#eon break

[rosalinesurvived]

Yeah girl you are so *Dazai isn’t unemotional he’s never been unemotional he latches onto everyone and everything and clings so fucking hard he leaves claw marks on everything he lets go of; he leaves Chuuya and the Mafia for Oda and then gets thoroughly addicted to Kunikida who resembles them both so much, he ‘trains’ and ‘raises’ Akutagawa for survival in the Port Mafia and screws up so badly he obsesses over Atsushi to try and make up for it, Ango was his best friend and Dazai fucks him over just so he can hold onto him yet still leaves claw marks in Ango’s side, he is every age he has ever been and ever will be and what’s awful is that sometimes his love is too similar to his hate* haha lmao wanna fuck nasty?

[efverse]

college days .....

[antenanotaic3]

I just like to imagine they could be happy someday

[fgfirenation]

I just finished all Reputation Clan quests in the Ashen Wastes ( in Peaks of Time- ) and I'm laughing hard as fuck.

Mostly because Soren will be downright flabbergasted knowing the Grimmaw Clan has changed so much, thanks to Kruger ( Who's becoming one of my favorite characters fast- ).

His reaction would be something like this :

[allbeendonebefore]

boss like oh this one will be shorter because its not like it was gay-owned or anything and im just like does the lesbian clientele mean nothing to you aaaa

[afza147]

Ep8 when the phone rings(5)

That was a good move by sa eon since sang woo not stopping👍

[polycrews]

ddcds. for u (hopefully ur day will b a bit better!)

had to take a second to respond to this because dear GOD this made me lose coherent thoughts. ahem

[joyfuladorable]

Lesbian Uppercut!!

Image reference + the tweet that inspired this

[sixearedshadow]

I've been here too long, I'm starting to get jittery. Can't stay in one place too long. Can't risk it, not when I'm in this state.

The longer I'm idle, the more danger I'll attract. Gotta keep moving. Need to keep finding new hideouts.

~ M

[unofskylanderspages]

Confession: Here's my favorite (official) variants I own. In order they are:

LightCore Hex

LightCore Prism Break

Legendary LightCore Grim Creeper

Nitro Krypt King

Super Gulp Pop Fizz

Big Bang Trigger Happy

Dark Wildfire

Mega Ram Spyro

Eon's Elite Slam Bam

Blizzard Chill

[deus-ex-mona]

january is finally over…

[wellhalesbells]

for the wip tag game, i have questions and they are all about what Big Damn Neutrals could possibly be

Hahahaha. Okay, well, definitely it is a placeholder title and if you thought that sounds like Zoe's "Big Damn Heroes" quote from Firefly, you are correct.

I didn't come up with that until way, way later in the fic's progression because I had no idea that was going to end up being my answer until I got to it.

This is essentially a murder mystery fic. A complete AU where Derek and Laura never left New York and, instead, Stiles left Beacon Hills (and you can imagine what it would take for Stiles to have no ties to Beacon Hills, yeah?) and became their emissary. Derek is still his season one prickly, closed off self and so it's Stiles and Laura who bond and become friends, become family, and Derek who orbits that relationship. Then Laura is killed and Derek and Stiles have to investigate her death together, despite only really having animosity between them. Stiles because Derek never even tried to get to know him and Derek because Stiles took his sister away from him.

It's very slow going with this one because the atmosphere is so specific and it's not often I can get into the right headspace for it but, when I can, it's one of my absolute favorite things to work on! I love how adversarial and full of tension Stiles and Derek's relationship is in this one - right up my dang alley!

Snippet:

Derek slips off his mattress, lands on the floor with barely a sound.  Would’ve been none if he’d taken off his boots.

Hands are already wrapped around his biceps like a vice grip before he can even straighten up, his space encroached upon faster than should’ve been possible.  Fingers dig in harder and there would be bruises left behind if there could be.

“You don’t get to die,” Stiles hisses.

“I’m not planning to,” Derek snarls back, angry for no other reason than that it’s right there, at the ready.  It always is, has been.

“She wasn’t either,” twists out of Stiles’ mouth, even though they don’t know that.

That could’ve been Laura’s plan for all Derek can guess.  His big sister, always an enigma, smarter than him, faster than him, first to everything.

Even death.

