#//thank you we are done here
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Fables say gardevoir can foresee the future. They might not actually have those abilities passively, but it’s still worth noting. In ancient times gardevoir was often recorded saving its trainer from harm at the last moment. So aim your shots carefully, and don’t make your presence known. Pokemon that can sense emotions are dangerously perceptive.
-🌙
[Cw. violence between two pokémon]
[A recording is uploaded. Samantha the Gardevoir has already decided to go outside, it seems that she already knows what's about to happen. she points towards the Camera, then Bits hiding spot. she isn't surprised when Bit comes out from his hiding Place. ]
[she approaches him, and runs her hand over the Horn. She knows what he wants she. Bit is sweating, as much as a porygon2 can sweat, which means that his wireframes become visible and he switches to Phong Reflection. ]
[she stops in front of him, she has accepted her fate, her future sight sees that the universal convergence has to end. she stretches her arms out. as if to say "do it."]
[Bit has regained his Determination and starts attacking the Horn with his Ice Beam. Samantha falls to her knees, it seems to hurt her. but Bit doesn't stop. He has a Goal. He won't stop until the Horn has been completely frozen over.]
[It is covered in Ice, Bit starts pecking at it like a Video of a Drinking bird that has been sped up by a Factor of 1000. Now its time. he uses his Psychokinesis to lift the Horn, and then throws a barrage of Shadow Balls at her they hi- ]
[abrupt end]
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House M.D. but it's when Wilson says House's name
#house md#james wilson#prince's talk tag#finally!!! it's done! this and the house version took almost two weeks to do#first off thank you to the clinic-duty team on livejournal for making the transcripts for these episodes#because this video would be near impossible to make without their clear transcripts. I hope y'all are doing well#ive been reading a lot of fics with these two and i see how the authors have the characters refer to each other in their fics#and that got me wondering how much do they say each other's name in the show and how do they refer to each other#since this is the wilson video ill put his stats here#s1 was 11 times s2 was 18 s3 was 45 s4 was 32 s5 was 41 s6 was 60 s7 was 47 and s8 was 48#in total he says his name 302 times. Mostly refers to him just by House#the only time I've heard him say his first name its when he's being professional or when he's really angry (and that one time he proposed)#and even then it's always the full name not just the first name#the only instance I've seen him use just his first name was on that note he put on House's xmas gift that we see in season 5#and as much as I wanted to put that moment in here he never actually says the contents of the note out loud so i had to leave it out#but what surprised me was he says House's name more than House says his name#especially when the earlier seasons didn't have him say his name as much
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Farewell
Not "farewell," but "see you later."
| First | | Previous |
[[ All Croissant Adventures (chronological, desktop) ]]
[[ All Croissant Adventures (app) ]]
...Time to blather on under the cut. I've got thank yous, some notes about potential future comics, and if you scroll to the end of the post, I've decided to compile Croissant Adventures into a physical book. It's mostly for me, so I can hold all TWO HUNDRED AND FIVE of these strips in my hands, as a brick, but if you'd like to own a copy as well, I'll have a link to the preorders down below. If this is where you're going to stop reading, I'll extend a quick heartfelt thanks to you for joining me on this adventure!
Thank you, reader.
This is undeniably the largest project I've ever tackled in my art career; it was never supposed to be this big, and I expected maybe a handful of people to read it, at most. Instead, it became this massive project that I've been working on for ten months straight, and in the end these characters meant so much to me. I'm incredibly grateful for everyone who's bothered to read my little comic strips, whether it was just one or two, or if you've been here since the beginning, following Croissant's adventure from the minute they plummeted off the nautiloid. Thank you so much for being here and supporting this project. Thank you to everyone who left kind words and comments, sent me asks about Croissant, liked or reblogged these posts, or just read these and enjoyed them! While I was determined to finish this project no matter what happened, you certainly made it all the more fun and kept me excited to tell you the next part of Croissant's story.
Thank you, Larian.
If by some chance someone at Larian ever happens to see these, I also want to give an immense thank you to everyone who was a part of making this game. I don't play that many games these days, but BG3 rocketed to the top of my all-time favorite games almost immediately. (It was also the game that made me feel the most out of anything I've ever played; I got legitimately depressed for a few days during my run don't worry I'm fine now we're all good haha). You can tell there was so much work, and so much love involved in this game's development, and I'm so happy the studio has been rewarded with multiple awards in recognition of that dedication to making a fantastic game. Thank you again for sharing this story with us, and I can't wait to see what the studio does in the future.
Is this goodbye?
I'm hoping this is less of a "goodbye," and more of a "see you later." I'll probably take a bit of a break, since I've put off other projects for months, and art fight is happening, but I have many more things I'd like to add to Croissant's story! I have yet to play the epilogue, and I intend to illustrate parts of that depending on what happens. I also have a handful of comics for post-game Breadweave, in addition to some scenes I thought would've happened in-game but weren't canon so I left them out of the original story. (If I haven't gotten to these in a few months and you find yourself wondering about Croissant again, my ask box is always open, feel free to give me a good kick to get me back into their story, lol).
...A book?
I said I never intended this project to be so large, and I meant it. But now that I'm sitting here with two hundred and five Baldur's Gate 3 Tav comics, I really wanted to compile them into a physical book for me to hold. This is mostly for me, but if you'd also like one, I'll have a preorder available in my shop until the end of July.
✨✨✨ Croissant Adventures Preorder ✨✨✨
If you made it to the end of this post, I can only thank you again, from the bottom of my heart. I hope Croissant's story brought you joy, and if you're able to play BG3, I hope that you're having just as much fun in your own tavs' stories.
#I finished the actual game back in...May? I finished drawing this on June 16th.#I'd been drifting away from the game even though I was still drawing these - and I felt kind of bummed out by that.#I wanted to listen to the OST while I was drawing The Last Comic though#and as SOON as the first few notes played all the emotions came flooding back haha#I can't believe I'm done. DANG!!#Thank you thank you thank you one hundred times for being here!#bg3#baldur's gate 3#bg3 spoilers#croissant adventures#shadowheart#jaheira#minsc#scratch#owlbear cub#astarion#halsin#withers#gale#tav#breadweave#gale x tav#WE MADE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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I don’t know what to do—I have to trust someone—I don’t know who to trust
massive, massive props to aabria for this episode (here at this point and after!!)…to all of them really, but it was about here that I was driving yesterday morning and had to frantically try to hold the image in my head for the rest of my commute. I only kind of succeeded but it is what is. wow. what an episode
#worlds beyond number#the wizard the witch and the wild one#wbn spoilers#wwwo spoilers#the wizard sky 😭😭😭😭😭#here and everything after this did in fact break me thank you!!!#as ever suvi I love you SO much#also look. I know I fucked up eursulon’s clothes but I was initially using his first art as a reference bc it shows him fullbodied in his#spirit form which is what I needed but I got too deep in the drawing before remembering he had a clothing change so………..I half did it#ALSO I meant to include the fox in this if not ame but by the time I remembered that intent I was done rendering and like hell was I going#to go back and add in two more characters#so here we are#god#ignore that it’s nearly 5 I work stupid hours lately#my things
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I should find another hobby
Anyway, if Merlin was set in modern times, Arthur would have called Merlin his “gay awakening”.
#arthur’s mind in this moment (probably)#‘what the fuck is a stab with a magical sword anyway’#‘let me kiss merlin’#‘let’s smooch’#‘let’s go back to camelot and copulate’#‘why haven’t i done this before i mean WHATEVER I’M JUST DYING SO’#‘let’s make the best of my last few moments AM I RIGHT FELLAS’#‘come on merlin one small peck coME HERE’#and merlin’s thoughts (probably):#‘if you die without kissing me i will sentence you to death’#‘no hesitation’#‘put those pretty lips on minE COME ON ARTHIE’#merlin’s thought as he waits for arthur’s return (probably)#‘i’ll kill him again. what the fuck does thank you even mean’#‘bro be for real we’re just gay’#‘we were supposed to bed each other and you died in my arms instead’#‘pretty dramatic if you ask me’#if you didn’t notice i’m going insane#merthur#bbc merlin#merlin#arthur pendragon#merlin bbc#i’ll probably delete it later because i don’t feel that sure about it but i wanted a laugh#i made this out of desperation for the finale since i finished my rewatch#please send help
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that one time at the beginning of this october when i injured (exaggerating) my finger in the shower somehow
#aaaand queued for 2am my time#thank you sheep for this scenario btw 😭🙏#also casually does this while the jp server peeps were struggling pulling for ssr tnbc jamil in my dash HGDSLKJF#the duality.#sorry guys </3 im just here vibing#that'll be me in a year or so and i'll be the one crying#[—✦-#-✧ my art#twst art#twisted wonderland#twst#twst oc x canon#jamil viper#jamiyuu#jamil x yuu#twst yuu#twst yuusona#(💜) yuusha#(💜) curry noodles#-✦—]#also im honestly just on an roll today bc i DO NOT want to do this report for my class#i literally have to present it this noon 12pm and i’m nowhere near done/prepared#fuck it we ball 💪
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Incorrect, the fact that Biden has dropped out and a candidate with history of supporting medicare for all and being more receptive to a ceasefire in the I/P conflict has made me go from "I cannot morally support the Democratic nominee" to "I am voting for the Democratic nominee despite the fact she isn't perfect in every respect." I'm really happy this played out. The Dems for the most part abandoned the old Obama platform and it feels like its possible an actual progressive agenda could come to pass in my lifetime.
Kamala 2024!
If you weren't going to vote Democratic in this election before Biden dropped out you're a dorkass loser who does not care about any of the issues you're yammering about here and also a fundamentally bad person, and I hope you get run over by a bus.
But you got one thing right in all of this gibberish, Kamala 2024.
#personal#answered#anonymous#i mean let's be clear here no president is gonna attempt to be progressive ever again within my lifetime#because joe biden tried to do like 25% of that and got ZERO fucking credit#he did so much on healthcare on reform on loans on so many social issues and for all his litany of failings on i/p#he has been distinctly harsher on netanyahu than a good chunk of dems and certainly the entire republican party#for the first time since i was four we are not involved in any wars as americans and that is thanks to joe biden#but the thing is that he gets no credit for any of it!#him pulling out of afghanistan caused his approvals to tank in a way that never recovered#and leftists gave him FUCK ALL for it#they gave him nothing they just continued whining that even tho he cancelled a bajillion in student loans#he didn't actually cancel a QUADRILLION dollars so both parties are the same and voting is the most arduous task known to man#no democrat who is running is going to forget that catering to leftist/progressive policies gets them zero leeway with those supporters#that it not only tanks numbers but you still get constant haranguing about it anyway#so they're not gonna do it#we are gonna get fuckall for at least a good fifty years#and anything we get will be utterly in SPITE of people like you anon it will happen in spite of everything you've done#mostly because of people like me and mine who understand that voting is the bare minimum#and that for the democratic process to work the way you want it to you need to participate and not pitch a fucking fit#like a four year old who was told they can't go to disney this weekend#like i know you ratfuckers are happy this played out because this is all a game to you and you don't actually care#but that's why i've got zero faith in you people and why i'm glad it's my kind of folks#actual die hard democrats who have always been hardliners for supporting democrats in every possible election#who are picking up the slack and donating to harris and supporting her agenda#which is the exact same as biden's because she's his vice president and they share they same platform#because that's what they were both running on! twice!#anyway fuck you please feel free to find a necktie and test how tall your doorframe is
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a few months ago giffy was like "haha hear me out, what if tattoo au" and then we blacked out and talked about nothing else for like three weeks
#my art#one piece tag#zosan#if you've been here since 2012 then a) i'm sorry. thank you for your service. b) PLEASE have a Sensible Fucking Chuckle with me about this#honest to god the ufnniest possible thing that i personally could have done in the year 2023#if you're wondering what happened in 2012 then please leave that stone unturned. tghank you#anyways this whole thing brings me INSURMOUNTABLE joy ask me any question about anyone and i am sure i will have an answer#we have meanings or reasons for just about everything visible here and uhhhhh soooo so so so much more (ask me questions.. ask me....)#fitting the general fuckbonkers insanity of one piece into a modern au was both challenging (fun!) and INCREDIBLY hilarious#giffy is the funniest fucking person on the planet for coming up with half the situations that we shoved everyone into#(i did these in.. october i think?? maybe earlier? during the time i limited myself to sketches only)#tattoo au tag
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i wanna talk about the ‘treasure room’ because i think it does a really good job of summarising what’s happening between ed and stede at the moment.
stede ‘takes the initiative’ (or acts without discussing what he’s doing) and puts all of ed’s remaining treasure in one room that’s completely hidden. his reasons for putting it away are:
it was all over the place
he was tripping over it
some of it is quite ugly :/
and instantly ed hits him with the “excellent. a reminder of all my guilt. a guilt room. 😔🤘”
they’re not being subtle about it. this is a physical representation of their guilt and they’re demonstrating here exactly how they’re taking care of it.
ed is living with it. it’s in his space. sure it might be in the way but where else could he possibly put it? there’s so much of it and it’s his. there’s no use in just palming it off to someone else. no one wants this much treasure.
but stede can’t stand it and he has to deal with it now or he’ll die. so he just crams it into some hidden space and considers the matter resolved. it’s out of the way. it can’t hurt them if they don’t think about it. and it’s ugly! no one wants to look at something ugly, especially when they’re trying to rebuild their space.
but that’s just the thing. neither of them are actually dealing with or addressing the problem. stede has just. put it away.
