#proof-of-life

[hitlikehammers]

nowhere without you

rating: t ♥️ cw: post-final battle, hurt/comfort ♥️ tags: established relationship, hurt/comfort, BIG emotions, even BIGGER love, as in: soul-deep love, softness; happy endings always ♥️

for @steddielovemonth day eight: Love is the heartbeat I can feel when I hug him

(also probably the humble love-soaked endlessly-devoted beginnings of the rockstar!husbands in je ne regrette rien)

The weirdest part is how, in the aftermath, Eddie doesn’t speak. Like, at all.

Scratch that: it’s the weirdest and the most concerning part. Eddie makes noise, mostly pained kinda moans that make Steve’s chest clench, ache more the admittedly-decently-deep wounds slowly—but reliably, like, consistently—stitching themselves together, and Steve begs him to get looked at again, because something has to be wrong to cause those kinds of sounds but Eddie doesn’t even shake his head, doesn’t really move at all save that sometimes he trembles, and it’s…

It fucking breaks Steve’s heart.

He’s almost gotten used to stroking Eddie’s hair in silence—so wrong; worthy Eddie that’s just so wrong—and working any tangles out so, much as it’s getting a limp and greasy with days of neglect, at least it’s smooth; but he’s almost resigned to this for the long haul because he’ll weather anything he has to for Eddie and they’ll work through this, whatever this is, they’ll worth through it together and—

“How did you stand you it?”

The sound is more a scratch than anything, glass on sandpaper, and it’s down to Eddie lying where he hasn’t left for the last four, going on five days—as in, not once while Steve’s been awake has he existed without Eddie’s weight situated just so against his chest, sinuous and deliberate in where he presses against, careful as a rule of Steve’s worst injuries and delicate about how he rests against Steve’s body, but not…hesitant.

More, kinda…kinda desperate.

So it’s down to him being pressed so close and sure and unwavering that Steve feels him speak more than anything, matches the motion of his lips against Steve’s gown to words rather than the wind, or something outside his door to the halls of the hospital beyond; it’s down to the tension in the whole of him, the all-too-present shaking that Steve matches the scrape of the question to a hurt that’s…that maybe Steve doesn’t wholly understand just yet, but that really and truly does cut him deeper and closer and more critical at the core of him than the Upside Down ever could have clawed in: Eddie lives in him, nothing else can really…ever hope to be deeper.

“How are you,” Eddie rolls gravel across more words, and Steve’s missed his voice so fucking much, he didn’t realize how much until it’s here again for him to hear and hold but, Jesus fuck, it’s like…it’s like it’s drowning; like Eddie is drowning and then his breath is hitching, and oh, god, that voice is cracking around the edge of a sob, watery and wavering as he damn-near close to begs:

“How did you survive it?”

Steve feels it clench in his ribs, because he thinks he…he thinks he’s putting it together. The strain, the agony in that voice, that voice he loves so fucking much, from this man he loves with everything, but then—the way Eddie presses into him. The force, and the position, and the pattern. The way he’s been quiet, unfailing, but never…never seems distant, seems the opposite: seems focused; intent. The way Dustin had come in and caught him upon the things he’d missed in one of the almost-nonexistent windows where Eddie sleeps, hand lines alongside his sternum and head curled in the most uncomfortable pretzel Steve can imagine, forehead all scrunched and eyes squeezed shut so goddamn hard, looking like any sleep he manages is nothing close to rest by any measure: but Dustin had came in and told him Eddie was the first to him; Eddie ran faster than he’d seen a person run; Eddie’d looked devastated, broken when they’d caught up, and they’d been so afraid, feared the worst, and—

Steve’s starting to fit the pieces together. Maybe.

