#fantasy hurt/comfort | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

interesting-interludes · 1 month ago

Text

the comforts of creatures (7)

creature comforts:

↳ material/bodily comforts, such as food, warmth, or special accommodations, that contribute to physical ease and well-being

→🚪 pairing: ot7 x fem.reader

→🌿 genre: fantasy!au, soulmate!au, hurt + comfort + recovery, angst with a happy ending, fluff, eventual smut

→🍞 word count: 4.9k

→🍨 summary: as you settle in, jin and namjoon take you for a visit into the city clinic. you just hope you're not too far gone.

→🌾 trigger/content warnings: PTSD (low self-worth, anxiety), medical exam/hospitals, sleep deprivation, pets as coping mechanisms (yeontan will live on in this story 😢), everyone trying their best

→📔 a/n: thank you so much for your patience!! hope you enjoy :)

past part ← series masterlist → next part

part 7: if only you knew

This house is bigger than you thought.

You start in the living room, with the large semicircle of couches and the wraparound windows showing the lush greenery outside. There’s an abundance of houseplants and tall, full bookshelves, with comfy looking chairs to match.

Then they lead you through the hall to the various rooms on the ground floor. There’s the infirmary room where Jin took you when you first arrived, and an open yet warm bathroom with a magnificent tub.

At the back of the house, there’s a room completely full of bookshelves and papers, with a desk and a few plush armchairs.

Then there’s a very large room filled with all sorts of strange objects: jars and beakers of all sizes, racks of dried herbs, cauldrons and vials of shimmering liquid, odd plants that you don’t recognize, leather-bound books scrawled with swirling runes. And connected to that room, a sizable greenhouse with crawling vines clinging to the walls.

It’s all so overwhelming, you can’t process all of it.

They lead you up the wide, curling staircase in the main room, and down the long hallway to a number of bedrooms. They all look completely different. One is warm, cozy, and cluttered, while another is sleek and modern and clean.

There’s a room painted all green and gold, plants crowding the space like a small jungle. And a bedroom at the end of the hall that’s almost as large as the living room. There’s a number of bathrooms, all as different as the bedrooms, and a sizable home gym.

They all hesitate at one room, though. It’s near the end of the hall, the door closed. They look at each other, expressions unreadable, and skip over it.

Jin has told you that you’re welcome in all the rooms, but you take it that you’re not allowed in that one.

You already know that you’re going to get lost here, barely remembering what each room looks like let alone where it is. But you doubt that you’ll be here long enough for it to matter.

They tell you that they have a number of pets, and they ask if you want to meet any of them.

Hesitant, all you do is nod, not sure what else to respond with.

It earns a smile from all of them, even Taehyung.

Back in the living room, Jimin leaves briefly and returns with a ginger cat in his arms. Tail swishing, the cat perches in the crook of his elbow as its amber eyes scan the room. Its nose twitches, face upturned to sniff the air.

Then its eyes land on you, and the cat jumps out of Jimin’s arms and scurries across the room.

The men blurt out a handful of warnings, either to the cat or you, it’s hard to tell. But the next second the cat is jumping up your leg and clinging to your chest.

There’s the pinprick of its claws, but you hardly notice it. Because some instinct makes your arms curl protectively around the animal. The rumbling of its purring reverberates through your chest. The cat nuzzles into your neck, paws clinging to the sleeves of your sweater.

A strange feeling floods your brain. Warm and tingly, it makes something burn behind your eyes.

You nuzzle into the cat's soft fur with only the slightest hesitation. Something nags at the edge of your mind, something that you can't grasp no matter how hard you try.

Jimin appears at your side, a near-blinding smile across his stunning face.

"His name is Fish Sticks," he says with a slight chuckle, scratching behind the cat's ears.

You’re fairly certain you would die for Fish Sticks.

The cat doesn’t let go. The rumble of his purring is the most soothing sound you’ve heard in a while.

The men exchange a few words, but you miss them, too focused on the cat and the pleasant feeling that its presence produces. It's almost like this little creature is a beacon of warmth, radiating throughout your entire being.

All of a sudden, you get the sense that one of the men is addressing you, judging from the silence in the air.

A quiet, hesitant noise comes out of your throat, a sound that's questioning and apologetic.

But the man called Namjoon just smiles in response.

"I said that our next step is probably a comprehensive exam at the clinic. Is that alright with you?"

His voice is nothing but calm, eyes watching you with a seemingly infinite amount of patience.

"Joon, she might want to take it easy for a few days," the thin dark-haired man says, you think his name is Hoseok.

