#vibrating as I write this

[phoenixwrites]

To Catch A Swan Sneak Peek

“Do you want to do this?” Emma asked suddenly.

He stared at her.  “What?”

“This. Us. Do you want to do this?” She paused for a minute and cleared her throat. “I mean—as parents. To Henry. We do best when we’re honest with each other. We always have been. We told each

“We didn’t tell each other everything,” Neal averted his gaze.  He didn’t need to look at her.  He could feel the hurt from this comment, emanating off of her like steam. 

“Well, I told you everything,” Her voice cracked. “Stupid of me, I guess. To trust you. I guess that’s what it all comes back to.”

“It wasn’t about trust!” Neal said in frustration. “It was about—Jesus, Emma, you love Henry, but you don’t believe his fairytales. You don’t believe you’re the ‘Savior’, you hate the whole idea of it.”

“What does that have to do with anything?!”            

“What if I told you? What if I answered you, told you everything, but it was harder to believe than Henry’s fairytales? Because if that happened and you didn’t believe me and I lost you again—I can’t lose you again, Emma. Not again.”

[libraryofgage]

Good Vibrations Part One

Hello, it's me, back at it again with another Steddie AU.

Anyway, if I were tagging this AU, these would be the most important ones: Deaf Steve Harrington; Tooth-rotting Fluff; Getting Together

If you wanna be tagged in future parts, just let me know!

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;)

----

Steve has blown through three pairs of hearing aids in the past year. The first pair had lasted a few years and needed replacement because of normal wear and tear. The second pair was sacrificed during that fight with Jonathan. He hadn't been wearing them, but they'd been in Steve's pocket, and he'd landed at just the right angle to feel them shatter. The third pair was taken by the Russians because, despite Robin's shouting and cursing at them for being dumbasses (and this was before she actually knew what they were for), they accused him of recording their kidnapping and torture.

Honestly, he wouldn't recommend fighting Russians and Billy and Mind Flayers and driving while nearly totally deaf.

The funniest part of it all, though, is that Steve doesn't even use hearing aids regularly. He normally only wears them at home. The pair lost to Jonathan were present because, well, that whole day had been a lot for Steve, and he needed the comfort of knowing he could stop reading lips the moment it became too exhausting for him. The pair lost to the Russians was because he'd been getting ready to tell Robin about being deaf. She'd already clocked the weird things he does (well, weird to her, normal to Steve), and he figured letting her in on the big secret would bring them a little closer.

Of course, that didn't go the way he expected. Robin thought he was confessing love and decided to beat him to the punch. That's how he learned Robin is a lesbian, and Steve couldn't let her be the only one admitting to something like that, so he told her about being bi and his long-standing, hopeless crush. And being deaf. But the bi with a crush thing seemed more important in the moment. She took it in stride, it brought them closer, and then Robin asked if Steve could teach her sign language.

Which meant that Steve had to learn sign language because he never had. Between not wanting to feel even more different than he already did and trying to convince his parents that, really, everything was fine and he didn't need to go to a special school for deaf and hard-of-hearing kids, he'd never learned. Learning it had somehow felt like an admission of weakness, and that was the last thing he wanted. But he learned for Robin, and they stumbled through sign language together, creating new signs only they knew.

But that's all in the past now, and Steve is working his ass off at Family Video to afford a new pair because he refuses to ask his parents for money. If he asks them, they'll come back, and that's the last thing he wants. They don't need to have all their worries confirmed that Steve is helpless, and he doesn't want them anywhere near Hawkins "Hellscape" Indiana.

So. Working his ass off, taking extra shifts, and babysitting the kids as much as he can to make up for the whole Friends and Family Discount he gives their parents. He's exhausted, but he gets to recharge somewhat during his lunch break.

About a ten-minute walk from the Family Video is a record store, which Steve has started visiting daily to just breathe. The lone worker in the store is usually too busy listening to her own music to pay Steve any attention, letting him wander and try to determine which records will best serve him.

Steve drifts over to the rock and heavy metal section, hoping to find a new album but unsurprised when he doesn't. He browses through them anyway, moving past Metallica and Black Sabbath and Iron Maiden. He already has all of these albums on his shelf at home. He has the cassette tapes for them, too.

But he really wants something new. He likes the novelty of experiencing unfamiliar vibrations through the speaker, letting them thrum through his fingertips and into his bones. It's fun and relaxing, and after all the bullshit he's been through lately, he probably deserves something relaxing.

After glancing over a few more familiar albums, Steve sighs and glances at the counter by the door. The lone worker is standing there, headphones over her ears, and idly flipping through a magazine. She's chewing gum, and Steve braces himself for the sheer hell of trying to read her lips without making it obvious he's reading her lips while she's got something in her mouth to disrupt the normal shape of words and sounds.

But he has to try. Steve takes one more deep breath before walking over, shoving his hands into his pockets when he comes to a stop at the counter. The girl raises a hand, motioning for him to wait, so he stays quiet as she finishes reading her page. She flips to the next one before looking up, not making any move to pull her headphones off.

"Hi. Do you have any new rock or metal albums coming in soon," Steve asks, feeling the vibrations of speech in his throat and hoping his words aren't too loud.

They don't seem to be. The girl doesn't flinch or pull back. She just looks him up and down, taking in the polo shirt and the nice khakis and the Family Video vest he forgot to take off before leaving. Finally, her neck and shoulders jerk slightly, and Steve knows she's huffed in annoyance. "No," she says, the word clear enough in the shape of her lips for Steve to know it immediately.

He frowns slightly, his fingernails digging into his palms. Steve wouldn't mind just leaving now, but something keeps him there. He just...he really wants new music. He needs something new. "Are there gonna be any shows nearby?" he asks.

The girl rolls her eyes and says something, her mouth distorted by gum-chewing. Steve can barely make out the words "you" and "check" from her response. Thankfully, it's accompanied by a vague gesture at something behind him. Steve looks over his shoulder to see a bulletin board with flyers plastered across it.

"Right. Thanks," he says, nodding to her before walking over. The flyers are all different colors with various fonts that scream for Steve's attention. Some of them are for bands, some are advertisements of garage sales or instruments in need of a new home, and others are just business flyers from stores nearby.

He's seen the bulletin board before, but he's never actually paid attention to it. Steve has always been laser-focused on browsing the records. But now, Steve carefully reviews each flyer advertising shows. Some are for comedy shows, which he immediately dismisses. One seems promising, but then he sees how far it is, and Steve definitely can't do an overnight trip like that.

Finally, Steve sees a flyer advertising a show at the Hideout later that week. It's close enough that he won't be out overnight. The place is kind of seedy, but Steve figures he can find some corner near the stage to hide. Or he can bring Robin and let her help him navigate any potential social situations. He tugs the flyer off the board, gaze lingering on the "Corroded Coffin" emblazoned across the top.

He knows the band. Of course, he knows the band. He's extremely familiar with their singer. From a distance. Honestly, Eddie Munson probably doesn't have the best impression of him, but Steve's heart never really cared about that. Because Eddie is like everything Steve wants to be: he's loud and unafraid of being so, he doesn't care about his image and how others perceive him, and he looks like his laugh sounds beautiful. Steve wouldn't know if he's actually right about that last point, but Eddie throws his head back when he laughs, eyes crinkled and hand over his stomach like his muscles ache.

His mouth suddenly feels dry, but he's also filled with unprecedented courage. Steve has graduated (barely), and that means a significantly lower chance of running into Eddie during the day if watching the show somehow goes wrong.

Steve folds the flyer into quarters and stuffs it into his back pocket. He'll be overly aware of it being there until Robin starts her shift and he can show it to her, but that's okay. He throws a quick thanks over his shoulder as he leaves the shop, glancing up at the bell he can't hear that signals the door's opening. He vaguely remembers what bells are supposed to sound like (he'd heard a few before losing the ability to hear them), but he doesn't let himself dwell on it.

Instead, he focuses on the trip back to Family Video, keeping an eye on the road to watch for any cars he wouldn't notice otherwise.

----

When the final bell rings, Eddie Munson can't get out of class fast enough. He'd been packed for the last five minutes, and he slid out of his seat the moment that first peal rang out. He has a gig to prepare for, and every second counts. At least, each second counts until he notices something (or someone) that could prove entertaining for a while.

He spots Dustin alone near one of the exits, and Eddie decides to relieve the kid of his isolation. He waits until he's behind Dustin to shout, "Henderson!" and throw his arm over the kid's shoulders, ignoring the way he jumps like he'd been expecting an attack.

"Holy shit!" Dustin shrieks, jerking back to look up at Eddie. "Don't do that, man, you're gonna give me a heart attack."

Eddie snorts, waving away Dustin's concern as he continues toward the exit. The general flow of students trying to get out helps him along, and Dustin doesn't seem to realize they're actually moving until they've gotten into direct sunlight. "You're fine," Eddie says, "Anyway, whatcha doing all alone, Henderson? Lose your way?"