“No,” Eddie whines, pitchy and fervent and almost ear-splitting, like a wail of sheer gut-wrenching pain that Steve can’t find the reason for in the here and now because it’s just them in a hospital room, they’re okay, and his hand presses heavy, gentle around his wounds still, always gentle and so, so careful and Steve doesn’t know what’s caused the reaction, but then—

Then he can feel his fucking heartbeat for how hard Eddie’s pressing. It’s weird, how it makes him feel…strangely alive, the sensation of it kept and held like that, specifically in Eddie’s hand. And he’s not paying attention to the monitors really, tuned them out as quick as he could but when he listens, okay. Okay, maybe faster than normal, but Steve’s fucking worried, okay, he’s—

“Fuck, no,” Eddie moans and twists his head, no, not just his head, his ear and leans harder into Steve’s chest, his breathing shallow and Steve hates it but he doesn’t know what to do, how to help, what to fix because he’ll fix it if he knows, he’ll climb out of this bed and crawl on the goddamn floors of he has to, but he doesn’t know where to go, what to find, what demon’s left to slay—

“I’m just, I’m grateful you did,” survive, Steve survived…

He survived, like, now?

“But grateful’s such a weak word, it doesn’t,” and Steve takes a breath, and reaches, rests his hand on Eddie’s wrist just to see: his heartbeat’s somuch faster, it’s like a flutter of a flutter felt strong enough to break through skin, it catches in Steve’s heart just to touch—

“You’re so much stronger than I could ever, like,” Eddie’s going on, still breathless and fuck, Steve can see why; “fucking hope to be.”

Shit, but that’s…he wasn’t stronger, fuck, Steve wasn’t stronger than Eddie, Eddie nearly got eaten alive, Steve nearly couldn’t staunch enough of the bleeding, he almost lost—

Eddie keens, horrible and hurting and Steve stills: the monitor. The thundering of his own pulse at the memory.

How did you survive it?

Losing. Almost losing. That’s…that’s what it is.

That’s why Eddie’s pressed against his chest, his his head and his hand have been a fucking frame, goddamn, like, parentheses surrounding Steve’s beating heart, proof of life, Jesus—

“But I need to be,” Eddie’s voice is quiet, but steadier, and his chin dips like a nod to himself; “I need to learn how,” he’s firm with it; “for you.”

Oh, god. Oh…oh Eddie.

“I can’t ever lose you, Steve,” Eddie presses trembling lips to Steve’s chest and then presses close again, so close and oh: he wasn’t just intent where he’s been silent so long.

He was listening.

“Never ever,” he breathes against Steve, hot and damp; almost kinda breathless again, or still: “never ever.”

“Eds,” Steve begins, not even entirely sure where he plans to go, just knows he needs to do something, say something, but Eddie’s turning Steve’s hand in his, where he’d circled Eddie’s wrist; he’s turning it and mirroring the hold, gripping Steve’s wrist in kind.

“I couldn’t find it,” he gasps, and the sound makes the sob clear before Steve feels the wetness soak through to his skin; “I couldn’t feel it at all, you were, it,” he presses his fingers in hard, squeezes so goddamn tight, and Steve can’t…he doesn’t want to imagine what Eddie had to do, what Eddie found and felt, he doesn’t but he can, because he remembers the mirror image so stark, it took him so long because he couldn’t find a pulse either, he’d had to press on Eddie’s heart at the source and even then—

“I couldn’t feel you.”

Oh. Fuck. He—

“Oh, baby,” Steve’s elevated enough at an angle that he can at least kiss Eddie’s hair, barely brush his scalp but it’s enough, for the breath that punches from Eddie against his chest it’s at least something; “that’s…”

“I won’t survive that again, Steve,” Eddie sucks in, unsteady and drenched with tears, with sorrow, but also…also more than anything else, they’re filled up with so much love.

A love big enough to hurt that hard.

“And I can’t…” Eddie gasps, breath catching; “I can’t handle not feeling it,” and his fingers tighten; his hand on Steve’s chest and his cheek across from it press down that extra little bit so Steve knows his own heartbeat in those moments full and deep.

“Have to feel it always,” Eddie whispers like he’s telling himself, and Steve, and Steve’s heart through flesh and bone, some cosmic secret no one else can know: too sacred. Too precious.

