#i needed some angst in my life

[skywarpie]

Never Love an Anchor

I have a lot of feeling about Imperator as a mother. Best if having listened to this song, which gave me the inspiration and title. 

Tags: typical angst, Imperator as a mother, and a baby Copia

AO3 Link ---  3,316k words

Her heels clack against the marble floor, her figure swaying to and fro. A hand rests protectively against her still flat belly, something that will surely change in the months to come. If she’s being honest, Imperator has never really seen children in her future. Not because she dislikes them or anything. More along the lines of knowing she’ll never be able to fully tie herself to one person in such an intimate manner. Or well, that’s what she thought anyway. Current circumstances speak differently.

There’s just something about Nihil that makes her drop all her defenses (her clothes also apparently). Maybe it’s because he’s such a smooth talker. Or it could be that he’s devilishly handsome. Or maybe it’s just because she sees something in him that she’s never seen in anyone before. 

She grimaces. Smooth talker he is indeed. His three sons that reside within the ministry, each having a different mother are subject enough to that. Imperator scoffs under her breath. It’s also evident that Nihil is not the ideal father, but she’s not too worried about that. It’ll be easy to put him in his place. It’s only when he’s out of the ministries walls that issue will arise. She can’t risk there being a fifth Emeritus. It’s already bad enough her own child will be fourth in succession.

The heavy doors to the Whisky  a Go Go give way easily under her pull and she makes her way inside the dimly lit building, climbing the steps to have the highest view of the man in question. At the moment he’s singing – fuck, she honestly has no idea what song he’s even singing. Half of the time she’s hardly paying attention to that, occupied with other activities. 

The ghouls that stand behind him strum and finger their instruments in time with Nihil’s vocals. It’s a hypnotizing scene. They all make for the perfect sight. Nihil portrays the brilliant flawless leader and his ghouls emitting a threatening atmosphere. It’s intoxicating.

Imperator’s attention is dragged from the scene in front of her as a woman to her left shrieks with laughter. It’s an annoying, earsplitting laugh and her disdain only grows as she watches the woman blow out a plume of smoke after taking a drag from her cigarette. 

Her deft hand darts out and snatches the afflicting object from the clumsy hands of the drunk woman beside her. 

“Hey! What the fuck –” her voice is cut off by an equally shrill yell as Imperator presses the burning end of the cigarette to her skin. Thankfully (for the girl) she isn’t too drunk to get the message and quickly stumble away. 

She smiles, proud of herself. Maybe she does have a motherly instinct somewhere deep inside her. Her hand once more places itself on her abdomen, rubbing absentmindedly. The plan is to tell Nihil after the show and once he’s good and wasted. He’s a fucking sappy drunk and it’s the perfect time to drop such a bombshell on him because come morning he’ll be armed with the knowledge and nowhere to go.

The song he’s singing finishes and Imperator makes to wave at him but she stops dead in her tracks, eyes widening and face falling.

Nihil leans down into the crowd, grabbing every woman near he can, planting disgustingly wet kisses onto their mouths. Her hands that have planted themselves on the banister begin to curl, her sharp nails digging into the wood beneath them. One, two, she’s not sure how many he kisses. More than she wants to admit. 

It’s then that he glances up to the balcony, mismatched eyes landing on her. She knows by the expression he wears that he’s panicking internally. Not because he’s worried he made her mad, but more so that she caught him in the act. She doesn’t give him the chance to hop from stage and stumble toward her before she turns and marches out, now on a mission of her own.

—-----

She sniffles, despite herself. It’s hormones. She tells herself. Mainly because she’s never been one to openly show emotions in any sense. Fucking stupid idiot. She slings articles of clothing and some of her personal belongings into the suitcase stretched out on her bed. The idea that Nihil could be a perfect father was nothing but a figment of her imagination and now she’s paying the price. Not only is she angry with him, but this thing inside of her is forcing her to leave the only home she’s ever accepted as her own. 

She steps back and takes a deep breath. Her hands flexing at her sides. It’s not that baby’s fault. She has to remind herself of this over and over, otherwise she knows she’ll do something that she’ll more than likely regret in the long run. 

“We don’t need him.” She rests her hand on her belly again. “He’ll only make things harder. You’ll be so much better than him.” 

Grumbling, Imperator slams her suitcase shut and slings it off the bed, tugging it down the ministry halls. Nihil hasn’t returned yet which is good. She doesn’t think she can deal with his whining and bitching right now without snapping. 

She makes her way out of the large wooden doors and down the concrete stairs to the taxi that waits at the bottom. The driver practically jumps out of the car upon seeing her, rushing forward to take her suitcase from her. More than likely he’s hoping to get lucky. A smirk crosses her face. Pathetic little man. 

Once placing her belongings safely in the trunk, the driver rushes forward to yank her door open for her. She gives him a small smile, surprisingly it’s genuine. The man practically melts under her attention. 

“Where – uh where to, Miss?” He stumbles over his words as he practically dive bombs into the car. 

She hums, looking out the window and pulling her fur shawl tighter around her delicate shoulders. “Airport. I have a plane to Italy to catch.”

His eyebrows almost rise off his face as he regards her in the rearview mirror. “Someone special waiting on you there?” 

Imperator has to physically keep herself from rolling her eyes. What is it with men and thinking they’re entitled to know every aspect of a woman’s life? As if she would even consider lying next to him. “No.” She sniffs. “It’s a treat for myself.” Her eyes meet his and the man drops contact immediately, realizing he’s not getting lucky anytime soon. He nods and the car begins to pull out of the long driveway.

She looks out the window, capturing every detail of her church and confining it to her memory. She’ll be back, she obviously knows this. It’s just, she doesn’t know how long that will be. It will obviously be the typical nine months but…what if she changes her mind from what she’s decided? What if she can’t part with the baby and remains at the new branch of the church, confined by her love and care for some small crying blob. 

No. She straightens herself in her seat, cracking her neck. She’ll arrive in Italy, seek out that branch of the ministry, stay there long enough to have her baby, and, as much as she hates it, she will leave them with the nuns there. There’s no way to return home with a child and try to explain it off as “Oh I just found this sweet little thing.” 

Besides, it’s best if the baby grows up as far away from Nihil as possible. Otherwise it will always be destined to fail.

