#but i wanted my happy ending

[ciearcab]

how do you live?

[greykolla-art]

Charlie: “I’m so glad my most villain-coded friend is at full power again! 🥰💕”

*throws this to you angst goblins like raw steak* ❤️

(No I will not do a part 2!❤️)

[spineless-lobster]

Hey so if you guys here any pained animalistic sobs and/or wails don’t mind that it’s only me thinking about the house of hades family portraits

[bamsara]

I think that one thing people fail to understand is that unsolicited literary criticism coming from an online stranger who is reading with no knowledge of what the authors intended goal is, is not going to be received the same as say: the authors beta reader or friends who know what the authors intended goal and has the sufficient knowledge and input to help the author reach that desired outcome.

"But I'm only trying to be helpful" How do I know you have the knowledge and literary skill for you to be able to actaully do that when we don't know each other and you are essentially a stranger to me? Are you applying this criticism based out of personal biased experience and desire to see the story or characterization be driven in another direction or tweaked, or do you know the author's intentions for the character? If the story is incomplete, are you basing your criticism of a character on the incomplete narration with only partial information available of them or are you building up a report until the story's completion? Did the author provide you with the information needed to make a fully informed criticism?

Have you discussed with the author what their plans are or are you assuming them based off the narration, especially if the narration is proven or implied to be unreliable or missing key points of the plot? Are you unbiased enough to help them reach their desired outcome for the characters and story regardless of your personal feelings towards the characters/antagonists and setting? Can you handle being told your specific input isn't wanted because you're a reader and/or have no written anything relating to their genre or topic? Do you understand and respect that the author's personal experiences might influence their writing and make it different than how you would have done it personally? Do you understand if an author only wants input from a specific demographic relating to their story?

If it's for fanfiction or other hobby media, are you holding a free hobby to a professional standard? Are you trying to give criticism because you feel like the author has produced 'subpar job performance' of their fic? Are you viewing their work as a personal intimate outlet or something that must conform with mass media? Are you applying rules and guidelines when the fic is shared for simple sharing sake? Is your criticism worded appropriately and focused on the parts where the author has requested input on rather than a general dismissal and or disapproval?

Have you put yourself in a place where you assumed you have the input needed for the story to evolve better, or have you asked what the author needs and what they're having trouble with? Can you handle having your criticism rejected if the author decides their story doesn't need the change and not take it as a personal offense against your character? Are you crossing that boundary because you think you are doing the author a favor? Are you trying to be helpful, or do you just want to be?

I think sometimes when people hear authors go 'please don't give me unsolicited writing advice or criticism' they automatically chalk it up to 'this author doesn't want ANY constructive feedback on their stuff at all' and not "i already have trusted individuals who will help me with my writing goals and- hey i don't know you like that, please stop acting so overly familiar with me'

[hinamie]

quick itfs sketch page

[turtleblogatlast]

Leo learns something about himself 🏳️‍⚧️

Based roughly on this old post.

Bonus:

[Leo is taking the fact that he was born biologically female simultaneously very well and also not so well but overall he’s mostly coping with the fact that it was Draxum that just essentially gave him the turtle equivalent of ‘The Talk’.]

[egophiliac]

I don’t think we’ve ever seen you draw knight of dawn before 🤔 what are your thoughts about him? Or take?

I've drawn him a couple of times, just really little/in the background. but I should draw him more, I love this guy a lot! I have many, many thoughts about him and the way he parallels Silver...and also I think it is extremely funny that his ghost is stuck in a ring. especially considering where that ring has been for the last 16-ish years.

[shouyuus]

18+, college roommate!vi cinematic universe thigh-riding, questionable vape-usage, oral (vi receiving), smut with a fluffy ending

"s-sweet fuck, pretty girl -- j-just -- just like that --"

you let out a soft whimper, rutting your hips over her flexed thigh, whining as she leans back, a palm resting on your waist, the other clutching her hot pink vape, bringing it up to her lips for a long hit before tugging you down, blowing the dragonfruit-flavored smoke into your mouth.

you suck in, tasting the bright tang of the vape smoke as your pussy clenches, your clit throbbing as you chase your orgasm, grinding down over vi's leg as she groans thick in the back of her throat, her eyes dark and hazed out as she watches you with parted lips.

