#but ultimately happy ending

[anxiouspotatorants]

Maura watched the strange man freeze in place in front of her. He no longer seemed as spectral as he had been mere seconds ago. Now it was he who looked as if he was watching a ghost.

The Spirits of Prometheus Asylum: An 1899 Victorian Gothic AU

(Raw images: not mine)

[ofswordsandpens]

thinking about a world in which RR actually committed to the path he set Percy on in hoo (wherein Percy has become jaded, angry, and resentful at the gods for breaking their sworn promises, is frequently sympathizing with Luke, is getting more and more powerful, and frequently losing himself to wrath) and instead of the subsequent Percy Jackson books being about getting recommendation letters, we could have gotten a trilogy exploring a fallen hero arc for Percy (that would ultimately have a positive resolution to it.)

[redactedhaunt]

the ultimate despair with the ultimate hopes

[egophiliac]

I have never been more concerned for a JP update from your art than I am seeing a Cheka knowing the context of Leona’s dream.

My bois ok right?????? My sweet nephews ok right??????

well

uhhhh

I'm sure the real one is fine :)

[boar-cry]

UN JOUR, JE SERAI DE RETOUR PRÈS DE TOI ▪︎ 《ONE DAY, I WILL RETURN TO YOUR SIDE》

Y'know, despite how much I write and draw sad stuff, I truly believe in good things and happy endings. I don't know what the future holds, but I'm looking forward to it regardless! :)

(different versions beneath the cut:)

[caligvlasaqvarivm]

Why The Ending Sucks

Ok I figured it out. Hear me out:

The entire comic has a running theme best summed up as "who is controlling the narrative, and why are we listening to them?"

Hussie plays a caricaturized version of himself that he describes as "buffoonish" and "oafish". Caricature!Hussie is well-meaning, but a dumb idiot who's incredibly biased in favor of certain characters and in disfavor of others (the most obvious example being his "love" of Vriska, but there's also the way he constantly disparages Eridan). As a result, you have to be VERY SKEPTICAL and VERY CAREFUL when approaching Homestuck's narration, because even when the "best" narrator is at the helm, he's not 100% trustworthy and incapable of giving the readers an unbiased view of the story.

I say "best" because, importantly, Hussie isn't the story's only narrator. He and Doc Scratch explicitly fight over control of the story - Doc Scratch, the child abusing predator who engineered Alternia's fascist murder society, whose shaping of its history is explicitly described by character!Hussie as "fanfic". He is then killed by Lord English, who is described by Hussie as embodying the "toxically masculine" and by extension, the patriarchy, and Caliborn explicitly takes control of the story. John even grapples with Caliborn's version of events, calling out how sexist and misogynistic and shitty it is.

So if we're keeping score: control over the narrative is LITERALLY wrested away from Hussie (who was already struggling to be unbiased) by fascists, abusers, and the patriarchy. It's stressed multiple times that Caliborn/LE are responsible for literally everything that ever happens; the reason the Game Over timeline ends the way that it does is because the alpha timeline is, in essence, the narrative LE is telling: the forces of fascism get to claim the new universe, thereby propogating itself, while friendship dies and all hope is lost.

Who's in control of the narrative, and why are we listening to them?

There are other minor examples of this, too: Aranea is an exposition fairy, and she's biased as fuck and wrong ALL THE TIME about her own teammates. Karkat's explanations and rationalizations are constantly tinged with his own self-loathing and self-blame. Sollux and Meulin are both prophets as per their Mage class, but are both so bogged down by their own emotional issues that the futures they pick out are actively harmful. So on and so on. At nearly every turn, you have to interrogate who's telling the story, what their motivations are, and what they're overlooking or deliberately obfuscating.

So given that this theme is so prevalent, and so thoroughly weighted toward "well, actually, maybe you shouldn't take narration at face value and should interrogate it and come to your own conclusions," it would be Really Weird for the story to go "actually, you can totally trust the narrative now because everyone gets a happy ending".

So, I know that it makes me sound like a conspiracy theorist, but here's my genuine take on Homestuck's ending:

The ending is shitty on purpose because the viewer is intended to take it as a dare to refute the narration and make something better.

Why are we letting character!Hussie tell the story? He's a biased idiot. Why are we letting the various avatars of LE and Caliborn tell the story? They're fascist, misogynistic, predatory assholes.

And - because Homestuck is a story about life - why are we letting idiots, assholes, abusers, and creeps dictate the story of real life? The world is full of forces that would try to take control of the story and make everyone else play along, represented in microcosm within the text of Homestuck. We cannot let those forces win.

So please go out and do something kind and hopeful and loving in the world today. Thanks for reading.

[ruporas]

bound to want (part two) /// part one rest of pages under READ MORE after ID

[ID: 23 page digital comic of Vashwood from Trigun Maximum. The comic is in a limited palette of a dark blue, light pink, white, black, and a light beige color for Vash's skin and a mid-brown color for Wolfwood's. This comic is the second part to "Bound to Want" and is spoiler-free. The first part is linked here.

It begins with a panel close up of Vash's expressions. The sky colored in dark blue can be seen behind him. He has a neutral expression, but he holds a slight frown and the reflection of his glasses covers one side of his eyes. Wolfwood says, "Hey. What's with the distance?" In the second panel, the shot widens to show both of them, a clear physical distance separating them with Wolfwood walking ahead and Vash trailing a little behind. Vash responds, "What? I'm just walking a bit slower today..." Wolfwood looks at him with a an irritated expression, clicking his tongue. Wolfwood says, "I was going to wait for you to start... But yer just running away away."

