#This post is a little all over the place

[thecircularsystem]

Thank you for messaging us via comments on that post rather than reblogging. The situation of being reblogged and stuff was really stressing me out because it was exposing my page to backlash for a simple fact from the dsm. I’m conceptually familiar with complex dissociative disorders but CDD is also, more prominently known to mean “childhood disruptive disorder” which is something completely different.

-actuallydidosdd

Hey there.

Let me start this off firstly with an apology; I'm sorry, because I feel like my response to you isn't going to be the kindest. I am burnt out, struggling with my words, and while I mean the best of intentions with this, I think this isn't going to come across well. I want you to know that I am not the most pleased with how today played out on your blog. I do like the concept of your blog, and many of the posts on it -- but I think you were faced with the fact that you did not post factual information, and when confronted, you lashed out. I hope you are taking care of yourself, and that you analyze your actions today to see what exactly went wrong.

Secondly: I responded in comments because, frankly, I didn't want to continue spreading the misinformation from your post on my blog by reblogging it. I am a user who struggles with psychosis, due to my disorder, and while I am eager to point out that my alters are not fake, I am severely disappointed to see a supposed "educational" blog doubling down so severely on verifiably false information in order to make a positivity post. I'm grateful that you finally, finally changed the post to be more accurate, but that was after... what, four different posts, all those links, and you telling SAS that they need to be better at talking??? I'm sorry, but you need to understand the words you are saying before you say you're an Educational Blog. You said in a comment that you were just talking about your own lived experiences -- in which case you need to make that more blatantly clear, because you say your information is factually correct, and yet you started off with misinformation, changed the post to have more misinformation, and doubled down and yelled at SAS for correcting you.

Thirdly: It is not syscourse to correct your misinformation. Sysmedsaresexist may post quite a bit of syscourse, but the post in question had nothing to do with syscourse. It was correcting misinformation about a disorder, simply put. Yes, it was a debunk, and getting upset about your misinformation being debunked is... Well, perfectly understandable, considering that, despite all evidence to the contrary, you still believed your misinformation to be correct. Proud of you for not "putting syscourse" on your blog, but please understand there is a difference between System Discourse and A System Telling You You're Wrong. I'm sorry the backlash was a lot to handle. In the future, I might suggest just... blocking SAS if you don't want corrections, or better yet, taking a step back if it's overwhelming. You can turn off tumblr notifications on your phone and just... breathe and come down. You do not have to respond immediately!

Fourth: I'm not sure what you're calling "a simple fact from the DSM." If you're saying the simple fact is that the diagnostic criteria does not include hallucinations or delusions -- well then, I believe SAS clarified how your post did not come across as saying that. If you're saying the simple fact is that delusions and hallucinations are the same -- I do not know anywhere in the DSM that supports that. If you're saying the simple fact is that DID does not cause hallucinations -- Again, I would love to see the evidence, because I don't know anywhere it says that.

Here's a link to the DSM saying that pwCDDs often experience hallucinations, and does clarify that these hallucinations are usually accompanied by a different type of delusion than in cases of schizophrenia or personality disorders. Is this what you were aiming for?

This is another good one. I hope these links work, but they may break -- lmk!

Fifth: You said you're familiar with complex dissociative disorders, but you also said you had to google it in your reply to me on SAS. When you are in an educational space, you need to know the terms being used -- and if you don't know, I don't think the proper course of action is to use a term you don't understand. I think the proper course of action is to ask for clarification.

^-- This isn't asking for clarification.

You were corrected on initial information, and you lashed out because you didn't like how the correction came (tone policing is always a bit frustrating; I'm sorry you didn't take SAS's reply to be genuine originially and took it in bad faith, but to then say in the response to the other mod that you expect better from "a pro-syscourse-conversation blog" when it was you who misinterpreted? It gets frustrating how often bad faith is assumed in CDD spaces.) Then, you "corrected" the information to be more incorrect; then the user who corrected you originally corrected you again, and you got angry about them doing so. You sent them an inbox ask about how you don't even participate in syscourse, you sent this reply, and... It just speaks to you not knowing the space you're in.

