddie’s van is just regularly in the shop for one thing or another, so he’s gotta come get his man. But he doesn’t, like, push his way in. Sometimes doesn’t even get out of the driver’s seat. He knows Eddie would more than welcome him; has the handful of times he’s ventured to step in to apologize for interrupting but remind him they have to pick up the shitheads. But one: Eddie is alone in his welcome, and like, the polar opposite of the other three guys, who range from staring daggers at Steve to sneering so scrunched up to the nose that it’d give Carol Perkins at her snittiest a run for her money.

And Steve wouldn’t have made it this far if he didn’t know how to recognise where he’s not wanted, and learn how to make the calculated decision of whether to walk or push his way in. And much as he loves Eddie? Steve actually wants his friends to eventually come around from probably, like, muttering ancestral curses under their breaths at him or something.

Plus, from what Steve understands? Jam sessions are personal. Sacred. Eddie had blushes and stammered the first time he let Steve listen in on works in progress; and Steve had rewarded him for the gift of it liberally and with genuine gusto. It’s earned him repeat performances on the regular, but Steve gets it’s a private thing in general. And these guys don’t know him, don’t presently care to—don’t trust him.

He figures it’s like…masturbating in front of someone. The art thing, the depth of making music and stuff. Showing your soul a little bit, losing control for the betterment of the final product.

Now, he and Eddie definitely have masturbated together, it’s actually fantastic foreplay, or even just a deliciously sloppy go on its own. But that’s neither here nor there. And also totally fucking different.

Steve really doesn’t want Eddie masturbating in front of anyone other than him, ever again. Steve’s sure as shit not looking to on his end; definitely not with the other members of Corroded fucking Coffin.

The metaphor might have gotten away from him. But you get the picture.

“No, man,” and that’s, that’s Gareth’s voice, Steve’s almost sure. Sharper. Concerned but also caustic on the undertow. “It’s just,” he snorts, the disbelieving sort: “this can’t be real.”

Okay, yeah. Tone plus actual words add up.

“Yeah, just,” Doug laughs a little nervous, like of all of them, Eddie’s verbal attack had the most weight in tempering his response of the three of them; “blink twice if you’re being held against your will.”

They all chuckle, but it’s toned down the whole way around—even Steve can clock that. These guys are boisterous when left to their devices, Steve’s taken note of that. Mostly watching from the sidelines—almost exclusively when they don’t know he’s there to watch.

Again: does not condone eavesdropping.

Does not try at all to refrain from doing it.

“I mean, you don’t expect us to believe you’re actually fucking him,” and oh, yeah, okay: Steve was pretty sure he was the topic conversation here, and despite some of the setbacks of recent years, he’s not insecure when it comes to relationships especially.

He’s definitely the only one fucking Eddie. And Eddie’s the only one fucking him.

And while he doesn’t really hold it against these guys for being wary of him—he wasn’t really a perpetrator of their high school woes, but he definitely didn’t do anything to make them less…woeful—so he’s mostly bummed about it for Eddie’s sake, and on principle, but like, seriously.

Doubting Steve successfully scoring Eddie Munson? Like, Eddie’s a catch, Steve of ll people is well aware, but. Steve’s also been long past fishing the shallow end of the pond, y’know?

Give him some credit.

“Right,” Steve narrows back in on what’s happening in the garage that he’s definitely feeling less guilty bout, seeing as he’s definitely a subject of the debate unfolding, but Eddie sounds…angry. Pissed off in that way he gets when he’s fed the fuck up.

“I’m out,” Steve hears scraping of equipment, the guitar case flipped open; “can’t actually make it next week,” he adds like a footnote.

It’s clear within a second he’s the only one who takes it with that same…energy.

“But we have to practice before the open mic—” Jeff, ever the voice of reason, sounds baffled; on his way to ticked off but not quite there yet.

Eddie, however—as is his wont in this type of mood—could not give two shits where the people around him land on the anger-o-meter; he’s exceeded them, even if only in his own head, and they are all therefore irrelevant to his very responsible decision to put distance between himself and doing something stupid he can’t take back.

