#a tiny bit of angst

[hairmetal666]

Read Part One here

cw: implied child abuse

Eddie's coming over for coffee. Not Eddie with Nancy and Robin or Eddie with the kids. Just Eddie.

They haven't been alone in 9 years and now Eddie is coming over for coffee.

They're friends, of course. After Vecna they didn't have much of a choice, but they've never talked about it--that they used to be something.

After Steve kissed Eddie goodbye for what turned out to be the last time, they didn't see each other again for months and months, except for a devastatingly fleeting moment in the Family Video parking lot. And the next time after that, Eddie's pinning him to the wall of a rickety boathouse, a broken bottle to his throat.

What's going through his mind, his body, at that moment is relief. For days, weeks, months, he ached for Eddie's touch again, and even though he was in danger, he relished in the push of their bodies together. Thought, if this is how he dies, he won't mind going.

But they don't talk about it, about them, because Eddie is on the run and Max is going to die, and they have to save the world, so there's no time. In the aftermath, it's the least of their worries, and now it's been almost a decade and Eddie is coming over for coffee.

The thing is, it's not like Steve has been pining away for a love long lost in the intervening years, and neither has Eddie. They've both had longterm, serious relationships; Steve almost got married. But for Steve...Eddie is the one that's lingered, the one that knocks around his ribcage on late sleepless nights, the one that makes him dream of what might have been. Because Steve truly loved his other partners, but Eddie--nobody will ever compare.

Someone is knocking a rhythm at his front door, and he can't stifle his smile even as his heart runs riot in his chest.

"Hey, man," he says, remarkably nonchalant as he takes Eddie in. Still beautiful, still brimming with energy; his smile wide and dimpled, bouncing on his toes.

"Harrington!" Eddie grabs him into a quick side hug, slapping his back. "Since when do you wear glasses?"

Steve chuckles, touching the horn-rimmed frames. "Oh, god, Robin forced me to get them back in '87? Too many concussions." He touches his forehead. "I usually just wear contacts."

"It's a good look," Eddie says. He's very much not looking at Steve, eyes roaming around the Chicago apartment he's been to many times before.

He watches as Eddie spots the display of his own books, index finger slowly slipping across the spines in a way that makes Steve remember when those same fingers would slide down his spine. He stifles a shiver, turns towards the kitchen.

"So, how's New York? How's the book coming?"

"Livin' the dream." It's not flippant, not like how most people mean it. Eddie leaks genuineness, always has. "The book though...it's a little rough."

Steve sets the coffee maker going, brings fresh pastries and a couple plates over to the table. "I can imagine. It doesn't--it doesn't have to be the same, you know?"

"Yeah, if only I hadn't written three other books leading up to the evil mind wizard," Eddie chuckles. He grabs a croissant and tears it in half. "It'll be alright, Harrington. I'll figure it out. I lived through it the first time, after all."

Steve doesn't remind him that he almost didn't, that they almost didn't. Instead, he pours coffee, listens as Eddie talks about how to fictionalize the worst month of their collective lives.

He splashes milk into Eddie's coffee, taps in three scoops of sugar. He carries it to where Eddie waits, still talking about the logistics of Vecna-slash-Henry-slash-One in his novel, but his words abruptly stop as his hands wrap around the porcelain.

"Steve?"

It's only then that Steve realizes what he's done--made Eddie's coffee like he took it back then, made it without thinking, totally on muscle memory, when the best of his mornings were spent in Eddie's arms.

His cheeks glow crimson and he grips at the back of his neck. "S-sorry." He says. "It--is this still how you take it?"

"Yeah." Eddie's eyes fall from Steve's face, his own cheeks pink. "It's--yeah. Still the same."

"I'm sorry--"

"--Steve, I--"

They don't laugh. They both stop speaking and look at each other, faces still red. Steve thinks there's nothing for it but to get it all out now.

"I'm sorry, Eddie." He takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry I never came back. I'm sorry I didn't explain why. I'm just--really, really sorry."

Eddie's eyes are hooked on the table top, fingers twisting and twisting his coffee mug. "Can I--why? I waited and you--why?"

Steve swallows, but it gets stuck in his throat, and now he's the one who can't look up from his hands.

"My parents got home early," he manages. "My dad, he was waiting for me. I guess one of the neighbors thought it best to tell them who I'd been spending my time with."

Silence falls over the table, and he chances a look up at the man across from him, the one whose knuckles bite into his lips, whose eyes shine with unshed tears.

"You should've called me. You should've--you could've stayed with us. We would've kept you safe."

"Eddie, I couldn't. I physically couldn't," the admission costs him so much.

"Steve," Eddie chokes on his name, voice nothing but anguish. "Did anyone--You could've--you were all alone."

He shakes his head. "Robin knew. She snuck through my window to take care of me, but my parents--I couldn't--" This time the words really won't come. "We made a plan. We started that job at Family Video, and we saved up our money."

Now, Eddie's face is creased with grief. "Sweetheart, I'm so sorry."

Steve shakes his head, smiles despite the wreckage around his heart. "You have nothing to be sorry for, baby. I left you with no explanation. I broke your heart. And--and--" He thinks, what does it hurt to say it at this point. "I love you. I love you so much. I convinced myself you were better off without me, that we could have a clean break and you could get over me."

