#ol writes things

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Steve was pulling his sock out from underneath Eddie's bed when he saw a mysterious looking box underneath labeled: Dangerous! Curious, Steve pulled it out.

Eddie: Wait, Steve, don't!

Steve: Eddie. . .these are a box full of dinosaur toys. . .

Eddie: Yeah. . .

Steve: *eyes shining* I LOVE dinosaurs! My favorite is the triceratops. What's yours? Can we play?

A little while later. . . Wayne had gotten home early, and he knew he was in for it when he saw Steve’s car in the driveway. Eddie and his boyfriend could get a little. . .loud. He winced when he heard roaring coming from Eddie's room. He didn't expect what he heard next.

Steve: You KILLED my trike!

Eddie: And I told you it was an accident. Rexy is old and blind! He can't see where he's going!

Steve: Likely story! That's not even Rexy! That's Rexy's grandson, and he can see perfectly fine! You're just mad because my trike was prettier than your rex!

Eddie: *gasps* You take that back, Steve Harrington!

Wayne: Oh, lord.

[willowser]

i've never really put much thought into actual dragon dragon-king bakugou, but — what if —

you meet him for the first time in king todoroki's arena — on what you assume to be the last day of your life. over something menial like stealing a porkbun or something, and now his grace has decided that a trial-by-combat is a fitting punishment for you crimes.

only your opponent is a massive, hulking, fire-red dragon.

and you're not the only one thrown in there; a few other vagrants and miscreants, too, and they — stupidly — rush off to meet their own deaths as they try to strike him down with the blunt swords and dented shields you'd been thrown by the guards before they sealed you to your fate.

the dragon is chained up, of course, like a prized possession for the king. a large collar with inward curving spikes around his neck, which have worn scars into his scales, as well as some metal contraption around his maw to keep it shut. it doesn't hinder him useless, though, and when he tries to fly up and away from the amphitheater, the force of his wings sends you all rolling backward.

despite the fact that he's maiming people with the spines on his tail and bashing them into mush with the weight of his head — you can't help but to feel bad for him, trapped in an arena, put on display for people to taunt and laugh at. the chains look heavy, the muzzle tight; you wonder if his wings could even carry him anymore.

so you decide that the only way for you to live through this, if at all, is if you can manage to get this big boy off the ground.

while the other competitors fight the dragon for their lives, you instead rush for the chains that are nailed into the walls of the arena and smash at them with the rounded end of a shield. every time he jerks his head this way and that, or rears back on his legs, wings flapping wildly, the wall he's nailed to becomes looser and looser, starts to crumble and fall away.

and just as he turns to you — his last foe — it breaks free, and you swear, you swear, those big, red eyes of his narrow, brow furrowing, before he's jerking the chain twice. tugging it noisly, almost to get your attention.

you grab onto it just before he takes to the sky.

the rush of air is so cold and stinging that your eyes water, and you hold onto the lifeline as you're carried up and away from the kingdom, over the entirety of it, far enough that he can land safely without getting charged by the guards.

when you both hit ground, you think you're going to puke, especially as he stands tall and stretches his wings like he hasn't been able to for years — but instead of smashing you, too, to a clump in the grass, he only leans his head down to you, nudges you hard enough that you topple over.

you're still clinging to the shield and you use the edge on the nails of his muzzle, too, twisting them loose so that the iron falls away and he can stretch his jaw. show off his long, very sharp teeth that could easily tear you to bits.

and yet he doesn't. doesn't even try.

it'll be harder to get the collar off his neck, but he watches you with his slit eyes, brow arched menacingly, and nudges you to the long length of his neck. huffs until you're grabbing the spines and hauling yourself up onto him, like some kind of impossibly large horse.

and you continue on like that, for a bit; he finds a field of wild bulls and eats nearly all of them, maiming one for you before setting it aflame; you try to gather little shiny things for him, because you've heard dragons like treasure and you want to keep him, but he doesn't seem too interested; you have no family to return to, having grown up alone on the king's streets, and he becomes all you have.

you begin to feel like some chosen one from the fairytales you've heard spoken by firelight. the dragon bakugou stays with you, and the only reason you can fathom is that, maybe, he feels indebted to you — but you've saved one another, and that's what matters.

the night everything changes is when you're deep in the forest, camped up near the edge of a clear-water spring. the dragon bakugou grows lazy, curled around the perimeter of the water with his long neck and — he's a male dragon, you know, but you've got to wash yourself eventually.

you do feel a bit odd, undressing yourself as he watches, but you assume it's only out of plain and simple curiosity that he does; you assume that's why he does anything, for you, like allowing you to lay near his head when you sleep or huffing in your face until you laugh when you try to wrap your arms around his nose.

you try to pay him — an animal, a creature of fantasy — no mind as you dive below the surface, enjoying the refreshing rush of water over your skin. when you reach the bottom, tangle your hands in the gentle weeds, you feel a pang of sadness, that he might never experience such a feeling.

but when you return to the surface — he's gone.

in place at the water's edge is the collar you've never been able to loosen. rusted and creaking, looking much larger off his neck and alone in the grass, and your stomach lurches with a thousand horrible possibilities of what could have happened until —

"oi."

until you turn around and there is a massive, hulking man, naked as the day he came, with eyes the color of the scales that are dotted along his skin in stray patches. crowned in a mess of ashen hair, scars along his neck and face and arms—one of which is inked in some symbol you may have seen once. on those travellers, from the southern clans.

he, the man bakugou, you realize, has no concept of personal space — or the fact that he's totally naked and so are you — and he wastes no time in crowding into you. even rushing, a little, when you squeal and try to clamber back up the bank for your clothes.

like a stubborn boy, he pushes you into the dirt and even grins, evil and mischievous, with human teeth. you have no idea what to expect of him; men have never been too kind to you, afterall, someone without a home or family and easy to be rid of.

but he, the man bakugou, only nudges his face into yours, huffs against your cheek when you squirm, and you think, you think, you can hear some kind of quiet rumbling purr coming from the deep center of his chest.

