#Cats cant write

[jumpybox]

Bad Sansuary - Day 1 [Horror - Hot Drinks]

((It's been so long since I posted something and when I saw and read @ask-sibverse doing this, I decided to do it too...though I wanted to scratch that weird itch that suddenly came to me for wanting to ship my SpiderFell!Sans (Fens) with the Bad Sanses...so, yeah, sorry Uu))

=====

He never was one to like hot drinks, if he was honest, he just couldn't tolerate the heat at all, but once he came to the castle, he realized that they weren't all that bad, if anything the  intimate moments that followed after was what he was after, even if he would forever deny them. It was during one of those times , while he sat on the chair close to the stove, that he kept his eyelights on Horror, who was making this time around hot chocolate. 

Neither of them talked during those times, but it’s not like they needed to fill the silence with words, it was just them and they understood each other just fine, so the silence was more than welcome between them. Of course, at one point, Horror started to softly humm a tune that Fens didn't know, but it was so nice, that the spider skeleton just closed his eyesockets and enjoyed the sweet humm, certainly, he really liked this kind of moments when it was just him and Horror the most. 

He opened bleary eyesockets when he felt a hand resting on his skull, having him raise his skull to see a cup of hot chocolate being offered to him. He let out a yawn and one of his arms moved from under his poncho to grab the cup, nodding his head in thanks.

The low deep chuckle that came from Horror, had the skeleton spider just look at the bigger skeleton, who was petting his skull gently. “come on, lets go see…what the others are watching” Horror stopped the petting and he started to walk away slowly. Fens nodded and before he stood up, he took a sip of his cup, eyesockets blinking when he realized when his drink wasn't as hot as other times.He made a soft confused noise. “i know you don't like hot stuff, so i waited for it to cool down,” came the answer to his silent question, having Horror look back at him and another chuckle escaping the bigger skeleton. “come on…let’s go fens” an offered hand was directed his way and the spider skeleton finally stood up and walked towards Horror, extending another arm to hold onto the more bigger and stronger hand. “ɹoɹɹoH 'noʎ ʞuɐɥ┴” came the whisper.

Horror blinked but gave their held hands a soft squeeze. “of course”

Fens never was one to like hot drinks, if he was honest, but in moments like this? He was thankful he had Horror looking out for him.

[time-woods]

more simon doodles (still trying to get that adventure time whimsy artstyle down

who knew drawing in a style thats nothing like my own would be so difficult- ive only attempted twice but still, its hard- so many round shapes when im so used to geometric ones

[dorizard-art]

This one physically hurt to draw but we can’t have 2012 posting with fandomstuck

---

[Image ID: Image 1 shows the personifications of the Homestuck, Super-who-lock and Warrior Cats fandoms in the Homestuck art style. They are seated in a room with a ball pit in the background, and a sign that reads “2012 cringe fandom support group”. Dialogue follows. Homestuck: Where’s Onecler? Super-who-lock: Probably still upset about the sexy-man poll. Warrior Cats: tch, those twittypets don’t know anything! End dialogue. Image 2 shows a personification of tumblr kicking open the door, drawn like the Phineas and Ferb meme and yelling: “GUYS HOLY FUCK”. Image 3 shows tumblr pointing dramatically towards the camera, dialogue follows: The twitter users are coming so we have to make this place as inhospitable as possible. So grab your Tardises and your quadrants and your plinko horses, we’re firing shots to keep the rent down. Image 4 shows a close-up of the Warrior Cats fandom looking in awe. Dialogue follows: Warrior Cats: Oh can we call ourselves tumblr-clan? Tumblr: That’s... the best idea I’ve heard all goddamn day. Maximum cringe, tumblrinas! end ID]

[xhanisai]

It's always about Adrien/Chat Noir and his cat tendencies here and there BUT WHAT ABOUT MARINETTE/LADYBUG AND HER CAT LOVER TENDENCIES???

YOU CAN'T TELL ME THAT SHE DOESN'T SUDDENLY JUST PICK HIM UP BECAUSE SHE FINDS HIM SO CUTE OR THAT SHE DOESN'T CONSTANTLY RUFFLE HIS HAIR OR KISS HIS NOSE OR PLAY WITH HIS HANDS OR SUDDENLY GRAB HIS FACE AND KISS IT ALL OVERRRRRR COME ON HE IS HER CHATON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

AND SHE WILL LOVE HIM LIKE A CHATON SHOULD BE LOVED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[psychidelias]

There's something so beautiful about Red Dwarf just as a concept and as a series.

