#comfort boy for life

[ryan-waddell11]

i know this man was STRUGGLING on the bike

[hitlikehammers]

to die by your side (is such a heavenly way to die)

rating: t ♥️ cw: angst with a happy ending (which is actually kinda fluffy?), limbo/near-death experiences, post-S4/Upside Down-heavy, falling in love ♥️ tags: falling for each other in the space between life and death, happy ending

for @steddielovemonth day twenty-six: Love is a fire that never goes out (@sidekick-hero)

this is because of 1) this song being too close to the prompt for me to disengage it in my head, and the chorus therefore dictating this plot line, and 2) @hbyrde36 picked it and, again, I am very susceptible to people indicating they like a thing and would enjoy more, so @hbyrde36: I hope you enjoy what this became ♥️

“Oh fuck, not you, too.”

Steve looks up—when did he sit down, he doesn’t remember sitting down, he doesn’t remember how even got here, and hey, actually, where is here—

“What?” Steve looks toward the voice; familiar. See the wreath of curls around a pale face.

“This is death, right?” Eddie’s crossing over to him, crouching just beside; “I’m dead, like, I am very sure I’m dead, but you’re here, so—“

“I don’t,” Steve breathes in sharp—tries to get his bearings, tries to see but it’s just black in every direction, his lungs feel like they’re halved in size all of sudden, everything feels tight and painful and hard like inhaling isn’t something guaranteed, and his heartbeat feels like it’s dragging the carcass of something with it when it pumps, laborious and—

He’s is breathing, though, even if it’s kinda half-assed; he’s got a heartbeat, even if it feels like it’s about to fucking give out.

That doesn’t…that doesn’t sound like death.

“I,” Steve licks his lips; his mouth is so fucking dry but swelling kinda hurts and…he’s not as fucked up as he has a feeling he should be, he needs to think harder than he’s ready for just now to figure out what the last thing that happened between where he was, and where he is but: he thinks he should be more fucked up on, like, an instinctual level that knows he should be pretty fucked up, basically, and he’s not.

But again: he still hurts, and that…also doesn’t sound like death.

He swallows anyway; not that it helps.

“Max said there was this, black void,” Steve works through the first thing that comes to mind slowly, processes as he speaks; “with water,” and he looks down and sees the ripples in what he’s sitting in, moving around him but…but the reflections are right, and there’s no light so how are there even wrong reflections; he wasn’t good in his science classes but he feels pretty sure you need light to see anything in a mirror, plus—

“Water,” he flicks his hand from the standing pool around him up at Eddie without warning: “that wasn’t wet.”

Eddie splutters, but it dies down quick: it’s supposed to be wet. He expects it to be.

But it’s not. His eyes go so fucking big.

“It’s attached to the Upside Down,” Steve pushes on; “Eleven can like, come here, but,” he shakes his head and Eddie grimaces: she lost her powers.

“So it’s almost-death,” Eddie surmises, and drops into the not-water next to Steve.

“I guess so,” Steve shrugs, and draws his legs up; hugs his knees.

“Fucking great,” Eddie huffs, sneers, and it’s…Steve not sure why exactly, but it feels…targeted. Directed at him, because one, yes: he isthe only other thing here—as far as he can tell—but the words Eddie’d no-greeted him with float back into his consciousness:

Not you.

“Sorry to rain on your parade, man,” Steve bites out and shoves his head down between his thighs, maybe to breathe, maybe to think, maybe to hide, maybe to fucking cry, maybe to…fuck, he doesn’t even know.

He thinks he’s in the middle of trying to split the difference of every possible thing when Eddie’s voice breaks the still in the dark: “I didn’t,” and honestly, Steve’s never heard that voice sound so soft, so small; “that’s not what I meant,” and it’s an apology even if they words don’t add up exact, Steve feels it clear like a blow to the solar plexus. He turns to Eddie, who’s staring out at the nothing.

“I don’t want to be alone,” Eddie whispers, and his lip trembles, Steve can see that despite the lack of light.

Steve can see tears on that face, too, despite the lack of any light.

“But I hate that you’re here,” Eddie’s voice catches on kind of a whine, and Steve maybe would startle, when a hand reaches out and covers his; Eddie still does look at him, but he flattens his hand over Steve’s like a squeeze:

“That you’re here, too.”

And, oh. Okay.

Okay.

They’re here, then. Together.

Here.

___________________

It takes a while—he thinks; he thinks it’s a while, but one of the first things that makes itself plain in this godforsaken place is how times means absolutely fucking nothing, so; he think it takes a while to remember the vines.

They were coming back for Robin, and Steve would die before he let her get hurt so: that’s the last thing he remembers.

For Eddie, it’s the bats; Steve grimaces, hates even imagining like…swarms of them. More of their bites.

He’s the one who reaches for Eddie’s hand, this time—he wants to say it’s just a little comfort for the particularly bad things that are coming up as they sit here, as they draw patterns in the not-water and blow against it to make little waves just for shits, mindless and stupid: he wants to say that when it gets too much, and then keeps going, when it’s the worst, they’ve started to reach because what else can they do? Who else can they lean on?

Who’s gonna fucking know?

Actually: no. He doesn’t want to say that.

He wants to say the truth: the truth being they touch a lot. They reach a lot. They reach because it’s quiet. They reach because it’s dark. They reach because they’re frustrated. Or they’re scared. Steve could map Eddie’s calluses blind if he was asked to. Eddie traces his veins without being able to see close enough to know that he’s right.

He wants to say the truth: that he wants to touch. He craves it. And not just from anyone.

He craves this.

He doesn’t know what that fucking means.

But he’s the one who reaches, and covers Eddie’s hand, presses down to keep him when Eddie remembers the bats.

And he’s the one who leans, who rests their shoulders together and holds his breath.

