#Exception Fest

[alangreenstein]

Shakesha Williams: Filmmaker, Founder/President at Harlem Fusion Studios – Support Our #creatives® podcast - March 4, 2024

Mon. Mar. 4 at 8pmET on Facebook and YouTube via StreamYard. The Support Our #creatives® podcast, hosted by Alan Greenstein. Special guest is Shakesha Williams: Filmmaker, and founder and president of Harlem Fusion Studios.

Mon. Mar. 4 at 8pmET on Facebook and YouTube via StreamYard. The Support Our #creatives® podcast, hosted by Alan Greenstein. Special guest is Shakesha Williams: Filmmaker, and founder and president of Harlem Fusion Studios. Here is Shakesha’s BIO, provided by Shakesha: Continue reading Shakesha Williams: Filmmaker, Founder/President at Harlem Fusion Studios – Support Our #creatives® podcast –…

[virescent-v]

“i don’t like being told what to do unless i’m naked” with em? 👀

Bossy

Summary: Emily's been a bitch. You fix her attitude. ;) Warnings: smutty smut smut, my normal tbh. quick and easy, like em Word count: 2.3k A/N: A little short thing to get me back into writing. Thanks Katt for the prompt :)

Emily was pissing you off. Ever since this case crossed JJ’s desk, Emily’s been uptight, more so than usual. You’ve seen her get overly invested in cases before, but something about this one was making her - for lack of a better word - crazy. She was hounding the local police more than normal, squashing peoples’ new ideas and theories before listening, and being short with anyone who tried to talk to her. 

She’s snapped at you multiple times today alone, glaring at you anytime you tried to talk about one of your theories. You’d take it personally, but she was acting like this with everyone on the team. It was causing everyone to give her a wide berth, finding excuses to not be in the same room with her. 

At the end of the day, Emily had frustrated every member of the BAU (including Penelope who was back in D.C.) and half of the local station to their limits. 

And, of course, you were the one who had to room with her this trip. Lucky you. 

The ride from the station to the hotel was tense, silence interspersed with the hum of tires on asphalt. The longer the quiet dragged on, the more angry you got at her behavior. 

Emily and you had become fast friends when you joined the BAU a few months ago. You had meshed well with every member of the team, but your dark humor and sarcasm bonded you with the raven-haired woman. You’ve spent countless hours with each other, both at work and outside of Quantico. 

You felt your phone buzz in your lap. 

JJ: You have GOT to talk to her. She’s driving everyone insane!! 

You: Why does it have to be me??? It’s bad enough we share a room! 

JJ: Because she likes you most! 

You: You’ve known her longer! 

JJ: Nose goes! 

You looked up to see JJ holding her pointer finger on her nose, sticking her tongue out at her. You rolled your eyes at her before typing out another message. 

You: Fine! But you owe me coffee and lunch tomorrow! 

JJ: Deal! Just make her Emily again! 

You locked your phone, glancing up at Emily driving. Her jaw was tense, as if she was grinding her teeth. Both of her hands were white knuckled on the steering wheel. You bit your lip, trying to think of a way to bring up her behavior over the last few days. 

*** 

Entering your shared room, Emily started pacing in front of the beds, her lower lip caught between her teeth, her hands fidgeting.

You sighed. “Em, are you okay?” 

Her eyes shot to you. “I’m fine,” she gritted out. 

You rolled your eyes exaggeratedly, making sure she saw. “No, you’re not. You’re frustrated about something. And it’s driving everyone crazy. So, again, what’s wrong?” 

Emily stopped pacing, glaring at you. “What do you mean it’s driving everyone crazy? I’m fine.” 

You huffed, shaking your head. “You’re not. Look at you,” you said, your hand gesturing at her body, every muscle tense, her hands picking at her nails. “You’ve been short with everyone, shutting down theories for stupid reasons. You’ve yelled at every single one of us today and you’ve managed to alienate half of the local cops. Whatever’s wrong needs to stop, Em, I swear, or it’s going to make this case even harder to solve.” 

Emily scoffed, not liking being told off. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Now it was your turn to gape at the brunette, your eyebrows twisted in annoyed confusion. “Em, I have spent the last few months getting to know you. Late nights in the office, movie nights on our couches, shopping trips. I don’t know what it is about this case that’s getting to you, but it needs to stop. You need to get your head out of your ass, Prentiss, before it causes you to get benched.” 

You watched as Emily stomped across the room to you, her nostrils flaring, her eyes darkening in anger. Her fists were clenched at her sides as she angrily whispered, “I don’t like being told what to do unless I’m naked, so you better watch what you say to me.” 

Emily had moved closer to you than she ever has before, her outrage and annoyance palpable in the air. You could feel her huffed breaths on your cheek. 

You shook your head, chuckling darkly, barely audible. Emily had never intimidated you before and it wasn’t going to start now. “If all you needed to calm down and be yourself again was a good, hard fuck, all you had to do was ask, Em,” you said, smirking as her eyes grew wide. 

You watched as she took in a shuttered breath, her throat bobbing from the nervous swallow. 

You could see the indecision in her eyes, the want and the nerves. How she wanted it, needed it, but didn’t want to cross that line with you for fear of wrecking your friendship, your work life. 

You brought your hand up, pushing some of her hair behind her ear, taking note of the small shiver that ran through her. “Let me help you, Em. We’ll cross tomorrow when it gets here.” 

Emily closed her eyes for a second, taking a deep breath. When she opened her eyes, they somehow had gotten darker, her pupils blown. She’d made her decision. “Fuck it out of me, please.” 

You tilted your chin up a little, settling into the role Emily needed you to fill. “Strip. Slowly.” 

Emily exhaled slowly, her hands grasping at the hem of her shirt, lifting it inch by inch. She watched you, but your eyes never strayed from her face. When she dragged the material over her head, your eyes never left her face. It furthered your in charge position, making Emily’s breath quicken in anticipation. 

The brunette slowly dragged her bra straps down her shoulders, slowly exposing her modest chest. It took a lot of self control on your part, but you still refused to look at her body. You could tell that it was starting to get to Emily, but she wasn’t going to say anything, excited to see what you were up to. 

As she drug her pants and underwear down her legs and stood back up, you made another few seconds of intense eye contact with her before letting your gaze slowly glide over her body. 