—--

As the months progressed, Imperator as it turns out, had nothing to worry about when it came to Nihil bombarding her with shitty love letters. None ever arrive and it’s honestly a breath of fresh air. 

She’s fallen into a nice routine here. She wakes, helps the sisters of sin, listening to sermons and does what few chores she’s been assigned. Her belly is nearly the size of a beach ball now and it makes certain tasks hard to do. That accompanied with how winded she easily gets now, the sisters are loath to let her overwork herself, but she insists that she can do more. It lands on deaf ears.

It’s a warm summer day in late July when it happens. She’s tending to the small garden of herbs that decorate one of the many window sills along the kitchens when the pain hits her. She takes a step back as she gasps, grabbing at her side. Just a cramp. She tells herself, but it’s quickly proven to be a lie as another cramp engulfs her. Imperator doubles over, cradling the large outline of her stomach as she screams. Has it already been nine months? Her thoughts are cut short as she crumples to the ground. Several sisters rush forward, trying to get her up and to the infirmary. 

She doesn’t remember much after that. Well, except for the excruciating pain that lasts for what feels like years, but is more along the lines of twenty hours. There’s far too many people in the room for her liking but she’s not really in any condition to argue. 

Eventually it does it and she’s handed a tiny screaming bundle wrapped in a blue blanket. Ah, a boy. Imperator knows she should refuse to hold him. If she holds him it’s only going to make leaving even harder, even though she knows it’s best for him.

A sister offers up the bundle again and she caves, taking the baby into her arms. The tiny scrunched up face relaxes and a smile crosses the tiny features as he acknowledges his mother for the first time. 

Imperator caves. She blames it on her raging emotions as she begins crying, holding the baby close to her chest. The tiny grin never leaves his small face, even as he yawns and begins to drift into a fitful sleep. Suddenly it feels like everything was worth it. That the whole ordeal with Nihil, the long months here in Italy, the painfully long labor, it feels like it was all for a reason and that reason is buried in a blanket in her arms, cooing softly.

“Have you chosen a name, Sister?” One of the younger siblings asks. Her accent is thick and Imperator silently hopes that maybe when she meets her son again he’ll have the same. It’s very distinguished. 

“Riccardo.” 

“Ah, brave ruler. A strong name!” The sister grins.

A strong name indeed. For a ruler he will be, one day.

—-

Originally Imperator had told herself she would leave after a month. That would allow time for her body to recover, somewhat, and long enough for the baby to get accustomed with his new caretakers.

That plan had quickly been scrapped as the second month quickly approached her, then the third, then the fourth, then the fifth. Each day baby Riccardo grew more and more and she loved watching and learning new things. He was already trying to crawl, which was something advanced for his age. 

Imperator feels herself fill with pride as she watches him figure out what hole his block shapes fit into. Each time he gets one right she lets out a small yay lightly clapping her hands, the baby giggles and squeals in delight. 

Finally one day a sister spots her in the hallway and waves her over. Imperator readjusting the baby on her hip that’s content to play with the free strands of her hair. 

“Sister.” The sibling quietly begins. “It has been nearly six months since he arrived.” She motions to the baby.

Her brows knit together. “And?” She knows where this is going.

“Well,” the sister twiddles her thumbs together. “You don’t have to leave him. Not if you don’t want to.”

Imperator’s stare turns cold. “You think I’m unaware of that?” The baby in her arms pats at her cheek lightly. “Riccardo, stop.” She grabs his small hand before turning back to the sibling. “I have thought well and hard about this. I know what I’m doing.”

The sibling nods and tucks their head as they hurry off. She watches them and bounces the baby on her hip. She’s already been here too long. Imperator knows what she has to do.

—-

It’s a cold and rainy day early in the new year when Sister has a ghoul haul her suitcase to the waiting car. Funny. The day she had arrived here it had been sunny and only peaceful. It seems fitting that her departure would be accompanied by rain. 

She walks around her room bouncing the baby that sleeps in her arms. He’s grown so much and he’s so smart. Her heart swells with pride. This is her son. The only indication of who his father is is the mismatched eyes that adorn his small handsome face. 

Imperator makes her way to the parlor as slow as possible, trying to savor any little moment she can, imprinting everything to memory. She gnaws her lip. It’s what’s best for him. She reminds herself and she reluctantly places the baby into the waiting arms of a sibling. Theirs, along with the others present, have their sorrowful mood plastered on their faces. But she ignores it.

Riccardo’s tiny arms stretch as he wakes up and for a moment Imperator feels her heart sink. This would be so much easier if he were to stay asleep but he doesn’t. His tiny eyes blinking open as he yawns. He blinks as he looks at the sibling holding him and then to his mother.

“My sweet boy.” She smooths his brunette hair back. Her hands cup his tiny face as she plasters kisses on them with dramatic mwah’s, making him laugh. “You be good.” Sister pulls back to look at him. So young and yet it feels like the baby staring back at her is twice his age. He knows what she’s doing. “You’ll take good care of him?” It’s a demand but it comes out more like a question. 

“Of course.” A sibling places a hand on her shoulder. “You can visit whenever you want.” They smile.

Imperator doesn’t match the sentiment. “I will send for him once he has finished his schooling.” That’s such a long time. A pit forms in her stomach and she feels a wave of nausea settling over her. He’ll be grown. It sinks in that this is the last time she will ever see him as he is now, small, round, and full of joy. Her hand lingers on Riccardo’s cheek a second longer before she pulls it away. “Thank you.” She nods to the sibling and turns to make her way toward the door.

Riccardo wails. His small arms flail as he reaches out for his mother.  Imperator steals herself. She knows if she turns around she’ll stay right here with her little boy and never leave. She bites her lip and walks out the doors. Her baby’s screams and cries are the last thing she hears as she piles into the car, looking out the opposite window, refusing to look back at the tiny human that pleads for her to return.

—-

“I don’t understand what’s so great about this Cardinal.” Nihil’s voice drips with poison. 

“He’s the youngest in our congregation to achieve the status of Cardinal. You don’t think that’s something great?” Imperator’s voice matches his as she crosses her arms. It’s been nearly three decades since she’s returned from Italy on an impromptu trip. Claiming she needs space from Nihil after the incident at the Whisky a Go Go. Being the idiot he is, Nihil accepts it with no qualms. 