But Eddie is the one who doesn’t move away, who leans in too, he tips his head onto Steve and breathes out slow so Steve can feel the warm damp of it on his skin and…

Steve’s heart’s fucking pounding, but then also it’s kinda like fluttering, and either way:

That’s not death.

___________________

Steve likes that the not-water is…not water, because lying back in it doesn’t fuck up his hair. Which…feels cleaner than it should be he figures maybe that’s just the same as both he and Eddie not being riddled with the wounds they should be rights be covered in—he can run his hands through it and that’s really all he wants, his hands, or like, you know if other hands wanted—

Whatever; he’s not going to question the not-water. He’s happy it doesn’t make him a wet dog just for trying to lay back and pretend there are stars.

Which he’d still be doing, if a weird…flapping noise hadn’t started up over to the left.

He has to squint in the no-light to see what the fuck’s going on, something in Eddie’s hands, oh shit, flapping, is it one of those fucking bats—

“What the fuck?”

Eddie freezes, and turns. And Steve sees what’s in his hands.

Doesn’t change his question.

Eddie just blinks at him. And runs his thumbs over the desk of cards he’s holding, flicking them one by one: flapping.

“Where the hell did those come from?”

Eddie shrugs. “Pocket.”

Steve gapes a little.

“You’ve had them the whole time?” because again, even if the feeling’s shifted: what the fuck

“Lots of pockets, man,” Eddie grins cheekily as he shakes his jacket out, like Steve can see any pockets.

Then he’s walking over to Steve on his knees before dropping cross-legged and shuffling the deck before he taps them out on his thigh and leans in:

“Pick your poison.”

And Steve’s played his share of cards, is actually pretty decent at poker, but, like…

“I don’t,” he bites his lip and stares at the predictable red pattern of the face-down cards;“I don’t want to think,” he finishes, kinda fucking lame, but Eddie’s not deterred, flips a few cards off the top with a thump before balancing the rest on his knee, offering half the cards he’s still holding to Steve with a little wiggle of his eyebrows:

“Go Fish?”

And Steve, he, like—

This is not-death, right, but whatever it is, it’s probably not good, and yet here Steve sits, with five cards in his hand and…Jesus.

He feels his lips stretch and he doesn’t think he’s smiled like this in…

In a while.

___________________

“Three Musketeers,” Steve answers when they’re lounging in the not-water, heads lined up so sometimes Steve feels the tickle of Eddie’s curls.

“The fuck?” Eddie huffs a laugh; the question was just things they’d miss if they never get out of here; like, it’s a little morbid and also a little hopeful all at once.

They’ve been working deeper in the category of food for a bit now, and so it’s candy bars. And Steve does not see what’s controversial about his choice, honestly.

“I love those, shit,” Steve waves his hand in the air, dismissing Eddie’s very wrong opinion, here; “they’re just,” Steve hums, tries to figure out the best way to defend a genuinely fucking excellent snack food:

“They’re simple,” and that sounds like a weak defense but look at where they are, look at their lives, that is fucking high praise. “Not too sweet and like, light and airy and,” Steve tilts his head, imagines the mouthfeel:

“Kinda delicate when you bite into ‘em,” he feels himself grin a little: “like bubbles or something,” because…yeah.

They’re awesome, but then he looks over at Eddie, who’s already turned to look at him, his gaze…something. Weighty but not oppressive. Piercing but not painful.

“Sorry,” Steve feels himself flush and it’s no the first time, or the worst time, but he’s grateful just like he is every time that there’s no fucking light and whatever lets them see at all doesn’t give away a blush; “sorry, that’s—“

“That’s adorable,” Eddie says with something…equally undefinable in his voice as much as his eyes, but this thing makes Steve feel, like, warm and tingly, a little, under his skin, in his chest; “you’re right, they’re…” and Eddie reaches for his hand, which they do a lot, yeah, but not…not so often for good things and this feels…like a good thing.

“They’re really good,” Eddie presses his hand over Steve’s, like a blanket, all encompassing—Steve has broad hands but Eddie’s fingers are longer than he’d ever noticed and he—

Steve likes how they fit.

“Under-appreciated, I think,” Eddie’s voice has lowered, softened, and it kinda feels like he’s saying something that has nothing to do with candy bars at all: “because people aren’t looking close enough to see how amazing it is.”

Yeah, for how Eddie’s staring at him, and for how Steve’s pulse has ramped up all of a sudden: Steve doesn’t really think Eddie’s talking about chocolate at all.

___________________

“You’re really good company.”

Eddie turns and blinks Steve’s way.

“What?”

Steve swallows; he’s not sure what made him say it. Except that it’s true.

“I’d have liked it,” he starts, like, expands on the point rather than revisiting the simple part; “if we could have, y’know,” and he gestures between them; “hung out.”

Eddie tilts his head, and he doesn’t smile exactly, but it kinda feels like his whole face, maybe his whole body, is a smile.

“Well,” he huffs a little laugh, like a disbelieving sound; “we’re hanging out, now.”

And Steve smiles the normal way, which is probably lesser to look at, but he wishes really hard that Eddie could, like, slip under his skin and see how it feels on the inside. “Yeah,” Steve grins at the darkness for a second, chews his lips a little, suddenly kinda…bashful, fuck:

“Yeah we are,” and then he breathes in deep, and makes himself be brave with something he doesn’t wholly understand:

“I like it,” and that’s an understatement.

And then Eddie hums, and covers Steve’s hand as he murmurs:

“Me too, sweetheart.”

And Steve’s heartbeat catches on that word, or more, reaches for that word, that name, greedy and wild and it pounds out that same desperate mantra blood-in-blood-out unwavering:

not-dead, not-dead, not-dead, not—

___________________

Eddie’s smile is so fucking pretty.

He didn’t know what Speed was, like the card game, so they’ve each got a pile balanced on a knee as the flip and they’re pressed up tight at their crossed legs to make a little table from their limbs for the discards and Eddie’s just…

It’s not just his smile.