Eddie's hands cover his face, muffle the sob that slips out. "Get over you?" He whispers. "There's never been one like you, sweetheart."

He slides around the table to kneel at Eddie's side. "Hey." Deep brown eyes stare back at him, Eddie's face wet with tears. "It's always you, Ed. Always. I didn't want to say anything, if you had moved on, but--"

There's not really any transition from them talking to them kissing; Steve slips into it like he did all those years ago, when he first asked for Eddie's kiss. Their mouths slot together, their bodies fit like they always used to, perfect puzzle pieces. Steve's knees give out at the first brush of Eddie's tongue, and they collapse into a heap on the kitchen floor. Even then, they don't part.

Eventually, Steve does break the embrace, face flushed and hair a disaster, glasses hanging off one ear. "Okay, trying to be responsible here. Should we take a pause, go on a date first? Slow down?"

"Nine years isn't slow enough?" Eddie's pupils are blown, hair frizzed around his head.

"When you put it that way," Steve can't help but laugh. "I just want to do right by you, Eddie. Make up for--everything."

Eddie grins down at him, that sunshine beam smile where his dimples pop. "Tell you what, how bout you take me to bed now, and I'll let you take me on a date tomorrow?"

"Oh, you'll let me?" Steve rakes a hand through Eddie's mane of hair. "I don't think you'll have any choice."

"You sure about that, Stevie?" Their lips are so close, the brush with every word.

"Uh-huh," Steve's having trouble keeping his eyes focused, overwhelmed by the sheer force of Eddie Munson. "Never letting you go again, Ed."

Surprise! Part 2! I genuinely had no intention on doing a follow-up, but so many of you asked so nicely that it gave me this idea. Sorry if I miss anyone in the tag list and thank you for reading! @everywherenothere @tiny-enthusiast @emma-elsa-0000 @fuzzyduxk @moonythepluviophile @anaibis @rhapsodyinalto @bunk12bear @tillystealeaves @velocitytimes2 @s-trawberryv-eins @marklee-blackmore @ignoremyworld @its-a-me-a-morgan @goodolefashionedloverboi @starman-jpg @djohawke @adaydreamaway08

[crowlixcx]

When I walk into a room of people, the first person I look for is you.

(crowley's version)

[pipinpali]

Little fan animation of @tthevoic3s's series From Blood Births Life and Death,, (specifically chapters 8 and 9... )

Might not look too good since im still trying to figure out my new drawing program ,, but i think it turned out decently.

[lazy-ahh]

Oooooh superhero gn reader x Viltrumite mark, please! During the Invincible War, Mark goes to take reader back to his universe, saying he’s missed them and their life together. Reader rejects him, and makes a deal: if reader wins, Mark has to stop wrecking chaos on the planet. If mark wins, reader will go back with him and whatever ‘life’ they created. And reader ends up losing. :)))

THE WRONG UNIVERSE TO LOVE YOU IN

pairing viltrum! mark grayson x (superhero) gender neutral reader

this one wants you back. the problem? you don't belong to him. you belong to the mark who loves eve, the mark who will never know you loved him first, the mark whose laugh still echoes in your dreams. now, as his fingers wipe blood from your face with terrifying gentleness, reality splits open: stay and die for a love that was never yours, or let him steal you away to a world where you were his—where you'll always be second to a ghost of yourself. (he promises to be better. you almost believe him.)

taglist @hhoneylemon , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff

the sky is bleeding red when he finds you—a sickly crimson streaked with smoke, the air thick with the scent of burning metal and charred flesh. the distant wails of sirens blend into the chaos, a symphony of destruction that never seems to end.

you’re panting, your bruised knuckles pressed into the cracked pavement as you push yourself up, every muscle screaming in protest. the city around you is a graveyard—skyscrapers reduced to skeletal husks, streets littered with bodies, some still twitching, others long gone. the invincible war has turned your world into a slaughterhouse, and standing in the middle of it all, untouched by the ruin, is him.

mark grayson.

but not your mark.

this one is different—sharp where your best friend is soft, his jaw set in a hard line, his eyes dark with something unreadable. there’s a cruel twist to his lips, a coldness in his stare that makes your stomach knot. he wears the viltrumite empire’s uniform, the sleek, lighter armor a stark contrast to the torn superhero costumes scattered around you. a few blood stains littered the fabric, some of it still fresh, glistening under the firelight. it’s not just from battle—no, this mark wears it like a trophy.

you had just finished killing other variants of him, their lifeless eyes staring up at you, their faces so familiar it made your hands shake. you mourned them, grieved for the versions of you in their worlds who must have loved them as fiercely as you love yours. your breath still comes in ragged gasps, your heart pounding not just from exhaustion, but from the weight of what you’ve done.

and then he arrived.

this mark moves with a predator’s grace, his steps measured, his shoulders squared with the confidence of someone who’s never lost. there’s a quiet intensity in the way he surveys the wreckage—like a king surveying his domain. but when his eyes land on you, something shifts. the cold superiority in his gaze softens, just for a second, before he schools his expression back into something unreadable.