Vash is seen looking away, unable to hold eye contact with Wolfwood as he continues, "You've been avoiding me since that night. Did ya think I wouldn't notice? It's about that dream, right? Tell me about it already if you're going to be moping like this." Vash looks slightly downwards, his brows furrowing and he starts to walk ahead of Wolfwood without looking at him and responds stiffly, "I really don't want to talk about it..." Wolfwood looks at him with a surprised expression, but doesn't probe.

A panel close up to Wolfwood's eyes as he watches Vash go on ahead before he follows suite with an irritated sigh. The panels are overlapped by Wolfwood's hand holding the bottle of the Bride with motion lines, indicating a transition in time.

A wide shot of Vash and Wolfwood in a room now. Vash is seated, his back turned away from the viewer, while Wolfwood's body faces the viewer with his eyes looking towards Vash. He rests the bottle of the Bride on the table with a "clack" and his other hand holds two shotglasses. The background is coated in a light pink.

A panel shows a close up of Wolfwood's face, his eyes looking downwards to Vash as he says, "Let's drink." Next to this panel is Vash looking up at Wolfwood, his brows furrowed and a slight frown. The bottom half of the page is a wider shot with Vash's body turned away from the viewer as he says, "I'm not going to talk about it." Wolfwood responds, "You don't have to." as he sits down.

A wide panel of Wolfwood holding the shotglass, pouring in the drink as he continues, "I'll talk." The next panel is a profile view of Wolfwood, his eyes looking down at the now filled shotglass as he continues to say, "You're..."

"... upset with me." Vash can be seen next to this speech bubble with narrowed eyes, looking towards Wolfwood. The panels are all coated in with a dark blue background. Wolfwood continues, "I can't be certain why since yer not telling me a thing -- but it's probably... my bad." The panels show Wolfwood about to bring the shotglass to his mouth but he turns way as he continued to speak, his eyes not on Vash. The bottom page shows him looking away completely with a guilty expression as he says, "I'm sorry.

If you can ever tell me why, I can try and adjust to make it more bearable. But if you're just trying to get rid of me--" The panels follow Wolfwood's certain expression as he says this, "I don't intend to leave you. I can't... and I won't." A panel shows Vash's wide-eyed expression, surprised upon hearing this, and then his eyes soften as Wolfwood again concludes with, "I'm sorry."

Vash's inner thoughts begins, a boxed speech at the center of the page and panels of his eyes, his brows furrowing again and a resigned, but frustrated expression. His thoughts starts, "Stop. I shouldn't be happy hearing that. And why are you apologizing? I should be the one to..! I can't let anything like that happen to you. You deserve to live a long steady and peaceful life. I want to be optimistic. I want to protect you, but I might end up doing the opposite." The text surrounds Wolfwood from Vash's perspective, the other man drinking out of his shotglass, his eyes downcasted.

"I shouldn't have you. And you won't leave." Behind these text is a panel of Wolfwood's eyes finally looking over to Vash. Vash's thoughts continues,  "It's so unfair." When Wolfwood sees Vash, his eyes soften and he frowns. The last panel shows the lower half of Vash's face, but tears begins to flow down his cheek. Wolfwood's hand is already reaching to wipe at them as he starts to say, "You know..."

A wider shot of Vash and Wolfwood, Vash slightly leaning forward with his mouth tightly shut, and tears steadily continuing to flow out of his closed eyes. Wolfwood continues to wipe at them with his hand as he continues, "This isn't a dream anymore. I don't know what you saw for you to be this shaken up, but whatever happened, you'll overcome it, right? If not you, I'm here too. You'll be okay, Spikey. So..." Wolfwood's expression grows more tender, "Have a little faith in me... and come back already." The dark blue starts to fade.

The wide panel has the dark blue background faded and replaced is the light pink. It shows Vash in full up to his shoulders, his eyes are still tears littered, but there's light in them as he says, "Wolfwood..." making eye contact with the other. The next panel shows Wolfwood's tender expression, his eyes and brows fully soften and he has a small smile on his lips, finally seeing the other return a level of sincerity with him.

The next panel shows the bottom half of Wolfwood's face and his hand is offered towards Vash for a dance as he says, "C'mon. We don't have to talk, but this is okay, right?" The background is now white and a ribbon flowing across the page separates this panel from the next sequence. Vash's inner thoughts continus, "I've spent too long avoiding this. It's scary to want after I've taken so much from others." A sequence close up of their hands is shown, with Wolfwood's outstretched hand on the right and Vash's reaching hand on the left. Vash gently places his hand in Wolfwood and at the bottom, Wolfwood wraps his fingers across Vash's.

Throughout the page, a dark blue ribbon starts to flow around the both of them with confetti raining alongside the effect. Vash and Wolfwood are hand and hand, dancing together with Wolfwood as the lead. The viewer can see a peak of Vash's expression, full of fondness but also a hint of sorrow as he looks down at Wolfwood. His inner thoughts continue, "I don't deserve this. I don't deserve you. But why is that even though I have these burdens, I still want to love you. I still want you to be by my side."

With a close up of their mouths, Vash's thoughts continue, the text covering his mouth, "Wolfwood, I--" Wolfwood's speech bubble covers Vash's text as he completes his sentence, "want you." Vash's eyes widen for one panel and in the next, his eyes spark, a blush appearing on his cheek and the confetti flows and spark. Tears ease up on his eyes again.