You’d be lying if you said you’d never thought about her like this. She was beautiful, striking in a way that made your breath catch the first time you met her. As your relationship with her grew, you were conflicted about thinking of her like this. You’ve come to cherish your connection with her, but you couldn’t help but want more. 

You took your time looking her over, trying to memorize every inch of her in case this was the only time you’d be able to see her like this. 

Emily’s toes started to dig into the carpet, her anticipation growing to a head, the nerves starting to creep up. 

“On the bed, on your back.” 

Emily didn’t need a second to think this time, eagerly moving to the mattress and laying herself across it. She settled her head on a pillow in the middle of the bed, awaiting further instructions. It was something that was exhilarating for you, unexpected. You didn’t think she would be this compliant, but you weren’t going to question it. 

Your eyes dragged across her body again, watching the way that her skin started to flush at your attention. “You’ve been a bitch the past few days.” 

Emily went to open her mouth, to argue. 

“No, no. That wasn’t up for debate. You have been. You’ve let this case get to you.” You started to crawl across the bed, your body between her legs. You remained clothed, the fabric of your pants sliding across her bare skin and causing goosebumps to erupt across her skin. You held eye contact, loving the way Emily’s dark eyes seemed to get darker, deeper. You could feel yourself getting lost in them. “I don’t know why, and to be frank, I don’t care.” You let your hands trail across her shins, up to her knees, pushing her legs further apart. You could feel your own heartbeat speeding up, fluttering inside your chest. “I’m going to fuck your attitude out of you and then we’re going to solve this case and go home. Understood?” 

Emily swallowed, her head nodding briefly. 

“Good,” you said, letting your eyes fall to her bare body. You licked your lips as you looked at her exposed pussy. Through her coarse curls you could tell she was wet, wetter than you expected her to be since you’ve not even touched her yet. 

You leaned down, your eyes back on her face as you gently blew across her sodden lower lips. Emily’s eyes closed, her back arching slightly, her hips trying to push further into the sensation. She was sensitive, something you were going to enjoy. 

Before her back could make contact with the bed again, your tongue made contact, licking quickly from her entrance to her clit, loving the way her voice got stuck in her throat. You decided you didn’t want to tease her, wanting her to get off and relax. Your tongue made a few more passes up and down, enjoying each sound you could pull from her. When she got used to the movement, her body expecting the up and down licks, you switched to swirls around her clit, sucking lightly, before moving down to her hole, entering her with your tongue. 

You paid attention to the sounds she made, the way she whimpered when your tongue made quick circles around her clit, how a moan would get caught deep in her chest every time your tongue entered her. You ate her out passionately, intensely, taking out your frustrations from the past few days on her. 

You could tell she was getting close, the way her leg muscles started to tense, how her hands started to fist in the sheet beneath her. With each swipe of your tongue against her, you could feel her get closer and closer to the edge, the both of you desperate to push her over. As she started to moan more often, gaining volume, you reached up your hands, grasping a breast in each. With perfectly timed pinches to her nipples, Emily came undone against your mouth. You continued to lap at her pussy, swallowing down everything she had to give you. 

Before her body had a chance to relax, you pushed in two fingers, enjoying the way Emily choked out a harsh gasp at the fast pace you set immediately. “You’ve got one more for me, Em. Give it to me,” you commanded, surprised at the strength of your own voice. 

Emily’s bottom lip was caught between her teeth as she struggled to keep up with the thrusting of your fingers. You pushed up her body, using the thumb of your other hand to pull her lip free. “Uh uh, baby. Let me hear those pretty noises.” 

Emily whimpered, her eyes catching yours, a million words being shared between you two. Respect, thanks, lust, love. 

Your wrist was starting to cramp at the position, but there was no way you were going to stop. Not with the sounds she was making, not with the way that Emily was looking at you. With each thrust in, Emily grunted, with each thrust out, a moan. On one particularly hard thrust, Emily’s back arched, her hands fisting into the shirt on your back. Figuring you had found her sweet spot, you focused there, watching with almost primal glee as her head tossed back in pleasure. 

With her throat exposed, your lips made contact to the skin there, kissing and biting at the tender flesh. You trailed your lips up to her ear. “Do you think two orgasms is enough, or should I fuck you into a third?” 

Emily’s only response was a garbled moan, her hands trying to scratch at your back through your shirt. 

You smirked against her skin. “We’ll see if your cunt can take another one after you cum hard on my fingers.” You curled your fingers at that, feeling the spongy spot inside her that caused her to sob in ecstasy, her legs tightening against your hips. On each thrust you made sure to hit that spot. You moved your head back, wanting to watch her come undone. 

You could feel her walls tightening around your fingers, it becoming harder and harder to move within her. You brought your other hand up, wrapping it around her throat, squeezing enough to send a euphoric rush through her. 

“Cum for me, Em, now.” 

She hadn’t disobeyed you yet. 

Emily moaned your name loudly as her walls clamped down on your fingers, forcing you to stay within her as she rode out her orgasm. Her hips undulated against you, riding each wave, reveling in the high.

You worked her through it, easing as her body started to come down. Gently, you removed your fingers, taking satisfaction in the whimper she let out at being empty. You brushed some of her hair out of her face, smiling a little to yourself at the blissed out look on her face. “Feeling better?” 

Emily started laughing, a true belly laugh. “You’re ridiculous.” 

You smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Hey, you don’t get to be sassy to the person who just fucked you back into a good mood.” 

Emily rolled her eyes, her hands caressing your shoulders. “Thank you,” she whispered, her eyes expressing even more gratitude. 

You lightly kissed her, the first of many. “Don’t mention it. Next time, don’t wait until you’re a raging bitch before asking for what you need,” you smirked. 

Emily pushed at your shoulder, shaking her head lightly at your antics. She pulled you down, relaxing under the weight of you, feeling herself drift off to sleep. 

If anyone noticed Emily’s improved mood the next day, or the hickies on her neck, they didn’t mention it. The fact that you two solved the case before the day was over was good enough for them. 

[hitlikehammers]

Steddie Post S4: If All That's Left of Steve in the Final Battle is Ashes—

...are they REALLY JUST ashes? 🔥 

The final battle—like the last part of the very final battle—ends with shattering, and with dust.