It’s not the nicest way to deal but, honestly? Steve’s mostly just proud of Eddie for sticking with a coping mechanism that, while not without consequences, generally works better than most.

“I’ll see you guys in two, then. Probably.” And the case clicks shut, definitive, and Steve’s proud of that too; that Eddie’s not digging a hole when the guys re trying to bait him, intentionally or not, over Steve.

Steve doesn’t need Eddie to complicate his band, his friendships, over what the two of them have. One, it’s not their fucking business. And two?

Steve doesn’t thing he’s being self-important in saying he and Eddie…are bigger, and more, than even the very beat high school band.

Not that Steve would ever ask Eddie to choose or some bullshit like that. And he really does believe Eddie’s going places, if that’s what he decides he wants. But…there’s that.

Then there is them.

Different, like, stratospheres.

“What the fuck came up that you can’t make it next week? When we’re staring down our first actual shot at Battle of the Bands this year,” and yeah, of course, if anyone’s gonna try to drag the whole thing out, it’s Gareth. Kid’s got a fucking temper.

“Something more important.”

Which yeah, that’s what was going through Steve’s mind, basically, but—

“The hell could be more—“

“I have plans,” Eddie hisses, viper-quick and fucking deadly, shuts them all right up for it, but then he spins a 180–preens so big Steve swears he can hear his shoulders go back and his chest puff out:

“It’s my anniversary.”

So…yeah. Just because it was where Steve’s head had just been at doesn’t mean his whole chest goes all gooey to hear it said out loud.

And in front of Eddie’s band, who…they aren’t hiding from, but they have discussed keeping kinda mum around. For the same kinds of reasons Steve’s been privy to just in the past couple minutes.

But then Eddie’s voice follows the feeling in Steve’s chest like they’re tethered there, and honestly, more times than not?

Steve thinks they just might actually be, and he’s not proven wrong with the way Eddie halfway coos:

“Our anniversary.”

“Your what?”

Jeff, again, is that middle ground: actually confused, laced with being angry that Eddie’s ducking out.

“Six months,” Eddie answers, soft-like, a little dreamy but in this way that’s rooted somehow still, and in being struck all over again by a level of shock Steve understands, sometimes feels in reverse, but still doesn’t understand being felt so deep as it sounds, now, when it’s applied to…him.

It’s wild y’know?

“I’m like,” Steve hears Eddie’s curls brush against something as he shakes his head—Steve’s money’s on him crouched by his case, or having it already slung over his shoulder:

“Never thought I’d get something to celebrate like that in the first place, but get to keep it, that long without fucking it up?”

Steve, again, wants to give up the pretense and walk the fuck in there and kiss the shit out of his boyfriend because one, same, but two?

Dumbass.

Steve goddamn adores him.

“You mean, with Harrington?” Gareth’s spitting and Steve just shakes his head, a little sad—he doesn’t know what’s crawled up that kid’s ass about him, man; he’s not so much younger that Steve never saw him or didn’t know of him but godDamn: the circles he ran in at the time weren’t the ones doing shit yet when they were in the same elementary school, Steve was barely popular in middle school, and come high school the worst anyone he knew did to the frosh was bang them into a locker—not great, but.

Not worth this shit. And the worst part is if he doesn’t know what’s crawled he did to really piss Gareth off this bad? He can’t even try to Harrington-charm his way back into the guy’s tolerable category. Like, even his best fucking not-pot brownie recipe didn’t sway the fucker.

“Yes,” Eddie is answering, the answer emphatic, like he’s brimming with feeling over it, but then clipped too, like demonstrating that he was brimming and is now being forced to clip it all backis very much the intent: “of course I mean with Steve, who the fuck else?”

It’s not lost on Steve how Eddie says his name. Ever. All the name.

But right now, how he’s making a point to say it in that warm, kinda…beloved way, when anyone else uses his last name in a way that’s anything-but.