“My grandpa taught me to play,” Steve comments idly, mostly just for something to say when it looks like they’re stuck and need to flip from the sides.

“It’s chaotic,” Eddie looks up and meets Steve’s eyes, his own fucking glittering when the lack of light should make that impossible but Steve thinks Eddie is kinda impossible so probably it fits.

“I like it,” he proclaims, as he reaches for another card to start the momentum back up, raises an eyebrow at Steve and waits for him to follow suit like he’s the expect, like Steve didn’t fucking just show him this game—

“You would,” Steve snorts and Eddie?

Eddie just beams bigger, and that catches in Steve’s pulse, nudges it to sing something that’s more than just not-dead; that’s more…

That feels more

___________________

It’s the more-feeling that breaks him, in the end.

“You called me big boy.”

Steve doesn’t really have control over his mouth, when it happens. Or else, like, he doesn’t think before the words tumble out, and the lie in the not-water and stare at the absence of the starts in the not-sky.

His heart’s jumped up to his throat, now.

Eddie’s quiet, for a while, even if time doesn’t mean anything here; Eddie’s quiet, and Steve’s heart wants to jump out of his fucking mouth but if it does than it’s got two destinations: it can’t drown in the not-water so that’s fucking useless, and then there’s Eddie, Eddie’s hands, Eddie’s chest and—

“I,” Eddie finally speaks, and his voice is rough, far away;“I, yeah.”

Steve doesn’t know what he was expecting. He wasn’t planning on saying anything so there weren’t any expectations built in.

“You looked at me,” Steve’s whispering, but it wavers, it moves with the force of his blood; “like you…” Steve licks his lips, swallows a whimper because what is he doing, what is he doing—

“Being almost-dead is really going to take the thunder out of your backlash on this, Harrington,” Eddie cuts into his panic and Steve’s head snaps over to look, to try and read Eddie’s expression: scared. Bracing for impact. Like Steve would, like Steve could ever—

“No, no, I,” Steve raises himself up and scoots over to Eddie, grabs his hands and presses them together in his own, never once looks away from Eddie’s eyes as they stretch wide.

“What did you mean?” because Steve’s started this, and Eddie’s anxious for it and…he needs Eddie to understand he’s not upset, he’s confused, his heart’s all swollen for it, he just, he—

“With the, with calling me that, and with leaning in like you did in the woods,” his breath’s shaking on the exhale: “with all the looks,” and he tries to leave it all in his eyes, on his face, open and clear for all that he doesn’t understand, but also for all that he…that he hopes.

Eventually, Eddie sighs, and squeezes his eyes shut tight, almost like a wince.

But he doesn’t pulls his hands away.

“You’re not stupid, Steve.”

Steve shakes his head, even if Eddie can’t see it.

“I’m very stupid.”

And Eddie’s eyes fly open, look wrathful, look offended on…Steve’ behalf, what the fuck?

And yeah, yeah, he’s opening his mouth now to fight him, to fight Steve about Steve and…no. No, that’s not the point.

“I’m stupid,” Steve says again, but quick so he can get it out; “about like,” he tries to find the right words and remembers Robin’s point on it once:

“About, you know, matters of the heart.”

Eddie’s features slacken, and his mouth drops open as he blinks at Steve before he eventually chokes out:

“Heart?”

But Steve can hear it. He can hear the confusion, like his own, but also just like his own:

He thinks he can hear the hope.

“You held that bottle to my throat and all I wanted was for you to lean closer,” he confesses, and it feels amazing, like he can breathe again, or see in color even though there’s so little color, here.

“And slit it?” Eddie croaks, incredulous, still a little slack-jawed and Steve laughs, because he can breathe, and—

“And kiss me, you dick.”

Eddie’s mouth snaps shut, and his eyes somehow get bigger, and his chest’s heaving and Steve wants that not to be for fearing, he wants Eddie to be anything but scared, he wants Eddie to be hoping—

“Stevie,” Eddie barely breathes and…it’s not scared, or else, not like it could be. It’s hesitant. It’s…full, of something Steve thinks might be incredible.

“You call me sweetheart,” Steve leans in, pushes the point, leans more until he’s close enough where he can feel Eddie’s breath on his face; “here. Now.”

Eddie nods immediately, doesn’t try to hide from it.

“Yeah, I do,” he breathes, and watches Steve so careful, unblinking.

“What does it mean,” Steve pushes, angles his lips without even thinking, without making the choice but Eddie?

Eddie makes the choice, and he kisses Steve so fucking sure and sweet and still wild somehow and Steve never wants to not be here. Never wants to not have this mouth under his, never wants to not have Eddie’s hands in his own: he doesn’t wholly understand it, where it comes from or what all it means but…his heart’s fucking dancing, the joy’s almost sore for it’s size and when Steve breathes between them, when they break for half a second to breathe and stare and marvel and Eddie looks like he’s entranced, like he’s overjoyed, and the only other thing here is Steve?

Fuck. Fuck.

If this ends up being death, that’s okay. That’s okay, as long as there’s also this.

___________________

He’s on top of Eddie’s chest, curled so so close, when it starts to feel…different. In his body. Like something pulling him.

The dark is still absolute but it almost feels like they’re on the brink of something, like dawn could come.

Steve fucking hates it.

“I don’t want to die alone,” Eddie whispers against his head, kisses at his hair.

“I don’t want you to die,” Steve grits out, almost violent, because isn’t this how it started, wasn’t that what Eddie meant, that he didn’t want Steve here, too—but Steve won’t accept that.

He cannot fucking accept that.

“I don’t want you to die at all.”

Eddie drags the tip of his nose back and forth against Steve’s hair some more as he breathes, breathes, breathes—

“To die by your side,” Eddie murmurs low; “would be my privilege,” and Steve chokes on a whine, a sob—it’s too much. It’s too much, and he needs this man, he needs him so much, he think he fucking loves hi—

“Maybe it’s not dying,” Steve tries, looks out into the abyss and he can’t see what’s on the way but he feels it; they both feel it: “maybe we’ll,” and he grabs Eddie’s hand and brings it to his lips.

