#comfort is coming i swear

[rebelspykatie]

Part 2

Part 1

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Eddie stands and follows Steve to the door as he’s pulling on his shoes. He wants to stop him, pull the shoe out of his hand and drag Steve back to the couch, but he doesn’t have any right. He’s not entirely sure Steve won’t push him away if he tries to touch him right now, anyways.

“You think I’m straight and I was convinced you were into me,” Steve leans against the door frame to pull his other shoe on. He mutters under his breath, “I should’ve never listened to Robin an-”

“Robin was in on this?” He interrupts that thought. It throws Eddie. They’re such a tight knit group, he doesn’t know how they were so far off track with him.

“We spent hours going through every stupid interaction we had. Thought we had it all figured out.” He huffs and walks back over to the coffee table to pick up his wallet and keys. “I guess we’re both idiots.”

“No, Steve,” he tries to reach out and grab Steve’s arm, but he moves too quickly and Eddie’s left grasping air, “you’re not.”

“It’s fine, I’m used to it, anyways.” Steve scrambles to pull his sweater back on, the cold just starting to seep into the night air outside.

“Can you just slow down for a second?” Eddie stops trying to catch Steve and plants himself in front of the door. “What do you mean, you’re used to it?”

“Are you going to trap me here?”

“Answer the question.”

“This part, Eddie,” he sighs and gestures between them like that means anything to Eddie. “Everyone I’ve ever confessed to or made a move on has had the same reaction.” He looks off to the side, unable to look Eddie in the eye. “I’m pretty sure I’m the problem. Good ole Steve Harrington, too stupid to notice no one is interested in him.”

“Steve, you’re not stupid.”

“Feels like it most of the time.” He pinches his nose again, still not looking at Eddie, more like through him, gaze pinned to somewhere in the middle of Eddie’s chest. “Can you please move? We can pretend like this never happened and I promise I won’t make any weird moves on you ever again. I’m still friends with Nancy and Robin after everything, I can do it with you, too.”

Eddie skips over the whole Robin part of that in his head because he doesn’t have the brain power to analyze anything beyond Steve’s feelings for him. He never saw this coming. No one, boy or girl or anything in between, has ever made a move on Eddie before. He’s the local freak. There’s no way he could have predicted the town’s golden boy hero would make the moves on him.

He takes in how disheveled Steve’s become in the last few minutes. How hastily he’s thrown on his sweater. The mess of Steve’s hair from the hand that’s run through it several times since he got up from the couch. Barely laced up shoes so he could get out the door faster. He’s normally so put together and this, the sight of him so frazzled, frightens Eddie.

They were fast friends after everything happened with Vecna, leaning on each other for support. Becoming inseparable with King Steve wasn’t something Eddie ever imagined, but it was so easy. Neither of them were what each other had built up in their heads from the rumor mill around Hawkins. Eddie’s never had a guy friend as close as Steve. Sure, he had Hellfire and Corroded Coffin, but Eddie’s always been a bit of a loner.

It was impossible to feel alone with Steve as a friend. He had a way of knowing when you needed support, always just there when Eddie felt alone or needed a physical presence when the weight of the upside down was dragging him down. There wasn’t a day in the past six months that Eddie didn’t see Steve, even if it was only in passing or a quick little jaunt down to Family Video, he’s a constant presence in Eddie’s life.

To lose that? Would be like losing a part of himself. Like losing a limb. Losing his home.

And he’s scared. He doesn’t want to let Steve walk out that door, the weight of losing him forever lingering in the air. But he can’t trap him here. That wouldn’t be fair to Steve.

He moves out of the way, taking a step towards Steve, but he sidesteps Eddie and reaches for the door.

“Steve-”

“Don’t worry about me, Eddie,” he doesn’t turn around, but hesitates halfway out the door. “I’ll be fine.”

With the soft click of the door closing, he’s gone.

And that should be the end of it. Closed book. Eddie doesn’t like Steve and Steve needs to move on. There’s not much Eddie can do about that.

But it haunts him.

If you didn’t know Steve, you wouldn’t realize that anything was wrong. He’s acting normal, smile on his face when he jokes with Robin, complaining about the kids being terrors, going to his job.

But there’s something in the set of his shoulders, in the way his smile droops when he thinks no one’s paying attention to him, in the way Robin protectively hovers around him when Eddie is nearby. It’s clearly a facade he’s putting on to get by.