“You cannot be—” Gareth scoffs, Steve can imagine him throwing up his hands, that sort of deal, but then Eddie comes in, and it’s a tone Steve’s only ever hear when he’s about to run a campaign into the ground where the characters may never recover, and if somehow manage it, they’ll wish they hadn’t:

“Oh, I am deadly serious.”

Because it’s not Steve’s character, but in defense of Steve’s relationship, that tone trickles something molten through his veins and prickles up his spine and…he’s gone have to stick that one in his back pocket to explore at a later date, for sure.

“Six months?”

Jeff—and Steve kinda likes Jeff, and not for the reason his bandmates would like, that he kicks around Hawkins after graduation, too, but more because Steve knows why; that’s to make more money for a college outside Indiana, and Steve thinks that’s fucking cool—but it’s here where Jeff dips fully away from being angry to being stupefied. Steve lets himself smirk at nothing because fuck yes: him and Eddie.

Six whole goddamn months.

“I was actually gonna ask you guys to come over soon, introduce him properly and stuff,” Eddie says, the disappointment in his voice again; Steve’s niggling desire to go and hug him from behind, maybe kiss under his ear a little, back in full force.

“He picks you up from practice, we see him,” Doug pipes back up, likewise confused, but Steve just takes the useful confirmation that no one did catch on that he pulled up ages ago, now.

“We know who Steve Harrington is—” Gareth snaps, protests in the way that betrays his eye-rolling, his thin-wearing patience.

“No!”

And that comes out of Eddie fierce enough to echo down at least half the block they’re on—seems like Eddie’s patience was worn out a while ago.

“You don’t!”

And everyone is silent in that way Steve knows all too well: when shit’a gone down but now you’re waiting in the edge for the worse thing to hit.

Then it does:

“And it’s a good thing I didn’t bring it up because you dipshits aren’t ready,” Eddie snaps, says dipshitso different from how he does with the Party, theirParty, their kids; he says it here with something real fucking close to disgust.

“Asking hostage questions, fuck off,” he huffs, and Steve hears Eddie’s footsteps, can’t tell if he’s gonna leave it at that, come find Steve and know he’s been standing there but that’ll be fine, it’s not like Steve wasn’t going to let him know as soon as they left—but then:

“Look,” and Eddie sounds the way Steve sounds when he’s pinching the bridge of his nose to fight a growing migraine, the sting of tears for all sorts of pain behind his eyes, and that hurts to hear from his boyfriend, like, a lot.

It fucking hurts.

“I am not just fucking him,” Eddie growls through the bridge-pinching pain; “I mean, fuck yes, I am, but,” and Steve hears the way he swallows all the way down the drive:

“I’m in this for the long haul,” Eddie tells his bandmates like throwing down a gauntlet; “and if you can’t respect me enough, and my choices, that stings,” Steve knows Eddie shrugs then: “but I’ll live.”

Steve’s about a millisecond from saying fuck it, opening the door just to slam it to announce his approach, and then going to physically grab his boyfriend, drag him to the car, and park in the abandoned lot down from the Wheelers’ neighborhood to kiss him senseless because that’s the closest place he can think of and he doesn’t think he’ll make it to either of their homes before he can’t fucking handle himself.

“But if you are gonna disrespect the man I love, no. Absolutely not.”

Eddies voice is a deadly sort of whisper. Steve would cower at it, the way it washes through a person, if he hadn’t just…said.

That.

“You love him?”

And for what Steve thinks is the first time since he climbed out of the car and committed to listening where he wasn’t invited, Gareth sounds…muted. Genuinely asking a question.

Steve, for his own part, kinda expected that he’d be more breathless, heart racing and shit, to hear the answer but in reality?

“Of course I love him.”

Steve already knew that in his cells, in his bones.

In his steady, not all-that-fast but particularly-especially-happily beating heart.

“Have you guys, like, said it and stuff?”

And of course Steve already knows that answer, both the literal one and the one that matters more, but he does perk up a bit, curious to hear what—if anything of note—Eddie chooses to give away here.