I'm not sure why someone, in this situation, who knows the term complex dissociative disorder, would assume that SAS had meant childhood disruptive disorder. That to me speaks to you not understanding the terminology being used in these spaces -- and while that's okay, you need to be willing to ask for help from those correcting you, or for clarification. Not... google it, then yell at them for your misunderstandings.

Then you came and sent this ask to me...

Sixth:

This is my icon picture. Just. Tossing this out there. I'm not blatant about it, but I use this icon a lot, particularly after a few close friends reached out to ask if I wanted to join their blog and help them review/edit posts, since I tend to be a bit better with editing grammar and helping people come across with their genuine feelings. This is related. 100%. I'm just not really public about it.

Anyways.

Lastly:

I do genuinely hope you're doing well. You made a simple mistake, and you got around 100 notes on the post because of that. It happens! Mistakes happen, and while it's frustrating, and yes people are going to be upset about it...

It's just a mistake.

A long, long time ago, I created a DID centered blog that was dedicated to educating people on DID, and it was using what I had researched "based on my own experiences." I made a post about "the differences between MPD and DID" because I was uneducated. I was then nearly harassed off the platform, deleted all evidence of that post, and I still hold trauma from that event until this day.

I don't want you to think that's what's happening here.

SAS was genuinely trying to correct you, because what you were saying was genuinely harmful to a lot of systems. I convinced myself for years that I had some other disorder going on due to my hallucinations and delusions, that I was just schizophrenic, because so many people said DID doesn't have hallucinations and delusions. But they do. You've been provided sources that say they do. And I'm glad to see you've corrected your mistake.

Now keep going. Keep researching. And be open to correction. I like that you've made a post saying that you prefer if people correct you via messager, because that helps reduce your fear and mental duress. I really hope people take you up on it. I will take you up on correcting you via replies, if you'd like, because I genuinely hate tumblr messeger, it's so bad.

And hey.

Maybe take a small break. Go, relax, get a yummy drink, play some roblox or minecraft or other videogame of choice. These spaces are high intensity traumatized spaces, and it can be a lot. I know this post is likely going to heighten those emotions.

Just work on riding that wave and feeling it. It'll be okay, genuinely.

Good luck out there <3

[gayahithwen]

The fact that both Jack O'Neill and John Shepherd naturally have the ATA gene is such a funny part of this, too. Like, humans evolved on Earth. But that evolution might've been guided by the Ancients. The last Ancients all either ascended or integrated in primitive human societies, and those who did the latter got busy spreading their genes into the human pool. (Because we're the "second evolution of their kind"). So we're both a naturally evolved primate with roughly ten thousand years of agrarian-supported free time to develop higher technology, and all the indications we see in the show is that we're way too advanced for what our current maturity level seems to be. Except we're so dang precocious. We start shit we have no idea how to handle, but we always turn out OK because We Know We Have to Try to Do the Right Thing.

Love how in stargate the humans are just famous bc they never stop breaking the big bad’s shit up - it’s like the cats that swat things off tables and break priceless heirlooms of that one neighbour everybody hates and while they’re mad the rest of the neighbourhood is like ‘hell yeah you funky fuckin human you, break those superweapon ships’ to the point they’re being actively invited and brought along to do this (1) thing.

And how they must have nine lives bc they’re so primitive? But they keep?? Destroying? The ultimate foes?? of even the ancients??

‘For centuries we haven’t been able to deal w these evil brain snakes’ /chucks humanity at them like they’re an enraged feral feline/ ‘problem solved in record time!’

[heartorbit]

find another role, carry on the show

[phoenixcatch7]

Okay but it's super interesting how

Din = Power = Ganondorf

Naryu = Wisdom = Zelda

Farore = Courage = Link.

Because Din, in the hylian creation myth, created the physical world. Naryu then created the laws - gravity, time, etc. And Farore finally created life - plants and people.

