#fundamental differing

[streamafterlaughter]

Fundamental Differing

Chapter XXVI: So Soft, You Make Me Hard

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summary: it finally starts to feel like a vacation

tags: SMUT minors DO NOT INTERACT! unprotected p in v, vulgar language, adult content, slight angst, mostly fluff, weed and cigarette usage.

a/n: hey........ remember this one? lol. hope y'all still have a little interest bc it's ALMOST OVER! just a few more chapters to go of the Fundamental Differing universe, such as bittersweet feeling. Hope you enjoy!

taglist (closed): @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @wiildflower-xxx @beebeerockknot @champagne-glamour @xxgothwhorexx @therensistance @chonkzombie @brxkenartt @sidthedollface2 @bibieddiesgf @gaysludge @eddiesguitarskills @lilpotatobean2 @poisonedluv @kellsck @m-chmcl-rmnc

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-- Your POV

It had barely taken a week for the tabloids to run the story: Rockstars can be Softies Too! Corroded Coffin frontman spotted snuggling up to Death Dance Approximately vocalist. Sources close to the star say they’ve been close since the beginning of their joint tour. 

You snort as you toss the Newsweek paper on your kitchen table for Eddie to see. The picture, of course, was staged by you and Eddie: Him in Ozzy-esque sunglasses, hair tied back, in regular clothing wrapped around you, an iced coffee in his free hand. You’re in jeans and Corroded Coffin t-shirt, snuggled into Eddie’s embrace as you sip on your own drink, a toothy smile on your face. You’d called Ralphie, a paparazzo in Boston that you’d grown close to, to break the story. He was more than happy to do it, knowing these photos would likely pay his rent for the foreseeable future.

“Think they’ll buy it?” Eddie muses, sipping his coffee.

“What’s to buy? It’s true. Maybe a bit exaggerated, but that’s just Hollywood.” You shrug, flipping the pancake on the griddle. “Chocolate chips?”

Eddie nods, rising from his seat to wrap his arms around your waist. “I need this tour to be over. I prefer waking up in a stationary bed.”

“Mmm,” You make a sound of agreement, resting your head on his as comfortably as you can without leaving the stove. “Only a couple more weeks and we’re home free.”

“Where is home, exactly?”

You don’t miss a beat. “Wherever, as long as it’s with you.”

He snorts. “Such a sap.”

“Huh, wonder who made me this way.” You giggle, poking his cheek. “You think we can put this whole thing to bed now?” You study the magazine article, rolling your eyes at their word choice: scruffy, angsty, disheveled. 

“Maybe, but there’s something else I wanna put to bed instead.” He waggles his eyebrows at you. Pretending not to squirm at his flirting, you rise from your seat at the table, clearing his empty plate and your own. 

“Though I am absolutely picking up what you’re putting down, I have shit to do today.”

He pouts, batting his big, brown eyes at you. “What could possibly be more important?”

–

“This fuckin’ sucks.” Eddie kicks the gravel from the sidewalk outside the mechanic. “I didn’t even know you still had a car.”

You shrug. “I like to keep my life outside of being a rockstar pretty normal. Unfortunately that includes taking my dad’s car in for routine maintenance.”

“I coulda taken a look for him, yknow?”

“Psh, right. Ask the rockstar to change the oil in my dad’s camaro.” “My life is not too glamorous to do my favorite person a favor.” There’s no humor in his tone, he genuinely wouldn’t mind getting his hands dirty for you. 

“While I appreciate that, my dad would never let anyone besides Theo and himself touch that thing. You know how many times I begged him to let me take it out?”

Eddie snorts. “I remember. And the one time he finally let you, it came back with the tiniest scratch and he’d grounded you for a month.”

“Theo was the one to fix it, and the one to talk him out of a harsher punishment.”

“And despite already being eighteen, you didn’t go out at all that entire month.”

You frown, because he’s right. “God, I’m such a fake punk!”

“Yeah. Total poser.” He shoves your shoulder playfully.

“Well, she’s all set, kid.” Theo strolls up to where you and Eddie are talking, wiping his hands on a stained rag.

“Thanks, Theo.” You fork a handful of cash in his direction.��

“No biggie. Anything for the biggest Boston rockstah I know. And I know a few, ya know, Steven Tyla…” He definitely doesn’t know Steven Tyler, but you’d seen him at a couple parties. 

“Yeah, for sure.” 

“Before ya go, though. Would yas mind signin’ somethin’ for my kids? They’a huge fans. Daughta can’t get enough o’ya.”

“‘Course, sir!” Eddie beams at the recognition, and your heart skips. He really is still living a dream. You nod in agreement, and Theo pulls out a receipt book that he hands you, along with the pen behind his ear. You sign the top corner, 

Thanks for listening, hope to see ya at the gig! and scribble your signature before passing it to Eddie. You peek over his shoulder and watch him scribble,

Keep rock n roll alive! and his big, blocky EDDIE. “How old are your kids?” Eddie looks up, meeting Theo’s eyes. 

“Eighteen and twenty.”

“Do they wanna come see us? We have a show here in about a month.” 

“Seriously?” Theo’s eyes light up, and you can't help but be awed by Eddie’s gesture. 

“You can too, if you want! I dunno if you listen to that type of music, but…”

“You can't tell my kids, but I'm actually a really big fan of both you guys’ stuff.” He lights up as he says it, and it makes you teary. You’re not sure you’ll ever get used to this part, the effect you can have on other, real people. 

“Your secret’s safe with us, man.” Eddie offers out his hand, which Theo shakes enthusiastically. “We’ll see ya!”

—

Eddie’s POV

“That was a really nice thing to offer.” You nudge him, approaching the door to your parents’ house. 

Eddie shrugs off his vest and lays it over the arm of your couch. “Least I could do. We should probably let Steve know to add three to the guest list. You get his kids’ names?”

“Shit. No, but I can ask my dad.”

He nods, still standing awkwardly in the middle of your living room. “Well, uh. What else did you need to do today?” He can’t see what else needs to be done. You’d gone grocery shopping yesterday, and your parents’ place is pretty set for the week. He remembers trailing behind you: dressed in sinfully short shorts and white tank top while he managed to sweat in the freezer section, even if only in a tank top himself.

 The house is clean— with the help of your parents, but mostly because you’ve been anxiously cleaning since this morning. He had tried to help, but ultimately had to excuse himself when you bent over the kitchen counter to wipe it down. 

He wants to touch you. It’s driving him fucking crazy, he hasn’t been able to. He’s starting to feel like maybe you’re avoiding him, though you’ve given no indication that you’re not interested in having sex with him again. His brain is just telling him that. He hopes. 

Even right now, in a sundress and sneakers, he wishes he could bring himself to take you to the alley behind the mechanic’s. But neither of you have made a move. Eddie’s not even sure he’s entitled to. Everything has been on your terms, and he hasn’t had a problem with it. He owes you that, right?