"No, I have...stuff to do today," Dustin says, shrugging as he blinks to acclimate to the sunlight.

Oh, yeah, way too cryptic for Eddie to not dig for more. "Stuff? What kinda stuff? Got a hot date? Going shopping with your mom?" he asks, and then he gasps dramatically and moves to stand in Dustin's way. He puts both hands on his shoulders and very seriously says, "Be honest, Henderson, you're seeing another DM, aren't you?"

Dustin stares at him for a few seconds before rolling his eyes and shrugging his hands off. "Who else in this town DMs?" he asks, "Other than Will, I guess, but he's still working on a campaign."

"Fair," Eddie concedes, "so, whatcha really doing?"

After a few seconds of getting nudged by the students around them, Dustin sighs and says, "I have chores, okay? But that doesn't sound cool to say, does it?"

Fair. Eddie nods in agreement and moves out of Dustin's way, continuing to follow him. "So, what, your mom picking you up today?" he asks.

"No, Steve."

"Oh, the famous Steve."

Dustin nods, looking over the parking lot before pointing to one end. "Yeah, he's awesome," Dustin says as Eddie follows the direction of his finger.

And standing there, leaning against the hood of his car and looking to the side where a group of trees is swaying in the breeze, is Steve Harrington. Steve "The Hair" Harrington. King Steve. The worst thing, Eddie thinks, is that Steve looks good. His hair is still perfect, of course, and his stupid little striped shirt is pulling against his biceps and riding up just enough for Eddie to see a tiny sliver of tanned skin above his jeans. He looks a little tense, but Eddie chalks that up to him being back on the campus after already graduating.

"Harrington? You've been talking about Steve Harrington this whole time?" Eddie asks, his voice a little strained, "How the fuck do you know Steve Harrington?"

"He's my babysitter," Dustin says, his voice implying that much should have been obvious, but Eddie wants to grab his shoulders and shake until his head rolls off.

Steve Harrington doesn't babysit. He doesn't know nerds that talk about D&D. He doesn't drive nerds around. At least, he never did in high school. Granted, Eddie never actually talked to Steve, but everybody knew that Steve Harrington was too cool for, well, anything that wasn't the typical jock and popular guy shit.

As he's thinking about the last time he saw Steve Harrington (in the halls, while the guy had bruises and looked worse for wear), they get within shouting distance. And Eddie has zero impulse control when Wayne isn't around, so he doesn't think before shouting, "Hey, Harrington!"

Next to him, Dustin whips his head to glare at Eddie. And Steve Harrington doesn't fucking react. He just keeps staring at that group of trees like it's the most fascinating thing in the world. "Dude," Dustin says, grabbing Eddie's arm and yanking harshly, "don't shout like that."

Eddie frowns, anger beginning to simmer in his stomach at the complete lack of acknowledgment. "Why are you upset with me?" he asks, gesturing at Steve as he continues, "I'm not the one being a douchebag here."

Dustin opens his mouth, about to say something, only to snap it shut once more. He frowns like he's just realized he can't say something, and huffs with frustration. "Just...just don't do that," he finally says, keeping a hand on Eddie's arm and dragging him across the parking lot. And, yeah, something is definitely weird here.

Instead of just walking up to Steve, they make a large arch until they're within Steve's line of sight.

Eddie watches as Steve notices them, seeing Dustin first and pushing off the car. He relaxes for a split second until he sees Eddie and his shoulders tense again.

Great.

Once they're close enough for Eddie to count the moles above the collar of Steve's shirt, Dustin grins and says, "Hey, Steve." But it's odd, because Eddie has never heard Dustin talk this slow or this carefully, like he's doing his best to enunciate his words.

Steve flashes a grin and ruffles Dustin's hair. "Hey, twerp, you're late," he says. He then glances at Eddie, his grin becoming a little smaller, and says, "Hey, Munson."

Wait. Steve Harrington knows Eddie's name? And he called him by it? He said Munson, not Freak. Eddie stares at Steve for a few seconds before nodding. "Harrington," he says, "how the fuck did you become a babysitter?"

Is he just imagining things, or is Steve looking at his mouth? Like, really intensely. He's definitely not, because Steve looks up after a few seconds with a raised eyebrow. "I needed some extra cash. Also, don't swear around Dustin. I'm the one who gets in trouble when he curses in front of his mom."

Something about the words makes Eddie grin. Never in a million years would he have guessed that he'd be talking to Steve Harrington. And he would have laughed you into Mordor itself if you suggested their conversation would be about Dustin Henderson swearing in front of his mother. "What's his mom do when he swears?" he asks.

Because he can feel the conversation veering into something potentially embarrassing for him, Dustin lets go of Eddie and starts pushing Steve toward the driver's side of his car. "Okay, we gotta go. So many chores, so little time," he says, his voice back to that normal speed and enunciation.

Steve frowns slightly, looking down at Dustin and tilting his head just slightly. "What?" he asks. Instead of actually answering, Dustin just makes some vague gesture with his hand and looks at the car. "Oh, right. Go ahead and get in the car. And, uh, see you later, Munson."

"Is that a promise?" Eddie asks before he can think better of it.

Steve pauses, looking at Eddie's mouth with a slight scrunch to his nose. He seems to be considering something as Dustin scrambles into the passenger seat, watching them with narrowed eyes. Honestly, Eddie is surprised he's not blasting the horn to hurry Steve up. Finally, Steve comes to a decision and meets Eddie's eyes again. "Your band has a show tonight, right? At the Hideout? I was planning to go. So, yeah, I'll see you then, I guess."

And with that, like he hasn't just fucking rocked Eddie's world, Steve Harrington gets into his car. He makes sure Dustin is buckled before waving at Eddie and pulling out of the parking spot.

Eddie finds himself waving back, staring dumbly at the car as it pulls onto the street. It only hits him a few seconds later that Steve Harrington is coming to his show. At the Hideout. His metal show. A Corroded Coffin gig at the Hideout.

Holy. Shit.

[obsidianbit]

I love this gay ass show with its literally life ending injuries that heal immediately, but only when convenient to the plot, and its ridiculous use of modern phrases, and its laughing in the face of historical accuracy, and its kissing the face of the fans instead of trying to outwit them, and the way everyone involved in the show seem to go 'I KNOW RIGHT! I'M EXCITED TOO!' instead of mocking the fans

[stevebabey]

no one asked but this is the post that inspired this! thank u immensely for the luv <3 number 1 comment was wondering what steve’s bids were & from his pov, so without further ado...enjoy — part one here!

—

Begrudgingly, Eddie has to admit that Robin might be right.

It’s impossible not to be looking for the bids since he brought them up to her. Even though Eddie was fully expecting to tell Robin to suck it, maybe even wager what little money he had against this working out, Eddie can’t help but watch for them in every interaction. And fuck, she’s right.

They’re little, but they’re there.

The first one Eddie would’ve missed if he wasn’t looking for it. Actually, that’s a lie; Eddie does miss it, until Robin points it out, the nosy bitch. It’s minuscule and honestly, it just seems like Steve asking his opinion — which friends do all the time! It’s why Eddie brushes right over it.

“Okay, be honest,“ Steve had said, walking and talking as he entered the living room where Robin and Eddie were sprawled across the couches. They were both waiting on him, the three of them set on heading out to the drive-in to catch a film.

Eddie can’t fathom why Steve felt the need to change his outfit for it, but when he returns, he gets it. It’s not quite the usual polo Eddie had grown to like on Steve, this one hanging a little looser, the colour a bit darker than Steve’s usual choice, the sleeves a little shorter — almost midway to a muscle tee.

Steve’s fingers fiddle with the distressed collar of the shirt, smoothing invisible wrinkles and fussing over nothing. He swishes back his floppy hair with a flick of his head. “It’s a new shirt, I know it’s a little different - but what do we think?”

He says we but he’s looking at Eddie.

Eddie, who has taken to trying to reel in his gawp because what the fuck Steve? It’s like he’s well aware of what drives Eddie insane and has specifically leaned into it. Some evil goblin in Eddie’s brain whispers think how good he’d look in your shirt and he squashes it, giving a visible twitch to shut down that train of thought.

From the other couch, Robin clears her throat loudly and smiles sweetly at her best friend. “It looks great, Steve.”

It’s sincere and Steve’s mouth tugs up, nearly a smile but his gaze fast-tracks back to Eddie. Eddie nods in agreement, a bit sluggish from his distracting thoughts and god dammit, the extra exposed skin of Steve’s arms are so not helping. “Yeah, looks... looks good, man.”

Steve smiles, lips pressed together but his shoulders curl in just a bit, deflating just a tad. From where Steve can’t see her, Robin waves her hands wildly and catches Eddie’s attention. He watches as she gestures wildly and it takes a moment to realise what’s she mouthing — ‘A bid! That’s a bid, you idiot!’