And Eddie aches. There’s a pit in his stomach that opened up that day and it hasn’t closed. Steve avoids his touch and the chasm grows larger, dragging Eddie further into the darkness. Casual hangouts halted. No more divulging of nightmares or fears late at night. A piece of Eddie is with Steve and he’s bereft of comfort. Unsettled.

He lies awake replaying that kiss over and over in his head. Thinking about what Steve said after. There’s no comfort in the way he handled the situation. It feels like he miscalculated, like pushing Steve away was the wrong move and now his life will never be the same again.

Maybe it won’t. Maybe there’s no way for them to move forward and for him to not break Steve’s heart every day. Steve said he was an idiot, but Eddie’s positive he’s got it all backwards. Eddie’s the idiot.

And he can’t stop thinking about kissing Steve.

[s0fter-sin]

the 141 recovering brainwashed!soap but he’s just a shell of his former self; never speaking, never moving without orders. he never even blinks; just stares straight ahead with his unnatural green eyes.

empty.

but ghost can't accept that.

price and gaz can't stand watching ghost torture himself day after day; visiting soap in his cell for hours at a time, trying anything he can think of to bring back his sergeant.

he shows him pictures of the 141 but soap thinks he's being given targets and moves to eliminate them before ghost stops him. he brings him his journal, tries to trigger his innermost thoughts and feelings he never shared with any of them, but after he reads it, soap summarises it like he's giving a mission briefing. impersonal.

cold.

it's late when ghost finally calls it; low and defeated after another long day of being stared at with eyes that don't see him. he isn't thinking when he pulls his mask off and harshly scrubs over his face, grinding his palm into his eye.

"don't worry, johnny; we're still fixin' each other's problems," he promises, little more than a whisper as he tries to summon the energy to leave johnny behind. again.

he pushes himself to his feet, his hand on the door handle when-

"what's my problem?"

ghost freezes, something like grief - something achingly closer to hope - chilling him. he slowly turns and though soap is still starring ahead, there's a faint light in his altered green eyes.

"the mask," he forces out. "take it off."

he knows there's no way to remove the mask - the muzzle - from his sergeant's face. it's too high-tech, even for them; the biometric scanner too advanced for any bypass they know of.

it's just another way he's failed him; bringing him home still bound in their enemy's chains.

soap- jolts; a sharp, almost painful looking flinch jerking his body.

"show my face?" and his voice has changed; no longer the monotone delivery that's haunted ghost's every waking moment.

it's smaller. uncertain. recollection of a memory half-destroyed.

"yes, johnny," he breathes.

soap moves unprompted for the first time since they found him; running his finger along the edge of the muzzle where his skin bulges from the pressure, half-visible scars hidden beneath the harsh metal.

"ugly," he murmurs.

ghost immediately shakes his head, almost stumbling back to the table; haphazardly throwing his mask on it. "quite the opposite," he insists.

it doesn't matter if he has no lower jaw left at all; johnny could never be ugly in his eyes.

agonisingly slowly, soap's eyes shift to the mask. he takes in the balaclava and hard shell skull like for all the times he's looked at it since his rescue, he never truly saw it. his lids fall in less of a blink and more stage curtains closing; slow, heavy, requiring effort and no small amount of strength to open once more

"good... to see you again..." he trails off, his hand shifting up to the top of his shaved head; nails digging unforgivingly into his scalp

"simon," ghost finishes for him; that horrid grieving hope tearing at his heart

soap's fingers flex and a drop of blood trails down his forehead, over the ridge of his nose to catch on the muzzle. "s-simon..."

his nails dig deeper, the drop falling to the table just to be followed by more and ghost aches to stop him but he's terrified to interrupt him. terrified to lose him now when he's so close to something.

soap's bloodied nails scratch down the crown of his head, following the line of his stolen mohawk until they come to rest on the back of the muzzle and ghost's heart drops.

they can’t get it off.

they can't get it off and he doesn't know how to explain that to soap; doesn't know if he can stomach watching soap pull at the monstrosity holding him captive, the inevitable bloodbath as the edges cut into his skin.

"show my face," soap repeats.

"johnny..." ghost begins weakly, reaching out to him but he doesn't know how, doesn't know if he even should-

the muzzle clatters onto the table.

the biometrics they couldn't bypass, the fingerprint they needed that they were so sure belonged to makarov.

it belonged to soap.

how cruel to torture him with freedom he didn't understand he could take; didn't even understand he could want.

just the kind of sick game makarov loves.

ghost doesn't know what's louder; his heart pounding in his ears or the long, uninhibited breath soap takes.

his eyes fall shut as he leans his head back with it, the blood still dripping down his face as he straightens through his exhale. his lower jaw is a mess of scars where he fought against the previous iterations of the muzzle, the corners of his lips cut through and cracked.

but the green in his eyes is duller; that light sparking brighter as blue struggles to break through the glow.

ghost's never seen anything so beautiful.

