#every one is happy au.

[aaaagggg]

I like to imagine Eclipse did October take over, made lunar and him bodies and left.

Sun and moon wake up confused not knowing were the 2 went. They are really paranoid about it for about 2 years.

Kc gains sentient. Moon gets reset.

New moon become Nexus.

Solar dos not die. Because Ruins machine magical disappeared, and any attempt to start over gets ruined by glitter or bomb.

The star magical disappeared. No real reason why, but nothing bad has happened yet so oh well.

Old moon gets brought back. Nexus is not insane.

Bloodmoon does not die. Kc cannot let something like that happen to his only kid.

Earth comes into there lives.

And basically everyone is happy and mostly happy.

Mean while lunar and Eclipse are somewhere convincing the astrol bodies gemini to take the star and not beat the shit out of moon for making it.

[whenthewallfell]

Haymitch Abernathy the retired bounty hunter and reluctant homesteader who would really like everything to just not right now

[zecoritheweirdone]

wanna preface this by saying that i am. So normal. anyway i just spent the last week redrawing scenes from mystery skulls animated but as that hermitcraft au i posted about a couple times. you guys should watch msa it is. so so good.

[clickety-clacker]

Been seeing so many cool Clickies on my dashboard since getting into GGG, I just had to take the time to draw a few of them- plus, it was a bit of a challenge to try new styles. A lot of these guys were also super influential to how I draw and even think about Click Clack on my own time, so you should definitely check them out! Names below the cut cus it got long heehoo

Top left: @malartsorte

Top middle (holding papers): @scribblelimbo

Top right: @wishgraanted

Leftmost middle: @beastwhimsy

Middle (peace sign!): @sootnuki

Rightmost middle: @molabuddy

Bottom left: @pespillo

Bottom middle: @artuurle

Bottom right: @modmad

I know I said it already, but all of yall are super cool and I had a lot of fun challenging myself to make this! Keep on being awesome 👍

[crabsnpersimmons]

"Do your best today! I'll be waiting here when you get home, starlight~💕"

had two busy days of work outside of my cave and the only thing that kept me going was the sight of my housewife/househusband Eclipse waiting for me at home

that is, the sketch of him waiting for me to finish drawing him 😂

starring @starriegalaxy's Eclipse from her Fear Factor AU/House Husband AU

[the-moon-files]

I’m not sure if I’ve said this one already or not, but I wanted to tell you anyways! It’s about the humans-are-not-hylians AU!

You know the uncanny valley evolution? That thing where when you look at something that resembles a living being too closely and some part of your mind is screaming that it’s not whatever it looks like and to get away from it? Imagine that with the reader! They can spot shapeshifters easily because of this, but it instills the same extreme primal fear we’d experience, so it might be hard for the reader to confront them at first and they’ll instead just tell the Chain for a while.

This might be a double edged sword, though, because when Twilight is in his wolf form, the reader still gets that same feeling when “Wolfie” is looking at them, whether or not they know it’s Twilight. In this case, the first time the reader spots Wolfie approaching the camp, they probably freak out and try to avoid him, even if the Links are okay with him or if he seems familiar to them.

The bottom line is that wolf isn’t a wolf, so what is he?

“It’s okay, he’s a really friendly wolf!”

“...That’s not a wolf...”

Sorry i took forever to respond!! im slow as always, life is too busy for even my hobbies lately sobs 😭

bro this is especially true bc someone looked back at TP games and how he looks in his “wolf” form, and apparently he is actually a dog lol - like at most a wolf-hybrid, i added this in to support this Hyrule-is-hella-Uncanny AU lol

Moon: Guide! - Gender Neutral/Masc!Reader (”you”/he/him)

Orbit: Short headcanons

Stars: mentions of most of our Links <3

Comets & Meteors: CWs: typical LU/Loz violence, mild swearing, etc & TWs: mild possible derealization trigger, talk of Link’s Awakening and Koholint.

Please comment if I missed any. /gen

The Yiga clan members have never fooled you, not Once in person, unlike back when hyrule was still a video game

it was the constant smell of bananas, the way their eyes were always a little unfocused or they moved their head to move around their eyes, rather than their actual pupils moving, the facial muscles all stiff, usually stuck in an uncomfortable smile-

it makes more sense once u realize that they technically have a mask under that glamour hylian face, but its never not hilarious to see Wild look over his shoulder at you before approaching a lone traveler on the roads and watch him get increasingly frantic to get ur attention to see if theyre yiga lmao

u bet ur ass every link was relying on you on their adventures to know shapeshifters/illusions/glamours/etc. on sight and tell them to better prep them/warn them

tbh they all got at least a little better at being able to tell the difference the longer they heard you point out stuff/talk abt exactly why it was off-putting

(that said some of ur heroes are better at it than others, both in general, and certain aspects of it: like Twilight isn’t able to pick up illusions/glamours for the life of him, literally, sometimes, but he is more likely to figure out shapeshifters by scent after you Guided him)

(no, your heart didnt crack a little after learning that the boys had a harder time with deceit after you stopped playing the game = “were forced to leave after their adventure” bc while they were better at detecting it, they werent on ur human level yet..)

(…the only deception you ever really fell for was Koholint. It was so painful too, because Legend quietly disclosed to you one late night that you would constantly get strange feelings/uncanny disturbances, but were never able to put a name to it for him, which both made you jumpy/paranoid on the island, but made him regret ever letting his guard down all the more or feel guilty for what felt like dismissing ur instincts the more he relaxed… Legend never doubted your sense for the uncanny ever again. He takes it seriously every time now.