Oh fuck, Eddie thinks. Cos it totally was; the question, the focus on Eddie. He doesn’t even think about the logistics of it, of the fact Robin was right, just jumps right into picking up the bid.

“You trying a new style?” Eddie asks and then thanks whatever god invented the whole fake-it-to-you-make-it schtick because he’s feeling so far from casual or confident. “Going metal on me, big boy?”

Eddie just manages to catch the grin that breaks across Steve’s face as he turns away, giving a scoff — it comes out too soft though, giving away his complete lack of annoyance. He pulls that usual Steve Harrington pose, hands sliding onto his hips, and screws his face into some melted smiley-grimace. “Shut up, Munson.”

Eddie grins and goads on the blush that’s beginning on Steve’s neck, a glorious tinged pink colour. “If this shirt is any indication, you’d pull it off just fine.”

Eddie watches the blush climb higher as Steve ignores the comment, his smile still giving him away. He grabs his coat and pats down his jeans — ridiculous tight acid wash jeans that Eddie hates he’s somehow become attracted to — ensuring he has his keys and wallet. Once assured, he looks up at his two friends again, brows raised, and says, “Ready to rock and roll?”

That comment alone has Eddie seriously reconsidering his type in men.

There’s only a brief moment to talk about it when Eddie and Robin cajole Steve into going and getting them both popcorn to get a moment alone. Steve had scoffed, face twitching in the way it did whenever he tried to hold back a bitchy comment, but he still stomped off in the direction of the snack stand.

The moment he’s out of earshot, both voices explode in the back of Eddie’s van.

“What did I say—”

“Jesus H Christ, you were right—”

“Literally how many times do I have—”

“Oh my god, you were right—”

“ —before you realise I’m always—”

“Robin.” He cuts her off, hands landing on her shoulders. Robin eyes them warily, lips still parted from how her rant had been cut off. “Robin, I’m gonna kill you.”

“What?” Robin’s nose scrunches up. “What the hell are you—”

“Oh Christ, I can’t believe- how long have you noticed those bids?” Eddie’s aware he sounds a bit estranged, eyes probably wide and it doesn’t help when he softly shakes Robin back and forth. She lets herself be shaken, hair flying back in forth. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! You are such a bad gay friend!”

Robin smacks his hands off her shoulders with a frown, her freckly face perturbed at Eddie’s outburst. “Dude, it’s not my fault! May I remind you that until very very recently you were seeing someone else? What difference would it have made?”

Eddie waves his hand, disregarding the point with a shake of his head. His unkempt curls cover his face and Eddie sweeps them back in one motion, “What difference would it have made? Oh my, Jesus—“

Whatever long-winded sentence Eddie was about to spit out is lost by the sound of Steve’s approaching footsteps, effectively shutting both of them up.

Eddie flings himself to the other side of the van, putting an unusual amount of distance between Robin and him like they were being caught doing something they shouldn’t.

Robin frowns at him and gestures wildly with her hands in a way that means what the fuck man? Eddie gestures back, though he’s not entirely sure what his fast hand motions are supposed to mean when Steve rounds the door.

He’s got two buckets of popcorn tucked under each arm and Eddie quickly crosses his arms, tucking his hands into his armpits like his stupid hand motions will somehow give him away. 

Steve looks up, stopping just a way from the edge of the van, and looks at the pair of them. His eyes track from Robin still sitting on one of the old cushions and looking two seconds from burying her face in her hands, across to Eddie. He huffs a laugh and kneels on the edge of the van.

“I know he’s gross Robin,” He begins, tone light, as he holds out one of the buckets for Robin to take. “But c’mon, is the distance really necessary?”

Robin snickers as Eddie makes an appalled noise, both of which make Steve smirk. He holds out the other for Eddie to take and Eddie snatches it, glaring at him over the buttery rim for his comment. Then takes a handful and shovels it in because he can’t think of a witty comment to retaliate. Steve crawls into the van and plops himself between them with a content sigh.

“See? Gross.” He teases, shoving his hand into Eddie’s popcorn bucket to grab a handful. Eddie scowls and chews a little faster when the flavour on his tongue seems to register in his brain.

His eyes stare at the popcorn bucket as he chews, then swallows — up the front of the van, the radio that’s tuned into the correct frequency begins playing the opening credits song as the screen changes. Silence sweeps across the drive-in but despite the sudden hush, Eddie has no qualms about breaking it.

“Sweet n’ salty flavour?” He asks Steve, only half attempting a whisper. Robin shushes him instantly, her focus already on the movie that’s beginning. Steve smiles, looking a bit sheepish beneath the glow of the drive-in screen, but he nods.

“I know you like it.” He whispers with a small shrug of his shoulders. Like it wasn’t a big deal. Fuck, Eddie thinks again and hastily feeds himself another handful of popcorn before he says anything majorly stupid in response to that, like: Oh, amazing- have you noticed the big fat crush I have on you as well?

He doesn’t even need to look at Robin to know she’s smiling, smug as ever.

—

Steve, God bless his oblivious little heart, doesn’t even realise he’s doing it.

Steve likes Eddie. Eddie is— god, Eddie is different but he’s good.

He’s this strange amalgamation of traits that Steve can’t comprehend how they fit together in one body or how Eddie manages to pull it all off completely charmingly.

He’s loud, he says rude things, he’s fucking dorky, and far too sweet on the kids — he likes to tease Steve, and yet somehow, when Eddie calls him ‘pretty boy’, Steve knows he’s not actually making fun of him.

Steve likes Eddie, likes his boyishly endearing charm, likes his touchiness towards Steve that no other boy his age is like, likes his messy curls and his ‘holier than thou’ attitude about metal music even though Steve doesn’t get it, like at all. And fuck, Steve really wants Eddie to like him.

It reminds him faintly of when he first started working alongside Robin at Scoops. That thought tickles in the back of his mind, something along the lines of how he had wanted Robin to like him for other reasons, but he doesn’t delve into it.

To Steve, it’s simple: he just wants Eddie to like him.

After the night at the drive-in, between Eddie acting strangely skittish and Robin giving more amused snorts than usual, Steve knows something is up.

He knows they must have discussed something when they sent him on popcorn duty, the bastards. He tries his best to not feel left out; god knows Robin and he have more than a dozen secrets they’ve sworn not to tell anyone but each other.

Besides, Steve trusts Robin to come and tell him if he really needs to know, even if it does worry him a bit. He bites down his anxious thoughts, even trying for a moment to see if there’s a pattern he’s been missing.

That train of thought gets derailed when Steve recalls instead Eddie’s delightful reaction to his new shirt — that Steve definitely hadn’t bought for that specific reason.

Even though Robin had given him that look when he’d first shown it to her — her bright eyes had narrowed, her smile turning a little more coy, and Steve had felt his ears get a little hotter. She hadn’t said anything though, just suggested that he should wear it tomorrow night when they were going out with Eddie.

God, he was glad she suggested it.

Rewinding over Eddie’s parted lips, the way his brown eyes had drank in the details as they trailed up his body and lingered on his arms— Steve had the sudden thought to flex the muscle, just to elicit some reaction, but it had gone out the window at Eddie’s original dismal reaction.

‘Yeah, looks... looks good, man’. Said all aloof, like he hadn’t really thought it. It was like bursting a balloon hidden behind Steve’s ribs, one he wasn’t even aware was there until it was deflating pathetically, making his shoulders sag.

Then— ‘You trying a new style? Going metal on me, big boy?’ And dammit, it’s like Eddie had clocked exactly what calling him ‘big boy’ had done the first time in the Winnebago.

Eddie had then grinned, done another once over of the new shirt, even as Steve pretended to search for his keys and wallet while saying something snarky to try to cover up the heat crawling up his neck. Yet, Steve found himself smiling too because, fuck yes, Eddie liked it too.

But, apparently, whatever Eddie and Robin had discussed wasn’t considered important enough because Robin never brought it up.

The thought and worry about it melt away in Steve’s mind until the memory of that night is about Eddie’s compliment, about his cat-like grin over the popcorn bucket, and how he had leaned over to whisper every bad joke into Steve’s ear all through the movie.

Some of them had been down-right filthy jokes which Eddie only seemed to enjoy more when Steve screwed his face up and nudged Eddie in the ribs, yet unable to hide his smile.

After the third vulgar joke and subsequent nudge, Steve had chided ‘dude’ with a poorly hidden grin. Eddie, smile all cheeky, had nudged him back with a ‘dude’ of his own.

Which, of course, ensued a nudge competition til Robin had given a shush that librarians all over the world would be jealous of. But Steve didn’t even care because he and Eddie were arm to arm, pressed close together and Eddie…didn’t move. Stayed close, like he wanted the closeness the same way Steve did.

Steve only remembers the strange drive-in moment when Robin brings it up finally, on one interesting Saturday night.

It’s not the usual routine; it’s not very often that the whole group gets together to share drinks and get rowdy.