Comedy aside, it has one of the most meaningful messages I think I've ever seen. The whole idea of being hopelessly lost and alone in the infinity of space but still having hope and love is just unbelievable. Dave Lister is just the ultimate guy ever.

He's a loser, a nobody, a complete write-off in terms of his career, a depressed, lonely man who is the last of his species, the only one left, three million years away from home.

Yet he still has hope. He still appreciates beauty in the rockiest places. He still believes in justice and life above all else, so much so that his worst fear is losing his morality. He still goes on.

He's so far away from home that there's no realistic hope of getting back, but he doesn't care. He makes a home out of everything and everyone around him, eternally living in the only way -the best way- he can.

He's created his own Promised Land.

[of-the-eventide]

"You know... Even before you joined the Scions, you caught our eye quite quick." "Was it my good looks and pleasant personality?" "...I see what you're doing there... But no, most definitely not."

[the-cookie-of-doom]

"I don't want to talk about this." Kim doesn't have anyone he can talk to about this.

Porsche takes three shot glasses out from behinds the bar and lines them up. Fills each. "Drink," he orders.

Kim side-eyes the glasses. Looks around the bar; near-empty at this hour.

He drinks, one after the other. It burns going down.

"I'm still not talking about it," he says.

"I know." Porsche pulls a single shot for himself. Kim admires his restraint. Then again, only one of them can afford to get laid out, and Porsche has decided it's going to be Kim.

Kim taps one of the glasses, and Porsche obliges him with two more pours. By the time he sets the second face down on the bar top, he feels it. Warmth in his face and cotton in his head. He can convince himself he's barely tipsy, so long as he doesn't move his head, because then the earth tips out from under him. Tipsy.

"Ready to talk about it?"

"Ask me."

"Are you trying to sleep with my baby brother?"

Kim hums. Shakes his head. Regrets it. "Nope, not ready."

Porsche whistles, impressed, and pours another shot.

"You're going to be so fucked up tomorrow."

The six shots Kim sucked down slam him twenty minutes later. He should have expected it; Porsche probably did, and that's why he's laughing at Kim now, snapping pictures of him slumped over the bar and moaning in misery, offering no comfort. It was Porsche's idea to get him loose-lipped with truth serum in the form of alcohol, but Kim let him do it, so it was his fault, really.

Once Porsche has gotten enough blackmail material to last a lifetime, he closes up the bar, then drags Kim over to a booth so they can talk.

"So. Porchay."

"Porchay," Kim agrees, a lyrical slur into his arms.

"You wanna tell me what's going on there?"

"I like him s'much. He's so, so-mmm, good, he's good, and nice, and..." Kim trails off, mumbling something incoherent. "Kissed him."

"What?"

"I kissed him. On his face. I missed. He smells s'good. I wanna kiss 'im again."

Porsche laughs. "Are you trying to sleep with him?"

"Mmmno. Maybe?" Kim tries to push himself upright, and only manages to slump enough enough that he can side-eye Porsche as he says, "Dunno how."

"What?"

"Are you gonna be mad?"

"Probably not. What do you mean, you don't know how?" Kim makes a miserable sound. His eyes are fever-bright, and his cheeks are flushed, and Porsche is pretty sure it's not just from the alcohol. Kim buries his face back in his arms to hide. "Kim, are you-?"

"No." He waves a hand at Porsche. "Kinda."

"Kinda."

"You know."

Porsche does know, but he a mean part of him wants to make Kim say it, because he's an asshole, and bullying little brothers is what he does. He's definitely not going to bully Chay about this, his poor brother would die. So he can harass his own boyfriend's younger brother instead. He relents, though, because Kim looks all kinds of pitiful and sad when he next surfaces from the sanctuary of his arms. Scratch that, he looks distressed.

"I think I want to, I do, I want it - but I haven't - and Chay - I don't want to - what if I'm not-"

"Take a deep breath, kiddo." Kim does. "What, you're afraid of disappointing him?" A small nod, and Kim looks so young, and nervous, that it pulls at Porsche's heart. "Aww. You couldn't."