“I suppose.” He groans. “But it seems incredibly unnecessary to bring in another Cardinal when we already have several.” 

Imperator rolls her eyes. “He’s arriving and you will meet him this evening.” She turns to leave but stops, turning back around. “And you will be nice.” 

Nihil cocks a brow but nods.

—

She’s sitting at her desk, signing off on church finances when there’s a knock at her door. “Come in.” She doesn’t look up at the ghoul that enters.

“Ms. Imperator,” the ghoul starts, “Cardinal Copia.” They move out of the way and motion to the man behind them. 

Now she does look up. Copia? That’s not his name, no it’s – why do you think he should keep the name that a mother who abandoned him gave to him? She rubs her forehead and motions for the man to enter. The ghoul bows then closes the door behind them as they exit.

Now she gets a good look at the man. His features have filled out nicely, making him quite handsome. His sharp nose accentuates his rounded face. Sideburns decorating his jaw and the pencil thin mustache that adorns his lip gives him a suave aura about him. His black cassock makes him look taller than what he really is, but it suits him. Surely siblings are practically knocking down his door every night. 

The man clears his throat, wringing his hands in front of him. “Uh, Si-Sister Imperator, I am –”

“Copia.” Riccardo, her mind screams. She motions for him to sit in the chair across from her, which he does but his gloved hands twitch like they don’t know where they’re supposed to settle. 

“I was – I was rather surprised that you chose me to join your sect of the church.” He laughs awkwardly, mismatched eyes looking anywhere but at her. 

He’s just nervous. The thought that this is a result of her leaving settles deep in the back of her brain. “And why’s that?” She steeples her hands under her chin.

Now he looks entirely dumbfounded. “I – well – I – I mean there are others far more qualified for this position than myself.” There’s that nervous laughter again. It causes Imperator to frown. She doesn’t like the way he speaks of himself.

“Cardinal, you are the youngest to ever gain such a title in our church. Do you not think that’s something worth acknowledging?” Her brow quirks. 

Copia swallows thickly and fidgets in his seat uncomfortably. “I – I did work rather hard.” He doesn’t meet her gaze.

“Ri – Cardinal,” she catches herself, practically shouting the title and causing the nervous man before her to squeak. “There are no others in this church that have arisen to the title of Cardinal at the age of thirty. You are the first.” She begins to feel that bit of pride swell inside of her again.

“Right.” He nods. 

The longer she studies him, the more Imperator sees her own features in the man. She sees some of Nihil too, unfortunately. It’s not his fault his father is a fucking idiot and he bears resemblance in some sense to him.

Briefly she wonders if he recognizes her. Does he remember her singing to him? Holding him? Kissing and hugging him? No, of course not. That was thirty years ago. Any semblance of memory relating to her has since dissipated.

“Have you been shown your rooms?” She breaks the silence. 

“Oh – uhm, no. No.” He shakes his head. “I was instructed to come here first.” 

So he follows orders? That’s good. Something she can keep filed away for when she sees useful to use it. “Come then.” She stands and motions as she makes her way to the door. “I will show you.”

A brief wide eyed look crosses the Cardinal’s face, but he nods. The man awkwardly stumbles against the chair he was seated in as he makes to follow her. 

She can’t help the brief smile that stretches across her lips. Her son is finally home. He may not know that he is her son, and he may be a bit awkward and clumsy, but he’s home. Imperator doesn’t plan on letting him go a second time.

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

After being ignored by the Justice League for years and thought of as a scam Phantom finally faces an opponent he didn't win against and his city is destroyed, killing everyone. The monster is heavily wounded by Phantom however as it was a brutal fight for both of them

Danny is heartbroken and in shock while the Justice League face off against this threat and also lose. Eventually they get thier second wind and rematch it and kill the thing, but just barely.

Later a small memorial was held for Amity Park and Phantom was enraged at how small it was. 70,000 people died and this was it? Most of the people hear weren't even mourners. They were press and fake ghost enthusiasts trying to catch internet points for thier viewer count. He hears some redhead say that the people of Amity were scammers and this whole ghost thing was fake. With tears in his eyes he screams, not as Fenton but as Phantom, "I'm fake?!" He grabbed the man by his throat and flew a few feet into the air, "You think I'm fake?! Here! Let's see how fake I am!" His words were dripping venom as he possessed the man and laughed as he used him as a puppet, attacking the people around him with ectoblasts and sending them running away screaming.

Bruce Wayne watched on as some unknown Elderich entity possessed Wally West and began attacking people. So Amity Parks pleas for help as well as the pleas from thier supposedly fake superhero were not just part of an elaborate tourist trap.

Green lantern had some explaining to do. Hopefully it wasn't too late to salvage the situation and save this child.

It was.

[isjasz]

The brainrot continues (Blame @vesperionnox and @cherrysherin we are dragging the whole server down with this au)

Part 1

[eliks-edge]

I love the idea of a death wizard who parallels Malistaire pre-Sylvia’s death working together with Cyrus so much. Cyrus sees his brother in this child and it hurts because he misses his brother so much but it also worries him deeply. The wizard and Malistaire are so similar he can only hope that the trauma the wizard will have to live with after dragonspyre (and even more so after future worlds) will not make them into the man Malistaire is now. And really and truly, Malistaire is just a man overrun with grief over a loved one, which could so easily happen to the wizard. I think it would so interesting to see a villain arc very similar to Malistaires with the wizard

[ghosttotheparty]

The dialogue writing prompt thing. Number eight with Steddie. I think Eddie saying it to Steve. Idk. It'd be cute:]

youre so right cw: weed use

8. “I look at you and I think, ‘sunshine. Literal sunshine.’ It’s annoying.” dialogue prompts!!

Eddie is very tired.

It's been a long... few days. (Feels like years.) And he wants to go to bed, and listen to the wind, and maybe get a little high, but as he thinks about it all he remembers where he is.