It starts, the first bad dream and the first bloody nose and the first Code Red on the radios: well, that’s three months into something, for the first time in Eddie’s sorry-ass-but-honestly-actually-since-almost-not-having-any-life-at-all-any-more-and-miraculously-making-it-through-a-night-then-a-week-then-a-month-then-rehab-then-chronic-pain-then-more-friends-than-he’d-ever-had-before-and-frankly-in-the-beginning-more-than-he-could-count-plus-three-new-mother-figures-and-two-maybe-three-extra-maybe-father-figures-plus-one-friend-of-Dorothy-who’s-the-platonic-soulmate-of-maybe-the-love-of-Eddie’s-not-actually-still-sorry-ass-life: he’s about three months into something wild and reeling in his chest, brushing hands and lingering looks and flushed cheeks and little secret smiles ducked in toward shoulders or behind stray curls, or falling asleep pressed arm-to-arm only to wake up in one lap or another, and the whole of it’s shameless and intentional and giddy somewhere low in Eddie’s belly because it’s not uncertain, it’s honestly just fucking bashful, it’s shy and it’s the both of them wordlessly leaning into it, careful but sure, and almost all the more buoyant for it.

It’s three months in, and when they step up to that last battle—that final turn, do-or-die—maybe Steve pulls him behind a truck Eddie doesn’t even know the owner of, where it came from or why it’s there; but maybe Steve pulls him behind and draws him close without a word and kisses him relentless, drags his teeth and draws a little blood for the force and leaves them both raw, and panting, and desperate: it couldn’t really go any other way, like this—here.

Now.

“Live through this,” Steve had breathed against his angry red lips, hard enough that it stung; “so we can pick up where we left off.”

“I will if you will,” Eddie had shot back, defiant; still begging.

And Steve had kissed him again, and Eddie’d watched as Steve walked away with the lightest smear of Eddie’s blood on his lower lip as he’d spoken:

“I’ll hold you to it.”

And they’d parted, to do their fucking jobs, to play their fucking roles. They’re come back together, ready to take the final boss down as a unit, and Eddie remembers that he’d felt hopeful, he’d felt so fucking relieved because this was it. They were gonna nail it, all for one, and—

So it might be near the end, actually—they may have almost done it, finished the job and killed every last bit of this hellscape, every beast big and small, crushed what’s left of the husk of Vecna orchestrating it all: it might happen near the end. Or maybe just shy of the beginning. Somewhere in the middle.

All Eddie knows is that it happens. There’s light, and people floating in the air and then more light, dragged back down by the same lightning-spark power, and it’s back and it’s forth and when it hits anyone, Supergirl pulls them back to the ground and fights back harder, her face blood red dripping to her neck, her teeth bared all wrath and fury, and then—

Then there’s something that shoots different, hits Steve and he doesn’t float. It looks different, so it probably is different, and he doesn’t float when it hits him.

And so: Eddie holds to the bargain.

But Steve.

Steve…Steve Harrington, with the bitchiest glare and the brightest smile and the goofiest laugh and the biggest fucking heart, the bravest of all of them and the best part of Eddie’s whole soul—

Steve gets hit, and disappears from the world in nothing but a cloud of dust.

No one tries to shush Eddie, when he screams, when he wails and sobs; drops to his knees and fucking howls.

No one tries to stop him when he crawls to the space that held his whole heart, and now lies empty, save a dusting of something almost shiny, coarse to the touch but fine to the naked eye, hard to distinguish from the dirt on sight alone—is that him? Is that his Sweetheart, all that’s left of him—

Eddie thinks maybe they try to stop him halfway through the way he starts frantically sweeping, scooping up the ash and filling every pocket he has with as much as he can. He vaguely feels a hand on his shoulder, maybe the sound of his name, but it’s all white noise because Eddie’s picking up the pieces of his heart, here, Eddie’s trying like hell to hold on to something of the man he loves and anyone who doesn’t like it, or thinks he’s crazy, or wants to rush him, ask him to leave any little pouch in any layer of his clothes unfilled, less than overflowing with all that remains?

Fuck them. Fuck them all. Because Eddie kept his side of the deal.

Live through this.

I will if you will.

And now he has to live with the way his Stevie…didn’t.

——

The rest of the Party sticks together after it’s done. Dustin is inconsolable, Erica and Max scowl in each other’s direction but not really…at each other. Mike’s having a weird…frenzy response, denying Steve’s dead at all and demanding Lucas help him get El to look for him, he has to be somewhere, he has be saveable like Max, like Eddie. Robin’s fucking catatonic—the real adults take most of the burden, trying to figure out who to call, because Steve’s their only casualty, the beating heart at the center of all this and it’s gone, no wonder they’re breaking—

The Party stays together. Eddie falls back on what he knows.

He runs.

Specifically: he runs home, carefully though, he can’t jostle his pockets, and he knows exactly where he’s looking when he gets to his room, crawls to the farthest corner of his closet in this still-weird-to-be-so-big bedroom after the trailer: and he finds it.

His mom’s old little hope chest.

There are a million little fake velvet pouches inside, a couple pieces of actual jewelry kept in an empty film canister, and then a smaller jewelry box type thing meant for a dresser or something: Eddie doesn’t think he can fill the hope chest.

But the rest…

He starts with the jewelry box, since it’s already empty, carefully cups his palms to fill it with the precious dust until the lid doesn’t close.

Then he sorts the pouches, puts aside the ones that don’t pull tight enough shut for his liking. The rest…those will be temporary. He’ll find a better home for the ashes soon, but for now they’re safe, and all that’s left is…

The film canister is special.

It’s stupid and plastic and like every other fucking black-and grey tube thingy that smells like vinegar on the inside of you hold it up too close. But this one—

He’s always gotten a little teary-eyed to think that this was the one his mother kept.

Because he’d poked a hole through the rough little peak in the top of the lid with a fork, took a piece of thread from the junk drawer and made himself a necklace to match the one she had and she’d smiled at him so bright, poked another hole next to his, and threaded his string-chain through the back of the lid so it’d close up tight, to keep all your most secret prized possessions, my sugarbean and he had. For years.

Now it held what was left of her jewels, mostly cheap stuff with sentimental worth he couldn’t calculate—but now he has to take the faulty pouches and give the jewelry a new home.

Now he’s never had something more prized and precious to keep.