“You can feel it any time,” Steve lets his hand fall from Eddie’s to cover the hand Eddie’s got splayed ln his chest, counting time; holds him there almost protectively: “all the time,” and he slips his fingers between Eddie’s and shifts his palm close to the beating, so he can still feel what he needs as he murmurs with his heart literally in Eddie’s hands, with his entire goddamn soul:

“All of me. It’s yours.”

Unshakable fucking fact. He doesn’t even have to will it, or hope for it; his heartbeat knocks that heavier against their hands for those words like it knows.

It knows.

“Don’t leave me,” Eddie bursts out, begging; almost something primal, and Steve can feel the tremoring of his lips where they drag against him; “please. I’ll do anything, I swear it, just don’t—“

“Be you,” Steve braves the whimper that comes from untangling his hand from Eddie so that he can reach for Eddies cheek and cradle him in closer, and oh, fuck, thank god: something in him sighs out and loosens, ever so slightly—finally.

“Everything you are,” Steve presses on, runs his thumb back and forth through Eddie’s drooping curls; “let me love you, past living and dying,” and Eddie’s breath catches, for that, but Steve holds him tighter for it, drowns him as best he’s able in the proof he needs so bad; “don’t leave me,” and Eddie huffs a little for that, like it’s beyond believing, impossible, and Steve smiles to himself for it, tries to lean enough to press the grin to Eddie’s head, hopes he manages as he murmurs there close:

“That’s it, Eddie,” and he lets his fingers spread wider, cradle Eddie all the more: “that’s all I need.”

“That and more baby,” Eddie answers him between the double-beat of his pulse, immediate; “you’re the music and the rhythm,” he nuzzles a little against him, and Steve smiles a little wider for it; “you’re the reason my heart beats,” and Steve finds that heartbeat for himself at Eddie’s jaw, now; a little calmer. Not much. But: something.

It’s a start.

”I don’t have a reason without you,” Eddie exhales, vehement; “I don’t want a reason, without you.”

And Steve should maybe push on it, or be scared by it: but neither seem right, not for this.

Not for them.

Steve just holds Eddie’s pulse under the pressure of his touch, and holds Eddie’s cheek closer still into his chest as he breathes:

“You’re my whole heart, Eds,” and he lets a second pass, and then another, for that heart of Eddie’s to pump evidence unshakable against him, to play the song and rhythm straight into his waiting ear:

“Was never going anywhere without you.”

♥️ ao3 link here

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch

♥️

divider credit here

[filmnoirsbian]

I find your lack of whimsy disturbing

[pokytoad]

photo of a REAL BILLBOARD that my best friend sent me on their daily commute, in case anyone needs money-laundering advice you know who to call

[ninjautistic]

I don't remember this but HOLY FUCKING SHIIIIIITT LLOYD WAS CONFIRMED TO BE AT LEAST 9 YEARS OLD HERE AND HE WAS ABLE TO DO THAT??? JESUS FUCK

[anemonet]

this bad boy can fit so much sick symbolisms

[anagirllifeblog]

Best feeling ever

The feeling of updating my cw to a lower number 💕💕💕

[azucarera-art]

team 8

[zegalba]

Suzume Uchida: "Proof of Existence, Cap of Life" (2020)

[punchitmrsulu]

Lori was sucking Shane’s dick within less than a month after she thought Rick was dead.

Meanwhile, Rick hasn’t seen Michonne in 6 years, has no idea if she’s even still alive or dead but he’s cutting off his own hand trying to get back to her.

Rick’s been dead for Michonne for 6 years, now. Nobody would have blamed her if she had found someone else by now. But the thought doesn’t even cross her mind and the second she finds out there’s a chance he’s still alive, she drops everything to go after him.

[ohdeerfully]

Alastor and reader singing jazz songs together and then reader dips Alastor and he gets all flustered? Like maybe reader notices that Alastor is having a sad time (without frowning of course he always smiles) and sings to cheer him up and then they dance together. Just general fluff? Thanks for having open requests! Remember to drink water and eat a snack!

Yess yes!! My first request >:)) i hope this was fluffy enough and not TOO ooc!

Them There Eyes

Alastor x Reader (fluff)

TW: None here (:

join my discord!