But it was for Robin’s birthday and she’d been persuasive enough to get even the introverts, like Jonathan, to come along. Though, she was aware he’d probably spend the night on a pool lounger, stoned to high heaven. Whatever floats your boat, she’d said, happy for the company in any form.

There’s enough of them there that it almost resembles some sort of party— and makes Steve try not to think about the last small party he threw here. He can tell Nancy notices it too, eyeing the pool a bit too long in a way he’s very familiar with, then taking a swig of beer.

So, Steve heckles them inside — doing a fantastic mothering impression as he waves the group indoors with a promise of pizza, and that has both Jonathan and Argyle perking up and beginning a fast discussion on the best pizza toppings.

Eddie makes a fuss, because of course he does, and moans terribly when Steve tries to roll him off the pool lounger he’s on. He’s had a bit of a joint and some beer, and Steve’s learned that he gets adorably stubborn after some substances.

“Stevie, this is mean,” he had pouted, gripping the edges of the lounger and staring up at Steve with those big brown eyes. “You telling me I did all that bonding with you for nothing? Can’t even lounge by the pool! I’ve got a couch at homeeeee.”

Steve had sent him an amused look of disbelief, hands on his hips after his first round of flicks against Eddie’s arm were apparently fruitless to get him to move. “Really? Didn’t peg you for a gold-digger, Eds.”

Eddie had snorted at that, one hand coming to slap over his mouth. Steve couldn’t quite hear what he had said but the words pegging and anytime slipped through and Steve thinks he could get the gist of that.

“Oh for Christ’s sake,” Steve muttered, feeling the tips of his ears turn warm. He didn’t know how Eddie could be such a menace— or why he enjoyed it so much when he was. Steve waved a hand in the direction of the doors, ignoring Eddie’s delighted snickering. “If you go inside now, you can be on music, alright?”

And that had finally got them all indoors, Eddie whooping and skedaddling through the doors in an instant, with a call of ‘no take backsies!’ echoing behind him.

Inside was much cozier, the whole group a little more connected when squished up on the couches together. Eddie had taken Steve’s word and was jamming a cassette into one of the speakers when Steve made it back inside after scouting around the pool for leftover cans and butts to throw out.

He’s just been thinking about what playful jab he could make at Eddie’s music, like Eddie always did to him when Robin hollered at him from the kitchen.

“Steve!” She’d yelled excitedly and he come to find her quick, brows raised as he entered the kitchen. She was grinning, already a bit jumpy as she got when she had a bit of liquor — but apparently not enough because when Steve saw what she’d called him in for, she’d announced, “Tequila shots!”

Which lead to now. A hazy combination of beer, tequila, and a bit of weed, and Steve is feeling good. Robin had managed to hijack the music not too long ago, with a hiccup of ‘it’s my birthday’ that had Eddie surrendering with a pout.

She’d since put on a bit of everything: some Blondie for Nance, Talking Heads for Jonathan, and some Bowie, just so she and Steve could dance along to ‘Magic Dance’ and she could do all the silly little goblin voices that made them both cackle.

Steve realised at some point that Robin was playing their mixtape, the one she’d made for driving in the morning, and nearly tripped stumbling over to her in his excitement. He grabbed her shoulders, not too hard, and squeezed.

“Is it- is this our mixtape?” Steve asked, words slurring only a bit. Robin gleamed, hair bouncing with her excited nod.

“Yes!” She was already dancing, even though the tape was between songs — because she knew what song was coming. “It’s Springsteen time, Steve!”

Right as the drums to Born to Run filtered out the speaker.

And oh, Steve loves Robin so much. He loves having a best friend that knows his favourite song and gets jittery and excited because she knows it’s about to play— that she put it on this mix for him.

“You’re my best friend!” Steve says, the words bursting out like he can’t control them. He doesn’t even feel embarrassed, just happy, just drunk, and overwhelming happy to be able to have this.

And even though Robin knows this, she still beams, feet dancing along and just begins to sing along with the song, “In the days, we sweat it out on the streets of a runaway American dream…”

It’s a brazen drunken performance from the both of them. Steve’s chest is heaving after just one chorus that he’s pretty sure he put his whole soul into and he’s so fucking happy —and it feels like pure instinct to seek out Eddie, his eyes scouring the room for him.

Eddie’s leaned up against the wall, hiding his smile behind a can and Steve doesn’t think twice about it— doesn’t think about why he’s so drawn to Eddie, why he wants to include him in this happiness — just extends his hand out and grins.

Eddie sees the bid coming this time.

Part Three.

— 

yes i saw all ur lovely tags and MAYBE cried about it. but thats none of ur business.

@orangeandthefairroadkill @swimmingbirdrunningrock @sadcanadianwinter @phantypurple @omg-elledubs-things @henderdads @farfaras @mixsethaddams @prismandblue @kerlypride @bushbees @legitcookie @temporalcoffin @callmesirkay @beautifully-useless @millyditty @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @ninjapirateunicorns @darkwitchoferie @vi-the-best-you-can @psychosnowfox @desert-fern @scarletzgo @cr0w-culture @softpink-candlelight @livingforfictionalcharacters @makewavesandwar @kozuuji @rhapsodyinalto @eddiethesexy @cassaloopa @lightwoodbanethings @qu33rcommunist @moonlitkilljoy @starkdusk @theysherobinbuckley @sanguineterrain @loganwright @sillysparrow @hotcocoaharrington @eddie-munson-is-my-wife @she-is-tim @steddiehearts @sideblogofthcentury @sidebarre @corrodedcoughin @stevieclaus

[muffinlance]

DELIGHTFUL news: you know that charity auction I put a prompt in? The winner asked for the next Dark Night in Ba Sing Se installment. So. That's officially in the works. Next part stars the cabbage man, Toph, and Zuko's deep and compelling hatred for The Guard Hat. Look forward to it! Outlining in progress.

Also! I am so close to finishing Scaled Over. Like, three short scenes and an edit read close.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Try Morse Core. Women Love Morse Code.

[First] Prev <--> Next

[hungrydogs-if]

it's finally time, ladies and gentlemen. not gonna lie, my heart is going absolutely insane with nerves. but!! it's time for it. ahhhh!

THE (TEENY TINY) DEMO FOR HUNGRY DOGS IS LIVE.

it's not long, (19.4k words w/o commands) but it needs to spread its wings, otherwise i might go insane lol. you still have some choices to make in the intro, but it's just that; an intro. no groundbreaking choices yet. it's more like exposition.

anyway, here's a little list of stuff you can do;

get your personal prisoner number!

therapy, yay!

remember your friends

relive the worst night of your life

meet someone who actually cares about you!

eat pudding cups idk

i hope you enjoy. it's been too long in the making, and not i can finally focus on continuing instead of going back to the intro like 423 times.

feedback and constructive criticism is welcomed, just keep it kind and polite <3

[chaos0pikachu]

me looking at the discourse~~ in the 4mins tag right now:

[autism-swagger]

Since the identity of the Sweet Sixteen Killer is known in Timeline 2, I don't think it would be as big of a part of the town's identity as it in Timeline 1. So I propose that the big unsolved mystery the town builds itself around in Timeline 2 isn't the killings.

It's Jamie.

The supposed exchange student who was only in town for five days, who knew things she shouldn't (couldn't) have, who disappeared without a trace and, when looked into, never even existed to begin with.

[libraryofgage]

Good Vibrations Four

One | Two | Three

It has been a hot minute since I updated Good Vibrations hfjdksl thanks everyone for being patient with me, I just couldn't get this part written the way I wanted to for the loooongest time

There's a meme at the very end for anyone who sticks around!

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;P

------

Of all the ways for Eddie's free period to go, getting cornered in the boy's bathroom by Robin Buckley was pretty damn low on the list. It's not even Robin's presence in the boy's bathroom that's throwing him off; it's the way her arms are crossed and she's glaring at Eddie like he's just bragged about kicking her puppy down the street.

Eddie pauses just inside the stall, holding the door open as the toilet struggles to flush behind him. A few seconds pass before Eddie forces himself to walk over to the sinks and wash his hands. "Buckley," he says, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"We need to talk, Munson," Robin says, her eyes narrowing as Eddie shuts off the faucet, grabs a few paper towels, and dries his hands. "What's your game?"

"D&D, mostly," Eddie replies, dropping the paper towels in the trash and giving Robin his full attention. He notes, briefly, that she's locked the door to the bathroom, ensuring nobody is walking in on them.

"With Steve, asshole."

Oh.

Eddie pauses, shoves his hands into his pockets, and tilts his head at her. "Still not sure what you mean," he says. He's starting to get an inkling, though.

Robin frowns, seeming to argue with herself before shoving her hands into her hair to push it out of her face. She just leaves it even frizzier and messier as she takes a deep breath. "Do you think Steve is just, like, your entertainment of the week?" she asks, placing her hands on her hips as she levels that same glare from before at him.