"Yeah, there are still a lot of things to get used to," Jimin supplies helpfully, sending you a concerned glance.

You turn to Jin, unsure of what to do next.

"It's entirely up to you, love. Whatever you're the most comfortable with," he says, and his eyes look like pools of honey.

The cat seems to have calmed you significantly, because you look around the room and meet most of their eyes, trying to assess their expressions. They're all a mixture of tension, concern, friendliness, and some unknown emotion that you can't pin down.

"Exam?" you say to no one in particular, an uncertain question hanging in the air.

"Yes, it would just be a standard checkup at my main office. And then a few basic tests, just to see where you're at. I would facilitate everything, and you won't have to do anything you're uncomfortable with," Jin says.

"So, it would..." you start, trailing off.

"It would see if we can possibly restore some of your memories," Namjoon finishes.

You don't know how to feel about that. Memory has become a very strange thing. You don't have many, and you're not sure how many you want to regain.

Another look around the room. Jimin has that same warm, calm expression on his face. You don't know why, but you trust him. The muscular one, Jungkook, is watching you with those wide brown eyes, his face a complete contrast from the rest of his body. Hoseok and Yoongi have stern expressions, but when your gaze meets theirs, it softens. And Jin and Namjoon are waiting patiently for your answer.

These men have show you more kindness that you've ever known. The least you can do is speed up the healing process so you can get out of their hair.

You look at Jin and nod. He smiles and nods back.

You sit in the living room as they all make preparations to go into town. The cat shifts out of your arms but lingers at your side, nuzzling against you every so often.

Jin and Namjoon came to breakfast dressed in suits, looking ready to leave for work. Now they shuffle in and out of the room, packing papers and books into leather cases. The rest of the men disappear into the kitchen or down the hallway.

A few moments later, Yoongi approaches you with a pile of clothing in his arms.

"It's cold outside, you should bundle up," he says, sounding a little shy in spite of himself. He helps you shrug on a wool cardigan and then a rainproof jacket on top, given the dark clouds outside.

He sets down some thick socks and a pair of fur-lined boots by your feet, and he drops to his knees just as you're reaching for them.

Taken aback, you freeze as he gently takes your right foot and slips the sock on, then the left, then the boots.

You're almost too stunned to move, completely shocked by the act of humble kindness. In the facility, some of the guards used to force you to lick the underside of their boots, and now this man, who is almost too beautiful to look at directly, is touching your feet.

He even ties the laces for you, looking up at you with a quiet smile after he's done.

A few moments later, Jungkook approaches and hands you a colorful handheld bag.

"It's a bit of a long drive, so we packed you some snacks in case you get hungry," he says.

Again, you're stunned into silence, the lunch pack hanging limp in your hand.

You mutter out a "thank you." It comes out squeaky.

Jin slings his leather bag over his shoulder and runs a hand through his hair.

"Alright, we're all set. Ready to go?" he asks, holding out a hand.

You swallow down the fear that comes with a new environment, nodding as you take his hand. He rewards you with a radiant grin, leading you to the door.

Just before you reach the front entrance, a voice breaks through the silence.

"You'll come back, right?"

Turning around, you don't realize that it was Taehyung who said it until you meet his strangely desperate expression from across the room. And you realize that he's speaking to you directly.

Something seizes in your chest when you see the urgency in his face, the hidden sadness in his eyes. It makes you want to reassure him.

"Yes," you reply, and this time your voice comes out strong.

It seems to soothe him, for some reason, because his shoulders visibly relax and something unspoken passes between the two of you.

"We won't be gone too long," Namjoon says to the rest of them, opening the front door and letting in a gust of chill air.

The front door is massive, yet it swings open easily. A stonework pathway extends beyond it, winding under a wooden trellis draped with vines.

Entering into the yard, you realize that this is the first time you've been outside since...longer than you can remember. The two men lead you down the walkway to a driveway lined with a handful of vehicles ranging in size.

Jin opens the backdoor to a sleek black car, gesturing you inside. You slip into the backseat as Jin slips into the driver's seat and Namjoon in the passenger's side.

Jin starts the car and pulls out of the driveway, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on Namjoon's knee. The few pale rays of sunlight peeking through the thick cloud cover catches on his watch.

The car weaves through a twisting road downhill, lined with lush trees that create a dark green canopy overhead.

"I'm sure you have questions," Jin says, expertly navigating the vehicle down the steep road in the rainy weather. "Feel free to ask away."

You do have questions, a million of them, but you're not sure where to start. Your curiosity snags on their professional clothes.