"there you are," he says, voice low, almost reverent, like he’s been searching through a thousand broken worlds just to find you. the way his eyes trace over you—lingering on the blood smeared across your cheek, the way your chest heaves with exhaustion—makes your skin prickle. it’s not relief in his tone. it’s claiming.

and you realize, with a sinking dread that coils like ice in your gut, that this isn’t over. it’s only beginning.

"missed you," he murmurs, the words rough, scraped raw from his throat. his voice is different from your mark’s—deeper, edged with a hunger that makes your pulse stutter. he says it like he’s been holding it in for years, like he’s carved the words into his ribs just to keep them close.

your chest tightens, heart hammering against your sternum. you’ve heard the stories—whispers of alternate marks, warped by viltrum’s cruelty, ripping through dimensions to drag back what they think belongs to them. and now he’s here, standing in the wreckage of your city, looking at you like you’re a ghost he’s been chasing. like you’re already his.

"you don’t even know me," you spit, swiping the back of your hand across your split lip. the metallic tang of blood coats your tongue, bitter and familiar.

he tilts his head, considering you with a gaze that feels like a physical touch. "i know enough," he says, voice dropping into something dangerously soft. "in my world, you were mine." his thumb brushes over a streak of dirt on your jaw, possessive and tender all at once. "we had a life. a future." his eyes darken, something feral flickering behind them. "i’m taking you back."

your fists clench, nails biting into your palms hard enough to draw blood. you think of your mark—the boy who scraped his knees racing you down suburban streets, whose laughter was always a little too loud, a little too bright. the one who looks at eve like she hung the stars, while you’ve spent years swallowing down words that taste like rust and regret.

"what happened to me?" you choke out, the question tearing from you like a wound ripped open. "in your world. did i—" your voice fractures. "did i love you too? or did you just force me to?"

his pupils dilate, just slightly, the only crack in his controlled facade. for a heartbeat, he looks almost human. "you begged me to stay," he says, low and rough, like the memory is a blade twisting in his gut. "the night before the viltrumite fleet came. you held onto me like you knew." his jaw tightens. "then they burned our world to ash. but you—" his thumb presses against your pulse point, a mockery of tenderness. "you were always meant to survive."

the air leaves your lungs. you can see it—some other version of you, screaming as the sky split open, clinging to a monster because they didn’t know he’d become one.

"no."

his expression darkens—not like a storm rolling in, but like a door slamming shut. the brief vulnerability in his eyes snuffs out, pupils contracting into something cold and calculating. his jaw tightens, the muscle flexing as his teeth grind together, like he’s biting back words he’ll never say. the softness that had flickered across his face for just a second hardens into something unreadable, the lines of his face sharpening into a mask of imperial discipline.

but his eyes—oh, his eyes. they’re not just empty. they’re hungry.

the way he looks at you isn’t just possessive. it’s devouring. his gaze drags over you like he’s memorizing the shape of your defiance, like he can’t wait to break it apart and remake you into something that fits in the hollow of his hands. his lips twitch, not into a smirk, but into something far more dangerous—a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, a smile that says, you think you have a choice?

and then, just like that—it’s gone. his face smooths back into viltrumite indifference, as if that momentary crack in his armor had never existed. but you saw it. you felt it. and that’s what terrifies you the most. "you don’t get a choice."

"then fight me for it," you snap, surging forward until your forehead hovers a breath away from his, close enough to feel the heat of his skin, close enough to count the flecks of gold in his darkened eyes. the scent of smoke and iron and something uniquely him clings to the space between you, thick enough to choke on. he doesn’t flinch—doesn’t even breathe—just holds your gaze with a half-lidded, almost lazy intensity, like you’re a puzzle he’s already solved.

then his eyes drag downward, slow and deliberate, lingering on the part of your lips, the quickened rise and fall of your chest. there’s no shame in it, no pretense—just hunger, plain and unapologetic. your pulse stutters. for one terrifying second, you almost falter, because this isn’t the look of a conqueror assessing his enemy.

it’s the look of a man remembering how you taste.

"if i win, you leave this planet alone. if you win…" your voice wavers as a memory blindsides you—your mark’s face, soft in the moonlight on his rooftop, his fingers brushing yours as he smiled at you with something warm and unreadable. you’d let yourself imagine, just for a second, that it was love. that it could be you.

now, you’re bargaining with a ghost of him.

"i’ll go with you," you whisper.

he grins finally, all teeth, but still disciplined—like he’s savoring the way your breath hitches when he leans in. "deal."

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

the battle is brutal.

you’re strong—strong enough to have shattered the ribs of other marks, strong enough to have left their bodies broken in the rubble of this war. but him? he’s something else entirely. every hit he lands cracks through your bones like fault lines, every impact vibrating through your teeth until your jaw aches. you dodge, but you’re always a half-second too slow, his fist grazing your cheekbone hard enough to send stars exploding across your vision.

and the worst part? he’s smiling. small and private just for you, but still there.

not the sharp, cruel grin of a conqueror—no, this is lazy, almost playful, like he’s savoring the way your breath comes in ragged gasps, the way your muscles scream as you push yourself beyond limits that should have broken you already. he’s toying with you, you realize with a sickening lurch. not because he needs to, but because he wants to see how long you’ll last.