"Want me too already, Spikey." Wolfwood has leaned in enough to rest his head against Vash, a hand of his on Vash's neck, holding his nape and another hand pressed gently against his back. A ribbon separates this panel from the next, a mix of confetti flows across the page, as Vash envelopes Wolfwood in a hug too, holding him and his hand gripping tightly onto his back.

This page is just the ribbon flowly throughout the page on the white background, one white ribbon and the other a dark blue. Near the bottom, the ribbon envelopes each other in a loop. A conversation of Vash and Wolfwood is held over these ribbons, Vash starting to say, "What if I hurt you? What if you..?" Wolfwood responds, "You? How could you hurt me?" Vash, "You know what I mean... You see it everyday..." Wolfwood responds, "If you think I'm going to kick the bucket so easily, I suggest you look at me more closely from now on, idiot. I'm not that easy to get rid of."

The next page has the ribbon criss cross over the top of the page. Vash and Wolfwood can be seen in their dancing position again, Wolfwood now resting a hand on Vash's shoulder, as Vash takes the lead. Vash continues, "Well, I know that... I tried." Wolfwood responds, "But you won't anymore... since you want me... around, yeah?" Wolfwood's head cocks to the side, smiling with assurance, cheeks flushed. Vash looks at him with a wide smile and fond, loving eyes. The confetti flows across the bottom of this page and as it eases into the next page, it starts to disappear.

Vash responds, ".. Yeah... I do..." as he pulls Wolfwood into a hug again. Wolfwood says, "Not going to run away anymore, are you?" Vash says, "No... I trust you." A panel shows Wolfwood's turning away slightly with a shy expression, muttering "Geez..."

In a more simplified style, Wolfwood is seen gripping Vash's cheeks now with his hand, "Though... You do remember you avoided me for two weeks straight, right? How are you going to make that up to me?" Wolfwood asks. Vash responds with eyes closed and a pucker of his lips. A vein of irritation appears on Wolfwood's face. Wolfwood starts to squeeze at Vash's cheek with both hands, shouting, "Now that you've recovered, you're trying to be funny, huh?!" Vash says through the squished cheeks, "I'm just happy..."

The next page opens with a closed up panel of Vash's widen eye as Wolfwood's hand moves from squishing his cheeks to gently holding them and Wolfwood leans in. The inner thoughts starts again, "There's a chance I'm not making the right choice... My dreams, my fears of losing you, it will never go away. But you said you won't let it happen... And I want to hang onto your words closely this time. After all, if it's anyone who can make me believe, it's you."  The white ribbon from previous pages flows across the page and it visibly ends at the bottom of the page, enclosing the two of them as they share a gentle kiss with Vash holding Wolfwood's face, a tear in his eye.

The next pages starts with Wolfwood saying, "You cryin' again?" Vash responds, "I'm just grateful..." Wolfwood responds, "But you've always had me." Vash responds, "Being like this is different from staring at you from behind all the time though..." The two can be seen together again, Wolfwood pressing his elbows against the table with Vash leaning over him. Wolfwood is easing the tears out of Vash's eye again, just like earlier. A close panel of Vash's fond expression is seen as he says, "Thank you, Wolfwood." Wolfwood looks up at him with a small smile, gentle eyes. Confetti starts to flow lightly across the page as text starts to appear against the white background, "I'm the one who's grateful...

That you'd embrace someone like me, when I'm not fit to hold you in the first place... But I know better than to hesitate. The moment I acknowledged it, I knew I'd spend the rest of my life loving you. So, have as much of me as you want, Vash."

The final page shows the confetti gently falling down the page and at the bottom shows Vash and Wolfwood pressing their foreheads together, Wolfwood's hands cupping the side of Vash's face gently, and both of them smiling brightly with each other. ID END]

[hitlikehammers]

strongly worded letter 💌

or: Eddie Munson’s long, weird road out of (the) hell(-side down) ☠️ and into love💗

rating: t ♥️ tags: post-S4, steve’s one-man search-and-rescue for eddie’s not-dead body, falling in love, fluff in surprising places, eddie’s chaotic internal monologue, alphabet magnets🧲 for the win ♥️

for @steddielovemonth day four: "I had not intended to love him. [...] He made me love him without looking at me." —Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte

To the external, uninitiated observer, Eddie is well aware his take on all of this will 100% appear both unhinged and as least vaguely self-destructive, bordering on suicidal.

But here’s the thing: if Eddie had been truly suicidal, the million times he could have just stood and let the mobs take him—bigots or mutant bats or a lichy-ballsac that made people float—he wouldn’t have even bothered fighting. Maybe he was questionably attached to self-preservation, but actively wanting to pack it in? Even the thought of sparing his poor uncle his bullshit—finally—hadn’t been a sweet enough deal. Nope: Eddie is selfishly attached to the whole living thing.

Which is why he is begging for it to be understood, in no uncertain terms:

He’d rather know for sure that he was dead in the endless, silent grey hellscape he’s been left in, than wandering in this half-formless, half-collapsing nothing-burger version of the town he grudgingly called home, unsure where he stands on the mortality-scale either way.

—

Here’s the deal.

Vents? Foolishly overlooked.

Epic concert? Rocked, no notes.

Bat-chow? Do no recommend.

Henderson sobbing? Recommend even less.

Being tagged as a corpse? Perfectly fine if that’s what you are; dead weight in an apocalypse simply cannot be justified.

The issue is when you’re tagged as a corpse, and you…aren’t one.

So you’re left behind.

Which brings Eddie to:

Meeting what they’ve been calling a demogorgon this whole time but that resembles no such thing, those goddamn lying liars: not fucking cool.