He finds fishing line in Wayne’s stuff, stronger than the thread worn and aged over a decade and a half, swaps it out with the string. Covers the inside with electrical tape to make sure nothing can sneak out of the holes, even so.

And then he fills it. Last of the ashes, and it all only just fits but the lid pops on perfect.

Then he pulls it over his head, and lies down on his bed.

And fucking sobs when the canister falls to settle right over his heart.

——

Some of the kids try to coax him out, argue grief is better shared or whatever, but Eddie’s deaf to the knocking, the way they try to yell at his window—not even cracked open, he won’t risk a rogue bird or a stray breeze disturbing all he has left of his, his—

The kids go away, eventually.

Wayne finds out through the grapevine what’s happened—he comes into Eddie’s room and holds him even if Eddie doesn’t want it, doesn’t ask. He’s grateful, though, even if he doesn’t say it, and Wayne sheds more than one tear; he’d been warming quick to Steve, called him son.

That wasn’t something Wayne did lightly. Not that anything Wayne did was done lightly.

However many days pass, Eddie doesn’t keep track. He wakes and runs to the little box on his dresser, just to make sure it’s safe, clutching the film tube around his neck while he does, weighing it desperately until he can be sure the bulk of the ashes are undisturbed. The rest of his time is spent lying in his bed and rolling the little canister across his fingers, taking off all his rings so he can just…touch it. Be close to whatever lifeless pieces of Steve—and likewise, then: pieces of Eddie—remain anywhere at all. He passes the hours like that, largely. Sometimes he thinks he’s hungry, like his stomach aches in that pang kind of way, but thinking of eating in a world where Steve doesn’t breathe makes him sick every time, so he doesn’t follow through. Wayne pesters him to at least drink something, so he sometimes shuffles to the bathroom, or the kitchen, drinks from the sink because glasses are for people who make plans for the future, who intend to drink things over the course of a lifetime, a life maybe with a purpose, a purpose that—

Eddie throws himself back into bed again, every time. Presses his film-canister-talisman tight to his sternum until the hurt of the pressure blurs with bigger hurts, and ultimately blurs into black.

Until one day, he opens his eyes. And after he’s done with the subtle disappointment that he had to, that morning came at all; when he gets up and checks the box?

The lid’s flipped off.

And there’s a tiny pile of dusty ash, glittering next to it, when there’s no light in the room to even catch it.

Eddie’s heart drops, then seizes in his chest.

What the fuck. What the fuck.

No one comes in but Wayne, and he just pokes his head in. Nothing can get in, either, unless…but they closed all the gates, there is no Upside Down anymore—

Eddie’s hands are shaking as he tries to brush the little pile into his hands, pulse tripping when the thinks of what it is, inside his hands, and he carefully lets it sift back into the jewelry box, tries to judge if any’s been lost, closes the top when he starts breathing too heavy, when his anxiety threatens to make the situation worse as he tries to bend down and see the furniture at surface level, find any precious speck of—

Not a speck. Not a…mote.

The escaped ashes were on top of something, though. Something Eddie’s never seen before. About the size of a notecard but, kinda like…ancient, weathered; that yellowed look you can never fake just right, traced alone with…some kind of calligraphy out of fucking Camelot or some shit, metallic gold in script:

I cannot let you burn me up, nor can I resist you. No mere human can stand in a fire and not be consumed.  

The…fuck?

Eddie tries to squint, because the text is weirdly positioned; it does look like something’s worn off, and some of what’s actually there is brighter, bolder than the rest, and then there’s a whole other style, almost backward, like a mirror-image of handwriting, and Eddie lifts the card up to the mirror instinctively, only to see…

There’s writing on the other side.

Eddie’s breath catches when he recognizes the handwriting. Small, and more words than should be able to fit but…it fits. It’s dried blood in color, and Eddie’s not convinced it’s just a color for how it’s a little raised and flaky, but it doesn’t come off when Eddie touches it, traces it because the cramped little letters, tall and short all mixed and mismatched, so familiar, so tight in Eddie’s chest—

It’s…Eddie…

Eddie’s eyes skim the first few lines in Steve’s handwriting, and he cannot fucking breathe—

Hey, wow, that’s some crazy shit there on the other side of this piece of paper, my gran says it’s a warning even if I don’t personally get it, but I’m pretty sure it’s enchanted? The paper, I mean. The warning’s probably about being too close to…this, without being prepared. But that’s, whatever. Point is, I don’t think I can make new enchanted paper, so here’s the deal: First, thanks for grabbing the ashes? I didn’t actually expect anyone to do that. I hope it was intentional, like that you weren’t sweeping or the ash got stuck in your shoes or something, because intentional will make the rest of this way easier (hopefully, or like, maybe), and if you’re a part of the bigger Hawkins fuckery it’ll be way easier to believe at the least so, fingers crossed I guess but: I’m kind of a phoenix? Firebird? Thing? It’s a bloodline “curse” but especially since the, umm, incidents with the Lab I’ve been thinking maybe it’s actually kinda cool? Like insurance. But the extra fucked up thing is that someone has to grab the ashes without being, like, told to. Free will or some bullshit. And apparently we’re not a very spontaneously likable bunch of dungeons-and-dipshit-type creatures, because not many of us even get to re-birth ourselves. Because of the ash…thing. But you! You did that! And now I can do the rebirth thing! Which I hope is okay. There are a lot of, like, bond-type things that go along with the person who ‘cares selflessly to gather ash unbidden’—I think that’s what makes someone more than a ‘mere human’ consumed by the Fire and they won’t get burned, they’ll be…well, if they wanted. Bond-stuff. Not important. I’m not gonna hold you to any of that shit, like, nothing you don’t want to happen will happen because of this, I 100% promise. Except maybe I’ll do some over the top gestures of gratitude—and on the off chance you already know me, at all? Over-the-top is kinda how I do most feelings, so. Should not be a surprise. Only thing I will ask, and if it’s too much no worries, the whole resurrection shebang was a gamble from the get-go but, if you can just keep this pile of ashes safe for a little bit? It takes longer to heal based on how old you are when you, y’know. Kick it. So…yeah. I never learned how to come back as a baby because that sounded weird. Quicker, but weird. I only learned the slower way so I can just…come back how I left, like no time passed. But if you can keep the ashes safe until then that’d be totally cool. Anyway, thanks, whoever you are. Kinda owe you my life, here. I’ll show you the appreciation you deserve when I’m, you know. Not-ashes. Once I have opposable thumbs again and stuff. But really. Thank you. See you soon, hopefully (if that’s cool, I mean, I can get out of your hair ASAP too if you’d rather, just say so soon as I pop up)— ~SH

Eddie…falls to the floor at some point, nearly ripping the note, no: no, actually, he should have decimated it, macerated it the with the way his hands clench and his tears have fallen and made not a single mark: enchanted paper.