"like -- like that?" you ask, your voice high and desperate even as vi bites her lips, letting her head fall back against the wall of her room, her cheeks high with color as you reach down and wedge a hand between your bodies, slipping your fingers under the waistband of her boy shorts to thumb clumsily at her clit. she keens, fingers digging into your waist as she jerks you against her, your juices now so sticky on her thighs that it squelches every time you rut your hips forwards and back.

"fuck -- yeah... mm --" she shifts, hoisting you further up just to meld her mouth with yours, licking into your mouth as your pace stutters and you groan, fingers clutching at her shoulders, her biceps, steadying yourself on her arms as she kisses a harsh line down your neck, sucking a deep hickey into the junction of your throat. "shit, you're so -- so hot, so pretty--"

"vi -- vi -- m'so close --" your lashes flutter as you feel the familiar twist in your gut, the warm already spilling through your limbs.

she chuckles, "c'mon princess --" she tugs on your chin, blowing another puff of smoke in your face, smirking when your breath hitches, "look at me -- wanna see your face when you fuck yourself stupid on my thighs --"

the tension in your belly snaps, your whole body shaking as your orgasm rocks through you. and vi -- she guides you through it, groaning out long and low as she feels you twitch over her, your cunt squeezing around nothing as you ride out your own orgasm against her. you eyes flicker but she keeps you upright, forcing you to look at her even as the edges of your vision fizz out into white sparks of pleasure.

she kisses you as you come down, grinning at the way you whine when she pulls away for another hit of the vape, opening her mouth as you press back in, your fingers finding the soaked folds of her cunt, pressing in, her kissing you as smoke wreathes out the corners of your mouths. you trade the same breath back and forth till you lose count, till you can't figure if the sweetness is the smoke or just the tingling addiction of her mouth on yours.

"mm... wow, princess -- that was --" she hiccups as you press a line of sloppy kisses down her neck, the pale, lamp-kissed bend of her shoulder, the small divot between her breasts, pausing to lave your tongue over her nipples, the piercings there cold as you suck them between your soft lips. your revel in the way she gasps then, the way her fingers bite into your skin.

you reach up wordlessly to tug the vape from her slack fingers, her eyes half-lidded and alight with a loose, liquid hunger as she watches you work down the length of her body.

"you're so wet, vi..." you murmur, pressing a kiss to her hipbone, smiling up at her as you tug on the waistband of her boyshorts. she lifts her hips, her cheeks darkening as she clears her throat.

"yeah well -- 's not like you can blame me -- oh shit --"

her head thunks back against the wall as you dig your nose into the thin trail of hair that leads to her sopping folds, the slick there glistening in the wane light. you only allow yourself a second to admire her before bringing the vape to your lips and sucking in a breath of the synthetically sweet smoke, and then you're lowering your mouth to her and pressing your tongue into her slow, moaning long and loud, your eyes fixed on her face, watching for the twitch of her lips, the slack in her jaw.

"jesus christ -- mm-mngh --!"

you fight back a grin as she whimpers, her thighs tightening on either side of your face. her fingers dig through your hair as she forces her eyes open to look down at you, an open, needy expression on her face that you doubt she'd willingly show to anyone else. but the knowledge that you can bring her to such pleasure quickens your own pulse and drives you forward as you give her clit a hard suck and she keens again -- that gorgeous, high, helpless sound even as she presses you harder against her folds and jerks against your face, guiding you into a rhythm that suits her needs.

"fuck, fuck, fuck princess --" she lets out a string of incoherent swears as you feel her shove your face into her harder and harder, and all you can do is offer up your mouth, your tongue, anything and everything you can till she shakes apart above you, her release coating your lips and dripping down your chin.

you lap at it hungrily, savoring the salty-sweet-tang even as she finally relaxes her thighs and you manage to pull yourself up for a breath. your face is sticky, and honestly, so is she, but her laughter is warm when she tugs you up to give you a lingering kiss.

your head is a smoke-filled euphoria of half-formed thoughts as the pair of you collapse, boneless, sweaty, and sated onto her messy sheets. she kicks off her boyshorts, leaving her just as naked as you already were as she curls around you, her arms solid and strong, yours curled against her chest, your fingers splayed over the smooth expanse of her skin, tracing abstract shapes as you turn to face her.