“He has,” Eddie says, and now…now maybe Steve should stop listening because this part, the way Eddie says that as flat fact—Steve doesn’t knowthis part beyond speculation. But…

“I wanted to, like,” and eddies voice can’t hide the way he’s gotta have that soft smile, the one he used to hide behind his hair before Steve started pulling it back to see in full, so now he only brings his hair out just to tease, to okay.

“I don’t think I’ve wanted much in my whole life, but he’s,” and Steve thinks he hears how Eddie chews his bottom lip for a second, in the subtlest click of how it slips free before Eddie takes a deep breath and—

“He doesn’t know what he’s worth,” Eddie starts, a little mournful almost, even, and Steve is unexpectedly glued to the spot in his fucking Nikes.

“He doesn’t understand that I’d sell the sun and the moon just to keep him,” Eddie’s saying, and with passion. With whole-ass honesty. And here, maybe, is where Steve gets to have some of the heart:fluttery feeling after all:

“He comes out the gate with the whole you don’t have to say it back and I just,” Eddie sighs, sniffs a little before heaving another breath deep enough to stretch his shirt, which Steve’s not imagining or anything, at all;

“I couldn’t say it, not right then, and risk him everthinking it was something I’d done to like, match. Like that I didn’t mean it with everything I’ve got, when I mean it with everything I’ve got and then also everything else. Like, anywhere. Ever.”

Steve realized he’d stopped breathing at some point when the little dots start floating in front of his eyes and he sucks in a shaking breath because: he’s known Eddie loves him. Unshakeably.

But, but all this—

“I couldn’t say it and have him ever wondered if I wouldn’t rip my heart out of my chest just to keep his safe.”

And of-fucking-course Steve’s pulse is running fucking riot about how much he’s in love right now, make no goddamn mistake. Jesus, he—

“Fuck.”

And Steve has never heard Gareth Emerson pushed just this side of speechless but: that’s the best way Steve can describe the kind of breathless wonder he says it with, like watching a rare bird take flight.

“You mean it.”

And Steve can pick out Eddie’s huffs and categorize them, on demand at this point: he doesn’t need to see the eye-roll to know Eddie’s deemed the expression of pure shock to be so beneath him in this specific context that he’s deemed it unworthy of any more attention.

His heart’s not jumping that loud to have missed it. So.

Steve just kinda grins toward the blacktop under his shoes.

“Why didn’t you,” Doug starts, still—usually, really, in Steve’s limited experience at least—the peacekeeper, the one who’s most invested at the human level when he’s not getting swept up in whatever the rest of the gang has deemed the cool thing to laugh at or make fun of at any given moment.

The huff Eddie gives this time is his incredulous one, which allows for just the slightest bit more consideration:

“The fuck do you think?”

The slightest bit, being the operative point.

“I’d hoped you’d take it better but,” Eddie adds, and there’s less drama in it than Steve might have expected. He’s being serious with them, and he sounds…disappointed.

Steve kinda want to make some kind of noise, give away his position, and just…hug Eddie tight from behind, if nothing else. Be there. Solid against him, wrapped up around him. Never wavering. Always at his back as much as at his side.

But Eddie’s not done:

“I’m not even asking you to like him, just be decent,” and it sounds like it hurts him to say as much, and Steve knows why; he genuinely despises when anyone thinks Lea with a the very beat thing about Steve. Steve believes this to be n unreasonable standard, and has expressed as much to Eddie who nods and smiles and kisses Steve’s forehead and does absolutely nothing to change his stance, but deep down?

Steve fucking feels so…loved for it.

“And like I said,” Steve can hear the judgement in Eddie’s tone clear as day; “you’re not ready, and I’m not putting him in that kind of situation.”

Steve sucks on the inside of his cheek, lest his grin at the way Eddie is not just defending him, but…protecting him, not his honor but his heart…

No ones ever even tried that before. Steve may not need it, or maybe he just learned he couldn’t survive needing it.

Getting it now…now it’s just…

Wow.