Having…enough demobat saliva or venom or poison or whatever, probably, where the misleading-as-fuck demogorgon sniffs at you like a dog with her puppies instead of eating you with those fucking petal teeth?

Neutral. Probably wouldn’t order it again.

Getting licked all over by said Petal Teeth, all lioness-grooming-its-young style? Disgusting.

Disgusting.

Figuring out demogorgon saliva has some kinda magical mystical healing properties and you’re basically just covered in fairly-smooth scar tissue now that looks months old rather than hours, and plus you got a bath out of it so most of the dried blood’s gone too?

Fine, okay, he’d leave a tip for service.

But now Eddie is as alive as he can think to test being—and he’s been running all the monster-category tests and he doesn’t pass for vampire, zombie, or any various other undead creatures, he’s hungry but mostly for like, Chicken McNuggets, and—

Stuck. He’s stuck here.

And he thinks they must have won, the Party that is, because nothing’s really happening except…things are falling apart, like rotting in slow motion.

Which is a concern. But. Cool, if it means they did in fact make the motherfucker pay.

But that also means nobody has any reason to be strolling back in to fight demons anymore, and come across his not-so-dead ass. Plus also, the place is probably going to keep crumbling—if a master of a realm is axed, the realm doesn’t typically survive. Mordor fell apparent when Barad-dûr came down. And he…

He did agree to go into Mordor.

Well, fuck him.

—

He mostly wanders around and pokes at random shit, collects some books, ignores the fact that the reality he’s looting is on borrowed time.

He doesn’t know if it’s healthier to deal with that part head on or keep pretending it’s not there, but he honestly could not give a fuck.

Because it’s just him. Save the demogorgon who gave him a tongue bath, he’s seen nothing living. Sometimes there’s a stray screech but it’s too distant to even guess where he’d find whatever made it, stumble upon whatever caused it. There’s not even a breeze to move the decaying trees.

There is nothing.

And it’s starting to drive him fucking insane. He might lose it before the reality caves in on him, actually, just for the sheer…void of it all.

He’s on the edge of that—losing it entirely—when he hears it, sees it.

Who the fuck took that magazine, it’s like three years old, only kept it for the tips on…

And then an echo, like a projection in the air, and it’s fleeting and its faint but where that voice what pretty unmistakable already, the coif of chestnut and the peek of a polo collar, and the seizing in Eddie pulse for both together—it’s almost more undeniable.

That’s fucking Harrington.

—

The vision is, seconds. At most.

But it shifts Eddie’s priorities entirely.

He starts the day—he’s guessing it’s the start of the day, it’s always fucking grey here but he’s just going off of when he’s hungry so—but he looks for cereal in one of these decrepit houses and eats it out of the box as he tries to get his bearings.

Tries also to remember all the weird shit the kids used to say before Eddie knew they were making any of it up.

Context clues give him that this is Hawkins. 1983 or thereabouts—makes sense for the magazine.

But what makes more sense, and is more helpful: Steve had bitched the magazine was moved.

And Eddie’s definitely the one who had it in his hand when he heard said bitching.

So there’s still some connection. Hope’s not totally lost.

Mostly, maybe. But not totally.

—

He decides to go back to Harrington’s and just wait until he goes there to sleep so he can tail him, have some sense of how he can try and make contact from his own side, let someone know he’s still here.

It takes forever; Eddie wonders just how different time runs, here, save that when he finally hears something, the vision is clearer in the air, ghostly but more complete.

And Steve looks fucking wrecked.

Like he hasn’t slept in days, like he’s about to fucking cry, like he—

He’s still the most beautiful guy Eddie’s seen in person, if this counts as in-person, but like—that was never not-true.

“Rob, I don’t know! I just, I just feel like—“

“I will handcuff you to your bed.”

Eddie tries to feel excited that whatever’s happening is strong enough that two voices come through, that Robin’s here, she’s safe too—

But he’s more invested in what’s causing the shouting.

”I know how to pick a fucking lock, Jesus,” and Eddie doesn’t not think about the lock he’s worn more than once around Steve at his belt, nope, he does not—

”The gates are closed, Steve. It’s over.”

Well. Fuck.

There goes the hope thing.

”Not all of them. Not totally.”

Or maybe not.

”Steve, I will hunt you down, I will dog your steps, I will follow you every single moment if you think I am leaving big you even consider going back to—”

“I love you, Robs, but you still can’t drive. Think you’ll beat me on your Schwinn?”

“I will slash your tires.”

“Sorry, birdie, got AAA to save me.”

And that’s all Eddie gets, but…

It almost feels like he’s got one single snowball’s chance in hell, here. Still. Just one, true, but.

If he’s learned anything the last few days, it’s that Steve Harrington’s maybe the most reliable snowball he could ask for.

His chest is all tingly about it, even—fucking traitor.

—

Eddie doesn’t even really have to follow where Steve goes next. In that he knows exactly where it is, just not why the fuck Steve wants to be there.

Especially since even the lack of evidence in ‘83’s version of the trailer still makes him look up at the ceiling and feel like he’s gonna puke.

”Oh sure Mister Munson sir, I just want to borrow your dead nephew’s cassettes, that are definitely in the trailer the fed have locked down to be sent to Area 51 or wherever, just in case he’s not entirelydead in another dimension, and he can hear me because I’m definitely not losing my fucking mind, and definitely not because being called ‘Big Boy’ didn’t fuck with my head more than mutant bats ever did…”

Steve’s frankly endearing muttering, and that last bit especially, distract Eddie enough from the fact that Steve is actively rummaging through his room.