"you got somethin' on your face there, sweets," she says, rubbing at thumb down your slick-covered chin. you crinkle your nose, turning to wipe your face messily against her bicep even as she laughs.

"mm... why didn't we do this sooner?" you ask, curling into her, your faces inches apart.

"what, this like -- smoke each other out and have amazing, mind-blowing sex?" vi asks, grinning.

you giggle, shaking your head, "no! i mean -- well, yes, but like... this.." you reach out and cup her cheek, the touch so gentle it stills you both.

vi sighs, shrugging, "dunno, cupcake. i -- i guess i was caught up in..." her eyes cast about her room, the band posters and hand-scribbled workout notes tacked to her wall, "in wondering if you -- if you felt the same about me, i just..."

you purse your lips around a burgeoning smile, "you just... forgot to ask me?"

vi scoffs, rolling her eyes, "yeah, yeah, whatever. we get it -- you had to make the first move but --" her eyes soften, and so does her voice, "at least we're here now, right?"

"mm," you nod, inching closer, "and we've still got another six months left on the lease."

"six months is a long time," vi says, her voice husky as she rubs a thumb along your cheek.

"yeah... plenty, if we're trying to make up for lost time but..." you hesitate over a held breath, "what happens after?"

"after... we both graduate?"

"yeah."

for a moment, vi's silent. and all around you, the future stretches out like the moonless night, tendrils of shadow reaching like spindled fingers into the unknown future.

"after that... i go wherever you go, cupcake."

you blink, eyes meeting hers, a startled spark of uncertainty rising within you.

"you..."

vi smiles, a crooked, honest thing of lips and teeth. she hooks her ankles around yours and presses your foreheads. her hand comes up to caress the back of your neck.

"if you think i'll ever let you go again after all that... you've got another thing comin', princess."

you let out a relieved laugh, leaning in for a kiss.

"right. i guess the orgasm really was that good, huh?"

vi laughs too then, a soft, breathy sound.

"sure. but really... i mean it. i'm yours, cupcake. for as long as you'll have me."

your lashes flutter; your heart skips. then, you're the one pulling her in for a kiss, one that's sweet as it is consuming. the skin-scalding simmer of a long-burning flame, a spark catching hold on a breath of summer wind.

"i might not be a theoretical physicist, but from what i've heard, forever is a really long time," you say. and vi, to her credit, only takes a second before understanding blossoms in her eyes and she pulling you to her, crushing you in a stomach-turning embrace.

"you're my everything, princess. you know that?"

you bury your face in the crook of her neck and breathe her in. the room smells like sex and sweat and the soft perfume of your shared shampoo. you grin, a giddy heat pluming up your chest to coil at the back of your throat.

"and you're mine, vi."

vi puffs out a breath, her voice just a tiny bit shaky as she cradles your head in her palm.

"yeah. i know, sweets. i know i am."

[breakbleheavens]

We need positive reinforcement to take risks, and because I always got that from you, I felt comfortable taking bigger risks. And that always felt like it paid off creatively. It made me feel so fulfilled and excited. It made me fall in love with doing this over and over. 

HAPPY 35TH BIRTHDAY TAYLOR ALISON SWIFT Born December 13, 1989

[puppyeared]

these two are so interesting to me

characters belong to @canisalbus

[dema-heart]

Of course I choice to stay 😭

I couldn't end the cycle. Not this time. Maybe in another life😭

I fought too hard to live to choose death in the end. And knowing he'd have to find me dead or dying after fighting to get back to me...

No no no I refuse. Plus, that means that poor pups sacrifice was for nothing she protected me with all she had twice.

I don't care if it is or isn't better for us I spent my life sad and alone and now I'm spending what I have left as happy as I can be in the situation.

Crimson Clover

<<< PART III

You choose to live.

With your broken fingers, you gingerly pick up the loaf. Bringing it to your bloodied lips, you take a bite.

It tastes like light, light amidst the dark. It comforts you, sealing your wounds, bones magically unbreaking, moving back to its sockets. You swallow it with a sigh.

For a few minutes your pain finally subsides, leaving only a dull ache in your ribs. Standing with the help of the table, you sit on the head of the table. His chair.

You sit, eyes closed, back against the cold marble.

“You chose to stay” Hobie says in a broken voice, cloak torn to shreds, black blood seeping out from his side.