WITHOUT ASKING ED WHAT HE THINKS THEY SHOULD DO WITH IT.
so they decide to just use it to throw this big party because surely that will fix it, right? that will get rid of the Treasure Issue.
WRONG!!
because they still didn’t talk about any of it. yeah they talked about “turning poison into positivity” and “giving some of it to the less fortunate” but they didn’t deal with the root of the problem. how did ed amass that much treasure in the first place? what’s the ideal way of getting rid of it? is there anything they want to keep?
they’re on such uneven planes this season because they can’t communicate to reach a common ground. ed is surrounded by his guilt and wants to leave it all behind. stede has just hidden the guilt and wants to pretend it isn’t even there.
#and they’re portraying this SO WELL#like the fact that they’re not on the same page is SOOOO WELL DONE#also hello i don’t want any smoke for this post it’s literally just me thinking#if you’re gonna come in here and say ‘but the writing is bad’ get off my post lol#i’ve seen some very silly takes and i am not dealing with it thank you 😌💕#i hope this makes sense also if you have something more to add i’d love to hear it#ofmd#ofmd s2 spoilers#ofmd s2#ofmd meta#our flag means death#oh we thinkin?
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Brooklyn and Ben definitely convinced Yaz to start smoking with them. Brooklyn pulls Yaz aside and is like “Bro. I think you would benefit from a bit of weed”. and Yaz is mad sus. she couldn't smoke in hs bc of track and just never got into it. but Brooklyn has her hit a joint and Yaz is like “Wow… I love… not being anxious for like five seconds ….”
(Sammy does the minimum dosage on edibles)
#cw weed#tagging that just in case#thank you to my pookie who’s special interest is weed for helping me make this accurate#and also came up with some rlly fun headcanons#I think Brooklyn mostly rolls and smokes blunts#but she gets Yaz a bubbler bc Yaz doesn’t like coughing on a joint or blunt#Yaz is a bong girlie#We know Ben vapes#and probably dabs#Darius is a goody two shoes who avoids smoking but doesn’t mind that his friends do it#Kenji#i think he just#hes happy to hit it and sometimes his eyes get red#but nothing really changes and its fascinating actually#Brooklyn has done a little bit of everything#jurassic world#jurassic world chaos theory#jwct#chaos theory#yasmina fadoula#sammy gutierrez#yasammy#sammy loves her weed smoking wife#they’re married here#but she definitely only smokes to help with her PTSD and Anxiety#in Wyoming#Weed is illegal in Texas
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the mortal wounding of the princess of scots, god be with ye
artist's statement: siobhan roy, in antiquated but historically-indistinct and provocative dress, is shown being fatally impaled through the skull by her whimsical, treacherous steed and beast of burden, tom wambsgans. her attire, as with her relationship, is both affixed in and apart from time: it alludes to an era which it does not belong to. tom and shiv are a contemporary couple, but figuratively engage in an antiquated, eternal dynamic wherein the male asserts dominance over the female through violence, delivered in the show in the form of betrayal. however, references to active movement in the falling of dripping blood indicate to the viewer the dynamism of this relationship, which could seemingly change in the following moment, were time allowed to resume. the absurd and comical image of tom as a unicorn, with equine lashes and sparkling eyes, is contrasted with the brutality of his actions against shiv, making evident the fact that he is not to be underestimated. the disarming sexual innuendo - the act of penetration, as tom "fucks" shiv, and the froth pouring from his mouth, an allusion to tom swallowing his own ejaculate at his bachelor party and an additional symbol of both his rabid defiance and affection for himself and his own ambitions - adds to the potent discomfort of the moment. tom's ears are flattened back in aggression and shiv bleeds profusely, yet both wear serene smiles, not allowing the other to win in spite of the pain of being respectively owned by his wife and murdered by her husband. tom, despite it all, looks to shiv, his master whom he has defied, and shiv looks outwards, forcing herself into a position of unwavering invulnerability in the face of her ending. "god be with ye" is a helpless prayer for the doomed spouses, and a parting message: "god be with ye" is shortened in modern english to "goodbye". goodbye soon, shiv and tom, i will always love you. ❤️
#SUCCESSION SUNDAY IS FUCKING HERE ARE WE SEATED.#ANYWAYS. MY FREAKSHOW MASTERWORK IS DONE#thank you guys for being so kind about this piece through all the wips ive share#*shared#and all the encouragement you have given me#i love you all so much you are extraordinarily kind and bring me so much joy#yeah maybe succession DID fundamentally change me as a person.#and im so happy it did#art#oil paint#oil painting#painting#portrait#fanart#succession#succession fanart#succession season 4#succession s4#succession sunday#blood#blood warning#blood tw#injury tw#injury#ask to tag#death#shiv roy#siobhan roy#tom wambsgans#tomshiv
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20/10 stars little guy
#me (scrounging undetected autist whose ideal fashion sense is ''if i have to be seen at all: shrouded'') seeing encanto the other month.....#and on top of it all i LOVE slice of life. encanto being so focused on What It's About that there's so much of that + character / dynamic#also part of what i loved abt pixar luca. ppl like ''simple story but not a problem :)'' like YEAH thank god it's Also so slice of lifey#2021 what a year lol. though again i only Just saw encanto....tfw Studio Creative Control backs off a bit more than usual: Joy & Wonders#anyway i knew going in bruno wasn't an antagonist (fine if he was though b/c slay & b/c scapegoats can do whatever they want)#knew i'd love him b/c again Scapegoat shows up & i'm the Amazing Showstopping Totally Unique Never The Same gif on loop#but what a delight even beyond those expectations lol. love again how Focused the movie is on What It's About & Thee Points it makes#the Characters / Dynamics & the Metaphor & the plot stays right with all of that. the focus & importance re: thee scapegoats....#& bruno being disabled like whole layer of Yay Yay Yay spamming. that even when He's Back we're reminded he's not ''normal now'' or w/e#(i.e. presenting that as The Good Ending for the disabled outcast. vs just being embraced as part of the group again & accepted As He Is)#meanwhile was like hmm chat is there queercoding do we think? like is he queer: Yes. but is there coding? hmm#sure isn't cishet coded though. but i was also having the thought like fellas is it gay to [higher tenor tessitura or w/e] lol#made me go ''do i know this voice? ok do i know this name / face / actor? (i have never seen anything ever / bad w/names/faces/voices)''#indeed was like yeah haven't seen this; heard of this; seen it once ages ago no way i remember more than like 0.6 details#then from ''ohh haha I'm A Mammal That Cares....yeah i hear that'' to ''omg CHI-CHI RODRIGUEZ???? ;;0;;'' waaah fantastic revelation lmao#also the way Literal Future Seer ability was externalized to make it more wrangleable for plot is so impressive & fun & excellent#got a lot of [i like this thing i saw a lot] i got to say....guess i can do that w/the sideblog i made for one drawing i made last night#encanto 2021#bruno madrigal#also the way bruno is so Nervous + Hiding / Bold + Big Personality like yes ha ha ha Yes....tamped down as ''too much'' experience#also the [stuttering stumbling muttering mumbling] line: i fr nigh wept upon going back over a moment like what am i hearing here?#& realizing the answer was: it's bruno quietly stuttering a moment during this one line (& then (& then (& then)) i saw you) ;;;mm;;;#hang onnn....the first scapegoat who's driven off being Disabled is so real so ;m; that again they're like so he got Weirder; Okay ;;m;;#that we get jorge thumbs up nobody having an Aside to be like [ugh; this guy] or Anything. augh always have too much to say for 30 tags#fabric drape there sure not accurate but i was like okay if i try to really reference that i'm not getting this done tonight
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“I don’t want it to just be ‘me’ and ‘you’ anymore,” she mumbles, outstretching an unsteady hand. Shangguan Qian is so far away that she can’t even brush the edge of her clothes, let alone grasp her. “Can we… Can we be an ‘us’ again? Please?”
Yun Weishan watches Shangguan Qian carefully for her answer, sifting through the fog of the sea in her eyes. Wearing white and framed by the candlelight, she looks a little too unreal, like she doesn’t belong in the same plane as her at all.
Shangguan Qian exhales. She glances at her hand, keeping it hovering, trembling in mid-air.
“That’s not up to me, is it?” she returns. “What about you, Yun Weishan? Will you show me mercy, or will this all end the same way?”
破晓; daybreak
🌤️ of ten thousand journeys, the path home is the longest one to walk. 🌊 estimated 63k~70k (total) 🌤️ a post-canon fix-it— or, how shangguan qian and yun weishan change each other’s ending 🌊 starting october 25th, this fic will update every friday around 7 PM EST! 🌤️ with cover art and illustrations by the incomparable @notedchampagne <3
link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58230550
#my writing#ITS HERE. MY NEW MAGNUM OPUS. THE BANE OF MY EXISTENCE. MY MASTERPIECE. THE GHOST HAUNTING ME FOR THE PAST YEAR. ETC#started this fic one year ago when yzy ended and here we are one year later!! because you have to cook what you want to eat!!#thank you so so much sam for your incredible work; it's been such an honour getting to put weiqian through joys and horrors with you <3#my journey to you#yunzhiyu#云之羽#shangguan qian#yun weishan#shangguan qian x yun weishan#weiqian#these are just character notes for now sorry i have to like. remind everyone of canon first/introduce some of my own lore before#we officially get started. also i wanted to post that crazy insane batshit cover with smth and thought if i posted it with the prologue#it would be too much insanity at once. so#and yes that’s an estimated wc to be edited/confirmed when im done bc i still have stuff to write 😭😭😭 hence the delay 😭😭😭#but i wanted this to be out for the anniversary!! so we’re biting the bullet. i promise i will finish this fic it’s literally my baby#kudos comments reblogs are so so so appreciated thank you guys <33
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can't get that one banter out of my head. the one that goes:
Lucanis: Why would you want to outlast everything you love? It sounds like a terrible fate. Emmrich: There's always something to discover in the world. A fresh marvel. A new friend. I think I should never grow tired of that.
because as a friend, maybe you can understand that. you're coming together for a brief time to save the world, and then you'll likely go your separate ways. you might keep in touch! visit, send letters. but ultimately, you will both meet and then part, and that's how all things end eventually.
but as his lover, it was a little rough to hear. sure of course there are flings and those can be great, but if your rook is anything like mine, he was thinking... uh, long-term? and emmrich's plans basically mean that one way or another, the relationship is going to end and emmrich is going to live forever and just move on. you know, new things to discover, new friends to make. and eventually, in the span of eternity, rook'll be... a blip. maybe a particularly notable one if you're lucky, but you'll be (statistically, in thedas) ashes, so it's not like you'll be able to have an opinion about it.
and it gets me thinking, because yes, emmrich is deeply petrified of death, this is established. but he is also deeply affected by the loss of his parents. it seemed odd to me that he'd just... brush that off when lucanis asked about outlasting everything. sure, emmrich might be seeing this whole immortality thing with rose-coloured glasses and is trying to look at the positives, but there's no way he's blind to the fact that if he goes through with this, he is going to be on an endless track of repeatedly watching every "new friend" he makes grow old and die. he knows what that loss feels like.
so the only explanation i can think of is that he finds it more tolerable to spare other people the pain of losing him than he does to spare himself the pain of losing others. maybe he feels he's better equipped to handle that, given his experience and his profession, or maybe he's just so terrified of his own mortality that it seems a fair enough trade to him. but i can't imagine he hasn't thought about it.
#everyone say thank you to my husband for encouraging me to post this.#i just finished blood of arlathan so there's still a ways to go in his personal quest! as always these thoughts are malleable#anyways i need to dig into his brain#emmrich tell me everything. i need to know and im willing to put corentin through the ordeal of hearing your answers#it'll suck for him but *i* need to know#this one is a lot less baked because i have a lot less certainty on his thoughts here but have it anyway#i assume we won't talk about it again until i've done more for his personal questline#corentin is currently in his ''fml i should have been a rakish hero with no ties but instead im a lovesick idiot'' era over this#''bellara in your serial unsubtly inspired by me can you write me in a boyfriend that wont leave me behind to be a skeleton''#''rook do you need to talk'' ''no''#IT'S FINE IT'S FINE!!!#WE'RE WORKING OUT THE KINKS!#emmrich#emmrichmance#volkorentin#corentin pt#dav#dav spoilers#mine#my meta#emmrook#emmrich x rook
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Hobie1610 pt. 3
part 3 has finally arrived!!! at a faster rate than part 2 but a bit of a wait nonetheless lol
not entirely sure how long this lil story will go on for but hope y'all are enjoying this ride regardless, whether it ends on the next part or in 3 more chapters ldfjkdhf
in this installment: thrilling action, a high stakes chase, and we get to learn more abt our beloved hobie jones! yippee!
>pt. 1 here<
>pt. 2 here<
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By some miracle, Hobie did not mention the suit to Miles once they started texting semi-regularly.
Unfortunately, they also couldn't really make their lunch date (date? God, get it together, Morales. It is not a date…) as soon as Miles would have liked, due to a million different things getting in the way of them setting a solid day aside to chill together.
Just his luck, of course.
But in the hallways, Hobie actually deigned to give Miles a passing smile every now and then. They didn’t ever get to hang out like they did for those precious few moments on the first day of school, but Miles didn’t feel the crushing weight of guilt every time he saw Hobie in his same classroom anymore. What a relief!
So Miles was mostly okay with how things were going anyhow, even if the hangout ended up falling through and they both decided not to go in the end. He was able to patrol and do his homework in blissful peace for the first time in months.
… Kind of.