"you took down six of them," he muses, catching your fist mid-swing like it’s nothing, his fingers tightening until your knuckles creak in protest. "six of me." his voice drops, something almost like pride curling through it. "that’s not nothing."

then his knee slams into your gut, and the world blurs.

you don’t even feel the moment his fist collides with your ribs—just the sickening crunch, the way your body folds around the impact before you’re hurled backward, crashing through concrete and steel like paper. debris hails down around you, dust choking your lungs as you gasp, vision swimming in and out of black.

when the ringing in your ears fades, he’s already there, crouched beside you with all the casual grace of a predator who’s never known fear. his fingers brush the hair from your face, smearing blood across your temple in a mockery of tenderness.

"you put up a good fight," he murmurs, thumb dragging over your split lip. his voice is almost fond, like he’s praising a well-trained weapon. "stronger than most. smarter, too." his grip tightens, just slightly, forcing your gaze up to his. "but you were never gonna win."

your body screams—muscles torn, bones fractured, blood pooling beneath you like a second shadow. but the pain in your chest is worse, a hollowed-out wound no advanced viltrumite healing could ever fix. you think of your mark—his stupid, lopsided smile, the way his voice softened when he said your name, the light in his eyes when he looked at eve—a light that was never, ever for you.

and now you’ll never tell him.

"promise me," you whisper, the words slick with blood, metallic and bitter on your tongue. there’s so much more you want to say—begging, pleading things that claw at your throat like trapped birds. promise me you’ll love me. promise me i won’t just be another trophy. promise me you won’t get bored and break me when i’m no longer new. promise me you won't throw me aside like he did. but all that comes out is: "promise you’ll leave this world alone."

mark’s thumb drags across your cheekbone, smearing dirt and blood in a mockery of gentleness. his touch is warm, almost reverent, like you’re something precious instead of something stolen. "i promise," he says, and for a heartbeat, his voice is so soft it almost sounds like the boy you knew.

then his arms lock around you, lifting you against his chest like you weigh nothing. the sky splinters above you—crimson and gold and burning, the last beautiful thing you’ll ever see.

(and somewhere, in another life, your mark screams your name, raw and shattered, as the rubble of your city collapses around him. but you’re already gone, and the universe does not care.)

1.9k words full of my number one favourite invincible variant!! thank you so much to the anon who requested this one-shot heheheh <33

[skipper19]

Imagine this...

It was purely a coincidence when Toji pulled up right next to your car at the red light.

God, he hates traffic. It was the bane of his existence. On the highway people just drove like fucking idiots, and Toji was never one to back away from a challenge. You want to flip him the bird? He will flip you two. You want to try and race him? He will gladly leave you in the dust. It didn't help that he rode on his motorcycle more than his truck. It was as if people felt the need to anger him more when he was on his bike.

So yeah, he was already in a grumpy mood when he pulled up to that red light. He groaned as he leaned back in his seat and interlocked his fingers, popping them with a slightl stretch. His knuckles had been white on the handles ever since that old lady flipped him off a few minutes earlier. God, he hated old people, too.

But the moment he slows to a stop next to a familiar looking car and finally glances to his right, he has to double take. Of course, he just had to run into you. You've been his girlfriend for three years now, and he's admittedly grown obsessed with you. But at the moment, Toji was growing even angrier.

Sure, he has a temper, but it felt justified this time.

You told him you were staying home today, so did you lie, or did something come up? Tojis mind just happened to settle on the worst.

He continued to stare at you for a few seconds, but you were too preoccupied with whoever you were on the phone with. You looked concerned, maybe a little panicked, but he could tell you were mostly angry.

Finally, you glanced to your left, and thinking your eyes deceived you, you took another look. The confusion in your eyes shifted to shock as you registered who you were looking at. Toji, in his black leather and that shiny black helmet, sitting on his bike right next to you.

You apologized and hung up on whoever you were talking to before putting your phone away. You nervously smile as Toji crosses his arms over his chest. The "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Radiating off of him. If you hadn't known him for so long, you would be even more intimidated than you were, but at the moment, you felt more anxious than anything.

Toji flipped his visor up, and the heated glare he was shooting at you was enough to get your knees weak. But not in the good way. "Toji-," you attempted to say, but you were cut off by the sound of the backseat window rolling down. Tojis eyes widened in shock when he saw 12 year old Megumi sitting in the back, cuts lining his cheek, his busted lip and the bruise under his eye, as the boy stared at his dad with a deadpan expression. Tojis eyes shot back to you, and you swallowed your spit nervously.

Before Toji could even attempt to speak, a car behind you both honked, startling him. You flinched and faced the rode, shielding your face from Toji as you sped away. Toji only caught a glimpse of Megumi sticking his tongue out at him before you were off. Toji, normally the road rager he is, ignores the honking car and hits the acceleration.

It takes seconds before Toji has caught up with your vehicle, but he swerves into the lane behind you, tailing your rear. Toji didn't give a fuck about the car he just cut off, his mind was elsewhere.

Why the fuck was Megumi beat up for? Did he get into a fight at school? Did he win?

