#my writing is so ugly lmao

[flowercrowngods]

🤍🌷 @stevesbipanic and @the-winged-doe asked to see ugly unpolished unrefined words, soo—

cw & tags: past major character death, grief, attempted time-travel fix-it(s), eddie&robin besties || potential wip

Eddie takes a long drag of his cigarette, the biting hot smoke hitting the back of his throat and clawing its way into his lungs, going as deep as he allows and leaving a permanent mark that brings neither relief nor calmness tonight. His fingers shake where they’re pressed to his lips, but the rest of him is unmoving where he sits on the front porch of their new trailer. 

It’s quiet out here. It’s always quiet in Hawkins these days, the city a fucking ghosttown. 

And he knows it’s not because of the one they lost. He knows it’s not because of him. But still the emptiness is stark and the silence oppressivem more so than it ever has been. 

Everyone still looks for him, months later. Dustin still begins to speak, cutting himself off mid-sentence, and Robin still stands with enough space to either side, like she expects him to just show up and invade her space like the home he made for himself in there. 

And somewhere among all that is Eddie. With his very own history. Or, non-history, as it turns out. But history and non-history leave wounds alike, and the memories feel just as real. A small mercy, at the end of the day, for them to feel real when they’re all he has left anymore. 

He takes another drag, not quite exhaling before he obliterates the cigarette and fishes for a new one before the butt even hits the ground. 

Fumbling with the lighter in his pocket, he only gets as far as placing the butt between his lips before a hand snakes into his field of vision to snag it from his mouth. 

“Hey,” he complains halfheartedly but makes no attempt at getting it back, watching instead as Robin comes up to sit beside him, grimacing at the stink of tobacco that must be heavy around him. 

“You’re disgusting,” she says with no real heat behind her words.

Eddie shrugs, because yeah, sure. He’s been called worse things. Robin’s called him worse things. This is her being nice. Her complaininig about his incessant smoking is nothing new. What is new is what she does next, placing the cigarette between her own lips and reaching for the light he’s been holding in a loose grip since she arrived. 

She starts coughing immediately, pulling a face at the disgusting feeling of smoke in her lungs and tobacco on her tongue. But she keeps going. Eddie can only watch in surprise and mild horror. 

“These things’ll kill you,” he says then in an echo of her usual sentiment, aware that he sounds as bewildered as he feels. 

“Well,” Robin says, aiming for casual, but quickly interrupted by a wheeze and a cough that’s almost adorable. “Let them try.” 

Eddie huffs, a pale little smile lingering on his lips as he leans back against the stairs behind him, resting his weight on his forearm to watch her. There is something captivating about her. Eddie always wonders what it is, wants to study her forever. 

Maybe it’s only the lingering traces of Everything Steve Harrington that clings to her every breath, her every move, her every fucking cell, with how much he was a part of her and she of him. Maybe it’s their shared grief that has made Eddie fall a bit in love with her and with the way the moonlight catches in her hair and in the smoke wafting from her cigarette. 

But somehow he refuses to believe that all he loves about her is merely the memory of Steve. 

Robin, in turn, is kind enough to let him stare. Kind enough to let him find out what it is between them. If this friendship is more than a misguided projection of grief and mourning and trauma; more than co-dependence and the obsessive will to keep this one person in your life. This one person who understands. 

After a while of Robin just holding the cigarette between her fingers, becuase no matter how strong her will to self destruct, she never quite got it right with the smoking, Eddie snatches it back before it goes to waste completely. As if pulled in by a string attached to his hollowed out chest, Robin leans back and into him in one smooth motion. It’s too calculated, though, and Eddie can feel how much she sags once she doesn’t have to hold herself up anymore. 

He’ll hold her. It’s fine. She gets to rest if she wants to. God knows she needs it. 

The night is warm for mid-September, but still Robin shakes against him. Eddie holds her closer. 

Silence settles over them, and it’s not an easy one. Silence is never easy anymore, especially with them. He feels so deeply hollow that even the silence echoes in there, creating an ever-present, uncomfortable thrumming of apprehension and anxiety within him. A certain sense of doom, one that can’t quite decide if it’s only an echo itself. 