“Maybe we’ll wake up.”

Maybe. Maybe.

“Kiss me,” Eddie exhales and Steve pulls back, slides up Eddie’s chest and hovers over him, makes to claim his lips but then Eddie lifts a palm, pauses Steve as he presses it over his racing heart and blinks at him, makes the tears fall from his lashes:

“Kiss me again when we wake up.”

And Steve will, he will, but.

He’s gonna kiss Eddie now, too. He’s going to kiss Eddie always.

He thinks his heart’s going too fast to beat out words but that, in itself, has to mean something that isn’t…death.

So he pours that conviction, and all the hope he’s got left, into Eddie as he devours him, breathes into him like they can melt together, like if Steve’s air lifts Eddie’s lungs they’ll be one person, one living soul and whatever happens…

Whatever happens will take them both.

___________________

Eddie splutters, clutches his chest; his heart’s racing, it feels like his blood’s on fire because every beat fucking burns, and the tear of his shirt where it’s stuck to his skin—dried blood, fucking hell—all up his side is absolutely disgusting, Jesus fuck—

“Eddie!”

He turns and that, that’s Henderson, and he squints; that’s Henderson running toward him, less than a minute away at that pace and Eddie doesn’t know if he can sit up but he’ll try, he digs his fingers into the mud and makes to lift—

And then something crashes into him, pins him right back down.

Covers his hands. Presses.

And he can’t get a word out, can barely fucking breathe before his lips are covered, before he’s being kissed so fucking desperate and giddy and all these feelings being fed straight into him, his heart leaping up in his throat to steal a taste but it doesn’t need to, it doesn’t need to because he feels…he feels it all everywhere, and he looks up and he shakes, he laughs, he’s gonna fucking cry—

“You woke up,” Eddie whispers, marvels, thinks his whole face is going to split open with, with joy and Steve, Steve is here, and he’s smiling back, and he’s breathing and they’re, it’s—

There’s light here. Steve’s eyes are like molten copper, they flicker, they shine.

“Promised,” Steve murmurs close, his lips moving Eddie’s lips with each syllable and the taste is, is…sweet and soft and light and perfect and Eddie almost doesn’t ask because it feels so right, so unquestionable but also he wants, something fierce and unwavering, and he needs to be sure where the water’s real, and the ripples mean something when you shift the whole fucking world, when you feel this big you know it’ll move the earth breathe your feet, so he has to ask:

“That the only reason?”

He still feels the hope from wherever they were, though; he feels it still, here, and he believes in it more in the light, he thinks, and he looks at Steve, takes him in, sees his chest rising and his pulse at the neck: real. Real, and so beautiful, and so, so—

Steve leans and kisses him hard, almost painful but it’s divine, Eddie will bask in the sting of it for the rest of his fucking life if he’s allowed, and then—

Then Steve pulls back and pins him with his eyes, now, fierce and on fire and they steal Eddie’s breath with feeling, with intent as Steve grabs at his shoulders, pulls them flush together and growls against his ear, like a vow almost:

“Only reason?” Steve huffs, shakes his head. “Not even close,” and he drags his lips over Eddie’s skin, catches Eddie’s hair, weaves into Eddie’s heartbeat:

not-dead, not-dead, not-dead

in-love, in-love, in-love—

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

♥️

divider credit here

[lanshappycorner]

Never getting over how Idia actually brought his childhood plushies up to college what a skrunkly little meow meow

[russenoire]

that scene in season 1 where teruki hanazawa exorcises ekubo mid-sentence... and shigeo's eyes widen in shock?

i really want to talk about it, specifically the explosion meter accompanying it.

normally, when the teenager's emotions aren't obvious to the audience, that meter relays to us a sense of what he is actually feeling. but we cannot trust the meter here. we see it jump up a few points at teru's 'psycho wave' sending the sleazy ghost to the shadow realms, and remain steady at 50% upon shigeo's recollections of the spirit's unsavory nature. the boy outright tells teru that he isn't bothered. and it's funny!

but shigeo isn't being honest with himself here either.

his face briefly gives his feelings away before resettling into its normal flat affect. (to be fair, what he's really feeling isn't teru's business. this kid is trying to provoke a fight out of him, after all.) after he's basically tortured into exploding, shigeo spends three hours in the pouring rain, searching everywhere for ekubo.

three. hours.

these are not the actions of someone who isn't bothered. letting himself get drenched to the point of sickness,

even though he literally holds the power to shield himself from it,

reads to me like unconscious self-punishment for allowing all this to happen.

after a large chunk of his short life spent denying and fearing them for good reason, shigeo's first impulse is often not to use his psychic powers -- even after his integration at the story's end. i wish this was discussed more, because many watchers cannot fathom why this boy with world-breaking psychic abilities would ever refuse to use them.

also: the explosion meter lying to us / representing shigeo's detachment from his own emotions alexithymia may occur elsewhere in the series as well, especially when he's not close to an explosion; i'm reminded of the tiny dent ritsu's provocation of him makes in it a few episodes later.

[fishyfishyfishtimes]

Daily fish fact #699

European conger!

It is the heaviest eel in the world at a maximum weight of 110 kilograms (243 lbs). These nocturnal predators occasionally like to hide in the same holes with moray eels.

[fromtheseventhhell]

I want to make a longer post about this someday but: I think Arya's TWOW arc is going to include her coming to terms with her identity as a Lady. This has been an ongoing conflict with her since her first chapter and I think her flowering in winds is going to mark a turning point. The theory of her having an apprenticeship with the courtesans holds a lot of weight and the idea of Arya going through puberty among a group of unconventional women she's fostered a positive relationship with is just too perfect. It would really have an impact on Arya reconciling her personal idea of what a Lady should be. There's also a lot that she could learn from them in terms of courtesies, communication, appearances, body-language, etc. that would elevate her current skill-set and ways her relationship with them could push the plot.