"good to see you again, johnny."

[flwrkid14]

Buried Beneath The Laughter They Ignored

Tim is totally fine. Ridiculously fine, actually.

It didn’t matter that he woke up feeling this bubbling, manic laughter in his chest, like everything was suddenly so fucking funny. It didn’t matter that he’d woken up from another nightmare last night, crying, calling for his mama—not the mother he lost, but the mother he gained, Harley Quinn. And it didn’t matter that most days, he felt more like Joker Junior than he did Tim Drake.

It didn’t matter that no one else seemed to fucking care.

He shoved down every bit of laughter clawing up his throat, because he knew if he let even one chuckle slip, they’d all give him that look. The one they always did. Disapproval masked as concern. They didn’t like Junior. They didn’t want to believe Junior was still in there, clawing his way up every time Tim breathed.

It didn’t matter that no one ever asked him how he was doing. They didn’t want to talk about it. Because talking about it would make it real, and they preferred pretending it wasn’t. They expected him to be fine, to push it down, to carry on like nothing happened. If he tried to bring it up, they’d say he was being insensitive—insensitive to Jason's trauma. What fucking irony, he thought bitterly. As if it wasn’t insensitive to be stepping all over his by not letting him speak.

It didn’t matter that he caught them glancing at him sometimes, like they were waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for him to snap, waiting for Junior to come out again. But they never asked. No one asked what was going on in his head. No one fucking asked.

It didn’t matter that when he finally snapped, when he finally screamed at them, sick and tired of pretending, they had the nerve to act clueless. As if they didn’t know.

It didn’t matter that Dick, of all people, screamed back. Yelling like he was being unreasonable. Like he was the problem. He screamed at Tim, demanding answers, to ask what the hell he meant by Joker Junior, as if—

As if they didn’t know.

They didn’t fucking know.

This whole time, they hadn’t known.

They didn’t know Tim had been taken. They didn’t know Tim had been missing. They didn’t know Tim had been held prisoner at the hand of the Joker for months, tearing him apart, piece by piece, until Junior was the only thing left of him. They didn’t know he had screamed for them, begged for someone to find him, but no one ever did.

They didn’t know how much he had suffered. Alone. They didn’t know how much he had changed. They didn’t know that every time he woke up now, it felt like he was still Joker Junior, just wearing Tim’s skin.

And they didn’t know how much it hurt—how much it broke him—to realize that they had never known.

Tim wasn’t fucking okay. And it mattered—oh, it mattered—that they didn’t fucking know.

Because if they didn’t know, it meant no one ever bothered to look. It meant no one ever cared enough to notice.

[shania-twain]

1x04 | 2x04 | 3x04

[thusspoketrish]

WIPPET SNIPPET!!!

I'm almost finished with this massive Drarry story + art that I've been working on, and I'm a bit nervous (and so thrilled, really! haha) to share it with you all! To ease into it, here's a little snippet + my Harry for you. I hope you enjoy it! xx

Many thanks to my lovely friends: beta reader @youknowyoudid and alpha reader @dewitty1. Ya'll are keeping me sane as we cross this finish line together! Love ya both, MWAH!

Draco tries to put Potter out of his mind until the object of his thoughts appears in the arts and crafts room. 

Potter shuffles in, clad in threadbare joggers, a plain white t-shirt, and a dressing robe, his feet snug in slippers that have seen better days. Despite the late hour, he appears to have just risen from a deep slumber. The telltale signs of medication linger in the slight droop of his eyelids and the sluggishness of his movements. His eyes, however, betray a sharpness, a keenness that sweeps across the room before settling on Draco. 

Draco’s hand falters, and the paintbrush he’s holding slips from his fingers, clattering to the floor. He remains rooted to the spot, his gaze locked with Potter’s. There’s an unmistakable tension in the air as Potter slowly advances towards Draco’s Nest, each step measured, each movement deliberate. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Potter’s voice slices through the air, dripping with disdain, sending a shiver down Draco’s spine. 

His words, though slow from the effects of medication, carry an undeniable threat that causes Draco’s heart to slam against his ribcage. He lowers his gaze to the table, his hair falling like a drape to shield him from Potter’s piercing stare. The room feels suffocating; each breath he takes is a struggle against the rising panic and regret threatening to drown him. He grips the edge of the table, his knuckles white, desperate to hold onto the last shreds of his composure in the one place in hospital he thought was safest.