“What do you do?” you ask hesitantly, hoping it isn’t too invasive of a question. Little did you know, they would let you live inside their brains like a parasite if you asked.

“I’m a trauma specialist,” Jin answers humbly, as if being a doctor is commonplace. “And Namjoon teaches at Duchanne University. He's working on his second book now, too."

He throws a proud glance in Namjoon's direction, and the other man rolls his eyes with a shy smile that you never could've pictured on his face.

The car is approaching the mountainside, with all its moss-covered rocks and lush trees hanging overhead, and the three of you plunge into a tunnel carved into the dark rock.

There's a few moments of darkness, and then a strange tingling sensation through your entire body. You wouldn't be surprised to find that this cave was laced with magic.

Then, you're emerging from the tunnel with a burst of pale light. Fog rolls over the hills in thick blankets, and you can see the road winding down the mountain.

In one way, it reassures you that this is a safe place, protected by the magic in the caves and the privacy of the forest. In another way, it would make it a lot harder if you ever needed to flee on foot.

"Where are we going?" you ask.

"To a clinic in Burkwood, it's the closest city. If there's anything else you want, we can pick it up there too," Jin says, smiling at you through the rearview mirror.

You can't imagine what else you could possibly want. They've already shown you more kindness and generosity than you've ever known.

The drive proceeds in comfortable silence, the car rocking as it slopes down the winding roads. You have more questions, but you can't seem to think of what to start with. Your body feels heavy, and your eyelids are starting to disobey you.

They mentioned that it was a bit of a long drive, but you are too focused on keeping awake to notice much.

You vaguely register the outskirts of a town that give way to brick streets and old-looking buildings, all enrobed in thick ivy. In fact, the whole area seems to be enveloped in greenery, probably thanks to the frequent rain.

And the rain is picking up now. It makes the sidewalks, littered with fallen leaves, slick with it. Passerbys open up their umbrellas as the lampposts light up to illuminate the foggy landscape.

You're fighting the urge to drift off into sleep as Jin drives on.

Soon, you come to a wide square of cobblestoned streets, lined with grand domed buildings with rich architecture. You can still see people riding their bikes along the rain-slick streets.

Jin pulls over, sneaking a peck on Namjoon's cheek. Namjoon has gathered his bags, his glasses on, and he beams at the gesture.

"See you later, honey," Namjoon says as he glances at both you and Jin, and it's unclear who he's directing the pet name to.

He opens the door and exits with his bag in tow. You watch him walk towards one of the beautiful old buildings and disappear inside.

A short while later, Jin parks the car beside a large sleek white structure, opening the door for you and offering a hand. He stops to look at you before you enter the building.

"There will be a lot of people inside," he begins. "I won't let anyone hurt you. If you want to leave at any point, just let me know, okay?"

You manage a nod.

"Would you like me to hold your hand?" He asks, and this time you shake your head. Because no, that would be pathetic, and you hardly know him.

He justs nods in understanding, offering a small smile before leading you inside.

The smell of disinfectant immediately hits you. Gloves, plastic, metal. Needles. Doctors.

It screams the same thing in your brain: pain is coming.

And Jin was right, there are a lot of people in here. Too many bodies, too many movements and smells.

Before you even realize what you're doing, you've grabbed Jin's hand.

He stops in his tracks, looking at you in shock, and you look almost as shocked as him.

You're about to rip your hand away, but he gives you a comforting squeeze and this time he smiles so warmly his eyes crease.

Somehow, the feel of his skin feels good, despite everything. It grounds you.

The feeling in your chest hitches.

You're able to ignore the countless sights and smells around you with Jin's hand in yours, even as you hear him talking to other people and leading you down hallways.

Probably because the sleep deprivation is making it hard to even keep your eyes open.

You're shuffled through exam rooms, allowing them to check your vitals, answering the questions directed at you, though all you're able to offer is a nod or shake of the head. Jin catches on to it and reframes all questions towards you as ones that can be answered with yes or no.

You're hooked up to electrodes and wires, undergoing multiple scans in different machines.

It makes you wish you were a machine. Things would be much easier that way.

You can see several nurses talking to Jin in hushed tones, glancing in your direction every so often. Jin replies, though you can't hear it, and then the nurses look at you with pure pity in their eyes.

You remember what Jin said earlier. We protect people like us.

Sometime later, after using a considerable amount of your energy to keep from falling asleep standing up, you and Jin are led into a room with x-ray prints all along the walls.

It takes you a long time to realize the scans are of your brain, and that they're talking about you.