“Hobie!” You run towards him, limping slightly. Taking his shoulders, he looks for any indication of your previous injuries, finding none except for the blood drying on your skin and clothes. “I couldn't–I couldn't leave you, I can't”

Hobie nods with understanding, he knew this was a possible outcome, seeing it chosen by you a hundred times before.

“Are you okay?” Bringing him to his chair, he sits with a groan. “I knew you'd be alright” you cup his cheek, wiping the marks left by the entity on his perfect skin.

There's a gnawing in his heart, is this better for you?

He exhales a shaky breath, bloodied hand holding your own. “You're staying?”

You nod, a sad smile on your face, tears trapped in your eyes. Is this better for him?

“I am” bringing your face closer to his forehead, you breathe him in, the same scent you're familiar with since you've first met him, from the past to the present. You're sure it'll be the same in the future. “You won, right? That thing won't come after us?”

“For now. Nothing ever dies, love.” He leans away, knuckles caressing your temple. “‘m sorry that I've trapped you here with me.”

Did you choose right?

You tell him your name, your true name in a hush whisper. Hobie hides his face on your shoulder, lips over your thumping pulse.

Your hearts beat as one. He'd love and protect you, fighting fate herself until he can't. Until your mortal death, then the cycle begins anew.

A/N: Anndd we're at the end! Thank you so much for joining me on this ride! Much love to all of you ���️❤️❤️

[hai-nae]

if you want love, you're gonna have to go through the pain,

if you want love, you're gonna have to learn how to change,

if you want trust, you're gonna have to give some away.

[ibahibut]

💀: Fewer wounds, more kisses from me.

🐦‍⬛: Contract's accepted, mi amor.

Music inspiration: A Little Death by The Neighbourhood

[runraerun]

Steddie Amnesia Ficlet: 2/3

-> Part 1 | Part 3 | AO3

cw: more head trauma/concussed!Steve discussions.

Steve hears Eddie call after him, but he doesn’t stop—he can’t face it. Not right now, anyway. Not when his eyes are stinging and his heart is pounding in his ears, each pulse more painful than the last. His legs take him to the building he’s supposed to go into, fueled purely by muscle memory. Not brain memory, of course, because nothing up there works properly anymore, apparently.

The Brain Injury Recovery Center.

It’s where Eddie expects him to go. He’ll catch Steve if he goes in, or he’ll wait for Steve by the doors until he comes back out—both options involve facing Eddie after Steve had made a total idiot of himself. Both feel utterly mortifying.

So he ducks into the alleyway beside the familiar brick building instead, just to catch his breath. It takes Steve longer than the average bear to sort out his feelings now, after all. Jesus, who’s he kidding? Everything seems to take him longer.

Steve feels hot tears streak down his cheeks before he angrily scrubs a sleeve over them. Of course Eddie isn’t his boyfriend. Eddie’s funny and cool and he’s in a band and he lights up every damn room he walks into—and Steve… well, maybe Steve was something a few years ago when he was in high school, and maybe he was even something before his accident, but now…

There’s a sharp clapping noise that sounds like thunder. A door slamming, Steve’s brain sluggishly supplies. It’s followed by shouting.

“Steve? Steve!” Eddie calls from somewhere on the street.

Steve’s heart feels like it’s going to fall out of his ass. His face is probably still blotchy and wet, his breathing hasn’t evened out yet and his eyes are still leaking like a goddamn faucet. He’s pathetic.

Can’t let Eddie see him like this…

He ducks behind a metal garbage bin, careful not to let anything but the bottom of his sneakers touch the sticky looking surfaces around him. It stinks, like rot.

“Steve?” Eddie’s voice echoes off of the alleyway walls. Steve claps a hand around his mouth to muffle out any of the pathetic sounds that seem determined to escape from him. So much of his body just does whatever the hell it feels like now. Out of Steve’s control, like everything else.

For a few, tense seconds, there’s silence. Eddie’s listening for him, maybe. Steve shuts his eyes and waits him out.

It feels like an eternity before he hears Eddie’s hurried, retreating footsteps, continuing his shouting for Steve. He sounds almost as panicked as Steve feels. Almost.

Steve gives a noisy, wet sniff and does one final scrub of his face before getting to his feet. He starts walking.