“I wanna stop time,” Robin says at last, the cigarette long dead between Eddie’s fingers, but he somehow can’t bring himself to flick it away. “I don’t want tomorrow.” 

I don’t ever want a new day. I don’t ever want another tomorrow. I just want Steve. 

They ring in his head still, another echo that only hollows him out further every time it reaches him — Robin, overcome with hysterical grief, screaming and crying, curled up on that hospital floor, her cries quieting down and making Eddie wish she would be loud again, because the quiet was what killed him. The quiet, the whispered words, the declarations that tomorrow could go fuck itself if it came without Steve made him wish, irrationally, desperately, that their roles were reversed. That he could have died and Steve could have lived, and Robin would never have to wish tomorrow never came. 

He’s not entirely sure if she remembers the words, too. If she even said them in this world. 

So he takes a deep breath, breathes away memories and non-histories, feels the heavy weight of his guitar pick hanging around his neck, resting on the scarred flesh of his chest, and tries not to think of the one string left on his acoustic guitar. Tries not to think of his one last attempt. One last try. 

“I know,” he tells her. “Me neither.” 

He peers over her head, lifting his left wrist to check his watch. Ten minutes until midnight. Ten minutes until Steve’s birthday. 

“It’s not tomorrow yet,” he tries lamely, and Robin huffs — the sound wet and bitter and hopeless, making Eddie’s eyes sting. 

“It’s always fucking tomorrow,” she rasps, her voice flat and wavering, and Eddie knows her well enough to know she’s about to cry. And she knows him well enough to do it. 

“I know,” he says again, and reaches for his necklace through his shirt. One more attempt. One more try. One more chance. His eyes burn. 

She turns to him after taking a moment to compose herself, peering up at him through her lashes. 

“Tell me again?” 

His heart falls, the tense apprehension vanishing from the air, bur quickly replaced by something a lot more heavy. Something that looks and smells and feels like grief. 

They both know he’ll do anything she asks. He can’t really bear saying not to her. And not about this, anyway — she’s the only one who knows. 

She’s the one who should have had the chance. 

“Which part?” he asks, holding a new cigarette out for her to light it. She does, and the both follow the flame of the lighter Robin always keeps in her pocket these days. 

She leans forward and takes a drag. Eddie lets her. 

“All of them.“

Eddie sighs, pain welling up inside him, and he closes his eyes against the night sky. “Robbie,” he pleads, but he doesn’t finish his plea. He’ll do it. He’ll do anything she asks. 

But before he starts recounting the tales of how he almost saved Steve Harrington, he finds himself saying something he never thought he’d tell her. 

“There’s one more.” The words hang in the air, and Robin doesn’t react. Has no idea what’s coming; what he’s about to tell her. The guitar pick is heavy on the necklace around his throat. “There’s one more try. One more chance. I’m… I have one more—“ 

He can’t even finish the sentence. Can’t bring himself to say it, lest it all be jinxed forever. He doesn’t want to hope. Wants to carry this weight for all eternity and never think about all those times he failed to save someone he was never meant to save at all. People like Eddie, they’re not made to save anyone. Hell, they can’t even save themselves. 

Steve was supposed to be the one doing the saving. 

And he did. God, he fucking did. But he was never supposed to— 

Cold fingers wrap around his own as Robin fits their hands together. 

“I hate you a little bit for telling me.” 

Eddie nods, trying to focus on the cold hand and the nicotine in his lungs, trying not to let panic and grief and guilt and the heavy weight of one more chance win. “I know.” 

“Hey, Eddie?” Robin says after a while, the silence stretching on, and it’s almost midnight now. “Can you— Would you do something for me?” 

He turns his head, flicking the butt of his cigarette out into the darkness beyond them. “What’s that?” 

“Don’t— Don’t try to, to save him. Don’t— Just… Just maybe, could you celebrate his birthday with him? Make sure he knows he’s… God, make sure he knows he’s loved? Last year, no one really made time on his birthday and we just moved it backwards but God, could you— It’s almost midnight, and—“ 

“Robbie,” Eddie interrupts her, his voice hoarse and wavering, his eyes burning with tears as he tugs her close and holds her to his chest. “You should go. Don’t you wanna…” 

But she’s shaking her head against him with a vehemence that can hardly be misunderstood. 