[lucid-daydreaming-art]

this is like the third time ive had to post something like this but you guys need to stop treating unodum like a celebrity or fangirl over him or act like its some sort of gift to be talked to by him or especially treat his friends weirdly because they talk to him regularly. ive gotten word that his friends are being treated as special just because they have connections to him and being asked to like say stuff to him or whatever??? which is legitimately very very gross behavior. cause its not only really uncomfortable for uno but it gets very awkward and uncomfortable for me and his friends. im aware my popularity in the regretevator fandom is largely because im associated with him and in all honesty from the START that concept has made me pretty upset. neither me nor his other friends want to be seen as special just because we’re close to him. its part of why i didnt make much outside of the blog AND why i just abandoned the blog and the fandom altogether. i think a lot of you guys are a younger audience and are still learning internet etiquette and social boundaries, but this needs to be a lesson in how NOT to treat others on the internet, especially content creators. this isnt to say dont attempt to build friendships with people you think are cool and feel like you have things in common with, but you cant go into that with the mindset of “i worship you notice me.” you need to understand that no matter how popular your favorite creator is, theyre literally just a person. thats it. just a person. not a god, not a character, just a person. im really fed up

[lupins-hehim-pussy]

I think of so many stupid shenanigans between Wriothesley and his daughters in the Addison Lee verse. They tell Wriothesley crazy shit all the time, their daddy-daughter secrets, and it drives Neuvillette nuts that Wriothesley won't snitch.

Sigewinne, whispering into his ear: Today at school I punched a boy because he was being mean. I waited until it was recess, and made sure that no one was watching, and I punched him. Everyone knows he is a liar, so noooo one believed him when he cried about it. And Sigewinne is aaaalways a superstar so Mr Vautrin didn't suspect a thing !

Wriothesley, mildly concerned: Uh huh.

Sigewinne: Papa would say Sigewinne has to be nice to everyone, but, Sigewinne thinks bullies need to get punched sometimes, b'cos, b'cos otherwise, they think everyone is just gonna let them be mean

Wriothesley: Y'know what. That's fair

[whatohitsonfirewelp]

You know what I will hate?

If someone else has to point out how Buck or Eddie feels. I know that’s a popular trope, but honestly? Fuck that.

Fuck having to tell a queer person who they’re supposed to be with, how they’re supposed to feel. I actually hate that so much. Because why, why is it that after being told we’re supposed to love certain people, and we realize we don’t, we’re told from ALL SIDES who we are supposed to love after we come out. From the people who don’t accept us to the people that do.

I don’t want Tommy telling Buck that hey man you’re in love with Eddie

I want Buck to realize and accept this on his own, it’s HIS choice it’s HIS life he’s finally free so Let Him Have The Control

I don’t want Marisol to tell Eddie he’s not in love with her, he’s in love with Buck. I actually HATE when fans decide the girlfriend has to take upon that role.

I want Eddie to have his own oh moment. I want Eddie to have this soft, happy, light feeling of being free.

I don’t want Christopher a literal chick to tell Buck and Eddie they’re in love.

I want them to discover it together on their own. I want them to talk to Christopher separately and together about it. Don’t involve a child in the love lives of adults.

I do not fucking want Hen (or Karen and Josh) to look at these two and say I called it.

THEY ARE ALSO QUEER!! They KNOW what it’s like to feel the need to keep this part of yourself a secret, to be scared, to be overwhelmed with emotions, to finally feel free.

I want them to be so so unbelievably happy and proud of Buck and Eddie and to not take away from their discovery of themselves. 

I don’t want past girlfriends showing up and saying they knew something was off.

Because you know what? Let’s not make queer characters uncomfortable and guilty for something that wasn’t their fault, something they weren’t even AWARE of, or to feel any pain for a relationship that is very much over.

I don’t think you guys understand how much you seem to demand for us to get buddie as queer, to have Eddie and Buck as queer, and in the same breath want to take what that means away from them

Them realizing they are queer is not something that other characters should have a huge opinion or input on. It should be THEM worried about what others will say and think only to find out they are so loved by those who truly matter.

Coming out as queer is HUGE. It’s not easy, it can be confusing and it’s overwhelming. Let Buck, and if it happens then Eddie as well, go about their own journey their way. Stop forcing other characters, straight or queer, to be in it. It’s not about anyone else but them. It’s not a simple love story of two men that are already out. It’s about realizing hey, this thing I thought I was my entire life? It’s not true.