"Yuh-huh," Kim mumbles.

"Nah. Trust me. That kid is so gone on you." This makes Kim smile. Bright and beautiful and bigger than Porsche has ever seen. In person, at least.

"I love him so much."

"Yeah?" Porsche knows for a fact that Kim has not told Chay as much. He already knows how smitten Kim is, and has for a while - it's why they're having this conversation at all, because Kim is over his head in love, and doesn't know what to do about it, and God forbid he talk about it sober - but the confirmation is nice to hear.

"I gotta - gotta tell him." Kim squirms around until he successfully gets his phone out of his pocket, pushing at the buttons on his lock screen in an unsuccessful attempt to open it. Porsche careful reaches across and take it from him.

"Hey, no, absolutely not. The first time Chay hears that from you is not going to be in the middle of your drunken ranting. He deserves better than that."

Doesn't mean he won't want to know about it later, though, which is why Porsche has had his phone on and recording this entire exchange. He'll save it for their wedding.

"I'll write him a song," Kim declares. "I'll write so many songs, a whole album. all about him, I'll-I'll-" He seemingly loses his train of thought, patting around the table like he's looking for something. Probably a pen. Porsche helpfully hands him one, and Kim latches onto it, scribbling lyrics into a napkin. Porsche can't wait to see what he comes up with later.

"Why haven't you talked to him?" Porsche gently prompts, interrupting his creative flow. He's pretty sure whatever lyrics Kim is coming up with right now are nonsensical anyway.

"Afraid."

"Oh what? Of him rejecting you? Because that's impossible."

Kim shakes his head, looks like he's about to throw up, manages not to. "The other thing."

"What other thing?"

"Him wanting me." Except Chay does want Kim, and Kim has to know it. He's not blind. Porsche tells him as much, and Kim shakes his head, says, "He thinks so, because he doesn't have me. But if he does, and he doesn't want me anymore, because I don't, I don't..."

Porsche thinks Kim might say, I don't know how to be loved, and it breaks his heart. He slides around the booth so he can pull Kim into his side, and tries not to react when Kim bursts into tears. He didn't know Kim knew how to cry.

"Chay's so good, he's everything, and I'm not, I'm not, I don't-"

"Hey, hey, stop that. Calm down, it's okay, you're okay. Come on, what's all this?" Porsche ruffles his hair and laughs. "You're Wik! You're Khimhan Theerapanyakul.

Kim wheezes, "Not good," and Porsche crushes him in a one-armed hug that Kim doesn't even try to fight.

"Good enough for my little brother. Kay? Trust me, I'm the expert, and I'm giving you my blessing. So pull yourself together."

"Nnng?"

"Yeah, idiot, I'm giving you my permission to defile Chay."

"I wanna hold his hand and kiss his cheek and take him on a date. A real date. Imma get him flowers. What kind of flowers does he like?"

"He's allergic."

"Oh."

"But you can still do the other stuff."

"Oh." Another brilliant smile. "Yay."

"But before that..." Porsche waits for Kim to put it together, but he doesn't, blinking up at Porsche with his big brown eyes and waiting for direction. Porsche finishes the thought. "You have to talk to him first."

"Oh. Not yay."

"Hey, at least you already know what the answer's gonna be." Porsche cuffs his shoulder. "Do it for Chay, so you can have all that filthy hand-holding and cheek kisses and dates."

-

The next day greets Kim with the worst hangover he's had in his life, his body violently rejecting every ounce of alcohol he forced into it. When he can stop throwing up long enough to string together a coherent thought, he texts Porsche to inform him he's the worst person alive, his ideas are horrible, Kim is never trusting him again, and he's going to kill him the next time he sees him, just for good measure. His body hurts in ways he didn't know were possible, and it's Porsche's fault, and vengeance will be had. Just as soon as he can walk again.

Drink plenty of fluids! Porsche cheerfully replies. And don't forget to talk to Chay. Or else I'm sending him the video of you last night.

Well.

Fuck.