Not to mention she will undoubtedly reclaim her identity as Arya Stark, and her being a Lady is inseparable from that. Arya Stark is a Lady Stark and being a Lady is a social position, not a measure of how well someone preforms feminine tasks. She shouldn't have to relinquish her position because she doesn't fit patriarchal standards. That's not to say that she's ever going to be the perfect example of a traditional Lady but what I think will happen is that she becomes capable of playing the part. She plays several identities throughout the series but she's always been Arya underneath, so I think it's appropriate that she learns to adopt a "persona" that's part of her. Her remembering Ned putting on his "Lord's face" (+ the various examples of other characters being separate from their ruling persona) makes me think that Arya will be donning her "Lady's face" when she makes a return to Westeros.

[jamesdegriz]

Sometimes I just want to abandon everything and

Move to the empty town to live with a cute artsy boyfriend and his brothers helping them murder people and makinf art

OR

Take a job as a nanny in a remote part of a country to take care and love an adorable manchild living in the walls

OR

Go camping to the Lake and stay there forever in the cabin with the huge teddy bear of a husband (who sometimes murders people, but it's not important)

[vole-mon-amour]

Thinking about Astarion loving silk sheets, pretty dishes and cutlery, and beautiful people.

Thinking of Halsin leaving claw marks in the dirt because he wildshapes into a bear when sleeping, eating wild berries, and fishing in rivers.

Thinking of these two managing to balance both in their relationship because love conquers all. (But hey, Halsin is already gorgeous and his blood tastes amazing, so Astarion can't complain too much.)

[phatcatphergus]

I hope chay takes tubbos invite to keep a secret area even from phil to know that he can trust tubbo because tubbo would give his life for any egg no matter what and it helps chay feel comfortable enough to open up a bit

[she]

Wille asking to be held

1x04 / 2x03 / 2x04

[ryan-waddell11]

please end my suffering now

[earlgodwin]

"There are moments where [Juan] manipulates other people in a similar the way they’ve been manipulating him. The scene between Jeremy and myself with the dagger is a last ditch frantic attempt at trying to win [Rodrigo] over." Do you think Juan was genuine in the knife scene? Do you think he would have killed himself? "Yeah I think so. He always does what is true inside him...It wasn’t simply about the eventual confrontation, but all about the richness of this twisted family make-up."

[ninicaise]

paschal is very interesting morally bc yes he obviously cared about laurent and ended up saving the day but also. this cunt held onto that letter for god knows how long as laurent was being humilliated in a trial entirely rigged against him with the most likely result of a certain painful torture and death and he only revealed the truth when damen begged him to. for a doctor he sure has no goddamn idea where is spine is for like 99% of the series i love it i love him

[the-cookie-of-doom]

My entire day is just. Studying child development. And I don't like it (it's complicated) but it's making me really want to write a kid!fic?

Look, watching that one episode of Ingredients Did Something To Me, okay??

After some youthful indiscretions when he's a teenager, Kim get's a girl pregnant. Korn finds out and makes the problem go away. Kim might not find out at all, until years later, when the girl - now a woman - presents him with a toddler and tells him it's his. And Kim is shocked to hell, but if nothing else, he's loyal to his family, and holy shit this child is his family.

Or maybe Korn deals with the problem in a different way. He's not averse to raising bodyguards, Kim says as much himself. He could easily take care of the mother (either paying her off, attic-wifing her, or killing her), with the intention of raising his grandson to be the next heir after Kinn. He knows the chances of getting a child out of Kinn are slim to none. Now he won't have to worry about that. He has a grandchild that he can raise in his own image, in secret.

This is going to get long so I'm going to continue under a cut

However it happens, Kim eventually finds out, and like hell he's going to let anyone keep him from his child. It will take him a while to get used to the idea, to lean into fatherhood, but he's not going to let his own father raise his child to be a killer. Kim sees a chance to break his generational trauma and he takes it with both hands and runs.

Kim has no idea how to be a father. He didn't have a good role model. He know show he's raised, and he knows he won't be the same, so he just. Tries to do the opposite of whatever he went through as a kid. (He's probably the overly-permissive type, but that won't be a problem until later.)

Kim also doesn't have time to be a father. He's in his last year of university, he has a career to manage. Korn of course offers to help - with Kinn running the family now, he can play the part of doting grandpa, but Kim refuses. Hires a nanny (maybe the one that took care of him as a child, the only one he trusts with his own) to help him figure this all out.

The official story, as far as WiK goes, to protect his clean image, is that the toddler is his baby brother. WiK is seen as the sweet, doting older brother when they're seen in public together (which he tries to make sure isn't often, but he's not going to raise his kid in a box, fuck that). It melts the hearts of all his fans, and no one knows he was a teen parent, a terrible role model, someone to scorn.

At some point in their interactions, Kim lets it slip that he has two brothers, and Chay is confused. He knows about the toddler, but Kim mentioned two older brothers? So doesn't that mean he has three?

Eventually Kim introduces Chay to his kid, and Chay isn't stupid. He was raised by his own brother, he knows what that looks like, and it's not what he sees now. His suspicions are confirmed the first time Kim lets him into his apartment. He tries to hide all of the baby things, but Chay snoops a little bit. Finds a child's room behind a door that should have been locked. He confronts Kim, very gently, with the truth. He doesn't judge. He sad that Kim feels the need to hide, even from him, but he understands.

He also thinks the image of Kim with his son is so much cuter than the idea of him with a baby brother.

Kim lets himself be a little reckless, lets Chay spend more time with him and his son, and it hurts how easily Chay takes to him. Like they're a little family of their own. But it's not real.