You glance at your watch and shrug. “Dad’s doing an overnight, and my mom’s away on some business trip as of this morning.” 

“Are you implying what I think you are?” He focuses on the wall behind you to keep his pants from tightening.

“Horror movie marathon? Like old times?” If it weren’t for the hope in your voice, he’d accuse you of being cruel.

So he meets your eyes again and stretches his smile as wide as it’ll go. “Of course, sweetheart.”

—

You’re trying to kill him. You must be trying to fucking kill him.

“Whipped cream?” You offer out the can with a mouthful, a bit of cream landing on his cheek. Fighting the urge to use your outstretched arm to pull you into him, Eddie opens his mouth without breaking eye contact. Two can play this fuckin’ game, he thinks. Unfortunately the giggle that slips through your lips makes his knees wobble. 

“So, I have plenty of movies to choose from. Never brought ‘em when I moved out, guess they kept them all safe for me.” You glide over to the crates of tapes next to your television, neatly organized with their titles facing outward. “You in the mood for something really scary first, or something more along the lines of a horror-comedy?”

He’s in the mood for you, truthfully. The short cotton shorts and camisole you’re wearing aren’t helping that, either. “Ed?”

“Hm? Oh, uh, either one’s fine.” 

You raise an eyebrow at him, and through his flushing cheeks he manages to smile back. Through gritted teeth, albeit. 

“You’re being weird.”

“Am not. What about Possession?” An attempt to dodge the subject. 

You seem to let the subject slide, plucking the tape from its case. “Possession it is.” 

The TV yawns to life, and you place the tape into the player, making sure it's been rewound before pressing play. 

“You gonna sit with me, or are you gonna keep being weird?” He rolls his eyes, collapsing on the opposite side of where you are. “Got it.” 

Half of the movie is spent like that, Eddie resisting the nagging voice in the back of his head, begging him to tug you by your ankle onto his lap. You seem blissfully unaware of his internal crisis, munching on microwave popcorn as the TV illuminates the frightened expression on your pretty face. You retreat under the blanket when the scene before you gets to be too much, and for some reason it springs Eddie into action. He crawls from his side of the couch slowly, doing his best not to spook you, and curls his body into your blanket covered form.

“Hello?”

“Hi.”

“Whatcha doin’?”

“Protecting you from the scary movie.”

“My knight in shining armor.” Your body shakes with laughter, and he joins you. When you stop, you start flailing under the blanket, causing Eddie to release you so you can shove the cloth off your head. You inhale the fresh air deeply before once again descending into a fit of giggles.

“I think we’re safe now.” Eddie looks around dramatically, curly flying on either side of his face. 

“Thanks for rescuing me.” You crane your neck up to reach his cheek, placing a tender kiss against his hot skin. “However shall I repay such a noble act?”

Eddie groans under the heat of your breath against his cheek. “You’re killin’ me, doll.”

“Oh?”

“Gonna make me bust in my pants like a fuckin’ teenager.”

–

Your POV

His words propel you into action, quickly moving to straddle his lap, clad only in a pair of gray sweatpants. You can feel his length underneath you, twitching when you make the gentlest of contact. “And here I thought you didn’t wanna fuck me.” 

“What?” Eddie halts the beginning of your movement, grasping your hips to keep you in place. “What god awful crime could I have committed in the last week to make you think such a terrible thing?” He looks at you with a pout, his eyes dark with want, or maybe hurt. 

“It’s what you didn’t do, actually. I was walkin’ around the house in my underwear, Ed! And don’t even get me started on the shorts I wore to the grocery store.”

“You don’t have to remind me.” His breath is labored, like he’s just run a marathon. You grind your hips forward experimentally, and he whimpers in response. “Fuck, I’m sorry. Jus’ wasn’t sure it was the ri- fuck– right time, y’know?” Your grinding has become more consistent, still slow as the clothed tip of his cock prods teasingly against your throbbing clit.

“Mmm, such a gentleman all of a sudden?” You tease, making sure each word is barely audible, said so closely that each of your breaths tickles the fine hairs of his ear canal. “Where’s the spoiled rockstar that takes whatever he wants, whenever he wants, hm?” You’re being mean, but Eddie squirming and panting underneath you spurs you on. “You just gonna let me tease you like that while you mope because you can't touch me? Because it would be, what? Wrong? You’ve never cared about that shit before.”

“Didn’t wanna ruin anything, didn’t want you gettin’ the idea that I–” He stops short.

“Finish your sentence.” It’s a command. You don’t usually take the dominant role over Eddie in these situations, but you don’t hate the way it’s making you feel.

“Didn’t want you thinkin’ I oh- only wanted sex..” His voice is raspy with want, with need, for you, and you’ve never been good at denying him of it.

“But you do, right? You want sex?”

“I want your trust first.” His eyes bore into you as he says it. 

“Eddie,” You sigh, breaking character to caress his sweaty, flushed face. “You have my trust.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I would’ve kicked you out by now if you didn’t.” Eddie throws his head back to laugh, but it comes out strangled when you grind down on his lap again. “So, now that that’s out of the way…” Before you can finish the thought, Eddie lurches forward, one hand to the back of your neck as the other wraps around your waist, bringing your body closer to his as your lips meet. Your tongue slips sweetly into his waiting mouth, coaxing a groan from his throat that you feel between your legs. 

The movie playing behind you is long forgotten, now white noise as Eddie slips the strap of your tank top down your arm, calloused fingers gliding over your soft skin. Despite your earlier candidness, he’s being slow. Gentle. Almost cautious. In a way, it feels like revenge for the way you’d been teasing him, and you can’t help but relish the way it works you up. 

Eddie finally breaks your kiss, giving you time to breathe while he sloppily mouths your throat, eagerly adding teeth when you roll your hips forward again. His hands have a mind of their own, tugging at the fabric of your tank top until it's bunched at your waist, exposing your chest to the warmth of Eddie’s hot, panting breaths. At this point you’re practically riding his lap, begging for friction as he takes his time with you, like he’s memorizing every inch. 

“Ed, please,” Your voice is strained, broken and shameless.

“What do you need, baby?” He coos, sending you into a tizzy. 

“Need you to touch me.”

“I am touchin’ you, sweetheart.” He runs his finger down your arm with a feather light touch, barely registering over the way your entire body is vibrating. 

“You know what I mean.” You’re pouting, getting desperate. “Thought you wanted to.”

“Hey,” His eyes darken as he stills the rocking of your hips with firm hands. “I want to. But what’s the rush, huh? We’ve got so much time now. All night, even.” His voice holds an air of mischief, and you’re putty in his hands. 

“You gonna tease me like this all night? You don’t have the willpower.” You wriggle in his grasp for emphasis, and he muffles his groan with gritted teeth. You cross your arms over your bare chest, huffing smugly. “At least take your shirt off?”