[kkolg]

guys I hate to break it to you but my Md au “the new dawn” has warrior cat elements in it😔 prophecies and all dawg like it’s crazy

I’m apologizing in advance

[tragicotps]

Young Masriel au [part 1: First meeting]: Recently returned from one of his expeditions, Asriel plans to crash one of Edward Coulter's exclusive dinner parties for networking purposes. At the door he's greeted by a mysterious and attractive young woman, who turns out to be married to the party host and coincidentally one of his biggest political rivals.

[mist-dancing]

Tawnypelt and Leafstar old lady yuri? Moonpaw x moonpool?! Destruction of starclan? New travel arc? You guys are hyping the next arc up too much and now i’m excited

[beaulesbian]

please accept these luffy lucci memes i had to do right after watching the new ep

[jumpybox]

Bad Sansuary - Day 2 [Horror - Romance]

“hey! hey fens, come here!” 

Fens blinked and looked up from the magazine he had been reading for the past half hour; or well, it was more picture looking than reading really, he didn't have his glasses with him, broken at one point, many years ago,  to look at Killer who had been the one to call out for him. Confused but with something close to curiosity, the spider skeleton stood up and walked towards where the other skeleton was, only to get pulled and dragged away by his poncho to who knows where. When they arrived, Fens looked at what was going on and tilted his head to the side. Right there, in front of them was Horror, Error and Dust, the three of them were watching the TV and at least two of them were crying. Killer was snickering, trying hard to not be loud, of course it was still loud enough that it had Error trying to shut up Killer before chasing him away. Fens walked closer and looked at Horror before cleaning the tears that were falling from his working eyesocket. “¿pǝuǝddɐɥ ʇɐɥʍ” he whispers, confused by seeing one of the others like that. Dust ended up snorting and pointed at the TV, in that moment there was a couple of humans hugging and kissing and between them was a dog wagging its tail. “for some reason we ended up watching this movie…it’s a romance one and the humans ended up breaking up but…” Horror decided to interrupt Dust in that moment.

“the dog…it was apart from his…masters and didn't…know what was going on…in the end…they got together and…the dog was happy again” was the explanation the taller skeleton gave, looking at Fens.

The spider skeleton blinked once more and he hadn't realized he had gotten tense until his shoulders slacked in relief.

“qɯnp ǝɹ,noʎ” he petted Horror’s shoulder and shook his head lightly, looking back at the TV, unaware of the looks he had gotten from both the other skeletons there who had ended up seeing the rarest of tiny smiles their new recruit would show every now and then.

Day 1

[3-aem]

MY BRAINS NOT WORKING AND THE CUTE BOY I WORK WITH KEEPS CORRECTING MY GRAMMAR THIS IS SO AHAIWIAKSDHDGRRRRHRNE

[ghosttotheparty]

if you'd let me want you

also on ao3 thank u @lunaraindrop for the help <3 cw: angst <3 arguing, brief panic attacks

“I’m just saying, man,” Eddie says lightly, leaning against the counter, watching Steve lift a box and set it on a cart. He lets himself watch. Steve isn’t looking at him. He can practically feel the ground shake as Steve rolls his eyes to the ceiling. “You guys make sense together.”

“Just because something makes sense doesn’t mean it…” Steve rips the box open. Eddie wills his face not to flush with heat. “Make sense.”

“That didn’t make sense.”

Steve shoots him a look.

“I don’t like Nancy like that anymore,” he says, almost grumbling. His mood shifted as soon as Eddie brought her up a few minutes ago. He smiled when Eddie showed up at Family Video, greeting him with a bright, “Hey!” but the second Eddie asked if he’s seen Nancy recently, the perpetual soft smile that lingered on his face faded and he looked away. His cheeks flushed pink. So Eddie doesn’t really believe him.

“You know I don’t believe you, right?”

Steve sends a look over at him. But it’s not really a look. He glares at him.

Eddie’s eyebrows raise as Steve looks away again, his stomach twisting.

“You don’t have to believe me, Eddie,” Steve says, his voice twinged with annoyance. “It doesn’t make it… not true.”

“Well, you get all uptight and stiff every time I bring her up,” Eddie says, crossing his arms over his chest like he’s defending himself.

“Yeah, maybe I just don’t wanna talk about my ex with you,” Steve says, his voice firmer, annoyed and slightly louder. Eddie’s chest tightens, and he furrows his brows, his breath caught in his chest.

