#but anyways here you go angst for you

[mumms-the-word]

Wandering the Gray

Pairing: Gale x gn!Tav Summary: In the midst of a brutal battle against Viconia DeVir and the Sharrans, Gale finds himself in the Fugue Plane once again. But this time, he recognizes a voice echoing in the distance. ao3 link A/N: You can 100% blame a 1 minute section of The Underworld from Epic the Musical by Jorge Rivera-Herrans for this fic. That's the entire inspiration for this fic. I don't want to spoil too much but if you've heard the song you know what's coming. also I suck at titles, every other title was too spoilery to me anyways enjoy the angst CW: some mention of suicidal ideation, death, grief, sad feels in general,

The air is thick with magical darkness, thick enough to drown in, and Gale is barely hanging on by a thread. He can feel the darkness choking him as he stumbles back, narrowly dodging a blade as it arcs toward him, appearing and disappearing in the inky black. Spell effects from the others briefly illuminate the darkness like obscured lightning amidst stormclouds, but nothing is effectively dispelling the swirling black. Shadowheart had warned them this would be the Sharrans’ tactics, and they had prepared as best as they were able, but the darkness was relentless. Gale had lost sight of her and the others ages ago. Now, he dares not cast spells with wide damage, lest he harm Shadowheart, his other allies, and Tav as well as the Sharrans.

His back hits granite and he realizes too late that he’s backed himself into a wall or platform of some kind. He grips his staff, jaw clenched, ready to swing outward or thunderwave the next Sharran that emerges from the darkness. His heart thumps loudly in his chest, in his ears, and though the battle rages all around him, it’s all he can hear. Every last desperate beat of a heart that is failing, his wounds too much to bear.

He nearly freezes as Viconia herself steps through the darkness. She sneers at him, but something in her stance assures him that he’s not worth her time. Before he can so much as summon a firebolt, however, she gestures sharply toward him, uttering a curse in Drowic. He feels the curse wrap around his chest, squeezing tightly, and his head begins to swim. A barrage of thoughts crowd his mind, clawing at his every insecurity and tearing them open to be laid bare and bleeding. Inadequacy, shame, guilt, terror, they all threaten to overwhelm him.

He sucks in a breath and flings a chromatic orb of crackling lightning at Viconia, but she blocks it readily with her shield. Smirking faintly, she steps backward into the darkness, leaving Gale with her curse, like a thousand voices screaming in his mind.

Pathetic. Weak. Flew too close to the sun. Defied your goddess. A shadow of your former self. Not worth redemption. Use the orb, Gale. Kill yourself. Kill yourself!

He doesn’t see the mace come arcing down toward his head until it’s too late.

—

When he opens his eyes again, he’s not surrounded by darkness, but by shades of gray. Gray and white fog swirls slowly around him and the sky overhead is shrouded in low-hanging clouds, all dull silver. Flakes of ash drift by, born aloft by winds that he cannot feel or sense.

The Fugue Plane, he realizes distantly, looking slowly around him. There’s nothing to see. Even the flat ground beneath his feet is a colorless gray, not quite stone but not quite earth either. When he shifts, his steps kick up a fine dusting of ash, or perhaps mist, which floats upward to join the shifting fog around him. There’s not even a shadow of the looming city of the dead to look for, to guide his steps. 

Just an endless expanse of cloudy gray.

The sheer emptiness of it all settles over him immediately, threatening to make him fold. He’d hoped since the last time he died, he would never have to return. Or at least that the next time would be decades and decades away. To be back so soon…

He lifts a hand to his chest, as if seeking out the pouch that formerly rested over his heart, but he knows it’s not there. Even in the Material world, he no longer wears the pouch. Tav carries it now, though it bears little more than a scrap piece of parchment and a flute, the scroll of true resurrection used up some time ago. He knows he ought to be at least a little concerned, though logically, it won’t be the first time that Withers had dragged one of them from the Fugue Plane for a meager sum of gold. It’s just a matter of waiting.

But it is the waiting that wearies him. A moment in the Fugue Plane stretches on for aeons, in his mind. Even his movements feel weighted down. But with nothing else to do but sit or walk, he chooses to walk.

As he moves through the fog, the hush of the plane is oppressive. Like a droning whisper, the only sound he can hear is a white noise that feels thick enough to cut through yet distant enough that the source is always out of sight, out of reach. There are no words to pick out from the hush, however. As he walks, he moves through the mist alone. No other souls pass by or even materialize in the gray.

Never has he felt so desperately alone, so isolated.

But then…a voice. 

He stops and turns his head as he hears it echoing through the fog, half thinking it’s his imagination. But then he hears it again, this time clearer and closer.

“…waiting…”

He grows still and would have grown cold, had he any body left. That voice…he knows that voice.

“It can’t be,” he whispers.

“I’m waiting…”

He takes a cautious step forward, following the voice deeper into the fog, straining his ears for more of that familiar voice. It must be a trick, and yet…

“Waiting…I’m waiting…”

“Morena?” he calls through the gray, but his voice is muffled, swallowed up by fog and mist. He turns to move in the direction of her voice, following it through the swirling gray.

“My darling boy…”

“Mother!” He stumbles forward and then to a halt, a figure materializing in the mist. “Mother…”

There she sits, perched on the flat of a rock, her hands resting demurely in her lap, the same way she sits in her favorite chair on her balcony overlooking the Waterdhavian harbor. A slate gray sea laps onto the ashen shore around the rock, the rest of the waters disappearing into the dark fog. The sound of the waves should have been familiar, comforting, but the sound is quiet, as if he stands yards away rather than only a few paces from the shore.