“No,” she cries, and it’s more of a sob than anything. “I think if I ever saw him again, I’d… I don’t know what I’d do. Burn the whole fucking world to the ground for him or some shit, I can’t— I’d probably just cry all the time and that wouldn’t be helpful, really.” There’s a weak, wet laugh that bubbles out of both of them, and Eddie’s wiping at Robin’s face, drying the tears and making way for new ones to fall. 

“I’d light a fire for you,” Eddie says, the same weak smile on his lips that Robin meets him with now. “Nineteen fucking fires, you hear me?” 

She laughs again, then buries her face in his neck in a way that never quite fit. In a way that Eddie always knew was supposed to be someone else’s neck. 

But he’s not here anymore. And Eddie can’t get him back. No matter how much he aches for it, no matter how much he learned over and over and over again how easy it is to love Steve Harrington and how hard, how fucking impossible it is to lose him. Over and over and over again. 

And to live without him. This one fucking time they all get. It’s not fair. 

And now Robin is asking him to go back one more time and make sure that Steve knows— That he knows. 

Somehow the thought of that feels nobler than any attempt to save him, to bring him back; to rewrite history from a lonely boy’s perspective and hope that no one else is reading along. 

It feels right, too. Fundamentally and suddenly, and with such an intensity that Eddie knows the decision has been made the second he started telling her. 

Still he hesitates. Robin’s sobs have calmed down, and Eddie’s hand finds its way into her hair. 

“Do you really mean it?” 

She nods.

He nods, too, but slower. Like he’s trying to sway himself. Which way, he doesn’t know. 

“Make him happy.” 

“Okay,” he decides after a while, feeling hollow and desperate, but feeling purpose burning underneath his skin again. “One last time.” 

He unwinds his arms from around her and heads inside to grab his acoustic guitar. The last remaining string, badly untuned because he never dared to touch it, stares back at him in both mockery and invitation. A dare. A chance. A promise. 

Outside, Robin is waiting for him, looking anxious. Eddie wants to hug her. He doesn’t, only tightens his grip around the guitar’s neck. 

“Listen, Eddie, if this is goodbye or something—“ 

“It’s a birthday party, Robsie,” he interrupts her, aiming for light, aiming for brave. “I’m coming back right here.” 

“I know,” she rushes to say, taking a step toward him and wringing her hands. It’s endearing. It’s genuine. Eddie really is a little in love with her. “But, y’know, you don’t mess with time, and I don’t know what all you already changed before and I don’t wanna know but… If this is goodbye, if something happens, I just wanna tell you that I’m gonna miss you. And that I think you’re really cool. And that Steve’s— he’s really missing out, okay. Okay?” 

Eddie breathes, taking in her words and letting them soak into his body, his every last fibre. 

“Okay,” he smiles. “Thank you. You’re… I’m kind of in love with you, Robin Buckley. So there had better be no change in the universe, ‘cause that would really suck.” 

They smile at each other, Eddie with his guitar and Robin with her lighter, and somehow this feels like a deja-vu. The antithesis to a moment forever burned into his memory.

Make him pay. 

Make him happy. 

Eddie tugs on his necklace and plays the string before he can think about it too hard; before he can decide otherwise. 

Distantly, he hears the church bells announcing midnight as the world around him fades. 

🤍 permanent tag list gang: @skiddit @inklessletter @aringofsalt @hellion-child @cryptic-cryptid @hotluncheddie @gutterflower77 @auroraplume @steddieonbigboy @n0-1-important @stevesjockstrap @puppy-steve @izzy2210 @itsall-taken @mangoinacan13 @madigoround @pukner @i-amthepizzaman @swimmingbirdrunningrock @hammity-hammer @stevesbipanic @bitchysunflower @estrellami-1 @goodolefashionedloverboi @awkwardgravity1 @devondespresso @bookworm0690 (lmk if you want on or off, for this story or permanently)

[bradshawsbitch]

happy 30th birthday lewis james pullman !!

[malinowaj]

taking a break from editing chapter 10 of always losing to win (coming sometime next week, it's just a lot to go through) by writing some absolutely zero chill party-ferry wilmon. because why not.