As he goes deeper into the alleyway, he thinks back on all the things he’s been wrong about. The fact that Eddie had some of his band t-shirts mixed in with Steve’s clothes… well, that was because they were both guys who wore about the same size, and Eddie left his shit everywhere. It’s no wonder some of his stuff got mixed into their laundry. And the times Eddie’s driven him places? That’s just… what friends do, Steve supposes. And all those times Eddie made Steve laugh? Made him feel like the center of the universe? Well, that’s just… Eddie. He must make everyone feel that way. It’s like his super power. But it isn’t romantic… It doesn’t mean anything more than Eddie being a magnetic person.

Steve is just so stupid. Painfully so.

He blinks as the sun hits him. He must’ve reached the other side of the alleyway.

Steve cups a hand over his eyes and grimaces. His migraine wasn’t backing down. He sighs. Time to head back.

Steve turns back into the alleyway he’d emerged from, only he’s about halfway through when he realizes the color of the buildings on either side of him are wrong. They’re brown on one side, painted green on the other. That isn’t right…

His heart jackrabbits in his chest, but he keeps walking forward. Maybe he’ll recognize the street once he’s back on the other side.

But when he gets there, it’s as unfamiliar to him as the alleyway. Steve turns, looking up and down the road to see if he could spot Eddie, or his van, or the Center. But there’s nothing.

And when someone shoulder checks him, Steve supposes he was sort of asking for it, standing in the middle of the sidewalk like that. He apologizes, but it’s too late. The person’s already out of range to hear him.

It’s as if everyone else is on fast forward while Steve’s stuck on pause. The world keeps moving along while all he seems to be able to do is watch it go by.

Why would he ever think someone as dynamic and spirited as Eddie would hitch his horse onto Steve’s busted up, barely mobile cart?

Stupid, stupid, stupid…

He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and wills himself not to start blubbering again like a goddamn baby. His life is already one big, painful lesson in humility as it is, he doesn’t need to wallow in it.

Steve keeps walking. Figures he’ll spot something, or someone familiar to him eventually. The pounding in his head’s eased off to a dull ache, at least. Maybe there was something to this exercise and fresh air thing the doctors were always going on about, after all…

The thing is though, Steve doesn’t spot anything familiar. Not even vaguely so, and it’s not until the streetlights turn on that he realizes he’d spent the majority of the day wandering around the streets like some lost dog that managed to slip his leash.

It’s cold too, and all he’s got on is jeans and a polo. It’s October, isn’t it? No wonder he’s got goosebumps all up and down his arms.

Then, he finally spots something familiar; a phone booth. Steve breathes a sigh of relief. He’d just call his parents. They’d come pick him up.

He gets the booth and lifts the receiver before he blanks. A quarter. He’d need that. Duh, Harrington. So he hangs up the phone and pats his pockets until he finds a wallet, but all that’s inside of it are a couple of crisp bills. He’d need to break one.

Steve turns, scans the street until he spots a well lit, invitingly warm looking diner. The joint looks so damn cozy that he forgets to make sure the street is clear before he steps out into the middle of it.

Tires screech, harmonizing with the horn that’s blasting at him—Steve flinches, reaching up to cover his head and braces for impact.

To his great relief, the hit never comes. Which, thank fuck. He can’t afford anymore accidents. As it is Robin’s threatened to make him wear a helmet full-time.

Steve doesn’t listen to whatever the person yells at him, he just hurries to get the hell out of his way of the other moving vehicles.

“Smooth, Harrington. Real smooth.” He mutters to himself as he catches his breath.

He pushes the door to the diner open with shaking hands, but it’s blissfully peaceful inside, and he can actually feel his insides unclench as he stands inside of it.

“Sit anywhere, hun, I’ll be right with you.” A woman’s voice tells him. Steve nods and slips into the nearest booth overlooking the street. Watches the cars go by. There’s even a couple of cop cars, sirens blaring, lights flashing. Steve wonders briefly what sort of emergency they’re rushing off to when the waitress comes to his table.

“What can I get you, handsome?” She asks, cheery and warm like the rest of the diner.

“Uh…” Steve frowns, taking a few seconds to process the question, “nothing. I’m just waiting for my parents to come pick me up.”

The waitress taps the side of the notepad. “Well you gotta order something, hun, or you can’t stay here.”

Steve wants to stay here. It’s warm and smells fucking amazing, like “pancakes?”

She waitress smirks. “Yeah, we got those. You want a stack?”