She doesn’t turn to look at him. Instead she sits, her head turned toward the water, just as he remembers her looking the last time he visited her in Waterdeep, over a year ago. Before his fall. Before his folly. She’d been admiring the sunset then, a wistful smile on her lips, a book abandoned in her lap. Now her expression is distant and tired.

She should not be here.

“Mother,” he murmurs, venturing another cautious step closer. But she doesn’t seem to hear him. She never once glances his way as he finally reaches the rock she sits on, kneeling down near her feet. He barely notices the water soaking his robes and trousers as the sea flows up toward the rock and ebbs away. “Mum...”

Again she ignores him, her white, clouded eyes on the horizon. Or what would be the horizon, if the swirling mist were not obscuring every view. She hums absently under her breath, little melodies that are heartbreakingly familiar, but she never once looks away from that hidden horizon.

She shifts, her hands making a stroking motion as if she were petting something in her lap. “I know he’ll be home soon, Tara,” she murmurs, her voice echoing softly in the mist as it did when he was searching for her moments ago. “I don’t mind waiting for him.”

“I’m here, Mum,” he says softly, his throat closing around tears he can’t shed. He doesn’t have a body to produce tears nor a physical heart to break. So why does he feel so desperately sad? Why does it feel like he’s about to unravel completely? Some part of him still desperately hopes this is all an illusion. A trick. “I’m…I’m right here.”

But she never hears him. The souls of the dead rarely see or acknowledge each other. He knows that from his last visit to the Fugue Plane. But she can’t…she can’t be…Tara would have said if she were…

She breathes a small sigh, smiling gently to herself and looking down at her lap. “My darling boy…my little love. I do miss him, Tara. But I know he’ll return soon. And when he does, I’ll be here for him. Waiting right here, where he knows to find me.” She looks again to the distant horizon. “I don’t mind waiting…as long as it takes…”

“No,” Gale whispers. “It can’t be…when...”

The answer unfolds in his mind with dreadful certainty. It doesn't matter when.

He took too long to return to her. His year-long seclusion in his tower. The journey from the nautiloid. Months spent traveling, moving farther and farther from Waterdeep. He kept himself away for too long and left his home and his mother entirely behind, and now…

Now it is too late.

He reaches up for her hand, but his fingers pass through her and her form flickers briefly. He curls his fingers into a fist, battling the swirl of emotions inside him. Rage at himself, fear, a desperate longing to say something, do something, to get her to simply look at him. To acknowledge him.

But mostly grief. A deep, irrepressible grief that yawns within him like a chasm with no end. Black and cruel.

“I’m here,” he says again, his voice breaking. “Mum…I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I…”

He shouldn’t have stayed away. Yet even as he thinks it, what other choice did he have? There were no choices. There are no choices. Everything he’d done since his fall, he’d done to protect her. Every choice he makes now is for that very purpose, to save her and everyone else in Faerûn.

And now it doesn’t matter. They’re both dead. 

“I love you,” he says, looking up at her, even knowing that she can't hear him. “All my heart, Mum, I love you. Forgive me. Forgive me.” He bows his head, bringing his forehead nearly to her knee, struggling to compose himself. “Forgive me…”

The hush of the plane and the faint sound of the sea are all that respond. But then a featherlight touch brushes his hair. He looks up, scarcely daring to hope.

His mother gazes down at him, her white eyes focused on him. When she sees him staring back at her, she smiles softly.

“My darling boy,” she murmurs, brushing the backs of her fingers against his cheek. Her voice still bears that distant, echoing tone, as if she’s a thousand miles away. “It’s time for you to wake up.”

“Wake up?”

“Wake up, my love,” she says again, and this time her voice sounds even more distant. Altered. Not quite her own. She covers his eyes with her hand, shutting his eyes for him, and he drifts into darkness. “Wake up.” 

“Gale! Wake up!”

His eyes fly open and he gasps, his lungs desperate for air. He looks around wildly, expecting more of the Fugue Plane, but instead he finds the familiar wooden walls and ceiling of the Elfsong Tavern. He turns his head to find Tav staring at him, their eyes wide with worry.

“Tav?” he mumbles.

“It was just a dream, love,” Tav says, brushing a hand over his sweat-soaked forehead, pushing his hair from his face. “I’ve been trying to wake you for a while now.”

“A dream…” He struggles to make sense of it, but slowly the pieces fall into place. 

Their fight at the House of Grief, where Gale had very nearly died. Nearly, but not quite. He remembers going with Shadowheart to free her parents, only to realize that their freedom meant their deaths. It had weighed on Gale’s spirit, watching her parents smile at their daughter mere seconds before turning into motes of light. He remembers thinking it was an impossible choice, one he couldn't have made on his own.

Something about it seems to have stayed with him. Even now, he half-fears that his dream is more than a dream. A premonition, perhaps, or a glimpse of the future.

Gods, he hopes not.

He sits up, rubbing his hands over his face. His shirt sticks to his sweat-soaked back and he wants nothing more than to splash his face and neck with cold water. But first—

“Where’s Tara?” he asks, dropping his hands.

Tav’s eyebrows draw together. “Tara?”