“And I’m in this for keeps, like, this is a forever type thing, so long as he wants it,” Eddie saying, explaining the color of a sky to a small child like what these words are that fundamental, that unalterably true. “So—”

“We’ve known each other forever, man,” Gareth eventually mutters, sounds indignant, but mostly gutted.

Steve knows before it happens that it’s not gonna make a difference.

“And we can still know each other. Just not everything, anymore,” and Eddie does sound a little sad but he’s…he’s a monolith, unshakable. “I don’t trust you with the parts that revolve around him, yet,” and Steve feels more than hears the ways his friends deflate, maybe shrink for being deemed so…insufficient. In the eyes of their ostensible leader, no less.

“Eddie, we didn’t,” Jeff starts, slow, and he doesn’t sound remorseful but—Eddie has all those coping mechanisms for a reason, right?

Because he’s quick to feeling, good and bad, and sometimes neither is fit to the moment.

Steve can’t help but be kinda glad Eddie doesn’t bother with those mechanisms just now, though, if it means he gets to hear this part:

“I know you didn’t, that’s the fucking problem,” Eddie groans, Steve can see the way he lens, bends at the knees and throws his body around a little in sheer, undiluted exasperation. “

“Because I could tell you he’s changed since school, and that’d be true, but that’s not even it,” and there’s more of the frustrated stomping round, Steve can hear it, but he’s…he’s ready distracted by that thing in his chest that has to has to be tied up in Eddie’s, too, that thing tugging on him to pay the fuck attention.

And who is he to ignore it?

“he was never who we thought he was in school in the first place. He is,” Eddie licks his lips, just to snack them loud:

“He is kind and funny, and goofy, and such a fuckin’ nerd, and he’s smart in these incredible ways where he’s sees what everyone else misses, and he’s protective as fuck and he’s got a heart of gold,” and Eddie’s voice only gets more heartfelt in its own right that longer he goes and Steve just, he’s, it’s—

“And I would tear my skin off just so it doesn’t get so much as a scuff on it,” Eddie ends with the most scathing delivery imaginable: he fucking meansthis shit. And Steve is going o live and die next to this man, scuffed heart still kept safe to the fucking end, he will swear that shit to anyone who needs to hear it.

He is going to have a whole fucking life with Eddie Munson, and love him for every single breath of it.

“And I don’t trust you guys yet not to tempt me to tear off my skin,” Eddie says finally after enough silence to catch his breath, and temper his tone just enough to sound tired; a little dejected. “I don’t trust you with him, and until that changes, we’re still friends,” Eddie sniffs, breathes out long; “you just won’t get to know about that part of me.”

He says it so simple, like he’s not half-cutting off some of the longest, closest friendships he’s ever had, and for Steve.

Steve doesn’t know if it makes him a person, or a really selfish one or whatever, if he doesn’t feel any urge to talk Eddie down, to make him walk it back just a little.

He doesn’t think he cares, though, either way.

“Seems like a really big part of you,” Doug says, deflated entirely.

“It is,” Eddie answers, unapologetic in a way that swells and sparkles in Steve’s ribs. “He is.”

“You’d walk from the band?” Of course Gareth asks, but it’s the first time he sounds small in his words. Like he maybe knows the answer, and isn’t so okay with how he got around to it even before Eddie wishes all doubt:

“In half a fuckin’ heartbeat.” Boom. Done. No hesitation whatsoever.

Less than half-a-fuckin’-heartbeat.

“That’s not what I’m saying I’m doing right now, but,” Eddie laughs a little, and that probably cuts deeper than anything for the boys, Steve suspects, especially when Eddie makes it unquestionable:

“It’s not even a question.”

And…maybe that drives a knife deeper for the band, but for Steve?

Steve kinda wants to…giggle, or some shit. He hadn’t realized just how much he wanted someone who answered a question like that, exactly like that, who talked about Steve exactly like that, without anything to gain, just because they…believed it.

“Jesus,” Gareth mutters, sounds kinda blindsided, kinda thrown and then some.