You, on the other hand, avoided looking into the rear view mirror. The look of Tojis helmet was enough to make you nervous, but you could tell he was angry. And as his girlfriend, you knew he was worried as well, even if he would never show it as Megumis strong dad. You could only prepare yourself for the scolding, the questions, the worry, the everything Toji was once you both got home.

Exactly how angry was he? Did he already know about Megumis fight, is that why he was coincidentally there at the light? Will he be proud that Megumi won?

-------------------------------------------------♤

It was a tense atmosphere around you three. You sat at the kitchen counter as Megumi stood by your side, and Toji was on the opposite end of the kitchen island, just staring. He hadn't said a word to you or the little boy as you both parked your vehicles. And you could see the intensity in Tojis eyes.

"Care to tell me what the hell is goin' on?" His voice was deep and gravely. You glanced at Megumi, almost as if you expected the boy to speak up and save the whole situation. Of course, the raven haired boy only stood there calmly. Your fingers itched to dab at the bruise under Megumis eye, you wanted to heal him so bad it hurt.

But you weren't a sorcerer. You couldn't use any sort of technique on your boy. As if he needed it. For a kid his age, he's certainly tough.

You looked back at Toji with a timid smile. "Well.. Megumi got into a fight at school today." You started softly. Toji cut in, "No shit Sherlock." And you glared at him in response. He wanted to be mad? Fine. But you refused to have all this attitude from him. Fortunately, Megumi spoke up before you could throw an attitude right back at him.

"Some kid said something about mom..so I punched him in the face." Megumi said it so casually. Every time he would call you his mother, your heart would do leaps in your chest.

Toji scoffed and crossed his arms. He stared at Megumi for a few seconds before looking back to you. "This true?" He said, bringing his thumb to his mouth, probing his nail to his teeth. You couldn't help but soften at his obvious worry, but you also couldn't stop yourself from rolling your eyes. "Yes Toji, the principal said that Megumi started a fight with another boy. It took two teachers to get Megumi off that kid." You further explained.

You looked back at Megumi with a soft smile before gently rubbing your palm down his cheek. "Even though I wish you wouldn't have gotten yourself hurt." You mumbled, a slight scold forming on your tongue. Megumi shyly tilted his head away from your touch with a scowl. "Yeah, well.. he should have kept his mouth shut." Megumi retorted. Toji sighed and rubbed the pads of his thumb and pointer finger against his eyes.

"Does it hurt, kid?" The question was soft and hesitant. Toji has never been good at comforting others. Megumi shrugged casually and mimicked his father's pose, arms crossed over his chest. "It burns a little, but I can handle it." It sounded like a challenge from Megumi. As if he was saying, "doubt me, I dare you." And Toji only nodded. "Go to your room for a few minutes then.. I need to talk to your ma." Toji mumbled, eyes locking with yours.

Megumi silently looked between you both before nodding and walking to his room. You nervously look down at your fingers, fiddling with the cuticles around your nails. "Toji, I'm sorry -" You started to say. But Toji had begun to make his way around the kitchen island. He stood in front of you and pulled your head to his chest.

You were surprised, to say the least, but that didn't stop you from melting into his chest. "Thank you for taking care of Megs. You're a good mom." He mumbled, his breath fanning over the top of your head. Tears welded up in your eyes, and your shoulders sagged in releif.

Toji always knew what to say and what you were thinking.

"You're not mad?" You questioned timidly, wrapping your arms around his waist. Toji only hummed as he shook his head no. "No.. it's not your fault there's some asshole kids at Megumis school. And it's definitely not your fault that Megs had to defend your name." Tojis words sounded like pure sugar to your ears, with a bit of spice. "But he's hurt -" "He's a tough kid, like his daddy. Some douchebag kids can't hurt our son." Toji reassured you.

His confirmations were all you needed. You had been stressing ever since you picked up Megumi early for school. You couldn't help but feel guilty and ashamed, like it was your fault Megumi got into trouble. Not only that, but he was actually hurt. Maybe he didn't fuss about the pain, but you certainly would.

Toji could feel your tears soak his shirt and let out an amused huff. He kneeled down so he was eye level with you, and he gently swiped his thumb under your eye. "Stop your crying, will ya? Megs is fine, and no one is mad at you for anything. You're a good mom, even if it's not biologically." Tojis, not so normally soft, voice rang through your head like a mantra. A deep breath entered your lungs, and you exhaled it after a few seconds. He was right, after all. Megumi was fine, a little bruised, but okay. And as long as Toji wasn't mad at you, your heart finally gave peace to the whole situation.

"Now.. how about I go up to Megs' school and have a chat with the principal?" God bless the poor soul.