Through his room, Jesus, Eddie moves because he even clocks that lunging at Steve here won’t do shit there to stop the questionable literature Steve’s already sifting through.

At least Steve can’t see him blush across planes of existence. Hopefully.

“Oh,” and Steve sounds shocked, but then looks…gutted?

”One more for the ‘you suck’ column,” and Eddie decides right then that he fucking does not approve of that tone, at all; ”not like I had a chance, definitely not his type…”

“But my type’s the paladin who protects everyone and needs a faithful bard to tend his wound and keep his bed!” Eddie blurts out into the nothing on his side of the divide.

“My type’s been you since fucking junior year!”

Because Junior-Eddie was admittedly much more lust-driven. Let that be said.

Now-Eddie’s equally if not more invested in the heart of a man.

And Steve Harrington, even remotely thinking that he isn’t Eddie’s type?

Maybe Eddie really is dead. And this is hell.

—

”Why do I need them?”

Eddie’s got a new box of cereal—Kix, could definitely be better—and has now trailed Steve to what looks like…the edge of town, which, who lives there…

”Nah, kid, nothing bad. Just want to see something. Promise.”

One of the kids. Maybe this is where the Byerses are, now, if they were right and they’d been on their way back? Because Eddie knows where the rest of them live, and this ain’t it.

Theresa are footsteps in one direction, and Steve wanders in the other, where Eddie sees a girl with a buzz cut he doesn’t know, but who stares Steve down in a way that…Eddie can kinda guess.

They’d all alluded to the super powered kiddo more than once.

”Can you look? Like, just to see if he’s—”

Eddie’s neck turns fast when he turns back in to the conversation, less for the words and more for how timid, how cowed Steve sounds and he…

Eddie just wants, more than anything really, to be able to reach out and touch. To comfort. To do…

Something.

”…would not feel him even if he was there. The connection is gone. The Upside Down is dead.”

And Steve deflates, and Eddie…Eddie remembers the lights didn’t they have to be emotionally unstable, kinda, to make the lights flicker, to let someone know they’re there, and Eddie’s definitely there because—

Not fucking all of it, not yet, Eddie wants to scream; or maybe yes all of it but I’m still fucking here.

Also: that man is 100% my type and I want a fucking shot, I want my snowball’s chance in hell, I want to bite him and call him sweetheart like I mean it and I want, I want, I want—

Also that.

Steve leaves with some…fucking magnets.

And the lights didn’t do jack shit.

—

Eddie spends most of that night playing with magnets.

Well, not at first.

First, he tries yelling, sobbing, focusing like a Force-user, really anything he could think of to get Steve’s lights to flicker. No such luck.

So then Eddie makes a side quest, after having dutifully made certain not to leave Steve’s side for…however many days.

He pops to Melvald’s because of anyone’s got kiddie alphabet magnets, it’s gotta be them.

And score. Definitely not the worst thing Eddie’s stolen. Plus this place is on the way out. Not really relevant, here, if he cared.

Which he fervently does not.

And proves by grabbing two fifths of tequila on the way out. Hah.

He finds Steve passed out on top of his comforter, plaid monstrosity that it is, and he tries very hard to brush his hair back—nothing.

And then Eddie…somehow that’s the straw that breaks the pack-mule’s back. Something in him just fucking snaps.

Because he distinctly remembers this whole fiasco being tied to the labs owned by the fucking Department of Energy, right?

And they can’t even keep the electrical connection between dimensions working?

That’s…that’s unacceptable.

He’s gonna…he’s gonna file a fucking complaint. He’s gonna show up at a picket line. He’s gonna write a strongly worded letter. He’s…

Actually, he’s got all night if the way Steve’s sprawled says anything for how long he’s gonna stay conked out. And he’s also got these handy alphabet magnets.

Letter it is.

—

”What the fuck?”

d3ar 3nergy d3pt he4d i ju5+ wan+ed to te11 th15 guy i w4n+ t0 b1+3 him but n00 y0u c4nt e73n d0 +h4t i h8 u

Eddie trips over some empty bottles, the answer of how they got there pounding in his head real quick—oh, hey, hangovers do transcend dimensions, seems suspicious—but yeah, okay, he does remember getting creative with the abundance of math magnets in the poorly-labeled alphabet pack last night, misleading to lead on letters by default on the packaging. He does recall being very convinced a sideways ‘7’ was a passable ‘V’. But.

He’s not looking at his side of things. He’s looking at Steve’s.

And so is Steve.

And then Steve—who Eddie wants to bite but also kiss and maybe just hold in his arms chest to chest to feel his warmth because when his control broke last night it conveniently knocked him upside the head with the clear realization of that fact that Steve Harrington?

Is doing all this shit for him. On the hope of a maybe.

And Steve Harrington had been disappointed not to have found his lookalike in Eddie’s porn rags.

And Eddie wrote a letter to the fucking DoE in magnets about it, and Steve can see it, stuck to his fridge in 1986 as clear as Eddie slapped it there in 1983.

”…Eddie?”

Steve’s voice is so small and so fearful to be wrong. His chest is heaving, he’s scared.

Eddie scrambles for the magnets left on the floor and smacks them violently to the refrigerator door in record time, prays to everything he doesn’t believe in that Steve can feel his relief spelled out in the bulky primary colors:

h3y 61g b0y v3

And goddamnit, when Steve falls to the floor with his jaw dropped loose, Eddie is 100% sold:

A ‘V’ turned on its side absolutely makes the bottom half of a heart for the three to butt-up to.