In the lobby of Hawkins Memorial Hospital, with stitches in his skin and an ice pack on his head. Next to Nancy Wheeler and Robin Buckley, with Steve Harrington by his side. Steve's knee won't stop bouncing up and down. Eddie can hear the rubber sole of his shoe squeaking on the tile, and after he suffers through it for another minute, he reaches out and sets his hand on him. Steve's knee freezes as soon as Eddie's hand is on it, but Eddie can feel his tenseness radiating through his jeans, can feel how anxious he is, and he wordlessly flips his hand over, holding it out.

He doesn't know what he expects, but after a moment Steve slides his hand into Eddie's, pressing their palms together and lacing their fingers. Eddie keeps staring at the floor. There's a spot of dirt on the white tile that looks how he feels. Steve's fingers tighten after a moment, and Eddie squeezes back.

They're there for a long while. Waiting. Robin falls asleep with her head on Nancy's shoulder, and Nancy rests her head on Robin’s, sighing deeply. Eddie wishes Steve would fall asleep. He seems like he could use it.

He doesn't know how long it is until a door opens and the others appear around the corner into the waiting room. Eddie and Steve pull their hands away silently, tightening as they watch everyone trickle into the room. Max, Lucas, Erica, and Dustin, followed by Max's mom, Lucas and Erica's parents, Dustin's mom, Dr Owens, and Chief Powell. Steve exhales next to Eddie. It takes a long while for them to sort everything out. The parents all look... Eddie doesn't think tired is the right word for it.

They all look scared. Even as they look at their children.

Eddie wishes he was high.

The kids don't want to go home alone, even with their respective parents, so a sleepover is organized at the Sinclairs'. Max will borrow some of Erica's pyjamas that are too big for her, and Dustin will borrow Lucas's. (Though Eddie suspects they'll all be asleep as soon as they enter the house. Especially Max, who looks like she's about to keel over any second. Lucas seems to notice it too, and keeps an arm around her the whole time.)

Goodbyes are said in the parking lot, in the brightness from the hospital that's spilling out into the night. Mr Sinclair shakes Steve and Eddie's hands and Ms Henderson hugs them both as gently as she can. Eddie feels like he's spinning, blindly hugging the kids, murmuring soft I love yous and pressing kisses to the tops of their heads, until he's standing by Steve and watching the cars peel out of the parking lot.

Nancy sighs heavily again.

"You're with me?" Steve asks Eddie softly. Eddie looks at him. His eyes reflect the hospital lights in a way that looks holy.

"Yeah," he says.

He sits shotgun while Steve drives to drop the girls off at Nancy's, getting out to hug them and accept the kisses they press to his cheeks, and then he watches Steve walk them up to the front door, hugging them both tenderly before he whispers something to Robin that makes her smack the back of his head. Steve is snickering when he comes back to the car, and it makes Eddie smile.

"Ready?" Steve asks, like they're going on an adventure instead of going home.

Home.

"Do you think... we can stop by my place first?" Eddie asks weakly. "I wanna get... some stuff."

"Yeah," Steve says, pulling out of the Wheelers' driveway. "What do you wanna get?"

"Uh." Eddie sighs. "Some clothes. Keepsakes. Cash. Wayne doesn't know where I hide it, I bet he didn't get it when they made him leave. And, uh..."

"And?"

"Okay, you can't judge me," Eddie says, opening his mouth to speak and make excuses for himself, but Steve interrupts with a quiet, "Never."

Eddie smiles at him for a moment.

"I kinda really wanna get high," he says. "I'm just... I'm so fucking tired, man, and my stitches hurt like a bitch, and I'm..." He trails off, unsure of what to say. He doesn't have that many reasons. He feels like he should have more, like he needs excuse after excuse to get high, but Steve just nods.

"I feel you," he says. "I have some weed at home, but it's not a lot."

"Steve Harrington," Eddie says, relaxing into his seat with relief. "Where've you been my whole life?"

Steve laughs quietly.

"Right here, man."

The trailer is taped off when they get to it, but they don't let it stop them. (It's not like Eddie's never broken in anywhere. Plus, he isn't even actually stealing tonight. It's all his.) If they get arrested, Powell is in on everything now. It'll be fine.

Eddie finds some bags and Steve helps him stuff them full of sweaters and jeans and shirts and handfuls of socks and underwear. Eddie finds his lunchbox in the living room, untouched and unbothered, and he supposes it makes sense that the military government men don't actually care that much about drugs in the grand scheme of things. He fills the lunchbox with the cash from the false bottom of his sock drawer. Steve watches, an almost curious expression on his face. Eddie does one last sweep of the room as Steves takes the bags out to his car. He presses a kiss to his guitar, silently promising he'll be back for her, He finds a bong under his bed and carries it out of the house with him, holding it up as Steve starts the car. Steve grins at him. (He's got an amazing smile. It lights up his whole face like a lamp.)

Steve’s house is eerily quiet when they get there. Silence isn’t all that weird in and of itself, Eddie thinks, but the house is so… big. Like there should be twenty people living here, and not just Steve by himself. Even at the trailer, there's always some kind of noise, the tap dripping, the radiator clicking, the wind making the windows rattle. But the Harrington house is so silent Eddie can hear his own heart beating.

Steve pauses in the doorway, taking a breath that almost echoes in the emptiness, and Eddie’s heart suddenly aches as he thinks about Steve coming home all alone, day after day, night after night. Sitting in the empty loneliness.

“Steve,” Eddie says softly as he follows Steve inside, watching as Steve turns to face him, holding one of Eddie’s bags.

“Yeah?”

Eddie hesitastes for just a moment before he steps forward, shutting the door behind himself, and wraps his arms around Steve’s neck in a tight hug. Steve hugs him back just as desperately, and it’s a little awkward because they’re both carrying Eddie’s bags, and Eddie can’t get as close as he wants to. Which is probably a good thing.

With the door shut, there’s no light in the house at all. It’s pitch dark, but Eddie doesn’t really care. Steve asks if everything is okay, his voice soft and breathy right by Eddie’s ear, and Eddie almost cries. His eyes burn, and he nods for a moment as he swallows, desperate for his voice not to break.

“Yeah.”

They separate after a few moments, slowly, like they don’t really want to let go.

Steve leads Eddie up to the guest room. Shows him how to turn on the shower, adjust the temperature.