Let them process that and take it in and explorer what is a completely newworld.

[nerdy-nightmare]

yet another addition to @itsargyle's whiteboard :3

i've never realized how little i talk about my listener characters 😔 if anyone wants to know about them please ask me!! I love them all so much :)

[goldiipond]

shadow is 11 years old and i still have to tuck him into my bed before leaving my room otherwise he will start wailing and shredding the doorframe like an angry toddler who is actually a middle-aged man

[tuesdayscanons]

Every now and then, I think about The Simpsons RPC and how there's an occasionally a spike of Simpsons muses that inevitably crumbles away and leaves me waiting for the next short lived Simpsons RPC Renaissance

[lady-stardust-incarnate]

okokok hear me out I've just seen a tiktok pushing remus lupin as James Acaster on taskmaster, therefore I'm thinking what if someone wrote the marauders in taskmaster, maybe with regulus as the taskmaster??

but also who would be little Alex horne (the guy that just gets bullies for the whole show and is also very gay with the taskmaster) because me personally I'm thinking james or have evan as the taskmaster and barty as Alex horne

someone please write this I'm begging I would literally pay for it or if anyone knows a fic please send it to me

[whiskeyswifty]

it's nice to have a friend has gotta be my favorite of taylor's love songs because it's just so beautiful and so simple, and to me that's what real, true, long lasting love is! the minimal instrumental with the deep echo, making every note sound small and airy in this big wide world. such a simple little ditty, only one trumpet, even the church bell is just one gong. the story in the song doesn't start as a romantic pursuit. just two kids meeting by happenstance and finding kinship, enjoying each other's company in everyday life, confiding in each other, grateful for the mere existence of the other person alongside them day to day. even the song title doesn't anticipate anything more than companionship. and yet that's how it happens, slowly over time, arriving unannounced and with little fanfare like a quiet hum that you only just noticed for the first time. love grows from the little things, the light pink skies in the summer and two pairs of footprints in the snow and the kindness of shared gloves and tents and fears and hopes and the promise of warm sundays in bed. real, enduring, true love is quiet and small, like her vocals. soft, whispering as if only meant for someone right next to her, unforced and relaxed. musing in wonderment almost at the simplicity of it all, after all the misguided expectations of grandeur. love is simple! love is simple! love is simple!!!

[scissorblades-woodcrosses]

> do you still believe in god?

The doors to the eighth floor open, and the lights flicker. You expect to see two men inside; instead there is only one. That's not what's supposed to happen. ... So surely, this man would be open to questions, right. I mean, it's only natural.

> Rules:

NSFW is prohibited.

Flirting and shipping are allowed, with the exception of shipping adult characters with minors.

Fucking-around-and-finding-out is encouraged. So is tomfoolery, shenanigans, jokes, magic anons, crossovers, OCs, et cetera.

CONTENT WARNING: This blog may contain themes of religious trauma, depression, suicidal ideations, violence, et cetera. Please exercise caution. Posts will be tagged when necessary.

> Additional:

This blog will mostly refer to the muse as Antagonist, Antag, Doppelganger, etc. Nicknames, however, are welcome.

Most, if not all, Antag sprites are drawn by Studio Investigrave. Antagonist as a character is owned by Studio Investigrave. This blog is not meant to be a 1-to-1 canon portrayal.

All graphics are made by me, save for the art/sprites.

This blog is semi-self indulgent, and functions as a character study. There may be some inconsistencies from time to time.

Mod uses he/they and is a minor.

Antagonist uses he/him.

> Tags:

#is it the chorus yet? ;; ooc

#its just the building of the verse ;; asks ✂️

#so when the chorus does come itll be more rewarding ;; rp ✂️

#theres no devil on one shoulder and angel on the other theyre just two normal people ;; you (after--math protag)

#well forget that we forgot how to talk when we dance ;; rockstars (rockstars au stryker!)

#and i know that i dont talk a lot but i know that you dont care a lot ;; fulltime coworker (full-timecoworker!)

#im on a need to know basis ;; rat anon

( recurring/notable characters get their own tags! all lyrics from bodys by car seat headrest )

[deepfriedpaddymayne]

I know I roast Augustin for this moment all the time but also the more I look at it the more I want to bang my head against the wall because like. my immediate reaction to this is "my man how touch starved do you have to be to enjoy yourself in this situation" but we KNOW he's not touch starved. we see him be very physically comfortable with his friends. which brings me to my other question which is HOW REPRESSED do you have to be to enjoy yourself in this situation

[thusspoketrish]

Harry | The Art of Getting By