[filia-floris]

Hxh wips!! More versions of Alluka one under the cut lol

Messy render I'm extremely unsatisfied with

[schrodingersbobby]

knowing the ep titles always have a second layer of representing the internalized thoughts of the characters I can't stop thinking about seismic shifts not only being a reference to a shift in the direction of the show once buddie goes canon but also a reflection of what buck and eddie will be feeling as they look at each other, maybe after a kiss maybe after a realization maybe after a confession, and realize that they've crossed a line they can never return from and that for better or worse but definitely for forever, they will never be the same. standing on that precipice, knowing that the ground has shifted underneath their feet but not yet brave enough to look down and see if it's brought them closer together or if it's dropped out from underneath them

[leapdayowo]

Isa is the one with a nightmare, as a treat :)

Ya know, obviously Siffrin (whose name auto correct keeps changing to suffering, which is pretty fitting lol) went through hell and back with the loops. All the angsty art and fics around that I totally get and love to see, however I like to imagine the toll their whole journey took on everyone…

It’s brought up in the game how the King’s power over Vuagarde had a huge impact on Bonnie with their sister + with Mirabelle having the weight of saving a country on her shoulders, but I can’t recall if anything was brought up with Isa and Odile? (Oh nooOOoOo, how awful I can’t remember! Guess I’ll just have to rewatch a let’s play of the game again! What a shame… /j) So yeah :3 Nightmares for everyone! Though Sif definitely has gotten quite a lot more baggage from their journey (which I do intend to make art of eventually..)

[gamerbeta]

Pokémon Legends Z-A: Dimension Collision- Part VIII!

I thought the nights were gonna be somewhat peaceful here. WELP, WRONG! I thought I’d just have them wake up the next morning but knowing Emmet, definitely not the case here!

Also, I love how we unanimously agreed that Emmet should put this guy on his hit-list XD

<<Part VII || Part IX>>

[thenyoukeepliving]

Some fluffy Jax headcanons

A/N: This is my first time writing Jax fluff. I have nothing but shame and regret. Hug the bnuuy.

This is partly about Jaxy and partly Jaxy x Y/N (or at least how he acts with my OC after they get closer, eheheheh…), so I tagged it as x reader as well.

CW: none | couldn’t help sneaking the teeniest bit of angst in there BUT HE'S FINE SHHH

Word count: 729 | Masterlist

₊‧⁺˖☾ ─────────────── ☽˖⁺‧₊

Sleeps curled up, with his ears tucked down

When he’s sleeping, he curls up on his side, knees pulled up, arms folded close, and his ears naturally droop down over his face. It’s a weirdly small and vulnerable position, like his body is bracing for something even in sleep.

His eyes light up when you laugh at his jokes

He pretends like your reaction doesn’t matter, but if you genuinely laugh at one of his dumb jokes, his eyes actually brighten and he gets this smug little smile like he just won the lottery. He’ll pretend to shrug it off, but that moment stays with him all day.

Pretends he doesn’t like physical affection but secretly melts 

If someone ever casually ruffles his ears or leans against him, he’ll roll his eyes and act like it’s the most annoying thing in the world. But the second they stop? He suddenly finds himself lingering near them, making excuses to keep them close. He denies this need even to himself.

Gets sleepy when you play with his ears

Following the previous one: If somehow you ever get the chance to pet him or play with his ears while he’s lying down or curled up nearby, he’ll act annoyed and look around if someone else is there. If he sees you two are alone, he starts visibly melting. He leans into it, eyes half-lidded, basically purring to you to continue. 

Will stick to someone’s side he trusts without a word

It’s hard for him to actually get attached, but if he genuinely likes someone, he’ll become more relaxed near them. No teasing, no pushing buttons (maybe just a little, he has a reputation to uphold after all), just existing in the same space. 

If you sit on the couch, he sits next to you. If you need to pair up for an adventure, he stands next to you without saying anything. If he senses danger, his first instinct is to look your way. If he feels like you’re upset, he tries to distract you with stupid jokes until he sees a smile. It’s the closest he gets to admitting he feels safe around someone.

Carries things for you without saying a word

If you’re holding something heavy or look tired, he just… takes it from you. No snark, no jokey comment. He walks off like it was nothing, pretending it’s not a big deal – but if you thank him, he gets all fidgety and brushes it off with a “yeah yeah, don’t make it weird.”

Talks big but gets flustered easily

He’s an unbearable tease, but if someone genuinely flirts back at him? His brain shuts down and goes into panic mode. The second he realises someone is playing his own game against him, he either doubles down in an almost desperate attempt to stay in control (he usually ends up failing spectacularly), or completely shuts up for once.

Hoarder of small trinkets

If something catches his eye, he keeps it. Random objects, buttons, small toys, a weirdly shaped rock – he doesn’t even realise he does it, but his pockets are always full of little things he’s picked up from adventures. If he ever gives someone something from his collection, it means something.

Bonus: Sometimes he leaves you random gifts near your door or sneaks something into your pocket. No note, no context. Could be something useful, could be just a funny-looking rock. He never admits it was from him, but it always ends up being something you actually like.

Watches you while you talk, totally focused

If you enter the room or just talk to someone else when he’s around, he loses interest in whatever he was doing before. He’d look at you from the corner of his eyes every so often, ears tilted your way. He doesn’t say a word, just carefully listens. If you look over suddenly, he pretends he wasn’t.

Acts like he doesn’t remember things, but he does

He pretends to forget little things people say or do, but he remembers it all. He knows everyone’s favourite foods from their past lives, the memories they remember, what makes them laugh, what they’re afraid of. He just never brings it up because admitting he cares, even in the smallest way, is terrifying for him. He thinks of it as getting attached – something he swore to never do again. 

