#I hope you like the snippet!!

[wispscribbles]

why are you and your drawings so cool 😭🙏

afdsasdfasg thank you !! irl ppl would laugh at me being called cool lol - Have a ghoap as thanks <33

[ughgoaway]

casual

It's hard being casual                                                                                                                               When my favourite bra lives in your dresser

a fic inspired by Chappell Roan's casual; snippet below the cut. 18+, 1.5k.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・.・.

Hot bodies press against you as you weave through the house, spilt beer making your skin sticky as more and more people carelessly dance with drinks sloshing in their hands. A playlist you don't recognise fills the air, and whilst Matty might be hosting, you can tell the playlist is completely out of his control. The vaguely rhythmic pumping drum and bass overwhelming your senses isn't something you can see him listening to, but maybe you just don't know him as well as you hoped.

Your eyes dart around the hoard of people looking for him and then back to your phone, desperate to see those three dots pop up and for him to finally respond. He never does, though, and when you scroll back, you see message after message go unanswered, unless they're about hooking up, of course. Those always get a response within minutes, which should be flattering, but seeing it laid out in front of you instead leaves a hollowed ache in your chest.

You know what you were signing up for the very first time his crisp white sheets got wrapped up between your thighs, sleeping with Matty Healy was a path well worn by girls before you, and not one of them had got a meaningful relationship out of it. More people have seen every inch of his skin than have ever seen his true personality, or maybe the faux rockstar cool guy act is who he really is, but you're not so convinced.

But that facade was all you needed. It's exactly why you started this in the first place. Misplaced anger towards your ex suddenly became you ripping a condom open with your teeth and sinking down on the dick of a man you'd spoken to maybe 5 times.

But that next morning, after he raised his eyebrows and asked if he wanted to go again, you ignored that screaming head in your voice to stay away and instead slid into his lap and put your lips on his.

Here you are now 4 months later, and your relationship is… something.  Matty would say it's completely casual. it's fun, low-commitment sex and nothing more. And when he says that, you nod and agree, immediately going for his belt to try and get those words out of your mind. And usually, within 30 seconds, with his hand in your hair and his dick in your mouth, it's pretty easy to forget. But it's times like this you're rudely reminded. When he invites you to a party knowing you don't know anyone and leaves you stranded, the truth comes crashing back into your head, impossible to ignore.

Some faces that glide past you feel familiar, but when a body crashes into yours and you look up at their face, it's the first one you really recognise. 

“George! Thank god, where’s Matty? he won’t answer my text” You try to sound blasé when you ask, acting how you think you should, running the gone girl “cool girl” monologue in your head. When George scrunches his face in confusion, you think he's seen right through your act, but what comes out of his mouth is worse than any transparent ploy he could've seen through.

“Sorry, do I know you?” George asked, nervously running his hand over his neck and looking down at you with squinted eyes. Suddenly, it feels like you've been shot in the chest, blood covering your clothes and hands. If you looked down right now, you swear they'd be stained red. But that's not very chill girl of you, so you giggle nervously and try and hide the crimson that covers you.

“Oh, sorry. I’m y/n. Has Matty ever mentioned me?” You giggle awkwardly as you speak, silently crushing the plastic cup of cheap beer that was forced into your hands as soon as you passed the threshold. 

Finally, after time dragged on for about 10 seconds longer than you'd like, a flicker of realisation fills George's eyes, and you expect an explanation. Maybe he's pissed, or high, or just not that good with faces. You convince yourself that there are a thousand reasons why Matty’s closest friend wouldn't know your face, but none of them match what falls from his lips.

“Oh yeahhhh. You're the girl Matty’s messing around with, right? The girl he fucked on the sofa at a party one time?” he drunkenly giggles, hiccupping halfway through his sentence.

Bang. The sound of a second gunshot fills your ears, and you swear you can feel the blood pouring again. He doesn't know it, he doesn't even know your name, but George's words felt like the eulogy at your funeral, as if he had just killed you and now he was sending you away. “The girl Matty is messing around with” not “Matty’s girlfriend”, or “Matty’s partner”, not even “Matty’s friend”, just the latest girl in his never-ending rotation.

Still, you smile even if you do feel yourself dying as you stand on the liquor-sodden carpet. “Yup. That's me… I guess. any idea where he is?” Even if you do speak through gritted teeth, George seems oblivious, quite easily directing you to Matty without a second thought.

“Uh last time I saw him was on the sofa in the front room, check there, maybe?” he shrugs, casting his eyes over your shoulder and smiling at someone. Well, it's nice to know he is capable of smiling, maybe he only does it with people who he actually knows, not people who he only kind of recognises for fucking his best friend.

“Yeah thanks, bye Geor-” Before you can even say a proper goodbye, he weaves through the crowd and shouts someone's name before tackling them in a hug. You wonder how he’d treat you if you were really Matty’s girlfriend. Would he cast you a smile and wrap you in a hug? Maybe you could have double dates with him as his girlfriend, then you'd know all Matty’s friends, the funny stories about him from childhood. 

You know the most intimate parts of Matty's body, the places that only your fingers brush, that you press kisses to. You know the tattoos that hide from everyone else. You've traced them with your tongue. But you don't know him. His favourite colour or movie, you don't know how his brain ticks, what his first kiss was, his first love, or if he's ever been in love.

He doesn't know anything about you either, but you think that's a blessing in disguise. If he asked if you'd ever been in love, you don't think you could lie. he'd see the lie in your eyes, swirling and fighting to leave your mouth in a way that sounded anyway believable. hed know that you are in love, right now. with him. No matter how thick you lay on the denial, there's only so much you can do to hide from your own thoughts.

So when you slip into the living room and see another girl on his lap with his hand around her waist, the third bullet of the night hits you, and this time you can't bring yourself to smile awkwardly and brush it off.

The blood won't stop. Each time his fingers stroke over her skin like they do on yours, you feel like you're dying. That any breath could be your last. The thump of the bass in your ears is replaced by your thumping heart, each beat permeating your skull. 

Thump. His hand pushes up her shirt, and his fingertips dance on her bare stomach. Thump. He throws his head back, laughing at something she says. Thump. He grips her hip and winks at her, pulling her deeper into his lap. Thump. She turns to face him. Thump. Her hand grips his cheek. Thump. He's kissing her. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Your heart won't stop racing, growing faster with each second. You watch his hand move from her waist to her neck, pressing his fingers into her skin the same way he does to you. Subconsciously, your hand goes up to your neck, brushing over the very places where you're sure those same fingertips left bruises two nights before. Slowly, her hand slides up to his hair, gripping his curls the way you know he loves. You watch his hips jump at the feeling. It makes you sick to your stomach, that once empty space fulling with dread and jealousy over a man who barely spared a thought for you.

Someone bumps your shoulder and suddenly the world comes back into colour, and you can hear the familiar beat of the shitty music, the shouting of some teenage boys as a random girl takes her top off, and the chatter of the people around you. You can breathe again. But he's still there, her tongue in his mouth and his hand cupping her cheek.

Fuck. you need a cigarette.

[arsenicflame]

It's a time-honoured tradition- every time Sam comes across Izzy (and Ed) in their travels, he asks Izzy to marry him. And every time, Izzy turns him down.

At this point, Sam is asking more for the sake of it than any belief Izzy will ever say yes, a remnant of childhood dedication touched with 30 years of heartbreak and regret- though even now, a small part of him still holds out hope. Sam's promises have only got more extravagant over the years, from a job as his first mate, to a captaincy, a fleet at his command, a whole fucking island if that's what Izzy wants- but he knows it isn't though, not really. If Izzy was ever going to agree to marry him, to leave his life and go with Sam, it wouldn't be for anything Sam could offer him. Izzy never did care for flashy shows of wealth, for a ship or to be captain. The only thing that ever mattered to him was loyalty given, and loyalty shown in return. 