Din created the body, naryu the mind, Farore the soul.

And the triforce and its wielders so perfectly reflect that.

Ganon is physical power, he is big and intimidating and he breaks things. He is cunning and determined, but that's not what he focuses on. He is might makes right.

Zelda is wisdom and cleverness. She is stall tactics and information and team work. She is a powerful mage with a spine of steel, but that's not how she'll win. She is the pen being mightier than the sword.

Link is courage and persistence. He is the wild card sneaking behind enemy ranks, always moving, plunging into terrifying situations head first. He's a phenomenal fighter with a keen wit, but that's not what will get him through his challenges. He is bravery not being the absence of fear but the triumph over it.

They sit in perfect parallels to each other.

And ganon is reborn through his body - his resurrection is immortality. No matter how low he is cast, as long as he has a body he can claw his way back. He can cling to his power, build it ever higher.

Zelda is reborn through the magic of her bloodline. It's the accumulated knowledge handed down for generations, the unique power she must master, the skills she must develop to survive and get her kingdom out the other side intact. Even her name, the knowledge of herself, is handed down from all the way from the very first. Her ancestors knowledge of her future presence, her stability, is what gives her the edge.

Link is reborn in spirit. He is not bound by flesh or blood. Just like his wanderlust soul he can reappear in any time or place. His variation, his unpredictability, is exactly how he fights. It's what makes him so hard to pin down.

Ganons need to build strength means he can't chase after link. Links impulsiveness means zelda can outwit him. Zeldas stationary predictability means she's an easy target for ganon.

But the other direction?

Fire melts ice, ice redirects lightning, lightning burns fire.

And that's the very essence of the triforce.

[typing-catastrophe]

jealous!ford x reader headcanons

pre relationship:

depending on his current mood and state of mind, his reaction to someone showing romantic interest in you ranges from:

1) heartache,

feels like he doesn't deserve you, that he isn't good enough for you, he's not your type and also he is too old for you

self-esteem on the floor, feels like a kicked puppy seeing you flirt with someone else

over 2) mild annoyance; 'what's so interesting about them?'

what could they possible give you? why are you even talking to them, you already said you aren't interested in them

to 3) almost hostile towards the other person

all in all just one big mess of feelings

he's not good with them okay

confused and frustrated by his emotions; spends a lot of time overthinking them, in order to rationalise and understand them

too insecure and doubtful to tell you about his feelings, but too easily agitated to not be jealous when someone comes up to ask for your number

tells himself he has no right to feel that way, and yet...

in relationship:

protective and maybe a little possessive. maybe a bit more than a little. okay, a lot

definitely a lot more than he shows

(related to the first points pre-rls) very rare reaction: amused. god complex activated. who do they think they are? do they really think you would be interested in them? tch, please.

when he sees a guy flirting with you, he will come up behind you, put his arm around your waist and stare the guy down

the scene where he intimidates the bus driver, just to any shady guy who won't leave you alone.

insecurities, so soo many of them

'You could have anyone you want. Why would you wanna be with me?' *

that man was bullied his entire youth, never had a proper relationship and holds so much trauma and shame - it's the glue that holds him together at this point

ford is deeply afraid to loose you

through something supernatural or otherwise dangerous yes, but also trough some stupid mistake on his side and interpersonal problems

he is afraid he will mess up one day. then you will start seeing him as someone not worthy of your love and find someone better

it is one constant battle between his low self-worth and his god complex/admittedly somewhat inflated ego

-------------------------------------------------- thank you for reading <3 reblogs are appreciated

a/n: longer piece with this trope will follow soon(ish), stay tuned :P poor ford, doesn't know how to feel his feelings appropriately (same dude, same) * 'jealous' by eyedress

[sergle]