That look on Hobie’s handsome face as he looked down past Miles’ coat collar though…
That still ate away at an anxious part of Miles’ brain whenever he had the time to sit down and really let his worries manifest.
No time to think about that now, though. Miles was suited up again on a school night, hoping to get at least an hour’s worth of patrolling in before security at Visions noticed he was absent from his dorm room. He hoped Ganke would be able to cover for him like he always did.
It was yet another cold evening out in New York City, and Miles was steadily covering the edges of Brooklyn, heading towards Manhattan to do a quick sweep through Central Park like he did on occasion. There was always something going on in Manhattan, especially during the evening.
Miles decided it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick peek before calling it a night and heading back to Visions.
So away he went-- now fully in his Spiderman element-- vaulting and soaring over buildings, showing off every now and then by doing silly flips and tricks mid-air for the opportunistic New Yorkers looking to snap their Spiderman Sighting of the day. A little social media promo never hurt anyone, after all…
Spiderman finally swung down onto a tree branch on the western side of the park from a street lamp and was just about to lower himself down as inconspicuously as he could, before immediately feeling the tingling electricity of his Spider Senses race up and down his spine, giving him the usual headache along with it.
He crouched down quietly on a branch and watched as a familiar lanky figure streaked across the path underneath him onto the grass and beyond.
Whoever this runner was, he was fast. And hot on his trail was a gang of burly bumbling assholes cursing up a blue streak as they gave chase.
Spiderman’s eyes stayed glued to the fast runner like they were a lifeline. His senses honed in on the person and he erupted out of the leaves of the tree with one mighty leap, sailing through the air to shoot a web out and swing his way on over to the excitement.
Several joggers, people walking dogs after work, and mothers with baby carriages exclaimed and shouted as they were barreled into by the gang of men trying to keep up with their moving target. The runner didn’t seem to be giving up, though, as their long legs sent them flying over bushes and rocks and lounging people as gracefully as a ribbon in the air.
It was indeed getting dark soon again, but the darkness didn’t really affect Spiderman’s senses at all. His mask helped him fine-tune his powerful vision and anticipate the runner’s next moves.
It looked as though they were trying to make their way up towards the Great Lawn from Cedar Hill, but whether the person was planning to make a break for the now-empty Delacorte Theatre or the Metropolitan Museum Of Art… or beyond? That was the million dollar question.
Spiderman didn’t want to lose the person in case they happened to just be a petty thief, since that would be a quick and easy problem to fix. But as he silently chased down the runner alongside (and unbeknownst) to the gang, his suspicions gave way to some other... ideas.
Namely, that the runner seemed young, a bit too young for someone to be pissing off this many fully-grown gang members.
He pushed through his confusion and made a break for the theatre the second he guessed that the runner was pivoting in that direction.
The trees were getting thicker the closer they got to the Belvedere Castle and Spiderman eventually resorted himself to hoofing it, mindful of sticking to the shadows of the foliage that surrounded them on all sides.
He was super grateful now more than ever that his suit happened to be his signature sleek black and red, rather than the tacky and hyper-visible reds and blues of many of his Spider counterparts (sorry Peter!)
Once he confirmed that the suspicious target was indeed planning on hiding in the bleachers of the massive amphitheatre, he shot up a web to hoist himself into the infrastructure from the tall stadium lights. From there, he positioned himself a bit closer to the fray, hearing the loud and heavy boots of the gang following the runner, not far behind.
Then, he squinted into the dusk as he watched one of the entrances from his perch up high... and almost choked on his own saliva!
In comes none other than Hobie Motherfucking Jones, streaking down several steps like a shooting star, clutching onto… something tucked under one of his arms. He was breathless, panting loudly, and heading straight for the Belvedere Lake.
Upon hearing the heavy bootfalls get ever closer with every passing second, it seemed that Hobie got the idea to attempt a last-minute juke by throwing himself underneath the stairs that faced the lake, tucking himself as tightly as he could under the massive stage at the center.
Spiderman watched all of this happening with wide eyes, holding his own breath in. He prayed that the ugly thugs didn’t see Hobie’s sneaky last-second move, but climbed up high onto the stadium lights and prepared to swing down anyhow, just in case.
What was Hobie even doing here, out at this hour? And what the hell did he manage to steal that was so important to these men anyways? It was quite a chase they were caught up in, running nearly two entire miles all the way up to the amphitheatre just to catch him, and that was only from what he could see when he swung into action.
The group split up and pulled out flashlights, determinedly searching the bleachers and corners as best they could while the sky rapidly darkened above them.
From right below the webbed crime-fighter, Hobie poked his head out from the shadows and took a peek.
No, no, duck back down! Spiderman wanted to shout, but he couldn’t.
No one knew he had followed them and he was safe high above the action where he balanced himself on the metal bars that housed the bulbs. His muscles tensed as the bright beam of light from one guy’s flashlight swept a little too close to Hobie’s head. Damnit.
Spiderman couldn’t just sit there all day! He had a friend to save, stolen item be damned!
He rechecked his web shooters furtively and took aim.
He set his sights on another stadium light pole across from the stage, figuring that if he was quick and agile enough, he could time his swing well enough to scoop Hobie up from where he was hidden and avoid any detection. Hopefully.
Seemed like a solid enough plan though, until Hobie just. Shot out from his hiding place all of a sudden, the heels of his boots rapping loudly against the cement and echoing all around the stage as he made a beeline for the lakefront.
Shit!!!
Miles wanted to kill him. Those guys didn’t even suspect he was hiding where we was in the first place!
... Okay, plan B!
Spiderman’s brain whirred at breakneck speeds as he watched the thugs exclaim loudly and give chase yet again, this time much closer to Hobie than they ever were before.
Without thinking, he swung down from his perch and bowled over a couple of men in his haste to simply just… grab Hobie like a damsel in distress and fireman-carry him back around the gang to get a good line of web onto a nearby pole.
The men all cursed and shouted in surprise of course, flashlight beams waving around everywhere.
One of them even yelled, “what the hell was that?!” like a character in one of his dad’s favorite cheesy slasher movies.
Spiderman was too fast for them, a black blur simply whizzing by as he grabbed Hobie and hoisted the both of them up into the air with a mighty leap. Hobie yelped in surprise, grunting from the effort, and seemed to let whatever he stole slip out of his hands which then clattered loudly onto the ground below.
The thugs rejoiced then, shaking fists at Hobie and his rescuer as they flew up to the top of a tree and detached themselves so they could fall onto the stadium light opposite from Spiderman’s initial hiding spot.
Spiderman didn’t stop until he attached another web up to the lights and dangled there for a bit. Adrenaline still coursed through his veins as he shifted Hobie off of his shoulders and let him slide slowly onto his side, his friend’s wiry arms clutching him tightly.
They both watched with rapt attention at the goings-on several feet below them.
The thugs congregated around the fallen item, picking it up and turning it this way and that. It looked like a briefcase, though with the low lighting it really could’ve been anything. It was only when one of them-- the biggest and burliest of them all-- shouted out another colorful swear word that Hobie then seemed to come back to himself again.
He squeezed Spiderman’s shoulders with his arms and kicked at him. They swung a bit from the wiggling.
“Ouch!” Spiderman hissed, as quietly as he could. He was hoping the dark dusk would conceal their position now as long as they made No Noises, but even that wasn’t guaranteed.
“Go, go, go, go, man! Let’s get out of here!!” Hobie hissed right back into his ear, his face mere centimeters away from Spiderman’s mask.
Spiderman stubbornly ignored the heat radiating out from his face at that realization and jerked this way and that, looking for an easy escape from their conundrum.
Flashlight beams danced around the ground before finally swinging up to the trees and catching sight of a pair of shoes dangling in the sky.
The biggest and meanest one of the bunch pulled something out of his pocket and took aim.
Bullet! Spiderman’s senses screamed into his cerebellum.
“Goddamn,” he huffed ruefully as the shots rang out. Hobie panicked. “Bullets for us? That’s a little harsh, isn’t it?”
Hobie clung onto his hero for dear life. “Brother, if you do not get a move on from here, we are both gonna get turned into fish filets!” He shouted into Spiderman’s ear.
“Ow. Okay,” Spiderman grumbled, sticking himself to the side of the pole they dangled from and readjusting Hobie so that he clung onto his back instead.
He took a deep breath and narrowly dodged a bullet that whizzed unnervingly close to their heads. Hobie yelled again.
“Okay, okay, okay,” Spiderman began, speaking quickly. “Hold on, okay? Hold on tight. Just hold on and do not let me go for even a second!”
“On it!” Hobie shouted back, legs kicking a bit before wrapping themselves tightly around Spiderman’s torso.
They both took a breath and then Spiderman jumped, gaining some air before twin webs erupted from his web shooters-- aimed directly towards the seating area entrance.
Together, he and Hobie rocketed from their airborne position towards their escape route once the fluids connected to solid architecture. To his credit, Hobie only whimpered a little bit through the ride.
The thugs had no chance! They stumbled on tired, aching legs towards the very door the two teens had left out of, complaining and cursing some more as they searched through the steps and made their way out onto the theatre’s general admission and concessions area.
They searched and searched through the bushes and trees, going so far as to even check the sculptures near the structure.
After several tense moments of gruff shouting back-and-forth, the search eventually died down until only a couple of the men were left sweeping the area once more. The others had already given up their fruitless endeavor and called it a night.
“Fucking kids, man. What the hell,” Spiderman heard one of them grumble before kicking at the Romeo and Juliet statue angrily and following the rest of his cohorts down the path towards the Great Lawn again.
Hobie and Spiderman let out matching sighs of relief then, happy to have given the men the slip by managing to hide behind the giant 3D Delacorte Theatre sign right above the box offices. Lucky for them, most people don’t think to search behind lit-up signs, so they went completely undetected.
“… Wanna let me know what you were doing here this whole time? You could’ve gotten killed!” Spiderman breathed. He wanted his tone to be sharper, more authoritative… but he was just so glad to see his new friend still in one piece instead of riddled with more holes than a chunk of swiss cheese!
Hobie scoffed, tucking a loc behind his ear and sitting back. Thanks to the lighting of the sign and the other park lights in the area, Spiderman could see him digging around in his coat pocket and fishing out-- a USB drive?
Hobie held it up triumphantly, sleepy down-turned eyes glistening with pride.
“I got it! Suckers! Screw them by the way, I’m not the thief, if that’s what you’re wondering,”
Well. He was sneaky, alright. Spiderman had to hand that to him, at the very least.
He sat back on his heels as well and exhaled. “Fine. I believe you. What’s on that drive?”
Hobie squinted at him then, really giving him a good once-over now that the excitement had officially died down. “…Damn. You’re Spiderman,”
“Yeah, yeah. Hey, hi, nice to meet you, I’m your friendly neighborhood Sp-- ugh, seriously man, just tell me what all of that was back there or else I’m webbing you up and calling the cops.”
“Hey!” Hobie objected. “Like I said already, I’m the good guy here. I snagged this from those guys because I caught them snoopin’ around the museum over that way. I followed them and found out they were stealing this!”
Spiderman bobbed his head. “Okay? And what’s on it?”
Hobie turned the drive over a bit in his hands, admiring it. “Most likely? Security codes, schedules, maps. I’ve been uh… investigating those dudes for a while after watching them sniff around the museum for a few days now. It looks like they were just art thieves plannin' a heist, so I jumped on the opportunity to deliver justice myself.”
Hobie’s mischievous grin was met by Spiderman’s disapproving stare.
“And why didn’t you just call security and let them know? Like I said, super dangerous thing you did back there! If I wasn’t there to save you, you could’ve died, man.”
Hobie pocketed his USB drive again and rolled his eyes. “Y’know, for a vigilante hero with cool superpowers, you sure are a square.”
Spiderman sat up and placed a hand on his chest, feigning hurt. “Oof, ow. That’s mean,”
“Yeah, it is, but you know I’m right. If a kid like me walked up to some cops and tried to warn them of a possible art heist, you just know those pricks’ll laugh in my face and do literally nothing about it. I had to take matters into my own hands!” Hobie jutted his chin out defiantly.
Well. Couldn't really argue with that, especially considering PDNY’s less-than-stellar track record of taking preventative measures most times. All that they would most likely do is nod along to whatever Hobie was telling them and chuckle, shaking their heads as they walk away. Not their problem.
Spiderman rubbed his chin. “Point taken," he conceded. "So what’s your plan now?”
Hobie glanced around, as if he was checking for any eavesdroppers. “I’m gonna submit some photos to a journalist I met online before turning this in back to the museum. The journalist’ll help get those guys behind bars once a story's published and some actual adults talk to the cops. I am going to go collect my reward,”
Spiderman blinked. He had a bunch of questions swimming in his head, but the first question out of his mouth was, “what reward?”
“The reward for turning in precious security info, genius!” Hobie tapped at his forehead with a finger and grinned. “If I get to negotiate with them, I can get some money to save up and-- uh. Nevermind. Listen, are you gonna rat me out or not?”
Miles’ brow creased behind his mask. “… I don’t think I will. Sounds like you’re doing the right thing… mostly.”
Hobie cheered silently. “Yes! Okay, I take it back, Spidey. You are cool!”
Spiderman sighed. “But first, I need to know you’re gonna be safe. Like, actually, and that you’re not gonna get followed home.”
Hobie shrugged nonchalantly and pushed more locs out of his face again. “Yeah, you can walk me home if you want,”
“No, that’s not what I mean. I mean, that’s not the only thing I mean. I need you to promise me that you’re not gonna get into stupid stunts like this again. That was so dangerous and you really could’ve gotten hurt!”