“Wille, stop flirting with strays! The bingo starts in ten minutes. We’re gonna need to go and win that bottle of champagne,” one of the other guys exclaims and Simon watches as Wille’s cheeks turn a little pink. Blushing makes him look pretty, Simon finds himself thinking and chides himself immediately. He’s not about to have a crush on a total stranger he’s spent five minutes talking to. No matter how good-looking said stranger is. 

“I wasn’t flir—” Wille protests but he’s cut off by a series of ‘yeah, yeah’ from the guy wearing the crown. 

“Let’s go,” a tall guy with dark hair says, sounding more than a little impatient. The men shuffle out of the chairs and start heading towards the doorway. Wille gets up to follow them but seems to hesitate for a moment before turning back to the table and speaking.

“Want to join us?” he asks.

Simon looks up and is met with a hopeful look on Wille’s face. An image of his tiny cabin flashes in his mind. Oh screw it, Simon thinks, it’s not like he has anything better to do. “You know what, sure. Lead the way.”

[mamawasatesttube]

you guys i have so many thoughts about tdr. i have so much to say. like i don't want to be super mean but dude that comic fucking sucks and i can't lie i think it made me kind of homophobic actually

[kai23-doodles]

love how my own (WHA) OC made me fall in love with my culture and traditions and learn more stuff about it, because, funnily enough, I used to be neutral about these and ashamed and/or afraid to even say where I am from because of a really ugly mentality and hatred others have upon us

OCs are nice, so keep on holding onto your little guys

[myonmukyuu]

marker practice ayumu

[nightjarring]

Watching people fight over and defend hh is insane. People who think it's good have utterly shit taste obviously but im mostly baffled by the other people who have come to the conclusion it sucks but also really need there to be a moral or ethical reason to justify why it sucks. It can't JUST be ugly or annoying or poorly made, it needs to be morally irredeemable.

[kimmkitsuragi]

help me my mom is shipping me with some random chinese man whom i helped buying tickets

[n7punk]

Superzero - Catradora AU by n7punk

Pairings: Adora/Catra (Catradora). Fandom: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018).

Rating: E. Chapters: 17/17. Words: 115k.

Summary: Catra never cared much about Bright Moon’s local superheroes until She-ra rescues her from an attack by the latest would-be supervillain the Horde spat out. She has been lonely ever since the fight that finally ended her and Adora’s friendship, but she didn’t expect She-ra to be lonely, too. For some reason, though, she keeps coming around. Adora knows it’s masochistic to try to befriend Catra the only way she’s allowed to be close to her anymore, but when the stress of her secret identity already broke them apart, it might be the only thing that could bring them together again now. (The secret superhero AU)

[somerandomdutchfangirl]

Random headcanon/au thing brought to you directly from my brain:

Swan hybrid Jack Rose

Like mans just straight up has wings (swan wings ofc, they're red with pink tips because i Do Not Care about realism but instead about color schemes and vibes). Little down feathers in his hair. Talons as nails. Perhaps even tail feathers? And definitely feathered ears

Like,,,, imagine the fluff potential y'all.

Or better yet... Imagine the angst potential

[sarah-sandwich-writes]

Ooh if you're still taking prompts I'm submitting one for Parkner (can't wait for the last chapter of a peach like you btw!) I liked the idea of a combo of #8 and #46 or just #28 because werewolves!

Heeelllloooooo dear darling anon. Do you remember me? Do you still read parkner? You sent this prompt in April of 2022 and Congratulations!! I'm finally filling it over a year later 😬 sorryyy

These prompts are from this prompt list. I was tempted by 28.) werewolf au. both of them are werewolves, which was surprising bc I've been exhausted on werewolves (and vampires) for a while now, but I thought it would be fun if it was human Ned's POV scrambling to keep Peter's big hairy secret from their new roommate, Harley, that they found on craiglist, only to come home one day after months of scrambling to cover claw marks and sweep up tufts of fur to find not one but two werewolves sacked out on the couch, one blond and one brunet, and realize he'd been cleaning up after both of them and they need to have a serious conversation once they're all on two legs again.

BUT I decided not to go that route because a combo of 8 and 46 was just too alluring.