When you feel as if you should apologize, he tells u not to, that these days he takes comfort in it actually, it makes him feel safer. Legend looks to your face for confirmation that something isn’t a dream, and if you look at ease, so is he.)

its the way you casually laugh at Twi being called “Wolfie” when he’s obviously a wolf-dog hybrid or just a big dog

and when everyones confused u just explain smth smth, wolf heads are larger in comparison to their body, their legs are narrow, their paws are big, dogs are like the oppposite, or way more proportional like “Wolfie” is, dogs bob around when they run like “wolfie”, and have shorter legs,

smth smth wolves cant have eye colors like blue, only dogs/wolf-dog hybrids can silly-

and Wolfie is just like, 😐 😑 😐

turning around and walking away, bc hylias knotted fucking braid- he really cant escape the dog accusations now, you literally used ur freaky truth-seeing instinct and read his shapeshifter ass from head to literal toe/paw-

Wild/Hyrule look fascinated, Wind and Legend cant breath theyre laughing so hard, Time is coughing suspiciously into his fist and pops back up smirking, Four is laughing but also encouraging you to keep going, Sky is desperately trying to keep it together while also trying to get Twi to come back lmao, Wars is literally pointing and laughing ashkljdl-

ok but Twi gets his revenge later by tricking you into yapping abt how Hyrule/Four/Time all kind of look “off” sometimes too

like how u swear Rulie is glowing subtly when the moon is full, or how the world distorts behind his back sometimes,

or how Four’s eyes change colors all the time, his fighting style looks like its rotating between 4 diff ppl’s techniques,

or how Time’s face wrinkles like smile lines/crows feet at the corner of his eyes will randomly appear and disappear, how he’ll have some stubble one day then 3 days later despite having not shaven (u literally saw him wake up and do his morning routine) it’ll disappear like it was never there in the first place-

and when Twi has stopped asking you abt the others as they all reel over the knowledge of what all u can tell abt them,

(ur quietly relieved no one asked abt Wild.

You resolve urself to just lie if anyone asks, even to Wild himself.)

☆

hey im alive!! im slow yknow how it is,

ive been doing too much, and i cant wait to be done with this class so i can have free time guilt free again 🥲

god thats one good thing abt getting out of academia i dont miss and would only wish on my worst enemy,

the anxiety of doing smth, even necessary stuff like eating/sleeping/showering, and feeling liek you should be doing homework instead, god its so awful

cant wait to feel like an adult with my own life again lmao

that certification better work and get me a white collar job goddamit 🤞

anyway, hope ur all having a good weekend,

and just to let u know, im so happy acc that im alive to see the first zelda game that actually follows what i originally thought the plot of zelda games was when i was a kid lmao

(zelda as the protag, saving link!!)

Peace out,

🌙

[gatoburr0]

[just-null]

pet..... pet au....? you have.... a pet au for the clones....?

PLEASEEEE SHARE SOME THOUGHTS AB IT😭😭😭😭❤️ I was reading a pet au Hantengu fic way back when and the person never got past chapter 3 and it's been rotting my mind. I love love love pet aus when the dynamics are just right and not weirdly predatory with the pet characters and I love your little ideas for stuff🤗🤗 Share if you feel like it, I'll be eagerly awaiting.

(Also please don't exclude Zoha in this endeavor I love that little man)

The Hantengus!! A lot of cat boys..

Context behind a lot of the language in my pet au!

[Cw! Angst(?), referenced sedation, obsessed catboys.. yandere behavior]

Upon meeting them, they're veryyy excited and sweet on you, to the point where they seem TOO familiar. As if meeting a long distant lover.. With their overly friendly greetings, all the warnings and caution from staff seem like an exaggeration, if not a complete lie.

Records show that they're not even related despite sharing eerily similar features, and having only met not too long ago. You'd never guess by how they're so perfectly coordinated. Using said coordination, they simultaneously surround you.

Constant brushes, crowding, wanting your hands on them so bad, they take whatever you're holding. It's not uncommon that they begin purring just because you're around. They quickly flip from being sweet to eager entitled of your time if allowed.

To say they're overwhelming is an understatement, but the staff practically beg you to help with the bunch.

The boys aren't complaining! They're extremely pushy and insist on staying at your place instead of the hybrid shelter, maybe a few times a week? Please!? Regardless, if you say no, you might find them in your home—and a patched up broken window—when you've been gone a while.

Ah— if you hear knocking at your door, just don't tell anyone that they're here, yeah..? Y'know what? How about you just forget about answering it at all!

Sekido is tolerant when you're around. All the fire left his body, leaving small smoldering embers. His flare ups are only a real issue if there's someone unfamiliar around or giving you a hard time. Otherwise, he's pretty content with lazing about or helping with any work you have. He likes being of use to you. He gets irritated, stressed, when you lift a finger, a habit you can tell he's used to, and swats at you for any bad habits you have. Though that goes out the window if your hand's on him. It's a wonder if he's more of a dog than a cat until he starts scratching. He's just really tired.. Karaku is mischievous but doesn't cause trouble. At least, not like he used to, not as long as he has his daily dose of you. It's like he did a complete switch, the staff say, smiling randomly and rambling in an airy tone about how this is heaven on earth! How could anyone feel down around you? It must be those charms of yours. Staying indoors is okay, but he constantly nudges you to go out with him, or entirely dragging you out. Show him around places you like to frequent so you two can experience it together, maybe have some souvenirs? Wouldn't that be fun? On the days you decline, you can find him staring at the little trinkets from past dates with fondness. Urogi always has so much he wants to tell you. He can honestly talk and pace for days without stopping if it'll keep your attention. If it doesn't, he WILL cry. His mind is faster than his mouth, and stories end up garbled and hard to follow.. Sometimes, they aren't about this life, and when referring to you, it's like he's remembering a version of you.. It always ends the same. His expression gets bleak then snaps back to blissful. A content smile replacing the strained one he wore prior as he embraces you, taking a moment to feel your weight against his. Aizetsu sits in corners and watches you through cracks in the door. You can find him somewhere in your room or general area.. looking at you.. his pupils so dilated that you barely see the blue ring at the edge. He can stand still for hours until you get up or reach for something. He's already got it for you. He's combative with Sekido for that service role. Unlike his "brother," Aizetsu's movements are measured, rushed. Like something will be taken away if he doesn't act fast, so he one ups everyone and reads you before you even ask for something. Zohakuten is annoying but doesn't try to give you a hard time. He's the most demanding, always extending his arms for you to come over and hug him. At first, you can feel the tension he holds all over his body, digging his claws into your side, then like goo, he melts. It's a double edged sword since letting go makes him twice as irritated as before. He'll brat occasionally, pushing something off a counter or banging on the windows, yelling at the stranger on the other side to get lost. No one is the victim of this more than the other four. Whereas Zohakuten would start a fight with anyone else, he just annoys the other four.