[shepscapades]

In honor of Etho Tuesday, here’s a little insight regarding the damage Etho sustained from the creeper blast that caused his deviancy! His voice is completely fine, so aside from the aesthetic damage and a little bit of weakness in his left arm, he functions perfectly well :]

[whaliiwatching]

he is so. to me

closeups of my favorites <3

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Febuwhump Day 5 - Rope Burns

Twilight was the first to find him.

Time hurried behind his pup as the wolf howled, alerting him. A second later the younger hero was in action, snarling and taking down beasts with a ferocity that still sometimes caught the elder off guard. Time drew his blade, momentarily distracted when he saw the familiar figure locked away in a wooden cage, but his attention was pulled away by a moblin.

The fight was intense but brief, and by the point Time was sheathing his blade, Twilight was already back in Hylian form and hacking away at the wooden bars keeping him from his brother-in-arms.

"Sky!" Twilight called to the teenager. "Sky, wake up, it's okay now. You're safe."

Time knelt down to try and look the young knight in the face, but Sky was curled in on himself, his hair hiding what little of his face was exposed. Twilight shattered the wooden bars and hastily scurried into the cage. Time knew there would be no space for him, so instead he asked, "How is he?"

"Unconscious," Twilight muttered, giving the boy a tenative shake.

"Bring him out here," Time ordered, pulling out a dagger. When Twilight dragged the boy into the open, Time quickly cut through the bonds around his wrists, noticing the angry red rope burns that were left behind.

Twilight glowered at the injuries, looking as if he wanted to kill the monsters all over again.

"We need to get him back to camp," Time said, pushing past his own worry to guide the younger hero. Twilight nodded, eyes still intense and angry, and he pulled the Skyloftian onto his back.

Sky groaned at the gesture, moving a little. Time brushed some hair out of his face to look at him. "Sky, it's okay. You're safe. Our ranch hand is going to carry you, okay?"

"Hurts," Sky croaked, eyes half lidded from exhaustion. Time felt his chest clench a little, angry at himself for letting this happen. Sky had already been ill when the group had been overtaken. The fact that the monsters had taken him prisoner had scared everyone almost more than if he'd been horribly wounded.

Time's hand rested on the young hero's forehead, feeling the boy's skin burn with almost enough intensity to rival Death Mountain.

He sighed, dropping his hand, eyes fixed on the rope burns the boy now had. "Let's go."

"It's going to be okay, Sky," Twilight whispered in assurance as he started to walk, nuzzling the boy's face as he rested on his shoulder. Sky mumbled something unintelligible, and by the time they'd reached camp he was likely delirious, eyes staring at nothing, face flushed, body limp as Time took him off Twilight's back and lowered him to the ground.

Time watched the boy, guilt gnawing at him, and he sighed, letting Sky rest on his lap. "We'll protect you, young one. Don't worry."

[flowercrowngods]

*checks time* a prompt for you. eddie's insomnia versus steve the human weighted blanket. 🥺

in which Eddie hasn’t slept in days and feels like he’s losing his mind. fairy lights, music, and Steve lying down on top of him with promises whispered into his skin are what saves him | cw: gets pretty heavy on the insomnia | 2.8k

Eddie doesn’t sleep. Hasn’t slept in a while. He knows it must have been two days. Maybe three. And before that it’s always just been one lucky hour, maybe two, his body collapsing into blissful darkness before black turns red and he’s back in the Upside down, before silence turns into Chrissy screaming at him, for him, because of him.

Eddie doesn’t sleep. And it’s starting to show. His movements are slow, thinking and speaking takes way longer than it used to, than it should, and everything is dulled. Sometimes he hears voices where there are none, sometimes he misses words directed at him before one of the shrimps call for his attention again, annoyed and only a little worried. Only a little, because Eddie is quirky, Eddie is dramatic, Eddie is like that, right? Right?

Wrong. Eddie is just tired. His hands won’t stop shaking, his mouth won’t stop talking, his thoughts won’t stop running. It doesn’t even feel like he’s in control of himself anymore, and it’s beginning to be real scary.

But even when he thinks, screw the nightmares, I just want some sleep, rest won’t find him. The constant thrum of anxiety keeps it all away and he’s starting to get frustrated, angry, desperate.

He just wants to sleep. Please. The laundry already starts talking to him, and he doesn’t remember hanging it up, and almost panics when it’s gone.

This is fine. It’s all fine. His joints ache, his scars itch, sometimes smiling hurts, but it’s all fine. He just needs sleep.

It all comes to a head when he’s hosting Hellfire for the kids two weeks since his last full night of sleep — and a full night is being generous, because his standards have gone so low as to that meaning he got five hours of almost uninterrupted sleep. Magically, the kids don’t really suspect anything, don’t even notice the bags under Eddie’s eyes or find their own completely misguided whiz kid explanations for it without so much as asking how he’s been doing. Part of him is glad, because they shouldn’t know, shouldn’t worry, shouldn’t see.

It also helps that even complete and utter sleep deprivation can’t ruin Eddie’s Dungeon Master headspace — and so what if the traitorous elf that asked the kids for help sounds a bit like the angry cabinet door he left open all day yesterday because he always forgot to close it? That’s between Eddie and his mind that he’s absolutely been losing.

Everything goes by without a hitch, the kids busy discussing each other’s moves and yelling and hollering, than watching Eddie massage his temples one, two, three times.

It’s fine. Everything is fine. Except his skin has started tingling three hours ago and he knows he shouldn’t drive the kids home, knows he shouldn’t even be hosting them in this state, but he can’t… He can’t let the Upside Down win.

They didn’t get him with red lightning and murderous bats, and now they won’t get him with nightmares or the lack of sleep.

Maybe he’s been cursed. What if he’s cursed? Fuck, what if he’s actually been cursed to die the slow, agonising death that Dustin gave Mike’s character in the one shot he hosted last week, his brain rotting inside his skull and the cure just out of reach, so close but so far? Is that possible? Is that a thing? It sure feels like it, and—

“Eddie?”

Wait.

Steve? Why’s Steve asking for him, calling his name, where is he?

Eddie blinks. And blinks again. Only to find himself in the living room, a shaking hand pressing the telephone to his ear.