I'm thinking abt that pretty fall leaves embroidery pattern post and about how like... it is categorically a repost, it's a reupload. right? a thing that is generally disliked. but because it's credited, it's genuinely boosting the artist in question. and it could ALWAYS be like this. reposting content could ALWAYS be a symbiotic relationship, but because sourcing back to the original creator of something is so uncommon, it's just easier to ask people not to repost it at all. and people still don't understand the difference. or they'll go to the effort of cropping out usernames/signatures to repost something, which is More Effort than literally crediting the creator of something you liked enough to want to repost. Like. I literally don't actually care if my own shit gets reposted, you have to understand. I just don't want it STOLEN. But "do not repost" is easier to write on my art than "you can repost this, but don't alter the image/remove my signature, don't you dare write 'credit goes to the artist' because that is not credit, please link back to my original post or someplace that you can actually find me. please use an actual link/url instead of writing a non-clickable link of my username, because making it text instead of a clickable link cuts the number of people who will go to the effort of visiting my own page in Half." All those aggregate themed accounts, those fuckin annoying as hell instagrams and facebook groups that are like "body positive art we love wamen 💕 hashtag feminism" and then MASS-STEAL plus sized art created by women, if pages like these that always go and steal my older self-portraits and other works... If they just put a link to my prints of those pieces in the text of those posts, or, fuck, my commission info page? I would literally be living on the moon right now. I would have a house on the moon

[cryptidclownz]

HEY!!! i finally got out of my art block and ended up switching to a drawing tablet instead of my phone! i have one pretty big thing being worked on currently, but here's some lamb to hold you over for a few days ^^

[feelbetterlove-books]

Even when you have a hard day just remember, Bucktommy "has anyone ever told you you're a vision in a cone?" will always be there. Tommy Kinard looked at his adorable boyfriend with a silly party hat on and thought Evan, you're beautiful, you're stunning, you're ravishing, you're a sight for sore eyes. I could never get tired of looking at you. I cherish you. There's nowhere I'd rather be than behind this couch at your side. And he was so real for that.

[solarmorrigan]

TW: Brief description of a panic attack, mentions of PTSD

-

Post-S3 AU with Steve who, after much badgering (and minor bribery) agrees to drive The Party out to The Good Haunted House outside of town a little before Halloween

He doesn't plan on going in, because after what happened over the summer, having people jumping out at him and screaming while possibly brandishing weapons seems like a bad idea. But then he sees the kids walking off into the dark, swarmed by people who look intentionally threatening, leaving his sight, and he decides "fuck it" and goes in after them

Unfortunately, he was correct, and being in an enclosed, poorly-lit space with occasionally flashing lights where people jump out and scream at him is, indeed, A Bad Idea. Worse, their group gets turned around and Steve gets separated from the kids, and then he's alone, he has no idea where in the house he is, or where the kids are, and he's panicking

It really sets in that he's kinda fucked when he stumbles into the the "haunted hospital" themed room and nearly decks the mad doctor in a bloody face mask and apron that comes out wielding a chainsaw. He catches himself in time, but it still makes Steve feel worse, because it's not this guy's fault that Steve can't handle a jump scare, it's not this guy's fault that Steve shouldn't be here at all, that he's fucked up and he should have known better than to come in, and Steve doesn't want to hurt anyone but he doesn't know how the fuck he's going to get out of there, he really doesn't, and -

Enter haunted house actor Eddie, who is used to being threatened with violence (and has, in fact, been punched once before), but who is less used to people having literal heaving breakdowns in the middle of his room. People get scared, yeah, but this - this is another level. This dude looks like he's about to pass out. He doesn't even really look like he's present; the look in his eyes is uncomfortably distant

So Eddie puts down the chainsaw, pulls off his mask and gloves and approaches Steve slowly. The room is fairly quiet without the revving of the chainsaw, so he manages to get Steve's attention, and asks if he wants Eddie to get him out of there

Steve can only nod

Eddie gets him out the back way, the way customers really aren't supposed to go through, but it's faster, and then they're out in the open air and Steve can almost breathe again. Eddie asks him what he can do, and Steve asks him to talk. To remind Steve of where he is