–

Eddie’s POV

He can’t resist the way you ask, pleading with him to give you something. Eagerly he complies, yanking his shirt over his head and tossing it lacklusterly aside somewhere in your living room. “Get that later.” He laughs breathily, and you lunge at him. Before he can adjust to your weight, your teeth have sunken into his neck, contrasting with the plush of your lips placing wet kisses along the column of his throat. Your tongue soothes over the sore marks your teeth have left indented in his skin, branding him as yours. He finds himself excited for the next time he’ll go out in public, wearing the hickies you’ve given him like designer accessories. 

“You wanna go upstairs?” You mumble the question between placing chaste kisses on his shoulder. 

“I dunno, I’m kinda set on the idea of you riding me on the couch.” 

“Eddie, this is my parents’ house.”

“I’ll buy them a new couch.” Before you can argue, he pulls you forward by the neck, his lips slotting into your like puzzle pieces. You seem to give in, letting him win the argument. He can get a couch here by tomorrow if he has to.

–

Your POV

You readjust, sliding the tank top and your shorts quickly from your body, tossing them over the arm of the sofa before claiming your former position, this time with less layers between your throbbing clit and the tip of his leaking cock. 

Before you can work him up too much more, Eddie’s hands are sliding down your form, stopping to lightly twist and pinch at your nipples, chuckling at the way you whine and mewl for him. Replacing one hand with his mouth, Eddie then slips his free fingers to the waistband of your panties, snapping them once and causing you to jump before dipping lower to gather your slick before rubbing agonizing circles on your clit. 

“Jesus, angel, you’re fuckin’ soaked.” His pupils are blown as you’re sure your own are, looking at you with a lovely mixture of lust and love. 

“What can I say, you do it f’me.” You aren’t trying to be sexy, it’s the truth. Eddie doesn’t have to do much to turn you on.

“Feeling’s mutual, doll. Gettin’ me all hot ‘n bothered.” His breath is labored as he speaks, and you can feel his heart racing as you press yourself further into his chest. “Need to be inside you, love. Don’t think I can take much more teasing.” You can’t resist his desperation. You move quickly, letting him shove his sweatpants, now with a damp spot staining the crotch, and his boxers to the ground. His cock springs free from the confines and slaps against his stomach, precum dampening the coarse hair of his happy trail. You lick your lips absentmindedly, and before you can drop to your knees in front of him, Eddie grabs your wrist, pulling you back into his lap. 

“Wait, Ed I’m still– oh, f-fuck.” Eddie drags the tip of his dick against the damp cloth of your panties, causing a sensation that ripples through your core. 

“You gonna say somethin’?” He’s taken control, stroking himself against your hole, fabric doing nothing to cease the waves of pleasure crashing through you. “Use your words, baby.” He’s chiding, condescending as you can only whine in response, the heat between your legs seemingly cutting off the communication between your brain and your tongue. “Tell me what you want, can’t read your mind.”

“Need you to fuck me, baby, please.” The words fall out without decorum, desperate and high pitched like you’re being tortured. 

“That wasn’t so hard, was it? Such a good job.” Relief floods your senses when he pulls your panties to the side, sliding himself easily into your drenched hole. You both moan at the feeling, your walls clenching around his thick cock, his grip a vice on either side of you, not yet ready to let you move. You can only shake your head, too cock drunk to form a coherent sentence. Usually, he’d scold you for not speaking, make it harder for you to get off, but you can tell he’s just as desperate to fuck you, possibly even more than you are. “Need you to move.” He tries to keep his voice even, but you can hear it’s close to breaking, begging. You obey, rocking your hips, rolling forward, each movement accompanied by his own, the head of his dick pressing against the sweet spot inside you each time.

“Feels so good, darlin’, takin’ me s- so well.” He knows you value his praise, regardless of how difficult it is to give it between labored breaths. 

“Missed you, Ed.” You sigh the words, brain too fuzzy to muster up the strength to properly speak to him. 

“I missed you, baby.” Eddie’s head falls into the crook of your neck, kissing the marks he’d previously left on your throat while you continue to ride him. “Not gonna last much longer. Need you to cum for me. Please, I need you to cum.” His fingers find your clit without struggle, like he’s memorized the map of your body. He makes tight, quick circles on your clit as he continues thrusting inside of you, and your walls clench more tightly around him as you feel your orgasm climbing. Finally, as Eddie has pulled your face into his, crashing your lips together as his hand and hips stay moving, you fall apart on top of him, legs shaking on either side of his lap as he watches you ride it out, mesmerized by the look of you; sweaty, panting, bouncing on top of him. You’re still shuddering when Eddie lets go, head buried in your neck as his thrusts lose rhythm and grow eager, no longer worried about getting you off. His noises are guttural, coming from the deep recesses of his body. He spills his load inside you, his cum painting your walls as he mutters sweet nothings: “Fuck, shit, you’re perfect, missed this pussy so much, like it’s made for me, ‘s all mine, mine, mine…”

When he’s emptied himself, body heaving with each breath, Eddie lifts you off of his lap, both of you wincing as he slowly pulls out. “Shit!” You fall into a fit of giggles as your bare butt falls onto the couch next to him, suddenly shy about being naked in front of him. He joins you, cackling as you wipe the sweat from your brow with an exaggerated “Phew!” 

“Why weren’t we doin’ that all week?” He says through laughter, and you shrug. 

“Probably because other people live here?”

“Ugh, what a bummer.” He reaches over to the cigarette pack on the side table. “You wanna smoke?”

[cryptidmickle]

hough save me gay yaoi

[idolomantises]

me: you know some of the comments about sera and prince not being able to sexualize them anymore were weird, but im sure that'll be the end of bad faith criticisms

instagram comments: (yelling at me over domino's redesign because they think its "twink death")

me:

[eveningdawn222]

people who act like batman isn't "judge jury and executioner" because he doesn't kill people are like. genuinely so funny to me because. they're very obviously thinking of "executioner" as like. the stereotypical guy with axe who chops people heads off, and not, yknow, the literal definition of the idiom itself, which is about someone who has the ability to judge and then subsequently punish someone unilaterally. which is quite literally what batman does.

he has the ability to decide what is a "crime" to him, he is the one who decides whether people are guilty of those crimes, and he is the one who executes their punishment. the severity of the punishment doesn't matter - he is unaccountable to anyone else, and indeed is allowed to commit as many crimes as needed to reach his arbitrary ideal of "justice."

the ideal of batman is this: a man who is so fundamentally changed by an act of senseless violence that he takes it upon himself to fight back against the rot and corruption in the world. he does this not through political activism, not through ridding himself of his wealth in favor of a greater good, not through community outreach, but through an individualistic fantasy of being a hero.

and you'll say: charlie, but he does do that !!! he donates his money all the time, he funds social programs, hospitals, orphanages, gets people jobs -

and i will say this: so why don't things get better?

because here's the base of it. gotham, at its core, can't get better. no matter what bruce wayne does, there will always be more crime, more villains, more death, more people for batman to beat up in back alleys. because that's what sells.

reoffending rates don't matter in gotham, prison reform doesn't matter in gotham, what actually causes crime doesn't matter in gotham because that doesn't sell books.

and so here it is; dc has unintentionally created a world where batman can't win, but can't be wrong, and where thousands of nameless, faceless, only-created-to-die civilians must be pushed into the meat grinder that is gotham, to fuel bruce wayne's angst and vindicate his constant, tireless, noble fight against the forces of evil.

and then: a new robin, who is poor and who's parents are dead or gone because of this cycle; who is happy go-lucky and hated by editors and fans for being robin, for not being dick grayson, for being poor.

and this robin is written, unintentionally or not, to be angry at the ways in which batman's (the narrative's) idea of justice is detached from its victims. bruce seems perfectly fine to allow countless unnamed women to be at risk from garzonas in his home country, yet robin is the one who is portrayed as irrational and violent.

this robin is not detached from gotham in the way bruce wayne is: this robin is a product of gotham.