—

“Got these to play so if you were there, and couldhear me, you could find your way, if,” and Steve, Steve has been talking to Eddie since they both woke up and found those magnets, even if they haven’t been able to replicate anything, not the letter nor the faulty lighting trick Eddie’d complains about on the fridge in the first place: it could just be a fluke. Steve has no reason to believe Eddie’s alive, that Eddie did that, that Steve didn’t sleepwalk into sleep-spelling, that Eddie even alive in some form would be following his every move.

Of course he is, but. Steve can’t know.

It’s all on faith. For Eddie.

And fuck is Eddie’s heart doesn’t go playing ping pong with his ribs for how much it hits him, how wide and warm it swells in his chest like hope, only second to affection, to want, to—

“Vecna’s not gone, but he’s like, one step from it. I don’t know he can get you but,” Steve taps to the Walkman, to the headphone he gets on just one ear so he can hear and also so someone else—so Eddie—can hear Megadeath as Steve bustles around his house, packing a duffle that reminds Eddie of when they were peeping to storm the castle—

That’s what Steve’s doing. That, that’s what Steve is doing right now.

“I just,” Steve heaves a deep breath, hands on his hips before one pinches between his eyes; “I felt like you were still there, I can’t explain it,” and Eddie’s shaken to his core right now in the best possible way so when he blurts out in a croon:

“Power of loooove, Stevie!”

He can’t be blamed for that. He can’t. He’s…

This man is going down into hell, has not grantee of what Eddie knows in it being largely innocuous, now, save…undead Vecna lurking somewhere, so weak he’s not even noticed.

“But we know music works though, so.”

Steve’s still narrating his plan; Eddie is just staring. Wants to…wants so fucking bad to touch.

“We have to wait for night, for me to get down there. They’re shitty with security on the graveyard shift.” Then Steve’s smirking, and fuck, he’s so pretty.

”Plus Robin sleeps like the dead, she won’t have a chance to notice what I’m doing even on the off chance word got out.”

And the fact that Steve is willing to defy his own platonic soulmate for Eddie—barely knows him in terms of days and hours but at least, if it’s the same as Eddie’s realising more and more that he feels, and unshakable too: it’s like his soul knows Steve, and that cannot care a lick for how time runs, it’s bigger than that.

There’s too much of a sense of potential, a crackling possibility just being in his proximity, even with the distance of other goddamn dimensions—there’s too much swirling in Eddie already for it to mean nothing.

Plus, like: flip the script. Steve is risking everything on a whim, for him.

It cannot be nothing.

“I’m hoping you’re where we left you, which,” and Steve’s voice catches, he pauses, looks around like he’s hoping Eddie might pop into the visible spectrum, so he can see and know, but then he just looks up at the ceiling like—oh, fuck, like it’ll make sure no tears fall out and:

“I can’t fucking tell you how sorry—“ Steve starts to say be Eddie can’t bear watching like this, strides over in an instant and grabs Steve’s hand.

And Steve stills.

And Eddie can feel his pulse in his wrist.

“Is that you?” Steve barely breathes, stares now at his arm where…Eddie can only see the kind of glimmering overlap that means two things are happening in the same place on different planes, he’s grown used to that. But.

If Steve can feel him, if there are moments here that are probably limited where Eddie can prove some little tiny bit that he’s here and he’s listen and he’s with Steve—

He pulls Steve’s hand and drags him into the kind of full body hug he’s been aching for for…fuck.

Too fucking long.

“Eddie,” Steve sighs out, and Eddie can’t help himself. He runs hands through Steve’s hair, and holy fuck: Steve leans in.

Steve feels it enough to lean in.

“It feels like I’ve been falling for a ghost, man.”

Steve says it on a whisper, like he’s still not sold entirely, or else maybe afraid to break a spell. Eddie gets that second part.

“But I guess it kinda started before that, so maybe it’s not as fucking crazy,” Steve laughs a little wet with it and…Eddie has to, because what if he never gets another chance, and hell—if he does, how can he deprive them both the chance to know whatever the sensation will be, like this?

Eddie’s not up to risk never knowing what a cross-dimensional lip lock feels like, okay?

So he doesn’t.

“Please don’t be a ghost,” Steve breathes out and fuck, Eddie can’t taste it but he can feel the way the air moves and it’s, it is; ”I think if you are, I’ll live the rest of my life trying to make it work anyway, I,” and Steve doesn’t get to finish because Eddie pushes in again, and Steve’s as good as his reputation and then some, on wholly separate planes of being.

Eddie cannot fucking wait to feel it flesh to flesh.

“I fall fast, man, but this is kinda insane,” Steve pants, arms out awkward with any indication where to hold. He’s adorable.

He’s delectable.

“But you did say you wanted to bite me, assuming you were talking about me,” Steve smirks but then his eyes go wide:

“Oh, shit, are you a vampire?”

And Eddie has no idea how long he’s been down here alone, surrounding by the silence and the darkness and just the projection level overlay of Steve when he’s lucky, but Jesus H. Christ—

“Is that you laughing?” Steve chokes on his own kinda-giggle as he braces against an unseen and unseeable force barrelling into him: of course it’s Eddie.

Of course he’s fucking cackling.

Because however long it’s been, he definitely hasn’t laughed at any point at all in that span of time—and fuck if he didn’t need it.

—

Steve slips down the last burbling gate not without effort, not without lava-hot road rash no doubt fucking with his already not-yet-healed stomach.