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You knew Alastor better than you would care to admit. How come you, of all people, could tell when that ever-prominent smile he held was more strained than usual? You always noticed when his ears twisted slightly back, and when his brows wrinkled with an emotion he would never admit to feeling.

Was it that you knew him and just noticed these things? Or did he allow himself to loosen up his usual chipper façade around you? You honestly weren’t really sure, but you were definitely sure that something was not right with him as you watched him from the doorway of the radio tower he seemed to frequent more often lately.

He sat with his back against a red and black couch with an eye-themed pillow, one leg kicked up over the other and gently bouncing as he stared dismissively at the papers in front of him. His hands absentmindedly tossed that cane of his between his hands. You knew he was aware of your presence, probably long before you even entered the room. One couldn’t really sneak up on the famed Radio Demon. It was just strange that he had yet to acknowledge your presence.

Both of his ears flattened the slightest millimeter, but that was enough of a sign for you to finally enter the room, carefully stepping yourself to the side of the couch. You tilted your head and balanced on one foot as you tried to angle your body oh-so-inconspicuously in his line of sight.

With a look at his face, you saw that smile of his still stood strong against his sour mood, although it was a tight grin. Almost like a grimace. You straightened yourself out again and sat down on the arm of the couch, carefully not to get too close. You knew he tended to get claustrophobic, especially in this sort of state.

“Alastor,” You spoke, trying to make him acknowledge your existence. You saw that strain in his lips get even tighter, obviously not thrilled at you interrupting his brooding time. You remained silent, gently looking at him and watching the smallest movements of his ears, his lips, his eyes…

Finally, his red eyes closed and he heaved a sigh.

“(Y/N), as much as I take pleasure in your company…” He trailed, thinking about whether or not to shoo you away or let himself be so vulnerable in front of you. He decided neither option, and you watched as his whole demeanor changed in an attempt to stick that gleeful façade of his back up. “What prompted you to grace my evening with your presence?”

You knew better, obviously, than to believe that gleeful look on his face, especially after witnessing the state he was in literal seconds ago.

You eyed his perky grin. And that twitch of some sort of emotion that broke the corner of his lip. This guy… you thought, with a mental roll of your eyes.

With a motion for permission, which was given, you scooted down off the arm and next to him. Your fingers tenderly interlaced with his.

“You know,” You began, looking around the room and coming up with a scheme that was sure to put him in better spirits. His eyes followed your every move, flicking away from your face every now and then to see if there was anything of interest that had caught your eyes. “...I was listening to some songs on that old radio you gave me.”

This piqued his interest quickly. You could tell in the way his head tilted and his eyes squinted quizzically at you.

“I’m glad you are enjoying the gift, dearest,” He responded. The buzz of radio frequency in his voice was noticeably less prominent than usual, but it still stuck a tickling sensation to your skin. A sensation that had grown to be more comforting than irritating. “I assume there was something you enjoyed, to be bringing it up all of the sudden?”

“Yes,” You nodded at his question, a small hum of a sigh escaping your lips as you worked up some courage. “Stay here.”

Alastor obliged as you stood and took off down the hall. You were back only minutes later with said radio carefully gripped between your fingers.

Of course, seeing as it was a gift from the Radio Demon, the majority of the music the radio played was old jazz music. It was fun background noise usually, though, so you had quickly learned how to tune and play the thing.

You gently turned a nob, and then another, adjusting the frequency and volume of the radio. Alastor watched, a slight hint of admiration in his gaze as you fiddled with the gift he had given you. He couldn’t help but feel a greedy sense of pride knowing you liked it so much.

A tune began to play through the black mesh front, and you tugged on Alastor’s hand as an upbeat band got straight to the point in their song. You noticed a glint in the demon’s eyes and a genuine smirk quirking his lips.

You held each other’s hands, loosely jerking your arms and stepping towards, away, towards each other to the rapid tempo of the song. Alastor seemed to recognize the song, likely something from his own life, as he sang along to the voice in the radio. You were able to join in with your own makeshift humming.