Hobie exhaled as well. He stared intensely into the mask’s giant white lenses for a beat, making Spiderman shift uncomfortably.
Then, he held up his pinkie. “… Fine. I won’t do stupid shit like this again. I promise.”
Spiderman blinked a few more times and hooked his pinkie onto Hobie’s. “Uh. Okay, cool! Cool, that’s what I wanna hear, considering keeping New Yorkers safe is my job! I just wanna see you safe, that’s all. No more art heists, you gotta leave that to the professionals to handle,”
“What, professionals like you? You might’ve not even gotten to them in time before they snuck off with like millions of dollars worth of art, bro.”
“Anyone ever tell you you are just so mean? Dontcha have a little faith in me? The ‘vigilante hero with cool superpowers’?” Spiderman shot back.
They both laughed.
“Seriously, though. I do appreciate the fact that you saved my ass back there,” Hobie admitted, eyes cast downwards for a second. “I was actually gonna throw this thing into the lake and hope this drive got eaten by like… a fish or something.”
“And what about you?” Spiderman smiled despite himself.
“Well,” Hobie shrugged. “If I died, I died. I guess,”
It was Spiderman’s turn to scoff now. “You have a family, man. Don’t be ridiculous. You have friends and family that would miss you!”
Hobie’s expression turned dark, his entire face shadowing for a second before being replaced by cool detached nonchalance. A slight hint of annoyance stayed put underneath.
“… My family’s barely my family. I don’t have any friends, either. Don't worry about me.” Hobie admitted in a clipped tone. He stood up abruptly and started doing some casual stretches.
Spiderman stood up as well, knowing fully well how this song and dance was going to go.
He would never admit it out loud, but he’d seen his fair share of self-destructive citizens throwing themselves into the middle of danger in the short time he’d been doing this whole vigilante thing. He had talked many a melancholy or manic person from tossing themselves off of multiple different buildings, different bridges, stopped them from “falling” onto train tracks.
And as loath as he is to admit it, this Hobie’s particular brand of cool detachment was entirely too familiar to him as well.
A flash of his uncle Aaron’s face lit up a part of his brain that he hadn’t really allowed himself to acknowledge since that fateful day. He quickly stamped that out.
He cleared his throat and rubbed at his neck. “… Well. That sounds pretty depressing, man.”
He didn’t notice Hobie’s shoulders hitch at that phrase.
“But,” Spiderman continued, “You got people out here who care about you, even if you don’t know it. You’re still so young, you could be ending your life before you even meet, like, your favoritest person in the whole world, right? So just do me a quick favor, take care of yourself. For me. Live long enough to meet your favorite person, alright?”
Spiderman put on his best comforting expression that he could despite the mask most likely getting in the way of Hobie fully seeing it. He hoped his words were enough to convince him not to dive off the deep end, at least not anytime soon.
It seemed to work at least a little bit, because Hobie looked back at him with a much warmer-- albeit hesitant-- expression.
“Can I ask you something?” Hobie finally said after a few moments of silence.
“Uh, sure.” Spiderman replied.
“Do you know about a kid named Miles Morales at all?”
The air was sucked out of Spiderman’s lungs right then as he floundered like a fish for a minute, brain working into overdrive to make his answer sound both intelligent and convincing.
“U-uh, maaaybeee? I dunno, I meet a lot of New Yorkers everyday and I don’t get many names, yanno? S-sounds familiar, but sorr--”
“I knew it,” Hobie exhaled a laugh and surged forward to embrace Spiderman with both arms.
Spiderman stood frozen in his place, arms held in mid-air as he worked to process this.
“Uh. What--”
Spiderman felt Hobie’s chin dig into the side of his cheek a little as he turned his lips to his ear. “Your secret’s safe with me, by the way. I’m not telling anyone,”
Miles felt his whole world turn on its axis before shattering completely.
Oh no, no, no, no, no! Goddamnit!
Miles pushed Hobie off and stepped back, holding his hands up. “Oh hey, whoa, whoa, whoa. I dunno what you’re thinking or who you think I am, but--!”
Hobie sighed loudly. “Miles, I saw your suit.”
The world screeched to a halt.
Hobie picked his gaze back up off of his feet and even seemed apologetic, almost. “I, uhm. Like, back on the roof. At Visions. I wasn’t… a hundred percent sure I saw it, since it could’ve been any logo at all, but. Well, you’re a pretty bad liar too, y’know that, right?”
Miles sucked in a slightly shaky breath, gulping loudly. “Uh. W-well,”
Hobie smiled shyly. “You, uh… you’re like around the same height as Miles Morales, anyways. And you sure sound a lot like him, too.”
Damn. Damn it all.
Miles spun this way and that, placing his hands atop his head as he panicked slightly. “H-Hobie, you cannot tell anyone else about this, whatsoever. Do you understand? No one. At all. Or we’re both dead!”
Hobie held his hands up, lines creasing in his face. “Look bro, you’ve got secrets of mine too. We pinkie promised, remember? I don’t break promises.”
Miles didn’t point out that the promise was so that Hobie would stop getting himself into stupidly dangerous situations, but he accepted it anyways, albeit reluctantly.
“D-do… do you actually, like actually promise me you’ll never breathe a word about this to anyone? Ever? At all?”
Hobie held up his right hand into the air, as if taking an oath. “I, MJ, solemnly swear to never breathe a single word to anyone about your super secret identity, so help me god.”
Miles planted his fists on his hip and shook his head. “Oh my god,” he exhales on a shaky laugh.
“Don’t you believe me? What would I have to gain by selling you out? Oh,” Hobie stops suddenly, perking up. “We could even work together! I got me my sweet camera and my extensive connects, man. Think about it!”
“No, no. Hobie. Stop that, man. I’m not putting you into any danger after I just saved your skinny butt. Spiderman doesn’t do sidekicks anyways,”
Hobie looked a bit put out, but shrugged anyways. “Well, I mean… think about it sometime. We could seriously take down criminal activity around here, if you’re down! And, uh. You do have my number,”
Miles looked up and took a deep breath. “Mmnyes, I do. I do have your number. That’s… I mean you’re not wrong about that. Listen, I think it’s getting pretty late and we should both be heading back home now, though.”
The corners of Hobie’s mouth curled up mischievously. “True, true. It is a school night, after all.”
Miles couldn’t stop grinning despite the heavy anvil that threatened to burst out of his chest. “Yep, yes it is! Okay, time to get you home now. C’mon, let’s go.”
Miles moved to step into Hobie’s space and carry him on his back again so he could lower the both of them down from the lip of the theatre roof.
But before that happened, he felt Hobie place a cold but strong hand on his shoulder, stopping him.
Miles looked up inquisitively and felt his breath catch in his throat as he felt those same hands slowly slide up the smooth spandex of his suit, up his shoulders, and then they stopped at his neck, at the seam of where his suit and mask met.
The entire thing probably only took a few seconds to do, but to Miles it felt like eons passed as he felt every single muscle twitch and the pulse beating underneath Hobie’s skin while he ran those fingers up his arms.
He was standing so close to him! Oh god!
The entire ordeal was unbearably intimate, and Miles could barely stop the shudder that wracked his body suddenly.
Hobie’s soft lips were slightly parted, the lighting of the sign next to them caught in the dark brown portals that were his eyes.
“U-uhm. Sorry, this is weird...” he mumbled quietly. But his hands didn't move.
All around them, crickets started their soothing chorus.
Here they were, right behind the giant lettering of the Delacorte Theatre, intertwined in each other’s arms on a cold night-- and Miles’ core body temperature has never felt hotter before. He felt like he could melt steel, the way this night was going. He didn’t know when his hands raised to grasp onto Hobie’s arms, but they must’ve done it of their own accord because Miles then felt himself squeezing softly onto Hobie’s biceps.
Slowly, painstakingly, and carefully… Hobie made his move.
Every centimeter of the mask being pushed up was accompanied by a soft look that asked-- no, it begged-- for permission to continue. His hands seemed to move on their own eventually, as he slid the mask up over the back of Miles' head and then eased it up off of his nose.
Hobie wore a soft look of determination then, that fully came into view again once Miles felt his mask slide right up off of his eyes. Hobie’s soft hands eventually fell away, mask in one hand, no sounds in the air except for the wildlife of the park starting to wake now that the night has officially fallen.
Miles wasn’t sure why he did, but he held his breath.
After a few seconds of appraising gazes from each other, pupils meeting pupils, exchanging a million words a second with just a few looks… Hobie grinned beautifully.
“Damn. There you are,”
Miles felt a plume of heat erupt from his gut and rush up to his face. “Uh. Hm, y-yep. Here I am,” he blinked back at Hobie with his big brown eyes.
Hobie had a look of pure joy on his face before it started to melt away suddenly. “You know… I should backstab you for abandoning me out of nowhere that one time, though… I really should...”
The moment collapsed like an undone web, a delicate thing now completely destroyed as Miles leaped up in indignation.
“Hobie!”
Hobie stepped back and laughed loudly. “Re-lax! I’m not gonna actually do it. But. Y’know.”
“And if you do, I’ll leave you webbed up to that billboard near Visions,” Miles threatened, mostly light-heartedly.
“Psshh, and then get my mom’s two million lawyers on your ass? Good luck,”
“As if they could ever catch me! I’m Spiderman!”
Just as easily as they had stepped out of being just kids for a moment, they stepped right back into it, bickering like they'd been friends since forever.
Miles lowered the both of them from the sign and they headed towards the eastern side of the park, making their way over to Hunter’s Gate. They bickered and bantered back and forth the entire way there, and it was only once they made it to the outer gates of the park that Miles stopped them both.
With his mask back on and other New Yorkers now milling nearby, Miles made it a point to lower his voice as he turned to Hobie and puffed his chest out heroically.
“So, random citizen. Where are we off to today? I told you I’d take you back home safely, and that’s what I’m gonna do.”
“’Cause you promised, right?” Hobie smirked, tucking his hands into his coat pockets.
“Uhm. Yeah, yeah. I did. So, lead the way!” Spiderman made a grand ushering gesture, and Hobie chuckled good-naturedly as he stepped aside and exited Central Park.
“You gonna walk me home, Spiderman?” Hobie threw him a side-long glance.
“Yyyeah…? Why? You’d rather swing home?”
“I liked swinging, actually. Yeah,” Hobie stopped where he was on the sidewalk and nodded with an air of finality. “Yeah… let’s swing!”
Spiderman felt his heart do a few somersaults in his chest before he gestured towards his shoulders. Hobie quickly assumed the position, long lanky arms wrapping around him and leaning his body weight against Spiderman’s side.
Spiderman shot up a web to a nearby street lamp and gave his friend one more glance.
“You sure?” He asked again, really making sure that Hobie was okay with this. Not many people really liked swinging, which was understandable. Even Miles wasn't the biggest fan of it at times.
Hobie chuckled and ignored the onlookers as they slowly ambled past the two, throwing the teens questioning glances as they made their way past them.
“Yeah, I am! Let’s go,”
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.
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Miles: Do you actually actually really like on your LIFE promise that you’re not ginna tell a soul about… well…
Miles: gonna*
MJ: Yes, Miles. I PROMISE [eyeroll emoji]
Miles: I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE
MJ: Do you actually, though? ;)
Miles: No. But I can find out… I got connects
MJ: Uh huh. I’ll tell your “connects” that if you don’t take me out on that promised lunch date, our friendly neighborhood Spiderman just might be the next trending topic on ALL social media apps again very soon……..
Miles: Oh my god. You are Evil. I can’t believe this. My next arch nemesis… damn
Miles: What a killer plot twist. The greatest foe I have yet to face happens to be none other than one of my very own classmates
Miles: It be ya own people
From his family’s Lower Manhattan penthouse, Hobie laughs out loud as he reads the text messages, ignoring all of the curious glances thrown his way by various members of his team.
From Miles’ own humble dorm room at Visions, he laughs aloud as well.
#spiderverse#mine#miles morales#hobie brown#<- well i mean not really but yall know what i mean#hope u guys enjoyed this lil installment! <3#i tried to make the action as entertaining as possible but y'all must know.... that it really is my weak spot so if you guys read all that#and went 'huh'#well then.... Understandable Have A Nice Day!#but listen mj is more often than not a total bamf in the comics and so to make 1610's mj not nearly as cool#esp when this is HOBIE we're talkin abt here... that would be criminal. so i did what i had to do#and i'm trying to like uuhhhh not do an Exposition Dump on hobie jones' character all at once#just sorta drip feeding y'all his backstory before we Get Into It ya feel me#also @ everyone leaving nice comments so far. I LOV YOU :) <3#thank u!#sorry abt the messy ass art on this chapter. i rushed it as i'm sure y'all can tell#they also dont match up 1:1 on the story bc i did the sketches initially before i wrote all this#just as concept art before sitting down to write so i meannnn! but! they came out p close to the finished product#so i was like 'ok close enough lets just ink it and be done'#hope yall still like them anyhow LOL oops#anyways..... i gotta quit my yappin'#see yall on the next one <3#punkflower#�� almost forgot to tag oof
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Eddie's Memory Log: Day 59
part 1 here | part 2 here | part 3 here | part 4 here | part 6 here (ao3 link here)
Steve spends an obnoxious amount of time in front of the mirror. This isn’t breaking news. If he were in that fairytale with the evil witch and her Mirror Disciple, the mirror would be so sick of Steve’s vanity by now.
The surprising part is that Steve has been in front of the mirror since five in the morning. He couldn’t sleep, his mind is one channel full of reruns. And unfortunately, people don’t have a fucking remote control to turn off their brains, so he’s just stuck reliving Saturday morning over and over again.