“I’m here, Mr. Dekarios.” She hops onto the back of the bed where it shares a backboard with Karlach’s. Tara always had an uncanny knack for being nearby whenever she was needed. She licks at one paw before fluffing her feathers and fixing her gaze on him. “Oh my. You look as though you’ve seen a ghost, Mr. Dekarios.”

He huffs a shaky laugh, but it’s without humor. “I almost fear I have, Tara. Tell me—this must sound like I’m mad but—my mother. Is she well?”

“Mrs. Dekarios? She’s as fit as ever, last I saw.”

“And how long ago was that?”

“Why, only just the other day,” Tara said, flicking her ears. “I check on her regularly, you know. I wouldn’t miss our evening tea time for the world.”

Gale breathes a sigh of relief, dropping his head in his hands again. It was just a dream. Just a horrible dream. Probably left over from Viconia’s fear curse that had struck him during the battle earlier that day.

He feels Tav’s hand rubbing comfortingly against his back. “Gale? Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” he mumbles. He takes a deep breath and drops his hands again, leaning back against the pillows. “Yes. My apologies. It was a bad dream, like you said.”

Tav is quiet for a moment before cuddling close, wrapping their arms around his middle. He shifts so that his arm is around their shoulders, his fingers trailing absently along their arm.

“Was it about your mother?” they ask quietly.

Gale’s throat closes up, but his silence his answer enough. He clears his throat quietly. “I saw her in the Fugue Plane. A dead soul.”

He can say no more. He reaches up to press his thumb and forefinger against his eyes, as if to block the tears that sting behind his lids. Even the thought of her sitting alone on her balcony, waiting for him, while he puts himself in more and more danger, is enough to break him. He takes a shuddering breath and Tav wraps their arms tighter around him.

“It’s okay,” they whisper. “I’m here.”

“I know. I…thank you.” He manages to compose himself enough to lower his hand and turn his head toward Tara. Her feline eyes glint in the darkness, watching him in silence. “Tara, will you—”

“I assure you, Mr. Dekarios, your mother is hale and hearty,” she says. “And we both have the utmost confidence that you’ll wrap up this Absolute business in time for the upcoming holidays, which you will be spending in Waterdeep, of course.”

“Of course,” Gale says, managing a smile. “But I have a request. I want you to go home.”

Tara blinks, and though she controls most of her expression he sees the fur on her neck start to rise. “Home? And leave you behind?”

“Please Tara,” he says. He rubs a hand against Tav’s back, knowing they’re listening quietly. “I will be fine here. You know you can trust Tav to look after me. But I need someone there to look after Morena. There’s no one more suited to the task than you.”

Tara’s tail flicks several times as she regards him in disdainful silence. But then her fur settles and she looks away. “Very well, Mr. Dekarios.”

“And don’t tell her anything. I don’t want her to worry.”

“Very well, Mr. Dekarios. If that is what you wish.”

“It is.” He knows he’s just worrying too much, but his dream has shaken him. Better to have Tara there, just in case, than to spend weeks wondering and worrying. “Thank you, Tara.”

“You’re quite welcome. But I shall expect you home within a few tendays, you know.”

Gale chuckles, settling in with Tav at his side. “We’ll see what we can do. Safe travels, Tara.”

“You as well, Mr. Dekarios. And you,” she directs her next words to Tav, who turns their head to look up at her. “Do see to it that he does not suffer more bad dreams.”

With that slight admonition, she hops down and disappears into the darkness.

Gale breathes a small sigh, shifting to get more comfortable and wrapping Tav more tightly in his embrace. “You should get some rest, my love. It’s still quite early in the morning.”

“What about you?” they whisper, their cheek resting on his chest.

He’s quiet for a moment. “I fear that after a dream like that, I’m wary of falling asleep again.” 

His dreams rarely repeat in the same night, but he can’t shake the irrational fear that if he falls asleep again, he’ll just find himself back in the Fugue Plane. Searching for his mother.

“Hmm…” Tav turns their head to rest their chin on his chest, looking up at him. “Then I’ll stay awake for a bit too.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” They shift to bring their lips up to kiss him before settling back where they were, pressed against his side with their cheek on his chest. “Talk to me for a bit. Tell me about your mother.”

“My mother? What would you like to know?”

“Everything. Whatever you feel comfortable with sharing.”

Gale pauses to think. Where does one begin when it comes to the venerable Morena Dekarios? But despite his hesitation, he’s grateful Tav is asking. He knows they’re only trying to distract him, but it helps. 

“Well,” he begins. “My mother is the inimitable, dare I say unavoidable, Morena Dekarios. She resides in Waterdeep, in a home overlooking the harbor…”

As he speaks, telling Tav of his mother’s quirks, her affection for him, the way she seems to know everyone, her favorite dishes, her talents, and more, his anxieties eventually fade away. It’s as though speaking of her like this, in the present tense, is proof that she is well. And would still be well when he finally returns to her. 

After a while Tav yawns, their voice heavy with sleep as they mumble, "She sounds lovely, Gale. I can't wait to meet her."

He smiles softly and presses a little kiss to Tav's hair. "Nor I, my love. I'm certain she will adore you."

Tav hides their sleepy smile in his chest and soon their breathing evens out, a sure sign they've been lulled to sleep. Gale listens to them breathing for a moment, grateful for every breath. Grateful, too, that they were willing to stay up and listen to him mumble quietly about his mother for an hour, of all things to talk about.