The weariness hangs heavier in their eyes than the usual hybrids, but they dont like talking about it in detail. As you could guess, prior to this overwhelming clinginess, there were rivers of agonizing desperation.

———

In this life, the boys didn't have the liberty to grow up together like usual. They were born of different parents scattered throughout the region. This wasn't the first time it happened, but they hated when it did, especially Hantengu.

Each second Hantengu's away from his boys is agony. He spent so long waiting for them to be reborn just so that they're so far away!? All he can think of are the possible ways he might die and restart the damn cycle without even having the chance to see you. He's been alive for a while now, but he's too terrified to go far on his own, so he's barely made any progress!

What if something happens and he doesn't even get to meet you? now THAT would be a fate worse than the cycle.. His caretakers are stumped on what to do with him. Any attempt at calming him down were met with opposition.

The boys are as you expect. They kept acting out in hostility and showed no sign of calming down the longer they're apart. Being moved from shelter to shelter didn't help, neither did getting handled like feral animals even if, in a way, they were.

Only the thought of you kept them going, so did the knowledge that if they found you, there's a high chance they'd find each other. You always seemed to fix everything just by being there, didn't you? So they kept hopping from shelter to shelter, some familiar, some new.

Hantengu was the first to end up in the hybrid shelter near you, then the others trickled in. It would've been decades since they've last seen each other, and based on how they're fairing, no one had it easy.

Sekido was a stray trying to stay out of shelters altogether. He did his best to keep his features hidden, both gathering info about you and the others. He made good progress, pretending to be a potential housing candidate, but he'd always get hostile with people eventually, exposing himself and having the authorities called to force him into a shelter. Each time, it felt like prison because of all the restrictions and drugs.. Like hell if this was gonna stop him. Once his limbs stop feeling like jelly, he's going to find a way out of this damn place!! Again!! In his wait, at least he can pass the time by thinking about his favorite memories of you. Karaku was mostly alright, but transferred often because his very presence made the behaviors of those around him worse. He always used the "I didn't throw the first punch" excuse, but never mentioned his constant goading and spreading seeds of doubt about forgiveness that led to agitation amongst his peers. Not only towards other hybrids but staff as well. Call it sadism or nihilism, but Karaku's favorite pass time was making everyone believe that these rehabilitation shelters were nothing but a waste. The dull, empty eyes staring back at them proved it. In reality, Karaku took pleasure in the fragility of other hybrids. It took the edge off of his own anguish. Urogi always talked about you no matter where he ended up, usually causing a wave of eye rolls. But there's always that one hybrid who doesn't know how to keep their thoughts to themselves. Thus starting Urogi's rampage, watching the red streaks of other hybrids drip down their wounds, spitting at them for daring to talk bad about you. Then came the forced transfers. He loved it, honestly. His mind floated, feeling like he was a bird again, flying to you.. then the plummet when the drugs wore off that he didn't enjoy as much. With a renewed sense of determination and a strong longing for his wings, he began yapping again. Aizetsu, like Sekido, hid his features, calm enough to stay hidden. He kept to himself, mindlessly walking anywhere and everywhere with the tiniest grain of hope that he might find you there. No terrain, weather, or event would stop him from trudging through miles of land, following his intuition to where he thinks you could be. He'd be so focused on you that he'd go days without water or food, feet covered in blisters from the endless dragging across the ground before everything went dark. Waking up in a shelter always reminded him how disappointing his body was for collapsing on him. Hm.. he'll stay and recover for now, once he feels ready, he'll take some food and go again. Zohakuten raised hell, frequently ending up in confined spaces. Because he was young, he had more restrictions to ensure his safety. That only made escaping a huge hassle.. He hated being treated like a foolish boy when he's been through horrors worse than adult scissors! The confinement and restrictions ended up being for everyone else's safety after staff realized how common Zohakuten destroyed and mangled anyone in his vicinity. A familiar prick on his skin came after his small bruised hands demolished the common area, then the heaviness of his limbs settled in. Loud thumps came from the deepest part of the shelter as he banged on the walls to be released once the drugs wore off.

Their status as "lost souls" is no secret when they began tormenting anyone who tried to house them and the employees. It seems they've met the other lost and guiding souls in the shelter before with how they interact. For better and worse, at least the guiding souls temper their mischief.

They try forming a plan on how to find you next if this shelter doesn't show any results. It'd be faster to get transferred now that they're grouped up. And like the heavens opened up, they quickly realized that won't be necessary anymore once they catch a glimpse of the light they yearned for these three recent lifetimes, you. It's you.. You!

Any and all complaints are cut short when they make a habit out of gathering near the front glass of the shelter, waiting for you to walk in or pass by. Their demeanor shift is so sudden the caretakers worry they might've accidentally dropped some pills into their food. It's not like that, unless your presence counts as a drug!

[yore-donatsu]

Some idiot #sketches on Ramattra and D-va bc I like them 😊 (both as silly friends and/or like a ship💜) Before some people start moaning: I love to see our great ommiac in good company and be happy ! 😚

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

As an owner of an xxy calico Jin rusong as an xxy calico is both so fun to see but so fitting and so sad in context of your warrior cats au

May I offer you a small consolation in the form of a slightly older Jin Rusong kitty?