He’s been calling Steve. He does not remember. Panic is building inside him and he swallows it down.

I’m not going crazy. I’m not going crazy. I just need to sleep.

“Eds? You there?”

“Yeah, man,” he says, his voice too shaky, not at all sounding like him, and he wonders if someone’s taking over his body. If Vecna is back. If he’s been possessed. Fuck, he might really he possessed, and he shouldn’t be calling Steve, he should keep them all safe, he should—

“What’s up?” Steve asks then, and Eddie sort of never wants him to stop talking, because his head is quiet when he does. Keep talking, Stevie. Please tell me I’m not going crazy. Tell me I’m not cursed. “You okay? Are the kids still there?”

After a moment Eddie finds his breath and his voice, hoping it sounds more like him now. “Yeah, actually, I was wondering if you could come pick them up around nine-ish? I’m not…” okay, he wants to say, but doesn’t. “I can’t really drive. Today.”

There’s a bit of rustling on the other end of the line and Eddie listens, because listening to Steve, to his voice and his movements, is easier than listening to all the things inside his house that suddenly have a voice now.

“Sure,” Steve says. “Yeah, I can come pick them up, no problem. You okay, though? Do you need anything? I can come over sooner if you want, grab them and end Hellfire early. Just say the word, okay?”

Despite himself, Eddie scoffs. “End Hellfire early? Peasant. Heathen! Heretic!”

And Steve just laughs that soft little laugh of his and Eddie listens like his life depends on it.

“Alright, Munson, you little shit, I’ll be there at nine. I’ll just do two rounds, grab you, Dustin and Will on the second one, yeah?”

“Sure, whatever,” Eddie says. Then Steve’s words process and he asks, “Wait, me?”

“Yes, you. I’m not leaving you alone when you sound like… Like you could really use a hug but don’t wanna ask for it, alright? Trust me, I know all about how that sounds. And you don’t gotta be alone, okay? We can just hang out here, don’t even have to talk, just listen to some music or whatever.”

And Eddie doesn’t know what to say. It’s not the sleep deprivation this time, though, it’s Steve Harrington and the way he always seems to know when something’s up. Maybe Eddie’s voice really didn’t sound like him just now, or maybe Steve is just really fucking perceptive and sweet like that.

“The things you listen to are hardly music, Stevie.” That’s all he says. All he can say without breaking into tears, because hanging out with Steve outside of these walls that mock him, laugh at him, talk with him, sounds exactly like what he needs right now.

Well, what he needs is sleep, but Steve feels like second best. And isn’t that something he never expected to feel.

“Shut up, Munson,” Steve laughs, and it’s soft, soft, soft. “But that’s not a no. So I guess I’ll see you then.”

**

Just as promised, Steve is there at exactly 9:00pm. Not one minute early, not one second late. Eddie scoffs and shakes his head as he jogs to the front door.

And maybe it’s the sleep deprivation, but Steve looks really fucking pretty with that smug half smile and another stupid polo shirt under his grey jacket. Eddie swallows. It’s probably the sleep deprivation. It definitely is. Because suddenly he wants nothing more than for Steve to come and hug him.

Sleep, hug, hang out. That’s his list now. It’s growing.

He obsesses over that while Steve brings Lucas, Erica and Mike home. Dustin and Will are talking strategies and Eddie busies himself cleaning up, sorting his notes and carefully storing his Hellfire stuff in the little cabinet unter his desk.

When he’s done, because maybe this took longer than it should have after he forgot what he was about to do a grand total of three times, Steve’s just pulling up to come get them for the second round.

Eddie grabs a bag with a change of clothes, a notebook because he doesn’t expect to find any sleep anyway and he wants to keep himself busy with something, even though writing takes precious brain power he’s going to be lacking for basic things such as making himself breakfast or remembering to get into the house when he’s standing by the front door.

Not like that has happened before. More than once, that is.

With his bag packed, he goes to grab Will and Dustin and together they head out to where Steve’s waiting outside his car, just leaning against it like he’s the goddamn protagonist of some shitty movie. Maybe he’s seen too many of those. Maybe Steve should stop working at Family Video, the movies are a bad influence apparently.

The car ride is blessedly silent, the only noise being the quiet music coming from the radio, and Eddie closes his eyes as he lets street lights wash over him. In the back, Will and Dustin do the same. Everyone’s tired after Hellfire, Eddie knows. Sometimes he catches Steve smiling when he comments on how he hates driving the kids home after their sessions because they always manage to fall asleep on the short ride home and he gets to be the asshole that wakes them up.

Eyes closed, the vision of Steve’s fond smile and faux exasperation in his mind’s eye, Eddie smiles. It’s only when the constant, pleasant rumble of the engine stops and the world is cast in absolute silence, that he opens his eyes. Steve’s watching him, but instead of that smile Eddie’s been dreaming of, there’s a worried expression waiting for him.

“You look like shit,” Steve says so, so quietly, and Eddie sags into the seat, twisting around to face Steve completely as he loses every ounce of fight left in him.

“Can’t sleep,” he says, rasps, whispers.

Steve just looks at him. He’s always looking, always seeing. “Nightmares?”

Eddie shakes his head, plays with one of the loose threads where his jeans are ripped at the knees. “Not even nightmares, just… Insomnia, Nancy called it. I love how she has a fancy word for everything.”

“Shit, man. I’m sorry.” Steve sounds like he means it, and Eddie wants to wrap himself up in that. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Tell me I’m not going crazy?” The words leave his mouth before he can hold them back and Eddie hates how small he sounds, how scared, how tired.

But Steve, oh, Steve, he’s not small or scared or tired. He’s none of that. He’s not weak like Eddie, because after looking for five, six, seven seconds, Steve turns to open his door and gets out of the car. Eddie’s heart sinks and he rubs at his eyes — his dry, aching, burning eyes, protesting at never getting to close anymore.

Then the front passenger door opens and Steve is there, kneeling beside him, taking Eddie’s hands from his eyes and holding them in his own.

“You’re not going crazy, Eddie. I promise you, you’re not going crazy.”