It all comes to a head after Stede left and came back, after Izzy lost a toe, lost his leg. Sam hasn't seen him since before things with Ed started to really slide off the rails, before stress permanently set into the lines of Izzy’s face. So, when he sees a dishevelled man with a hoof for a leg in a no-name port, he doesn't even consider the idea that he might know him. It's only when he turns towards him, and Sam catches a glance at those oh too familiar tattoos, he realises this is Izzy, his Izzy, that stands before him.

Knowing Izzy's discomfort with pity, he doesn't treat him any differently than he would in years gone by, positioning himself in Izzy's line of sight before approaching and sweeping him up into a bone crushing hug. 

“Israel-goddamn-Hands!” he exclaims, as Izzy grumbles back a begrudging “Samuel-fucking-Bellamy”, a tradition almost as old as their friendship itself. Izzy might not hug him back, but he can’t keep the corner of his mouth from twitching, just for a second.

(If Sam holds Izzy a little tighter and a little longer than usual, well. That's his business)

By the time Sam lets go, most of the crew has appeared in the town square, drawn in by the commotion. They may have given Izzy his leg and welcomed him as one of them, but still there’s an underlying tension, with nobody quite ready to set aside everything that happened before the Kraken. Seeing him cosying up to an unknown man sets everyone on edge, unsure whether to come to their first mate’s aid, or to assume that they've been betrayed once again.

When Ed sees that the yelling was Sam, his hand goes tense where it's held in Stede's. He knows the routine, has seen it more times than he can count, but as he watches them part he realises that this is the first time in a long time he's unsure of what Izzy's response will be.

Knowing that something’s different, knowing that Izzy's feeling vulnerable already, Sam doesn't go for the same flashy proposal he’s been giving for years. He doesn't promise Izzy the world, he doesn't cause a scene (or, any more of a scene than he already has, anyway). He looks at the fractured man in front of him, takes his face in his hands, and says the exact same thing to him he said when they were little more than boys. “Israel, I have to ask you. I know what you'll say, but I have to try. Come with me. Marry me and sail away with me. I'll keep you safe”

And Izzy… hesitates. He glances over at Ed, at Stede, and says to Sam “...We’re staying in port for a week. Ask me again then”

That's the moment Sam knows there is something deeply, horribly, wrong. He's not just looking at an Izzy who got seriously injured in a fight and is struggling to cope, this is something so much bigger than that- and that Ed has something to do with it. Izzy wouldn't even be considering leaving if he didn't. Whether it was negligence or something more sinister, Sam doesn't yet know, but he intends to find out.

[jusst-you-race]

@pitlanethoughts i hope this is sort of what you wanted!! slightly different to how charles is useless but i think pierre would be useless in a different way for the ccc snippet prompts

Charles Did you go see him?

Pierre I had a busy day 

Charles Pierre 

You are never going to get anywhere if you don’t apologise 

Pierre I still think he should be the one apologising 

Charles You’ve said this many times 

But either you apologise 

Or you shut up about his stupid smug smile that you want to kiss so much 

Pierre I said that once while drunk 

Charles And I will never let you live it down 

Because drunk 

Oh what is the phrase 

Drunk words say sober feelings?

Something like that 

Pierre Since when are you the wise friend 

Charles Since you started pining over Esteban 

Pierre I am not pining 

I am still pissed off at him 

I can’t be pining and pissed off at the same time 

Charles Yes you would think so

But it is one of life’s little miracles that you manage to make it work 

You need to go and see him tomorrow 

Pierre I still think ambushing him at work is a bad idea

Charles Ambushing 

So dramatic 

You are apologising! 

That is not an ambush 

Pierre He cannot leave if he doesn’t want to talk to me 

Charles If he does not want to talk to you he will simply kick you out 

If you think he is too polite not to then you do not know him at all 

Pierre I guess so 

Charles So tomorrow?

Because Lance will also be there the day after 

And I don’t know what your kinks are but I’m pretty sure public humiliation is not one of them 

Pierre Don’t be crude 

Charles I will get cruder if you do not go and apologise 

Pierre Fine! 

I will go tomorrow 

Happy?

Charles Oui 😇

[quadrantadvisor]

Multiverse, Reverse Robins au, 2,514 words

-

Jason (Red Hood)

The imposters are good, Jason will give them that.

They need to work on their looks, unfortunately, because each one of them is a little off. Their Nightwing is too bulky, and his costume isn't made with Dick's flexibility in mind. Besides that, he's got an undercut that doesn't match the shaggy way Dick has his hair now, and his blue is too dark. And the swords. Those are different.

Their little Robin looks more like Dick, actually, Dick as he was before Jason's time, with his happy grin and his bright yellow cape. He doesn't match Damian's style at all, and Jason wonders if their intel was out of date. He tucks away his anger (the way he's used to doing, now) at these bastards roping some little kid into whatever con they're trying to pull. They can help the kid after they subdue him, and he stops trying to flip-kick people in the face.

The Red Robin outfit isn't bad, but the guy playing him is way too tall to be Tim. He doesn't use a bo staff, either, clearly preferring the armory of sharp little implements he keeps tucked away in his utility belt, including a wicked looking combat knife.

Which brings Jason to the current pain in his ass, the idiot trying to pass himself off as the Red Hood.

Yeah, they'd split off into pairs to fight. First off, for practicality's sake. Less risk of friendly fire if the only guy you're trying to punch is the one who isn't you. And secondly, it's just what you do, isn't it? Somebody gives you a set up like this, you go along with the poetic justice. No bat is immune to drama.

Jason is regretting that a bit, now. Fake Hood had taken him for a ride, leading him, he now realizes, far away from the warehouse where Nightwing and Robin had initially called in the disturbance. This other guy isn't the powerhouse that Jason is, but that doesn’t matter if Jason can't ever get in a hit. His movements are precise, deadly, and familiar in a way that makes Jason suspect League training. Jason is keeping up, but barely, and that's with the advantage of his guns. The other guy hasn't touched his, still gleaming red in his holsters, and Jason has a sneaking suspicion that they aren't filled with rubber bullets.

They're at a bit of a stalemate, standing on opposite sides of a dark rooftop, and Jason's trying to catch his breath but he can't relax, not when his gaze is locked onto his opponent, waiting for the minute twitch of muscle that will indicate his next move. He's wondering if he could get a shot off, wondering where to aim, when his comm crackles to life.

“Stand down!” Tim snaps in his ear. “Hood, Wing, the alternates aren't currently a threat. Deescalate however you can, and get back to the warehouse. We can explain this whole mess there.”

“Really?” Nightwing asks. He goes on to say something else, something about his doppleganger being incredibly threatening, thank you very much, but Jason stops listening, because there's something going on across the roof.

A mechanically distorted voice says, “What? No, I'd be able to tell. This guy isn't-” The imposter(?) cuts off suddenly, presumably listening to a response.

And then he… giggles.

“That isn't funny, Red,” he says, in contrast to the little peals of laughter making him subtly shake. “You- you get how fucked up that would be, don't you?”

Jason can't figure out what to do. Tim's intel is almost always good, but he can't get himself to stand down, not when, for some reason, that laughter is setting his teeth on fucking edge.