“If we,” Jeff clears his throat after a long period of quiet; “if we do better, could we meet him someday?” And the way he says it, earnest and shit:, like he wants to at least think about, at least maybe try:

“Like, really meet him?”

Like Eddie means enough that he’ll try, and that sings sweet in Steve’s veins because goddamn straight, his Eddie deserves that from the people hecares about. No matter who or what Steve is, Eddiedeserves that much, and so much more.

But he sounds like even just this is something amazing, Steve can hear the smile in his voice:

“Yeah, man,” he answers Jeff, claps him audibly on the shoulder; “I look forward to it.”

And shit, y’know what?

So does Steve.

“See you in two weeks,” and Eddies footsteps follow, guitar slung over his back for the way his weight falls with each one, but then:

“Eddie!”

That’s Doug; the footsteps stop close to the edge of the garage door as another set rushes to catch up, where he’ll see Steve if he walks much farther, where Steve’s got his hand on the door handle of the car, slowly inching it open to push shut and look wholly-unsuspicious now that Eddie might be followed out to his ride:

“Get him flowers. For your anniversary,” Doug says, tone low like a secret; “I know, like, it might seem like guys wouldn’t want flowers, but,” and Steve actually has to strain to hear the next part:

“My mom gets my dad flowers on his birthday every year, and he lights up like the Fourth of July.”

Steve remembers the first time he ever got flowers. His favorites, even if he thinks he only knew it subconsciously because they were handed to him with the stammering explanation of I don’t even know if you like flowers, or like these ones, but you look at them when we’re out, like, just walking or something and your eyes linger, and these ones just remind me of you and—

Apparently, Steve loves hyacinths. And sunflowers make Eddie think of him.

Because of course Steve’s first gift of flowers came from Eddie.

“Thanks man,” Eddie sounds the lightest, most genuine Steve’s heard him since he pulled up and got out of the car; “they’re already ordered.”

And Doug chuckles, and Steve?

Steve bites down his smile to less exploding-star levels—if he’d just pulled up he doesn’t have a reason, save that Eddie is enough of a reason in Steve’s eyes, his mind, the way his chest expands just thinking on him—as he pulls the car door closed again, loud enough to be noticed.

For Eddie to walk out of the garage fast as anything and meet Steve with a smile of his own that justifies the fuck out of where Steve’s had started, anyway.

All star-bright and everything.

♥️🎸♥️

✨also on ao3✨

btw this is either titled ‘halcyon shoegazing’ or ‘heart in your shoes’ so if you have an opinion you should maybe tell me or something, my brain’s tired and is resisting decisions rn

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

divider credit here and here and here

[elumish]

One way to build your writing skills--a way that I would argue is necessary if you ever want to write original fiction for publication--is to write from the point of view of, and with the focus on, a wide range of different characters.

it's really easy to fall into a rut when writing the same character or characters all the time, or even the same type of character all the time, where characterization tends to become muscle memory as much as anything else. You know what that character will do, so you know what characters of that type will do, so you know what characters will do, so that's what your characters do.

And when you don't have to think about it, you don't build--and can start to atrophy--those muscles required to do detailed, specific, engaging character building. What does it mean for this character, in this time, to do or experience this thing. What are the myriad of things that have built your character up to being who they are, and how do those things (individually and in aggregate) impact the choices that they make, the actions that they take, the reactions that they have, and the people that they engage with.

What can end up happening--and I see this all the time in published fiction--is that authors end up only being able to write 2-3 character types of each gender, and it all feels a bit samey.

Without opening a book by so many authors I have read, I can predict with a fair amount of accuracy what most of their characters will act like, because it's kind of the same across the board. Even when they start distinct, they end up drifting towards the same personality/character types like carcinization.

Writing from the point of view of/focusing on a range of characters (especially if they are different genders, of different backgrounds, with different wants and fears and habits and interests and personalities) forces you to actually be specific in your writing, if you want it to be any good.