"What? Shit, no, of course, not," Eddie says, sliding back a step at the implication. "What the fuck, Buckley?"

She grits her teeth, takes a deep breath, and marches up to Eddie. "Listen, Munson. I know you. I know all about your little Munson Doctrine. I agreed with it once. And because of that, I know you might be thinking of getting to know all about how former King Steve is a...a...a deaf idiot so you can tell the whole fucking world about it," she hisses. "And I'm here to cut that shit off before it even starts. So, if that's your angle, Munson, I suggest you waltz your flat ass out of Steve's life before I bury you in the football field."

There's a lot to unpack there, and Eddie is going to start opening suitcases soon, but first he can't help saying, "My ass isn't flat, Buckley." Robin raises an eyebrow at him and pointedly looks in the mirror. Eddie doesn't follow her gaze, deciding he'd like to spare himself that tragedy.

When she looks back, Eddie clears his throat. "Besides, that's not...that isn't what I'm doing."

"Then what are you doing?"

Eddie looks away, squirming slightly under her gaze. If this were anyone else, if this were someone who hadn't endured the most awkward seven minutes of his life with him, Eddie wouldn't admit a thing. But because it's Robin, because he knows she'll understand even if she doesn't agree, he finds himself blurting, "I think he's cute!"

"Oh? Oh! Oooohhhh."

He can see Robin going on a whole journey over the course of one word repeated three times, and Eddie almost immediately regrets admitting anything. "You can't tell him," Eddie says, moving forward without thinking and grabbing Robin's shoulders. "I'm serious, Buckley, you can't tell Steve."

She blinks, studying his expression for a moment before humming softly. "What do you want me to do? Lie? I tell Steve everything. He'll know if I'm not telling him something," she says.

"Just say it's not your secret to tell! Because it isn't! It very much is not your secret to be sharing around."

Robin huffs and shrugs Eddie's hands off her shoulders. She leans against the sink, head tilted. "So," she says, her tone implying they're changing the subject now, "when did this little crush of yours start?"

"What do you care?"

"If I'm going to help you, Munson, I need to know."

"You're gonna help me?"

Robin grins at him. "This is my entertainment of the week."

Eddie huffs and looks away, pacing a few times from one end of the bathroom to the other before finally stopping. "Okay," he says, more psyching himself up than anything else. "Steve has always been, you know, hot. It made me so fucking angry when I realized in sophomore year since he was a jock and all. But now...now he's...more. And I'm burning up, man, I've gotta know everything. What's his music collection look like? Do the kids know he's deaf? How does he interact with people when he can't hear them? Is he comfortable closing his eyes when he kisses? Does he feel everything more because he can't hear? Wou--"

"Okay, I'm stopping you there," Robin says, her face twisted in disgust as she levels a judgmental look at Eddie. "I don't want to hear your questions about Steve and kissing or whatever else your dirty little brain is thinking of."

"You asked."

"And now I'm telling you to stop," Robin replies. She runs her fingers through her hair again, frowning slightly. "Okay, I think the most important thing here is etiquette."

"Etiquette? What, am I too rough for Steve's delicate sensibilities?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you'd like to avoid offending him the way you did the last time you spoke."

Okay. Fair. Eddie grimaces at the reminder, the image of Steve's frown and the sound of his closed-off voice forcing themselves to the front of his mind. His shoulders slump and he nods. "Yeah, I would," he says.

Robin nods once, pushes herself off the sink, and places her hands on her hips. "Let's start with some basics," she says, taking a deep breath, and Eddie finds himself wondering if he's about to get overwhelmed by these basics. "Don't talk when Steve isn't looking at you. Don't have anything in or covering your mouth when you speak. Talk a little slower and make sure you enunciate, but if you talk slow like Steve is stupid, I will punch you. If Steve asks you to repeat something, repeat it word-for-word, no matter how many times he asks. If someone addresses Steve and he doesn't notice, give him a subtle nudge. Never sneak up on Steve when he's alone. Even if it means more walking or whatever, move to a spot where he'll notice you approaching. Be expressive when you speak. Steve can't hear things like tone, so he doesn't always know when something is a joke or sarcastic. And never, ever, call Steve or anything about him bullshit."

"That last one...," Eddie says, trailing off as he frowns slightly.

"Is the most important. I'm serious, Munson."

"Okay," Eddie says, nodding once and figuring he'll leave it at that.

"Oh, and ask Steve to teach you sign language. It'll give you an excuse to see each other more often."

-----

Robin has been acting weird since she started her shift, and Steve barely manages to wait until he's 95% sure the store is empty to turn around and ask, "What's wrong?"

Her hands falter, nearly dropping the tape she's busy rewinding. She catches herself, though, and looks at Steve. "What do you mean?"

"You're not telling me something. You tell me everything. What's wrong?"

She hesitates, looking away and biting her bottom lip before sighing and looking back. "I learned a secret today, so it's not mine to tell."

"Oh," Steve says, his shoulders relaxing some. "I thought you were hiding something actually important from me."

He doesn't hear her scoff, but he sees the way her head jerks and her eyes roll when she does. "Why would I bother hiding anything from you, dingus?"

Before Steve can answer, Robin stiffens slightly as she looks over Steve's shoulder. He braces himself for the customer interaction he's about to endure, slaps on a fake smile, and turns around. "Welcome to Family Video. How ca--Eddie?" His smile softens into something genuine at seeing Eddie on the other side of the counter. "Hey, man, what's up?"

Eddie flashes a smile in return, glancing at Robin over Steve's shoulder before focusing back on him. "Hey. Just, uh, kinda had a favor to ask you," he says.

Several possibilities run through Steve's mind, all of them related to the kids, since he can't think of any other reason for Eddie to need a favor from him. "Oh," Steve says, frowning slightly in confusion. "What's the favor."

Instead of answering right away, Eddie shifts awkwardly. He looks away, tugging on a few strands of his hair like he's nervous. He starts to use them to cover his mouth, making Steve dread his inevitable request for Eddie to repeat himself, when he stops. Eddie literally freezes, his fingers twitching before he drops the strands of hair and places his hands on the counter like he needs to keep them in sight.

He takes a deep breath, and Steve is starting to get really concerned now. "Hey, Eddie, whatever it is, just ask. I won't get, like, angry or anything," he says, hoping that makes things easier.

"No, I know you won't," Eddie says, huffing softly before nodding once, more to himself than anything else. "I was, uh, thinking. I read once that sign language is, like, a thing. So, if you teach me some sign language, I'll write you a song that's all noise and vibrations."

Steve doesn't get it all at first, concentrating on Eddie's mouth and getting distracted halfway through by the thought of dragging his thumb across Eddie's bottom lip. "Could you repeat that?" he asks, steeling himself to actually pay attention this time.

Eddie doesn't complain. He just nods and repeats himself. Steve got more of it, enough to know what Eddie is asking for, but he finds himself pausing when he meets Eddie's eyes again. There's no annoyance or frustration at being asked to repeat himself. All Steve can see is patience and nervousness. Without thinking, he asks again, "Sorry, one more time please?"

And Eddie says everything again. He repeats himself word-for-word, still lacking any negative reaction to saying the same thing three times. Steve feels something warm settle behind his ribs, and he nervously licks his lips, catching the way Eddie glances down to follow the motion. He shoves his hands into his pockets, balling them into fists so he doesn't do something stupid like grab Eddie's hand. "One more time," Steve says, the words feeling breathy and soft as they brush past his lips, and he hopes he wasn't too quiet.

Eddie blinks, tilting his head slightly and glancing over Steve's shoulder again. Steve hasn't forgotten about Robin being behind him, but he figures he can just play it off as fucking with Eddie at this point. Eddie doesn't complain or ask if Steve is serious, though. He just...repeats himself, and Steve suddenly knows that Eddie would keep repeating himself until Steve got tired of asking.

"Thanks," Steve says, deciding to spare them both from continuing the loop. "I got it that time. What do you want to learn sign for?"

"A D&D campaign. Thinking of using it in the plot."

"Oh. Uh, yeah, I could teach you. Are you doing anything on Sunday?"

"Nope. Totally free. Nothing planned at all."

Steve can't help a slight grin, and he tells himself it's just because he's excited by the prospect of Eddie writing a whole song catered to how he experiences music. "Cool. Come by my place around noon."

Eddie nods once, exhaling like he's forgotten to breathe the entire time they were talking. His hands tap against the counter, drawing Steve's attention downward, and he suddenly wonders what Eddie's rings feel like. Steve forces himself to look back up before that thought can go too far.

"Will do," Eddie says once Steve is looking at him again. He flashes a smile and adds, "See you then, sweetheart."

With that, he turns on his heel and leaves, waving over his shoulder like Steve isn't trying to figure out if he read his words correctly. He watches Eddie leave, waiting for the door to close behind him before whirling around to find Robin still rewinding tapes like nothing happened. "Did he call me sweetheart?" Steve asks, needing to know if he's misunderstanding.