“This is the kind of thing friends talk about,” he says defensively.

“Maybe I just wanna hang out with you without talking about my fucking love life,” Steve snaps, putting a tape up on a shelf a little too hard. Eddie blinks.

“Why are you pissed?”

“I’m not pissed.”

“You sound pissed. You look pissed.”

“I’m fine, Eddie,” Steve says, sounding even more pissed. “I just don’t wanna talk about it.”

Eddie has a problem. He’s had this problem his whole life.

“Why don’t you wanna talk about it?”

It’s gotten him in trouble before. Many times. At home, at school, with his friends, the assholes that shoved him around in the hallways, against lockers.

“You talk about it with Robin,” he says. “Why is it such a big deal to talk about it with me? What’s your problem?”

He pushes. And prods. And pokes. And annoys the fuck out of whoever he’s talking to, until—

“Jesus, Eddie, I don’t fucking know, just fuck off.”

Eddie stares at him as he looks up at him. His eyes are gleaming, his brows are furrowed, and his cheeks are red, and he looks angry, and for some fucking reason it just pisses Eddie off.

“I wanna help you,” he snaps. “I know you like her, and you guys would be perfect for each other, fuckin’ mister and missus America—”

“I don’t fucking like her,” Steve almost shouts, and Eddie almost flinches back, the volume making its way under his skin, pulling at him and making him ache.

“What’s your fucking deal, Harrington?” He matches his volume.

Steve recoils like Eddie’s slapped him across the face, his eyes wide, and he blinks, his shoulders falling.

“Don’t call me Harrington,” he says weakly. Eddie exhales, staring at him. “You never call me Harrington.”

The door opens across the store, the bell shoving it dinging brightly, and Robin greets them with a cheerful, “Hey, dinguses.”

Neither of them look away, their eyes locked, and Eddie barely even heard Robin’s tentative, “What’s going on?” Steve looks like he might cry, his cheeks still flushed, his eyes shining, and Eddie scoffs, shaking his head and tearing his eyes away from Steve, ignoring Robin and heading to the door. It slams shut behind him.

His hands are shaking as he fumbles with his keys, biting his trembling lip as he slides into the driver's seat, and he looks up into the store as he starts the van. Robin is looking at Steve, confused, still holding her bag in her hands, and Steve is covering his face, holding a tape before he shouts something Eddie can’t hear and throws the tape across the store.

Eddie’s vision swims and he pulls out of the parking lot without buckling his seat belt.

———————

He doesn’t see Steve for another four days.

He doesn’t really have to. It’s not like they tend to hang out every day. (Every other day, maybe. Sometimes more. But they don’t have a strict schedule, and Steve doesn’t come inside when he drops the kids off at Eddie’s for Hellfire on Thursday.)

Four whole days.

Is it pathetic that he misses him? Probably. It’s only four days, but Eddie feels hollow, like something is missing just because he hasn’t heard Steve’s voice.

Steve seems to feel the same way, which doesn’t really make Eddie feel better, even though his heart fucking soars when he opens the door to his apartment to find Steve standing there, his hair damp from the rain. He’s somehow looking up at Eddie despite being almost the exact same height as him.

“Hi,” Eddie says quietly, holding the door open. Steve rocks up onto his toes, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket, and he glances past Eddie into the apartment.

“Is Wayne here?”

Eddie blinks, his heart falling, and Steve seems to notice it, because he hurriedly says, “I’m not— I just wanna talk to you, like, alone. I just… wanna make sure.”

“Oh.” Eddie blinks again. “No, he’s— he’s at work.”

“Okay.” Steve pauses, swallowing, swaying. “Can I… Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says after staring at him for a moment. “Yeah, come in.”

Steve exhales as he enters, pushing his hair back. His jacket is spotted with rain. Eddie forgot it was raining at all. He can’t hear rain much in this apartment. Unless it’s pouring.

“Talk,” Eddie says, heading into the kitchen. The kettle isn’t boiling yet, and he feels underdressed next to Steve, who’s wearing jeans and a tucked-in button-down, his jacket neatly pressed except for the rain. Eddie’s just in sweatpants and a grey sweater that’s two sizes too big.

“I, uhm.” Steve hesitates, taking a breath.