[shizunitis]

that moment when you take over the demon realm to spare your disciple the fate he'd been cursed with but now have to conceal your identity so no one knows you betrayed the human realm giving your "former" disciple psychological issues and a newfound hatred for demonkind, which he is part of :/

[slayerdurge]

Durgetash Resurrection AU

"Is that...? That's my body. I remember now. The Morphic Pool. The Elder Brain, it... I was dead. What did you do?" "I made a deal... with Lord Bane."

[lovesickeros]

☆ de fontaine

{☆} characters furina {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings angst, suicidal thoughts, hurt / no comfort {☆} word count 1.4k

This wasn't fair. This wasn't fair. This wasn't fair!

She thought, for one moment, she could put the mask down and breathe – for one moment of daydreaming, she thought she could just be Furina. She thought she would finally get to live the live she should've had in the first place, the life she threw away to play God to an audience who saw her as nothing but a circus animal, dancing to their whims. Furina just wanted to be selfish for one brief and fleeting moment..and it was gone before she could even grasp it in her hand. A comet soaring past far out of her reach.

She can barely keep her hands from violently shaking as she looks down at them – broken and bloody and more a corpse then a person – and she feels so numb she can't even feel the rain pelting against her back. None of this is fair, she wants to scream, why is it always me? But her voice is silent beneath the torrent of rain. She wonders if the ocean would take her if she sank into it's depths – just for a moment, she wonders how it would feel to finally be able to sleep at ease.

Furina is tired.

But Furina is nothing if not useful, isn't she?

So she forces her feet to move, dragging against the stone beneath her heels, and drags their bloodied body into the nearest empty building, letting the rain do the work of washing away the smeared blood following her path. The smell makes her feel sick, the feeling of it sticking to her hands and gloves makes her lightheaded, but she persists. Because Furina is useful, because Furina won't let them die out in the rain, because Furina won't stand by and just let them rot on the streets like some..pest.

Furina wants to go home. She wants to sleep and she isn't she if she wants to wake up, this time. But she keeps going anyway.

Because it's all she's ever done, and the habit sticks.

An Archon she may not be, not anymore, but the expectations of five hundred years still linger like eyes on the inside of her skull. They watch her, pry and prod at her thoughts, mocking laughter and judging eyes following her as she forces herself to dance to the song they weave with glee. Furina never stepped off that stage – she's still there, she thinks, watching the crowd stare at her in disdain as the curtain call looms above her like a guillotine. She still hears Neuvillette deliver her damnation and salvation with a trembling voice, still feels her hair stand on end when electro crackled like the crack of the whip, Clorinde's blade aimed at her like a loaded gun.

She's trapped on that stage and she never left, not really.

She hates it. She thinks she hates them, but it's not their fault. They didn't ask for this, didn't ask for everyone to turn against them, didn't ask for her to save them. Neither did she..yet here they are, she thinks.

She tries to tell herself she's in control this time, though. She can stop performing her part in this horrible, bloody play any time she wants. It makes her feel better, just for a little while, if she convinces herself she's still Furina, painfully human.

And Furina has always been good at lying.

It's the believing that's the hard part.

There isn't time for her to wallow in her own self pity, though. They're still bleeding out onto the dusty, creaky floorboards of some random, broken down house and she's just standing there as the blood stains the wood. She can fix it – she's good at fixing things. She's done nothing but fix things – try to, anyway – for five hundred years. She can fix a little wound, how hard could it be? Her hands are clenched so tight they ache as she kneels down, wincing at the creak of the floorboards beneath her heels– she hesitates just long enough to wonder if she's making a mistake before she peels away just enough of the outer layer of their clothes to see the deep, bloody gash across their chest. She tries not to think about it – it's deep, too deep, and she feels dizzy just looking at it, but she's handled worse, right?

Furina can fix it. That's what she's good at.

She doesn't feel so confident when she tries to wrack her brain for..something. Five hundred years, and a little wound stumps her? No, she had to have learned something, right? She's decidedly not trying to buy time because she's panicking, parsing through hundreds of years of memories like flipping through a book. Furina isn't made for this, not really – she's running on nothing but adrenaline and she's really not sure what she's doing, but she's trying. And just like before, it won't be enough, will it?

She'll fall short again – she'll be too late to fix it before she's alone again.

Furina was an Archon..used to be. What use would she have for that sort of knowledge? Which makes her predicament all the more harrowing and bleak. What was she supposed to do?

Furina had heard it first hand, that vitriol in Neuvillette's voice. She isn't sure she's ever heard him that..angry before. She's not sure he would listen to her if she tried, either. And that scares her more then anything. All of Fontaine was up in arms about this..imposter, yet here she was, staring down at them bleeding out in front of her, and she was trying to save them.

Why? Why is she throwing away her only chance at normalcy for a fraud? Why didn't she just turn them in?

They were dying – that should've been a good thing, shouldn't it? So why didn't it feel like it?

"Why you?" Her voice breaks as she speaks in harsh tones, grabbing the front of their shirt in trembling, bloodied hands. "Why now?" She wants to scream, to demand answers they can't give, to claw back the reprieve she was promised after five hundred years of agony..and all she can do is sob into their chest, pleading for an answer that will not come. "Why me?"

Silence is their answer, and it hangs heavy on her trembling shoulders as she cries.

Of course they don't, she thinks bitterly, no one has ever answered her pleas spoken in hushed sobs. Not her other self and certainly not them.

Furina has always been alone. Furina will always be alone.

Because Furina never left that stage, never left that moment when she looked at herself in the mirror and took up a mantle too heavy for her to bear. She always finds her way back eventually. There's no one on the other side anymore – she stands alone on a stage, waiting for an inevitable end she isn't sure will come.

"Please," She pleads through tears and choked sobs, clinging to them like they are all that keeps her from sinking. "Please don't leave me, too." The words burn on her tongue – how pathetic is she that she craves companionship from the bloodied body of the imposter? Perhaps she's truly lost her mind after all these years..perhaps she's finally gone mad. She must have.