Robin looks up, eyebrows raised. "Don't know, dingus. I wasn't listening."

Steve barks out a laugh. "You're always listening," he points out.

She grins at him, her expression screaming trouble and that she knows something he doesn't. "Well, not that time," she replies, her grin widening as she adds, "But if I was, I'd say he did, yeah."

"He did," Steve murmurs, looking away from Robin and letting her confirmation sink in.

----------

Tag List (the tag list is completely filled up! There definitely wasn't enough room for everyone who requested a tag orz

Please follow the tag "good vibrations Steddie" or put on notifications for my blog to see when new parts are posted :D)

@hallucinatedjosten, @queenie-ofthe-void, @r0binscript, @jewellthebooknerd, @paintgonewrong, @vacantwatchers, @newagemyth, @gutterflower77, @just-a-tiny-void, @littlebluejane

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The meme for those who stuck around:

[doomdoomofdoom]

Apparently there's currently discussion in science (humanities in particular) about whether video essays could be accepted as academic writing on par with the academic papers we currently have

I think that's awesome as fuck tbh

[utterlyazriel]

whom the shadows sing for— (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: it's time for some more ✨trauma✨ time to learn ur own backstory tehe <3 feel free to let me know what you think or any future... predictions... you think might be coming...

word count: 3.3k

synopsis: Azriel leaves for Velaris. You reflect on old choices and everything that you lead you to where you are now— and realise it's been awhile since you had anyone to miss. fem!reader, mulan-esque au

—CHAPTER THREE :: COMPANIONS

There's a girl screaming in the middle of camp.

Anguish, a pure guttural agony, litters her voice. She's shrieking, screaming herself hoarse, tortured cries piercing the air as a piece of her identity is ripped from her forcibly. The scream that you know only follows a wing clipping.

Fear rolls through your body, seizing every nerve til your limbs lock up. Your stomach lurches, nausea swimming and threatening to choke up your throat. The screams dive beneath your very skin and make a home there, unbidden.

The screaming isn't stopping and you acutely notice that you're crying because of it, big fat tears rolling down your face as though you're the one in pain, unable to quieten her suffering, because... because...

Because the girl is you.

The girl is you and they had found out somehow and they had come, they had held you down and taken the knife between your wings and starting slicing through muscle and sinew and it fucking hurts, it hurts so much—

A ragged gasp rips from your throat at the slice down your back.

You wake you with a violent twitch.

Your dagger is in your hand in an instant, stored beneath your pillow, always within reach. The cool leather beneath it is a comfort as your senses search blindly for any threat. The rabbiting sound of your heart looms in your ears and you keenly strain your ears to try listen over it.

A threat? An intruder? You're looking for anything hidden in the darkness, while your senses are still swamped by your nightmare. The effects of it are melting away too slowly. Your breath comes too fast.

Shadows loom. You're not sure what is fear is still lingering from the dream and what is real instinct, kicking in to protect yourself.

Worse is, your suspicions are not at all unwarranted.

Around you, the space is still. Dead air trapped within your shelter.

Outside, the howl of the Mother's Kiss sounds again, the rattling wind against the windows somehow grounding you into your home. You're in your home. You're not out in the middle of camp, not held onto that horrid stained piece of earth where all the clippings take place.

You're tucked away in your space, hidden beneath your secret still.

Your chest heaves rapidly, dregs of panic still running through your system. You force yourself to inhale slowly, blinking slowly and letting your eyes adjust to the night. It's still dark.

It's nighttime and you've had a night terror and you're still safe, still just like any other male in the camp.

Behind you, you give your wings a little shiver, just to check.

Still there, still working in every capacity. The relief that pours through you soothes like a balm, heady and overwhelming. You release a shaky breath and curl your knees up to your chest, wings cocooning around yourself.

The nightmares, this nightmare, has been unrelenting for as many years as you can remember. Well, since...

Since twenty six years ago, when you had made a very difficult choice.

Perhaps the only time you'll ever be thankful for being a bastard in this camps is when it had granted you the privacy to make such a choice. Nobody cares if a bastard child dies, male or otherwise.

It had made you dispensable and therefore, unnoticeable.

Nobody noticed when one more begging child, one more hungry face, went missing. And certainly nobody paid any mind when one more turned up again — hair cut down to the scalp, bleeding in places from the shoddy cut, and a gritty determination in their eyes.

No, in fact, the only time people started noticing you was when you started tasting the mixture of blood and dirt, knocked down in a fight you knew you had no chance of winning.

You had started it. Pushed your way into the group of boys and shoved one, hard. Fought back as best you could with half formed fists that quickly got pushed into the mud and held there as the boy you shoved wailed on you, hit after hit after hit.

By the time he had been pulled off you, your mouth was a river of blood and your face ached in a way you had never felt before.

The very bone of your skull felt bruised. Your nose was definitely broken. You wanted to cry but even scrunching your face up hurt too much. It was impossible to think anything beyond pure pain.

The group of boys were sneering as they left you in a crumpled heap on the ground, kicking mud in your direction and hissing the word bastard.

But not one mention of you being anything other than that.

Just a bastard. No slighted comment at being a female, at not being worthy of a fight for that reason.

In the Illyrian Mountains, being a bastard gave you very little in the manner of food, things, and choices. If you managed to survive past childhood, that is.

If you could scrape around for food to fill a belly that never seemed to stop growling and manage not succumb to icy embrace of the winter in the mountains, there was very little waiting for you. Even less so, if you weren't a male.

Males, at the very least, could fight for a sliver of something better.

And wasn't that just the Illyrian way? If you can fight, if you can beat and claw your way to the top, it's worth something. It's the only way to gain respect. To earn it, even when you came from nothing.

For you? Living past childhood would mean getting your greatest love torn from you.

You had seen half a dozen clippings before the age of eight. It was said that other camps littered throughout Illyria tended to be more gracious. Did it in private. Healers on hand. No excessive force.

But you'd believe that when you saw it — clippings were brutal.

Females having experienced their first blood were dragged out into the middle of camp, some kicking and screaming, others a ghostly quiet. Everybody watched and nobody stepped in, no matter the pleas.

You, no older than eight years old, had stared at the bloody patch left on the ground til your vision had blurred. It was crimson, mixing with the dirt of the earth. Beneath it was this horrid scorched brown colour.

Old blood.

The final straw for you had been Adesi— Lord Mylind's own daughter. You're not sure when or why some part of your had become convinced that she might be spared. That because her father held rank and could bend certain rules, that she might escape the fate you so feared for yourself.

She hadn't. Lord Mylind had done the clipping himself.

And she hadn't cried or fussed. There hadn't been a struggle, just this soft weeping as she kept her eyes on the ground, every pained sound that passed her lips lined with a bitter resignation of knowing this was always coming.

It had stoked a simmering ember within you — a furiously upset flame that burned hotter and hotter, til you were trembling with the force of it. Forced to watch yet another girl stripped of her freedom. Polished up for breeding stock.

If Adesi wouldn't be spared, neither would you. The future, you could see, was growing impossibly bleaker and would continue down that path if nothing radical appeared to change its course.

You had cut your hair that same very night.

It was a shit job. Trying to get it as short as you could manage without a mirror or proper tools to do so proved incredibly difficult. The lack of proper shelter didn't help either.

Bandages you were stock-piling for Mother knows what were used to bind your chest. Then you spent the rest of the night time scouring the mountain-side for those bitter herbs on the mere hope that the rumour that they would keep you from bleeding held an inkling of truth.

The next day had been the day you got into your very first fight.

The first of many. Lord Mylind didn't take kindly to bastards, especially when you paled in comparison to the size of the other novices. You had been refused to be allowed to join training the first time you had tried, his cold eyes narrowed with a cruel curl of his upper lip.

But you had, perhaps, what no one else did.

No other way forward. No other choice.

Every part of you that yearned to keep your beautiful wings, to keep your freedom, your autonomy, was channeled into your intense drive. You would not be so easily dissuaded.

You trained day and night, working up weak muscles til they hardened beneath your skin. Without proper training, it was nowhere near as efficient as it could've been. There was no-one there to soothe the aches of your growing pains, nor the sores that came with hitting the ground time and time again as you honed the balance and fluidity of your body.

A season passed. Your drive did not falter— not when half a dozen more females got clipped in that same period. A wedge drove itself between your ribs, attempting to crack open your chest; a heavy guilt at what they experienced... what you could not yet prevent.

It pushed you to train harder than before.

It took seven whole months of solitary training before Lord Mylind reluctantly allowed you to join the ranks— forced to when you disarmed and wiped the floor with Brudam in the ring to prove yourself.

By that time, the list of clipped females had climbed to nearly fifty. You kept track of every single one, forty-eight notches carved into your soul for every person you failed to protect from a terrible fate.

It killed you having to bide your time.