(He knows the reason. He'd know that cadence anywhere, he hears it in his fucking nightmares, but it isnt possible. He's in Arkham, right now, because Batman won't kill him and Jason isn't allowed to kill him and that uncomfortable truce is what got him his family back. Jason would know if he'd broken out, they wouldn't have kept that from him. They wouldn't.)

“Oh shit,” Tim says, and it makes Jason wonder how he knows, “Hood, is your alternate having some kind of fit right now?”

The sound escalates, from breathy little giggles to screeching laughter, and even with the hood's distortion, it's unmistakable.

It's the Joker's laugh.

It's the Joker.

And isn't this exactly some shit that Joker would pull, making a mockery of Jason's family, a twisted parody that fucks with his head? Tim's lying, he's trying to get Jason out of this situation, and Jason gets why, he does, but obviously the rest of them can't (won't) protect him from this, so if he has to take fate into his own hands, he will.

The green is creeping up, but Jason doesn't let it haze over his vision because he has to be in his right mind while he does this, not for them, for himself. As he stalks across the roof, he empties the clip from one of his guns and pulls out the live rounds, loads them into place.

He thinks Tim is calling for him, maybe the others, too, but the chatter over the comm is getting further away the closer he gets to his target. He should be smart, should take the shot, but maybe he's got more pit in his head than he wants to admit, because Joker, still laughing, pulls a knife, and Jason steps into his range to disarm him.

The strike is fast, but compared to the careful movements of before, he's practically telegraphing his actions. Jason sidesteps, and if the blade knicks him when he twists Joker's arm, he doesn't feel it. He's got the clown in a hold, now, and forces him to his knees with the gun against his temple.

If the hood is anything like his own, the bullet won't do it, not even at point blank range. Jason would like to get it off him, would like to see the life leave his eyes, but he doesn't have to. Jason moves the barrel beneath his chin, right where the armor ends. The pit rages inside of him, says this is too easy, says to make him suffer. Jason pushes it down. This is the compromise he'll make, this is what he'll do to try to maintain both his humanity and his peace of mind. The bullet will ricochet off the hood from the inside, will tear through Joker's brain at least twice, and he'll never come back from that, and Jason will finally be free.

It'll be easy.

This is too easy.

“Nothing to fucking say?” Jason growls, jostling the clown in his grip, because there's always some joke, some shitty twist.

The Joker just laughs.

“Unhand him this instant!” someone snaps, and Jason's finger twitches but somehow the trigger stays still. And now what's he supposed to do, because of course fucking Nightwing- but wait, that isn't- but it is, he's right there- it's both of them, two Nightwings. Fucking fantastic. Twice the guilt trip.

“Come on, Jay,” the Nightwing who's actually Dick pleads, and hey, what the fuck, codenames? In front of the fucking Joker, Dick? “Let him go, we can explain everything.”

“I'm not doing this again!” rips itself from Jason's throat, and he'll think later about just how wrecked he sounds. “I'm not just standing here and letting him go, Wing, not when one bullet can put a stop to all this, not when I can end him.”

“Jason,” Dick says, slow with forced calm, “that's not the Joker.”

“Don't you fucking lie to me!” Jason seethes.

His hand is wrenched to the side, the barrel facing open air, and before he can make a move the unfortunately familiar feeling of a high voltage shock courses through him.

By the time he's stopped seizing, Dick is at his back, supporting him with his own body and with arms under his pits and around his chest in a weird reverse hug. Technically, Jason's hands are free, but they're empty, the gun skidded to somewhere else across the roof.

Dick is murmuring into his ear, “Sorry, Little Wing, I'm so sorry,” and, “You're okay, you're okay, you're okay,” mantras meant to soothe his brother as much as himself. Jason wants to be angry, wants to snap at him to let go and fucking cut it out, but he's feeling strangely disoriented. He only has enough brainspace to pay attention to one thing, and that's the scene playing out in front of him.

Dick had clearly hauled them back a few steps, but Jason is still uncomfortably close to the bastard version of Nightwing (who, Jason realizes in hindsight, had tazed him while he'd been distracted by his brother, not cool) and the laughing maniac he should've killed. Nightwing is holding onto Joker's shoulders, his hands bouncing as the gasping, shrieking laughter continues.

“I'm going to remove your helmet now,” Nightwing says. He has a slight accent that Jason knows he's heard before, and his tone is professional, almost clipped. And yet, somehow, Jason can tell that this is a gentled version of the man's voice, the sharpest edges sanded away. His hands move from Joker's shoulders to the back of his head, carefully inputting whatever sequence allows for safe removal of the hood. Jason hears a hydraulic hiss when some sort of catch releases, and as Nightwing starts pulling the red metal up and away Jason can't help holding his breath.

At first, he sees what he expected to see. It's the Joker's expression, after all, his laughing face pulled into a rictus grin.

But the grin isn't right, somehow. The man is pale, but his face is unpainted, and the smile stretches wide, too wide, wider than even the Joker ever managed, and after a moment Jason recognizes the red, raised scar tissue on either side of his mouth for what it is.

Then, Jason takes in the actual features of the person in front of him. Dark hair, pale blue eyes, the cheeks, the jaw, the nose.

It doesn't make any fucking sense.

The Red Hood, collapsed on his knees in front of him, scarred face bare with no hood or domino to protect him as he struggles under the weight of his own laughter, is Tim Drake.

He's crying.

Jason is suddenly glad that Dick's holding him, because he's certain that he'd be on the ground, otherwise. Then, he realizes that he can't breathe.

Jason knows, logically, that his hood has sensors and filters that keep him safer than he could ever be without it. It is only every once in a while, when something stupid happens, that he regrets that he, a man with claustrophobia, decided to stick his head into a metal bucket.

Dick can probably tell that he's hyperventilating, and doesn't fight him as Jason gets his hands on the back of his neck and pulls off his hood.

Jason gasps in polluted Gotham air, and Tim's eyes snap onto him. Nightwing says, “I'm administering the emergency dose of your medication,” and then stalls, like he's waiting for a response, but all Tim does is laugh and stare. Jason stares back. He can't look away.

Nightwing retrieves a small tubular device, almost like an epipen, and presses it against Tim's leg. That shouldn't work. Tim's wearing body armor, same as the rest of them, and there's no way a needle could pierce it, but Jason looks as Nightwing draws the device away and there's a small raised circle of hard plastic on Tim's thigh that the head of the device fits into perfectly, like it was designed for that purpose. An injection spot, built into Tim's clothing, specifically for whatever drugs fake Nightwing just pumped into him.

Immediately, there's a difference. He doesn't stop laughing, or smiling that horrible fucking smile, but the manic tension is gone. He doesn't look like he'll shatter at a touch anymore, too brittle to be handled. The curve of his spine gentles, muscles no longer pulling it to the point of snapping. Jason watches as slowly, oh so slowly, Tim gets quieter, leans more into Nightwing's hold on him, starts gasping more than laughing.

Dick is talking behind him, into his comm, it sounds like. If it's important, someone will get his attention.

Finally, Tim breaks eye contact. “T- tell him,” he says to Nightwing, struggling between gasps and giggles, “tell him what you, gave me. Jay doesn't, he doesn't like, needles.”

The strange Nightwing turns his head, and Jason gets the impression of a sharp, searching gaze behind his domino. He's nothing like Dick, not at all, but something niggles the back of Jason's mind, some sense of familiarity regardless. He tosses something, and Jason automatically reaches up to catch it.

It's the empty tube of medication, which does seem a lot like an epipen, up close. “It's a combination,” the man says. “The antidote for Joker venom, an antipsychotic, and a mild sedative.”