It’s enough to soothe his guilty conscience for the night. His dream was just a dream, he's more certain of that now. And one day, hopefully soon, he'll be back in Morena's parlor again, suffering her affectionate chiding and introducing her to the love of his life. The thought brings a smile to his face and he closes his eyes, comforted by daydreams of Tav meeting Morena Dekarios.

The daydreams soon bring with them the wave of exhaustion and at last he gives in, closing his eyes and drifting away for a few scant hours of dreamless sleep.

[unit-ssn0va]

[applestruda]

This is just one panel of the desert duo piece I was complaining about rendering

Tbh this might be all I share bc I've sort of given up on it

[the-broken-pen]

“You’re going to blow out your arms,” the villain observed. They watched as the hero merely grit their teeth, shoving themself through another pull-up. It looked painful, and if the sweat slicking the hero’s brow was any indication, it was.

They waited for the hero to let themself drop from the bar and accept the villain was stronger. But they didn’t.

Three more pull-ups, and the villain stepped in.

“Hero,” they said slowly. “You’re about to tear the ligaments in your arms. You need to stop.”

The hero blew out a shuddering breath. Struggled for purchase, fighting gravity—and let themself drop.

The hero’s hands were bleeding, calluses torn open by the bar. The hero didn’t seem bothered when their own hands shook so much that their blood began to splatter on the gym floor.

For a moment, the villain could only stare at them.

Shit.

They didn’t know how to handle this. They knew the hero was dedicated. They knew the hero was strong, and perpetually trying to be stronger, but they hadn’t thought…

They hadn’t thought the hero would be so willing to tear apart their own body for success.

It was supposed to be fun, the villain thought. They felt a little sick as the hero pressed their palms together to soothe the bleeding, an action that was practiced and familiar. As if they had done this before.

The hero reached for something in their bag, smearing blood on the side, and pulled out a roll of blue electrical tape. The villain didn’t understand why, until the hero tore a strip off and made to wrap their hands with it.

The hero would be the death of them.

They crouched in front of the hero, plucking the electrical tape out of their hands.

“What are you doing with this?”

The hero blinked at the villain like they were the strange one in this situation.

“Wrapping my hands?”

The villain hissed in a breath.

“With electrical tape?”

The hero flushed slightly, looking down at their bloody hands. They looked close to tears.

“It…sticks to skin, really well. And it doesn’t move, either, when you move your hands or wherever else, even if you’re fighting. Plus, blood doesn’t make it come off, at least, not for a while.”

The villain blinked at them.”

“Blood doesn’t make it come off,” the villain repeated, processing. The hero nodded, reaching for the electrical tape. The villain settled it out of reach.

“Not if you wrap it right.”

Dimly, the villain realized that meant the hero had done this enough times to have it down to a science.

“And you couldn’t use a bandaid?” The villain asked incredulously. The hero shrugged a shoulder, then winced at the motion.

Yeah, the hero had absolutely blown out their arms.

“Bandaids move—“

The villain hushed them.

“Be quiet for a second.”

The hero, wisely, went quiet.

The villain rubbed a hand over their face, then studied the hero for a moment. They took one of the hero’s hands into their own, studying the damage.

“Why did you do this to yourself,” the villain murmured.

“What do you mean, why,” the hero snapped. “It’s my job.”

“Your job is to save people,” the villain corrected. “Not destroy yourself.”

“I’m not destroying myself—“

“You are.”

“Shut up—“

“Hero.”

“I need to be better,” the hero snapped. Their voice rang out across the gym, echoing into the rafters, and they both froze. After a moment, the hero spoke again, voice soft. “I need to be better.”

They said it like they needed the villain to understand. The villain wondered who they were really saying it to—the villain, or themself.

“Better than who?”

“Everyone.” It was hushed, like a secret.

The villain watched them, waiting.

The hero took a shaky breath

“My whole thing is being the best. I have always been the best. That’s the only reason I matter. If I’m not strong enough, then I am nothing, so I need. to be. better.”

The hero had started crying, very quietly, like they were afraid to take up too much space.

The villain was not equipped to handle gifted kid burnout.

“There’s more to you than just being a good athlete,” the villain said hesitantly, and the hero shook their head.

“No. There isn’t.”

“Hero.”

“Can you give me back my electrical tape?” They hiccuped to contain a sob.

“No,” the villain said firmly, and then the hero really was sobbing.

“You don’t understand—“

The villain didn’t. Not really. They had never been the kind of talented that the hero was.

They wondered now if maybe that was a blessing.

“I don’t,” the villain agreed. “But I do understand that you’ve saved half the city, and you give everything you have to give, and you always do your best.”

“But I-“

“No.” The villain stopped them. “You are doing your best.” They tipped the hero’s chin up until they met the villain’s eyes. “And it is enough.”

The hero froze, eyes darting over the villain’s face. They wondered if anyone had ever said that to the hero, if whatever mentor they had was giving them anything other than orders to be stronger. Be better. Be more.

The villain had some new targets to take care of, it would seem.

For now, though, they had to take care of hero.

“We’re going to go wrap your hands,” they said softly. “And then we’re going to take care of your arms, and you’re going to take a nap.”

The hero nodded, watching them like they were some kind of good, selfless person.

“And if I ever catch you using electrical tape again, so help me, I will put you six feet under.”

That startled a laugh out of the hero, and they let the villain guide them to their feet.

“Fine.”

The villain turned to them. “Okay?”

Are you going to be alright?

The hero seemed to understand.