Ashes that…maybe are Steve?

That maybe mean Steve could come…will come back?

Eddie really can’t breathe, now, and when the black swallows everything, he’s still on the fucking floor.

——

When next he comes-to, Eddie splashes water on his face after he checks on the jewelry box, reads the letter again, clutches the ash-filled pendant in his hand as he drinks, considers eating—no.

No, not yet. His stomach’s still unsteady. His chest is swollen, pressed with something like hope for the impossible because what the fuck, first and foremost, but then, then…

There was a horrorscape under his feet for years before it came for him personally, before he almost died at its hands once, and then again by proxy when, when it took his…

His maybe-love-of-his-life-and-also-possibly-something-like-a-phoenix-who-might-be-coming-back-to-Eddie-which-would-mean-Eddie-could-keep-breathing-and-his-heart-would-be-returned-to-his-chest-by-the-hands-of-the-man-he-loves-because-he-thinks-it-died-with-Steve-but-if-Steve-isn’t-dead—

He basically almost died again when…maybe his Steve—who Eddie fully acknowledges at this point he’s absolutely fucking gone on with his whole heart and soul, because there’s no other real explanation for his total and complete shutdown as a human for the sake of Steve’s loss—when his Stevie died, but maybe didn’t.

But then now, now maybe…

Maybe the impossible could be something that saved them, saved him, instead of something that only sought to ruin.

Eddie doesn’t think he can believe he’s that lucky.

But it’s easier to entertain the possibility, than to continue just…knowing Steve died before Eddie could acknowledge with his everything that he—certified cynic and self-deceiving dumbass Edward Elliot Munson—was ass-over-ankles in love; and more than that: before he could tell Steve as much, because of anyone Eddie’s ever met, Steve Harrington deserves to know how impossible it is not to; how ineffably much he is loved.

“Hey,” Eddie ultimately finds himself curled up back in his bed again, clutching his film canister to his chest, tight enough to leave an impression on his skin.

He wants it to. Right over the way his heart slams against his ribs. He wants a bruise. He wants a scar. He wants inviolable proof.

“Umm, so I don’t know if this is real,” Eddie’s eyes flicker to the jewelry box of ashes, the strange potentially-enchanted note on his dresser; “or if it is, how this works?”

This apparently being talking to the cobbled together film-pendant around his neck, he…he’s so fucked, isn’t he, this is insane—

But it’s not like that’s ever stopped him before.

And before never had love in the mix. So.

“If you can hear me,” Eddie runs his thumb around the circumference of the cap, over and over; “I pretty fucking sure I’m in love with you,” and it’s maybe fucked up, how it feels as nervewracking to say it to a plastic canister of ashes as he imagines it’d feel looking into those stupidly-wide amber eyes, but yep: said plastic ash-pendant’d be fucking bouncing with his heartbeat if he wasn’t holding it so tight to the furious drumming of his pulse.

“I know it’s fast? But,” and Eddie swallows, shakes his head for reasons that are maybe about dispelling the idea that anything’s too fast or too much in the life they’ve led, one where more might be possible, where a future might still exist beyond all possibilities, all hope except for the fragile frail thing in Eddie’s chest written in blood red, in Steve’s hand on Eddie’s fucking bones:

“I don’t think losing someone hurts like this if your heart’s not in it all the way,” and that’s, that is…

That’s the crux of it, isn’t it. His heart is the heart of it.

“Sorry, about that, if you,” Eddie swallows, sour around the idea that maybe, even if the impossible’s possible, this part, where he feels like this, is just…maybe not too far but in the wrong direction.

But he wants to believe. He wants to think Steve saw something pointing in this direction when he told him to survive, so they could have, so they could finish, so they—them, together—could…

“Yeah.”

Eddie’s voice is hoarse enough to hurt, now, so he lifts his little film canister to his lips and presses them hard, sure: it’s weirdly warm against his mouth, held too close to his chest for too long.

Not long enough. Not close enough.

“Be careful about taking care of yourself, about, coming back and,” Eddie grips his pendant of ashes back tight to the center of his sternum;

“I’ll watch over it, watch over you,” he promises; “long as you need.”

And he breathes, holding the canister close before he brings it back to his mouth again and whispers to it like it matters, or…just in case it matters:

“Come back to me,” his words come out in a shudder, all trembling; “I’m just a mere human, maybe less than,” and that’s true, that is so fucking true but:

“But you already consume me,” Eddie speaks it honest, and kisses the rim of the cap— if there’s any chance of getting in, it’s there:

“So burn me up, as much as you need to,” and Eddie means it, he fucking means it with everything he is; “just,” and his voice cracks, and he shoves the canister back tight to his shaking heart when the first tear falls on it, covers it with both hands and cups it safe and damn-near painful as he whispers to whatever might listen:

“If any of this is real,” he barely fucking breathes: “please come back.”

He loses the battle for consciousness to his tears, but awake or asleep: he doesn’t once let go of the pendant pressed to his heart.

——

Eddie’s warm. Like, fell asleep in the sunlight, swaddled in a blanket, embraced and held and wrapped up in pure comfort warm.

“You’re more than a mere human,” a voice exhales right behind his ear: also warm, also comfort, also fucking impossible and he turns, frantic and even more so when he feels the lack of his film canister against his chest, and he tries to scramble for it but he’s…he’s held the whole time in strong arms that he knows, same as he knew that voice, same as it’s clear that he’s warm because he’s wrapped up in a body, tangled from the legs up with, with—

“How,” Eddie barely speaks, more mouths as that chest lifts, those lungs fill, that mouth curls warm and sweet and his Steve is watching him, those eyes so alive and then those strong hands are reaching for him, cupping Eddie’s cheeks and marveling like Eddie’s the wonder, here, like Steve isn’t lying in his arms like a full-on fucking miracle.