“What the fuck?” Jason hears from his own mouth as he looks down at the innocuous little tube.

“It's only used in emergencies,” Nightwing adds, and does not clarify any further.

Jason doesn't know what to say to that. He shakes himself out of Dick's hold and grabs an evidence bag out of his jacket. He watches Nightwing, to see if he'll object, but he doesn't. Jason slips the medicine tube inside the bag and tucks it away.

“There you are!” Dick says in a bright tone, one meant to cover his anxiety and relief.

Jason turns, and finds that their roof has gotten a little crowded. All four Robins have arrived, his brothers mingled in with their copies, copies who don't quite match in ways that are now sticking in his brain. Tim, Jason's Tim, is standing right there, pressing his mask against his face like he'd broken the seal on the adhesive, and it isn't sticking quite right. Other than that, he's normal. He's fine.

The Robin, the one in the classic colors who Jason had thought looked a bit like Dick (oh God, could that be-?) gives a little whistle. “Trust Red Hood to cause drama!” he says in a bright tone that is too too familiar (fuck, fuck he is). “Must be a universal constant.” He grins, cheeky, looking past Jason.

Jason isn't processing fast enough to be offended for his own sake, but he turns and checks on Tim, other Tim, the Tim who apparently also has a claim to the Red Hood name. Tim is propped up on Nightwing's shoulder, looking drowsy and relaxed. He's looking back at Robin, and his lips are pressed tightly closed, but he's smiling, and it reaches his eyes.

Alright, then. This is probably fine.

Jason snorts, to get the kid's attention, and rolls his eyes. “Comes with the job description,” he snarks.

The kid lights up. Jason feels distinctly weird, having that smile directed at him, but it's not… bad.

Yeah. This is fine.

-

I'm planning to add a reblog with more information on this au/fic idea, so if you're interested, watch this space.

[mitamicah]

✨Them 😭🥹✨

(inspired by a shirt I saw in a danish grocery store around pride)

[flowercrowngods]

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 (these make one big story, you won't understand this part without the others)

day 07: free space a happy ending

Wakefulness embraces him so slowly and gently that Steve’s not entirely sure he isn’t dreaming when he sees Eddie lying next to him, watching him with an easy smile as his fingers tap out a slow beat on his pillow. Steve looks at him, blinking away the remnants of sleep, not quite daring to do anything more than that for fear of it being a dream after all, scared that Eddie would disappear if Steve reached out to touch. 

But then Eddie’s smile widens. “Good morning, sunshine.” 

Steve gasps a little and moves his hand to Eddie’s cheek, tucking a few strands of hair behind his ear, his breath hitching when Eddie leans into the touch. 

“You’re here,” he whispers, his gaze wandering over Eddie’s features, taking it all in and looking for any indication that this is a dream. 

Eddie hums. “And you’re pretty.” 

It hits him out of nowhere, the open sincerity in Eddie’s voice, the fondness in his eyes, the honesty in everything about him. The love, open and free now — or getting there, at least. It’s still so raw, though, so new, that Steve doesn’t know how to handle it yet. 

“Shut up,” he huffs once he’s caught his breath, rolling over to hide his face and the way his cheeks are heating up. He rolls right into Eddie's chest, though, and he's so warm, so close, smells so good that Steve wants nothing more than to bury his face in his neck and stay there for the rest of the morning. Or maybe the rest of his life.

The reflex to pull away is there. The urge to run and hide, to laugh it off, to freeze up and find something else to do, something to occupy his hands and stop them from reaching for Eddie. Years and years of muscle memory telling Steve to leave. 

But Eddie's arms come around him, holding him close and pulling him even closer. And Steve breathes him in, remembering that it can be okay. Remembering that they get a chance now. 

Remembering the words. 

What are you doing? 

Changing the world. 

So he tries that, too. Changing the world. He tries by winding his arms around Eddie, too, and breathing in again and again, learning that Eddie won't disappear if he does. 

Slowly, he dares to move his arms, stroking along Eddie's back in slow, gentle patterns, lulling himself into a safety he hasn't felt in a while. Maybe ever. At some point Eddie begins to hum, and Steve thinks that it's just another one of his audible smiles, inviting Steve and the rest of the world to join in if they're so inclined. But then he detects a familiar melody in the vibrations of Eddie's neck against his skin, and he holds his breath to find out what it is. 

His heart jumps when he recognises the song as one he used to listen to on repeat like a lovesick fool around the time his feelings for Eddie turned into something more, something better, something infinitely worse. 

It skips and he forgets how to breathe as he lets his hands travel over Eddie's back, slowly and tentatively daring to slip underneath his shirt and touch his skin. 

Eddie begins to sing, then, and Steve wonders if he's even been in love with him before, because nothing of what he's ever felt compares to Eddie's gentle, hoarse, sleep-rough voice as he sings Somebody to Steve, to their little bubble, or to the world outside. 

"I want somebody to share, share the rest of my lifeShare my innermost thoughts, know my intimate details."

He closes his eyes as he listens, focusing on the vibrations, on the warmth, on the closeness, on how this moment is everything he's never even dared to want. Everything so perfect that he couldn't even dream it up. 

Everything. You're everything. 

He needs to be closer still, so be buries his nose in Eddie's neck and breathes him in, tangling their legs, filled with a breathless kind of joyful bliss when Eddie's breath hitches, too, and he stumbles over the words of the second verse as Steve tries to climb into his skin. 

"I want somebody who cares for me passionatelyWith every thought and with every breath."

You have me, Steve thinks, pressing his lips to Eddie's pulse point. It's not a kiss, not quite. It's something deeper. It's a promise. 

Eddie's hands come up to hold him there even as his voice carries through the drumbeat of Steve's heart in his throat, running fingers through his hair, lightly scratching at his scalp, making him purr along to the melody. 

"But when I'm asleep I want somebodyWho will put their arms around me and kiss me tenderlyThough things like this make me sickIn a case like this, I'll get away with it."

When the song ends, Eddie's words faded out, replaced once again by the gentlest silence, Steve feels raw. Vulnerable. Open and exposed. But he also feels safe, and loved, buried in Eddie's skin and held there, as though Eddie is just as scared of fading away as Steve is. 

He lifts his head just slightly, enough to meet Eddie's eyes – only to find that they're closed, an expression so serene like Steve has never seen before. Mesmerised and overflowing with affection, he reaches out to trace the line of his brows, down to his cheeks and all the way to his lips, where his eyes are glued for a second. 

The thought of kissing Eddie is right there. The opportunity is, too. But he doesn't. He barely dares to move as it is. But he does roll them over the rest of the way until he lies comfortably on top of Eddie, and tucks his head underneath his chin, finding one of his hands and lacing their fingers. 

"You've got him," he breathes eventually. "That somebody. If you—“ 

"Yes," Eddie says, his other hand finding its way to the nape of Steve's neck to play with his hair again. "I want."

"Good." It's lame; far from what he wants to say. From what he has already said last night. It feels like they're doing this backwards, starting with the I love you and catching up with the slow build-up afterwards. "Good. Me, too." 

"Good," Eddie hums, and there's that smile again that Steve can't help but mirror. 

They fall asleep again like that even though it’s already late in the morning; cuddling and holding and cradling each other, still trembling slightly. Maybe that's what changing the world will do to you. Maybe that's the bravery more than the love. 

Or maybe it's just Steve and Eddie. Steve and Eddie. SteveandEddie. 

I love you. 

~*~

It takes a bit for Steve to relearn loving Eddie. To not associate it with tragedy and sadness and a bone-deep loneliness that'll leave him breathless even on the best of days. 