The silence is rent by a sudden sound like stripping wood.  His head jerks, neck cricking, to find the comforter from his bed being tugged through a too-small opening in the slatted railing along the side.  Yanking down, pulling, like an invisible sailor hoisting up a net, tickling the hair on his arm, slithering to wrap around his wrist, bind him there.  He snaps his head back and now all he can see are Stiles’ eyes, bright and glowing like the moon outside the grime-encrusted window.  He fights off a cringe.  “Stop.  Now.”

The comforter goes limp instantly, puddles innocuously at his feet.  Stiles’ eyes are dark and unknowable, his worried face shadowed once again.  He pulls in a shaky breath, loosens his grip on Derek but doesn’t let go.  “You don’t get to do that.  You don’t get to fuck off without telling me anything, wondering if — if — fuck you for thinking I’d let that happen.  Next time I won’t sit here like some patiently waiting fifties’ housewife.  Next time I’ll rip this city apart, find you, and drop you off the first forty-storey I find.  Fuck you,” he reiterates harshly.

“Fine,” Derek says, less because he means it and more because he wants Stiles to shut up about it.

In truth, they barely know each other and clash more than peacefully coexist.  Stiles has been with them — with him, just him now — for five years but he had always been closer to Laura.  An employee to Derek, family to Laura.  He’s younger than Derek, more bullheaded, more alive than Derek’s been in years and maybe that’s why they never really mattered to each other.  For Stiles to pretend that anything else is true now… well.

Derek knows it’s because he’s just lost everything he had.  An orphan, with one friend who had up and disappeared on him years ago, when they found him.  Then Laura became everything he’d been missing.  And it’d seemed the same for Laura.  Stiles didn’t have anything but Derek left now.  That didn’t mean Derek mattered though; it just meant he was the last one standing.

Just like it didn’t mean that Stiles mattered to Derek either and Derek had thought, more than once, since Laura died: Good, now he can leave.

And then had to fight against the ensuing panic that thought inspired.

He understood it, even if he didn’t agree with his own reaction to it.  They were each other’s people by default, by a shared love for the very dead, very gone Laura Hale, and when you had nothing else, that became a thing worth clinging to.

Pack.  Or as close to it as they would ever get.

“Get into bed,” Derek snarls.

Stiles sighs and rubs a hand over his face.  He sidesteps Derek, drags the comforter along the floor without care, and Derek hears the whump of his flattened pillow joining it on the floor.  Stiles tosses both over the stripped bed, says to preempt whatever argument Derek might have, “I don’t do top bunk.”

Derek heaves out his own sigh, stripping off his jacket and knocking off his boots.  He sheds the socks too and gets into bed with Stiles.

They haven’t done this since the night they found her body.  It hadn’t been a decision then.  They’d been too broken to think, too broken to do anything other than shake and blink, tears silently streaming down faces and Derek had sat on her bed for a half-second before tearing it to pieces, shredding it, the bedding mounted up and destroyed and across the room in a fit of destruction and Stiles had flipped the mattress, long gashes rent down the center of it, pulled him down onto it and wrapped his arms around him, holding him as less of a comfort and more of a restriction, to stop him from destroying anything else.

Stiles doesn’t touch him tonight.  He rolls towards the wall, back to Derek while Derek scratches at the ridge of his eyebrow with his ragged thumbnail, flaking blood under what little is left of it, staring up at the dark bottom of the bunk above him, wide awake.

•

He opens his eyes to sharp sunlight, rays that’ve had time to hone themselves, coalesce, and start stabbing at strategic places in the apartment.  Like the backs of Derek’s eyelids.  The comforter around him is rumpled up, bunched in places from a restless sleeper.  Which he isn’t.  He frowns before it comes back to him.

Laura’s bed.

Stiles.

He’d woken up earlier in the pitch black with Stiles’ forehead pressed into the valley between his shoulder blades, breath a warm and reliable puff through his thin t-shirt, his hand clenched on the hill of Derek’s bicep, snagging him, pulling him back against him.

Derek hadn’t brushed him off.  Though it had given him a moment’s pause, strange without the swell of breasts between them, fingers digging and pulling him close to an unmistakably masculine chest.  But only a moment’s; he’d been asleep again minutes later.

Wip list is here!

[efverse]

ok we're back w some sneasel nickname thoughts ig

[jensonsbuttons]

i feel like i've lived a thousand lives since the start of the season.

[sojutrait]

GUH my resources have been updated btw eheheh

[beautifel]

seems like my heart does nothing but break lately