“You offered burning, and pledged your heart unasked,” Steve says it in this…this way that is exactly that simple, and exponentially more profound.

“That is some lore shit,” Eddie breathes out almost on instinct because…that’s some lore shit.

And Steve—Steve, his Stevie, wrapped around him and moving and breathing and being and definitely one-hundred-percent naked but that is totally irrelevant right this moment because Steve—

Steve laughs at him, soft and fond and god, god but Eddie thought he’d lost it. He was so sure, and his heart was so broken but now Steve’s heart is strong against his skin and Eddie can, he can…

Eddie can fucking breathe.

“I don’t think anyone expects our kind to be…cared about, like that,” Steve shrugs a little, and Eddie wants to protest because Steve Harrington isn’t only cared about, he is adored, and fuck anyone who says different, who so much as thinks otherwise—he wants to push the point, but Steve’s eyes are so intent, so saturated with feeling.

And fuck, but Eddie missed those eyes.

“Speeds the whole re-personing thing up, apparently,” Steve’s smile is a little wider before he shakes his head with a cute little toss of that hair.

“Old magic things,” he dismisses; “for later,” and then he draws Eddie back down close to his chest and snuggles him in so, so close.

“Tired,” Steve sighs a little into Eddie’s mess of curls; “and you need taking care of.”

And it’s…out of everything, the protective certainty in those last words are maybe the most unshakable proof that settles in Eddie’s chest and reminds the still-reluctant, still-too-scared parts of Eddie’s heart to commit and start back to beating because: only Steve Harrington is protective…quite like this.

“You’re really here?” Eddie whispers, wondering and hesitant all at the same time.

“Thanks to you,” Steve kisses Eddie soft, sure: taste strangely of smoke and cinnamon but underneath—all Steve.

His Steve.

He folds into Steve’s chest and just, fucking, clings.

“So fast,” Eddie mouths against Steve’s skin, because the heartbeat under his lips is almost indecipherable, one beat to the next. “And you’re so warm, are you,” Eddie props his chin up and looks up at Steve, anxious and flooding with worry before he sees Steve’s smile, still sweet and steady.

“Bird,” Steve drums his fingers against Eddie’s forearm, lightning quick; “fire bird, so,” and the heat makes sense then, too, as Steve wraps him up again tighter and sighs, satisfied as he envelopes Eddie’s frame.

“Also extra energy, I think,” Eddie listens to Steve’s words around his heartbeat through his chest; “like, I couldn’t make it past your kitchen but, I don’t know how I know it, but I know I can give some of it to you while it’s settling.”

Magic. Steve. Can share his phoenix magic. To take care of Eddie. Immediately after coming back from the fucking grave.

On brand, Eddie guesses. Jesus fuck.

“I am pretty damn positive I’m in love you with you, too, by the way,” Steve shakes Eddie back to his body, to the moment, to the soft sure way he breathes those words and kisses Eddie’s temple like Eddie’s pulse doesn’t trip around the sentence, the sentiment.

“Also thank you, for,” Steve adds, and drops another kiss while Eddie reels, floats in the moment of hearing the words, of knowing for sure, of feeling it: “for loving me, somehow, enough to,” and Eddie can imagine where that’s headed, the way Steve says somehow like an unthinkable thing.

And there will be none of that, so he stops it and kisses hard, wet, open-mouthed at the center of Steve’s chest, over his bird-flutter heartbeat.

“It broke me,” Eddie breathes there, cracked open and still raw; “I already mostly figured but,” and his voice breaks, and Steve pulls him closer, so warm, and the bird-heart-flutter feels more like full broad wings, majestic, almost embracing and ensuring Eddie of all things is safe, and kept.

And warm.

Fuck if Eddie doesn’t fall into the feeling, full body; whole heart and soul.

“If there was any question whether I already loved you with everything, the way I fell apart,” and Eddie just moans a little because there aren’t…he doesn’t have words for it at all, he—

“Let me put you back together?” Steve murmurs low in a way that’s so soft and gentle but trembles the marrow inside Eddie’s bones.

Timeless. Endless.

Eddie kisses Steve’s chest again and hopes Steve knows that means yes, and please, and forever.

Unequivocally.

“Could we maybe talk about that, um, bond stuff, that the letter…” Eddie eventually speaks muffled into the hair on Steve’s pecs, after soaking in the heat and pulse and realness of him.

“I meant it,” Steve murmurs straight into Eddie’s skin; “I’m not holding you to—”

“I want you to.”

Eddie did not for a second think or feel otherwise, from the moment he saw the words, before he even started to believe at all: his mind was filled with possibilities by those words. His chest was…

“You…” Steve nudges Eddie’s head up from his chest and studies his face, reads something in his eyes before his breath catches, this time; before his bird-pulse skips, something light and giddy against Eddie’s weight and Steve huffs, disbelieving but…maybe happy for it.

Maybe…maybe overjoyed, even.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, and leans to kiss Eddie full on the lips again, consuming: familiar for it.

“Yeah we can talk about that. But later.”

And then he settles Eddie back against him and wraps him in his bare skin, the still-radiant warmth.

“Now you sleep, and when you wake up, I feed you, you shower, you put on new clothes,” Eddie wrinkles his nose, doesn’t even know how many days it’s been since he cared for those things; abandons any shame for it when Steve feels him recoil and presses him closer, chuckles once and nuzzles his hair;

“Then I feed you again, and then,” Steve kisses his head once, and then twice, and then three times and Eddie feels it tingle through his goddamn veins like a vow, filled up with promise when Steve whispers, so alive:

“Then, we can talk.”

For @klausinamarink, who requested '"I cannot let you burn me up, nor can I resist you. No mere human can stand in a fire and not be consumed.”' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST and also for @steddie-week for the Day Seven prompt 'Free Space'

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher @lawrencebshoggoth @mensch-anthropos-human @micheledawn1975 @lumoschildextra @dotdot-wierdlife @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @grtwdsmwhr @eddie-munson-addict

divider credits here

ao3 link here ✨

[thestalwartheart]

Champagne tastes a lot like blood I can not know how I'm gonna heal

RADI00Q: 31 SONGS FOR BOND AND Q SONG 10: Catherine Wheel - The Whitlams (covered by Megan Washington and the Sydney Symphony Orchestra)

[saltynsassy31]

Frye Fest - Final Countdown

<- Previous - Part 6 - Next ->

[6/20]

🦉Team Wisom🦉

Splatfest 06-05-2023

[Master Post - coming soon]

Bonus Art [TotK Spoilers]:

[roguephenon]

II: The Thing That Will Always Be

"...Knowing this was the outcome, would you have still done the same?"