[whump-galaxy]

Imagining a character getting like, beat up and thrown on the ground in the woods, fearfully looking up at their attackers…and then a massive werewolf steps over them, growling so low and loud that it vibrates through the whumpee’s bones….

The attackers are scared off and the werewolf turns to the whumpee.

[libraryofgage]

anyway have out of context eddie, steve, and robin banter from the final girl steve series that i'm definitely still working on, i swear, really, the proof is right here :^)

“Can you trust me on something?” “The fact that you had to ask makes me wanna say no, sweetheart,” Eddie tells him, flashing a shaky smile that attempts to be reassuring. “These sound like famous last words,” Robin says, frowning as she reaches up and harshly yanks on a few strands of Steve’s hair. “You’re not allowed to die, dingus. Best friend rules.” “Best friend?” “What, you think we can get tortured together and not be best friends? We had a drugged up bonding moment. Your dumb ass is stuck with me.” “Don’t listen to her,” Eddie says, “I think your ass is great.” “That’s only because you don’t have one,” Robin says.

[kittycatred]

look at them guys !!!! theyre getting along !!! :'D GREEN DESIGN BY @greenzilla4 !!!!!! :D

based off this & this post !!! :3

w/o lighting & minimal shading version under the cut cause the lighting is cool but it blocks out some of the details </3

[actual-changeling]

congratulations to @nightgoodomens for making me write the first ficlet of the year! this is so schmoopy and soft it almost makes me want to turn it super angsty instead—but i didn't, so enjoy the happiness while it lasts. inspired by this post.

you can also find it on ao3!

-

"Amazing how they came up with this all on their own, isn't it?"

Crowley leans back and stretches his neck as far as it will go, losing himself not in the noise but the spaces between sparks, the stars no one can see but are there living and shining nevertheless.

They find themselves on a different rooftop every year, always close enough to see it all but far enough away to create their own bubble of shared joy. His coat is hanging open, the cold, smoke-saturated air rushing past him, and when he closes his eyes just for a second, he can pretend the fireworks exploding above him are galaxies being born; his creations, still right where he put them after all this time.

Next to him, Aziraphale hums quietly, knowing all too well that Crowley is not expecting a response—nor would he hear it if he were to give him one. Instead, he keeps his gaze on his face, tracing the lines of his profile as he carefully pulls off his gloves, finger by finger, before stuffing them into his pocket. He remembers, oh, he remembers, the innocent love he saw flowing through him back then, before time, before earth, before Mother became God became the Almighty.

Before all they loved was lost, one way or another. Then again, while defying all possible odds, they managed to find it once more, not just in each other but in humanity.

Another explosion showers them with sparks that will never reach their skin, and a bright shout of joy follows right after, Crowley's eyes impossibly wide.

"Beautiful," he whispers, and Aziraphale cannot stop himself from tentatively pressing their palms together.

Absently yet with deeply ingrained care, Crowley intertwines their hands, pulling him closer to point at a spot in the sky, and there is smoke on his lips and warmth in their bodies—the same heat, given freely, shared.

"If you go that way, do you know where you'll land?"

Shuffling towards him until he can rest his chin on Crowley's shoulder, he carefully lifts their joined hands to brush a kiss over his knuckles, still watching him, carving out a spot for his fire-lit face in his memory.

"Alpha Centauri," he replies softly, leaving another, almost imperceptible kiss on his cheek.

"Alpha Centauri," Crowley confirms, leaning their heads together, and for a while, the world is everything he ever wanted it to be.

[kotoku]

hellooo, sunday and aventurine comforting teen!reader who is crying?

ꜱᴜɴᴅᴀʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀɪɴᴇ ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛɪɴɢ ᴛᴇᴇɴ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴡʜᴏ'ꜱ ᴄʀʏɪɴɢ

pairings - sunday & teen! reader / aventurine & teen! reader

content - reader is gender-neutral/ teen! reader/ platonic relationships/ familial relationships/ angst with comfort/ crying! reader

warnings - just teeny angst

⋘ ʟᴏᴀᴅɪɴɢ... ⋙

↻ When Sunday sees you crying, he immediately goes to comfort you

↺ Kneeling next to you or sitting beside you and rubbing your back comfortingly, letting you cry and ramble to him about whatever had made you so upset

↺ Depending on the reason, he might be livid or deeply sad for you, but he’d never show it as he wants to focus on you 

↻ He’d be very quiet, opting to listen to you first before asking if you wanted any advice or help

↺ If you want his advice/help, he’d gladly lend you a helping hand and offer some recommendations, if you just want him to listen, he’d stay by your side and offer a box of tissues here and there

↻ When you have finished crying, he’d wipe away any stray tears and provide some more tissues for your nose

↻ I can imagine his voice being very soothing, basically lulling you to sleep because crying had exhausted you

↻ Once you had fallen asleep, he’d tuck you into bed and leave more tissues by your bedside, either that or on a nearby table if you fell asleep on a couch

↺ No matter where you are, Sunday will make sure to stay by your side to assure your safety and security until he deems it is safe enough to leave

↻ Your state is much more important to him than business matters; postponing any meetings and calls to make sure you’re okay

↺ Of course, he won’t neglect his duties and will get back to them at a later time (with a notification in advance)

↻ If someone was the cause of your distress, he’d happily deal with them personally, the anger in him masked by a calm and professional persona (we’ve seen his manipulative side)

↻ All in all, Sunday would be a great person to confide in if you are feeling upset about something (lending an ear, always making sure to have tissues or a handkerchief on him, giving optimal advice…)

↻ Aventurine would have a bit of a hard time comforting you through your emotions, but he's trying his best !!