When he leaves to take a shower in his own room, Eddie’s body aches. Like Steve’s absence makes him hurt. That’s probably not healthy, he thinks to himself. But when has Eddie ever had healthy habits? And in the grand scheme of things, Eddie doesn’t think a little codependency is the end of the world.

The shower is nice. The water is nice and hot, the water pressure even and hard enough on his back that he relaxes. He watches dry blood and dirt and Upside Down grime wash across the white tile floor and down the drain.

He gets cold when he gets out of the shower and quickly scrubs his hair dry with the towel before he dresses, grabs the bong and lunchbox, and heads downstairs.

Steve is in the kitchen, searching through the fridge, when Eddie gets there. His hair is dripping wet, and the sweater he’s wearing is too big, loose and hanging down to reveal his chest when he bends down.

“You hungry?” Steve asks, looking over his shoulder at Eddie. His eyes glance up and down. Eddie pretends not to notice.

“Maybe a little.”

Steve pulls some Tupperware out of the fridge and sets it on the counter before he reaches back in, looking back at Eddie.

“Did you re-bandage your stitches?”

“Uh, no,” Eddie says. He sets the box and bong on the island, watching as Steve pulls out two cans of Coke. “They’re not bleeding or anything.”

“Should still keep them covered,” Steve says. “So they don’t get caught on your clothes.”

“I don’t have…”

Steve just shakes his head.

“I got it.”

He pulls a first aid kit out from under the sink. Everything looks brand new, except the bottle of painkillers. Eddie leans against the counter as Steve pushes his shirt up, kneeling in front of him and carefully, gently bandaging him up.

Eddie laughs.

“What?” Steve questions, shooting a look up at him.

“Just…” Eddie sighs, looking at the ceiling, wincing as Steve presses medical tape to his skin so it sticks. “Helped prevent the end of the world. Somehow survived. Now I’m… standing in Steve Harrington’s kitchen.”

Steve laughs softly, moving onto Eddie’s other side. There are fewer stitches there, but the skin is all mangled. Steve is so gentle Eddie barely feels it.

“Who would’ve thought?” he says softly. Eddie just hums in response.

They’re eye to eye when he stands up. Eddie can’t tell which of them is taller. Steve’s eyes catch on his cheek, and he puts his fingers to Eddie's jaw, gently making him turn his face. Before Eddie can say anything, Steve is finding an ointment in the first aid kid and smearing it carefully over his cheek before he murmurs, “Tilt your chin up,” and Eddie looks up at the ceiling. Steve’s fingers press ointment over the injury on his neck. That one isn’t that bad, but Steve is still careful, almost tender. He bandages his cheek next, his teeth caught between his teeth and his brows furrowed in concentration.

Eddie takes the ointment when he’s done and wordlessly touches the underside of Steve's chin, making him look up so Eddie can do the same to his neck.

“When did you take the painkillers at the hospital?” Steve asks as they settle on the sofa.

“Uh.” Eddie hesitates, crossing his legs as he sorts out the weed. “Maybe two hours ago? Ish?”

“Think they have you to four to six hour ones,” Steve says. “Should last a while. If you need more in a few hours tell me.”

“Might not need ‘em,” Eddie says as he works. “If this works.”

Steve leans back against the armrest of the sofa and pops open a Coke as Eddie smokes, the empty house filling with the sound of the bong bubbling. He holds the smoke in his lungs until it burns, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back to blow the smoke at the ceiling.

“Yup.”

Steve snorts, and Eddie grins, opening his eyes to pass him the bong and the lighter.

“What would happen if your parents walked in right now?” Eddie asks, watching Steve he takes a hit, and Steve coughs, laughing as he blows the smoke out.

“They’d lose their shit,” he says, grinning. “Don’t know what they’d be more upset about, that I’m smoking weed or that I’m getting high with Eddie fuckin’ Munson.”

Eddie laughs, almost giggling, like it’s a compliment.

Steve takes another hit, his eyes fluttering shut as he inhales, and Eddie watches raptly, like he’s studying him.

Slowly, the pain in Eddie’s waist subsides, and he relaxes into the sofa, staring at Steve as they pass the bong and lighter back and forth, as they nibble at the fruit from the fridge, as they sip their Cokes. Eddie doesn’t even really know what they’re talking about anymore, but Steve is smiling, so it doesn’t matter.

The room is a little brighter when Steve smiles. Eddie’s eyes are stuck.

“You’re so annoying,” he says. Steve’s smile broadens, and he snorts.

“What the fuck did I do?”

Eddie huffs, taking a hit, watching Steve. He’s leaning against the back of the sofa now, slumping. His hair is almost dry, frizzy and wavier than Eddie expected.

“You’re so perfect,” Eddie complains, mentally cursing his lack of filter when he’s high. “Even in school, fucking… Golden boy Steve Harrington.”

Steve snorts, laughing quietly, childishly. Eddie likes seeing him like this. Relaxed, his brain quiet.

“Not so perfect anymore,” Steve says softly, still smiling.

“No,” Eddie disagrees. “Still perfect.” Steve rolls his head on the back of the sofa to look at him. Eddie nods. “Golden boy, perfect golden boy.”

Steve is smiling. His cheeks are flushed but Eddie can’t tell if it’s because of the weed or not.

“I mean seriously,” he says, because he can never shut up. It’s part of his charm. (Or lack thereof.) “I look at you and I think, ‘sunshine. Literal sunshine.’ It’s annoying.”

Steve giggles.

Eddie passes him the bong and drains his Coke while he takes a hit.

“What do you think of when you look at me?” he asks as Steve blows smoke at the ceiling.

Steve looks at him, his eyes glassy.

“Don’t know,” he says softly. “‘S not really… like.” He takes a breath. “An image. I guess. Like, I see your face, but when I think about you, ‘s more of like…” He looks at the ground, his mouth twisting as he thinks. “A feeling.”

Eddie looks at him, his breath catching in his throat.

“What kind of feeling?” he asks, taking the bong from him. Steve barely seems to notice, looking at the ground. He’s quiet, his lips almost curved into a smile.

“Don’t know. Kinda… In my stomach,” Steve says quietly, almost mumbling. Eddie listens closely. “‘Nd my… my chest.” He runs his hand over his chest, over his heart. Eddie lowers the bong to his lap, his eyes following the movement. “Like a twisty kinda feeling.”