"In a New York minute." (Chapter cover is by @pinkmeanschaos. Check them out; they have fantastic work.)

The beginning of the end lies under the cut.

This would be the part where I post a tease of the chapter, followed by a link to said chapter.

Let's switch it up this time.

You've all given me so much love and encouragement, and I appreciate and cherish it all. Thank you so, so much.

But I'm not the only fanfic writer for this fandom. There are so many others who deserve love too. Some come to mind.

Like...

@geekinclara just recently started a KND fic, "Those Were The Days". It looks to be their take on Rachel's days as Supreme Leader and maybe even beyond that. It's off to a fantastic start. I've occasionally seen their posts about how much prep they've been doing for it (did you know making a cohesive timeline for this show is hard? Because it truly is), so it could do with some love, non?

And then there's @spicedwatermel0n and his KND fic, "The Rebellion," a GKND AU with 15 chapters already. It explores darker themes (which he's gone through the effort of listing before it starts to prepare his audience; he cares!) while weaving a narrative of the cast trying to fight an oppressive GKND regime. In space. Which is dope. He even has his own art of his designs. I hear he loves people asking about his AU and headcanons on his side blog when he has time to answer.

Nowadays, I write stories and create art for myself first and foremost, and I believe that should be the ultimate goal. Learning to love and take pride in your work should compel your drive to tell stories!

But comments matter, too. Feedback and engagement are rarely ever not a boost. I read every review left and respond to what I can when I have spoons, and it's an amazing feeling.

So, this is just me saying, "Help them feel amazing, too!" And not just these two, but all fanfic writers! If you see a fic you like, leave a quick sentence of your favorite moment!

Even if it has no traction, you'll just be their first!

Even if it has yet to be updated in 14 years, maybe there's a chance they'll come back one day!

Just something that came to mind to me today! And, of course, everyone has boundaries and things they like and dislike. Be respectful of those, too! Seriously. I've had to learn lessons the hard way, and I hope you don't have to have as harsh of an experience.

Thanks for listening to me yap!

Here's the link to Cold Reception's penultimate chapter for your trouble.

[colgatebluemintygel]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love ❤

hellowwww sash !!!! well given that i only have 3 fics currently posted on ao3 i will choose my favourite :^)

an endless sky of honey - erm self rec errrr well read this if you are at all interested in a vaguely hades/persephone (tbqh it's more reminiscent of zagreus/thanatos but whatever man) flavoured au ft goats and shadow sex !! and forbidden love .. and sad sopping wet boys ... and MY ANGEL REMOOSE WAHHHHHHHHHH all alone on his little island with his bees and goats ..... and remoose2 my sweet angel of death who just wants to plant flowers but can't bc his touch takes life..... whimpers..... sorry i got distracted. yeah so i really like this one :-))

[pommedepersephone]

There's no fixing this Thanks for all the fish I'll go and you'll forget this 'Cause them's the consequences I'm going on the run - Glass Animals from "On the Run"

This song is basically James Bond's answer to all his problems...

10/10 for the Fight Club vibes and the Adams quote. Also love that Fight Club is referenced multiple times on I Love You So F***ing Much, solidarity to everyone who had that particularly toxic collection of relationships shape their young view of love...

[a-oct0]

Grand Fest~ Now or Never Seven pictures!!

[maxybabyy]

Can you please do female lando norris please. She must have big tits and big ass.lando will be with Oscar.Bottom Lando

Sex infront of everyone without shame

hi friend! thank you for the prompt. i don't know if it was actually meant for me, but here is my interpretation of it 🫣

They talk about it first. The farm, where Lando wants it to be. The boundaries they both have, what she wants out of it – why she finds it so hot. To his credit, Oscar only asks, “Daniel will be fine with this, you reckon?”

Lando nods and crawls into his lap to kiss him, dizzy with how much she wants it.

Doesn’t tell him how they’ve already done it; Danny and her, Carlos, and Lewis back before he and Max had drifted apart. Only Lando won’t be there to watch. Won’t be sitting on her hands, frustrated with desire, desperate as she watched Max get fucked. Now, it will be her turn.

Before, Lando had thought about inviting Carlos, in the abstract way she’s been thinking about it: Carlos watching her while Oscar fucked her, imagining the look on his face, how he would stare at her ass, her boobs. Think about, maybe, how she was the one that got away.

But it wouldn’t be fair to Oscar. So they keep it instead to Danny and the rookies.

It’s fine, less than she had expected, maybe, but it will be fun. Good. She will be the only podium sitter this season too, and isn’t that worth just as much?

Daniel offers to cook, so they show up a little earlier, handing over the wine Oscar’s mum had recommended. Logan sits across from her at the table and doesn’t look her in the eyes, face red with a permanent flush. He doesn’t look at the dip of her shirt either and for a moment, Lando thinks about telling him to leave.

Oscar touches her thigh with a warm hand, brushes the edge of her dress until the strain in her shoulders releases. The buzz of the wine kicking in.

She’s halfway through a second glass, left alone with Logan being a fucking muppet about the car issues in Melbourne, when she follows the others to the door.

“Oscar?” She says, nudging him to the side to see – “Max, what are you doing here?”

Max turns so she’s looking right at Lando, lips stretched into an easy smile. “Lando. It’s so nice to see you also, have you been here before?” She slips from Daniel’s arms and leans in to kiss her on the cheek – once, twice, like she’s fucking Charles – and teases the edge of her skirt. “You of course look very lovely.”

Lando doesn’t reply, looks instead at Liam who looks at Max still. So fucking in love with her she probably couldn’t wait to let it slip.

“Hey, I’m gonna show Max around the farm, yeah?” Daniel says and pulls Max down one of the dirt paths. She watches Max stumble after him, hands already in the air as she tells him about her thoughts, changing the gears of her imaginary bike.

She thinks, wildly, about calling it off. Postpone or start anew. Tell Oscar she has cold feet, and that they should try again some other time. With Max F instead. George, maybe. Friends she knows will enjoy it. Enjoy her. She doesn’t, obviously, and reaches for Oscar’s hand until he kisses her. The even-keel to the tumultuous storm that rages inside her.