The first time Kim lets - no, specifically asks - Chay to babysit, because he has no one else, his nanny is sick, and there's no one else he trusts with his son (which is a shock for both of them on it's own), leads to a dramatic shift in their relationship. Kim can't keep pretending this is just a friendship of convenience. He trusts Chay, maybe more than he should, but he can't deny it.

It's going to make the breakup so much harder, because his son is old enough to love Chay, to miss him, to ask where he is when he stops coming over, and Kim doesn't have a good enough answer. Is barely holding himself together, without the added pain of consoling his heartbroken child, crying for Chay to come home while Kim has to keep himself from doing the same.

TBH, the kid is probably how they reconcile. Next time SomethingTM happens and Kim doesn't have anyone to watch him, his first instinct is to call Chay. But he's not allowed to do that anymore. So he drops the boy off with Uncle Tankhun (and is barely able to make him leave that horrible house with his child inside, but Khun is fierce, he'll protect him) and at some point Chay comes to see Khun, and finds him playing with the kid who missed Chay so much, and he knows he should leave, but when he tries the kid cries until he throws up (it's gross, but it's also sweet, but it's also so, so heartbreaking) and Chay just. Can't. Kim might hate him for it, but he can't break that little baby's heart all over again.

After, both Tankhun and the kid demand regular visits. (Khun knows exactly what he's doing. Yeah he loves his nephew, the kid is in that excited dress-up stage and lets Khun treat him like a little doll, but he also thinks Kim is an idiot and needs to start talking to Chay again, and if this is what happens, then so be it).

Little kiddo excited tells Chay about anything and everything, and then does the same to Kim, telling him about his day, all the fun things he did with Uncle Khun and Uncle Chay, and. It hurts. Kim was not at all prepared for how much it hurts.

It continues this way for a while, with the kid an unintentional carrier pigeon between Kim and Chay, sharing aspects of their lives to each other. They never cross paths because Chay always makes sure he's not there when Kim drops him off or picks him up.

Until one day he is. Kim was late (his latest mission was particularly bloody, he had to take extra time to get himself cleaned up and put back together, he won't let his son be exposed to this part of his life) and his son is inconsolable. Chay is trying his best. Just got him to sleep in his lap when Kim finally drags himself, looking fierce until his eyes fall on his son in the arms of the man he loves, and he softens, and Chay sees it, and. They really need to talk.

But kiddo is still sleeping, and Kim doesn't want to wake him up just yet, so he just. Sits down. Looking at him because he can't look at Chay, and Chay tells him how worried kiddo was (doesn't say how worried he was, too), and how he's been fussy all night. Kim lets it slip how much kiddo missed Chay/looks forward to seeing him now (doesn't say how much he missed Chay, and always hopes for a glimpse of him, always disappointed when he isn't there)

They have a lot to work through, but it's impossible to fight with the kiddo sleeping in Chay's lap, so they're forced to be adults about it. Talking quietly, with Kim admitting to things he never thought he'd be able to say out loud. Does say how much he missed Chay, and how he never should have left Chay alone, and how he never should have let Chay think he never loved him, because he did, so much he saw a future with Chay that scared him, and he ran, because he couldn't bear it if Chay left him first, better to break his own heart

Chay forgives him. They don't get together immediately because forgiveness isn't the same as acceptance, and they still have things they need to work through. But he stops avoiding Kim, and sometimes Kim calls him instead of Khun when he needs an impromptu baby sitter, and slowly, that little family that Kim never let himself dream about starts to take form in front of his eyes, and he wonders how he could have ever let himself run away from this.

[tswwwit]

This recently completed snippet goes out to 16% of you!

Warning for vaguely described gore and general unpleasantness of that sort.

One second before it happens, Dipper already knows how he fucked up.

There’s one shield version for energy, another for physical stuff. Different mechanics for different defenses, they aren’t the same spell structure in the slightest. 

When the monster bared its teeth at him, he thought it was going to shoot lightning again. Not pounce. He’d known that both attacks were possible - but damn it, he should have put up both shield versions, simultaneously. That’s a thing he can do now, with Bill’s power behind him. 

To be fair, Dipper thinks as the fangs close in, and hot breath ghosts on his cheek - the signs are basically the same. 

The monster leaps right through the barrier he put up against its lightning breath, a huge claw dragging down his shoulder, sending fabric shredding underneath it. The fangs right in his face, showing an open, gaping mouth. Feeling himself fall backward, as if time has been slowed. Somewhere distant, Bill’s shouting something -

Dipper hits the ground, hard enough to drive the breath out of him as the paw rakes down, jaws snapping shut just beside his head.

It shoves the breath out of him, there’s a tearing sensation down his chest - he’s already shoving fire out of his hand, as much as he can manage. A blast from the side joins it, much, much larger than his own - and the knockback heaves the creature off him, sending it tumbling to Dipper’s right.

Dipper tries to roll onto his side - his body lets out a screaming protest - and he settles on his back. Matched only by the hot, steamlike scream next to him.

Okay. Bill’s handling it. There’s fire. There’s smoke. Buying him some time. And space enough to breathe for a moment. 

Dipper clutches at his chest, feeling it rise and fall. His shirt is damp under his fingers - sweat, probably, he’s run around enough for that - it feels like a couple ribs are broken.

Breathing. Right. That’s a thing he needs to do, even when it aches like hell.

That’s normal. That’s fine. Not the first time he’s been hit bad, he’ll be okay in a minute. Two minutes, tops. He’s just a little dazed.

Why can’t he breathe right? It feels like there’s too little air. 

He tugs on his shirt, like loosening it would help. It flops loosely open, like it’s been cut, so. Not constricting. He squeezes the fabric tighter, and feels something wet drip between his knuckles.

If it’s a broken rib, he could manage that by taking shallow breaths. Calming down. But. He can’t do that this time. He needs the air - and the pain, if anything, is almost blinding. Literally, because his vision’s kind of blurry, even when he blinks. 

Dipper presses harder on his chest, even though it hurts. Kind of. Weird for a broken rib, though. This time, the pain this time is lower. And building. 