Eddie leans against the counter next to the stove, crossing his arms, looking up at him.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” Steve says, leaning against the wall across from Eddie. It’s a small kitchen. Their feet are almost touching.

Eddie doesn’t say anything.

“I was…” Steve pauses, swallowing anxiously, his hands shifting in his pockets. “I was upset, and I lashed out at you, and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

Eddie looks into his eyes. They’re shining again. They always are.

“I don’t get why you were upset,” Eddie says quietly, feeling like he’s confessing something. He often doesn’t get why people feel certain things. Why people get annoyed at him for the things he does when he isn’t hurting anyone. Why people laugh when there’s nothing to laugh about. Why people get upset when he tries to help them.

Especially with something like all this with Steve. He and Nancy would be perfect together. Nancy Wheeler and Steve Harrington. White picket fence and a soccer team of children and yearly vacations and everything someone like Eddie Munson could never have.

He hasn’t told anyone that he doesn’t understand what they’re feeling in a long time. The last few times he told them they’ve scoffed and rolled their eyes and accused him of lying to get away with being an asshole, even when he was so adamant he worked himself to tears.

But Steve doesn’t do any of those things. He looks at Eddie and believes him.

“I don’t like Nancy anymore,” Steve says. He sounds close to tears. “And it just… pissed me off that you just didn’t believe me.”

He must see the doubt on Eddie’s face.

“I don't like her anymore,” Steve says. “I swear.”

Eddie looks back and forth between his eyes.

“I see how you look at her, Steve,” he says softly, and he wants to go throw himself out the living room window. Because he sounds so desperate, so fucking honest, and Steve can probably see right into him.

“How do I look at her?” Steve asks desperately, his head tilting forward.

“Like she’s perfect,” Eddie says, his arms uncrossing. The kettle is starting to boil, the whistle low and quiet. “Like she’s fucking flawless, like she’s… the fucking sunset or something.”

“Eddie,” Steve says weakly, his shoulders slumping.

“I don’t get it,” Eddie says adamantly. The whistle is growing in pitch. “I don’t get why you don’t like her, she’s— she is perfect, she’s the one for you—”

“No, she’s not,” Steve says angrily.

He doesn’t even seem to notice the kettle whistling loudly, screeching at them, and Eddie huffs, turning away.

“Jesus,” he mutters, turning off the burner. “What do you want from me, Steve?” he asks, pulling the kettle off the burner, feeling it vibrate as it whistles.

“I don’t want anything from you, I want you.”

The kettle falls quiet.

The kitchen is silent.

Eddie blinks at the kettle, the words washing over him like cold water, and he almost drops the kettle as he sets it down heavily. It lands loudly on the stove, clattering on the burner, and he turns around to look at Steve.

Steve’s eyes are wide as he realises what he’s just said, and Eddie isn’t breathing, and he’s trembling, and Steve takes a sharp breath before he turns away.

Eddie reaches out and grabs his shirt, pulling him back.

Except he doesn’t do that.

He yells, at the top of his lungs, as loud as he can, I want you too. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything.

Except he doesn’t do that either.

Steve leaves, slamming the door shut behind himself.

Eddie lets him.

———————

Six days.

Six fucking empty days.

Wayne notices that something is off, but he doesn’t ask, because he knows Eddie won’t tell. If he were to ask, Eddie would probably just burst into tears, and Wayne had never known what to do when Eddie cries. It’s not like Grandpa Munson was a touchy-feely guy. Wayne’s always just brought him tea and tissues and given him a hug if he wanted one.

Eddie covers it up when the kids come over to the apartment to hang out. Lucas tells him he asked Steve if he wanted to come up to say hi, but that Steve has errands to run. Eddie just quips that Steve is a big boy, all old and mature. The kids laugh, living in their sweet, sweet ignorance.

When the kids aren’t over, and Corroded guys aren’t over, he’s holed up in his room, staring at the ceiling with his headphones on. (He can’t use his speakers anymore because of complaints from the neighbours.) Trying to let the music drown out the words that are bouncing around his skull like a pinball.

I want you. I want you. I want you.

On the seventh day, Robin calls him.

He doesn’t want to answer the phone, but he trudges up out of bed, pushing his hair out of his face. He’s still wearing the same sweater.