↺ He’s not as good at confronting his own emotions and chooses to not let them show, but he’d rather you openly express yourself than keep it in

↻ His way of comforting you would be listening to you talk or letting you cry, and then he’d love to take you on a shopping spree afterward to help cheer you up

↺ Aventurine taking you to a diner to get food, him taking you clothes shopping, doing something fun, etc..

↺ Even if you persisted that you were fine and didn’t need him spending his money on you, he’d do it anyway

↻ I can imagine him struggling with being sincere or genuine, but he’d try his best to give you thoughtful advice and recommendations (he might have a hard time coming up with advice depending on the situation)

↻ Aventurine awkwardly hugging you if you went straight to hugging him lol, he’s caught off guard

↺ He’d probably awkwardly pat/rub your back too 

↻ He’d hand you a handkerchief that he keeps on him to help dry your tears or snot (holding it away from himself after taking it back from you, he probably discards it somewhere)

↺ Aventurine would get you anything that you need at the moment; ice cream, tissues, etc.. 

↻ Like Sunday, depending on the reason that caused you to be so upset he may be angry or understanding of the situation

↺ If the source was a person, he’d keep a mental note of who and may do a bit of background research during his free time

↻ Overall, Aventurine may not be the best at comforting you, but he’s trying his best to be there for you when you need him, showing it in his own way :)

⋘ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ! ⋙

note - i didn't do a drabble at the ending of the headcanons, sorry for it being so short. :(

[raccoonbug]

These kids were filthy, Eggman swears.

Sonic was easy enough to care for. Quills we’re easy to manage, and with such short fur, knots brushed out easily.

Tails, though?

It drove Eggman crazy. At first, he’d wanted to leave the kit alone, to allow his youngest the chance to manage his fur himself. At this point, though, it was getting ridiculous. Long gold fur tangled horrifically, with the white wisps along his muzzle slowly looking more like a birds nest was glued to his face. Honestly, it’s a miracle the boy hadn’t started matting!

Thankfully, Robotnik had purchased a brush for just this situation.

That’s how they’d gotten here. Tails sat perched in the man’s lap, fiddling anxiously with his namesakes. Eggman was poised behind him with a detangling brush made for the fox’s fur.

“You’ll be fine, my boy.” Eggman reassured, giving the kit a soft pat on the head. “I’ll be careful not to pull, and you’ll feel much better once I’m done.”

Tails nodded, but stayed quiet. The only person who’d ever brushed him before was Sonic, and the hoglet didn’t ever do things like this thoroughly. Besides, helping with fur was usually meant for families.

Did Eggy see them as family?

The thought made the kit happy. Finally having a whole family set tiny fireworks off in the boys heart. Meeting Sonic, his brother in all but blood, had done much the same.

At the same, though, he felt nervous. Did Eggman truly see them as family? Or was this a was to make the boys less of a hassle while they lived here? Was this permanent? Would Eggman cast him aside, too? Would the doctor leave him all alone, just as his parents had four years ago?

Before he could continue spiraling, Eggman’s brush made contact with his fur. The man was as gentle as he could be, brush peeling knots out of fur like a peeler did skin off of vegetables. Gloved hands tug-tug-tugged at particularly stubborn knots, each time met with a soft whine. This sound was answered with soft hushing, and careful hands soothing the area, before the brushing continued

For Eggman, it was almost hypnotic. A soothing, repetitive motion to calm his usually racing thoughts. Privately, he thought it felt nice, being able to care for someone who meant so much to him. Not like the scientist would ever admit to the parental feelings blossoming in his chest like flowers in the sunlight.

On Tails’ end, the brushing was a bit irritating at first. The tugging hurt, even if it was only a little, and he didn’t like staying still so long. He wanted the doctor to hurry up, to get this over with so the six year old could get up and go play.

Then the humming started.

Soft melodies drifted into the kit’s ears. He couldn’t place the tune, but it soothed his fraying nerves. Tails could feel Eggman’s chest rumble with the soft sound, and as the tender care continued, the boy began to be lulled.

The doctor brushed and brushed for what felt like hours, until no more knots could be found squirreled away in his youngest’s dense coat. For a moment, he looked the boy over, pride swelling in his chest at the sight of the kit looking so clean and well-kept.

Only as Eggman made to move, though, did he realize. The kit, now leaning heavily against his chest, was sound asleep, purring all the while.

He supposed it made sense. This sort of thing was usually soothing for mobians, and Eggman had had to hold the boy just a touch forward for the last twenty minutes to properly brush his back.

Well, he thought, it couldn’t be helped. Best to let the boy sleep. Eggman would likely be stuck here for a while until the kit woke up.

…wait.

…

…

He had to use the bathroom.