So Eddie talks; he tells Steve he's somewhere outside of Hawkins at a haunted house, tells Steve what it's like to work there, filling the space with funny stories, and it grounds him. By the time Steve feels like the world isn't caving in on him, he can hear the kids shouting from around the other side of the house, looking for him

He has just enough time to thank Eddie before The Party falls on him and he puts his attitude back on, herding them back towards the car with promises of dinner on the way back "if you can all shut up for five minutes"

In the back of his mind, though, he's wondering if he might just drive back out here on his own tomorrow night. Not to go back in--god, no--but to maybe ask at the front who the mad doctor is. Steve thinks he'd like to thank him for his kindness properly

[punkitt-is-here]

As someone who is black, tall, a not the skinniest, and trans, I felt really detached when everybody started bridget posting bc like, for ME, being trans is not as easy as Saying It and then everyone believes me bc they already saw me as a twinkish little waif (waifish little twink?) it makes me feel a lot less Bad about it that theres other people who dont feel represented by that kind of thing.

One time I said “Not all trans women are skinny little anime catgirls” and people took it REALLY personally, so uhhh thanks for standing up for us

YEAH!!! my ass might be white as porcelain but i can relate a lot to what you're saying. i adore bridget, it's really special having a trans character in one of my favorite series ever, but as cute as she is she can't be the only type of trans character people look up to. I'm a trans woman and I think that I'm kind of masculine in my presentation. I'm hairy, got a deeper voice, and kept my birth name, so I don't really fit in the skinny little anime catgirl category either. and I don't really wanna! I love how I look and feel and present and I wanna see more characters that break the established mold on an already lacking area of representation. so it's no problem, always happy to stand up for folks :3

[senselessalchemist]

The Beheaded makes a pitch

[everythingcatradora]

sure catra can and will present herself as this suave fatale especially in their enemies phase but adora knows that’s not who she is (hence why glimmer’s interpretation in roll with it is just ridiculous down to the dress) deep down. like s4 catra is fun but it was fully her trying to be something’s she’s not. she’s scrappy with anger management issues but has a good heart and cares a lot (she even sees it as too much that’s why she shoves it down so often) and i think an even bigger thing is her not fitting into traditional gender roles.

shadow weavers “catra confuses and distracts you” spiel to adora obviously translates to homophobia in our world but also that this is kind of a typical thing put upon girls that are gender non-conforming; maybe it’s my personal interpretation but i think as a child she’s tomboy coded but that point especially fits as she grows up and makes her horde outfit stand out against all of the other cadets. (Not color wise but styling wise) combined with the fact that she wears a suit to princess prom and takes scorpia to try and make adora jealous all while leading their dance. and then the emphasis on her specifically wanting to protect adora herself. so it’s so interesting that as time goes on in the horde she shoves down all of these aspects of who she is identity wise; especially in season 4 by straightening her hair, her nails (though claws) are typically longer and her outfit resembles the typical female horde uniform for her position (which also can be seen as more traditionally feminine) and I think that’s a really underrated part of the show’s text. Like exploring being a lesbian and gender presentation under the horde regime which was inspired by christian religious cults.

[hardly-an-escape]

Stormy Weather, or: Outside, the Wind (Inside, the Light) | Dream/Hob | 1600 words | Rated T

tags: I recently spent an evening without power therefore I must put the blorbos in a Situation, love confessions, first kiss, getting together, power outages, Hob Gadling throughout history, gratuitious use of mildly accurate Middle English

The wind tears around London like a living thing, a wild animal, a predator, intent on the hunt. It chases birds into their nests and people into their homes, moans around corners and rattles shutters, sending piles of leaves whirling into miniature hurricanes and whipping branches into a frenzy, sharpening its claws on roof tiles and telephone poles.

Except in Hob Gadling’s flat.