Here he is. Just staring blankly at his reflection. Yawning. The reflection yawns back. Flipping his hair to one side, thinking about Eddie. Flipping his hair to the other side, thinking about Eddie. Spraying the flyaways down, thinking about Eddie. Steve has to splash his face with water so much that he’s going to show up to the hospital looking like a shriveled-up sponge.
He’s nearly satisfied with how it’s shaping up when Steve is smacked with a thought. A rewind in his rerun. A loop.
It’s Eddie’s voice, that scratchy morning one that made Steve’s toes curl up in his sneakers. All he can hear now is that voice repeating the same syrupy sentence:
‘Feels like cashmere now…’
Steve listens to the phrase till his knees start to wobble. He reaches up into his hair, just to experience what Eddie experienced that day. Instead, all Steve feels is hardened strands. All of it holding a sticky residue. Not soft at all. And definitely not cashmere.
Before the loop can start over for the umpteenth time, Steve strips off his meticulously planned outfit and hops into the shower. The water bursts out, directly onto Steve’s nearly satisfactory styling job. It breaks his pride more than his heart, washing all his hard work away so easily.
Steve never really goes out in public with unstyled hair anymore. Not after the time in eighth grade when Hailey Barnes got gum stuck in his hair mid-make out. Steve had to cut it the shortest it had ever been in his whole life. Led to a full blown Samson storyline for the rest of the school year. He still dated, sure - but barely any second dates.
Steve shakes off his biblical trauma and blow-dries for a good fifteen minutes. Look, if he can’t style it, he can at least dry it out. He’s not a complete heathen for christ’s sake.
It’s weird, staring back at an unstyled Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington. But this might earn him more scalp massages. Potential kisses. Potential memories. So if Eddie wants cashmere, Steve’s gonna fucking give it to him.
He’s probably gonna be late for visiting hours, but he’s hopeful that Eddie will forgive him once he gets his vein-busted hands into Steve’s hair. Driving over the speed limit is not exactly necessary and certainly not legal, but fuck it all.
Fuck it all with the windows down.
It’s a gross habit, but Steve starts chewing on his nail as soon as he reaches the door to Eddie’s room. He’s gotta kick these nerves in the ass, pull his charisma out with a rope or some shit.
There’s no reason to be nervous, not after Eddie verified that Steve was reading the situation correctly. That should be confirmation enough to make Steve stop his nasty nail-biting and boost his enthusiasm to max volume.
So that’s exactly what he does. Steve swings the door open, pointing directly towards Eddie upon arrival. “You have some serious explaining to do, Munson.”
“Quite the entrance you got there.” Okay. Less enthusiasm than Steve, for sure. Not even half-volume enthusiasm.
“I mean, just leaving me hanging like that?” Steve lightly smacks Eddie’s shoulder. “You really are the worst eye candy employer of all time.”
Eddie’s eyes narrow as he nods along. “Sure…”
The enthusiasm is dialing down to fucking mute. At this rate, Steve will have to skip the sly banter, go straight for the obvious. His dignity would be damaged if he weren’t so wired.
“Oh come on!” Steve shoves Eddie’s shoulder a bit harder this time. “You’re not gonna say anything about my hair?” Steve runs his hands through it, movie slow-motion style. Then he shakes it out, flounces the ends. Anything for some sign of life at the moment.
“It’s… different.”
No shit, it’s different. It’s certifiable fluff right now. Sort of like angel food cake without the icing.
Steve has to shift gears yet again. Maybe the straightforward path is too basic for Eddie’s liking. Maybe he prefers the smooth lines. Steve can do smooth. Smooth is his fucking specialty.
“Free cashmere doesn’t come around like this everyday.” Steve sits next to Eddie on the bed, messing around with his heart monitor cord. “So touch it all you want, Eds.”
“What’s gotten into you?” Eddie’s face goes siren red. He scoots away from where Steve is sitting and laughs somewhat nervously. “Was it drugs? Did you finally raid my lunchbox?”
“No. No drugs. Just…” Happy to see you. A little wounded that you’re not as happy to see me. But still… happiness overall. “A rare good mood, I guess.”
“I’ll say.” Eddie scoffs. "You are mighty chipper today.”
“Well, yeah.” Steve gets off the bed. He’s clearly making Eddie uncomfortable and he doesn’t know why. His energy is the same as it was Saturday morning. A little heightened, sure, but Eddie thrives off intense shit. Well, he usually does. “I mean, considering what almost happened Saturday.”
Eddie holds up both hands. “Wait. Time out. Saturday?”
“Yeah.”
“This Saturday?”
“Yeah.”
“You were here on the weekend?”
No. No, this can’t be happening. This is Eddie scribbling Steve-related notes on his arm all over again. The trap door in Steve’s stomach drops, all of his insides feel like they’re plunging down to his feet. The blush that had settled in Steve’s face, is now being whipped around, right up to his forehead. He feels sick. He feels a migraine forming. He feels fucking robbed.
“Please. Please tell you didn’t forget.” Steve’s voice is small.
Eddie doesn’t respond immediately, just studies the grim expression on Steve’s whole face. “I need you to be specific with what you’re talking about, Steve.”
“Do you remember Friday?”
Eddie looks up at the ceiling as if his memories are stored somewhere up high. “You came over. We talked about your mixtape. Bubblegum shit. See a dentist. No insurance, yada yada.”
So far, so good.
“We watched the Home Shopping Network for four hours.”
Three, but Steve lets that one slide. Probably felt like four hours.
“The doctors gave me new medicine for… something, I don’t know.”
“That part is important.”
“Yeah well, you try being on more medications than you can count on your hands.” Eddie barks back. “See how many ridiculously long latin names you can remember.”
Look. Steve is a patient person - hasn’t always been that way, but the unexplainable circumstances over the last three years has Miyagi’d the shit out of his patience levels.
Five days a week, Steve sits here. Patiently dealing with whatever unpredictable mood Eddie is going through that day. Five days a week for almost three months. Steve doesn’t wanna sit here and do the math because he knows it’ll be depressing numbers. So many days, hours, minutes, that he spends being the Patient Guy.
But with Eddie snapping while Steve is trying to process how such an amazing moment can simply vanish like a demented magic trick? No. Steve is no longer proficient in the art of Patience.
“You know I didn’t mean that…” Eddie mumbles, fiddles with one of the wires attached to him. Not exactly an apology.
“No please, continue to use me as your emotional punching bag. It’s one of my life’s greatest joys.” Steve leans against the wall, all casual and relaxed. But his words bite just as hard as Eddie’s did. The way he looks and sounds are total contradictions to each other.
Eddie rubs hard over his eyes. “Shit, Steve. I’m being an asshole.”
Fucking christ, that’s still not an apology. “Whatever. Just tell me what you remember after the doctor gave you the medicine.”
Eddie sighs. Looks back up at the ceiling while he talks. “I got really sick…”
“Yeah.”
“You were here.”
“Per usual.”
“But I passed the fuck out once the fever went away.”
“And then…” Steve motions his hand for Eddie to keep going.
“And then?”
Goddamnit. “You don’t remember.”
Eddie stays silent. Searching the whole room now for memories that do not exist. Memories that have expired. Memories that are one-sided.
“You don’t remember any of it.” Steve whispers to himself.
His impatience gets distorted with all of his feelings for Eddie. Everything is barbed-wire sharp, cutting up his throat. He doesn’t want to talk about it anymore, the answers are too unfair. The reality is too bleak. Steve doesn’t deal with his own mental hurdles most days - he can’t add new psychological pitfalls to his life.
Steve is holding his forehead, urging the headache to go away with fingertips and delusion. He opens his eyes momentarily to see Eddie staring back. He looks worried. Powerless.
That makes two of them.
“Steve.” Eddie is almost whispering. “Whatever it is… I’m so sorry that I don’t rem -”
“Don’t do that.” Steve interrupts. “Don’t apologize for having head trauma, Eddie Munson.”
“Alright. I won’t.”
Steve crawls through the barbed wire, gets muddy and messy with the truth. “Look, there’s a lot of other shit you should feel sorry for. Like lashing out at me all the time. And never asking how I’m doing with my… life and shit.”
“There’s a vending machine down the hall that you could fill with all the reasons you should feel sorry. Might as well make a fucking profit off of your remorse.” Steve tacks the dark joke on at the end because he can. Because it’s Eddie.
“But your recovery process is not one of things you should ever feel sorry for. Okay?”
“Yeah.” Eddie gulps. Nods. “Okay.”
Steve is standing at the foot of Eddie’s bed, hands gripped around the plastic railings. His knuckles are the same sterile white as the rest of this god awful room. Steve has become a chameleon to this place that somehow manages to feel haunted by more than just lingering mortality.
“I think I’m gonna head out.” Steve says it without even trying really. The words just stumble out.
Eddie’s mouth opens, forming an ‘oh’ in reply, but no sound comes out with it.
“Yeah this just isn’t… I don’t know.” It’s a lame thing to say but it’s true. Steve has no fucking clue what to do anymore. “I don’t think I can do this today.”
Eddie doesn’t look at him. “Got it.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
Steve takes those few painful steps to the door. His limbs feel heavy. Like guilt and confusion are weighing him down.
No words fit this moment. This departure. So Steve throws a few out there in hopes that it’ll be enough:
“Just… hang in there.”
It’s not enough. Not even close.
“Will do, Harrington.” Eddie still doesn’t look at him.
The door shuts, but Steve thinks he feels it slamming all the way down his spine.
Day 60:
Steve doesn’t go to the hospital today.
It’s Tuesday.
Day 61:
Day 62:
Day 63:
Day 64:
Day 65:
Steve hasn’t really talked to anyone since Monday, not even Robin. She called him once on Wednesday to see if he wanted to grab dinner with her and Vickie, but he politely declined. Didn’t even bother fabricating an excuse. Just stuck with good old-fashioned ‘no.’ Why reinvent the wheel with rejection?
He’s in dirty clothes and watching an Andy Griffith marathon, when the phone rings. He almost ignores it - except he needs to get more onion dip from the fridge anyways, and the phone is on the way there. Might as well pick it up.
“Harrington residence.” His voice drones. “Steve speaking.”
“Shit.”
Shit. “Eddie?”
“Yeah. Hey, man.”
“What’s wrong? Did something happen? Are you okay?” Apparently, Steve cannot switch off the caring portion of his heart.
“Everything is…” Eddie holds out the ‘s’ sound for a while. “I just needed to apologize.”
“Right.”
“And to thank you.”
Steve lowers his eyebrows. “For what?”
“Being here… when you were.” Eddie’s voice sounds dried up. Like he hasn't spoken much in days. “I know you haven’t been back for a few days, and that’s my own damn fault.”
Most of the behavioral stuff is his fault, yeah. But the icing out bullshit that Steve is pulling is cowardly. He’s not doing anything productive with his free time. He’s deadlocked. Stranded in uncertainty.
Eddie continues. “But for all the days you didn’t give up on me… I guess I didn’t know how much I needed that. So thank you.”
“That’s…” Steve is about to say ‘unnecessary,’ but decides against it. Dismissiveness solves nothing. “You’re welcome.”
“Even when I was being Kathy or Hyde or Grendel or whatever else you managed to come up with behind my back.”
Steve didn’t. He thought up a lot of spiteful shit, but he never said any of it out loud. Okay, maybe some it slipped along the way. He’s not perfect.
“I wouldn’t blame you for never coming back to visit me.” Eddie is talking faster now - which is basically normal Eddie speed. “But if you did… I have something I wanna to give you.”
Steve groans. “Not a mixtape, right?”
“Nah, I’ve tortured you enough with my own vocal ridicule.” Eddie snickers, Steve joins him. “It’s nothing much, but yeah. It’s here if you want it.”
“Okay… yeah. Thanks.”
Steve smiles, very briefly. His mind reminds him far too soon that nothing is fixed. Sure, he’s not pissed off at Eddie. The apology was genuine. Beside, it takes way too much brainpower to hold grudges.
But Eddie doesn’t remember what Steve will never forget. That’s still very real.
“Hey, Eddie.” Steve checks again. Just to be certain. “You really don’t remember Saturday?”
There’s a pause. “I really am sorry, Steve.”
Yeah. Sucks just as hard as it did on Monday.
“I know you said not to be sorry for my memory, but I am.”
Well… Eddie remembers their fight.
“Glad you remember that part.” Steve finds the positive. Even if it tastes bitter, it’s positive-ish. “Thanks for calling, Eds.”
“Thanks for not hanging up.”
“Oh, there was deep contemplation about hanging up.”
Eddie lets out a single snort. “Good. At least you’re consistent.”
“I figured there would be lots of bad karma for hanging up on a dude that’s bed-ridden in a hospital.”
“Undoubtedly bad karma. They’d put you in karma jail for such actions.”
“Glad I decided against it then. I’m way too pretty for karma jail.”
“You’re way too pretty for any iteration of jail, Steve Harrington.”
The conversation becomes a stream of easy jokes and harmless insults. Steve prefers it this way, feelings or no feelings. He likes the relaxed discussions that he can have with Eddie. He likes how Eddie will run wild with a topic, so that he can just listen. He likes that Eddie will gladly shut up if Steve wants to interject.
Steve just likes him. Likes Eddie.
They talk until Eddie takes his nighttime meds, promptly falling asleep. Snoring into the phone speaker. Steve stays on the line a little while longer. Waits until he hears the heart monitor beating out a steady rhythm.