You felt your chest inflate with the joy of seeing that genuine smile return to his face, and that recognizable crinkle in his eyes that you knew meant he wasn’t just putting up his usual front. Those eyes of his made your stomach flutter, especially when they looked down at you with a softness that only you knew.

He twisted you around him, and you rapidly stepped your feet in a circle to the song. You were starting to lose breath, but you ignored it for the sake of keeping up with the man in front of you. Who, unsurprisingly, had great stamina for this kind of thing.

Without thinking too much, with a trill of an instrument in the band, you stuck your leg between Alastor’s and curled your elbow and forearm over his waist, using your hand to push his torso down and against your leg, successfully dipping the vastly taller demon over.

The position was held for a moment, with your eyes locked on his widened. Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath. He seemed barely winded. You wouldn’t dare point it out, but the gray color of his face had begun to dust with a warm blush as he was held precariously over your leg. At some point in the move, his hand had come up to grab the back of your neck. Prickling sensations rolled up and down at the feeling of his sharpened nails digging gently into your skin.

You inched your face towards his, watching his expression for any signs of rejection. When there wasn’t, you lightly pressed your lips against his, and you felt him grin against the kiss. He pushed himself up and on his feet, though maintaining a bent at the waist to keep his lips against yours.

How strange it was, you thought, being like this with one of the most feared overlords in Hell.

Breaking away, he straightened himself and smoothed down his clothes and brushed away imaginary dust. That smile of his was back, real this time. 

“Why, what a treat you are, my dear!” He exclaimed, grabbing his cane from the couch and leaning on it as he crossed one leg over the other, examining your exhausted and slightly disheveled state.

Usually, you would take care to smooth down your hair and straighten out your shirt. Momentarily, though, you just cared to see that genuine look of happiness on your demon’s face. Not that Alastor cared about your current state, of course. 

Another song began to play through the radio, and Alastor bowed and flourished his hand out towards you. You had only just caught your breath, but you took his hand again anyway and he tugged you towards him.

[smhalltheurlsaretaken]

y'all need to get a grip. you blab all day about how much you hate bigots and hateful people and how evil it is to dehumanize anyone and then you turn around and say "kys" and "i think [x] should all just kill themselves" and other disgusting, violent and childish trash

so many people on here are just full of hatred and vitriol and turn into frenzied sharks anytime the target 'deserves it' and they think they can get away with it and not be called bad people. then they whine about how sad it is that we can't all just get along and if only all the evil people in the world would stop doing evil things wouldn't that be nicer

you're just as vicious, hypocritical and fanatically puritanical as the caricature you have made in your minds of the people you think you have nothing in common with. if you've ever told someone, ANYONE to kill themselves you're not advocates of justice, you're not artisans of peace, and you certainly don't have any moral high ground that would allow you to pass judgment on others

[starry-bi-sky]

miscellaneous danyal al ghul things

specifically about the danyal al ghul from my post/prompt here and i wanna get my misc. headcanons/thoughts on him (especially in his early stay with the fentons) out here before i make any other danyal al ghul aus

list under the cut because whoops this got longer than i expected. which really i should have expected

the Fentons are unaffiliated with the League, which was perfect for Danny faking his death.

he struggles with empathy. Empathy was not taught nor encouraged while he was with the League, so it's a skill that's been pretty stunted. At 15 he's better at empathizing with people, but he still struggles with it. He's pretty bad at reassuring/comforting people and usually acts as an emotional rubber duck for Sam and Tucker to vent to if need be. He sometimes offers blunt and sometimes mean opinions, especially if its about another person.

Sam and Tucker do not know he's an ex-assassin, they are however, pretty positive that he used to be part of an eco-fascist cult with a focus on martial arts?? They've been helping him tone down some of his more,,, extreme views on humanity ever since they caught wind of his more extreme ideologies.

He and Sam are still avid environmentalists and feed into each other quite a bit. They spend plenty of time at protests and pestering the school into more eco-friendly options.