“Okay, Lando?” He asks her, voice tender, and for a second, she hates him too.

For now, she smiles at him, nods.

She makes Oscar fuck her on Daniel’s sofa.

She’s been thinking about it for a while, how she wanted it to be. If Danny would mind them fucking in his bedroom, if he would make them use the guest room instead. But this, she thinks, is better. The thought of her naked on his sofa as he watches telly by himself.

The sex itself is – mid, probably.

Oscar sweats a lot, always does. But like this, on Daniel’s fancy leather sofa, he’s downright slippery. His knee sliding to the side the moment he builds up a decent rhythm. “Fuck, sorry Lands,” he says and pulls out to reset, knees back in the middle. Dick only half as hard as usual.

“Probably you should just lay down,” Max says close to her head. “Always this leather is bad for fucking. Daniel knows this of course, but he doesn’t care. Now, he is better but only by so much.”

Daniel must respond but Lando doesn’t want to hear, watches instead Oscar lay down on top of her. His pace improves but somehow, it’s even worse.

Her stomach is still bloated from the pasta, and something from the wine must have gone to her head. Flushed from the sulphites she’s allergic to, the tart taste still on her tongue. She thinks that her boobs must look awful. The lacy fabric torn lightly by Oscar’s brutish hands, pushed to the side to show off her nipple. But it looks smushed like this, flattened from lying down.

Her orgasm, when it comes, is weak, overdue.

It feels nothing like how she remembers it from watching Max. The air isn’t thick with sex, the tension not desperate with need. Oscar comes moments after her, but when she looks, none of the others look even close.

Logan sits ramrod straight in his chair, hands curled around his thighs. If she squints, maybe she can see a bulge in his trousers, but it has been left untouched, untempted by their show. Liam at least has a hand shoved into her shorts, but her head is tilted away.

Reluctantly, Lando turns towards where Max sits in Daniel’s lap.

Her white dress shirt has been unbuttoned to her naval and shows off the bralette Max likes to wear off the track. It’s too tight, obviously. Ill-fitting over Max’s boobs, would have been even without Daniel’s hand shoved under the fabric.

Daniel kisses down her neck, and Max curls a hand in his hair, moans softly for more. Oscar sits up on his knees to pull out of her, and Lando can almost pretend that she doesn’t feel him twitch inside her.

Daniel peels the compression shorts off Max and strokes a hand over her ass before he pulls her back into his lap. Face towards him this time – away from Lando. Liam has turned too, staring at the matching white underwear Max teases down over her hip.

Lando doesn’t look at Logan, knows either way she won’t like it.

Max makes another sound, a breathless moan that has Lando squeezing her thighs together. Daniel watches her over Max’s shoulder, winks before he leans in to kiss Max. Fucks her with his fingers until the sound is loud, filthy. The air heavy with tension.

“Fuck, Daniel, please,” Max begs and lets her head fall back.

Lando watches the way her hips cant up, chasing Daniel’s fingers. Her eyes are welling up, her back arched with pleasure, and even from behind, Lando knows she’s a sight to be seen.

She hates the need that burns through her, wetter now than she was then with Oscar’s fingers inside her. Wonders then if she should have done it before she and Oscar became a thing. Fucked Carlos back when she had the chance. At least then she would know, maybe.

Daniel fucks her on the floor, gentler than he used to, but familiar in a way that makes Lando ache inside. Max keeps her shirt on, even as the fabric soaks with sweat. Like they haven’t all seen her spread wide and fucked.

And then – the realisation that the rookies haven’t probably. That Lando would have been their first, their only if Max hadn’t done this.

Oscar’s hands feel clammy on her thighs, but she lets him pull her to the floor, pushing inside her with a grunt. It’s different than before and for that, she doesn’t let herself like it more. But it feels better when he fucks her now, sinks in completely before he pulls out, touches her clit until she whines.

“Oscar, I’m close –“ she moans, blunts nails digging into his shoulders.

She’s almost there, teetering on the edge, when someone grabs her hand. She jolts in surprise, goes to pull back when she hears Max laugh. Her sweaty palm sliding against hers, and for a moment it feels almost nice.

Max squeezes her hand as she comes, Lando following her into the fray.

[alangreenstein]

The Support Our #creatives® Clubhouse Room - November 13, 2023 - Shakesha Williams and Lakeisha Jackson

The Support Our #creatives® Clubhouse Room - November 13, 2023 - Shakesha Williams and Lakeisha Jackson #Clubhouse #SupportOurHashtagCreatives #ShakeshaWilliams #LakeishaJackson #ExceptionFest #filmmaking #industryexperts #pitching

Mon. Nov. 13 at 5pmET (special early time) on the **Clubhouse App**. The Support Our #creatives® Clubhouse room. This episode is all about Exception Fest, founded by our special guests Lakeisha Jackson and Shakesha Williams. Exception Fest, being held on November 17-18, celebrates filmmakers and filmmaking. Our guests will discuss the reason for the festival, what will be covered, and the future…

[stewystew]

It’s time to kill some rich people

Please choose the characters you’d most like to kill with your bare hands for literally any reason.

No idea how many people will see this‚ but this’ll probably close at 5pm pst on October 19th.

Edit: voting is over! This is the final round post

[sagittariuns]

hold on … terror fest might be the best thing choices has released in YEARS and i’m not even joking

[paracunt]

Paramore perform The Only Exception at Adjacent Fest in Atlantic City, New Jersey (2023) via

[pcktknife]

Lol is it weird to have a fave idol but also just,,,choose what you want to? Like I feel bad Frye hasn’t won a lot but also, I’m joining Team Love bc that’s kinda what I’m vibing with

no!!! it isnt weird!!! thats the whole point of splatfest its not an idol contest its a pick ur fave option contest!!! thats why theres a question posed!!!!!!!!! the idols are just mascots!!!!

[itsphantasmagoria]

@hp-fruit-fest

Prompt: Drapple 🍎🍏

I imagined this as a spicy magazine photo shoot/centerfold thing, featuring Draco, his lack of shame, and some apples. Also bonus Harry in the last one because I couldn’t help myself apparently.

UPDATE: The AO3 link works now! Go see the ✨spice✨

View the uncropped versions on AO3