(and here's the thing. you can't punch aids. you can't fight a disease with colorful fights and nifty gadgets. and how would robin dying from aids add to batman's story; it would call into question the systemic changes that haven't been made in gotham. how does a child get aids, in batman's city?)

so robin dies, and then bruce (the narrative) spends the next couple of decades blaming it on him. it is jason's fault; he was reckless, he just ran in, he thought it was all a game. if only bruce had seen what was coming, if only he could have known that jason wasn't rich enough or smart enough or liked enough to be robin.

batman gets a little more violent, a little more self destructive. he hurts people more and almost (!!) kills a couple guys. this is bad because it's self destructive and "not who he is." it is not bad because batman should not be able to just beat people up when he's angry.

and then he gets a shiny new robin - who is all the things jason "wasn't": rich and smart and rational and he doesn't put who batman is into question. batman and robin are partners, and jason is a grave and a cautionary tale, and (crucially here) never right.

the joker kills thousands and it doesn't matter because they were written to be killed.

batman beats up thousands and it doesn't matter because they were written to be criminals.

and then jason comes back, and nothing has changed. there is a batman and a (shiny! rich!) robin and the joker kills thousands. (because it sells)

and jason is angry - he has been left unavenged - his death has meant nothing, just as willis' had, just as catherine's had, just as gloria's had, just as -

thousands. ten of thousands. hundreds of thousands. written to be killed.

but one of them gets to come back.

and he is angry - not only at the joker, but at bruce (the narrative) - because why is the joker still alive (when thousands-)

here is the thing - jason todd is right. not because the death penalty is good, not because criminals deserve to die, not because of everything he says -

but because of what he calls into question. why is the joker alive?

because he sells books.

and dc has written a masterful character, through no fault of their own, because jason knows what is wrong, and he knows who is at fault - batman. (the narrative)

so the argument that bruce can't kill because he's not judge jury and executioner; the argument that jason is a cop or that jason is insane or that jason is in the wrong here; they hold no weight.

batman can't kill the joker because the joker sells comic books.

and jason can't kill the joker because the joker sells comic books.

so he will beg and plead and grovel - he will betray everything that is himself, he will forsake his family and his city and kill himself - just so that bruce (the narrative) will let the joker die.

he was condemned to death by an audience, and after he came back he has spent his whole life looking us in the eyes and screaming, asking, pleading; why is the joker still alive?

why are thousands, tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands (the number doesn't matter, see, because they're just a number. not people. not real.) why are we expendable for his story? why did i have to die just for nothing to change?

and the answer is money. and the answer is the batman can never be wrong. and the answer is shitty writing. and the answer is -

nothing jason can ever change.

which is the worst of it all. he is a victim with no power, and no one else in the world can see it. he is raging and crying and screaming at his father and his writers and you - and it doesn't matter. jason doesn't matter. and he knows it.

[core-clash]

I mean this with love and kindness. I hope all the girlies who were convinced Jayce would exile Viktor and inherently despise him for using the Hexcore on himself feel real silly right now.

[assassin-artist]

Giving Mark a twin sister so they can go through the horrors together (:

Their outfits are gonna look very similar in design in the beginning, but as they drift apart, their looks will start varying. When Mark gets the blue suit upgrade tho his sister is gonna go "you copycat whadda hell" lol

[dukeofthomas]

I find the fact that the confrontation at the end of UTRH is often summarized as Jason asking Bruce to kill the Joker for him fascinating.

Because that's not what happened.

Jason holds a gun up to Joker's head, gives Bruce another, and tells him that if Bruce doesn't do something (shoot Jason), he will kill Joker.

Jason doesn't give the gun to Bruce so that he would shoot Joker. He isn't expecting Bruce to pull the trigger on the clown. He's asking Bruce to do nothing. To be inactive. Because that will still be a choice, and despite having done nothing, everybody clearly agrees that Bruce would still, at least in part, be responsible for Joker's death.

...And to me, this moment is a kind of- microcosm, of the rest of Jason's point. Because after being captured and carted off to Arkham, the villain will escape again, and will kill more people. The only way to truly prevent that from happening would be to kill them; Bruce refuses to do so, and I respect his right to choose such a thing for himself, but it is still a choice, and if we agree that Bruce's inaction during the confrontation would leave him at least partly responsible for the Joker's death, then we must also agree that his inaction in permanently preventing the Rogues from killing more people means he is also, partly, responsible for all of those deaths.

[casscainmainly]

Robins.

Robin (1993) #126 // Robin War // Robin (1993) #26 // Batman (2011) #45 // Robin (1993) #40 // We Are Robin #1 // Robin (1993) #126 // Batman & The Signal #1 // Robin (1993) #128 // Batman (2011) #47 // Robin (1993) #128 // Robin War // Batgirl (2009) #3 // Robin War

[fleshkiss]

altruism

[novelconcepts]

It’s so funny seeing the problems people have with this show and just going *shrug*. The show itself is so ambitious that it was bound to have holes in the narrative, but like. “The adults only remember what’s convenient”—yeah, kinda? Kinda the idea? Do you remember every instance of what you did when you were eighteen, decades ago? I don’t. I definitely do not. And there is so much I know I’ve wallpapered over out of shame and regret and embarrassment—as a very normal person with a terribly boring upbringing.

Imagine spending two years where every day bleeds into the next, where you’re doing unimaginable things just to get by, where you’re sometimes reveling in the worst shit you could possibly be doing because it makes you feel alive? You’re telling me you’d cast that all in stone, memory-wise? Nah, dude, you’re pushing that shit down. You’re fine-tuning it in your head so it’s fuzzy at best and flat-out erased at worst. You think at forty these woman have just been chilling with their most reprehensible memories? Shauna absolutely did not. Taissa canonically repressed everything she possibly could. Natalie sank into drugs. Van ran away. It’s only when they’re together and they’re forced to actually interact that they start behaving like their teenage selves again. It’s only when you come back upon your old classmates that you fall into old patterns. Because doing otherwise for twenty-five years would have undone them completely. They did forget. Not completely, but the way you always forget huge swathes of your childhood. And then it’s easier to make the story what you can live with.