“Like you’re sick?” Eddie questions. Steve takes another breath.

“Kinda,” he says softly. “But like… a good sick. Like a…” He gestures vaguely with his hand, his fingers moving. “Like a fluttery sick.”

“Like… butterflies?” Eddie asks quietly.

“…Yeah.”

Eddie smiles, raising his eyebrows.

“Sounds like you gotta crush on me, Stevie.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, still staring at the ground, and Eddie wonders if he heard him, before Steve blinks and his face shifts. Hardens. His brows furrow slightly like he’s thinking, and then his eyes widen and he looks at Eddie.

Oh.

“Steve?” Eddie asks quietly, looking at him, and Steve looks away sharply, the hand that touched his chest reaching for his hair.

“Shit.”

He gets up, and Eddie’s eyes widen, and this must be the actual Upside Down, because Eddie’s world has been flipped over. The ugly paintings on the walls all fall to the ceiling, and the burnt wood in the fireplace falls up the chimney, and Steve doesn’t notice.

“Shit,” he says again. He’s pulling at his own hair, pacing across the room. “Shit.”

Eddie follows him up, putting the bong on the ground and dropping the lighter. It bounces off the carpet and lands under the sofa.

“Steve,” he says, reaching for his shoulder. “Hey.”

Steve turns when he pulls at his shoulder, and Eddie looks into his red-rimmed, teary eyes.

“‘S okay,” he says softly, pulling Steve closer. He reaches for the hand in his hair, gently pulling it away. “It’s okay.”

“‘M sorry,” Steve chokes, breathing hard, and Eddie shakes his head, reaching to hold Steve’s face.

“Don’t be,” he says softly, smiling. “Don’t be sorry, it’s okay. Breathe, Stevie.”

Steve inhales deeply, looking anxiously between Eddie’s eyes. Eddie nods.

“It’s okay,” he says when Steve exhales slowly. His thumbs brush over Steve’s cheeks.

“Eddie,” Steve says weakly. Eddie pulls his face forward and kisses his forehead gently.

“‘S okay,” he murmurs.

When he pulls away Steve’s eyes are closed, and Steve’s hands find him, hesitant and gentle and soft on his waist like he’s scared Eddie’s going to fight him off. Eddie steps closer.

“I like you too,” he says softly. Steve’s eyes flutter open and find Eddie’s.

“What?” he asks breathlessly, his eyes shining again, filling with tears.

“I have a crush on you,” Eddie says quietly, slowly. “Like a huge, debilitating crush.”

Steve’s eyes unfocus, trained on Eddie’s mouth like he’s trying to find the words written in the air between them.

“Really?” he asks so quietly Eddie almost can’t hear him.

Eddie grins.

“Really really. Like, since high school.”

“Woah,” Steve breathes. Slowly, his hands find Eddie’s cheeks, gentle over the bandage that Eddie forgot about, gentle over his skin. Eddie's eyes flutter shut when Steve leans closer, sighing when their lips brush, and then they’re kissing. It’s a brief kiss, soft and tentative and nervous, but Eddie is breathless and almost dizzy when they part.

Eddie pushes his fingers into Steve’s hair, smiling softly when Steve exhales slowly, shakily.

“I think…” Steve starts quietly, his forehead resting on Eddie’s. “…I may be too high for this.”

Eddie giggles quietly.

“We can talk tomorrow,” he whispers softly. Steve hums, tilting his head and closing his eyes.

“Kiss me again?” Steve murmurs, nudging their noses together.

“Thought you were too high for this,” Eddie breathes. He’s just as high as Steve is. The room is spinning a little bit.

“I know, I just…” Steve stops, swallowing and licking his lips and looking at Eddie with a desperation in his eyes that makes Eddie ache. “I just want…”

Eddie kisses him. Hard, and lingering, just a firm press of his lips to Steve’s, and a soft whimper escapes Steve’s throat, his hands tightening on Eddie.

Eddie kisses him again when they part, tilting his head, and then again, and again until Steve feels like he’s about to fall over, leaning against Eddie heavily.

“Woah,” Steve says again, his arms now around Eddie’s waist. Eddie grins, pushing his hair back.

He pulls Steve into a tight hug, gentle over his bandaged sides, and Steve presses his face into Eddie’s neck, taking a heavy breath. Eddie tugs him over to the sofa, and it takes them a moment to get situated, finding a position that doesn’t strain Eddie’s stitches, that doesn’t put weight on their sides. Eddie ends up on top of Steve, his head on his chest, Steve’s hand tracing over his back and slowly dragging through his tangled curls. Eddie holds his other hand and presses kisses to his knuckles before he holds his hand to his face.

And Eddie falls asleep, excited, for the first time in many long years, for the sun to rise.

[puddingcatbeans]

i think tim would somehow end up in a situation where he figures the best course of action is to get married to kon, for a mission or something, and then just never getting around to anulling that marriage

until months, years?? later when someone accidentally uncovers the certificates and get supremely offended they weren't invited to the wedding, only for tim to go, "oh shit i totally forgot about that. also we didn't have a wedding."

and obviously everyone suddenly has opinions on holding a proper wedding ceremony, updating records, coming up with a PR plan, etc etc, because apparently the sky is blue, tim and conner are married, these are just universal truths that everyone accepts.

until tim finally gets himself together enough to ask kon whether he actually wants to be married. and kon looks up from where he's scrolling through his phone in their shared apartment and goes, "yeah, i guess, but only if i get to kiss you this time."

[sableeira]

I wish we knew more about how bsd characters figured out they have abilities. The fact that transferring an ability is confirmed to be rare implies that most characters just randomly figured out their abilities. Like did Kunikida one day write in his planner “I need to buy new glasses” and suddenly glasses spawned in his hand? Did Tanizaki play tag on the playground and just matrix-ed into thin air? Did Fyodor just randomly touch another person and see them drop dead in a pool of blood in front of him?

[thatcoyperson]

So this was originally written off of a prompt and also to bully my friend [hi Jonah if you're seeing this :3] but I figured Tumblr could have it. Not the best thing I've written but f it we ball

Anyways enjoy this short little bit of Last Life Scar angst!