And it’s not. Centered, either. Not in his chest. The burn of it creeps through his torso, down into his legs and up to his neck..

Though his hand feels warm, and his chest and his stomach - hell, even the growing agony is a kind of heat  - 

Dipper feels a cold chill run up his spine.

He sucks in another shaking lungful of air. Letting it out, slow and controlled. Another, over the protest of what seems like his entire torso. 

He can hear Bill swearing loudly nearby, and see the smoke rising into the treeline. An almost barbecue smell lingering in the air that he needs to take another lungful of. And his husband, stomping around the presumable corpse beside him. Another ‘thump’ as the tail gets viciously kicked aside.

Dipper listens to the comforting sounds of Bill’s grumbling, concentrating on another agonizing breath. Then another.

“Stupid lousy-” Bill’s eye meets Dipper, and his voice cuts off. 

There’s a beat of silence. 

“Hey.” Dipper waves with his free hand, a quick greeting. It’s oddly tough to make that motion, so he lets his arm fall. Since he wants to keep. Y’know. Focusing on vital stuff. 

Which is. He shakes his head, coughing. Why is it so hard? 

Bill’s throat bobs, once. Dipper watches his eternal smile drop, as well as his arms. He takes one, unsteady step forward.

Dipper offers an awkward smile, since that first greeting didn’t work. He moves to sit up - 

And oh. Shit.

 Pain blossoms, bright and sharp. A wave of it, rising high and washing over him, leaving Dipper gasping this time - 

But he’s been gasping, hasn’t he. For a while now. 

How bad - ? A surge of worry jolts him to attention - but when Dipper clenches his arm around himself, he nearly gags. 

Everything’s. Very hurting. 

He blinks at Bill for another moment - then lets his head fall to the ground. There’s a sharp sound, and a scuffle.

He lets go of his shirt to tentatively pat, just lower, and feels it warm and wet. Very warmly wet.

Adrenaline, Dipper thinks, distantly. A delayed reaction. 

The rush got him through the worst of it. But it couldn’t carry him through all of it, because he’s hurt. Really hurt. and hurting, with pain coursing through his whole body like heat. Like the fire he uses, or his magic but. Really, really bad.

How did this…? 

But. Right. He got hit. Claws, not great. Falling. The fight went well until it really didn’t, though the timeline’s hard to track because he hurts. Has been hurt. He can’t tell how much.

Dipper doesn’t dare touch any lower, it makes him dizzy simply thinking of it, so he keeps his grip on his shirt tight. His fingers feeling sticky.

Damn it, he knew that getting injured sucked, but this isn’t like any of the times before. Those times he could suck it up, push through. Force his burning muscles to move even over his mind’s complaints. But this. 

Now his whole world is filled with pain, as sharp as the sun in his eyes. Like the fuzzy feeling of having too many drinks with Bill, except awful. 

Up above, the pine trees are swaying in the light wind. They seem to be having a good time, at least. And come to think of it, he never did learn where that nickname came from - 

“Hey.” Bill’s patting his face, now, nothing near a smack. He turns DIpper towards him, a little sharp in the motion. Dipper blinks back - he doesn’t know when he turned away.  “Hey, sapling. Look at me.”

Bill seems worried, and that’s super weird. Or maybe not, because everything is ow and hurt and very unpleasant - 

But Bill’s here, and he’s holding Dipper’s hand, and that helps. A different feeling to concentrate on. A distraction. And Dipper’s lying down, and that’s okay. A thousand times better than even thinking about standing. 

Dipper blinks up at him, letting out a groan, grimacing briefly at Bill’s achingly brittle smile. He scuffles with Dipper’s shirt, palms slipping down his chest - and sudden pressure makes Dipper go limp from simple hurt. He’d curl up against this, normally, even instinctually - but instead, his vision blinks red for a moment. 

Huh. He thought that part was just like. Something in books.

“Took a bit of a hit there, huh?” Bill’s grin isn’t nearly wide enough, it wavers - or maybe that’s Dipper’s vision, which has gone a bit blurry on the edges. He swallows, or tries to - why does his mouth feel so dry - “Hey, hey! Take it easy, kid. How’re you feeling?”

Dipper should say something. Make that face stop, that’s bad to look at - but. It’s. Like an immense object has taken up space in his brain. leaving the rest of his thoughts with no space to worm around it. Dipper didn’t know how much he wouldn’t be able to think until he suddenly couldn’t

“I don’t like this.” Dipper says, though it comes out so. Whiny, god. He sounds dumb, even to himself. Only the words that keep repeating in his head are just. ‘Bad’ and ‘ow’ and. Stuff.

Bill’s eye darts down, then back up. His lips draw into a thin line.

“I think I hate this,” Dipper adds, with such incredible insight. Only a genius would have added that. And it’s about all he can manage at the moment.

“Yeah, me too,” Bill mutters, without any snappy retort. His eye darts up and down, his teeth bared in a grimace. “Hold still.”

Hearing Bill like that. Not hearing Bill mock his dumb responses. Dipper swallows, and shuts his eyes. 

That only happens when things are bad. 

Like when Dipper twisted his ankle, only Bill had a frown on his face and it turned out it was broken. Like the gash on his arm that Bill stitched up while cursing him, or the thump on his head that he had to stay awake for. Like when he’s lying down and doesn’t want to move, and Bill talks him back up - 

“Things are gonna be just fine,” Bill says, voice bright. None of the tension on his face shows in the timbre. “Few stitches here or there, it’s nothing. Flesh melds back.”

Though sitting up seems like a type of impossible hell, Dipper can’t ignore that comment. 

He tilts his head up, chin against his chest. Where there’s blood, of course. He knew that he was harmed. That things weren’t going to be great -

But there’s so much of it. 