To train alongside the males of the camp who detested you as they did any such bastard. To hear their uncaring jeers of the clippings as they flaunted their own wings proudly. There was no shortage of things to stoke the fire within you, fury burning through every cell in your body. There was no distraction from the ultimate goal.

But between Lord Mylind's abysmal training, geared specifically at you, the purposeful way other warriors wouldn't hesitate to kick you while you were down, and having nobody else in your corner, you had no other choice.

Routines formed. Train. Eat. Train. Scrounge for ingredients, for knowledge, anything on healing tonics. Fail miserably at making anything. Chew the bitter herbs. Train. Sleep. Wake. Train.

Loneliness became a familiar companion.

Every creak in the dark was a potential threat that came looking to see if they could knock the unwelcome bastard out of the ranks. You learned to not just how to duel, but how to brawl and win. To fight dirty. To come out as unscathed as possible.

Your first bleed did eventually come, bitter leaves be damned.

They had done a decent job. They had given you a few crucial years to establish yourself as a worthy fighter, not to be messed with, and enough time to build the shelter you now called home.

It had been a saving grace. If you had been out and exposed, if any of the males in town came sniffing for a fight and felt entitled enough to challenge you, the lie that kept you safe would've come tumbling down like a house of cards.

All those years turned to ash. Wasted. For nothing.

And the only thing that terrified you more than that was... what you were certain they would inflict upon you if they ever found out.

In some of your worst nightmares, they do much worse than just clip you. They take them from you— saw them from your back, splintering bone and tearing muscle, not caring if you cry or scream — not caring if you die.

Around you, your wings give a shiver as if they could feel the ghost of pain that still lurked from your nightmare. You curl them up tighter around you. A blanket of softness, of warmth, finally breaks the chill on your skin.

Routine was easy. Your terror was manageable based on the familiarity of your life. The fact that you had nobody to lean on meant everything, every pillar of comfort, of tough love, of the extra push when you needed it, came from within.

Slipping away from training to deal with the excruciating agony of your cycle was a necessity, even if it pained you to do so. Avoidance of the Blood Rite was born from that too. It was too great a risk— too much time spent that you couldn't ever be sure wouldn't overlap with your cycle.

Besides, you already had the biggest target on your back — the label of bastard giving you more than your fair share of enemies.

They would hunt you down on the first night. That you had no doubt about. The killing would be slow and merciless. To you, the Blood Rite was just another brand of nightmares.

All this dread had become second-nature, stitched into the fabric of your angry and miserable life which seemed to exist against all odds. You were cursed with an ambition that would not let you rest. A compassion that drove you to keep training, to help others more than just yourself.

You were singular. A lone ranger who relied on nothing but your own instincts to keep getting you through the day.

You were solitary. You were lonely.

And yet, within the last month, something else had barrelling into your life and altered its course.

A Shadowsinger.

A Shadowsinger with hazel eyes that dance with mirth and a rueful smile that comes out far too easily for the battle-hardened soldier you know him to be. He's a conundrum. A mentor and a damn hard-ass when it came to training but also someone you could trust.

Calling him a friend felt too close.

A tenative ally, perhaps. A companion, even.

And the fact you can trust him — the fact that you do trust him — is perhaps the biggest change of them all.

All of your routines have been suddenly altered.

Because now, unlike ever before, there's someone there in the morning. Someone to notice your absences. To come looking when it takes longer to drag yourself out of fitful sleep. To comment on the circles under your eyes and roll back the punches accordingly.

He brings the things you need, a sudden plentiful stash of ingredients you wouldn't have dreamed of affording. The good stuff that makes a difference in the potency of a healing tonic. In turn, your feeble attempts at concocting have begun to produce far more useful results.

He brings food too.

No point in all this training if you look like your bones will snap. He had said, almost dismissively as he summoned the abundance of food from within that pocket in the shadow realm. You had been too startled by that alone to question how much he had brought with him.

A fucking feast. Enough food to last you at least half the year, if you stretched it.

Some withered, bitter part of you had shriveled up when you saw it. Your mouth watered and your stomach ached and yet still, you couldn't help how you snapped at him.

I don't want your pity.

Azriel had leveled you with a stare, his shadows roaming about his shoulders like wisps of smoke. He tilted his head to the side an inch, as if trying to pick apart the reasoning for you being so standoffish.

It's not a handout. It's part of our deal. Like I said, there's no point training you if you're starving all the while.

You bristled as his tone, even if there wasn't a hint of condescension to it. It was strong and sure.

When you still hadn't moved, Azriel had spoken once more. It's okay. To eat. I understand that generosity is not something you are familiar with but not eating will not help any of them. Getting stronger will.

He had spoken as if he knew that exact reservation on your mind — the sheer unfairness of having a platter served up to gorge yourself sick on, when so many others... So many others had nothing.

Eat. Azriel had murmured, turning for the door. He had paused just like he had on that first ever night, one scarred hand on the door. Please.

A particularly loud whirl of the Mother's Kiss outside shakes you from the memory.

You blink hard. Your wings twitch and curl in even closer as you realise you've been looking at the door. Looking at where he had stood all those nights ago.

That conversation had been in the first week of knowing Azriel. Back when you were still so wary it was impossible to not raise your hackles when he came knocking at your door, no matter how friendly he had seemed. Friendly, but not harmless you knew.

It took time to stop being constantly on guard around him. But if your lack of trust and general frostiness bothered Azriel, he never let you know.

And now... now you've known him for nearly a month.

A month of routine with him in it. With sparring in the morning, tiring yet rewarding drills beneath the winter sun, and quiet conversations in the evenings, his hazel eyes competing with the crackling fire with how they set your heart ablaze. A month of companionship.

A month, the first month in years, not spent entirely alone.

In the cool night air, knees pulled to your chest, something tugs at your throat at the knowledge he won't be back in the morning.

Last night, after an evening spent in comfortable company where you finally heard him laugh for the first time ever and nearly melted at the sound, he had told you he would be returning to Velaris.

Temporarily, he added on hastily at the flash of surprise in your eyes.

Business with the High Lord. Reports and assessments to deliver. I's to dot and t's to cross.

He assured you he would be back in a day or two, certainly no more than three. He had left ample food and generous tonic ingredients, with all the assurances to continue practicing during the evening.

With no Azriel, you had no reason to avoid training with the rest of camp.

Maybe that was why this particular nightmare had plagued you tonight. Something curdled up in your gut at the thought of returning to your old routine— another part relishes in how you will get to stand your ground as a better, hardier warrior now. To prove yourself worthy of the specialty training you were receiving.

You huff out a small sigh in the dark.

There's no telling what time it is. You force yourself to sit back, easing back into your bed gently til you're lying back under the makeshift duvet you have. It's moth-eaten and seen better days. You snuggle beneath it anyway.

It's been a long time since you've missed anyone, you think forlornly.

The thought surprises you. Staring at the ceiling, your brows furrow and you close your eyes but the truth of it rings clear throughout your very being. Undeniable.

The Shadowsinger has somehow wiggled into your life, burrowed into your routine and has begun to mean something to you. And when he's gone, you... miss him.

Your eyes flash back open, glaring up at the ceiling, and you huff as if that will change that fact.

Rolling over, you pull the duvet in closer, your arms tucking into your chest snugly. Your bed is a bit too small for someone with wings and they ache because of it. Sleep trickles back into your system, dragging your lids down.

As you fall into sleep, some part of you realises, faintly, that you haven't had anyone to miss in a long, long, time.

This time when you dream, it’s of hazel eyes.

[NEXT PART: FRIENDS]

—

tags below!

@strangerstilinski @janebirkln @itsswritten @mischiefmanagers @hnyclover @waytoomanyteenagefeels @idkitsem @illyrianbitch @jeweline16 @fightmedraco @iamjimintrash @maeandering @spideytingley @aneekapaneeka @cassianswh0reeee @viciane @astarlitsoul @mybestfriendmademe @archiveofcravings @reputaytionn-13 @bionic-donut @chessebookgirl @itseightbeats @littleblackcatinwonderland @twsssmlmaa

[natasha-in-space]

Unironically, I think that Saeyoung would enjoy carrying his S/O around in his arms the most out of all mysmes characters. Take a moment to think about it. He knows he's in good physical shape. But nobody else does. He avoids talking about it or showing it off. It's a rather big contrast compared to his other skills and accomplishments he loves bragging about in the chatrooms, even if he often muddies the truth to keep everyone safe from his true identity. And when someone does notice the defined muscle in his arms, he's rather dismissive of it. A strange: 'Oh, yeah, I got some muscle' attitude, before he casually switches the subject. I kind of feel like he has very negative connotations about his own physical strength.

Saeyoung is a protector. It's his best AND he's worst quality simultaneously. As a child, he was too weak to protect Saeran. He used his brain, not his muscle. Now, he's a grown man. A strong, grown man who's probably much more capable of protecting someone physically when push comes to shove. But instead that strength is utilized by him for shady jobs at best, and downright horrible crimes at worst. His strength does no good for him. But he's forced to maintain it nonetheless. To remain alive. In order to protect Saeran, he needs to remain alive. To protect his brother not with his muscle. But with his brain.