Eddie doesn’t look at Steve, can’t possibly meet the eyes that belong to this incredibly sincere and kind voice. He keeps his eyes on the dashboard instead, watching as the unmoving shadow of a tree morphs into different shapes right before his eyes, his mind playing tricks on him without hiding it anymore.

“Sure feels like it, though,” he whispers. Or he thinks he does. He’s not so sure anymore, watching the one shadow become two, then three. He closes his eyes, clenches them shut like it would make all his problems disappear.

Maybe it does, because like this, there’s only Steve’s voice as he’s talking so gently, so quietly, so unlike anything and everything Eddie has ever known.

The words don’t really register, but one moment Eddie is sitting in the car, the next he’s standing, and it’s warm and it smells like Steve and— oh. They’re hugging. Steve is hugging him. Holding him. Talking still like he knows Eddie needs it, like he knows the world will fade and shift and morph if he doesn’t, like he wants nothing more than to talk Eddie down from this brink of madness.

Then there’s a hand in his and the air is cold again, but it’s fine because there’s a hand and its guiding, holding, soothing.

A door falls closed, a lock clicks, and the hand is still there.

They’re in Steve’s house. Then in Steve’s room. And then there’s music. The hand is gone, and Eddie blinks, his eyes aching, so dry and tired and angry him.

Steve gently, so very gently pushes him to sit down on his bed, but Eddie doesn’t have the strength to sit, so he falls backward until he’s lying on Steve’s bed. It’s soft, comfortable. There’s a string of lights on the wall behind his headboard casting the room in warm light, and Eddie wonders if it’s Christmas soon.

It’s not. It’s August.

It doesn’t make sense.

But they’re pretty.

Eddie is only staring for a while while Steve is off doing something or other, and then he’s back in Eddie’s line of sight.

“Can I try something?”

Eddie just stares.

“It’s absolutely cool if you don’t want to, man, but I do this with Robbie sometimes when she can’t sleep. It doesnt work on me this way around, I always have to be on top, I hate having something on my chest, but—“

“Stevie, I have very limited brain capacity right now.”

“Right, sorry,” he laughs sheepishly and then rests one knee on the mattress. That’s when it hits Eddie that he’s lying in Steve Haddington’s bed, and that aforementioned Steve Harrington has nothing better to do about it than to fucking smile at him.

“Tell me if it’s bad. Seriously, tell me. Uncomfortable, bad, panic-inducing or just plain wrong, yeah? Tell me.”

And Eddie doesn’t understand what on Earth he’s supposed to tell Steve, when…

Steve’s lying down on top of him. They’re touching from knee to shoulder, Steve’s head landing on his collarbone. He’s warm. He’s heavy, and for a second Eddie can’t breathe and it’s too much, his lungs can’t fill, he can’t—

“Breathe, Eddie.”

And he does. And it’s the easiest breath he took all day. He takes another. And another. And all of them smell of Steve, all of them are warm, all of them a promise that he’s not losing his mind or his sanity. His heart, possibly, but that’s a problem for a different day.

“Better?” Steve asks, his breath leaving goosebumps on Eddie’s skin.

He nods. His hands coming up to wrap around Steve because part of him is still scared that this is a dream, a hallucination, or that Steve will decide it’s enough, he can leave Eddie to his business of losing his mind again.

But Steve’s not going anywhere. He shifts, getting comfortable on top of Eddie and promises into the skin of his throat, “I’m not going anywhere, Eddie. I’ve got you and you’re safe. Close your eyes for me, I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

And, miraculously, Eddie believes him. The weight of Steve on top of him, his promise now eternalised in Eddie’s skin, and the quiet tunes coming from the record player take him where he hasn’t been in far too long.

He doesn’t even have the time to think about the way his past self would scoff at him for letting Steve Harrington lie down on him like this. For holding him close.

There’s only Steve who keeps him safe from the brink of insanity and guides him to a much gentler, warmer, kinder place. It’s a bit like insanity, actually, but at least here there’s someone to take his hand and hold it.

The last thought that crosses his mind is the list he made earlier. Sleep, hug, hang out.

He falls asleep with a smile on his face.

**

This quickly turns into the only way Eddie can fall asleep, and he’s embarrassed about it at first. Feels like a burden and doesn’t ask for it, spends most nights alone and with the resolution that he just won’t sleep. But Steve finds out and makes him come over again or just kidnaps him in broad daylight.

Every night they spend like this, Steve promises the same thing. “I’m not going anywhere, Eddie. I’ve got you and you’re safe. Close your eyes for me, I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Every night they spend like this, Eddie believes him as he winds his arms around Steve in turn and holds him.

And then, over time, words whispered into skin turn into the tentative press of lips there. They turn into kisses, into more promises, declarations, pleas.

Some nights turn into most nights, into every night, and Eddie doesn’t lose his sleep again, not like that. Sometimes it’s Steve who wakes up from a nightmare but Eddie is there to soothe him, to make promises of his own and to hold him until he’s asleep again.

They make it work. And somewhere along the way, somewhere between sleep and promises, underneath the fairy lights Steve never takes down, they fall in love.

It’s a different kind of insanity, and one that Eddie never wants to run from.

[b4kuch1n]

crumbs in your bed

transcript

[mishapen-dear]

apocalypse au. cannibalism. corpses. Offscreen loss of loved ones

-

“Some leather armour,” Bad notes, tugging curiously at the straps of the corpse’s armour. “Euagh, almost broken, though.” The armour gets tossed to the side. “A granola bar? Okay, we’ll take that.”

Cellbit twitches at that. He wants to ask, “Do we have to?” but there’s several reasons why he doesn’t. Protesting a backup food supply is never a good idea, for one. It’s not worth it to risk starvation just because he’s worried that the backup food supply will become their primary. He tightens his hold on the bloody sword and insists again. It’s not worth it. Instead, he says, voice rasping, “There’s too many. It’s all going to rot.”

“You think so?” Bad looks up at him, then runs a critical eye over the little encampment. Ten bodies, some larger, but all fat deposits slimmed by lasting hunger. Bad licks at the blood left on his hand from looting the corpse, considering their haul thoughtfully. “I don’t think things rot that fast, Cellbit.”