But their presence is like the first feeling of gentle warmth upon her skin as the sun crests the horizon, like the gentle lap of tides along her heels, the sway of branches and leaves as the wind blows through them like an instrument all it's own. They are the soothing sound of rain against the window as she watches the dreary skies in fond longing, the first bloom of spring as color blooms upon the landscape like paint had been spilled across the hills and valleys.

They are like the faint spark she carefully nurtures and stokes, so fragile even the smallest wind could blow it out like a candle. She cradles it within her palms, pleads with whoever will listen – prays that someone finally listens, because if not for her, then for them.

She's failed to protect too much already, let too many people with so much trust in her fall between the cracks of her fingers like grains of sand. She won't let them go – she can't.

If nothing else, if she couldn't be saved when she begged for salvation from that five hundred year long agony, even if she never got that chance..

Furina will make sure they do.

[hitlikehammers]

can it be love if it’s only been a night? ♥️ (steddie au; ✨meet-cute✨ on a train 🚞)

It’s not that it’s the last stop. It’s not even the last stop. It’s more than Eddie feels…suddenly-and-not-suddenly-at-all, like it’s the last chance he has to pivot the whole trajectory of his life. To look down the diverging road toward where he’d planned to try and end up, versus the opportunity to reconsider that maybe he hasn’t started his life at all, yet. Maybe all the years he’s had so far have just been a waiting space. For this.

rating: t ♥️ tags: modern(ish) au, meet cute, double booked for a cabin on a train 🛤️, love a first sight, falling in love, strangers to lovers, fluff, romance, softness, only for tonight✨, (or is it?!), do you walk and go about your way as planned when your LIFE unexpectedly walks into your train cabin?, or do you say fuck every plan you’ve ever had and follow where THIS leads? 👀♥️

for @steddielovemonth day seventeen: 🎬 Before Sunrise

It’s not that it’s the last stop. It’s not even the last stop.

It’s more than Eddie feels…suddenly-and-not-suddenly-at-all, like it’s the last chance he has to pivot the whole trajectory of his life. To look down the diverging road toward where he’d planned to try and end up, versus the opportunity to reconsider that maybe he hasn’t started his life at all, yet. Maybe all the years he’s had so far have just been a waiting space.

For this.

Because fuck him blind, he’d got on that train—whole-ass adult, rockstar wannabe, still can’t drag your ass on a plane?, his band had razzed him bad for it while they headed out day-of to meet with the label who’d shown interest but, well, yeah, to all of it: almost 30, still does not trust tin cans in flight, the train is a more than acceptable alternative—and he’d lucked into one private room with a bed left, and for an almost-two-day journey he’d fucking needed it, and so he’d settled in, he’d ripped his Sweetheart carefully in the corner, and the whoosh of the doors to his little cabinette had startled him, because they’d already checked his ticket, so what, and who—

But then his brain had stilled. And he’d met soft honey eyes in midafternoon light. So sorry, had come the kind of voice that put the music Eddie loved by in his very soul to shame; I think they double-booked this room-thing.

And it’d turned out they had. But there were two beds. And both of them were headed the same direction. Same destination, even. Union Station to Union Station. The attendant had apologized up and down, promised at least partial refunds but Eddie…

Eddie had, like—

Those doors had opened. And it was like his life had walked through. He hadn’t even known he was waiting on it until right here it was.

Eddie doesn’t want a refund for it; goddamn.

The afternoon bleeds into evening. His cabin-buddy, his life-person, his maybe-soulmate or something—Steve—gives up on the book he’d pulled out about thirty minutes in; better than Eddie, who thought he’d watch the country slide by in the 40-some hours between Chicago and L.A. Feel his heart stirred by the purple-mountain majesty, pastoral grandeur, however that shit translates to his genre of choice—but basically, he’d been hoping to glean some poetic lines for the ballads he knows they need to at least consider, to balance an album pitch.

But he doesn’t see shit, in terms of the sights and scenes. In terms of inspiration, though: Eddie stares at Steve like he’s hypnotized. Caught blissfully in a gravitational pull that outstrips anything he’s ever know.

And his heart’s more than stirred.

Steve’s eyes meet his once he zips his bag back, tucks it until the lower bed.

“Was not expecting motion sickness on a train,” Steve comments wryly, massaging his temples. Eddie would like to volunteer for that role, immediately if possible.

He digs out some Advil and one of the complimentary water bottles in the drawer near the head of the beds, and hands both to Steve.

He, despite his condition, smiles so goddamn bright Eddie thinks he can feel it in the marrow of him like soft simmering, like starlight.

He pretends to write in his little notebook he takes everywhere, beat to hell but trusty, little lyrical snippets and campaign ideas he’s kinda afraid he’ll never have the party to set into motion, but still needs to get out of his head just to keep this side of sane.

Right now, his pen is just…sketching.

If it looks like the line of Steve’s jaw, fuck you.

Eddie can do what he wants with his own notebook.

He manages to keep quiet, which is a feat for him, but also speaks to this unnameable things he’s already associated with this Steve, a near-cellular effect he’s having on Eddie that he can neither articulate or even attempt to explain, to quantify. He’s…

“I know you didn’t sign up for a roommate,” Steve doesn’t break the silence, his voice pitched low like a whisper when it’s just the two of them; “but if you wanted, since we’re here,” he shrugs, and his lashes flick up near-hopeful, too close to shy for the wrong reasons:

“Maybe we can get to know each other a little? Past just first names and that I apparently can’t write on a moving vehicle”

And Eddie, who is loud and abrasive as a rule but keeps the things that matter pressed close to the vest even with his closest friends, his flesh and blood: Eddie?

Eddie scoots over on the lower bunk—it’s still set to be a sofa-type thing, for now, and where Steve had settled in a chair across from it presumably out of courtesy, Eddie pats the space now open next to him. Hopes like he’s forgotten he knew how that Steve will stand, and sit, and let Eddie feel warm in his orbit.

He does. All three things in a breath.