It takes a while for Steve to learn a whole new kind of breathlessness, a whole new kind of aching when it comes to Eddie. 

And Eddie's not much better than Steve, pulling away when Steve wants him closer, swallowing his words and needing a second, third, fourth try until he learns that he gets to love Steve now. 

Years of unrequited love, or feelings unreturned, of words put out into the universe with no one to receive them, are not easily or quickly unwritten. But every time Steve's breath gets lodged in his throat and he wants to run away, Eddie is right there to remind him of what they can have now. Every time Steve tries to be a little less of who he really is, Eddie is right there to coax him out of his head with gentle touch and a lot of hugs. 

Every time Eddie starts to doubt himself and all the ways he makes Steve the happiest person on the planet, Steve is right there with the words he only has for Eddie. Words that don't get stuck anymore. Words that finally get a recipient. 

~*~

Their first kiss, the first real kiss, doesn't happen that first morning. They spend the first week only holding each other, barely wanting to let go, hiding their vulnerabilities within each other. 

Steve is worried about it at first, seeing Eddie so quiet, so reverent, lacking his usual cheer, his energy and snarky comments. He asks about it one night, ready to prove right that he isn't and can never be enough for him, that all he will do is steal the things that make him Eddie. 

Eddie stops then, lifting Steve's chin with a finger when he's too scared, too ashamed, too vulnerable to meet his eyes on his own accord. 

"Stevie," Eddie says, his voice so gentle that Steve immediately feels stupid for doubting. "I have loved you for ten years. I've had you for three days. Let me bask in it. Let me be unable to be myself with how absolutely and utterly overcome I am with the knowledge that I have you now. That I get to hold you. That I get to kiss you and keep you and... God. I'm not unhappy. I'm so much the opposite of that that I'm not sure there's a word for it. Other than devoted. Smitten. Bewitched, body and soul."

Steve wants to kiss him then. Almost does, with the way they're just staring at each other, breathing the same air —air that smells like Eddie now. In the end, Eddie just holds him, brushing a kiss to his cheek, his forehead, his temple, and whispers, "Let me bask in it." 

And so they do. 

Wayne called Eddie not long after with the words, "Chrissy just told me the wedding's off. Please tell me that means what I think it means." 

Eddie just blushed, reaching for Steve, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. "Yeah, I, uh. I finally talked to Steve."

There was a very loud cheer on the other end that made Steve laugh, falling into Eddie's side, holding him tight, a weight falling off his shoulders knowing that Wayne was okay with them. 

You know, I always figured it would be you. 

No matter what happens, you'll always be a son to me.

It made his eyes sting again, but he basked in the moment and in the knowledge that Wayne was on their side. Always has been, always will be. 

"You better come here on Sunday, and bring Robin and Chrissy, too." 

"Robs and Chrissy?" Eddie asked. 

"Oh, you're in for a treat. I'll see your asses on Sunday, boys." 

And with that, he hung up. Steve immediately went to call Robin, hopeful and giddy with Wayne's implication, knowing that Chrissy was Robin's person just like Eddie was his. 

"She loves me," Robin said, on the verge of tears, and Steve joined here right then and there. "She's– Steve. She's so– She... God!" 

"Yeah," Steve laughed at the ceiling above his bed, grinning because Robin sounded so happy, not even caring that she didn't have the right words for it, because he could hear Chrissy laughing in the background, too. Laughing and saying hi to him and interrupting Robin's ramblings and groans and giggles with kisses that always left her dumbstruck for a good two seconds each time. 

When the call ended, he went right back to the living room, where he and Eddie started watching Pride and Prejudice before, and fell right on top of him with a happy, happy smile. 

~*~

It happens at Wayne's, exactly one week after Eddie showed up at Steve's in the middle of the night. One week after the phone call. One week after I love you. 

It happens in the soft glow of the fairy lights Steve and Eddie helped him put up years ago. I happens after Wayne hugged him tight once more, after he pulled Chrissy to the side and promised her that she's still his kid, that he still loves her, and that he's happy to see her smile like that. After he promised the same to Robin.

It happens when Wayne's inside to refill their drinks and Chrissy and Robin are caught up in each other that they're blind and deaf to the rest of the world. When Steve turns to find Eddie looking at him with the softest, gentlest expression. 

"Eddie," he whispers, leaning in to rest their heads together, lacing their fingers and stroking his thumb along Eddie's palm.

"Yeah, baby?" 

Baby. It fills him with butterflies, with the urge to scream, to shout from all the rooftops that he loves Eddie, and more importantly, that Eddie loves him back! Baby. Baby.

"I love you." 

"Hmm. I love you more." 

No, you don't. Just longer. "Can I kiss you?" 

He can feel Eddie's little gasp before he leans in even closer, rubbing their noses together, cradling Steve's face with his free hand. "Please," he whispers. 

And Steve does. He captures Eddie's lips, pouring into it everything he feels and more. Sealing the promises he's made and all the ones he's yet to make. The promises to love and cherish Eddie. To be brave. To be there. To stay and keep and bask. 

It's nothing like their first kiss all those years ago. There is no question behind it this time. Only declarations, only promises, only the beginning of a shared future. 

And there are many, many more after this one.

🌷🤍🌷 THE END 🌷🤍🌷

tagging: @sexymothmanincarnate @mcneen @livsters @eddiemunchondeeznuts @abstractnaturaldisaster @steddie-as-they-go @hyperfixationgoddess @goodolefashionedloverboi @stxrcrossed186 @eddiemunsonswife @bidisastersworld @ghost-ly-s @romanticdestruction @walkingaftermidnight07 @anaibis @rainydays35 @mightbeasleep @sunfloweringstories @korixae @tuesdaycats @totoroinatardis @ilovebookshowboutyou @musical-theatre-gay @theluckyalien @copingmechanizm @srra @changelingbaby @sassygoop @obsessivelyme @r0binscript @hardboiledleggs @estrellami-1 @bisexualdisastersworld @space-invading-pigeon @swimmingbirdrunningrock @y0urnewstepp4r3nt @oxidantdreamboat @spilled-jar @phirex22 @littlemsterious @captaingigglyguinea @animecookie95 @sharingisntkaren @haluton @littlemsterious @animecookie95 @suddenlyinlove @bisexual-bilingual-biped @jinx-nanami @makewavesandwar @scheodingers-muppet @morcantinon @hexdbog @homosexualhomocide13

god i can't believe it's over. i thank you, every one of you, who cheered for me, cried with me, screamed and yelled at me, and stayed with me throughout this past week. i have no words right now other than thank you 🤍🌷 and i hope this is okay

[yorshie]

"I was yours” bayverse Leo, please? Btw, I love your writing!

"Do you remember the first night we met?" You asked him, raising your threaded fingers together up into the air above where you laid snuggled in his bed.

Leo hummed low in the back of his throat, a faux consideration that brought a secret smile to your lips. The rhetorical question was certainly humorous in hindsight, with the way the two of you had revolved around each other since the night you met.

The moon to your sea, he'd once said when he was still grappling with how the two of you would move forward, sleep deprived and just a tad bit drunk, you'd found out later. Tipsy enough to look at you with stars in his eyes, tipsy enough that you could taste the echo of his drink on his lips when he'd pressed them to your mouth.

"Yes," he finally answered in a tone that meant of course, shifting just a touch on his shell to bring the arm trapped behind your back up to your shoulders. His fingers closed around your hand, trapping palm to palm and bringing them down to press a kiss to the back of yours.