Shauna? Oh, she was kind of always writing, good with a knife, feel like she stressed me out sometimes, but I had my own problems. Oh, Tai? She was intense and ambitious and…did that ever damage me directly? Can’t recall. Van? She was sweet and funny and told stories. That’s probably it. Misty? Yeah, she was the outsider, she wasn’t even on the team. I remember making fun of her, but haven’t we all been there? Lottie? Where did she even go? We just lose track of old friends sometimes. Nat? Nat’s been in and out of trouble for years. Hard to remember what she even looked like when she was small and blonde and…and…rough? She was rough, right? Yeah. Yeah, the yearbook pictures back that up. Jackie? A tragedy. Just so sad. Anyway: life to live, groceries to buy, work to do. Anyway: don’t need to waste any more mental energy on that. Anyway: wait—why is someone sniffing around the story? What even is the story? It’s bad. It’s bad, why would we want to remember? It’s bad, and the details are coming back, and oh no, oh god, we can’t bury it any deeper.

What we’re watching in the adult timeline is far from flawless, but they are remembering as they go. And they’re coloring their own memories, which are really just memories of memories. Like Nat seeing Travis in the dead-wife light, they are still writing the narrative the way they can live with. But their stories are going to start butting up against one another. And the only way through is to be the last one standing: because then you can believe whatever you need to. Whatever lets you keep standing tall.

[streamafterlaughter]

Fundamental Differing

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Chapter XXI: Baby, What Did You Expect?

summary: it’s the mid tour finale, and of course nothing is as it seems. i’m horrible at blurbs pls forgive me

cw/tags: alcoholism, addiction mentions, probably some improper AA etiquette, angst per usual, lots of tears. gn!reader, rockstar!eddie, estranged lovers, mutual pining, angst

a/n: hehe haha hehe. this is probably my best work thus far. i really hope yall enjoy it, this took a LOT out of me

—

January 1991

Steve’s POV

“Pick up, pick up, pick up.” He taps his foot on the linoleum, the buzzing overhead lights causing him to squint through his already painful migraine. Your phone goes to voicemail again, and Steve all but slams the payphone down onto the receiver. “Fuck!” He huffs, turning back down the hall, defeated.

In his room, Eddie sleeps on the hospital bed under a thin blanket. There’s a tube in his nose, but the doctor said the word stable, leaving Steve some time to call you. Not that it mattered. Even if you had answered, what would he have said? Would you even want to know?

–

July 1991

Eddie’s POV

It’s been a whole year since he’d seen you, but there you were. Right in front of him, dancing with a small redhead covered in tattoos, a plastic cup in one hand, the other in the air. He already knows he won’t go over, won’t approach you, or even try to violate your field of vision. But he can’t bring himself to look away from you, the way your shirt clings to your body perfectly, the way your skirt lands right below the curve of your ass, your exposed legs going on for miles. He drinks you in from afar, without caring how creepy it feels, seeing you without your knowledge, It’s day eighty nine, but Eddie turns to the bartender and orders a drink.

–

Present Day

Your POV

It just doesn’t make sense. If Steve had known about Eddie’s problem like he claims, then why on earth had he let him drink himself stupid? Your brain tries to rationalize your best friend’s choice, but you come up with nothing. There is no good reason for what Steve did. Didn’t he pride himself on taking care of his friends?

You sit up as the bus starts moving, preparing to confront Steve before quickly remembering he’s on the other bus. Instead, you find Robin reading a beaten copy of On The Road in the breakfast nook, and drop down beside her, sighing.

She glances up but doesn’t speak, eyebrow cocked as you pout for her full attention. She dog ears her page, making a show of sitting up straight, like a proper catholic girl in class.

“I’m having a dilemma.” You state, refusing to let your voice crack. “I need an outside perspective.” Really, you need someone to tell you what you want to hear, but you can’t say that.

“I’m all ears, babe.”

“This whole thing with Eddie,” You ignore her not so subtle eye roll. “Something’s just not right. Steve knew, y’know, about Eddie’s drinking. He told me himself he’d been aware, even before I was.”

“Okay…”

“But Eddie had been drinking, when tour started. A lot. And Steve definitely knew, because he’d been the one to carry him to bed most of the time.”

“What exactly is your dilemma in this scenario?”

“Why was he watching his friend backslide? Why didn’t he do a fucking thing to help him?” You can’t keep your voice from weavering, and you choke on your breath. “I don’t get how he could claim to care for Eddie, to love him, and let him do that to himself. Not after-” You stop, not knowing what Robin should and shouldn’t know.

“After what?”

“After everything, I guess.”

“Listen to me, honey. Eddie is a grown man, so’s Steve. Sure, we’re all buddy buddy, but when it comes down to it, we can’t always play heroes.”

“What, so we’re supposed to be okay watching Eddie slowly kill himself?”

Robin pinches between her eyes, deep in thought. “No, of course not. But at some point, talking to a wall is gonna get old. But, hey! Eddie hasn’t had a drink in weeks, right? So why the worry now?”

You shake your head. “I guess I’m just nervous. We have a month off, and I don’t know where i’m gonna go. I could go to my place in Boston, or go back to Seattle. I just-”

“You’re worried about Eddie.” For once you’re grateful for how easily she can read you.

“I am.”

“You want my advice? Play it by ear. No one said that you have to stay away from him now that business hours are over. You can afford to reconnect with him, in the real world.” She makes a point, but what exactly is the real world? The world you know is barely real, and the one you’d known before it felt even less so. Sometimes you wish you’d died in the Upside Down, at least then you wouldn’t have known such a profound kind of pain.

–

Eddie’s POV

“Tomorrow night, we play our last show of the first leg of the Freak Show Tour,” Eddie announces to his bandmates crowded around the small breakfast table of the tour bus. “We will rock this house like we have rocked no other, a grand finale they will wish they televised!” The response is various whoops and cheers from his friends, and a small smile from Steve as he stands aside with his arms crossed. “Let’s make sure the state of… uh…” Eddie places a hand to his mouth, stage whispering to Steve, “Where are we?”

“Delaware.”

“Let’s make sure the state of Delaware can’t prepare for what we’re about to give ‘em!” Eddie hollers, and his friends join in as the bus pulls around the back of the hotel parking lot.

–

He swipes his key card as he catches you unlocking the door next to him. “Hey neighbor.” He winks, feeling awfully bold after a long trip without seeing you.

“Hey, Eds.” You send him a smile that makes his heart skip, and he curses himself for being so easily bent out of shape. You and him are friends. Friends with a long, frustrating history, but friends nonetheless. “You ready for the mid tour finale?” He asks, awkwardly shifting to lean against the doorframe.

He catches as your face falls the slightest bit. “Yeah, I guess so. It’s gonna be weird, I think.”

“How so?”

You shrug. “I dunno. We’ve been on the road for like a month now. It almost feels normal. I won’t know what to do with myself when I’m back at home.”