The doctor is pointing to different sections of the brain on the scans, but her words are muffled in your ears.

All you can register is the look on Jin's face. It's a mixture of sorrow, pain, and regret.

The only sense you can make of it is to assume that he's disappointed that you won't be out of his hair faster.

Maybe you're too far gone to be fixed. Maybe all the goods part of you died in the facility.

You're silent in the car, staring out at the darkening skies. The clouds have gotten thicker, unleashing a heavy rain. As you return to the old buildings from earlier, people hurry by under their umbrellas.

Namjoon open the passenger door, using his suit jacket as a shield. He greets Jin with a kiss, offering you a smile.

But you don't have the energy or will to even try to mirror it.

As you drive back up the mountainside, trees whizzing past the window wet with rain, you drift in and out of sleep. Jin handles the car so smoothly even through the winding roads, one hand on the wheel with the other resting somewhere on Namjoon.

You don't notice them both sneaking glances at you through the rear-view mirror, glad to see that you're getting some sleep.

When you arrive at the house, the sun is half set. You trudge up the path lined with plants, now lit by outdoor lights, reaching the massive wooden slab that is the front door.

Even in your sluggish state, you can't help but think that you'd like your home to have the same thing, if you had a home. A big sturdy door to keep others out. But this is isn't your home.

Jin and Namjoon lead you inside, and the sound of soft chatter sounds in the distance. You can smell food cooking too.

The house is darker now that the sun has set, lit up by warm ambient lighting from the lamps and elegant light fixtures all around.

You follow Jin and Namjoon into the kitchen area, spotting the bodies crowded inside. The room is bustling with activity, jazz music playing in the background.

Yoongi is standing over the stove, shifting his attention between a great big pot of boiling water, a pan full of bubbling red sauce, and a pan filled with sizzling meatballs. Jimin is chopping lettuce, Taehyung is slicing a loaf of french bread, and Jungkook is shredding cheese.

All of their eyes immediately find yours when you enter the room, Jimin and Yoongi offering a smile, Jungkook and Taehyung looking at you with a hopeful expression.

"Welcome home," Jimin says, eyes crinkling.

It makes a very weird sensation bloom in your lungs. The idea of home is bitter.

Jin and Namjoon set down their coats and briefcases, greeting the others warmly.

You stand there awkwardly, not sure what to do. Yoongi and Jimin pick up on it almost immediately.

"Do you want to come and sit here?" Jimin says (cutting himself off from saying your name), gesturing to the row of stools along the opposite side of the kitchen counter.

You take him up on his offer, eager to have something to do.

The kitchen is flush with heat from the cooking, but you can still hear the rain pounding outside from the cracked window above the sink.

Jungkook pauses his cheese-shredding to provide Jin with a glass of red wine and Namjoon with a whiskey cocktail of some kind, giving each of them a kiss on the cheek as he does so.

You sit there and watch it all unfold.

Yoongi boils the pasta as he watches the sauce and meatballs simmer. Jimin prepares a ceasar salad with grilled chicken, croutons, and freshly shredded cheese (thanks to Jungkook). And Taehyung spreads butter, herbs, garlic, and cheese on the bread slices and places them in the oven.

At some point, Hobi comes down the stairs and into the room, slick with sweat and panting slightly. He sends a radiant smile your way when he sees you.

Soon, the table is set and everyone's gathering around, Yoongi gesturing for you to sit with them.

Jin and Namjoon sit at either head of the long table, you falling into the seat in-between Jimin and Jungkook.

Bowls of pasta and meatballs are served, garnished with fresh herbs and grated cheese. Jungkook helps load a side of salad and garlic bread onto your plate like it's the most natural thing in the world.

This time, you don't hesitate to dive into the food. Everyone notices, but they just exchange happy glances between themselves to avoid making you feel uncomfortable.

The food they make is ridiculously good. The pasta, tomato sauce, and savory meatballs warm your insides, providing ample protein to help you feel stronger. The salad is crisp and refreshing, the bread soft and salty.

The men around you are chatting pleasantly, every once in a while attempting to lure you into the conversation, but you have absolutely no interest in that. Your brain is still sluggish with exhaustion. Right now you’re just glad the food isn’t upsetting your stomach.

You don’t see it, of course, but a steady stream of warmth fills their hearts whenever they look up and see you sitting at the table, eating as much as you want.

After dinner, Hoseok and Jungkook start on the dishes while you follow the rest of them to the living room. The soft jazz is still playing, some of them refilling their wine glasses before they settle on the couch.

They’re still trying to talk to you.