“Yeah, please.” Steve smiles back, laughing along with the waitress like he’s in whatever joke that’s currently so amusing to her. “I’m starving.”

“You want some coffee too, to help you sober up, maybe?”

“Oh, I’m not drunk.” He huffs out a little self deprecating laugh, “I wish. No, I—uh, my meds, they’re the kind that you can’t mix with alcohol. Coffee too. Bummer, right? Yeah… But, uh, it is what it is, I guess—so…”

He can feel it. The way his mind so often wanders. He’s lost his train. His track. He frowns, eyes drifting towards the street again, watching the headlights zip by.

“…so just the pancakes then?” The waitress asks, jolting his train back onto its rails. His attention snaps back onto her.

“Yeah, pancakes. Sure.” Steve flashes her what he hopes is a charming smile.

She returns his smile and leaves him be, and he lets himself relax. Props his head up on a fist and watches life go on for everyone else but him.

He gets his pancakes, and some juice too that he doesn’t remember ordering, but hey, that’s nothing new. And damn, the pancakes taste even better than they smell. He needs to remember the name of this place so he can come back with everyone. What did the doctors say? Repeat something in your head over and over until it sticks. Repetition. Repetition, repetition, repetition…

It’s around the time his fork hits an empty plate that one of the police cars stops in front of the diner window, lights on, but the sirens are off now.

Hopper steps out.

Huh. That’s weird. Steve wonders what sort of emergency he’s here for.

When Hopper enters through the glass doors, the bell hung over the entry way rings out pleasantly. An angel getting their wings.

His eyes land on Steve and the older man sighs, shoulders falling. Relief, Steve recognizes. Hopper pulls the radio from his belt and says something into it before stomping over.

Then it clicks.

Oh. Steve’s the emergency.

He feels his face heat up. The handful of other patrons scattered across the diner are all looking at him.

“There you are.” Hopper sighs, gruff and exasperated.

Steve sinks into his seat, just a little. “Shit. I fucked up, didn’t I?”

“Just a little.” Hopper chuckles dryly. He takes off his hat and slips into the booth across from Steve, apparently not in any sort of hurry now that he’s found the runaway dog.

Steve runs a hand through his hair, a nervous tic he’s developed. “Sorry.”

“Nah, don’t be sorry. Just strangle Munson for me when you see him next, will ya?” Hopper drops his hat onto the table and waves the waitress down. He orders a coke.

Munson. Eddie.

The memory of how he made a total and utter fool of himself comes rushing back, slamming down onto him like one of those cartoon anvils. Jesus, how did he forget that..?

Suddenly the pancakes aren’t sitting so good in his gut. Feels like he’s gonna ralph.

“Was he freaked out? Eddie, I mean.” Steve asks, cautiously approaching the question. Did Eddie say anything about why…?

“Yeah, him and Robin both. Then the kids found out too—don’t ask me how. I suspect the curly-haired one has an illegal transmitter.” Hopper leans back in the booth as the waitress drops off his coke. He takes the straw out and drinks it right from the glass. Steve waits for him to finish, doesn’t say a word.

When Hopper puts the glass down, Steve just sits and watches the way the drops of condensation run down the cup, distorting around the fingerprints Hopper’s left. “Anyway, they’re all out on their bikes looking for you too.”

Hopper smiles fondly, like it’s something charming and not… pathetic. “You got a lot of people that care about you, kid.

Steve swallows around the lump in his throat, and nods. Tries for a grin, but it’s weak. Probably wouldn’t fool anyone, much less a cop. “Yeah, I’m a real lucky guy.”

Hopper looks like he wants to say something else, but he just takes a breath and nods. Steve’s grateful he doesn’t argue. Doesn’t think he has the energy in him right now to fend off the ‘but look how far you’ve come!’ ‘Your speaking’s gotten so much better!’ ‘It could be a whole heck of a lot worse!’ comments.

“What do you say we get you home? Unless you want dessert? My treat.” Hopper offers with a grin.

“No, I just want to go to sleep,” he says, before remembering his manners, “thanks, though.”

“Alright then.” Hopper glances down at the cleared plate of pancakes and the half finished coke before sliding out of the booth, followed by Steve. He takes out wallet, but Steve beats him to it. He tosses down a few bills, hoping it’s enough. Hopper doesn’t comment, so it must be.