He must be mistaken, but your words sound almost like an invitation, a cracked door. “Where’s home for you?” He asks, ignoring how tacky it must sound.

–

Your POV

It takes a lot to bite your tongue before you blurt, “You,” but you manage.”I uh, I think I’m going back to Boston. Might as well, it’s where we start back up again.” It will be August then, and you’ll have heard for sure whether you’re playing one of the biggest music festivals of the year. You still haven’t told Eddie, and at this point you aren’t sure what you’d say. “What about you? Where are you headed?”

Eddie sucks his top lip between his teeth in thought. “Maybe LA, or I’ll hold myself to my promise to visit Wayne. Depends.”

“On what?” It sounds like a challenge.

“On if I want to face my guilt or keep running from it. Or something equally dramatic.”

You snort, pretty eyes rolling back into your head. “Please.”

“What?”

“Don’t be shitty. Let yourself feel guilty, god knows you deserve to. Visit Wayne, at least for a while.”

“Why does it matter to you what I do?” He doesn’t mean for the words to come out as harshly as they do.

“Believe it or not, Ed, you still matter to me. Very much. And if you let yourself be miserable, we’ll all have to put up with your bullshit when we come back. Do us all the favor. Go home.” You swipe your card again, entering your room before Eddie can respond.

–

It shouldn’t matter. You and Eddie aren’t what you used to be, no matter how hard you delude yourself into thinking you can get back there. That possibility feels long gone, completely unreachable at your current status. You have to settle.

You walk over to the big window in your room, drawing back the heavy shades to reveal the setting sun and city of Dover below. You lay back on the bed, the fluffy pillows soothing you quickly to sleep.

–

A knock on your door rattles you awake. The digital clock on your nightstand reads 11:30 PM, and you groan as you roll onto your feet. Another round of heavy knocking makes you scurry faster to the door.

“What?!” You demand, flinging the door back to reveal a disheveled Steve clad in a wrinkled tank top and linen pajama pants. “Oh good, you’re awake.” Steve shoves past you and into the room without an invite, causing you to spin on your heel to face him.

“Well, I am now! What the hell is going on?”

“I can’t find him.”

“Who?”

“Eddie!”

Good fucking god. “He’s not in his room?”

Steve looks at you like you’ve asked the dumbest question in the world. You suppose you have. “No. He went out. Didn’t seem like he was okay.” Steve holds his face in his hands. “I’ve called all the bars in the area, no one’s said they’ve seen him. He could be on the street somewhere, he could-”

“Okay, enough!” Of course he’s worried, but you’re fed up with Steve’s inability to be consistent. “Where was this attitude a month ago? When he was drinking himself silly before every show, when he would beg for whiskey the mornings after? You let him relapse, and now you’re worried?” You don’t realize you’re yelling until someone next door bangs on the wall, demanding you shut up.

“What are you talking about?” Steve sniffs, lifting his head to look at you.

“Steve, you’d known this whole time that Eddie has a problem. You’ve been letting him indulge in it, doing almost nothing. Now you’re surprised he’s gone out without telling you? Seriously?”

“There is only so much I can do to stop him, Y/n, you have to know that. I had to watch him vomit all over himself while I waited for the paramedics, I had to watch him detox in that hospital bed. Then I had to watch him relapse. Not just last month, but last year. He fell off the wagon after eighty nine days, Y/n, eighty nine. You wanna know why?” He waits for you to answer, but you’re not sure you want to. “Because he saw you at a gig. In New York, last July. He called me that night, told me everything. Told me he was sorry, that he was a waste of my time, all that shit. Made me promise to never try to save him again.” Steve’s in tears when he finishes, and you feel your own start to fall. “I have kept my mouth shut because I promised, but I worry about him every day. Well, until lately. He’s been so much happier, and there’s no use even arguing why that must be. But he’s not your responsibility either, I know that. It’s not fair of me to be putting any expectations on you. I just thought you might know where he is.”

You drop onto the mattress beside Steve, resting your head on his shaking shoulder. “I think I might know where he is. We can’t go there, though.”

“Why not?”

“It’s supposed to be anonymous.” You hope to every god that you’re right.

–

Eddie’s POV

“I haven’t been to a meeting in about a year,” Eddie starts, addressing the small group in front of him, sitting in a circle of folding chairs in the basement of a church. “But today is the two year anniversary of the worst day of my life. I guess it’s getting to me lately.”

“What happened two years ago?” The woman running the meeting encourages Eddie. She’s an older woman, with sandy blonde hair and a wrinkled, kind face.

“I ruined the best thing I could have ever asked for. I lost the love of my life, walked out on them for the last time after months of doing whatever I felt like with their feelings…

–

July 1990

“We can’t do this anymore.” You’re talking to the ceiling, arms resting on top of your chest, you don’t look at him. He’s next to you, stuck to the bed with sweat, breathing in your scent that begins to suffocate him. He knew this day was coming. You’d been seeing each other for about a month now, after half a year of not speaking.You’d fallen victim to his drunken pleas, as well as what Eddie suspects is your own self hatred.

“What are you talking about?” He plays dumb, hoping you’ll chicken out of leaving him for a second time.

“This,” You motion to the room around you. “I can’t see you anymore. It’s too much.”

“Too much?” Eddie sits up, and wills the room to stop spinning.

“Every time you come over, you’re wasted. You’re miserable most of the time, and the times you aren’t you’re hopped up on blow. It’s like you’ve added me to your list of fucking bad habits. I don’t want to be that for you anymore.” Your tone is ice cold, not a hint of sadness or anger in your voice at all. It chills Eddie to his core.

“Fine.” Eddie huffs, shoving himself out of bed. “Makes perfect sense, you telling me all this after I fuck your brains out. Made sure to get what you wanted first, right?”

“Eddie, come on,” You go to move, but Eddie tucks the blanket back over you.

“No, really, it’s fine. Ten minutes ago you were telling me how much you missed me, how good it felt. Now you’re cutting me off? Just like that?” Eddie shoves his legs clumsily into his jeans, cursing under his breath when his toe gets caught in a hole. “We talked about this. This was supposed to be purely physical, remember? You agreed to that.”

“I did, I know. But I agreed before I could understand that you’re… well, different.”

“Different how?” He snaps. You hesitate, picking anxiously at your fingernails. “Y/n?”

“You’re mean, Eddie. You’re cold. You don’t care how you make me feel, or rather, how you don’t make me feel when you sleep over. I’ve had to fake it. Beyond that, I can’t even make conversation with you. I feel used. It’s lonely.”

He sees red. Eddie gathers up his jacket, and his still half full beer bottle from the nightstand. “Fuck you,” He spits, tossing things aside as he searches for his keys. “Y’know what, yeah. We’re done.” He gulps the rest of the drink down before slamming the bottle into the bin.