“Okay,” the hero agreed.

Yes.

And so, it was.

[chloecherrysip]

"I hope you told your brother how much you loved him, because you're probably never gonna see him again."

"..."

"Was that too dark?"

"YES!"

"Sorry."

[olasketches]

me and like two other sukuna stans making posts about how miserable he is

[papercupids]

good good night - kim mingyu

pairing -> mingyu x gender neutral reader.

word count -> 0.6k

summary -> mingyu has made it a habit to bail on his friends to not spend more than even a minute than he has to, but he soon regrets it

warnings -> mentions / implied use of alcohol and drinking but that’s about it.

a/n -> this is literally the third or fourth time i've tried to publish this because tumblr loves fucking w me (it didn’t save my last drafts). anyway, i love writing these little mingyu pieces so much i might even convert it into a series or something.

the bell rings and you pause watching, even though you just started watching the movie, gathering all the snacks and drinks and finally sitting down to watch it. and you think about who it could be since you don’t have any parcel deliveries scheduled for today and neither has mingyu.. or does he? 

when you open the door, it reveals not your boyfriend’s package but he, himself, standing in all his 6’3 glory. 

“hey, you’re back!”

“i am,” he walks past you, almost too glad to be home. 

“wait, didn’t you leave like just 2 hours ago or something? mingyu, did you bail on them again?” you ask as you slowly close the door.

he sits down on the seat next to the shoe cabinet, and removes his shoes and smiles at you. he looks drunk but not as drunk as he is everytime. 

“...no I just had enough of the drinks and i was super tired and i just. wanted to be home with you,” he’s done removing the shoes and he holds out his hands, signaling you to come closer. “kinda missed you,” you wrap your arms around his neck and he pulls you further in, rubbing his nose to yours.

“aw, as sweet as that is, you know you shouldn’t bail on your friends everytime right?” he’d been doing this for the last few times, coming back too early, saying he preferred to spend his only free time, the weekends, with you. you walk up to the sofa and he joins you there after he changes into his home clothes.

“i think they were too drunk to notice. and besides, aren't you happy to have me home?” you look up and grin at him, a grin he’s kinda afraid of you, a grin that means that you have ulterior motives. 

“ofcourse! trust me there's nobody happier than i am.” you play the movie you paused as eerie music starts playing.  “a new horror movie just came out on netflix and i was about to start it so i'm so so happy you came home early so we could watch it together.” 

mingyu attempts to get up quickly but your hands grab at his quickly and he gives you a pleading look. 

“no baby, you can't escape now,”

“i think they're calling me though….”

“too late, baby,”

a bit later though, as the tv sounds go on and on filling up the empty house with the lights off, as you both lay asleep on the sofa, with your face on his chest and his hand lying limp on the floor with the remote still clasped.

he shakes awake slowly, due to some noise in the tv and struggles to slowly move the remote and turn it off without any movement because he was too scared of waking you up.

you had obliged into watching a romcom for the sake of mingyu but deep down he did feel like it was because after a jumpscare or two even you were kinda scared, not that you would ever admit it. 

he strokes your hair gently so if he moves it doesn't wake you up suddenly and scare you, and then he gets up from under you as silently as possible and makes sure you're asleep, which thankfully, you are.

he steps inside the bedroom, turning on the lights and sets up the bed, complete with the blanket on the side folded away to accommodate you and then to be over you.

and he comes back, and again gently kisses your forehead before picking you up, scared that it will wake you up but sleeping on the sofa is a 2 days worth of back pain because of the cramped space and he does not want that to happen to you again.

when he lays you down, you curl up to snuggle yourself and he tucks the blanket to cover you. 

admiring the scene just standing there for a bit.

and then he got into bed beside you, pulling up the covers above his shoulders and facing your side. 

goodnight.

[miusato]

Ahh yes, the autism brothers 🤝🤝🤝

[hexiewrites]

Steve is going to leave Eddie's body because of course he is. They're trying to escape literal hell while potentially being chased by Vecna and you don't drag a dead body out of hell. You just don't. But Dustin won't fucking leave. He is screaming this noise that Steve literally didn't know was possible and he tries to pick Dustin up but Dustin is kicking and screaming so much that Steve is legitimately worried about them both going down and the only thing, the only thing that works is him saying "I'll bring him, okay?"

And Dustin finally agrees because Dustin knows, even if the rest of them don't, that Eddie can't be dead. He just can't it's not allowed it's not possible so they HAVE to get his body out so they can fix him. So Steve picks him up. Manages to heft Eddie over his shoulder and Robin is panicking behind him like she is going to jump out of her skin but Nancy takes one look at Steve's face and helps him get Eddie up and over and-

oh

Eddie's blood is hot and slick and it's all over his hands and it's all over his chest and he can actually feel it dripping down his skin and slipping under his bandages and Eddie’s blood and his blood are mixed now. They’re bound together forever and he grunts hard because fuck, Eddie’s a skinny guy but he’s not light, and he shifts again and then he hears it.

A groan, so faint it can’t be real but it is because Eddie’s fingers twist in his vest and he chuckles, once, and Steve feels another rush of blood and he says “fuck, Eddie, stay fucking still!”

And Eddie grips the vest a little harder. Says in a voice that’s all rasp but holy fuck he’s alive, says “I knew you’d come back. Harrington’s got me, don’t cha big boy?”