Eddie feels a little lightheaded. A little breathless.

But Steve is very warm, and Eddie feels immediately at ease like he’s pretty sure he’s never known. They dive in to the real stuff, don’t really start with small talk, just sprinkle it in along the way almost just for variety, for flair. Their hopes, their fears, their ambitions: what they’d both ordered for their shitty included train meals. Life and death and loss: Steve’s year-long engagement broken off three weeks before I Do; Eddie’s guilt over his mom, for losing her when maybe if he’d somehow managed to pull their family name from poverty in time where no one else had ever swung it, her last days wouldn’t have looked like they did. Steve’s pwn parents, alive and hateful; Eddie’s uncle, stubborn, and all he really has.

Steve’s hand grabbing his when he says as much; Eddie wanting to believe it’s deliberate, that it means something.

That Eddie could have…more.

This, even.

Poking at each other’s food with their forks, trading vegetables—why order it if you hate the carrots?because the rest of it sounded good, duh; how can you not like broccoli? They even gave you cheese sauce! that’s any insult to the word cheese, for one, and to the main point: trees should never be considered edible, and in miniature at that—end of.

And then they’d fucking laughed, and Eddie’s heart had swelled, and Steve’s eyes had never left his face and, and—

The move on to their dreams, which account for a lot of why they’d both got on the train in the first place: Steve’s a writer—not published, he’d tried to dodge, to diminish himself, but Eddie wouldn’t have it: you just want to add that part; you’re soul’s always an author’s soul, you’re never not a writer if it’s written in your bones and Steve had flushed so magnetically, all Eddie had wanted was to reach and feel its warmth; and Eddie of course is trying to be a musician, but trying? Steve had turned his own logic straight back at him; you’re a musician because it’s written in you cells, I’d say. Your fingers have been tapping rhythms since I sat down. I’d bet my whole wallet that little Moleskine of yours is bleeding lyrics and for a moment, Eddie thinks he’ll reach for it. He never lets people read his notebook. Steve would find the sketch of himself there, on top of it all.

Eddie had wanted him to reach. He hadn’t, though.

He’d asked instead why the fuck Eddie was wearing Reeboks when the rest of him screamed Doc Martens. Which then slid so naturally into a genuine masterclass on the evolution of the unquestionable supremacy of the vaunted Nike.

It’s long past moonrise before they realize the time. There’s no excuse to have lost track—save for each other.

Given they’d both booked the cabin as single occupants, the linens are only for one of the two berths. They could ask, easily, for another set.

Eddie makes his bed on the top and asks if Steve wants to share, against the chill creeping in.

It’s midsummer. There’s no such thing.

Steve climbs the ladder, flicks off the lights. And Eddie can’t ignore it anymore. The way the veins and tubes, the arteries and capillaries and mechanisms folded in around his heart have disengaged, and the unchained thrumming of the wayward muscle’s flaring like a freed balloon, too much helium and no clear direction save upward, upward—

More.

Steve hesitates, only briefly, before he tucks into Eddie’s chest. The moonlight’s dim but Eddie can read the thing on his features: confusion, too small and inconsequential to have even the slightest chance against a gaping-uncomprehending shade of wonder.

“Tell me you feel it.”

The lips that speak move against the proud bone that runs the center of Eddie’s chest, protects his heart as it feels to be growing weaker, more vulnerable every goddamn second he breathes beside this man.

But it’s in that moment that he learns that Steve is brave, the his heart is the kind legends live for.

“You’re like magic made flesh,” Eddie confesses, because his words tend to live in the clouds a little, but he means them so true; he gently, slowly threads fingers through Steve’s hair and pulls him close to actually be able to chart the heartbeat he’s lined up to; that he’s wholesalely responsible for the way it’s lost everything it knows about pumping to a point.

“It feels like my heart’s beating something better than blood,” Eddie whispers, after Steve can feel the evidence for a moment or two, to know; “like you breathed something more into me, like I was waiting for you.”

“Like we were meant for this,” Steve finishes the line exquisitely, pure perfection, his lips dragging against Eddie’s skin before Eddie can’t bear it, has to reach, to tip Steve’s chin up and try and find what he doesn’t know how to name.

Save that he finds it, immediately, in those eyes—like they were just waiting.

For maybe him, specifically, and the very notion thumps hard in the center of his chest like a track change, a divergence.

Like this is the moment to look back upon when he decides, and soon, if the world is going to change; of the path is gonna reshape itself beneath his feet.

“Am I insane?” Eddie asks, because his head adds everything up to that conclusion, but every part of him feels more at ease, more set to rights than he’s remembers knowing ever, not once.

And Steve considers him before he cups eddies cheek, tender. Like home.

“Entirely,” he concludes, without a shadow of doubt, and Eddie’s chest feels buoyant again, and his cheeks hurt for beaming, and—

And then Steve leans, and kisses him, and the world changes. He can feel it. Because nothing ever felt wholly right before; Eddie sometimes thinks his life this fa head just been chasing anything that felt like it fit.

And now there’s this man out of nowhere, who feels carved to match his very bones. Who exhales when he breathes in. Whose heart thumps his counterpoint so there’s never anything save life beating between them: unceasingly.

Like home, Eddie had thought, as if he’d found it—but no.

No, he thinks they’re making it, here between them now.

He slides his tongue between Steve’s lips and cradles the moan he earns inside the tip of his quaking heart, so it can live in him forever.

So it can be the foundation of whatever home will mean from this moment on.

Then he dives in deeper, to learn the taste of what home will be henceforth, just as sure.

~

Sunrise is kind of gorgeous, and unfairly so—the windows are small and they need a good clean—but also unsurprisingly: of course it’s gorgeous. Steve is in his arms, his breath on Eddie’s collarbone.

What in this world could be anything less than sublime?

They lounge, mostly hum and kiss and explore each other’s skin—it remains the unspoken rule that anything more isn’t made for here, but unlike the night before, there’s an addendum Eddie can feel in the drum of his pulse that they’re agreed upon:

It’s not for here. It’s for elsewhere. It’s for later.