"You saved me," you told him, not for the first time, and not for the first time, he huffed through his nose. He shifted to roll onto his side, smoothly pinning your joined hands beside your head while you grinned up at him.

"You saved me." He corrected you, adding words that came with practiced ease, "I saw you through the rain, and it was all over." He pressed a kiss to your mouth, soft and sweet and a moment too long to be considered chaste. "I was yours," he continued when he pulled back, "from the moment I saw you."

"I was yours," you answered him, rubbing the thumb of your trapped hand over the side of his, "from the moment you saw me."

[spamsandsuch]

i cant stop giggling

[vicsbasement]

3. Clingy Charles

For the ask game

me using the same tropes and scenes sometimes as a mechanism to get me to write? fork found in the kitchen - if y'all can pinpoint from which fic i took the scene with Charles barging into the office while Carlos was getting fired you get another snippet. Also it seems like Teto is a recurring character in these! It's just that he's been so present lately it's impossible for me to ignore him.

"Leclerc's been acting weird." Teto tells him, one day. Carlos is walking along with him towards the back of the house where the bikes are parked when he says the thing out loud. Carlos arches and eyebrow and turns to him, questioning silently and asking him to elaborate as he starts checking the bike’s tyres are in good shape.

"Haven't you noticed?" Teto asks, his curls swishing to the side when he tilts his head in a silent inquiry. "I know you don't watch things back or anything but ever since they announced... Well. Pretty sure it's from before, even, but ever since the thing went public he's been... I don't know how to say it." Roberto pauses again as they open the garage door and Carlos is already fidgeting with the bike's lock to unclasp it. Carlos nudges him to get his lock off, and Teto obeys for a second while he thinks as the garage door whirs in the background.

"Remember that day I went to the factory with you?" He asks instead, and Carlos nods. It was a couple days after the team called him and met him in private to explain the leaked information about them contacting Lewis. It was a terrible day. He remembers some of it, but the fact that Charles was at the factory stuck to him the most. They weren't supposed to even be there together, let alone meet, but Charles seemed adamant to see him and had barged into the office instead of waiting outside, like he was supposed to.

Carlos was accompanied by his usual posse, his dad, Caco. Teto was there because they'd been training together and since Rupert had left, Carlos missed the company.

When Charles had barged into the office, he seemed out of breath, and his eyes were puffy and red-rimmed. Carlos couldn't really recall the last time he'd seen Charles cry, it had been too long, so he compartmentalized the whole thing as to justify the eyes with some other excuse, like allergies, because Charles was very sensitive to a plant that was very prominent in Italy and the pollen lifted during the winter, so he tended to have a bad time with sneezing and red-rimmed eyes.

"I mean, I remember. But I'm pretty sure that didn't mean much." Carlos says, sure that Teto meant the little display of emotion when he barged into the room.

Still, as soon as he had barged in, he'd bailed. He noticed that they were talking to Fred and Menkies, showered the room with apologies and bolted.

"I'm not talking about him barging in." Teto says, and Carlos now really is confused. If it wasn't about that, what was it?

"When we got out of the office, he— remember he asked for your dad's permission to take you out to eat?"

"Pretty sure he was just being polite, given that we were all there together and he was sort of breaking us up."

"Yeah, but... Well, okay, then, if you didn't notice that I don't know what to tell you. Still, have you watched the interview you guys did before Bahrain?"

"I watched it before they edited it." Carlos replies. And Teto's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline as he gets on his bike, still trying to make a point.

"You didn't notice how he physically recoils from the reminder that you're leaving?" He insists, and Carlos gets a little defensive because this isn’t really what he wants to be discussing right now, so he gets on his bike and whirs the pedals to fill the silence. Still, Teto nudges his shoulder so they both bike slowly towards the exit of the garage.

"Oye, Teto, ya está, ¿sí? Te estás pasando con lo de interactuar con las fans, tío. Qué coño le va a importar a Leclerc si me voy o no..." Carlos says, his tone final. Teto shrugs his shoulder cartoonishly as he takes the lead, moving swiftly out of the driveway.

"Oh, Carlos, you've got big eyes but not a good way to use them. You'll see. He's... I don't know. He's been different.” Roberto keeps searching for a word as he stops in the driveway to get his helmet on. “Changing. Like he's... Clingy!” He snaps his fingers victoriously. “That's the word. He's been clingy towards you. And he is like that sometimes but only when you start it. Now it's like he's... Craving it. I don't know, man."

"What the fuck are you saying, cabrón?" Carlos fights the urge to kick his shins as he puts his own helmet on. Sometimes when Teto gets an idea in his head its nearly impossible to convince him otherwise.

"Que Leclerc se va a dar una hostia de los cojones este año cuando se dé cuenta del compañero que está perdiendo, cabrón. Ya vas a ver." Teto grabs the handle of his bike, jumps back on it and starts pedaling in a soft pace, Carlos in tow.

"Huh. Well, okay, then. Let's... Start the season and see."

[skhardwarevers1]

if this post gets like…5000 notes I’ll actually start writing scripts/making storyboards for videos I’ve had ideas about for months

additionally if this gets to 10000 (which I highly doubt it will) I’ll actually work on my abandoned stories, book ideas, and poetry

[wikiangela]

tease tidbit tuesday

tagged by @disasterbuckdiaz @tizniz @jesuisici33 💖

more of the cheating fic bc I'm loving the scene with Hen and Buck is being sooo messy and sooo oblivious and I'm having so much fun lmao - also, I gave myself a deadline for posting the first chapter whether I finish the whole fic by then or not (I hope I do lol 🤞) so this is gonna be my main focus for now haha (unless inspiration takes me somewhere else)

prev snippet

___

“Do you love Eddie?”

“Of course I love Eddie.” Buck huffs. It’s the most obvious thing in the world. Eddie and Christopher are his world. The only thing is… “I’m just not sure if I’m in love with him.” 

“Then why the hell did you cheat?” she asks, exasperated, and so done with Buck. If Buck was her, he’d just kick himself out, to be honest. “You and Eddie clearly have something, and you felt enough for him to cheat on your girlfriend. Don’t kid yourself that you can just go on after this like nothing happened, with either of them. The best thing you can do now is to come clean to Taylor, and probably break up.” 

“Well, you cheated too, and you and Karen figured it out.” he blurts out, and immediately regrets it when Hen’s eyes darken dangerously. Okay, this is when he’d kick himself out. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“No offense,” Hen says slowly, quietly, through clenched teeth, tone icy, and it’s almost worse than if she’d yell at him, “but you and Taylor are nowhere near me and Karen. You don’t even love her, and clearly you don’t regret cheating that much, since you did it twice. It’s an entirely different situation, so do not bring me and my wife into this.” 

“I know, sorry, that was out of line.” Buck says quietly, feeling small under Hen’s gaze.

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @gaydiaz @thebravebitch @silentxxsoul @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @transbuck @911onabc @housewifebuck @watchyourbuck @eowon @loserdiaz @evanbegins @ladydorian05 @wildlife4life @diazpatcher @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @thewolvesof1998 @puppyboybuckley @weewootruck @loveyouanyway @spagheddiediaz @rainbow-nerdss @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @spotsandsocks @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @hoodie-buck @nmcggg @rogerzsteven @hippolotamus @steadfastsaturnsrings @giddyupbuck @dangerpronebuddie @sunshinediaz @honestlydarkprincess @underwater-ninja-13 @exhuastedpigeon @diazsdimples @fortheloveofbuddie @theotherbuckley @911-on-abc @daffi-990

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

Aftermath

After waking up from a ten year stasis, Gordon finds himself back in the ruins of Black Mesa.