• -------- • -------- • -------- •

“Why?” Scar asked, voice quiet, burn scars still stinging.

Grian raised an eyebrow, locking his yellow eyes to Scar’s newly red from his place in the doorway. “Why what?”

A breath left Scar as he searched for the words. “Why’d you leave me alone?”

As soon as the words left Scar’s mouth, Grian’s entire demeanor changed to something much more closed off. Defensive. “I didn’t leave-”

“No you did leave me.” Scar didn’t even let the man finish his sentence, cutting him off with harsh words. “We were fine, Grian, everything was fine. We talked, we were still friends, it was fine,” Scar could feel the pain in his chest being twisted into anger by his newly red life. “But then- oh but then we get here and suddenly you’re against me. You take my life, take my friends, kill my horse who was the only friend I had left on this god forsaken server-”

“Now we both know that you stole that horse from me-”

“YOU DON'T GET A SAY IN THIS!” Scar snapped. Grian’s wings noticeably tensed at the sudden raise of volume, and Scar felt a shot of pride run through him, masking away the pain that made his heart hurt. “You don’t get a say in any of this after you’re the reason I’m alone,” saying that outloud made him realize the irony of it all. He scoffed, standing up and turning to face Grian fully, “Its funny, y’know, that you’re the reason I’m alone up here. Of all people on this server, it had to be you.”

Grian let out a sigh. “Scar it’s not only my fault-”

He barely got his sentence out before Scar started talking again. “After everything on Third Life, after everything where you swore your life to me-”

“Scar-”

“-after you stayed by my side even when I was red-”

“Scar.”

“-and after you told me you wouldn’t leave me even after you went yellow-”

“SCAR.”

Grian's rising volume finally made Scar stop.

“You told me you wouldn’t leave me,” he looked at Grian, the walls of artificial anger beginning to crack and the pain starting to show through again. The pain of being alone, left behind, forgotten. “Why did you lie?”

A response didn’t come from Grian for what felt like hours, choosing instead to look at Scar with an unreadable expression that gave away nothing. Something was swirling in the back of his eyes though, and one part of Scar - the part that longed for warmth, longed for the desert, for his friend - wanted to believe it was guilt, remorse. But he knew better than that. At least now he did.

And a response never truly came from him. The pair stood there in silence, Scar just barely holding onto the few strings keeping the walls around his heart held together, until Grian silently turned and left.

“What's left of your stuff is in the chest,” were his final words.

The strings snapped.

And Scar stood frozen in the middle of the room as his vision blurred with tears.

[lea-sbian]

My lil contribution for Flowey is Not a Good Life Coach. Good fic. Good shit.

[ty-bayonet-betteridge]

3l!grian is frequently depicted as a tragic figure and sometimes i wonder if we even watched the same series

[actual-changeling]

she doesn't want to know.

maybe she already does, crowley often knows the things she has no interest in knowing, and yet whenever her brain begins to nudge her towards the answer, she slips away and buries herself back in the sand like a reptile escaping the scorching desert heat.

she doesn't want to know a lot of things, and the number only increases after the world does not end again (again), and she can breathe again. crowley can't, couldn't, not when aziraphale's presence is a black hole, a dripping hand made of hot tar and tears spreading it's fingers and tainting everything it touches.

where are you, she doesn't ask, not this time.

this time she knows, and it's worse.

aziraphale returns, all sharp sunshine and stinging ozone, and it's not right, not like this, but neither of them can change it. so she lives with the blisters on her fingertips and the burns on her tongue until heaven takes away the cutting smell of hyacinths and lightning and gives aziraphale back to her.

she doesn't want to know whether their time apart ripped her open from the inside, too, because she thinks she knows the answer, and crowley cannot decide if it's the right one this time.

breathing is easier again, now that aziraphale is all ocean breeze and hot cocoa, a permanent presence right under her ribs, glowing, beating. there are too many question crowley cannot ask, and too many answers aziraphale does not seem to offer, not to her, so she doesn't.

on a tuesday, crowley does not ask if she can move into the bookshop, she simply watches aziraphale move around, snaps her fingers and allows the plants to settle in new, dustier spaces. she is rewarded with a smile, all teeth and sunshine, and she misses panorama windows and damp air, but it's fine, it's alright, she does not want to know why.

if she doesn't know, she doesn't feel.

(she does know. she does feel, all of it, so terribly strong no touch, gentle as as wind disturbing the perfect petals of a rose, can lift the tingle of electricity from her skin)

on a monday, crowley does not ask if she missed her. she brings aziraphale a cup of cocoa, soaks up her thank you, dear and tells herself it is answer enough.

on a thursday, crowley does not ask if they can get rid of the summoning circle staining the floor, simply stares at the smudged lines her earlier stumble on the carpet has revealed and does not ask herself why it bothers her.

tuesday, again. more silent questions.

wednesday. again. questions spilling from her fingertips like stardust, but she knows what they can do, always has since the day they burned her wings to ash and she fell and fell and fell.

aziraphale asks, over and over, for things, about things, asks for the sake of asking, and crowley wants to shake her until her pale blonde curls unravel and show her the answers.

why, why can you ask like it does not mean anything?

why can you ask as if you don't fear the consequences of the answers you will get?

why did you ask me to come with you? (why did i say no?)

why did i ask you, over and over and over, why did i ask? why did i ask even though i knew it was going to hurt?

crowley wants to know, she burns with it, always has, and she wants to sink her claws into aziraphale's answers and pull until they spill out, wet and red and alive, and she can know without having to ask.

friday. any friday.

aziraphale tells her, she tells her often, these days. crowley burns, hot and desperate, and she is all sulfur and brimstone, sand rubbing your skin raw, glass shards sinking into your flesh, and she asks.

why?

her mouth opens, blue eyes wide, dying hyacinths, and crowley waits for the answers to spill from her lips like they so easily do for anyone else, for any other question.

i saw you, before i fell, after i fell, and would have taken the flame to my own wings if it had meant meeting you, she doesn't say.

you are all the warmth i'm lacking, all the goodness and kindness and softness you see in me is you, staring back, she doesn't say.

crowley asks, and she thinks she knows the answer this time, and she wants to know, so she asks.

friday. the same friday.

nothing spills.

crowley smiles, tastes the drop of truth on her tongue, and tells herself it's enough.

she doesn't ask again.