“We can’t be done if we weren’t anything to begin with.” Your words bite, despite them originally being his own from when he’d come up with such a stupid agreement. “And we won’t have to break up, because this isn’t a thing.” He’d seduced you after a show one night, high out of his mind. He’d never expected you to agree to it.

“Perfect,” He snaps, daring himself to look at you. Your eyes are wet, but you’re stoic. You don’t tremble, you don’t heave or scream or shudder. “I don’t ever want to see your face again.” He doesn’t mean that, and he regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. But he can’t take them back now. “We don’t know each other.”

“I don’t think we ever did.” Your final words ring loudly in his ears as he slams the door behind him.

–

The group waits patiently for Eddie to finish, and he wipes a tear he hadn’t noticed from his cheek.

“You say you see this person frequently now?” The woman asks, and Eddie nods.

“We’re on tour together. Tomorrow’s our last show ‘til next month. Needed a meeting a little extra tonight, I guess.” It’s past midnight, this group being one that meets in the late hours to cater to night shift workers.

“Well, we thank you for sharing with us tonight, Eddie.”

“Thank you, Eddie.” The group responds as if on cue. The meeting is dismissed shortly after, and Eddie makes his way to the table for complementary stale coffee and doughnuts.

“You’re really brave for coming here.” The voice is small, taking Eddie a second to register. He turns around to face a girl who can’t be older than seventeen. “I’m Macy. Addict.”

“Hi, Macy.” Eddie greets her like he’s reciting a script. “I dunno about brave. That’s probably the last thing I feel right now.”

“Well, think of it like this. You could have gone to a bar, or a club to try and score. You came here instead. That’s brave.”

He shrugs. “I guess you’re right.”

“And they still love you, y’know. That doesn’t just go away.”

“How would someone your age know so much about something like that?”

Macy shrugs. “I follow the tabloids. I know who you are. I won’t say anything, obviously. But I’ve been watching you, with them. I’ve seen the photos, and the music doesn’t leave much to the imagination.”

“You can’t believe everything you read.” He’s not sure whether to take her word, she seems so genuine.

“Maybe not, but I believe this.”

Eddie gives her a sad smile before saying goodbye. She waves him off with a warm smile.

Once outside, he lights a cigarette, letting the smoke fill his lungs as he closes his tired eyes. The exhaustion has washed over him, and he’s ready to be dragged under when he hears footsteps approaching.

—

Your POV

He opens his eyes and meets them with yours, heavy from lack of sleep. “Hi.” You wave shyly, like you’ve never met him.

“How’d you find me here?” He flicks ash onto the concrete.

“Saw the flier in the lobby when we came in. Checked it again and saw one less tab on the bottom. Minor detective work.” You smile, despite the exhaustion written on your face. His cheeks warm.

“You alone?”

You nod. “Took a world of convincing Steve not to come with me. I think I’ve sedated him, though.”

“Shit, he that worried?”

You shrug. “You know how he gets. He’ll be glad to know you’re okay, though.”

“What, did you think I’d gone on a run too?”

“No, actually. It was my idea to check here. Relieved as shit that I’m right.”

“Yeah, me too.”

You stretch your hand out to hold as the doors swing open, a herd of people filing out. A small girl with a sweet face sends Eddie a smile, and winks at you before getting into a cab, and you turn to find him blushing.

“Friend of yours?”

He chuckles. “Guess you could say that.” He entwines his fingers with yours without waiting for an invitation. All too familiar touches, worlds away from where you’d stood only a month ago. “So,” He starts, swinging his arm and yours as you start back toward the hotel, “were you worried about me?” His tone is teasing, tinged with what can only be described as hope.

You can feel your cheeks warm and you suck your bottom lip between your teeth. “Guess you could say that.” You squeeze his hand. “But that’s nothing new. I’m always worried about you.”

—

July 1990

Your POV

“It’s over,” You’re sobbing into the receiver, barely able to hear Steve’s sigh on the other end. Relief? Disappointment? You can’t tell, your senses are blunted only by the thought of him.

“Are you okay? Wait, stupid question,” Steve stumbles on the other line, unsure of how to comfort you. “Can I do anything?”

You shake your head before you remember he can’t see you. “No, no. I’ll be alright. I ended it. I had to. He’s not the same person I fell in love with. I know that now.”

“Maybe, but there’s a lot you don’t know.”

“Do I want to know?”

Steve waits a beat before answering, the static of the line filling your head. “No, I don’t think you do.”

You talk for an hour before you feel your eyelids grow heavy, and say your goodbyes before hanging up. You are once again in silence. Alone. In a fit of rage— or of heartbreak, you’re not sure, you fall to your knees and let go. You haven’t cried like this in months, the kind of cry that leaves you hoarse and tired, but tonight, in the dark of your bedroom, you cry for the person you used to know.

—

Eddie’s POV

“Thank you, Denver! Goodnight!” The crowd erupts into cheers, pleas for a second encore, and Eddie’s sure he can see women in the front row tearing their bras off to throw onstage. The house speakers blast Talking Heads Burning Down The House as kids make their way to the exit. Eddie slides through the crowd of techs and stagehands backstage, making his way to the green room to collapse on the weathered couch.

“That was fucking incredible!” Jeff exclaims, clapping his calloused hands together. “Best show so far, I think.”

“Psh, that was nothin’, wait ‘til you see what Boston can do.” You’re sitting in the rickety recliner, a cigarette between your fingers, still dressed in your stage clothes. Your skin shines with sweat and glitter, cheeks rosy from exertion. You’re most stunning like this, Eddie thinks.

“Yeah? You willing to bet on that?” He jokes.

“Oh, more than willing!” You chuckle, stubbing out your smoke in the ashtray next to you. “But tonight, I turn in early.” You make a point to stand up, stretching your arms above your head. Eddie’s eyes fall to your midsection, exposed to him while you sort out your limbs. You’d think he’d never seen skin, the way he feels his skin burn at the sight of your stomach.

“Aw, it’s our last night together!” Sylvie whines, shoving you playfully. “One drink?”

Eddie waits with bated breath, and swears your eyes dart to his before you answer.

“Fine. One drink.”

—

Eddie doesn’t follow you to the bar, he knows better. Tonight has already been difficult, knowing he has nowhere to go after tonight, nowhere he wants to go, anyway. He digs through his duffel bag until he finds his long ignored copy of Tighten Up. He wants more of you, somehow. He’s still desperate to know how you’d felt, those horrible years apart.

He skips to the title track, tucking his hair behind his ears before equipping the headphones. The song greets him with the static of an amp, followed by the clicking of drumsticks. When it kicks in, the song is full, clearly a whole band effort. Robin’s bass cuts through with a funky riff, layered underneath dirty guitars and heavy drums. He’s sure the song can’t get better until your voice slices through the music

Dared myself to stand back up, / After all these wasted tears, / Felt my heart sew itself together, / After all that wear ‘n’ tear. / I let you turn your back on me, / I watched you walk away, / And ‘til now I let myself believe / I was supposed to die that way. / But now I’ve tightened up my heart, / I’ve locked away the pain, / and I don’t have much left to give, / without asking for the same.