He twitches again when Bad says his name. It wasn’t an admonishment- it was barely even an opinion Cellbit should validate, knowing how long it takes Bad to consider something rotten -but there is something yearning and grieving and desperate slinking between the muscle fibers of his heart that squirms to hear that disagreement. He’s shaking. He hasn’t stopped shaking. He wants to bite the edge of his sword hard enough that his teeth will crack into sharpened splinters. He wouldn’t need the sword, then. “I don’t- we should cook it,” he says. “Some.”

Bad snaps his fingers triumphantly, as though he’d remembered something. “Pre-digestion!” he exclaims so loudly that Cellbit flinches. No birds fly away- they’ve already been scared off. “Oh! You want to save some for later? Yeah, sure, we can do that. But we should eat what doesn’t fit in the car.” Cellbit doesn’t know how to explain that he can’t eat as much as much as Bad. Not even cooked. It fills him with- it’s not envy but it isn’t not envy, either. Some dissatisfaction.

Back in the— when he was small Cellbit had always assumed that it was Bad’s size that lead him to take the larger portion of their meals. It made sense, and he always got his fill so he was happy with it. Then, when he was grown, it was frustrating. Bad could eat an entire corpse in one sitting; Cell couldn’t even get through an entire leg. He’d realized then, gnawing at bone and just waiting to be done, that Bad couldn’t have possibly eaten an entire corpse. It was childish dreams made memory, morphed by the horror and the trauma and the things he didn’t think about. And now they’ve met up again, and these are their first corpses but Cellbit knows that despite their looting Bad’s share of the resources are always depleted, even when they come across a feast and- The clever part of him is wondering how much he’s really misremembered after all.

Bad seems oblivious to Cellbit’s thoughts. “We can smoke some of this and it’ll last you a bit longer,” he suggests thoughtfully, starting to dig through the corpse’s clothes again. “It might take us some extra time, but this place is safe enough that they set up camp, and we don’t know when we’ll get the chance again. Good idea. Do you want to carve the meat or set up the smoker?”

The thing in Cellbit’s heart writhes almost giddily at the praise. He thinks that he hates it. He misses when he could fool himself into thinking he deserved it. “The meat,” rasps its way out of his throat, proving him right.

Bad lights up. Cellbit can immediately tell that he’s up to something. “In that case- I have something for you that might make it… a little bit easier.”

“What is it?”

“Close your eyes!” The bleeding part of him wails at the thought of the vulnerability, but this is Bad. He’s only alive because of him. Fitting to die because of him, too. Cellbit closes his eyes and continues to shake. The back of his teeth are dry. There’s the sound of rustling as Bad does whatever, and then a triumphant, “Ta-da~!” Cellbit gratefully takes this as his cue to open his eyes again.

Badboyhalo is holding a knife.

Badboyhalo is holding a kitchen knife. Thumb and fingers pinching either side of the blade, handle out, an offering. It’s clean, except where Bad’s hands have stained it red.

Cellbit had been calm, before, the way you are when you’re doing what you were made for. Then he had been satisfied, and excited, and then jittery and bad and happy and satisfied and dreadful. Longing and hatred and benediction and fulfillment. The sight of the knife fades all of that out. When he grabs it, those feelings turn to static. Still there, still hunting him, but forced to back away in the face of its armed prey. The world smooths out a little and hurts a bit less.

Badboyhalo has given him a knife.

“Bad-“ he says, and doesn’t choke up about it.

Bad smiles at him. Bad beams at him. “I was waiting for a good time to give it to you. I know you’ve got your sword, but I remember you telling me that knives are your favourite. Is that still true?”

Overwhelmed, Cellbit nods a little. “Thank- thank you. Obrigado, Bad.”

“De nada!” Bad chirps, cheerful as anything. He pats Cellbit on the shoulder, gently, as his tone shifts. “The sky is still blue, Cellbit. Remember that.”

He wanders away before Cellbit can bring himself to mutter, “Mas às vezes está nublado.” But it’s just Cellbit now, and his knife, and the bodies, and no one living can hear him.

He’s already dropped the sword, he realizes abruptly, clinging to his knife with both hands. He needs to pick it up and clean it before the blood coagulates. There is meat in front of him, still warm and waiting to be processed. Still, he manages to pick up the sword and wipe it in the vicinity of cleanliness on the body’s clothes, his other hand still clinging to his knife. He cuts the clothes, and drops the sword to the side.

When the knife cuts flesh, he starts to grin again. The world turns into a loving red, and he gets to work.

-

Bad feels bad.

He doesn’t dwell on it. Guilt or grief- they both started with g. It’s probably even better, even, feeling guiltier than griefier! Take away the question of accountability entirely, hold control, do what he has to do. And he has to do this.

The log in Bad’s hands cracks. He giggles at it, then takes several quick breaths as tears rapidly pool in his eyes. He doesn’t wipe them, just carefully lays the log down into his makeshift fireplace.

Bad doesn’t like hurting his friends. It’s like a bad prank that leaves lasting damage; it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. But it’s not really all that bad, all things considered. Bad isn’t hurting him or putting him in more danger. If anything, Cellbit is safer with him. They’ve done this before- anything Cellbit can’t eat, Bad can, and they know Cellbit can eat Bad. It’s better. It’s what needs to be done.

There’s a loud lowing in the distance. Bad stills as he listens to it. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Cellbit still carving. They found someone else tonight. Bad feels some tension leak from between his shoulderblades. They’ll be fed and full, and slow in the morning. Cellbit and Bad will have more than enough time to get packed up after a rest.

Cellbit has someone left. Bad is giving him a gift, but he can’t give it yet. Bad knew exactly what he would do if it turned out his own loved ones were still around, and he knows what Cellbit would do, too.

If Cellbit knew that Roier was still alive, he’d leave.