He hangs up and heads to bed himself. Forgets all about his onion dip and the Andy Griffith marathon.
Day 66:
It’s six in the morning. The sun is gradually hitting the horizon, but Steve is wide awake regardless. He’s a fairly competitive person, but Steve definitely shouldn’t be competing with things like nature, goddamnit.
He picks up the phone, the same one he used last night to talk to Eddie. Swears that it’s still warm from being pressed to his cheek for hours.
He calls Robin. It’s inconsiderate as hell to call this early, but she’s the only one of his friends that might answer at this hour.
Might being the key word. There’s no answer.
Steve sucks in a deep breath. Decides to be extra annoying and calls again.
“Hello?” Thank god it’s not her dad.
“Morning, Buckley.”
“Bye.”
“Wait!”
Robin swears under her breath a few times. “Why? Why must you insist on having the sleep schedule of a farm animal, Steve?”
“Trust me, it’s not by choice.”
“I don’t trust anyone that calls me before noon.” She yawns the last few words of her sentence. “Something must be wrong with you.”
“Nothing’s wrong with me. Nothing you didn’t already know about anyway.” Steve does want to chat and get his mind off of things, but he also needed to hear his friend’s voice. “Just wanted to check in.”
This is what they do now. They have to. No one else is going to check on them because no one else even knows that they literally threw flames at a demonic entity. So they call or show up whenever they can.
They have to.
“I’m hanging in there.” Which is seemingly better than ‘I’m here.’ That phrase is an emotional grenade. “How about you?”
Steve laughs, then sighs. “Obviously sleep is a fuckshow. But yeah. Hanging in there too.”
They shift to lighter subjects. Movies they’re excited to see. Plans to try the new Italian restaurant on Main Street. All the petty town gossip they can think of.
Robin talks about Vickie too. Apparently, they have the same top four favorite novels. She mentions that three times in the same breath, so that must be a pretty big deal. Steve can hear her smiling through every ordinary detail she shares, which makes him happy. He’s glad his best friend has found someone that makes the ordinary shit seem like an adventure.
It selfishly makes him think of Eddie though. How badly he wants to bring him up after every other sentence. How random words remind him of something stupid Eddie said or did.
He’s doing so well with holding back, until Robin asks. She says his name, and Steve fucking shivers at hearing it. Eddie’s name, right in his ear.
“Haven’t seen him in a week…” Steve tries to toss it in there casually, despite how un-casual it is.
“Does that mean his memories are back?”
“Not exactly…”
Robin hums into the speaker, catching on quickly to Steve’s un-casualness. “Well, the coffee is already brewing. Might as well tell me what the fuck happened.”
He goes over everything in random order - whatever hits his mind first. The argument, the spending the night, the arm scribbles, the almost-kiss, the phone call. Steve sounds just like Robin talking about Vickie. Very little breaths and stupidly smiling over all the good parts.
He doesn’t really elaborate on the fact Eddie is a guy and that he’s attracted to him anyways. There’s so many other complicated factors, that part has seemed secondary since the beginning. And honestly, he’s sort of grateful for that. Steve doesn’t want to overthink this. He just wants to see where this will go.
It’s painfully quiet for a while once he gets through everything, even the weirdly erotic hair-massage bit. He’s starting to think they’ve lost connection when he hears Robin crunch her breakfast. Loudly.
“So…” Steve urges. “What do you think?”
She’s chewing her toast even closer to the phone. “About you being in love with Eddie? It’s weird.”
“I’m not in love with Eddie.”
“I’m sorry - you just told me that his heart monitor beats to the rhythm of a song while he’s sleeping.”
“Patiently.” It's Steve's favorite Journey song.
“Pop the champagne and prepare the gondola, my friend.” Robin exclaims. “Cause that is love.”
“Whatever.” Steve grumbles. Sort of despises how valid her point is. “Can’t believe he doesn’t remember.”
“It’s not like he’s cherry-picking his memories, dingus. This wasn’t on purpose.”
Steve clings to that fact. Robin is hardly ever wrong and he loves that about her. “Can’t believe he mentioned Scoops… that fucker.”
“Oh I can believe it.”
He holds his breath for a few seconds. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Eddie was there loitering samples as much as baby Sinclair.”
“No, he wasn’t.”
“Uh.” She sounds totally annoyed with him. “Yes. He was.”
“I think I’d remember seeing a frizzy-haired hyena at Scoops fucking Ahoy, Robin.”
“You’re so wrong about this, my friend.” Robin is giggling now. Steve never knew a giggle could sound so villainous. “Eddie only came to get samples while you were scooping at the back counter.”
“Okay…” Steve says.
“You know… to enjoy the show.”
“It’s too early for this.” He huffs. “Just spell it out for me, Buckley.”
The villainous giggle returns. Might be more evil this time. “Pretty sure the middle-aged divorcees nicknamed it the Below Deck Viewing Party.”
Steve finally gets it.
Oh fuck. “My ass had a fan club?”
“Afraid so.” Robin says. “And Eddie Munson was one of its most loyal admirers.”
Steve feels like running in circles. Doing burpees or jumping jacks. Maybe he’ll just start clapping over this brand new information that’s illuminating the horniest parts of his mind.
“How have you never told me this?” Steve questions, still sizzling with energy.
“And make your big head even more insufferable?” Robing drones. “Ugh. Gag me.”
That checks out. Steve is going to be so intolerable now, especially when he wears those laundry day khakis that Eddie pretends to hate. Maybe Steve should wear them today, just for the hell of it.
They chat until Robin has to head out to work. Neither of them call much attention to the fact that Steve is crushing on a guy, so Steve assumes his brain was right along.
It’s not a big deal. There’s so much more pressing matters at hand - like the fact that his crush doesn’t remember holding his hand all night long.
That’s way more pressing than crushing on dudes.
Eddie isn’t in his hospital bed.
Eddie isn’t in his room at all.
Those realizations clog Steve’s lungs until he feels them caving in. His mind is flooded with the time that Max wasn’t in her hospital room months ago. The time she coded and nobody fucking knew until they were all standing there in a Max-less room.
Steve slumps against the wall, the weight of his lungs and his premonitions are too heavy for him to stand straight.
He’s about to crouch down, get his blood-flow to restart, when two nurses and Eddie walk through the door. They’re guiding him on either side, although he seems fairly stable on his own.
Steve is so relieved. Almost as relieved as the time Max came back after coding. Almost.
“You’re back.” It’s bordering on a question - the way Eddie says it.
“I got him,” Steve waves off the nurses. He takes Eddie’s left arm and holds it tight. Balancing both of them in entirely separate ways. The nurses thank him and he starts directing Eddie to the side of the bed. “Weird to see you standing again.”
He hasn’t seen Eddie upright since…
Steve clears his throat. “You definitely look…” Hot. “Taller than I remember.”
While that’s vaguely true, it is definitely not at the forefront of Steve’s mind. He's touching Eddie again, not in a bed and not to detach all his hospital machinery. He’s just touching him, keeping him steady with his arms, and it’s so fucking nice.
They take a few more steps and the sleeves on Eddie’s hospital gown slips off his shoulder. Steve cannot look away. There’s a gray-ish bruise right on top, extending down to Eddie’s shoulder blade. It’s been healing for months and it’s still discolored. Steve is fixated on the shadowy hue, how Eddie’s pale skin almost glows underneath it.
If Steve’s hands weren’t busy being helpful right now, he’d touch it. Watch the colors ripple under the pad of his finger.
“Well… glad to refresh your memories then.” Eddie tugs the sleeve back up, covering the patchwork skin that Steve couldn’t stop staring at. “But isn’t that your job? To refresh my impoverished frontal lobe?”
Steve redirects his focus. “Impoverished Frontal Lobe would make a good band name.”
“Shit, you’re so right. Dibs.”
“You already have a band, dumbass.”
“True - but every lead guitarist needs a backup band name. Everyone knows that. Fallouts are a disease to the music industry.”
Eddie remembers he plays guitar. Not accordion.
“You can have Impoverished Frontal Lobe if I can have Hometown Slut.” Steve shrugs to one side.
“Can’t have what’s already yours, Stevie.”
Steve finally releases Eddie’s arm, no reason to still be holding it. No medical reason anyways. He catches himself smiling at the natural return of their banter. Even though Steve left, his attraction to Eddie didn’t budge one goddamn inch.
Picking up the visitation routine is easy. Steve settles into the same well-worn chair, turns on the same daytime tv shows, chews the same minty gum that Sam leaves for him at the check-in desk. It’s all the same. As things should be.
Where Steve is supposed to be.
“It’s good to see you again.” The phrase - Eddie’s words - it all reminds Steve of holding shells up to his ears at the beach. “Sorta got used to you being here.” If Steve listens close enough, there’s an I missed you somewhere inside.
“Same.” There’s an I missed you too inside Steve’s words as well.
“And since your back…” Eddie does a drumroll over his thighs. “I can give you your gift.”
“You didn’t mention on the phone that this was a gift.”
“Thought it was implied.” Eddie bends down, drags a basket out from under his hospital bed. He pushes it over to Steve’s chair. “Here.”
Steve is beaming right away because it’s so tacky and gaudy, all synonyms that relate to Eddie. The basket is painted gold, sort of cracking around the splinters of wood. It’s oversized - much bigger than it needs to be for the items sitting inside of it. The clear plastic around it has a silvery glint and it’s so fucking noisy when he moves it around.
It’s not something Steve would’ve ever picked out to give as a gift. But the whole thing screams Eddie Munson, which makes it perfect.
“Yeah yeah, I know. It’s just one of the baskets from the hospital gift shop.” Eddie gestures broadly around the present, smacking the crinkly plastic a few times. “But I emptied out all of the lousy shit. Even replaced it with all of your vending machine preferences.”
It’s a gentle jab at Steve’s vending machine metaphor from last week. The basket is stacked with Steve’s favorite chips and candy - the ones he still chooses week after week.
Eddie remembers that Steve loves Utz potato chips and Junior Mints.
There’s a few sodas thrown in there too. The bottom layer is littered with the sugar packets that Steve hoards for his cafeteria coffee breaks.
But underneath all the snacks and sugar and sodas, there’s a card. It says ‘Feel Better Soon’ on the front.
“Oh yeah, that came with the basket.” Eddie flicks at the edge of the card.
The greeting card hits Steve harder than it should. Eddie has no memory of all the monstrous fuckery Steve has witnessed. So, he can’t even begin to know how much Steve needed that silly little reminder. That Steve needs to get well soon, feel better, hang in there. All of those corny sayings, Steve needs all of them.
“I did write something in it though.”
Steve’s eyes shift up to Eddie. “You did?”
Eddie nods. “Didn’t know if you’d wanna talk to me again after last week.”
Eddie still remembers Steve storming out on Monday. (It’s the first time Steve wishes Eddie would forget something.)
Steve opens the card, but Eddie leans over to grab it out of his hands.
“Don’t read it here.” Eddie fans himself with the card. His hair wisps around, reminds Steve of a windstorm. “Even the freak is susceptible to the occasional embarrassment, okay?”
Steve gives Eddie a thumbs up and looks back over the items. None of them are expensive or luxurious or anything like. It’s all stuff Eddie could scavenge around for. But all of it is thoughtful. Significant.
“So… how are the memories?” Steve asks.
Eddie fills him in while they munch on their mountain of goodies. Music is still the strongest remedy. He tells Steve that if finishes physical therapy, he’ll be approved to play his guitar. Both of them are hopeful that will help unlock his past even more.
Steve pokes fun that Eddie always skipped gym class. He bets Eddie twenty bucks that he’ll play hookie at least once.
Eddie says ‘make it fourty.’ They shake hands on it.
They catch up and get stomachaches from all of the artificially sweetened crap they just ingested. Or maybe they just feel sick from laughing at all the stupid infomercials on tv. Whatever it is, they’re both sore and smiling by the end of the day.
“Guess I should head out.” Steve can already see the gears turning in Eddie’s head, wondering if he’ll be back. “Cool if I return to my usual schedule?”
Eddie’s chest falls. His shoulders relax. “As long as it’s not out of pity.”
“I don’t pity you, Eds.” Steve says. “The nurses, however…”
Eddie rolls his eyes. “Alright, alright. You’ve made your point, dickwad.”
Steve can’t bring himself to hold Eddie’s hand, not really sure why. Things have been mended, but maybe not enough. Maybe it’s all still too fresh.
Instead, Steve rubs the material of Eddie’s blanket. He smooths it out between his fingers, imagining that it’s the material of Eddie’s hospital gown.
Steve’s eyes stay on the fabric in his hands. “If you remember anything after you took that new headache medicine… you’ll tell me, right?”
Eddie knocks his knuckles onto Steve’s hand. Steve lets the fabric go. He looks at Eddie, who is happier now. Warmer.
“Definitely.”
“Good.”
Steve doesn’t wait to read Eddie’s letter. He flips open the card as soon as he gets in his car.
The handwriting is pretty terrible, similar to all of Eddie’s arm scribbles. But Steve must’ve developed an overnight supernatural ability to decode Eddie Munson’s illegible penmanship because he can read every word perfectly:
Steve, The card says ‘Feel Better,’ but that seems insufficient. Just better? Nah. That doesn’t cover all the bases (look see? I threw in a sports term just for you, champ). A trust-fund catalog model that spends the majority of his week with a metalhead who has an affinity for nerd shit? No way. That kind of person deserves so much more than feeling better. You deserve to feel worthwhile. Yours truly, Eddie/Kathy/Hyde/Grendel/HSN Conspiracy Theorist ps. Sorry I’m so bad at simple apologies. Everything has to be torturously difficult with me, which you already know. pps. Well shit. I never even said it properly. I’m sorry.