8.) every single kiss so far has been a disaster but it’s really funny + 46.) don’t have a one night stand with your coworker on the spaceship

Is your memory refreshed dear anon? Is this at all familiar? Regardless! I wrote the thing and per the norm I took it too far so here's a snippet of the beginning and a link to ao3 where you can read the other 8k assuming you still read parkner 🫠

adventures with hair dye and feelings — In Space!

or 5 times Harley and Peter don’t kiss + 1 time they do (in space!)

A light breeze stirs the early morning fog that crowds the Avengers compound and whites out the world to none but their research team of four. Tony, their self-appointed leader, clears his throat and looks down his nose at them. Since he’s the shortest this is only possible thanks to the incline of the spaceship’s docking ramp and his position at the head of it.

He pitches his voice to carry. “Before we embark on this scientific expedition I’m going to lay down some very strict rules.”

On Peter’s right, Bruce shifts and huffs impatiently.

“Hey, this is serious, Jolly Green. Listen up.” Tony holds up five fingers. “Rule number five, anybody that messes with my music gets thrown out the airlock, no exceptions.”

On Peter’s left, Harley snorts.

“Yeah, I’m talking to you, Johnny Cash. Mitts off or you’re as good as freeze dried and vacuum sealed. Rule number four, no fragrances. That means no body spray, no candles, and no air fresheners. If I catch so much as a whiff of an artificial scent, I’ll make the owner eat it. Rule number three…”

He begins to pace across the width of the ramp.

“No sticky business. Sorry kid but we’re not chancing a heart attack in space because you get the itch to pace the ceiling and scare poor Brucie into thinking he's in Alien. Which brings us to rule number two, don’t set off the green rage monster.”

“Tony—,”

“That one’s for me,” he says over Bruce. “I can be fair and include myself in the rules.” He stops pacing and looms over them. “The last rule is the most important so I need your undivided attention. Are you listening?”

He looks unmistakably from Peter to Harley then back to Peter. Peter nods.

“Get on with it, old man.” Harley shifts his one allotted bag higher on his shoulder. “Some of us would like to breach atmo before the heat death of the universe.”

Tony eyeballs him but doesn’t rise to his bait like he usually does. His gaze shifts and Peter finds himself drawing up to his full height under his unlaughing stare.

“Rule number one, do not have a one-night stand with your coworker on the spaceship.”

A sliver of Peter’s soul slaws off and dies.

Keep reading on ao3

[mamawasatesttube]

you guys i have so many thoughts about tdr. i have so much to say. like i don't want to be super mean but dude that comic fucking sucks and i can't lie i think it made me kind of homophobic actually

[thychesters]

#wipwednesday! no context just like usual and hmm. anyway. we're going to be workshopping thing tonight so if you see me having some floor time and screaming yes you certainly did. text below the cut:

There are pieces of him that go missing, chipping away at him as the sea does stalwart rocks, except his edges are not smooth. He knows, if one were to peel back his robes entirely, there would be a chunk taken from where his sternum used to be, the bone and skin malleable, and that Luffy could burrow the side of his head into it and tell him his heartbeat sounds a little funny. But he doesn’t and he won’t. The ache first begins in his chest, in the base of his would-be, not missing sternum, like a seed ill-prepared for an early spring, carefully and meticulously winding its way through him, roots and stems twining through bone and cording around muscle until that ache is a sting, a burn, radiating in his core. But then, Zoro thinks, his body can’t hurt if he can’t really feel it. Luffy blots blood away from his face, smearing it on his cheekbone, and somehow he’s quiet, reverent about it in a way he is with little else. It’s softer than Kuraigana, with Perona trying not to gag as she attempted to dress to vengeful gaping hole that was his eye or the precise, even stitches Mihawk performed. He had not apologized as he unglued his eyelashes from where blood had matted them into the crease below his eyebrow, and he had not expected nor wanted him to—he would have rather he cut his head off than insult him with an apology. Luffy blots away blood that isn’t there, blood he can feel soaking into his collar, the weight of it all too familiar, and he smiles and Zoro stares at him and then rocks his head forward with enough force to bash his teeth in.

[graveyarrdshift]

the damage rupi kaur has done to modern poetry is making me feel sick

[v7lgar]

do u like Tom riddle?

YESSSSSSS SO FUCKING MUCH

[juicemitio]

Shaving the rest of my head tomorrow I'll probably be ugly but idrc