Notes: Hi half life fandom this is my first fic posted for HL. Also this is the first reveal of my HL au: Aftermath! So thats pretty neato, anyway hope you enjoy this short little prologue thing

Blackness was all he saw; darkness for miles, with pure nothingness filling the gaps. He couldn’t feel, see, or hear, and even trying to think of a single thing was proving to be a greater challenge than he’d expect. His thoughts blurred together into a sludge of meaningless ramblings, leaving him unable to process where he was, or how he got here. He had vague memories flashing in his mind, glimpses of concrete corridors and alien fauna. It was maddeningly barren, with the silence being enough to drive a man mad. How much time has passed since he arrived here? Has it been seconds? Days?  Time itself felt nonexistent at that very moment, simply a construct that meant nothing in this place. It felt as if he was in a dream, trapped in his own head as he traversed his own subconsciousness, floating in a vague void, unable to act or react to anything that could possibly be in there. He all but gave up hope of escaping this dark Hell he had found himself in, until he felt himself being pulled by an invisible force, and abruptly, there was light.

Gordon’s senses came back to him as fast as a train crash, the feeling of barely healed fractures and lacerations coming back to him as his nerves fired. Ringing flooded his hearing, with the HEV’s computer voice, an artificial voice he came to despise, sounding muffled and making it hard to process any of the words being said to him. He couldn’t move, his limbs feeling as if they were being pinned down by a massive weight, as if he was on the bottom of the ocean. The numbing pain shot up his legs and arms, though despite his wishes, there was no way he could even scream, with his throat tight and his vocal cords useless. He couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes, with the weakness draped across his body making even that menial action nearly impossible. He began to wonder if the infinite void he was in before would be better than reality, with the idea of feeling nothing rather than feeling everything to a painful degree seeming like a better option than what he was forced to bear.

As he laid on the rubble, he began to hear something new past the waning ringing; footsteps approaching him. Gordon desperately wanted to move, to protect himself from the new danger, yet as much as he tried, his limbs refused to budge. Soon he realized it was multiple sets of footfall coming near, and soon, he began to make out a voice.

The words slurred together in his mind, making the message hard to decipher, but a few words cut clearer than others:

“Breathing. Freeman. Alive. Help. Out.”

Gordon felt his limp body being moved, raised from the ground by someone, or something, being dragged across the concrete floor to somewhere else. Despite his foggy mind, Gordon couldn’t help but consider the worst; Xen creatures dragging him elsewhere to slaughter him as he did to them, and Military personnel taking him somewhere to question, torture, or even execute him were among the possibilities his short-circuting mind had come up with. However, before he could even do anything to try and prevent whatever fate might befall him, he felt himself drifting off, falling unconscious yet again.

He slowly stirred awake once again to hear the sound of an engine running and tires rolling across a gravel road. He was almost afraid to open his eyes, yet when he gained the strength to do so, his eyelids opened and he took a brief glimpse around. Through his blurred vision, he saw he was in the backseat of some sort of vehicle, laid across the seats. His metal HEV pressed against his body awkwardly, making any movement he could make uncomfortable. His head was supported with a wadded-up hoodie, and his body was covered by a thin blanket that had been thrown onto him. It was strange to see simple kindness extended to him, though he couldn’t help but wonder if it was a trick to make him let his guard down. He glanced towards the front seats, seeing the back of the drivers head, but not who was in the passenger seat. They were speaking to one another, but yet again the words fell out of Gordon’s grasp. He felt himself beginning to drift off again, and despite his wishes to stay awake, he grew limp as he fell unconscious yet again.

When Gordon next woke up, he was greeted with cold air around him. As he was pulled out of unconsciousness, he began to hear rhythmic beeping beside him; something he immediately recognized as a heart monitor. Gordon felt as if a weight was taken off of him, and when he gained the strength to open his eyes again, he saw the reason why. His HEV suit was missing, and he was instead wearing a pale blue hospital gown from what he could gather. He was laying in a bed, with its stiff mattress, albeit uncomfortable, feeling like heaven compared to laying on the cold concrete floors of Black Mesa. He saw bandages covering parts of his body, old blood seeping into them. Past his bed however, he could barely make out anything, with everything being blurry and hard to make out. He must have lost his glasses somewhere, but it was the least of his worries as the pain began to seep in. 

All his limbs felt sore, making it hard to move a single finger. His leg had a throbbing pain in his knee, and he felt as if he was being slashed with knives whenever he attempted to move his arms. His heart felt heavy and his lungs stinged with every breath. When was the last time he took a break to breathe? It felt like the days worth of fighting for his life hit him all at once, making him feel nearly paralyzed, and too tired to do anything to fight it. He began to wonder if it was best to be asleep; at least he wouldn’t have to think or feel. He began to wonder how he got here, racking his brain to try and bring up any clue of what had happened. The last thing he remembered before he woke up was being knee-deep in what he could assume was blood, staring up at something…he couldn’t even begin to describe. He killed the thing keeping the portal between earth and the border world open, so why did he feel so…empty? It felt as though his accomplishment meant nothing, as if he was missing something deep inside. He closed his eyes, attempting to fetch his blotted out memories for a shred of explanation, all before he shot his eyes open, a single image returning to his consciousness.

The man.

Gordon’s memories became clear as day when he remembered the man in the dull, navy blue suit. He remembered its unnaturally piercing eyes, staring deep into Gordon’s very being as if it was examining his very soul and regrets. He remembered its face, with it looking aged, yet it felt ageless at the same time. He remembered the unnatural way it stood, as if it was being held up with strings. He recalled the way it spoke to him as if it never spoke in its entire life before that very moment. He never got its name or its motivations, but something about remembering the man and its almost human facade caused his heart to skip a beat. Paranoia crept up in his mind, and the feeling of being watched began to be overwhelming. Something wasn’t right, as if something he didn’t see was coming after him. He needed to get out of here before it arrived.

Gordon forced his arms to move as he sat up in his bed, wincing before he turned to step out of bed, clasping the side of it with one of his shaking hands. As soon as he put weight on his leg, however, he collapsed onto the linoleum floor, ripping his IV out of his arm in the process. He let out a small squeak; the closest he physically could get to a scream, a pathetic noise that reminded him just how helpless he truly was at this moment. He pushed himself up as much as he could, arms shaking at the exertion, but he couldn’t get back onto his feet. As he tried to get off of the floor in vain, the door to the room opened, and a person appeared in the doorway. It was a nurse, coming into the room only to be greeted by Gordon unsuccessfully escaping his bed. She appeared surprised, immediately approaching him to help with getting him back onto the bed, despite his best tries to escape her grasp. She said a few things to try and comfort him, but Gordon couldn’t process the words before she quickly left the room, coming back with another doctor, presumably for help.

Gordon hated the fact he was back in the bed, with a new IV being attached and bandages being replaced. He wasn’t sure when the next threat would rear its head, and he needed to be prepared for when it did. Yet, he was all but incapable of doing anything of use, and he had to accept it. He could barely even move, less shoot a gun or swing a weapon at anything. 

“Dr. Freeman?”

Gordon was surprised to finally make out what someone was saying, looking up at the doctor who had just finished reattaching his IV. 

“You’re lucky to be alive,” He stated, almost smiling slightly. It was unclear if it was to try and make light of the situation or if it was relief. “Even more lucky to be awake right now. Though please, don’t try getting up again, alright? You might reopen stitches.”