The drive back to his and Robin’s apartment is a solemn one, but it’s strangely peaceful. Hopper’s got the heat on full blast due to Steve’s lack of coat, and the motion of the vehicle along with the darkened sky leaves Steve feeling wrung out in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time.

In fact, when they finally arrive, Hopper’s gotta shake his shoulder to wake him up.

“We’re here.” He rumbles out in his gruff baritone.

Steve lifts his head from his folded arm and looks up at the modest building. He wonders how far they live from the pancake diner. If they could walk there, sometime, him and Robin and Eddie.

But then Steve realizes he never got the name of it. He feels his insides sink. Another thing lost to him.

“Thanks, Hop,” Steve gives Hopper a nod and what he’s sure is a tired smile. “I’ll, uh—I’ll try not to run off again.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it.” Hopper says, diplomatically. “Let me walk you in.”

Steve cringes at the idea. He’s grateful for Hop and all he’s done—especially the part about not making him feel like a complete dummy—but he just wants this all to be over and for things to revert back to how they were. And at this point he’s so close he can taste it.

Steve busies his hands by undoing his seat belt. “No, it’s okay, really—“

Hopper looks like he’s about to argue but Robin damn near crashes out through the building’s illuminated front doors. She makes a b-line for Steve, who’s just barely gotten out of the cruiser.

She wraps her arms around him and doesn’t let go. “Steve! Holy shit, you scared me so bad. I’ve been out of my mind!”

Steve’s arms are trapped at an awkward angle, but he reaches around her as best he can, arms like flippers. “I’m okay. Seriously. Look, not even a scratch.”

She doesn’t laugh. Just squeezes him harder. Truthfully, Steve doesn’t know if he’s okay, but it’s what everyone always seems to want to hear from him, so he says it often.

“I’ve already killed Eddie like three times.” Robin murmurs into Steve’s chest, before finally pulling away. Her eyes are bloodshot, her nose stuffy, like she’s been crying.

“It’s not his fault, Rob.” Steve’s brows pinch together as he frowns, “is he…”

But when Steve looks up towards their building, he can see Eddie standing in the doorframe, his dark silhouette illuminated by the entry way lights. He’s still as a statue, holding open the door for them, arm extended out into the cold autumn night. Steve’s insides squirm.

“You got him from here, Buckley?” Hopper calls from his cruiser and Robin ducks to meet his eye before giving him a thumbs up. She loops her arm around his waist and they start towards their place—towards Eddie.

Before they reach him, Steve keeps his voice down as he asks, “Can I just go to bed? I don’t—I can’t talk about it right now.”

“Okay.” She nods, “I get it.”

But she doesn’t, not really.

Steve avoids eye contact with Eddie when they finally reach the building, and before he can say anything, Robin interrupts. “He’s going straight to bed. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” Eddie says in a small voice. He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t even follow them back up to their apartment. Maybe Eddie’s even relieved he doesn’t need to confront it tonight. Maybe they won’t ever confront it… maybe he’s hoping Steve’s brain will take care of everything and make him forget. Make it like it never happened. Part of Steve wishes—

No. He doesn’t wish that. His brain’s already functioning at half capacity, he doesn’t want to thank it for fucking up, even if it might make Steve’s life easier.

Whatever Eddie’s expression is, Steve doesn’t look back to find out. He keeps his eyes on his feet, focusing on putting one step ahead of the other.

When they finally arrive at Steve’s matchbox sized bedroom, he doesn’t even bother changing into pajamas, or even out of his jeans for that matter. He just falls into his bed, pulls a pillow over his head and wills himself to let go of the day and surrender to the sweet pull of blissful unconsciousness.

🫣 Oops, I made it worse. But I promise the Eddie and Steve confrontation is in the next part! 🙏 This is tagged angst with a happy ending for a reason.

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[wormsdyke]

hey have you guys heard of that movie. yeah the obliterating masterpiece on trans identity

[mimimar]

finally completed my comic based on the song ivy by taylor swift!✿ please zoom in to read the text and see the details~

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you can get the digital zine pdf here! it includes extras like character profiles, costume design, more art of willow and ivy, zine-exclusive sketches and an illustrated guide to the symbolism of all the flowers in this comic.

you can also get prints of individual pages here!

✿.✿.✿