Dash is not dead on the sole fact that Danny knew he had to lay low in Amity Park and killing someone was not, in fact, 'laying low'.

he did, however, traumatize him when Dash first tried to bully him. Safe to say, Danny is not bullied at school and neither are Sam and Tucker.

Danny didn't make any friends in his first year at Amity Park. He was surly, grumpy, standoffish, more stubborn than Sam, and pretty self-important about himself. Jazz was trying to teach him against these things, but she is a 12 year old unaffiliated with the League. Danny did not respect her nor listen to a word she said. It wasn't until like, year two that he finally started paying to mind what she was saying and slowly started to improve on himself

Sam approached him first, he rebuffed her quite harshly, and then Danny approached her sometime afterward when he overheard her talking about environmental rights. Sam completely ignored him though when he agreed with her, and Danny had to later learn that he needed to apologize for being rude to her when they first met. He did so eventually, and they started to talk more with Tucker and Sam.

Danny's a bit more reserved than he is in canon, although he steadily learns how to act as a regular teenager when he's out in public. He's a bit more friendlier at least, although when he's around Sam and Tucker he drops the act. He still has a somewhat formal way of talking, it's just become more casual after a lot of ribbing from Sam and Tucker. When he's angry or annoyed he starts talking poshly though.

His humor is relatively the same as in canon, if somehow dryer and more insulting at some points

Those rare moments where he gets really pissed usually ends up with him insulting someone in arabic or any of the other languages he picked up from the league. He is the go-to for Tucker's Spanish homework. (Tucker makes that mistake and learns that Danny is a very strict teacher)

while Danny doesn't view the Fentons as his parents, even five years after living with them, he does respect them to some amount. He respects them enough at least that when Vlad Masters comes sniffing around, he is suitably offended on both Maddie and Jack's behalf. And when he finds out Vlad was the one who tried to kill Jack and tried to tell him to renounce him as his father/parental guardian, danny threw a suitably sharp object at him and insulted him quite horrendously

Vlad still wants him as his kid. In fact perhaps even moreso after this.

Danny trains with Maddie to keep up with his training. It's not quite the same but it prevents him from getting completely rusty

Sam and Tucker know that Danny has a little brother, but nothing else beyond that other than Danny cares about him quite a lot and that he got his facial scar from keeping him safe.

Danny cares about Sam, Tucker, and Jazz quite a bit, but he struggles to convey it. Especially early on when he realized he cared about them and like instinct started being harsher to them and more critical of their actions. This resulted in quite a few arguments with Sam and Tucker and Jazz until he got sat down and told outright that the way he was treating them wasn't okay. It's a process he's still trying to unlearn even at 15. He has become kinder towards them as a result, and has begun looking for what they did right rather than what they did wrong.

He harbors a lot of guilt over how he treated Damian in the League, and its a pretty big conflict he has with himself since he's torn between telling himself it was for the best to make sure Damian survived the League, and feeling like crap over how harsh/critical of Damian he was and realizing that he probably could have come up with a better way of training him despite being a child himself at the time. Danny comes to the realization that more than anything, that he just wants to apologize.

His ghost form, specifically is outfit, is a combination of his hazmat suit and his uniform from the league, and he carries a sword with him. He also doesn't know how to react to Dani, honestly. Although it is fair to say that he figures out she's a clone instantly because of her whole 'I'm your third cousin once removed' thing and he freaks out. She spills the beans pretty quickly after that. And Danny is pretty skittish around her - or the equivalent of skittish. Her being younger than him kinda reminds him of Damian, so he's uncomfortable by her presence but learns to warm up to her.

[visenyaism]

king aerys i targaryen naming the first female heir since the dance of the dragons (it’s his insane niece. who is mad with grief. because she accidentally killed the previous heir who was her brother and also her husband in some sort of grotesque accident. who is now the heir because she is a kinslayer.) where would we be without our allies

[aterfish]

Being ace is an opposite of fuck around and find out:

Fuck nobody and never know for sure

[skyrzeart]

when Fenris finally calls u his friend & u need to cry in the bath, oil on canvas

[legallybrunettedotcom]

death proof (2007) lap dance scene