Dipper blinks dumbly, unable to put the pieces together. He sees. Lots of red. Some flashes of white. And below, Bill’s hands soaked nearly to the wrist as they hold pressure tight, forearms tense, while he pushes things back in- 

“Oh.” Dipper lets his head fall back to the ground. Staring upwards, for lack of anything else to do. “That’s not good.”

Bill lets out a loud, cackling laugh, higher than his normal. “It’s fine! It’s totally fine. Just need to.” Dipper sucks in another gasp of air. Whatever Bill’s doing, he’s oddly glad he can’t tell the specifics -  “Rearrange things back where they were! No problem at all! They practically do it by themselves!”

Dipper nods, very slightly. There’s probably a lot of dirt in his hair at this point. That sucks.

“And blood? Oh, I can get blood. Gallons of it. Showers of it. Entire floods of the stuff.” Bill continues rambling, with a tone that sounds like it’s on automatic. “We top off that tank of yours, and there’s no problem.” A pause. A single, shaking breath. “Now. Hold. Still.”

But Dipper’s already holding still. He can barely move. 

But he nods, again, and Bill lets out a shuddering breath before glancing up, and around. His teeth are bared in a grimace, and Dipper can see all of the white around his eye, darting back and forth. 

He’s… really upset. Genuinely upset, visible even to the untrained eye. Through everything else, that almost sucks the worst. 

Dipper reaches up, and cups the side of Bill’s face. His expression twitches, then goes blank. One of Bill’s hands comes up to press it tighter against his cheek, holding it so tight Dipper’s fingers ache.

Dipper’s mortal. He knew that, in an abstract way. It’s not like Bill hasn’t reminded him, time and time again over the years, that he’s a fleshy meatsack full of soft and fallible organs. That one day, inevitably, it’s going to fail him - and Bill - and nothing can take it back.

“Hey. Bill?” Dipper rims a thumb over his husband’s cheek. It leaves a streak on Bill’s face, but. He’ll be okay with that. He likes blood.. “I love you.”

“Don’t say that,” Bill leans over him suddenly, eye narrowed and glowing red. He’s dropped Dipper’s hand to grip his shoulder tight. The vaguest sense of a shake. “Not now, you little bastard. You can’t do this to me.” 

Typical Bill. Thinks he can control everything. 

It’s not like Dipper likes that fact. The inevitable approach of non-existence used to keep him up at night all the time when he was a kid. It seems so big, when you’re little, and he was never one to pass on an anxious existential crisis. But he’s going to die one day, it really can’t be stopped - though given the choice, he’d have passed on the pain. 

Dipper sighs, letting his eyes shut. 

Terror that… isn’t there, at the moment. Vaguely he knows he should be panicking, or something. But he’s so, so tired. Cold, too, a chill that’s oddly welcoming above all the rest. 

“You can’t do this to me,” Bill repeats, voice coming out like a hiss. Another smack to Dipper’s cheek makes his eyes open, blinking as Bill struggles out of his suit jacket, ripping the shoulder in his quick movements. “I won’t let you.”

The jacket is draped over Dipper’s torso, which, wow. That stain that’s never going to come out. Goodbye, suit jacket. Dipper doesn’t know where Bill gets half his clothing. Maybe he just makes them in the Mindscape, but they look expensive. Thousands of dollars worth. Stan would -

Dipper gasps, again, this time with sharper pain. Like lightning, like he’s being torn in half. Again. 

Is he in half? Or just in quarters. In one piece or in pieces, in peace. Bill’s tying something around him, and Dipper can’t track it, really. Thoughts are. Hard to put together? Maybe because he’s not all together at the moment.

Another jolt sends him gasping, again, feeling oddly tender and torn and definitely not great. He reaches out for Bill, and feels a shoulder? Under his arm. With a few taps he proves himself right, and throws his arm around Bill’s neck, gripping hard onto his other shoulder. 

Okay. He’s been lifted. He can feel Bill’s arms under him, strong and tense and their warmth comforting - along with the jostling, steady, rapid-fire beat of ow-no-bad as Bill starts running. 

Carrying’s annoying. Stupid habit, Bill never stops. It’s also never felt worse. 

Dipper clasps his other arm over his stomach. Vaguely wishes he didn’t, at the squelching feeling, but things. Should be in, not out. Bill was trying to do that - the steady beat of footsteps doesn’t help, he chokes back a groan.

The world spins around him in myriad of colors. Brown-green-grey. A jolt of yellow, when his head jerks towards Bill. Everything blurs together, it makes his head hurt too much to look at; Dipper shuts his eyes instead. 

Bill’s here. That’s good. He’s smart. He can do basically anything. Even when he can’t do it, he knows how to work around it. He’s holding Dipper tight, a warmth on his side and under him.

Pressed against him like this, Dipper can feel Bill’s heart, he concentrates on that instead. Wow. Super. Really beating fast. Pounding, almost, along with Bill’s breathing as he runs. It goes on like that for an indeterminate time, until the chest expands for one huge intake of breath. Then Bill’s shouting - 

Something. Dipper can’t tell what he said. Maybe it’s the wrong language. But yeah. Loud. Really way up there. Nearly inhuman.

Kind of impressive, honestly. Bill’s volume’s always been set to one hundred, and somehow he’s found even more reserves.

Dipper feels his head fall back. His arms drops from his stomach. Bill’s saying something, and it’s very rapid and low in tone. It sounds bad. Dipper doesn’t like it.

Bill shouldn’t be mad. Besides, when it’s colder like this, it doesn’t feel as bad. Bill shouldn’t worry. Weirdly hard to smile, but he’s got to. Reassure him that things are really… going to be okay. 

Lifting his other arm’s too hard, so Dipper’s hand drags against the back of Bill’s neck. Touching his face again takes. A lot.

And the sudden blankness is almost like sleep.

[biopsssihozz]

the amount of dabi i have in my sketchbook now makes me feel like i should be a bit concerned

but ya know he deserves it

my lil traumatized puppy