When he’s tackled, thrown straight to the ground, weight pinning him to the ground that’s more dry, more deadened than Steve remembers from just days ago: when his back hits the ground—none of it matters.

“It was me laughing.”

And then Eddie’s mouth is on his—it’s the echo he was afraid he’d imagined that morning, just like the hand on his wrist, just like the laughter wrapped around him.

“You’re an even better kisser in person, holy shit, even your fucking glowing reputation shortchanged you.”

And Steve’s kinda breathless, not just for getting smooshed to the dirt; but then Eddie’s kissing him again, and breathing seems really kind low on Steve’s list of giving a shit.

“You are so my type it’s not even funny,” Eddie says, before diving back into kiss with a bruising kind of force, an unmistakable kind of intent; “I think my type has fully migrated to include kinda just you.”

And Steve’s heartbeat kinda stutters at that because…that’s new.

No one’s ever…well.

It’s just new.

“You weren’t wrong to leave me behind, you don’t ever have to apologize,” and then he’s kissing along Steve’s jaw, and it’s Steve’s laughter now, the tickle of dirty curls dragging at his stubble; “you got out, you’re safe, you’re here,” and Eddie sounds almost overcome with feeling, with relief, and then in the end, bubbling with joy. And somehow Steve can tell it’s not because Steve’s here to save him, bring him home.

It’s just because Steve’s here and that, that is—

Steve’s heartbeat’s just gonna do that tripping thing for the foreseeable future he thinks, at this point. Probably.

“I was trying to convince myself otherwise, because I didn’t think there could ever be a shot in hell but I was falling before it all fell apart, too,” Eddie says in a rush, leaning again to kiss the corners of Steve’s lips, like talking is just an inconvenient interruption to better ways of using his mouth and given how goddamn much Eddie Munson’s always talked, that fucking says something:

“And ever since, it’s felt like I was falling in love through a movie screen,” and he cups Steve’s face to angle it just so as he breathes, those eyes endless and glistening; “could see but never reach, until,” and then he’s kissing him straight on the lips again, a full-frontal assault, tongue seeking teeth, looking for the depths of his goddamn soul of something.

Steve isn’t even embarrassed for how he arches up, how he fucking moans. No one could ever feel this and do anything less.

Like: fucking impossible.

“I liked your letter to the editor,” Steve gasps when Eddie breaks apart and concedes to needing air, presses kisses up and down Steve’s throat while he regroups.

“Oh, shit,” Eddie’s face pops back up—dirt smears and ruddy and in need of a shower but on the whole in way better shape than Steve last remembers having to walk away from, and fuck, fuck—he’s never walking away from it again; “can we send that to the Post? No edits, I want my numbers intact, let them try to figure it out like Zodiac.”

Steve snorts, because god he really is half in love with this nerd, and he’s not a ghost, he’s sold and his chest is heaving into Steve’s and he’s grinning wills and he’s here and they’re here and this is realand—

He yells when the sting clamps through his much-less-extensive uniform of his Members Only jacket despite the weather—it’s freezing, but like, the gates were just cracks, he had to move like a ninja!

Just not a bite-proof ninja, apparently.

“You know, I should have expected that,” Steve deadpans, but his smile gives him away as Eddie pulls his mouth back from the stretch of Steve’s neck that runs to his shoulder, where honestly Steve thinks Eddie punctured the coat in the process. Fucking feral gremlin.

Steve really wants to keep him. Like, indefinitely.

“You really, really should have,” Eddie agrees, beaming like the sun when there’s only dark around them, making it all feel so warm in the chill.

“Honestly should have expect nothing less,” Eddie’s smile curls a little dangerous as he leans in again, apparently satisfied with having caught his breath enough as he mouths wet against Steve’s lips:

“Big boy.”

And then, again: he pounces.

♥️

also on ao3💫

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here

divider credit here

[velvet-games]

simple and happy

[koinotame]

quick apology fic to xiao for missing his bday </3 which doubles as a character study of xiao and an exploration of how you as the player interact with the self aware characters in self aware au

it’s been a couple of weeks since you last used him.

or has it only been several days? whether it’s days or years, it all feels like the blink of an eye to him. the flow of time is somewhat of a nebulous concept for someone like him, especially since you first appeared.

it doesn’t matter. however long you take to come back, xiao will wait dutifully for you.

he spends most of his time when you’re not making use of him subjugating threats around liyue and fighting off any unwanted foes. perhaps you’ll come back faster if the area is freer of enemies. you’re kind, after all. you seem much happier when it’s peaceful.

lately, when there’s no demons for him to quell, he’s found himself returning to the same spot on wangshu inn’s upper balcony. it’s the spot you always drop him off at before disappearing. it’s not the place at the top of the inn’s roof he’d pick on his own, though you do sometimes take him up there as well.

you’re not actually there, but if he closes his eyes it almost feels like you are.

his birthday was a couple days ago. as usual, the traveller had suggested he write you a letter. as usual, he wasn’t sure what he could possibly convey to you that you would be happy to receive.

the traveller insisted anything from him would make you happy, but xiao doubts that.

it’s easier when you’re here. it’s easier when you’re here and he can submit himself entirely to you and doesn’t have to think for himself.

he’s been dreaming more lately, particularly of you. he doesn’t know what you look like, and after he wakes up he can never quite remember what you looked like in his dreams.

waking up after dreaming of you is always hard for xiao. it’s shameful how badly he wants to go back to dreaming of doing such mundane things with you, and it’s disgraceful how long it takes him to pick himself back up afterwards.

he wonders if you’d like doing dull things like that with someone like him.

he wonders if he deserves that.

probably not.

he left the letter at the railing of that same—your—spot, along with a serving of his almond tofu (he might not like dreaming, but he hopes your dreams are as sweet as his have been lately), some dream solvent (the traveller had mentioned you seemed to want more) and a small bundle of qixing (you frequently go out of your way to collect it).

you never touch it.