[the-valiant-valkyrie]

it still drives me wild that it's canon that kinesium was the secret ingredient that brought prism's robots to life. that gave them the ability to think and feel. i KNOW her ass did NOT know the kinesium was going to do that...

it really makes me think about how prism adjusted to the first robot she ever built... how long did it take her to realize that it was alive alive, and not just a functional machine? did it speak to her? did it ask her questions it wasn't supposed to be able to? did it learn things she didn't program into it?

prism adores her robots in the present, but i wonder if that was always the case... was there a period of time where she was scared of them? or was her fascination with the artificial sapience she invented enough to keep her distracted from the surreal horror of it all?

when exactly in prism's personal timeline did her robots go from robots to entities worth caring for? worth doting over? worth protecting?

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Imagine: Steve asked Eddie out on a date to the movies, but Eddie doesn't know it's a date. He invited Wayne along, thinking that Steve won't mind because Steve and Wayne liked each other, and Wayne's been wanting to see the movie with his boys. Eddie's still clueless when they show up to the theater, but Wayne doesn't miss Steve shoving the flowers back into the car, nor does he miss the fact that Steve’s wearing a nice button up. Wayne sighs and rolls his eyes before slapping Eddie in the back of his head, causing the gum to come flying out of his mouth.

"Boy, I know you're not that ignorant!" Wayne exclaimed.

"OW! Goddammit, Uncle Wayne! What?!" Eddie exclaimed.

"I don't think I'm supposed to be here, son," Wayne said.

"Why? Did you and Steve have a fight?" Eddie asked with wide eyes.

"This is a date," Wayne said, and Eddie made a disgusted look. "Between you and Steve."

"No, I think I would know if Steve Harrington wants to go on a date with me," Eddie scoffed.

"Apparently, you don't. You see that goofy grin on his face. That ain't for me," Wayne replied.

"He always looks like that," Eddie said, glancing at him, smiling when he wiggled his fingers at him.

"Yeah, whenever he looks at you," he said.

"Why?" Eddie asked.

"Lord knows. . .I'm already tired," Wayne said and plucked the keys from his hands. "I'll be taking the van. Steve can take you home. . . Stay safe."

Wayne looked at him, and Eddie blushed, knowing exactly what he was talking about.

"Wayne!"

"Well, at least you figured something out," Wayne said and left.

Eddie turned around and shrieked when he found Steve standing right behind him. Eddie clutched his chest.

"You scared me," he said.

"Sorry," Steve said sheepishly.

"I didn't - is this a date?" Eddie whispered.

"Yes, at least, I hoped so," Steve whispered back. "Do you not want it to be?"

"I do!" Eddie said quickly. "I just didn't know."

"Wayne had to tell you, didn't he?" Steve asked with a grin.

"Yeah," Eddie said, rubbing the back of his head.

"You're so cute," Steve biting his lip.

"You're an odd duck, you know that?" Eddie snorted. "Luckily for you, I like odd ducks."

Placing a hand on the small of his back, Steve led him into the movie theater, wearing a goofy grin that belonged to Eddie. . . Apparently.

[ty-the-trainwreck]

thinking about cowgirl!nancy and bartender!robin

(this was the product of me realizing that natalia and maya have photos of them wearing cowboy hats and im just)

( plus a little photo of what i think nancy’s pants would look like in this but if they were white)

robin works at a saloon, and one day nancy comes into town and it's not everyday that a woman comes riding in on a horse with her head held high and felt hat held even higher. robin tunes into the gossip circling around the saloon, even though the men insist that it's not gossip. no, that would be too dainty. too feminine. too queer.

the men say things like, "someone's got to show her what a woman's place is in the world." robin barely knows who this mysterious cowgirl is, but she's tremendously livid at each word that comes out of the crusty lips of those bacteria ridden men. she contemplates spitting in all of their beers, but decides to swap out her saliva for six tablespoons of black pepper. robin relishes in the way every man that had said a sour word wrinkle their nose and cough into their elbow aggressively.

eventually, robin gets to meet the mysterious woman.

she waltz into the saloon with her hands clutching her studded rhinestone belt, her black button up had the two top buttons undone and her white pants were tucked into her light brown cowboy boots.

robin was mesmerized.

the woman walked up towards robin, and she finally got to see her face. the woman had sharp blue eyes and an even sharper jawline. robin felt her knees liquify and she barely kept herself standing.

"you serve anything but rum here?"

oh god.

the woman had a southern accent.

"pardon?"

"i don't see one glas that isn't filled with rum."

"oh, yeah. we do, but nobody that visits this place has actual taste buds." robin tried her best to play it cool and not freak out about how attractive this woman was. "wanna take a seat?" she gestured to one of the barstools and took out a table wipe to start wiping down the bar. "gladly." the cowgirl said, her sentences seemed to be short and clipped, quiet compared to the hooting and hollering around the saloon.

"so, want anything to drink? or do you not have taste buds too?" she teased, stuffing the table wipe into her back pocket. the mysterious woman huffed out a laugh, shaking her head. "whiskey, please. i need some after my ride here."

"ah, so you have only lost a few of your taste buds then."

"bless your heart."

robin rolled her eyes with a smirk, turning around to grab a bottle of whiskey and pour it into a tall glass. she slid it towards the lady and watched as she picked the glass up and take a big swig. robin felt her heart beat a little faster as she witnessed the woman's throat bob and swallow all the whiskey. robin quickly redirected her gaze and stared down at the woman's hands instead, making robin even more pathetic that she already was.

she cleared her throat, blinking rapidly and stumbled on her words before she finally found something to say. "what brings you into town? we don't see cowgirls very often." the lady looked up with a piercing gaze. "you got a problem?" robin shook her head immediately. robin was too gay too have a problem with this fucking goddess.

"no! of course not, it's just nice to see someone that doesn't smell like they dived head first into a riverbank made of mud." the lady laughed, taking a smaller and less urgent sip of her whiskey. she savored the sip, swishing it in her mouth for a moment before swallowing and leaning forward. “care to tell me your name, pretty lady?” robin felt shivers shoot up her spine when she heard that southern drawl.

“robin buckley. what’s yours?”

“nancy. nancy wheeler.”

nancy.

“nancy.”

the name felt so good on her tongue.