The New Inn, and the cozy home above it, is in one of those old buildings that’s actually been loved and maintained – thanks in no small part to Hob’s own care and attention. The walls are thick and strong, the roof is solid. The shutters may rattle, but the windows are double-pane; the curtains and carpets are warm and soft, and no drafts encroach on the sanctity of his living room, where Hob and Lord Morpheus, King of Dreams, are having a movie night.

It’s part of Hob’s concerted effort to introduce the Prince of Stories to the stories he’d missed during his imprisonment. Tonight it’s Blade Runner – the final cut, of course – which isn’t necessarily one of Hob’s personal favorites, but seemed to fit the stormy, rainy vibes of the weather. They’re installed on the couch, with hot chocolate and wine and snacks, which Dream has deigned to pick at. Harrison Ford is eating noodles and wandering through wet, moodily-lit streets. The wind is howling outside, but they’re safe and warm and surrounded by soft things and life is about as good, Hob thinks, as it ever gets these days.

And then his lights flicker. Once, twice; there is the impression of a sort of electrical last gasp, and the room is plunged into darkness.

The wind whips and the shutters rattle. A volley of rain spits itself against the windows.

“Bugger,” says Hob.

Dream says nothing, merely brings his wineglass – which had already been cradled in one elegant hand – to his lips.

“Hang on,” says Hob. “I’ve got some candles around here somewhere.”

He gropes his way to the kitchen. In one drawer he unearths some beeswax tapers and several tea lights, which he arranges on a plate. He rummages in one of the deeper cabinets and makes a triumphant noise as he discovers his prize behind disused mugs and a fondue set from the 1980s: a pair of old-fashioned brass candlesticks equipped with round reflectors, highly polished to catch the light and bounce it back out into the darkness.

“You are remarkably well-prepared for an event such as this,” says Dream, as Hob lights his various prizes and returns to the living room with his hands full of flickering flames.

“Well, you know,” Hob demurs. “When it comes down to it, I’ve lived a lot more of my life without electricity than with it.” He arranges the tea lights on the coffee table and sets the brass candlesticks on a nearby bookshelf. “You never really get out of the habit of preparing for the worst. Although I will say, these beeswax ones beat the hell out of the old tallow jobbies we had when I was young. Got ‘em from a local bloke who keeps bees not half a mile away, isn’t that cool? A beekeeper in the middle of London. There, now,” he says, and having arranged the lights to his satisfaction he plops himself back down on the sofa.

Outside, the wind wails. The lack of lamps on the empty street below and the gentle candlelight within make the night seem even darker, and turn Hob’s living room into something even softer and cozier than it already is.

Dream’s face, in the flickering candles, seems even more otherworldly than usual; and Hob, for his part, truly looks as though he belongs in another century. The very shape of his face has changed, somehow, into something older; taking on a new appearance in the candlelight the way a man’s tongue might curl differently around the syllables of another language.

“I miss it, sometimes,” he says lowly. “This kind of world. Before the wires and the phones and the cars. It was… quieter.”

“You speak often of your delight in change and progress. Do you truly long for your past lives?” asks Dream.

“Yes and no,” answers Hob. “Some things are better now, no question. Antibiotics, wouldn’t want to live without those again. Vaccines and X-rays and chemotherapy and antidepressants – almost all the medical stuff. Mass transportation. Cars and planes have never been safer. Honestly, I’ve never understood the people who moan about the olden days and oh, life was simpler back then. Don’t they know how many people died? How many kids? Because they caught a cold or fell out of a tree or had a case of the runs that lasted a little too long?”

He leans forward to adjust one of the candles, which is dripping unevenly, and when he sags back into the couch there is just the hint of a frown between his strong brows.

“And yet…” he says, staring into the flames, voice quiet. “Nights like this. I do sometimes think…”

Hob trails off for a long moment.