Steve is overwhelmed by all of it. Even Eddie’s little doodles on the back cover are causing him shortness of breath.
It’s a sloppy skyline of mixtape-skyscrapers. The tallest one is directly in the middle. Sprawled across the bottom is the word ‘Munsonopolis,’and in quotations underneath it says, ‘featuring the Ed-pire State Building.’ There’s an exaggerated amount of arrows pointing at the one in the middle - just in case it wasn’t clear which one is the featured tower.
Not subtle, that one.
Steve is vibrating with energy the whole drive home. Eddie made so many references to past memories in that letter. Some were running jokes, sure. But others? The trust-fund dig? The sports joke? Steve has so many bullet points to add to the binder. So many things to notate. So much fucking progress.
But he doesn’t write down any of it. Instead, he staples the card to the notebook paper labeled ‘Day 66.’ Everything he’s ever needed to know is in that card. That ironically perfect card.
And it the faintest penciling, Steve writes one bullet for himself:
Robin was right. Definitely think I’m falling for him.
Day 67:
“Apology accepted, by the way.” Steve tosses a jello cup onto Eddie’s table. He snagged one at the cafeteria on his way in - just so Eddie doesn’t wrongfully assume he wanted pudding yet again.
Is it cheating to give away the answers? Yeah. But Steve is falling for this guy, so he’d buy an entire fucking factory of gelatin if Eddie requested it.
“So you read the card?” Eddie viciously tears open the jello lid. Sniffs it. Weird.
Eddie remembers writing Steve the letter.
“Read it. Marinated on it. Read it again.” Steve automatically moves the chair close to the bed. Fuck distance. “Maybe I should make deep annotations on my upcoming reread.”
Eddie grumbles. “Is this how it feels when I tease you about jock shit all the time?”
Eddie remembers their banter. Huh.
“Sure does.” And I’m totally obsessed with it.
“Are you willing to change topics?”
Steve peers over to examine Eddie’s mixtape collection. A sideways grin takes over his face. “Wanna tell me why my mixtape is at the top of the pile over there?”
“Uh…” Eddie whips his head over to the tower. “You know what - the apology card mockery wasn’t so bad after all.”
“Oh really?”
“In fact, I enjoyed it.”
Steve teases Eddie for the rest of their visit, completely unforgiving about it. Payback for two months of this.
He’s pretty sure Eddie likes it more than he does.
Day 68:
Eddie is in and out of the room for physical therapy today. Steve is unfazed by the lack of quality time because any time Eddie does return, Steve gets to help him to his bed. Gets to touch Eddie’s arm, his back. Sometimes his shoulder.
It’s becoming Steve’s hospital equivalent to the whole, ‘yawn and stretch’ move from all those movie theater dates.
“You don’t have to do this, Steve.” Eddie says it every time. “I can walk eight feet on my own.”
“Just in case…” which directly translates to, I want to do this.
Steve asks the same question at the end of every visit now:
“Call me if you remember.”
And Eddie always assures him that he will.
Day 69:
They are playing cards when Eddie brings it up. “What if I never remember?”
“Remember what?” Steve discards one of his cards to the pile. Grabs a new one from the deck.
“The thing that makes you all twitchy at the end of every visit.” Eddie does his best twitchy-Steve impression. It’s insulting, at best. “What if it doesn’t come back?”
“It’ll come back.” Steve is so sure of it. Easygoing.
“How do you know?”
“I just do.”
“How original.”
Steve flips his cards down on the table. He reaches down to the binder that’s an extension of his determination these days, flips through the pages. Pages full of breakthroughs. Even on the lousy days, even when Eddie occasionally backtracks. The pages are still full.
“This is how I know.” Steve holds Eddie’s eye contact after shutting the binder. “I see the progress. It’s not linear, not all the time… but I see it.”
Eddie reaches out. Runs his fingers across the binder, back and forth. Steve stops him the third time, places his hand over Eddie’s. There’s a hitch in Eddie’s breathing when he does it, so Steve slides away, doesn’t linger too long. He listens in to the heart monitor’s cadence for insight on the mood they’ve created.
Not the same as last Saturday. Not the tempo Steve is looking for to take initiative. Not yet.
“I win, by the way.” Eddie announces, flipping his cards over. Smiling that bonus type of smile.
“Damn right you do.”
Day 70:
Eddie is singing one of Steve’s mixtape songs, using his thermometer as a microphone. It’s purposely off-key and he’s implemented some exaggerated accent to it.
This isn’t the first time he’s done this demented-karaoke routine. In fact, Steve has had to suffer through Eddie butchering pop classics since Day 26 of these hospital visits.
He always does it to get Steve to crack - lose his temper or threaten to leave. Steve usually humors Eddie with one of these reactions because it’s fun. It’s a lighthearted habit that they formed after hard days. Pain infested days.
But this week has been good. Surprisingly adequate. Steve is back and Eddie hasn’t thrown up, not once. He only complained about the flavorless cafeteria food on Tuesday, instead of every other day. That alone is an immediate call for celebration.
So today… Steve doesn’t stomp his foot or swear under his breath. Today Steve claps. Encourages the mediocrity of it all.
“Oh, so you like it when I vocally murder your precious pop tunes?” Eddie laughs. Constantly making himself laugh.
“No, I don’t like it.” Steve folds his arms into his chest. Eddie’s laughter is contagious, Steve catches it as he speaks again. “I like you.”
Eddie’s mouth clamps up. His expression drops. His heart monitor skips two beeps in its pattern.
“Can’t believe I finally found the off-button on you.” Steve glides over to the bed. The upperhand is making him fucking fearless. “Only took me seventy days to find it.”
Steve swipes his thumb under Eddie’s jaw, watching his throat muscles tense at the pressure. Eddie gulps, barely anything goes down. Steve can feel that.
“I…”
“Don’t tell me what you think I wanna hear.” Steve checks the clock. Visiting hours ended four minutes ago, and he doesn’t need to get himself into another spending the night incident. As much as he enjoyed the wake-up call, Steve fucking despised the aftermath of reality.
“Steve…” The way he says Steve’s name - as if someone took his vocal cords and dipped them in sweetener.
“I gotta go.” Steve reaches down and squeezes Eddie’s hand one more time before releasing it. “Call me if you remember.”
He turns around to leave, but Eddie hooks his finger into Steve’s belt loop, tugs rapidly on it. Steve’s cheeks flush right away, he can’t even hide it.
“What if I call you anyway?” Eddie plays along. “Memory or no memory?”
Steve removes Eddie’s hand. He’s about to set it back down when the last bit of caution is finally thrown out the window. Steve lays a quick kiss on Eddie’s middle finger, the finger that’s most injured. He squeezes his palm once, then returns Eddie’s hand back to him.
“Maybe I’ll call you first, Munson.”
He leaves before getting a good look at Eddie’s reception to the hand kiss. Steve has never kissed another dude’s hand before, and there’s a good possibility that he might’ve been laying the charm on too thick. Smearing it all over the moment like goddamn jelly.
But the whole thing was just too irresistible. And Fully Flustered Eddie is a rare sight to behold, so Steve had to do something charismatic. His self-discipline hasn’t improved that much since high school.
Eddie ends up calling first. He calls nine minutes after Steve gets home.
Clingy bastard.
“Beat you to it, Harrington.”
“Not everything is competition, you know.”
“Is that so?” Eddie’s sarcasm is heavy. “Huh. Guess you do learn something new every day.”
“Easy for you to say. Your mind still has the training wheels on it.”
“Touché.”
Day 71:
It’s Saturday morning. Steve sleeps in - well, Steve does his version of sleeping in. Which basically means, the sun is fully up by the time he wakes up. Small victories.
His phone and alarm clock go off almost simultaneously. Which one: freaky. And two: annoying.
He walks over to his desk, eyes half-open, and picks up the phone.
“Hello?” Steve’s voice croaks into the speaker.
There’s no response, just a few heavy breaths.
Steve is more alert now. “Who is this?”
“I remember.”
Oh fuck. “Eddie?”
“You told me to call when I remember.” Eddie repeats. “I remember, Steve.”
“Holy shit um… okay.” Steve rubs the last bit of sleep from his eyes. Searches around his room for his keys or clothes or fuck - he really doesn’t know what he’s searching for.
“You coming to see me or what?”
“It’s Saturday. Henderson comes to see you on Saturdays.”
“Call and tell him to take a raincheck.” Eddie demands. Rightfully excited. “Cause I fucking remember.”
“Okay, okay.”
“I remember!”
Steve is cackling at the excitement. “I fucking heard you!”
“Get your ass over here before I say it again!”
“Alright alright!” Steve hangs up. Never gets ready so fast in his whole damn life. Almost forgets to put on underwear or style his hair.
This is what he’s been waiting for.
Eddie remembers.
It’s the first time Steve feels anxious walking into the room. He’s keenly aware that both of them are in on the secret. No more whispering around the unrequited attraction. Steve is entering a space that is laid bare. No curtains or subtle implications for either of them to hide behind.
As soon as he opens the door, that’s all in the past.
“Oh shit.” Steve isn’t expecting to see Eddie in the chair when he arrives. He’s wearing gray sweatpants under his hospital gown. Steve is pretty thankful for that - not sure the effect that Eddie’s exposed thighs would have on him in this detrimental state.
“Took your seat.” Eddie is all smug. Head to toe smugness.
“I see that.”
“You can take mine, if you want.”
“I’ll pass.”
Eddie winks. “Hope that’s the last time I hear you say that today.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
There’s a stool that the doctors use in the corner of the room. Steve takes a seat on it and rolls over towards Eddie. He stops right in front of Eddie's knees and leans his face in his hand. Tries to downplay his anticipation as much as possible.
“Wanna tell me what you remember?”
Eddie takes a deep breath. He swings his arms out to the side and lets all of his air out in one go. “My tattoos - I remember when I got them.”
Steve’s shoulders drop. Shrink.
The tattoo thing happened several days before the almost-kiss. Day 52.
“Am I wrong?”
Steve doesn’t really say anything. That’s confirmation enough.
Eddie smacks the top of his head. “Shit, I’m wrong. Made you drive all the way out here to be wrong, jesus christ.”
“Hey, hey.” Steve murmurs, keeps his voice kind. “Not entirely wrong.”
His heart feels likes a crunched-up soda can, but whatever. Yeah, Steve’s hope were set way too high, but he can’t blame Eddie for that. Eddie regained some crucial memories - that should be a good thing. It is a good thing.
“Tell me about the tattoos.” Steve rests his hand over Eddie’s knee. It’s been bouncing incessantly, but stops the second Steve touches him. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and uncover all of it by talking through it.”
“Seems stupid now.”
“Hey.” Steve is stern. “Gaining bits of yourself back is never stupid. That’s your fucking history, goddamnit.”
Steve doesn’t mean to use his coaching voice, but he does.
It works though. Eddie stares at him for a long time before admitting that Steve is right. He gives a long sigh before continuing. “I know where and when I got all of them.”
“Fantastic.” Steve gets as comfy as he can on this small, metal stool. He flips open the binder, clicks his pen. He flips it into the air - just cause.
“Tell me all about it,” He says, catching the pen with ease.
Eddie starts out pretty deflated. He starts off in chronological order, which Steve is impressed by. Steve even tries to cheer Eddie along any time he recalls specific details like locations and dates.
The support seems useful. Eddie stops frowning long enough to retell the story about getting a fake ID, just for tattoos. Not for drinking or for getting into clubs. Eddie wanted to be the only sophomore with tattoos.
Steve has never been interested in getting tattoos, there’s nothing he’s ever liked enough to prick needles into his skin. However, he really likes seeing them all over Eddie. All the dark lines and the passionate stories that go with them.
They take a lunch break and snack break, both of them equally improving Eddie’s crabby mood. Eddie gets sort of winded after talking for too long, so Steve helps him to the bed.
“You don’t have to do this.” Eddie says, sticking to his usual response.
“Thought it was obvious” Steve pulls the cover over Eddie’s arms, fluffs out the sides of his pillows. “I want to.”
“Didn’t know you were such a gentleman.” Eddie observes. “Courting the sickly is a weird move though.”
Steve takes his seat back, moving it next to Eddie’s bed. Always closing more distance than he did the last time. “Good thing you’re not sickly then.”
“Courting the freak is still a weird move.”
“Well, say the word and I’ll lay off.”
Eddie mimes zipping his mouth shut, tossing the invisible key into the trash bin.
“Looks like we’re all done with your tattoo summaries.” Steve glances over the bullet points, folds the binder shut. “Anything else you wanna do?”
He’s waiting for Eddie to take his turn. Steve has been leading the affection for days, so he’s cautious about any further touching. Needs physical permission to continue.
“Actually…” Eddie shakes his head. “We’re not done with my tattoo summaries.”
“We’re not?”
“I have six tattoos, Stevie. Not five.”
That can’t be right. Dustin told Steve all about Eddie’s tattoos weeks ago. This must be Eddie’s mind messing with him.
“My memory isn’t faulty, not this time.” Eddie taps over the binder before yanking it away. “I do have another tattoo, Stevie. You’ve just never seen it.”
This dirty chess game just got way more interesting.
There’s no point in playing it safe now. Both of them are taking risks, playing offensively. All guards are down, miles away from Indiana.
“Prove it, then.” Steve’s cheeks warm up. He can feel the blood all over, in his ears, in the tip of his nose. “Show me.”