Just because it’s not for here doesn’t mean it’s not for them.

And it’s that a fucking thought.

It’s strange how much quicker the time sees fit to pass, upon rising with intention: their lunches come—they’d slept through breakfast, are asked if they want both together, a late bit of brunch and Steve giggles a little, and Eddie says yes.

Because he’s decided, just now, that a core tenet of his entire being is going to be coaxing that kind of thoughtless honest joy from this man’s strawberry lips.

They stretch the meal out long past it turned cool; they feed each other delicate, wanton, filled with care that makes no sense because it speaks to years, to life, and not hours, not two worlds that never held one another less than a day before now.

That part’s filled with a quiet devastation, a mourning: how can you love without your life for your whole life?

And now, halfway through the journey: they may both have boarded with the same destination on a ticket. But Eddie isn’t a fool, not about this: if they disembark in California at the very same platform, they’ll never cross paths again.

His heart arches too hard for it to be anything but true.

The sunset is mediocre, but Eddie thinks it may be his own sour fear that colors it. He’s in Steve’s arms, now. It’s not so late, yet. The train will stop soon, let some off. Bring some on.

Then away.

*Ask me not to.”

Eddie says it from nowhere, without context. It’s clear though: ask him not to go, ask him not to meet his band, as him not to be anywhere but here, in these arms, ask him not for less than always, ask him—

“I couldn’t,” and Eddie’s breath catches, because his heart does first. “It’s your dream.”

And Eddie…it’s only been hours, but Eddie feels like Steve’s voice is his true mother tongue. He heard what it says below:

whatever I could give you is nothing compared to what’s driven you this long, this far; however I could maybe come to sneak inside your heart would be pale, child’s play, and insult to what you’ve wanted for always—

And Eddie’s heart fucking hurts to hear what’s underneath, so he kisses Steve with everything that’s true as best he knows and asks him, lips to lips:

“Can’t a dream change?”

because you are magic, you’re a already in my veins, you make the things I thought I wanted more than air look anemic, feel paper-thin because all that’s real is you, is you, is you—

“In a night?” Steve whispers, breathless, eyes wide.

“What other length would a dream ever have?” because it’s an honest question. It’s probably why everything feels so deeply urgent all of a sudden in the middle of the night: dreams fade with the daylight.

This one won’t leave Eddie’s heart until that heart stops beating for good. But he’s deathly afraid of alighting the stairs and losing this.

He needs to lay the bricks of the new road he travels, with Steve’s hand in his. He needs it before Steve fades away.

“I want you.”

Steve looks at him with tenderness; with far too much resignation.

“You want what’s out there.”

He had. That’s true. But—

“I want you,” Eddie repeats it, tries his best to stamp it into the road he’s choosing here and now, tries to explain that Steve is a revelation he wasn’t looking for, but only because he didn’t know it was there to find:

“I want this, with you, not least because you couldn’t ask.”

Steve quirks a brow at him, as he fluffs Steve’s feather-soft hair behind his ear.

“You said you couldn’t ask, and for my sake alone,” Eddie breathes, hopes Steve can read the distinction, the crucial difference glowing in his eyes like it thrums in his pulse. “Not that you wouldn’t want to.”

Eddie wants to feel shame that the last bit comes out a little like a question, in need of reassurance, but before he can give in, Steve leaps, comes alive to rebuke all doubt and it’s then that Eddie knows, feels the track click right.

“It’s all I want,” Steve half hisses, eyes on fucking fire; “but—”

Eddie frames his face and kisses him like he’s the most precious thing, which he is; he is.

“Let me play for you while you write your novel,” Eddie narrates the track they’re on, now, the world they’re changing with eve try heartbeat. “Let me sing for you. Let’s try all of this together, and see if we can’t be better for the whole of it that way, better than we’d have ever managed apart.”

And he leans in again for a kiss, because he can’t help it.

Because in this new life, on this new road: it may well just be that he can, as often as he likes.

“Because I fuckin’ swear the moment you walked in this room, my soul stood up,” Eddie whispers fierce; “or maybe, better said, it slid in place, like it’d been lost, at loose ends my whole life,” and he traces Steve’s lips, gazing into him with the single aimed to drown forever:

“Because it’d been always looking for you.”

Steve stares at him, lips parted a little, and Eddie’s breath shudders, maybe he, maybe it was too—

“You’re the writer, you have better words—”

But then Steve breaks, surges into Eddie and is commanding, demands Eddie with his lips, his tongue, his hand splayed on his chest and the other coiled around the nape of his neck.

To call it merely thrilling will be an insult.

“I want my heartbeat to be your metronome, in the quiet moments,” Steve murmurs against his swollen lips; “I want it to be the tempo of your cacophony, on a stage bigger than you can see across,” and then he licks those swollen lips, temptation and possession and the utmost care.

“I want to be selfish with you,” Steve confesses, as if it could change anything, as if it’s anything but desired in the whole of him; “and selfless for you To give you everything,” and he slides his open palm over eddies giddy-galloping heart, eyes flickering watch the motion of his own touch, to feel the blood-better for how Steve’s already living in it, racing through the chambers and the veins: “keep the most precious parts of you to myself.”

Eddie doesn’t have enough breath just then to laugh entirely, but he huffs a little, his smile half-lost to an ecstasy he’s never felt quite like this before as he gasps:

“Told you you’d have the words.”

And Steve: he does laugh.

And Eddie knows this new road is heavenly; is so right.

“Your band,” Steve asks suddenly, but not in the tone from before that was aimed to dissuade. Just a question.

His hand still stretched open on Eddie’s chest.

“I’ll tell them the train got delayed.”

Steve snorts. And Eddie loves him, doesn’t he.

Eddie’s already so in love him.

“That information’s public,” Steve points out with a kiss to the notch at eddies clavicle.