You tell a story of a broken soul, fighting its way through the dark on its own. The music swells as you belt the chorus, and Eddie can almost feel his fingers hurt during your guitar solo. Robin’s backing vocals fill out your lead, and the buzz of the snare drum carries out the bridge.

When the song fades, Eddie takes his headphones off, needing to digest what he’s just heard. This one might just be his favorite on the album, at least so far. It feels like the pinnacle, the turning point of the story told by the tracks. He’s heard it live, sure, but something about hearing the way it’s produced gives him more of an idea of what you’d been feeling in the moment.

He has an overwhelming urge to see you. He launches himself out of bed, gathering himself as best he can for being so frazzled. He’s in sweatpants, a tattered t-shirt draped loosely over his form, hair pulled into a low ponytail to keep from tangling. He goes to turn the knob, but stops when he hears voices in the hall.

“I can’t believe it.” You’re wasted, words slurring together between hiccups and giggles. Eddie can picture you, rosy cheeked and stumbling, clawing for his arm to support your swaying weight, and his heart lurches as if to grab you through the door. “We’re playing fucking Lollapalooooooza!” You howl the word, and he hears Steve shush you as Robin cackles.

“Hey, hey!” Steve stage whispers, trying to silence you. “Don’t go gloating about it.”

“Why not?” He can almost hear your pout, and he chuckles to himself.

“I don’t wanna deal with you pissing Eddie off.”

“Y’know, Stevie, he’s gonna find out one way or another. Might as well come from me. Besides, he’s different. He’s happier, I think. I dunno. I hope he’s happy, he deserves to be happy.” Eddie’s heart swells as he listens to your tangent, but you’re not done yet. “I wish I could make him happy again. I feel like, whatever I do, I make it worse.” Your voice is cracking, whether from overuse or from trying not to cry, Eddie can’t tell. Now he has to see you. He goes to turn the knob again, but there’s a knock on his door at the very same moment.

Eddie opens the door almost as soon as you’re finished knocking, wafting your scent of lavender and vanilla into his nostrils.

“Hi,” You exhale the word, and Eddie can’t help when his lips twitch upward before he lets his grin free. “Needed to see you.”

“What a coincidence.” He tries not to let his excitement show, standing aside to let you in. “What’s goin’ on?”

“I have to tell you something. Well, I don’t have to. But I want to. You were the only person I wanted to tell, actually. I hope you’re not mad, though. I don’t know what I’d do if you were.”

“Hey, whoa, slow down,” Eddie rushes to where you sit on the edge of his bed, spiraling as the liquor tightens its hold on you. “Why would I get upset?”

You shrug lamely. “I dunno. Just, need you to be happy for me right now. Please be happy for me.” It’s a hoarse whisper, a plea meant for his ears only.

“Oh, sweetheart,” He doesn’t know where to put his hands, so he settles for resting one clammy palm on your leg. “You can tell me anything you want.” He knows what’s coming. You’re playing the biggest festival in the States. Something he’s dreamed about since the festival came to be. Of course it hurts, but Eddie can push that aside to be happy for you. He knows better.

You don’t continue, though. Instead, you scoot further into his side, nuzzling into his shoulder like a needy cat. Despite his aching heart, Eddie wraps his arm around you, letting you further into his hold. Your breathing slows back to normal, and Eddie has no desire to move from this spot. Tomorrow, you go back to Boston, and Eddie fucks off somewhere to wait out the month until he gets to see you again. He can indulge for one more night.

“I do have stuff to tell you,” You say finally, “but not right now. Right now, I sleep.” You hum, and he scoffs. Surely you won’t remember this tomorrow, so he decides not to push you. Eddie slides out from where you rest, laying you back into the mattress. He slips off your shoes and jeans, careful not to tug at anything else. He then tucks the blanket up to your chin, and starts to make a place for himself on the floor when your hand shoots out, snatching his wrist.

“Please, sleep here.” You pat the bed next to you, and he melts at the gesture. Your eyes are almost completely closed, hair wild from dancing, sweating, whatever you’d been doing tonight.

“You’re drunk, sweets. You’ll be upset in the morning.” He doesn’t want to deny you, especially in your softened, sleepy state.

“No!” You shake your head vigorously, wincing at the movement. “No, I won’t. Please, Eddie,” and he’s a goner. Of course he surrenders, and tucks himself into the warm bed next to you. You snuggle into him like it’s instinct, making a home on his chest as he lay stiffly with an arm around you, waiting for you to get comfortable.

You let out a sigh, your breathing slowing, arms wrapped around him with surprising strength. Eddie’s mind starts to wander back to the song, how someone is capable of two such wonderful emotional extremes.

Your mumbling tickles his neck, pulling him from his head. He doesn’t quite catch the words.

“What was that?” He coos, enjoying your touches, your breath on his skin. He could live here.

“I said, ‘I love you, Eddie.’” The words come out strung together, but to Eddie they puncture with each syllable. “G’night.” And before he can respond, you’re snoring.

Eddie, once ready to retire for the evening, is now completely wired, feeling you drift into dreamland next to him, as if you haven’t just upended everything.

—

chapter xxii

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[waitineedaname]

can I say something controversial. shen jiu and shen yuan are both characters who are very much shaped by the environments in which they were raised, and those environments are fundamentally opposites. shen jiu is the way he is because he grew up as an orphan on the streets and suffered horrific abuse as a slave. shen yuan is the way he is because he was raised in relative comfort and privilege, with all the benefits that come with being the third son of a wealthy family in the modern era. I say this because in aus where they're brothers, one of them inevitably is going to end up in a fundamentally different upbringing, which is going to drastically change how they behave

this is not to discourage aus but rather to encourage using them as a way to analyze what changing something like this does to these characters. if you take out shen jiu's tragic backstory and give him a wealthy, privileged family, how does he act? how much of what we associate with shen jiu is inherent to his personality, and how much of it is because of his trauma? if you take shen yuan out of his comfortable life and make him an abused slave child, what will that do to him? will his kindness still be second nature? will he find new ways to act like a complete lunatic?

[froggerland]

Saw a lot of role reversal fanart (a lot meaning. 3 artworks or something) and i wanted to try out for myself. Ned in red looks very cursed tbh

[curtis-brothers-hug]

Ponyboy is that sibling who constantly talks about how different he and Darry are, and then you actually meet Darry and see the two of them interact for the first time and you’re like……they are the same person.

[sovereignsystem]

If being plural has "nothing to do with dissociative disorders" then stop using terms and entering spaces that are strictly for those with dissociative disorders.

Stop calling yourselves systems, stop calling them alters, stop barging into udd/did/osdd spaces.

It's not that fucking hard.

- 🖥 (he/him)

[disableddyke]

i find it hard talking to abled people because so many of them can’t comprehend not having the energy to do the dishes or brush your teeth