[becca4leafclover]

I went back and watched Fit's vod from today. WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE CALLED PAC PERFECT.

TWICE.

[verkomy]

do you have any angsty bagginshield fics with happy ending to recommend (preferably one shots)?

[papermonkeyism]

sorry for being active

logical... i think I'm annoying you too much /especially with my bad English/, and if you don't want to answer, that'll be fine ^^` in any case, thanks for your attention! i'm probably overthinking this, but...

the last question was, what is Crippled (and the others for that matter) afraid of? I understand that all the hounds lived in a pretty terrible place, but what about simple, almost human things like darkness and loneliness? Surama seems quite fearless to me, despite her dislike of the dark, unlike her brother (okay, he's just quite active), and Iacar is reliving the past. of course, they worry about each other, I think, but... hey, admit it, who is afraid of thunderstorms? :)

sorrysorrysorry ^^`

English isn't my first language either (terveisiä Suomesta). It's just that I'm wary.

I do not currently live in a creative enough environment nor life situation where I can reasonably sacrifice several days out of my week into such a demanding creative work, alone, without burning out.

And every time I so much as casually mention Wurr online, there's usually at least one person who'll come and let me know how tragic it is that I've "decided" to "abandon" my "great story and characters". (Or, in one case, how irrelevant and pathetic I am as a failure of a person. Fuck that one, though.)

Like, I had a bit of a nervous breakdown because of health and livelihood issues back in last spring that I'm still occasionally dealing with (one's systolic blood pressure is definetely not supposed to stay over 190 for long), and I just don't want to be dealing with the people sending me obituaries for my comic on top of that right now.

Like, maybe, maybe, if I one day move closer to Tampere to have my Brainstorm Buddy in my reach regularly again. I miss having creative company.

But right now? I'm just tired.

[mrsfrecklesmarauders]

Lily had tried all her life to be liked by her older sister.

At the beginning it was easy. Playing together as kids was easy. It was always Petunia's way. She was the main princess. She had the best Barbie. She was the protagonist of their adventures.

Lily didn't mind. As such a young age, it was law to do whatever her mummy, daddy and Tuney say.

When Lily was seven years old, and Petunia was twelve, that was when she started losing her sister forever.

Petunia stop being interested in games, dolls, fairy tales to be interested in makeup, boys and her school friends. And Lily was sad, because she didn't have anyone else to play anymore.

Petunia was embarrassed of her "annoying little sister".

As time passed by, the two sisters became very different to one another.

Petunia liked parties, boyfriends, clothes, makeup, gossip. She believed it that status was important in order of finding a match or a friend group. She liked refined things for herself. She didn't want to settle with less. And she knew she had to fight to get what she wanted. Petunia was a realist.

Lily liked fantasy better than reality. Stay home, watch movies, read a book. She liked nice clothes and makeup but nothing about the brand, but about how comfortable they were. She believed in true love. She was a romantic through and through. She believed in happy endings simply because one deserved it. She was a dreamer.

Yet Lily tried to get along with her sister. But Petunia had a very difficult temper. She wasn't patient. She developed a bad mood. She was explosive and mean when she wanted to. And somehow with her strong character, Petunia managed to be the center of attention.

Lily believed that if she contradicted her or acted as explosive as she was, that Petunia was going to be always angry. And that she was going to lose her forever.

So Lily was patient. She tried to please Petunia. And talk about what she liked. About her life. About Vernon. Lily was dying to tell her about Hogwarts, about her friends, the classes, the teachers. But everytime she mentioned something, Petunia was immediately uninterested.

It always felt as if Lily annoyed her sister. It always felt as if they weren't sisters, Petunia would never even speak with her.

Petunia had good moments though, when she was in a good mood. When Vernon and her friends were around. Because it she was different with them, so aimable and nice.

In those moments, Petunia was more gentle. There was more room for talking. And sometimes, if Lily was lucky, Petunia would tell her she loved her.

Lily knew Petunia loved her. She had said it. She was her sister after all. But it didn't feel like it.

It didn't feel like the way Lily loved her. She was not Petunia's priority in her life. She would never be her favorite person.

Time with Lily at Hogwarts broke their relationship even more. Lily missed things from Petunia's life. Things that she only heard from her parents afterwards. Petunia never told her about her feelings. Nothing with much detail about her life. And Lily understood she wasn't important for Petunia.

Sisters love. Lily had seen sisters getting along in movies. They would be close as best friends, telling each other everything and spending time together. Being comfortable around each other. She wondered: why couldn't my sister and I be like that? Was it me? Did I do something wrong?

Nowadays, Lily walked between shells when it came to Petunia. Sometimes Lily was so uncomfortable around her, because she didn't know what to say, what to ask, what to talk about. And sometimes when she dared to ask stuff, Petunia always answered with disdain and bore. And Lily wanted to cry.

It was like loving someone who would never love you back. And the only source of love came from the fact that she had to because they were sisters. Nothing else. And it really really hurt sometimes.

The painful thing was that Lily and Petunia would never stop being sisters, but they might never fix their relationship.

[pixelatedraindrops]

A story told in 4 images 🌡️

Yuma develops an almost dangerously high fever almost collapsing outside the agency and returns to the base per Shinigami's recommendation.

Yakou proceeds to check him, sit him down and get him a blanket to keep him warm (his own bed's blanket) as well as a thermometer to read his temperature. Shinigami remains by her master's side the whole time, with slight concern.

Then he lays him down and tries to cool him off with ice, cold water and uses whatever medicine the agency had during his restless sleep.

The NDA likely cannot afford professional healthcare or a hospital visit, so Yakou's on his own here ;-; Though he doesn't really know what he's doing, he's trying his best. He felt responsible for him. He wouldn't let anything happen to him.

~

Don't worry, it works out in the end c:

After hours of hard work, the high fever breaks down to being only slight. The medicine and ice water worked.

Yakou's relief felt is so immeasurable he practically almost cries, and a very dazed Yuma wakes up with next to no memory of what happened, confused by his chief's exaggerated reaction.

Until he recalls it later and thanks him for tending to him.

💕💊