“when do you get off work? i want to show you my horse.” the lady- nancy, questioned, her fingers traced the rim of the glass on the counter.

robin looked down at the movement, biting the inside of her cheek before replying. “well, in an hour. but i can leave early.”

jesus christ—

was that flirty?

oh my god she was flirting with this woman.

“you better, buckley.” nancy looked up at robin through her eyelids. the curly haired girl in-front of her fixed her hat, bumping it up a little so she could get a clearer look at robin.

robin gulped, walking backwards before bumping into the cabinets. she let out a string of curses that would make a sailor blush. she was embarrassing herself in front of a hot cowgirl!

she scrambled away and ignored the amused look on nancy’s face as she unbuttoned her black vest and straightened her blouse, making sure it wasn’t wrinkled before fixing her hair in the reflection of the window.

robin came back and nancy was behind the counter, pouring out her whiskey and rinsing it. “y’know you’re not allowed back here, right?” she snickered. nancy looked over at her, taking in the slight adjustments to robin’s outfit. “had to clean my glass.” she held up the glass and tapped it. robin reached for it and placed it one of the top cabinets. and she just now realized that nancy was about a few inches shorter than her.

nancy grabbed robin’s arm, tugging the girl into the direction of the doors to the saloon. they pushed open the wooden doors and robin winced at how bright the sun was. “god, the sun is usually down by the time i get off work.”

“couldn’t say the same for me. i need the sun to work so i can too.” nancy led robin to where a beige mustang with a black mane lapped at some water from a wooden trough.

nancy slid her hand off of robin’s arm and robin instantly missed the touch.

“this is my mare, barb.” robin nodded, watching as the horse lifted her head and bumped her nose into nancy’s chest. nancy hummed, running a hand down the horse’s snout before she turned back to robin. “wanna pet her? promise she don’t bite.”

“i want to..it’s just- i had an accident with a horse a few years ago. so i’m not the most trustworthy of horses.” robin watches the mare brush up against nancy, and she thinks back to her horse.

the horse had white and orange spots on it, robin had often referred to them as ‘freckles.’ since they looked like the ones on robin’s face. robin has rode that horse everywhere, wherever robin went, that horse was there with her. until one day, the horse had gotten spooked and bucked. flinging robin off and sending her straight into the ground.

the horse was taken away, and robin had never seen it again. her best friend, gone.

“that’s alright, she’s patient. she won’t push until you reach out first.” nancy reassured in a comforting voice. robin looked at nancy, the woman was so beautiful, and now robin had to deal with the fact that she was kind?

robin was going to fall in love.

“have you ever fallen off her?”

“a few times, yeah.”

“was it scary?”

“terrifying.”

robin looked at the horse in front of her, it blinked at robin with a strange sort of gentleness. she took a hesitant step forward, flinching a little as the mare let out a sigh. “easy…” nancy whispered, scratching behind the horse’s ear. “it’s alright, she’s giving you permission.” robin nodded, letting out a sigh as well before she left her hand up and her fingers were trembling.

it had been years since she had ever touched a horse. sure, robin was surrounded by horses everyday, but watching a horse shake the ground and witness it’s hooves banging against the ground like the dirt it galloped on was a drum and riding said horse was two different things.

yet, the way nancy soothed robin with her soft southern drawl had given her courage.

robin gently pressed her hand onto the mare’s muzzle. the horse closed it’s eyes, leaning into the touch and robin smiled a little. she was still hesitant as she slid her hand up the mare’s snout.

“you’re doing great.” nancy praised, and robin was thinking some extremely inappropriate thoughts as soon as the words left the woman’s mouth.

“can i ride her?” robin asked, her voice barely there. nancy looked a little surprise. “you sure?”

robin nodded, brushing the little white star on the mare’s forehead. nancy sighed a little. “how about this, i’ll let you hold on to me and i’ll take you somewhere we can watch the sunset.”

“trying to take me out on a date, are you wheeler?” robin teased, and nancy let out a laugh.

“i could be, only way to find out is jumping into the saddle.” nancy hoisted herself up and into the leather saddle, patting the spot behind her. robin placed her foot onto the stirrup and pushed up, taking a deep breath before she pushed up and swung her leg over and sat down on the saddle. “i forgot how hard it was to get onto a horse.” she huffed. “not hard when you adapt to always being in danger.”

“very true.”

nancy picked up the leather reigns, gripping them in her palms before she looked back at robin. “hold on.” robin nodded, taking her hands and placing them on nancy’s waist. she decided to pretend that she was not extremely attracted to this woman as she leaned forward a little and got to smell nancy’s hair.

they began to move, albeit slowly. but they were moving, robin was nervous but she trusted nancy to not kill her (trusting a stranger? that would usually be a death wish in the wild west) so she squeezed nancy’s waist a little.

nancy understood immediately, squeezing her calves and the mare picked up the pace. robin let out a tiny gasp as the horse transitioned into a fast trot. “you okay?” nancy asked, giving robin a concerned look before she quickly returned her gaze to the road ahead. “yeah, just a little nervous.” nancy nodded, and she turned them onto a dirt path.

after a few minutes, robin was more comfortable, and she squeezed nancy’s waist once more to signal that she was ready to pick up the speed. “get ready, when she gets going she gets going.” nancy chuckled, letting out another chuckle as robin wrapped her arms around her waist. “i swear wheeler, i will take the reigns myself if i have to.”

“yeah yeah, i hear you.”

the mare sped up and now they were on the edge of a canter and a gallop. robin let out a tiny scream as she looks down and saw how the ground was a blur under the horse’s hooves. “holy shit holy shit!” robin hollered and nancy let out a boisterous laugh in response. the two laughed as they slowly came to a stop and the scene before them was one of the most beautiful robin had seen in her life.

nancy had brought them to a plateu, the winding rocks were shaded an apricot orange as the sun was slowly making it’s descent down the sky. a creek was below them as well, the water a earthy green color as it flowed on by and into the distance.

robin slowly slid off the horse and stood off to the side, staring at the view and she was completely lost in the moment before nancy walked over and bumped their shoulders together.

“it’s nice, isn’t it?” nancy asked. even her felt hat had orange light rimming it’s edges. robin smiled and nodded. “yeah, it really is.” she wasn’t only talking about the view.