Gordon stared at the doctor’s face blankly before leaning back and staring at the ceiling as the doctor continued talking.

“A couple of scavengers found you back at the ruins of Black Mesa, or, at least that's their story. You’ll have to speak with the police about the entire situation.” the doctor continued, “The Vortigaunt said you were lucky to be found in there, apparently had to drag you out of there.”

Gordon’s brows furrowed, not recognizing the word “Vortigaunt” despite the doctor bringing it up so casually. He looked back at the doctor with a puzzled look on his face. 

“I’m sure everyone will be happy to see you’re alive,” The doctor chuckled, trying to make light of the situation despite Gordon not reciprocating the cheerful atmosphere. “You’ve been gone for a long time, so a lot of us thought you would never return.”

Gordon’s puzzled expression turned to a look of borderline anger, wanting to ask so many questions but being unable to; he didn’t even know if the doctor knew sign language, and he didn’t have paper to write on, that is if he had the strength to hold a pencil.

“You look…upset,” The doctor said, his smile fading, “I can understand why, but if it brings you any comfort, you have hundreds of thousands of people who were wishing for your return. You’re a hero, you know.”

Gordon doubted that sentiment.

“We…believe you were in a coma, sir,” The doctor glanced at his nurse, as if he wanted help breaking the news, “...one that lasted ten years, so you're...lucky to be alive at all.”

The doctor continued to explain the situation, claiming that Gordon was lucky to have his brain still functioning despite being asleep for that long, but the words went through one ear and out the other. Gordon didn’t process the doctor trying to speak to him, only staring into the wall behind him as he leaned back in his bed. He didn’t even blink once as reality seemed to become meaningless, dissociating as his brain wouldn’t even allow him to process the time lost. To him, he was gone for a few mere moments, but an entire decade had passed in the time it took him to escape the void he was in for a brief, yet agonizing time. He wondered if his friends had forgotten about him, if they were even alive after the Resonance Cascade; they almost certainly believed he was dead at the very least. Gordon had been dead to the world for so long, he felt surprised anyone came to rescue him at all. After all, who would rescue the man who caused so much death in the span of a few days? Was he supposed to go back into normal society after everything? Was he supposed to be praised as a hero, despite the fact he was just a lowly scientist who just wanted to survive?

Gordon wished to go back to sleep. Being awake felt more agonizing than the temporary stasis ever did.

[fruitybashir]

fun little bojance thing coming to an ao3 near you soon! 🫵🏻 (saturday. its coming on saturday.)

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Hiiii ur writing is amazing:D

Soooo I saw this prompt and u were the first one to jump into my mind!

"Your hair is so soft..."

" stop it! You're making this harder, not letting me focus on killing you."

Hero x villain, where villain is sitting on hero's belly and holding a knife to their throat.

I was wondering if you could write something like this;)

“Your hair is so soft…”

The villain looked down at them, stared into the hero’s eyes as if the abysses of their pupils held any answers. They didn’t and the villain was fully aware of the pain and destruction they could cause in the next few seconds. With the hero’s hand — more fingers broken than healthy — in their hair, they felt quite breathless.

“Stop it,” the villain hissed. The knife in their hand felt heavy, out of place even. It was the first time in their life that a weapon conjured those feelings. “You’re making this harder. You’re distracting me.”

“Homo homini lupus, I get it,” the hero whispered. The villain let out a shaky breath and hardened their grip around the knife. “But it could’ve been so easy. You could’ve been mine and I could’ve been yours.”

“Self-realisation doesn’t include personal relationships. I need to fulfil my potential,” the villain said. Cutting the hero’s throat was supposed to be quick and painless, at least for the villain. But this drama had been going on for half an hour now. The villain didn’t know what to do with themselves, where to place themselves in this fight. Bleeding out was less painful than this and the villain would know. They’d almost bled out several times if it weren’t for the hero. “I need to get revenge. I need justice.”

The hero’s hand glided down the villain’s neck, grasping their biceps weakly. They were unbelievably gently, even in the face of death, even in their final moments.

“I didn’t kill your family.”

“But you’re standing in my way,” the villain said and they couldn’t deny how much their voice shook. “You’re holding me back. You would never let me kill them.”

“You know me too well,” the hero said. They took a deep breath, seemingly tired and overwhelmed. The villain couldn’t blame them, they were tired too. Unfortunately, the only way to end this was bloodshed. The villain was almost sure the hero would close their own hand around the handle of the knife to guide them. “And yet you choose selfishness.”

“I’m choosing destiny,” the villain said. “It is my destiny to do this.”

“What if I’m your destiny?”

“We both don’t really think that, do we?”

“It’s possible.”

“But very far from probable.”

“You’re being cruel.” The hero’s eyes were sharp, despite their physical state. It had something didactic, something authoritative and the villain felt horrible. They pressed the knife deeper into the hero’s soft neck, but there was no blood yet as if that would solve anything.

In their head, they cursed themselves but that disgusting part of their brain thought relentlessly about the right angle and pressure to apply to the cut.

“I’m being honest. We’re perfect for each other but we are not meant to be,” the villain said. Slowly, their eyes began to burn. Everything was hot and they couldn’t really breathe. God, they were killing their lover. The only person who had accepted their mistakes and their bad obsession with revenge.

They were killing them, oh god.

Although the villain knew them by heart, they looked at them as if they had to burn the image of their face into their brain.

“So, don’t make this harder. Be a hero and don’t let me suffer,” the villain begged. Their other hand pushed hair out of the hero’s face and by now, the villain’s tears started to gather in the corners of their eyes. Softly, they let their thumb brush over the hero’s bottom lip, leaning in. But they couldn’t bring themselves to kiss them.

They drew back, grip harsher than ever around the knife.

“You decide,” the hero said. “No one else.”

“Of course, my love. Homo homini lupus.”

They didn’t need to say more. Both knew what they were going to do.

[jusst-you-race]

can i ask for charlos dating?

okay so this is kind of inspired by all the weird ferrari pr videos they've been doing this season... you know the ones... <3 for the ccc snippet prompts

Charles image.png 

Happy anniversary!

Carlos Is that a blindfold?

Charles Oui! I thought it might be fun to try in the bedroom?

Carlos But you are always saying how much you love watching me?

Charles I do! I will still be watching you silly 

Carlos Through the blindfold?

Charles Non! 

I thought you would wear the blindfold 

Carlos Me?

But I want you to wear it 

Charles Well I want you to wear it 

Carlos I thought this was a gift for me?

Charles Oui for you to wear

Carlos But it is more of a gift if you wear it 

Charles Well it’s my anniversary too 

I got it for you to wear 

It will be fun!

Carlos But then I cannot see you… 

What if I want to see my boyfriend on our anniversary when we are making love?

Charles But it’s sexy with the blindfold 

Then everything else feels… more 

Carlos See this is making it seem like you want to wear the blindfold 

Charles Fine!

I guess it was a stupid idea 

Don’t worry about it 

Carlos Charles…

Charles No clearly you do not like it 

That is fine 

Carlos It’s not that I don’t like it 

Charles Forget it 

I just thought it might be nice to do something fun for the special occasion 

Carlos Ay, mi amor

I’m sorry

It is a thoughtful gift 

How about we take turns hmm?

Charles You wear it first 

Carlos Okay si 

Me first 

Then you 

Charles Fine 

Carlos Mi vida I do appreciate the gift

Charles Good 

Carlos You are wonderful 

I am so thankful for you 

Charles Okay okay I get it 

I love you too 

Happy anniversary mon coeur 

Carlos Happy anniversary ❤️

Charles Hurry home!