(And later, at the hospital, when Steve begs to be Eddie's blood donor but they won't let him because he's lost too much of his own blood, Nancy steps up. Universal donor, she gives to everyone, and Steve's not a poet but there's something pretty fucking poetic about the girl you used to love giving her blood to save the boy you know you're going to.)

[bambeebirdie]

This is for @bluepeachstudios ‘s Ghost in a Shell. It’s really good you should read it.

I looked at exactly one picture of Jupiter Jim and went “yeah this should be enough to draw him.” I will not be answering if it actually was

Have some bonus content under the cut!

And sketches

(I love any character who can say “I don’t want to go back to prison” it’s like the funniest thing to me)

[astrodances]

Z for...Zella!! 😜😄🩵💙🖤

I grew up with horses, and definitely wanted to be a cowboy or something horse-related growing up (one of my school mascots was even the Cowboys, so bonus points to that!), but Zorro was like, my first hero. He's the guy I always imagined myself as when I was sitting in the saddle (except when I had my Batman costume on), and looking back, he's influenced so much of my life and love for stories (especially a lot of favorite character aesthetics 😜). And he had the coolest horse (which is my dream horse, just with a different name)!!

All that said, I'm going with Zorro Della for Cowboy Della. I think she would've loved the character, too. 🖤

This was a bit rushed, admittedly, but I got to play with some perspectives, clothing choices, and shading, so good exercise! ^_^

+ bonus Della sketch though, bc I also loved this idea:

Young Della's trying on Scrooge's old cowboy clothes (from Life & Times of Scrooge) - they're still just a pinch too big for her. 😝🥹🤠

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

live with me forever now (just not for long, for long); October '23

Fall Out Boy, Heartbreak Feels So Good // The Farewell (2019) dir. Lulu Wang // Fall Out Boy, Hum Hallelujah // unknown // Amy Hempel // Erin Slaughter // Sally Wen Mao // Richard Siken // Laura Makabresku, The Anatomy of Melancholy // Trista Mateer // A Softer World // unknown // The Farewell // Hosho McCreesh // unknown // Fall Out Boy, Heaven, Iowa // The Farewell // Kaveh Akbar // locket engraved with words by E. E. Cummings (source unknown) // Panic! at the Disco, Trade Mistakes // Hieu Minh Nguyen

[hyperfixiation-station]

Hi Sun, just found your writing which I loved, so excited for part 3 of Choices, feel like it's gonna hurt as a Graves's fan but I'm gonna loved as a Ghost's fan, such a sour patch kid moment 💚💚

Aww thank youuuu!! I am not sure when the next bit will be out, as I am working a butt ton of hours and also in the process of moving-ish, but I'm hoping sometime in the next 2 weeks! here is a (very)little sneak-peak for ya though:

“Graves…” You trailed off, not even sure what you wanted to say. Your mind was screaming at you, a million different thoughts flying through your brain. Distantly you could hear Graves call your name again, but it didn't register till his hands were on your shoulders. You looked up to see him crouched in front of you, pursing his lips. 

"You with me darlin?" You nodded your head, still reeling from the night's events. How could you not have seen this coming? This was a man you had spent years with, a man you had shared a bed with. How did you not see this coming? How could you not see that the man you likedloved was willing to not just betray his comrades, but kill them? How did-

“Surely you can understand where I am coming from, love.” You snapped back into focus as Graves stood up, “You understand how important it is to be on top. With this missile crisis…well, we’ll be needing all the support we can get.” 

“What do you mean?” You asked, your voice miraculously steady, "Why do we...why would we need support?" 

“I mean that if Ghost-” He practically spat the man’s name out, and the absolute disgust in his voice surprised you, “And that Scotsman dig deep enough, we could be in some deep shit, darlin’.”

“Ph-er…I don’t understand.” You can’t say his name anymore.  

“I can’t say much now darlin’, but Hassan having those missiles isn’t exactly a surprise, if you catch my drift. And we’re both royally fucked if that gets found out.”

“We’re…you….I…what??” You were so confused. The terrorist you all had been hunting, the missiles threatening your very way of existence, were all somehow connected with Graves. And with…you?

“I am sorry darlin’. I didn’t want for you to be…implicated in my…actions.” He sighed, shaking his head like he was speaking with a child, "But that's just the way the cards fell."

“What do you mean ‘that's just the way the cards fell’??” You demanded, “I don’t understand what is happening Ph-Graves! What are you talking about?”

[neverevan]

Snippet Sunday 🎿

I was tagged by @daffi-990 @jamespearce9-1-1 @theotherbuckley @thewolvesof1998 @disasterbuckdiaz @hippolotamus @eddiebabygirldiaz @jeeyuns @eowon thank you my dears 💛

I have officially finished writing AND editing both the puppy fic and the hospital fic, leaving only this one to work on, so here's a snippet to celebrate. ❄️

“You know, if we pick up some stuff on our way back, we could make some fancy hot chocolate and watch some movies, maybe get a real fire going, set the mood, you know.”

Eddie snorted jovially. “What kind of mood are we setting? Hallmark?”

He was going for a joke, because the thought of sitting around on the couch, a large Sherpa blanket thrown over the three of them as they watch some cheesy holiday movie, while the fire crackles away in the background… well, it was making his heart want to crawl out of his throat and straight into Buck’s own.

“Hah n-no, just thought since we have the cabin and all. B-but we don’t have to do it, if you don’t want to. It was just an idea.” Buck shrugged a little awkwardly, jostling Christopher and making him grunt quietly without actually waking up.