“Public information is wrong all the time,” Eddie flick a hand; he’s so far from even pretending to be bothered. “Delays can last forever, if they need to.”

And Steve uses the hand on Eddie’s chest now to brace himself upward, to lift and hover over Eddie, to stare at him in wonder and declare:

“You are insane.”

And Eddie can only smile, broader than he thought his face could contain, like maybe finding your life for real, and falling in love for keeps, teaches your joy to stretch wider as a rule.

“Yeah,” he breathes, and marvels a little that he can reach up and cup this man’s face; that he can touch to keep.

“Isn’t it incredible?

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

divider credit here and here and here

[the-local-eldritch-microwave]

AAUUGGHH IM SO HAPPY WITH THIS(took me so long but we don't talk about how this has been a wip since early november) but ANYWAYS

they are just so <333 i will never let go of this ship and in my head they are a lovely couple under the mistletoe every december, they read stories together by the fire and drink hot chocolate together <<333

anyways, happy holidays everyone! christmas or whatever you celebrate and if you don't celebrate at all then i hope you have a good day/night!

[straw-eri-chan]

Unsurprisingly, the ILYF won the poll. So here's more TimKon clone baby!! A bit longer snippet this time, because you guys deserve it. <3

(Also, the second chapter has been posted of this on AO3. The Title is "I Love you Forever, I'll Like You For Always." If you want to keep reading on this story, there's a lot more over there!)

Kon looked down at tube-baby and–yeah. That wasn’t really a name. Kon was an idiot.

“I hadn’t actually thought about it,” He admitted sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. He felt bad about it now, but before it hadn’t even occurred to him. Stars, he had to give him a name? He was terrible with names! 

Of course he had to name him, damn it! Tube-baby is not a name!

“Well, I sort of need one if you want me to forge his documents.” Barbara reminded him. Right, right. Birth certificate. Social security number. All that jazz. His kid was gonna need that stuff to, like, be a member of society. Details.

“Okay, um…” Kon hesitated, thinking about it. What if he picked out a name Tim didn’t like? Or one his kid didn’t like? Or one his family didn’t like? What if everyone got mad at him and called him stupid?! Gah!

Okay Superboy. Breathe.

He looked back down at his baby and sighed softly. He already felt better.

There were too many Jonathans already. And not to give into gender construct or anything, but Martha was a bit too much of a girl name for him to decide on for his son. Clark didn’t fit him. He didn’t really know enough of Tim’s extended family to look there for name idea, unfortunately. But…

His middle name was Jackson, Kon knew that. And Tim never seemed bothered by the name, used it sometimes during covert missions. Never had any hesitation telling people, at least in Kon’s eyes. And Tim was something Kon was good at observing. 

The name was normal. Timeless, even. Kon liked it, and Tim must have already liked it, and really, who else mattered? 

Besides the kid himself, anyway.

“Jackson.” He said firmly, decisively. He liked the way it sounded. It seemed more official, stating it out loud. “Jackson Kent.”

They could hyphenate later, if Tim really wanted. But for now he liked Kent. Jackson Kent. His son.

“Middle name?”

“I’m not going through all that right now.” He grumbled without missing a beat, making Barbara chuckle. He looked back down to tube-baby. Jackson. “Hi there, Jackie-baby.” He cooed, earning a halfhearted coo back. He nearly died on the spot. “Don’t worry, kiddo. I don’t actually care if you have my DNA. You’re mine now, you hear?”

Jackson, as Kon was getting used to, did not respond. But his large owl eyes were so cute and perfect he dissolved into adoring coos and smothering his baby in kisses. 

“According to Tim’s files, Jackson is about three months old. He ages naturally, clearly, since Tim said he didn’t activate any accelerated aging.” Barbara says, reading from her laptop. Kon honestly shouldn’t be surprised she hacked into Tim’s private files that fast, but he still somehow is.

Well happy late birthday, kiddo.” He chirped, holding Jackson up to his face. “You’re pretty darn old, ain’tcha?” 

Not as old as Kon when he came out into the world, but he pushed that thought to the side. Not what he wanted to think about. And not important regardless, especially not now. 

Barbara pricked his arm with a tiny piece of Kryptonite he kept far away from Jackson, then did the same to him with a regular needle. The sharp cries he let out made Kon want to either cry to go ballistic on Barbara; maybe both. But he kept his cool and managed to calm Jackie back down with some rocking and talking. A lot of talking. His kid seemed calmer listening to Kon’s voice, more comfortable with everything else going on around them. 

It was a stupid though. But Kon almost felt, well, like Jackson felt safe with him. That he trusted Kon to take care of him and protect him. Which of course, Kon would. With everything he had, in fact.

“Unfortunately, there’s nothing else useful in Tim’s files other than the cloning process.” Barbara commented, souring Kon’s mood slightly. “But the DNA test came back as a match. You’re the father, congratulations. And so is Tim.”

Despite not actually caring if Jackson had his DNA or not, Kon still felt his heart rate pick up at the news. He cooed at the baby and bounced him gently, complimenting his amazing DNA. 

“And hey–listen for a second.” Oracle’s voice was soft, and her hand was warm when it was placed on his arm. “I’m not gonna lecture you or anything like that. You know what you’re getting into having a kid. Partially, anyway. At least I hope you know; it’s not all gonna be sunshine and rainbows. And that’s okay. We’re all here, if you need anything.”

“Please don’t tell anyone.” He found himself whispering, clutching Jackson tighter to his chest. The baby made a confused noise but snuggled closer anyway. “I understand I’m being selfish by saying this. By asking you to hide this. But I don’t want any other bats to know. I don’t want any risk of someone coming for him. Not until Tim comes home, at least.”Barbara was quiet for a few moments, clearly weighing her options. “I know how good detectives you all are. But Tim was one too. And he’s given everyone on the team a way to hide should they ever need it. From everyone. Even you guys. If I have to hide Jackson and I–to keep us together, to keep him safe, I’ll find a way.”