She tells him the Party’s having a movie night at Steve’s.

Eddie’s chest aches at the sound of Steve’s name.

You’re gonna be there, she says, because she seems to know how his brain works better than anyone else he’s met. You’re gonna be there gets him to change his sweater.

His eyes meet Steve’s when he goes inside, but they both look away, and Eddie immediately swerves to the other side of the living room, scooping El into his arms and cackling evilly when she screams his name.

Steve sits with Robin on the sofa. Eddie can tell Robin knows something is up, but he can also tell that Steve hasn’t told her anything because she glances at Eddie, then at Steve, and Steve ignores her, his eyes trained on Dustin as he argues with Will about something.

The lights shut off when the movie starts.

Steve leans against the armrest of the sofa, Robin leans against him, and Nancy leans against her. Jonathan and Argyle are on the floor, Jonathan’s head on Argyle’s shoulder. The kids are all on the floor, tangled and piled on top of each other like a litter of puppies.

Eddie doesn’t even know which movie is playing. He keeps looking at Steve.

He feels like his veins are filled with wax, his body tense and stiff and so anxious he’s shaking a little bit.

I want you.

Eddie looks over at him again, the words echoing in his head, in the exact cadence and emphasis that Steve spoke in, adamant and angry and desperate.

Steve’s eyes meet his across the room. They’re shining. Reflecting the flashing lights of the movie.

Eddie tilts his head, gesturing silently, weakly, toward the kitchen.

Steve inhales, his jaw working, and he sighs quietly, squeezing Robin’s arm and moving to get up. She looks up at him, then at Eddie, then at Nancy, moving so Steve can get up, pulling Nancy closer.

Eddie gets up quietly, stepping behind the sofa so he doesn’t get in anyone’s view of the movie before he follows Steve down the hall to the kitchen, shutting the door behind them.

Steve crosses his arms when he enters the kitchen like he’s protecting himself, looking sulky and upset and so small it makes Eddie want to cry. He leans against the island, looking at the floor, biting his lip, and Eddie steps to be in front of him, leaning against the wall.

They're both quiet. Eddie can almost hear the movie, muffled and quiet through the door and down the endless hallway. Eddie can almost hear his own heartbeat. He listens to Steve’s breath.

“Did you mean it?” he asks softly, almost whispering.

Steve looks up at him, his eyes flicking back and forth between Eddie’s before he looks away, at the floor, his eyes moving like he’s looking for something.

“Steve,” Eddie says weakly when Steve doesn’t say anything. “Did you mean it?”

Steve takes a sharp breath, his lip trembling.

“Yes.”

Eddie exhales.

The floor is solid beneath his feet.

Holy shit.

He steps forward, looking at Steve’s face. His eyes are squeezed shut.

Eddie reaches up to his cheek, wiping away a tear, and Steve startles, his eyes flying open to look at Eddie, his eyes filled with tears, scared and desperate. He’s breathing hard, blinking.

“I want you too,” Eddie whispers.

“Don’t fuck with me right now, Eddie, please.” Steve’s voice squeaks, breaks and chokes, and Eddie reaches up to hold his face between his hands, wiping away the tears that fall from his eyes. Steve is gasping for breath, and Eddie presses a hand firmly against his chest as it rises and falls quickly.

“I’m not fucking with you, Stevie,” he murmurs. Steve’s hands grab at Eddie’s waist, gripping the fabric of his sweater. (This one is black.) He’s holding him too tightly, but Eddie doesn’t mind. “I want you, I’ve wanted you for so long.”

Steve closes his eyes hard, his brows furrowing as he pants, and Eddie leans close, pressing their foreheads together, murmuring to him. Breathe, Steve, slowly. You got it.

It takes a while for his breathing to slow, and Eddie slides his hand up his chest when it does, moving it up over the collar of his sweatshirt, over his neck, to his cheek.

“Why’d you push me to go with Nancy?” Steve chokes, blinking tears out of his eyes, and Eddie’s eyes burn, aching because he can’t explain it.

“I don’t…” He hesitates, shrugging weakly, holding Steve’s cheeks carefully, tenderly. He sighs, letting his head fall forward so their foreheads meet as he thinks. “Because boys like me don’t get things like this,” he says softly, quietly.