“Nah, you’re right, we should take advantage of the place. Besides, I’m sure Christopher would love that.” He added softly, looking at his son’s face as he kept on dozing without a worry in this world, tucked safely into Buck’s side.

✨no pressure tagging: @malewifediaz @spagheddiediaz @ladydorian05 @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @heartshapedvows @nmcggg @rainbow-nerdss @watchyourbuck @fortheloveofbuddie @exhuastedpigeon

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

I dunno if anyone's asked this already, so I'm writing it anonymously

How do you think the bachelorettes or bachelors would react if they found out you turned their kids into birds?

Oh wow...

Ok, let me take a quick look at my masterlist... Nope, I don't see such a question, so it will be a new headcanon 😀

I also have a large number of bachelors asks, so to be fair I'll make this one about bachelorettes. I hope you don't mind dear anon, since you asked "or" (I'm not lazy, I'm trying to be fair!) Anyway, thanks for ask 👋

⚠️ Warning: angst, mention of blood, mention of violence, loss of children, nervous breakdown

Leah:

"You did not do anything bad to our children. You wouldn't dare. You did NOT do that to OUR CHILDREN!!!!" If Leah had one of her sculptor's tools at hand, she would immediately turn into a deadly weapon. That even an easel will strike a man just as hard as a sword if it is in the hands of a furious and in tears mother who has just lost her children. Somebody's blood will be spilled on the floor...

Penny:

When Penny heard about what the Farmer had done to their children, she just dropped to her knees. She stared glassy-eyed at the man she thought was the love of her life, not understanding why this had happened. Hysterical, she would crouch in a corner and scream loudly. To Penny, her family, her spouse, her children, is the treasure of her life, and what happened made Penny's mind wobble.

"Mother..." *hic* "Mooootheer..."

Haley:

Screaming and throwing things. Haley can't control her emotions. And who can blame her for reacting this way when the one she married essentially killed their precious children? Not even death, but a fate worse than death, to wander like the damned, in the body of a short-lived bird, at the hand of their own parent... Screaming and throwing things. Haley wished she wasn't so helpless right now... That she could get her kids back, that she could punch her (already ex) spouse with all her might, that she... She...

Screaming and throwing things... What else could she do...?

Abigail:

Abigail, in utter shock, heard clearly her inner voice, which kept saying one word: run. And she ran. Without stopping, she ran to the forest, to the tower, to that strange wizard man. Abigail run because she needed help. She needs help to get her children back. She needs help to find out what happened to her husband. Because what stood before her in their house is not even a human being, it cannot be...

Emily:

"Turn into pigeons? Oh, you bought pigeon costumes for our little ones? That's very nice of you, I remember they wanted animal costumes." Only Emily's smile slid lower and lower every second as her spouse stood before her, not saying a word. "Honey..." Her voice broke. "Please tell me you bought costumes for them. Please...Tell me what you bought..." She could say no more, and her spouse's blank and indifferent stare made the situation even more tense.

"Yoba, help me...."

Maru:

But that's... It defies all logic. Dark magic? What do they mean "turn into pigeons"? What are they talking about? Where... are her children? Maru thinks her spouse has a fever. She wants to stay calm, not show aggression, and just ask what happened and where the children are. But another part of her, her instinct for self-preservation, is screaming that she needs to run to safety. Run home to her parents and stepbrother. Run for help. Why can't she stop shaking...?

[zombiekillerbiceps]

Slow, Slow Steel

Content: 14k words, re4r Leon, knife play, Dom!Leon, Leon X Reader, no Y/N, pain play, sadism, size kink, glove kink (barely), praise, angst, comfort

You and Leon experiment with knife play for the first time...

The sliver of steel glinted in the moonlight, it's point hovering above your hips. Anticipation pooled in your stomach. You squeezed your thighs together to prevent it from turning into impatience, or else you might tilt your hips up towards it like you would Leon's touch. It hovered there, not making contact but so achingly close. Was he hesitating? Building up tension?

It was late into the night. The shadows in your bedroom were heavy and your figures were barely illuminated by the street lamps outside. The city, for once, was quiet. Holding it's breath with you. The only sounds were fat raindrops hitting the window and your own, shuddering breathing.

Was he going to make you beg for it? You tried to meet his gaze but his eyes were fixated on your body. Then, gentle as a whisper, the tip of the knife brushed against your skin.

It was cold. Goosebumps exploded across your body as you drew a breath. The edge of the knife just barely, barely tracing the v-line of your hip. It grazed so slowly up your belly, making its way towards your ribcage, before it was gone again. You let your breath out slowly, smiling as the adrenaline made your body warm and sensitive.

Leon watched your reaction like a hawk. His own muscles were coiled tight, his biceps flexing with self control. He was trained too well to shake when he was nervous. Hundreds of hours of training and hundreds more of experience ensured he moved with precision and purpose - especially when his blood started racing. When a single mistake could...

"You like that?" He needed to hear you say it. "You want more?"

You nodded, so desperately wanting to feel the blade against your body again. You wanted it a little rougher, a little harder. He could clearly see how turned on you were. The way your thighs squeezed together to stop your hips from rocking, the way your breath shuddered, the way your body quivered at the low timbre of his voice.

"Use your words," he cooed.

"Please?"