Now, imagine this. His perspective on himself changes greatly when you come into his life. You help him believe in himself, to fight for what he thinks is right, to have hope into the bright future where he actually deserves to be happy and free, along with his family. He has viewed himself as nothing but a fraud, a forever tainted fallen angel, but you make him see the good and earnest man inside him that has always been there.

And with you, he can use his muscles for good, for the first time in his life. He can make you smile, squeal, and giggle in delight as he effortlessly sweeps you off your feet and twirls you around, joining you in your fit of laughter. He can help you carry the groceries on the way to his car, such a simple and mundane gesture, but one he finds himself enjoying almost too much. He can make you feel safe as he carries you up to your shared bedroom, since you can just relax and nuzzle into him without any worry in the world.

Because he's got you.

I'm skeptical that Saeyoung will stick to the same workout routine he had to follow while being an informant. Once his father is out of the picture and he knows his family is safe, he can allow himself to relax. Indulge a little. But I do think he'll maintain some of his muscle mass, specifically in his arms. As time passes and you settle into the quiet life of domestic bliss he's always dreamed of, his shape will become more supple and round, but his arms will always be there to remind you that he'll forever be your anchor.

And for him to remember that his strength can now be used to make someone happy.

[suusoh]

would be funny, if Nina had a gf, and due to Johan's tendency to see him and nina as the same, he'd drop by casually, disguised or not, while nina is away. What's wrong? Nina is him and he's Nina! There's no complications with kissing him! You're basically kissing his sister! (Eaten ask)

your brain anon...........like EXACTLY. exactly. God this is sooo hot and weird which is johan's brand. He is karl marxing the fuck out of his sister's girlfriend. What do you mean "meet my girlfriend"? You mean meet OUR girlfriend. right? (tw: nonconsensual kissing, yandere)

Could you imagine bidding your girlfriend, Nina, goodbye after she spent the whole evening at your place? You whine and beg her to stay longer, clinging onto her, but she rolls her eyes playfully and insists she has to go.

She gives you a loving parting kiss on your lips, then plants even more– on your nose, cheeks, and finally your forehead– before she reluctantly pulls away. Any more, she jests, and she won’t be able to leave.

"You know I hate leaving you like this," she laughs softly. "But don't worry, I'll make up for today once my exams are over. Okay?"

She gives you one last final kiss before finally leaving, waving at you as she walks down the street.

You sigh and close the door, already missing her.

You really love Nina, but sometimes it feels like she doesn’t have much time for you. You understand she has her exams, a part-time job, and aikido training, which doesn’t really leave much left for you. Still, you can’t help but feel a bit greedy, wishing she’d at least dedicate a part of her to you. You're her girlfriend, after all.

You sigh one last time. No use.

She’s already spread too thin, and you know if you tell her your concern, she’ll worry and try to double her efforts to make time for you. No way in hell are you going to give her any more stress in her life. Although today was just half a day together, you're grateful. Even if it left you unbelievably craving, aching for more…

You hear a soft knock on your door. Is it Nina? Did she forget something? Oh, your prayers have been answered. You just wanted one more second with her. You open the door immediately, an excited smile on your face.

"What did you forget this ti-"

"Missing me already?"

You freeze, standing dumbfounded. In front of you is not, in fact, your girlfriend, but a tall, blonde man smiling softly at you.

"I'm… I'm sorry. I don't— Do I know you?" you ask, trying to stay cool. He must have the wrong house to ask something like that so proudly. You’ve never met him before.

His smile doesn’t falter at your question. He continues looking at you, his eye contact unwavering.

"You do." he answers, calmly leaving no explanation, still smiling softly.

You’re getting nervous. He keeps staring and smiling at you. You try to get a good look at him. Is he a mutual friend? An old classmate? A person you pissed off once? You’re at a blank. Though… the more you look at him, the more you notice how similar he looks to… to your… what the hell.

Why does he... look... a bit like Nina?

No. You chalk it off. He just has blonde hair and blue eyes, and the fact you’re missing your girlfriend terribly doesn’t help. But even then, their facial features strike a matching resemblance. It’s a bit uncanny.

You let out a nervous laugh and smile sheepishly at him. "Look, I’m really racking my brain here. Have we met before? I’m really sorry if I can’t recall…"

You give him his cue to introduce himself, to remind you who he is, to be offended at you forgetting—anything! He’s just standing there, staring down with that same smile. Your eyes dart around, seeing if this is a prank. A small uneasy pit forms in your stomach.

A beat passes by. You still wait for his reply.

You can't help but start feeling creeped out. Stupid. Always ask who’s there before opening the door. Just ask him what he wants with you and get it out of the way.

"Hey uh, I-"

He kisses you, his lips softly crashing against yours, hands gently cradling the back of your neck. He’s not forceful, but his hold is steady. You squirm and try to break free, but he quickly shushes you and holds you closer, entrapping your lips in another long kiss.

You think of quickly think of biting him, but he gently pulls away right before you can go through with the thought. His hands come up to tenderly cup your face, his thumb softly brushing against your cheek as he looks at you.

Your vision begins to blur from your tears, your legs wobbling from the fear of the situation.

"I don't know you!" you practically scream out. Your desperation kicks in as you continue to panic. "P-Please. please. please. I'm sorry. I don't know you. I don't… I don't… please… I-."

You cry softly, pleading with him. He just continues cradling your face in his hands, looking at you with that godawful eerie smile. He leans back in, slowly murmuring,

"Shh…"

He continues peppering kisses all over your wet cheeks. "You do know me," he whispers, kissing your nose. "And you know I need to make it up to you," he says, kissing your forehead. He hums softly and leaves another final chaste kiss on your lips.

"And you know I hate leaving you like this."

[sparring-spirals]

"I think that depends on you, darling." and it did, and it did.

[flowercrowngods]

"Captain."

The quill scratches roughly along the page, too aggressive for the paper softened and hardened over time by wear and tear and seawater air. Ink spills, making a mess of the log's entry, splotching over fingers and staining them almost black in the cabin's dim light, a flame flickering in its hold to the right, unaware of the tension in the air. Unaware of the captain's rapidly beating heart and his hands clenching around the quill until he fears it might break.

Although the fear he feels is not on behalf of the quill in his hand.

"Captain."

His first mate is insistent on gaining his attention, but he refuses to acknowledge that she already has it. He knows it can only mean one thing if she comes to him at this hour, if she seeks him out despite clear orders – or, rather, because of them.

"Steve."

He looks up, his jaw clenched, and the quill breaks, spilling ink all over his palm where the sharp tip is cutting into his skin with a spark of pain that pales in comparison to what he can find in her features.

Robin nods, imperceptible to every other soul in this universe. Every soul that is not him, attuned to her every move, every twitch of a brow, every hint of a frown, and every gesture that she dares him to overlook if only to have an excuse later on.

But she nods. And Steve swallows.

"It's him. He's back."

It's the captain who nods now, incapable of doing anything else, and feeling as his sanity slips away from him, through the cracks in the floorboards and sinking down to the bottom of the ocean to join his heart and his conscience. All have long been lost at the cause of one man.

"Thank you," he says, though his voice does not feel like his own, and the candle beside him flickers once more as if to signal that, really, he shouldn't be sounding like that. He blinks, deliberately, because he has been staring for too long and she doesn't need to know that he has been losing himself since the second she appeared at the door.

"Steve–"

"That's Captain to you."

She swallows, defiant, but choosing her battles wisely. He is grateful, for he hasn't the strength to argue any more than he has the strength to stand upright in this moment.

"Captain," she says, deliberate but gentle, because she knows and she forgives. "Are you alright?"

"No," Steve says, and his voice remains remarkably steady in this confession. "I'll be out in a second. Make sure they do not to say a word to him. Shoot everyone who does, or throw them overboard. Nobody talks to The– to Munson but me. Understood?"

"Understood," she says, straightening her posture, though her eyes remain worried and wary. There is more she wants to say, but Steve dismisses her before leaning his fists on the table and breathing deeply. The tip of the quill buries deeper into his palm and he closes his fingers around it, hard, to keep himself anchored and distract from one pain with another.

Theo is back. Theodore Munson. Though he will have a new name, Steve knows. But those eyes... Those eyes never changed, not once in all this time, and Steve fears that he will break apart if he has to look at them again and find no ounce of recognition. No memory of words whispered in the dark, of gentle touches to roughest scars, of time spent together in different lifetimes.

Steve plucks the tip soiled in ink and blood from his palm and reaches for a book hidden underneath a false bottom in the first drawer of the desk. A book with the initials T M pressed into fine, deep red leather.

He writes, with blood and ink in unsteady hold,

27th March He came is back. I wish he weren't.

@vampeddie remember me talking about this before i disappeared? remember how you went insane? remember that you like me?