“Yes, they do,” Steve whispers.

Eddie’s eyes squeeze shut.

They’re quiet for a moment, sharing breaths, until Eddie slowly slides his hands across Steve’s neck, hugging him tightly, and Steve’s arms wrap around his waist, pulling him against himself harshly, strongly. A soft sound escapes Eddie’s throat, and his eyes burn more, and he buries his face in Steve’s neck as Steve’s shoulders shake.

Their friends are down the hall. Anyone could come in for chips or soda or water, and find them here, crying in each other’s arms, and the thought of the absurdity of it makes Eddie laugh. Steve’s hand slides over his back, holding him so tightly Eddie can barely breathe.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, burying a hand in Steve’s hair. “Holy shit, holy shit.”

“Eddie,” Steve says softly, pulling away and looking at him, and he lifts his hands to Eddie’s face, wiping his tears away so tenderly it just makes Eddie cry more.

Eddie’s eyes flutter shut when Steve pulls at his face, pressing a hard, lingering kiss to his mouth, and when they part, Eddie gasps, opening his mouth for him and pulling him closer until Steve kisses him again.

Steve’s hands reach down and pull at Eddie’s legs, picking him up with unfair ease, and Eddie clutches at him desperately as Steve turns to set him on the counter. Eddie’s legs wrap around him tightly, whimpering when Steve’s hands press to his back and waist and his hips.

“‘M sorry,” Steve breathes between frenzied kisses. “‘M so sorry.”

“Me too,” Eddie says, panting. “I’m sorry, Stevie, just… I need…”

“Breathe,” Steve says weakly. Eddie closes his eyes. He didn’t even realise it, but he’s gasping for breath, each one getting caught in his throat, hiccupping and choking, and he grips Steve’s shoulders tightly, so hard it probably hurts, but he can’t let go, and Steve doesn’t say anything except, “Breathe.”

Eddie hugs him tightly, desperately, and Steve hugs him back just the same, pressing a hand to the small of his back. Eddie is swaying back and forth, which he doesn't realise until after a few seconds, and he stops himself. It makes people seasick, distracts them, he's heard it all, and he's just gotten Steve's arms around him. He doesn't want to mess this up.

But Steve tugs at his back, stepping closer to the island so his chest is pressed to Eddie, and he starts to sway. Eddie buries his face in Steve's neck, his eyes stinging, and he lets Steve move him, weight dropping off his shoulders, his breaths coming out easier and easier until he's breathing normally. They don't stop swaying together, rocking back and forth slowly, carefully, until Eddie lifts his head and touches his face. His skin is tacky with drying tears, the streaks shining in the dim light of the kitchen. Eddie wipes them away before he leans in and kisses him softly.

"Do you wanna go finish the movie?" Steve asks when they part, his lips still brushing Eddie's as he speaks.

"I don't even know what movie it is."

"Me either. Do you wanna go be confused together?"

"Yeah. That sounds nice."

They pause to sip at a glass of water together before they head back to the living room, their fingers laced. No one pays them any mind except Robin, whose eyes catch their hands, and she raises an eyebrow, smiling up at Steve as he sits next to her again. Robin moves, nudging Nancy so she shifts to lean against the opposite armrest, and Eddie squeezes in between Steve and Robin. Steves's arm makes its way around Eddie's shoulders as they look at the television. (Eddie can't even guess what's happening in the movie.)

Eddie closes his eyes, leaning against Steve, pressing his face into his chest, and he pulls one of his legs up, setting it across Steve's. Steve pulls him in closer, tighter, his cheek resting on Eddie's head.

Eddie shifts to face him, nuzzling into his chest and wrapping an arm around his waist, cuddling as closely and as tightly as he can as he takes a long, deep breath and exhales slowly. Steve smells like his cologne. Eddie wants to keep the smell. Maybe find it on his pillows.

He falls asleep to the sound of Steve's heartbeat.

[heartofalifer]

sometimes I lay at night thinking what exactly did daisy write in the description of alec hardy's tinder profile and what pictures did she use that made her think that could get women to swipe right on him. was it selfies? was it candid photos she took? was alec wearing that blue jumper on and reading a paper with his legs crossed in the photos? I need to know

[kavennnn]

end of ch 32 oh god oh god oh fuck