Eddie’s teeth look sharper when he smiles this time. Like Steve’s dare has turned his bones into blades.
“Are you gonna wig out if I lift this stupid gown up?”
Yes. Steve would never admit that, but yeah. Internally, he’s wigging out so fucking hard right now.
“You’ve puked all over me, dude. If I didn’t haul ass after that, I’m not gonna haul ass after seeing your skin.”
Eddie glares at him. “Could’ve just said no, but whatever. Be a smart ass.”
“Takes one to know one.”
Eddie twists onto his side, bunching up the material and settling it under his arms. Right over his rib cage, is the sixth tattoo.
It’s a birdcage, one that’s been mangled. The metal bars are all crooked and the cage door is wide open. One of Eddie’s demobat scars goes diagonally through the body art, like those creatures were the ones to slash it open. Destroying Eddie’s body in a multitude of ways.
Steve wants to touch it, feel the healing claw marks that look so much like his own, but deeper. He hides his own scars every day with sweaters and jackets, so it’s easy to forget how connected they are. How much pain they are forced to wear. Mutated skin and mutilated minds.
One battle with death and darkness has made them more alike than society ever would have.
“Where’s the bird?” Steve finally asks, mainly to stop his hand from reaching over, brushing the black lines and red scars.
“Didn’t have a chance to get it done.”
“No?”
Eddie contorts his face. “I got this part done back in January. And I was planning to get the bird inked up on the opposite side once I graduated…”
The last word gets all strangled in Eddie’s throat. Steve barely hears it, doesn’t really need to hear it though. He figures it out by the way Eddie’s hands become fists. How he screws his eyes shut, refusing to let the anger fuel his tears.
Steve gets it. Most of his anger turns to sadness these days too. He knows he’s not a weak person, he knows that. But when those two emotions whisk themselves into a twister, Steve feels puny. Pathetic.
He lets his fingers circle the birdcage design on Eddie’s ribs. A cage on top of another cage. He’s pretty sure Eddie did that on purpose - the guy is obsessed with wordplay. Steve makes a spiral shaper over Eddie’s skin, letting the pattern get smaller and smaller as he reaches the center of the design.
Eddie just watches him do it, Steve can feel the stare, the attention. His breathing is shallow, almost stopped. Almost like he’s holding his breath until Steve finishes whatever he’s doing.
“It suits you.” Steve says, moving his palm over to the scar now. Letting the damaged parts of Eddie receive just as much recognition as the tattoo. Eddie didn’t choose to have these markings, but it doesn’t matter. They’re here now. May as well acknowledge them. Engrave them into his history.
“The tattoo?”
Steve looks up. “All of it.”
“Steve.” Eddie tugs on Steve's arm, nails digging in harder than they need to. He almost makes the gesture feel like a question.
Steve answers it. He sits on the edge of the bed and settles one arm over Eddie’s body for support.
This is exactly where they were one week ago. Sharing the same breath, sharing the same tension.
But the resemblance to their sleep-driven moment from last week stops there. They’ve constructed something new, better. There’s anguish from the past and there’s breakable desire for their present. Last week was surreal, dreamy. This week is unrefined.
Steve can’t comprehend why he likes the rawness of today so much more.
“Am I reading this wrong?” Eddie’s hand lifts up to Steve’s cheek, thumb stroking the corner of his lips.
Steve chuckles, whisper-level laughter. “You’re stealing all of my moves here, Munson.”
"What moves?"
"I said the same thing last week."
“Wait.” Eddie’s huge eyes somehow defy science. Get bigger. “That wasn’t a dream?”
“What wasn’t a dream?”
“That really happened?”
Steve is only half listening. “What are you talking about?”
“Well.. almost happened, I guess I should say.” Eddie is starting to ramble. "The nurses told me that I was having batshit crazy dreams all weekend long. I just assumed there was no way that could've been real."
“Can you please tell me what we’re talking about?”
Eddie is grinning, bouncing in the bed like a spring-loaded toy. “I can’t believe I thought it was a dream this whole fucking week!”
“For the love of god, Munson. Just tell me what happened in this stupid dream!”
Eddie cups Steve’s face and pulls him into a kiss. Kisses the glower right off Steve’s mouth. It only takes a split-second for Steve to react, leaning into it. Steve controls the pace to keep everything soft for Eddie’s sake. Calm hands, smooth lips, slow movements.
There’s a small cut on Eddie’s upper lip, Steve can finally feel it now. He opens his mouth enough to lick over it. Pay extra care to the fragile parts.
Eddie whines a little, his hands dropping to Steve’s collar, dragging him into his chest. Steve lets him, lets the kiss get rougher. Sloppier.
It’s clear that Eddie does not share Steve’s careful approach. He’s so grabby, so possessive. His teeth mash into Steve’s bottom lip. He takes the opportunity to bite and tug, makes Steve yelp. Teeth and kissing is usually a turn off, but god, Steve is obsessed with how Eddie does it. How greedy he is.
Steve dips his mouth in, opens up enough to let Eddie bite and lick as much as he pleases. Be greedy. His free hand is planted on Eddie’s waist, just above his bird cage tattoo.
“Come here.” Eddie’s breath is warm, tinged with the chocolate they had on their snack break. He’s pulling Steve harder now, never breaking the kiss for long.
Steve scoots another inch, slides his hand all the way up to Eddie’s neck. “If I get any closer, I’ll be on top of you.”
“I know how physics works, Harrington.”
“Your super-senior status says otherwise.”
“Please, shut up.” Eddie kisses him harder. His skin is extra pink everywhere Steve has pressed against him. For someone that kisses so madly, he looks so soft. Fresh-laundry soft. “Closer, baby.”
Steve sucks all of the air out of the kiss, totally startled by the nickname. He makes a sound, hopefully nothing too whorish or breathy. But Eddie definitely heard it because he’s smiling against Steve’s lips.
Getting closer isn’t really an option with all of the wires and the unlocked door. So Steve drags his lips under Eddie’s jaw, down his neck. Improvises a way to feel closer, explore deeper.
“Holy shit, you’re good at this.” Eddie hisses, tangling his hands into Steve’s hair.
Getting compliments on his kissing technique makes Steve preen, has to fight the urge to mark up Eddie’s already bruised neck. Explaining fresh hickies to an army of doctors would not be a pleasant task. So Steve flattens his tongue, runs it diagonally across Eddie’s collarbone. Pecks kisses over all the wet spots.
Eddie’s hands drift down to Steve’s chin, lifting his focus back up. “Steve.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re just…” Eddie’s eyes dart all over Steve’s face. He's breathing hard, his heart monitor and his pulse are at war right now. So many rhythms in their shared space. “You’re very pretty.”
“You think so?”
“The universe thinks so.” Eddie kisses Steve’s cheek - feels like tiny embers over his skin. “I’m just confirming it.”
Steve smiles, takes a minute to catch his breath. He’s finally realizing how little he’s been breathing for the last few minutes. His lungs ache the way they would after swim meets. Rattled and burning.
"I like you too, by the way." Eddie kisses Steve’s other cheek, makes it even. “Just to clear things up.”
Eddie remembers Steve spilling his heart out yesterday.
“Consider things clear.” Steve laces their fingers together, under Eddie’s blanket. Each of them staring at the connection, both highly aware it means so much more than helpless support this time.
It means absolutely everything.
Steve’s back in the stupid chair that will never be close enough to Eddie. They lower Eddie’s bed so that Steve can rest his elbow on the side, play with Eddie’s hair just like he did with Steve last week.
He’s infatuated with how different their hair textures feel. Eddie’s hair is all frazzled and knotted. Still soft, but not like Steve’s hair. If Steve’s hair is cashmere, Eddie’s hair is woven wool.
“So you thought last Saturday was a dream, huh?” Steve questions.
“I have some crazy vivid dreams.”
Steve shakes his head. “But all that stuff I said to you. Why did you act so confused?”
“The headache medication knocked me out.” Eddie explains. “I thought you heard me talking in my sleep… saying embarrassing shit and you and your hair.”
“So you thought I was mocking you?”
Eddie hums. Very hushed.
Steve untangles his hand from Eddie’s head and sighs. “You should’ve just told me what you were thinking.”
“I know that now.”
“We could’ve been making out all week.”
“Guess we should make up for lost time then.” Eddie hooks his index finger into Steve’s sweater, tugging him closer. Always tugging.
Steve angles himself to meet Eddie in the middle, kissing him sweetly this time, less urgency. Eddie’s lips are still puffy from Steve sucking on them. He wants to do it all over again, keep them puffed-out and swollen.
The kiss is so slow and so good, that Steve only breaks away when his neck muscles start to tighten up. Too many awkward kissing positions in this hospital room - Steve wants to get Eddie into his car or his bed. The floor might be good too.
“So,” Steve threads their hands back together. “Care to fill me in on your little ‘later, sailor’ comment from last week?”
“You did work at the finest ice cream chain to ever grace Hawkins, did you not?” Eddie retorts.
“Yeah. But of all things, how did you remember that?”
Eddie pokes to the top of Steve’s head with his free hand.
“My hair?”
“Your hairspray or product or whatever you use.” Eddie ruffles it and Steve tries not to become liquid at the touch. “Apparently smells can trigger memories almost instantly.”
“Woah.” Steve makes a mental note on that.
“Very woah.”
“And what about… the club?”
“What club? Hellfire?”
“No, not Hellfire.” Steve playfully pinches the inside of Eddie's palm. “The Below Deck club.”
“Fucking hell, you know about that?” Eddie covers his face. “Somebody please, end my suffering. I can’t go on. Not like this.”
Steve is cackling now, keeling over in his chair, almost tearing up from how much he’s laughing. And each time Eddie tells him to knock it off, he laughs harder. This is a better ab workout than he’s ever had at the gym, he should just cancel his fucking membership.
“All I’m hearing is that my ass is unforgettable.” Steve wipes a laughter-induced tear from his eye.
“Cruel.” Eddie mumbles into his hands. “This humiliation is cruel.”
Steve flips back onto the bed, yanking Eddie’s wrists away from his face. “It’s hot.”
“Drooling over an ice cream employee is hot?”
“You drooled?”
“Dear god, stop this madness.” Eddie grabs the tv remote and aims it at his face.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to rewind my mouth from saying stupid shit.”
“Eddie, chill out.” Steve takes the remote, hiding it behind his back. “I’m just glad you remember me. Even if my ass is the most memorable feature.”
“These are pretty memorable too.” Eddie smushes Steve’s cheeks, forces his lips to pucker out.
“Oh yeah?”
“And these.” Eddie squeezes Steve’s biceps. Steve rolls his eyes and wraps Eddie’s arms around him.
They fall back into a long kiss. Visiting hours are about to end, and Sam is off on the weekends. No one is here to let Steve stay the night. So he kisses Eddie like time isn’t a factor. Steve kisses him slow and nice. Eats up any sugary sounds that leave Eddie’s mouth. Whispers how crazy he is about him any time they come up for air.
“I wish you could stay.”
Steve’s heart rips around the edges hearing Eddie say that. Christ, he wants to stay too. So fucking badly. Wants to stock up on chapstick and water so they can make out all night.
“Maybe I can come back tomorrow?” Steve suggests. “Give your bandmates the day off?”
Eddie nods, nuzzles into the crook of Steve’s neck. “Hey, Steve?”
“Yeah?”
“What if I forget about this?”
Steve hugs Eddie tighter. “Don’t say that.”
“It could happen.” Eddie peers up at him. “Fuck, I don’t want it to happen, but it could.”
“Hey hey, stop it.” Steve clicks their foreheads together and closes his eyes.
He can’t lie. He can’t tell Eddie that forgetting is impossible. But Steve can keep his eyes closed and savor every minute of today. He can hold Eddie’s kiss-warm cheeks and just hope that everything will be okay tomorrow.
Steve opens his eyes. He sees the Hawkins senior-class ring on his hand, and it gives him an idea.
“Here.” Steve plucks the ring off of his left index finger. He leans over and places it in Eddie’s drawer, right next to his dice collection. “If you remember what happened tonight, you’ll know where that ring is. Put it on tomorrow, so I can visually know that you didn’t forget. So I know it’s okay to come in here and kiss you stupid some more.”
"Like this?" Eddie kisses Steve noisily and they laugh, ignoring the shitty alternative for just a minute longer.
“And if I come in and you don’t have it on… well, I’ll be on my best behavior.” Steve gets up from the bed, crosses his fingers over his heart. “No surprise make out sessions or lewd comments, I swear.”
“You’ll be okay with that?”
That’s a tricky question, Steve doesn’t have a ‘yes or no’ answer to it. He’ll be disappointed, that’s undeniable. But he’s so far into this with Eddie. The notes and the recovery and the feelings. Everything is netted together. Steve couldn’t separate it even if he tried.
“I meant what I said yesterday. I like you, Eds.” Steve puts on a brave smile.
“So yeah. If you forget, then it’ll be a pleasure to restart with you.”
Steve swipes Eddie’s bangs to the side so that he can give him a kiss right in the center of his forehead. Kissing the place where all of Eddie’s memories are tucked away, even the lost ones. Wishing and aching for the memories of tonight to lock into that place, stay safe and secure.
Just stay.
Don’t get lost in there.
Please.
#🎶here comes some contenttttt🎶#steddie fic#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#memory log#it's a chonky update but y'all said not to apologize for that soooo 🤐#there will be one more part after this#then we will be done!#thank you to anyone still reading along - totally makes my day#and I'm so sorry if I miss any tags - doing my very best I swear xx
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