“i agree.”

they stood there in silence before nancy reached up, and adjusted her hat. and robin focused on the interesting pattern on where the rim was lifted a little. it was green and black, and the green looked like a handful of snakes had been let loose them frozen and flattened into the hat. robin wanted to touch it.

yes, robin knew that this could absolutely destroy this little thing her and nancy had going on, but she reached out and lifted the hat off the brunette’s head. nancy raised her eyebrows a little but let robin do so, and she smiled a little as robin placed the hat on her head and adjusted it a little.

“hey.”

“hey.”

silence.

“do i look good?”

“more than good, sweetheart.”

robin melted at the way nancy said her words in a slow voice, her words mixed together in the most perfect way and it was possibly the most alluring southern accent she had ever heard.

“you are aware of what it means when you take a cowboy’s hat, right?”

robin looked a little confused.

“no, i am not aware.”

the corners of nancy’s mouth perked up and she turned to robin completely.

“wear the hat ride the cowboy, buckley.”

—

(i am literally from the south but i know no southern sayings and stuff but i was feeling gay at 4 in the morning and wrote this)

[bonebrokebuddy]

DP X DC SPEED FORCE LINKED WITH INFINITE REALMS

Every Flash, no matter the version or earth, canonically is using the same Speed Force. The DCAU Flash uses the same Speed Force as the Earth-16 Flash, pre-crisis Flash, etc. You get the idea. That's even how speedsters can travel universes! Because the Speed Force is the same for all of them, it allows for a connection between all universes. And even better canonically Speed Force users don’t just use it or channel it. They are physical embodiments of the Speed Force. (and I’m uncertain if this is still dc canon or if this has been retconned by now but Speedsters are the outlet for the Speed Force. They cannot stop running or put down the Flash costume in some versions of their character as they do not have a choice if there is not another speedster. They must continue to run or there is no outlet for it then time gets all fucky and unstable with objects from the past appearing in the present. Think Into the Spider-Verse type glitching but with a threat of the timeline collapsing in on itself if it continues too far & isn't fixed.) 

Now let's discuss the Infinite Realms. In fanon its been held that similar logic applies. While unlike the Speed Force in that ghosts aren't the physical outlet for the energy of the Zone (but that would be a very fun concept for Ghost King AU), they can harness the energy from the Zone. Also like the Speed Force, the Infinite Realms in fanon can be used as a method of contacting or reaching other universes and that no matter the earth, version, or point in history. There is one Ghost Zone. It is infinite, it spans across all universes and times.

The link between the fact that speedsters Are The Speed Force & the tie between both the Speed Force and the Infinite Realms being a similar constant in all universes could be explored in so many ways. One of which is that the Speed Force and the Infinite Realms resonate on similar frequencies (or opposing frequencies as comic book logic would totally be on my side for that working) and Speedsters might react to the exposure or leakage of the Infinite Realms into their world depending if the Infinite Realms are similar or opposing to the Speed Force. But either way there is a fundamental connection between the two.

So, to conclude, have one of my many ideas where these two intersect: 

- Barry Allen captured and disarmed a new rogue toting an odd glowing green gun. Barry being the smart motherfucker he is, disassembles the weapon and proceeds to be utterly confused. He accidentally touched the weird glowing green substance that was leaking out of the device but when the side of his hand brushed the touched the substance it administered an oddly familiar feeling shock of electricity. But that wasn’t right. The Speed Force feels alive with a rhythm and pulse of that he could feel resonate with each beat of his heart. But whatever this was felt, for lack of better words, dead. Stagnant. Ancient. It already reached infinity and instead of continuing to expand with continuous energy, it had already stopped long ago.

A shiver went down his spine as he went to write up a report to the Watchtower, warning anyone else about these weird weapons and a request for Bats to look more into the Drs. Fenton.

- Wally accidentally vibrates at the wrong frequency when trying to go through a wall and falls into the GZ

- Alternatively: Bart Allen can at will open a portal to the GZ and that’s how he got back to the past. In addition to being the ADHD embodiment the Young Justice knows very well, he’s also just a Tad liminal. His eyes are backlit with lightning when angry. When he runs, his electricity is tinged green giving a fun red, yellow, green, white color scheme. But the YJ crew just chalk it up to Bart being from the future and having anger issues while connected to the Speed Force.

- Speedsters being able to understand ghost speak but in the same manner that while a modern English speaker can understand maybe a few words in a sentence of Old English, it’s still pretty fucking hard but like, some things they can kinda gleam what they’re saying. It just ends up making things even more confusing from misunderstandings and changes in meaning causing miscommunication to occur.

I have so many more ideas based on this but for now I’m going to leave those for other days so I can go to bed.

[emry-stars-art]

actual prompt:

more pirate neil content

(I very much appreciate the free form/open prompt you sent as well but I’m really bad at those 😅 like for no reason, but I’m gonna hold onto that ask for when I feel like a challenge :D )

But I CAN do pirate Neil! How about the first time he meets sharkDrew for real, not just seeing something in the distance that looks suspiciously Not Like A Shark from his ship, which is the idea so far

It’s a first draft of the idea, anyway. Here you go 🥰

Find the mer au masterpost here 💕

[playername-player-of-games]

A brother. A brother. Why didn't anyone ever tell her she had a brother?

The storm rages on, but the storm in her head is impossibly louder as she flips through the pages of the ancient tome.

"You'll never find him," whispers a voice from the window.

A crack of lightning splits the sky. A rumble of thunder has her gripping the wheel even tighter, her knuckles white against the wood.

"Only if I give up," Gem hisses back, "he's out there somewhere."

[tau1tvec]

Been writing more than I’ve written in years lately, and that’s pretty cool. 🥹

[clamsjams]

actually fuck the cucurucho ai shit that stupid fucking thing could never even have a sliver of hope of coming even the tiniest bit close to sofias emtional depth and character and story. also i just thought what if the feds stole sofia and fucking reprogrammed her to make that fucking thing i will rip it apart. i miss her so bad i may have to buy more cake mix if we get to day 200