Your 15-year-old B-student who really wants to spend their time playing rugby shouldn't sound like your 45-year-old businessman with a penchant for collecting Star Trek action figures who is trying to plan the perfect anniversary for his wife and neither of them should sound like the 23-year-old who spends their time going out at nightclubs and showing up a little bit hungover at work and worrying about finding a job that will let them move out of the apartment they're sharing with three other people.

Practice, and then practice some part, and then keep practicing. Write different characters, ask yourself if you're writing a character a certain way because you think they would be that way or because it's just habit, and be specific.

[northstarscowboyhat]

Corn picking day.

[dilf-luvr-4evr]

Reader who always has Arthur’s picture in her locket necklace.

Clutching to it when Arthur disappeared.

You tell yourself this isn’t something he would do. That he still has enough of a man in him to not do a thing so cruel.

And if maybe he had died, then you will search for him through every crumble of soil and to the ends of the earth, locket by your chest.

So search you did, far and wide. Checked every post office. Tracked down traces of him.

It’s hardest when you ask around; opening your locket to them like baring your heart. The foolish thing that still beats for him day and night.

Months passed and you wonder if it’s better to be crazy. That maybe he had never existed at all. How did he just dissipate into nothing? Only leaving his face in this necklace and a yearning that is slowly killing you from the inside?

You’ve started to see him as this picture; black and white. Void of the blue that colored his eyes. Brazen hair rusting beyond the shade you remembered it to be. The places he once touched and had your skin set alight now cold. Maybe he’ll be forever frozen in time.

But just when your body felt like it’s been pulled completely taut, and your faith toppled on the edge of a cliff, you see him.

A ghost in vivid colors. Your name left his lips and it sent a chill down your spine. A ghost whose touch paralleled the warmth of a fire. Whose stare ignited a pace to your heart and brought you back to life.

You can feel him. Every scratch and every dent of his skin when he reached for your locket.

Where Arthur Morgan remained in your heart and is the reason behind its every beat. Where he has always and will forever reside in.

And you are reminded of this as he kissed you, a confirmation that he’s come home.

thank you for reading my scrapped work! 🥺🫶🏼

here is my masterlist <3

[damian-lil-babybat]

'Dead Poets Society' gang

Headcanon that these four drop poetry and literature quotes on their conversations unprompted.

Jason 'English-major-I-only-visit-the-manor-for-the-library' Todd-Wayne

Damian 'I-master-liberal-arts-unlike-you-plebs-PHD-holder' al Ghul-Wayne

Cassandra 'I-learn-English-thru-Shakespeare-as-god-intended' Cain-Wayne

Duke 'only-title-holder-of-vigilante-poet-and-will-cuss-you-just-as-poetically' Thomas-(future) Wayne

[khaoala]

Bibi's favorite KantBison kisses.

[cookies-after-dark]

additional tags: explicit content, beast x ancient, gender neutral reader, not proofread

ships: transfem!white lily cookie x transmasc!pure vanilla cookie x reader x shadow milk cookie

Chat, I'm imagining a poly ship between PV, WL, SM and Reader where the Reader being stuffed and lovingly fucked by White Lily Cookie while Pure Vanilla and Shadow Milk are watching them and feeling up each other's naked bodies and passionately making out next to them.

Chat, I'm imagining Pure Vanilla helping you stroke White Lily's cock with one hand, his hand gently clasped over yours, while Shadow Milk Cookie helps you finger Pure Vanilla's pussy simultaneously with your other hand. White Lily and Pure Vanilla are both praising you while Shadow Milk is degrading you at the same time, their voices overlapping and creating a noisy, lustful mess.

Chat I'm imagining they have you practice sucking on White Lily's cock and taking it as far as it can comfortably go, feeling her hot prick throb and pulse on your tounge while her hand is tangled in your hair. And then they have you practice eating out Pure Vanilla's pussy next, feeling his clit twitch against your nose and his sodt velvet lips flutter with every swipe of your tongue.

Chat, I'm imagining White Lily having Pure Vanilla on his knees and noisily fucking him while Shadow Milk is grabbing your hips and noisily fucking you, Pure Vanilla smashes his face into yours and moans in your mouth, passionately making out with you.