Not good enough. His free hand was at the back of your head, buried in your hair. His forearm flexed again with the motion of pulling your hair back, tilting your jaw towards him as his massive frame towered over you. He kept the knife far from both of you, but it's tantalizing glint in the dim light kept your attention. He noticed how wide your pupils got. He heard the soft mewl that escaped you. He felt the way your hips rocked - did you even know what you did to him when you got like this?

"Say it properly," he growled. His eyes were dark and hard, demanding and desperate. He needed to hear you say it. "Tell me you like it or we stop right here."

"No! I like it! Fuck, Leon, I love how it feels. Please don't stop," you begged. He'd barely touched you at all and here you were begging for it already. It was humiliating. The wetness grew between your legs.

"Good girl," he says. His praise makes you blush, makes you all the more eager to please him.

He doesn't move from his position leaning over you. He brings the knife back to your skin, growing hard at the way your breath quickens before he even touches you.

The flat side of the blade presses against your belly. He drags it upwards, now with enough force to really feel it. If the blade were flipped around, a thin line of red would follow it. It traveled across the softest part of your abdomen, up towards your rib cage. Your abs flexed as you desperately tried to keep still for him. It explored the hills of your rib cage, biting at the soft skin there, before making the climb up your breasts.

Leon's breath was heavy now. He pressed his hips against your thigh and you could feel how hard he was. Fuck, he was enjoying this just as much, wasn't he?

The knife circled your breast. From the bottom, around the top near your collar bone, and then inwards. The tip of the knife grazed against your nipple and you almost cry out. Then it's gone again.

You whimper. Your hands are on his bicep, feeling the solid muscle there that drove you crazy, trying to bring the feeling back. His free hand gently strokes your hair, then your face. He was wearing those fingerless black gloves he wore for work. The worn leather caressing your cheek, his soft fingertips tracing your features. Your cheeks were red and flushed, your lips parted.

He was always transfixed by your mouth. His thumb traced your cheek bone, your jaw, your chin, then brushed your bottom lip. Again, this time with more force, gently opening your mouth for him. Fuck, you looked so hot like that.

Your tongue flicked out against his thumb, inviting him in. His eyes widened. You drew his thumb into you mouth, licking, sucking, biting. You found it almost funny how quickly you could turn the tables on him.

His hand was grasping your jaw then. Hard. Hard enough to leave bruises and he was barely using any force. There was dark humour in his eyes, and you felt the meaning behind them. You really thought you had any control here? His voice came out barely above a whisper.

"Did you forget I'm the one with the fucking knife?"

Cold, hard metal pressed against your ribcage. You gasped, but his frame pinned you in place. It was still only the dull side but it hurt when he sliced it across your body.

You moan. Tears pricking your eyes. Your body was so hot it felt like it was on fire. You wanted him to hurt you more. You wanted him to press that knife against your throat and fuck you. The wetness between your legs was unbearable, you needed more. Your hands grasped at his arms, his chest, too needy to notice how he stiffened.

He could kill you.

The thought crossed his mind the first time you brought this up, and again the second that knife first kissed your skin, but seeing the tears collect in your eyes, it was all he could think.

The bruises were already growing on your jaw and he didn't even realize he'd done it. He looked over your body, naked and vulnerable for him, and all he could see was years of training beating into him where the vital organs were. Which major arteries would cause you to bleed out. Even with the flat side of the blade, his brain was finding all the ways he could hurt you. Really hurt you. Without even breaking a sweat. Without even meaning to.

What scared him most was the part of him that wanted to.

"Baby?" Your hands on his cheeks drew him back to you. Your gentle touch, your beautiful eyes, the concern for him that clearly showed on your flushed features.

A gloved hand wove through your hair as he pulled you close and pressed your foreheads together. His breath was harsh and ragged, his cock still straining hard against you, a thin streak of wet against your thigh. You squeezed your legs together to calm yourself, then shifted so you were facing him with his body between your legs.

"I know you would never hurt me," you tell him, running your hands over his shoulders comfortingly, shamefully pushing aside the part of you that was getting hot again thinking of his strength.

He pulls away and looks at you, searching. You smile reassuringly.

"We can stop if you want to," you say.

He lets out a long breath, his body relaxing. He leans forward and kisses you. Sweet, at first. Quickly growing sloppy, messy, wet. His free hand tucks around the back of your thigh, squeezing the sensitive skin there hard enough to make you moan.

"I don't want to stop," he groaned. He shifted his hips, pressing his cock against the warmth of your cunt.

He shoved you back down. His forearm across the broad of your chest, holding you down against the bed like it was nothing. His fingers dug into your shoulder, bruising you. He pushed his hips against you, grinding himself against your dripping pussy with an intensity that surprised you. The choked-back groans he let out reminded you of a wild animal desperate to either fuck or tear you apart.

He brought the knife back up to where you could see it. The city lights glinting off it's surface. His gloved hand flexing around it's hilt. Did he just want to remind you that he was in charge? He kept grinding against you, his muscles tight with restraint, encouraged by the way you moaned and whimpered for him. Seeing him like this... was exciting. It scared you.

He slammed the knife into the bedside table, burying it an inch deep in solid wood like it was butter. He flashed that stupid, cocky smile. Show off.

He kissed you again. You pulled him closer with your legs, and he finally, finally pushed his cock into you. It slid in easily, the sound of how wet you were making a noise that would have made you blush if it weren't for how fucking badly you needed him.

He fucked you like that, hard and unrelenting, with the knife buried in the bedside just inches away.