“There was a rhythm to life, back then,” he says finally. “You counted hours by the church bells and days by the tasks that needed done. And there was so much that needed to be done… cows milked and fields planted and clothes knitted or mended. And it was all so important, so… necessary. Regimented. But in the in between time – Christ! your time wast thine.” As he speaks, his voice has slipped into an older register: his Rs grown rounder, his vowels longer, curling from his mouth to mingle with the candlesmoke hovering over his coffee table. “I remember fair hours as a lad, even into my manhood, of which I spent lyende in th’ fields, watching ants in th’ grass. And later, too, we’d hie us to bed with the sonne, the fire banked in the hearth. An’ it happen that if we awakened before dawn, ’twas a simple thing to pass the time in simple ways, be it in prayer or in pleasure…”

The innuendo in his words is clear, but Hob is not looking at Dream; his eyes are unfocused as he stares into the middle distance, revisiting the past via candlelight. Until one of the wicks lets out a small pop, and flares, and he shakes himself, coming back to the present.

“God, sorry,” he says, voice back in the 21st century. “Woolgathering. I’ll go on for an age, me. More wine?”

But Dream’s eyes have also gone unfocused, his lips parted slightly, chest rising and falling with unnecessary breaths as he stares – no, gazes – at Hob. He, too, must shake himself into the present moment at Hob’s offer of more wine. He silently holds out his glass.

“May I ask you a personal question?” Dream says.

“Anything. You know that.”

Dream pauses. Sips. Outside, the sound of the wind has not abated; has grown, if anything, even more dramatic. There is the muffled sound of branches scraping against the side of the building.

“Why,” asks Dream finally, “do you pretend to yourself that you do not want me?”

Hob chokes. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Why do you pretend thus to me?” Dream pursues. “Who has known you longer than any being on this planet or any other; who can know your innermost dreams?”

“What do you mean, other planets?” Hob demands. And then: “Have you been peeking at my dreams?”

“I need not peek, as you put it, to see the truth of the matter. It is writ plain on your face and in your every word and deed. I merely wonder why this truth has hovered before us for over six hundred years and you have yet to press your suit. Do you doubt, after all this time, my affection for you? Do you find me – unworthy?”

Dream sounds, impossibly, almost uncertain. Even vulnerable. Hob sighs heavily and leans forward, elbows on his knees and face in his hands.

“I – God. Dream,” he stammers. “Yes, Christ, I am full of doubts. You stormed away from me when I implied you might be lonely, I… I have never, once, thought I had a suit to press at all. What on earth has brought this on? Now, of all times?”

“I do not know,” Dream murmurs. “Perhaps… this darkness is working on me, as well. Perhaps I am as susceptible to candlelight and nostalgia as the next anthropomorphic personification.”

He smiles, a little quirk of the mouth that contains worlds, and Hob leans over, listing helplessly into Dream’s space as the tapers flicker.

“Fuck,” he whispers, pressing their foreheads together, turning his head to butt his cheekbone against the sharp line of Dream’s nose. “Art thou rēal? Speak you treue?”

“Aye, my Hob,” answers Dream. “Min herte is treue and bilongeth to you.”

A sob catches in the back of Hob’s throat at the words. “Fuck,” he whispers again, “Dream, I’m yours. I am. I always have been. My Dream, min sweven, my leof. Alwei, allesweis…”

Their mouths find each other, then, finally, lip against lip and breath against breath. They kiss for a long, long moment, desperate and hungry and soft all at once, as outside the wind howls coldly around the corners of the New Inn, and inside the light cast by Hob’s candles bathes their whole little world in a cozy glow.

“Take me to bed,” murmurs Dream against Hob’s mouth. “Make me your lover. Show me how you pass the time by candlelight, and in darkness.”

“Oh, darling. Dearheart,” Hob answers. “Nothing in this world or any world past could make me happier.”

And he suits his actions to his words.

[lavaflowe]

“I can't afford to wait

Life's a procession that begins around the corner from the grave

Absurdity is all it is and then we're gone too fast

Felicity I strive for but it always waits beyond my grasp

In a foggy haze a holy being intensifies

And I pray to her to take me

And I beg for her to save me from myself”

[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

[badnew2005]

SUNNY IS A LOVE STORY @badnew2005

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