…after a couple days, he decided to move the offering to his room. it stays there, on his windowsill where the sun touches it in a way that reminds him of your warmth, untouched.

it doesn’t matter, he tells himself. he’ll wait for you for as long as you want. even if another thousand years pass before you appear again, he’ll continue his duty and wait.

and then he blinks and suddenly finds himself in front of the adventurer’s guild in the court of fontaine.

another blink and he’s back at wangshu inn, this time heading towards the kitchen. the familiar aura of your possession fills him with a warmth he doesn’t think exists outside of you. he zones out for what feels no longer than a couple seconds, and suddenly there’s thirty servings of almond tofu in front of him.

your mood drops.

dissatisfaction seeps through you and into him. something deep in his gut squirms.

you set a large amount of sweet flowers to boil, then seem to fuss with something he can’t quite see or grasp. smiley yanxiao gives him a curious look, but doesn’t (cannot) comment any further.

in another couple of seconds—your teleportation hardly fazed him when you first started using him, let alone now when he’s so used to your presence—he’s in front of the liyuean general goods store. you buy up the entire stock of milk, and only milk.

your mood hasn’t improved. if anything, you seem even more downcast.

the milk dissipates as soon as it’s been bought, safely held in your near infinite storage.

he’s behind mondstadt’s hotel next, jumping down the railing and towards the local general goods store. again, you buy up all the milk. next you head for the good hunter (is that what it’s called? he thinks that’s what the traveller called it some time ago) and purchase as much of their sugar as you can.

tendrils of something truly unpleasant move upwards and wrap around his neck.

he finds himself in wangshu inn’s kitchen again. barely any of the sweet flowers have been processed, but you take the two packs of sugar anyway. you put him to work immediately.

usually, he finds the process of cooking much to tedious and drawn out. with you, he doesn’t mind.

you seem a bit more satisfied this time, and xiao finds himself ashamed of having made a few more of his specialty dish instead of only regular almond tofu like you’d wanted him to.

while you seem a bit happier now, he still finds himself in front of inazuma’s goods store. again, you buy all the milk. you talk to the restaurant owner up the stairs afterwards. some confusion creeps into him through you, but it doesn’t last long.

he’s in sumeru next. more milk makes its way into your inventory, and you visit the local tavern for good measure, though this time you don’t buy anything at all.

exiting the building, you seem to notice there’s a stove just outside of it and walk over in excitement… and straight into the clay oven.

a sharp pang of panic shoots through him and he jerks backwards. it takes him a second to realise it’s your panic.

immediately, you pull the astrologer from mondstadt out and have her set down her little hydro puppet. you then walk him through it, which does absolutely nothing except soak his clothes.

your panic doesn’t subside.

i’m sorry.

he blinks and finds himself in front of dihua marsh’s statue of the seven, the fire and the tinge it brought with it disappearing in seconds.

it’s rare to be able to make out what you’re actually saying as opposed to just feeling your vague emotions and intentions. are you that worried about him not performing up to standard with this little damage?

he’s yours to use. a little singe like that would never hold him back.

you don’t bother with fontaine.

something like shame curls up his body and makes a home near his ears.

soon after, he’s back at the inn’s kitchen again. yanxiao doesn’t even look in his direction this time as he gets back to work under your guidance, making even more almond tofu. he makes sure to take greater care to avoid displeasing you again.

your mood doesn’t pick up this time, but you seem to have calmed down a little. he’s not sure why (or what use you could possibly have for so much almond tofu), but it’s a small comfort.

part of him wishes he could be there with you properly to comfort you, but he knows better.

he might be your formidable weapon, but that’s all he is. he has no false illusions about his role or purpose to you, no matter how much he wishes he could be the one you turn to for comfort. he isn’t suited to something so delicate. he’s accepted that a long time ago.

your dejection doesn’t retract, even as you move him around a bit more.

then you sit him down at a table at the inn’s terrace and pull out a plate of his specialty.

your presence lingers for a bit, envelops him like a gentle dream, then falls through the cracks of his existence and disappears.

happy birthday, xiao.

he wonders if he deserves this much effort from you for something as inconsequential as his birthday.

probably not.

he hopes he’ll dream of this next.

[milkivikk]

it me burfdei today, so here are some more UT sketches :v

(that one exiled queen neutral ending where Sans and Paps go live with Toriel):

(colored lineart of underswap skelebros :^), might color idk):

(undyne and paps bonding must be talked abt more/also a neutral ending):

(random kek foe me :V 🎉):

tysm goatmom

[t-u-i-t-c]

"You'll triumph someday, as long as you never yield. I'll take you on any time." "You never fail to piss me off, Geats."

[kagoutiss]

oot zelda doodle i liked :’-)))

[xoxomyseriesxoxo]

ULTIMATE SHIPS CHALLENGE → [03/10] Hugs ↳ “You can't leave like that! I can't let them take you like that. What do I do if you just leave me just like that? How could I live after you leave like that? What should I do?”

[omnipotent-omnicube]

can i be a terrible person and say that i hope that this series ends up with lu guang being the final antagonist?

[ptieuca]