“How’s your stomach?” Jin asks. You nod as if to say alright.

“Did you get some sleep on the drive home?” Yoongi asks. You nod again, even though you know this isn’t your home.

“Would you like to meet more of the pets?” Jimin asks. You nod more firmly this time.

He rushes off to another room with a big smile.

You reacted well to Fish Sticks, so they decide to let the rest of the cats out.

There’s Hepburn, a regal-looking fluffy white cat with iridescent blue eyes. She looks up at you from the floor and rubs against your legs.

Then there’s Grease, a black cat with very large green eyes and fangs that poke out from his mouth. He tries to crawl up your pants, but after a stern word from the men, he settles to just hop around your ankles.

Finally there’s Potbelly, clearly a little bit older and slightly chunky, with a smattering of brown, orange and white fur. He nuzzles against your hand briefly before sauntering away, disinterested.

You react very fondly to all the cats, stooping down to scratch behind their ears.

“Would you like to meet the dogs?” Jimin asks next, watching your face closely for your reaction.

They’re not sure if you encountered any guard dogs at the facility.

Unlikely, because your face only turns more interested, and you give an eager nod.

They bring them out one at a time. The smallest first, Yeontan, a dark fluffy Pomeranian who yips happily at the sight of you.

You notice a very strange expression come across Taehyung’s face.

Then there’s Mickey, a small brown and white dog that approaches you excitedly yet gently. Then Holly, a brown curly-haired dog that tries very adamantly to sit in your lap. Then Bam, a sleek Doberman that jumps and runs circles around your form when he sees you.

“Gentle, gentle,” Jungkook instructs the dog when he almost tackles you.

Then Jimin brings in a fluffy golden retriever, who is yanking desperately on the leash in both Jimin’s hands.

“Toast, calm down, girl!” Jimin says as he gets dragged along.

But when the dog sees you, she lets out a sharp whimper, shooting towards you like a bullet. The leash is yanked out of Jimin’s hands as she barrels into your legs, letting out little whines and happy-sounding barks.

Something makes you sink to your knees and wrap your arms around the dog, some deep and heavy urge that grips you like a clenched fist. You gulp an inhale of the dog’s somehow familiar scent, and tears nearly spring into your eyes.

Everyone around you is about to cry too. Toast is your dog.

She smelled you almost as soon as you entered the house. It broke their hearts to keep her separated from you, since they had no idea how you’d react. She nearly broke the door down trying to get to you.

She’s panting as you pet her head, her tongue hanging out of her grinning mouth, tail wagging rapidly.

If you’d die for Fish Sticks, then you’d go to war for Toast.

You stay on the ground petting her for a while, the boys watching you fondly. At some point, you find your eyelids drooping again, belly full and worn out from all the interaction.

“Are you ready to wash up and settle in for bed?” Jimin asks you, very much fighting the urge to coo at how cute you look while comfortably half-asleep.

You nod and follow him upstairs. He gives you a set of striped pajama pants and matching button-up as you wash off with another wet washcloth, Toast sticking to your side like Velcro the entire time.

Downstairs, everyone crowds around Jin and Namjoon, asking how the tests at the clinic went, barely concealed hope in their eyes.

But they shake their heads solemnly.

“The spell was at nearly full strength. Nothing can be recovered,” Jin says. “But otherwise she’s healthy.”

Their faces fall a bit, but they figured that it would take a miracle for your memories to get brought back. Even if it were possible, the process would no doubt cause you extreme pain, and none of them want that.

Taehyung, though, has tears in his eyes again. He brings his hand up to his forehead.

If only you knew, Tae thinks. If only you knew just how much they love you, how much he loves you.

But he knows that you’re uncomfortable around him. And the awful thought did cross his mind: what if you never love him again?

Jungkook rubs Taehyung’s back as more tears fall. He can see the pain in Taehyung's face, the pain that screams please don't forget me and all the things we shared.

But it can't be helped. All they can do is help you as much as they can.

"She's just...gone," Taehyung chokes out.

Namjoon swoopes in right away.

"She's still her, just a little lost," he says.

"But she recognized Toast," Taehyung mumbles, dejected. Because why didn't you react that way to any of them?

"It's instinctual, muscle memory," Yoongi cuts in firmly. "You can erase the memories, but you can't completely erase the feelings that come with them."

Jin places a hand on Taehyung's shoulder, leaning into him.

"I'm sure she recognizes us, in a sense. She just can't express it because we're...people. Animals are easy, they don't judge. But people...it's people that hurt her," Jin says, rubbing soothing circles across Tae's shoulders.

The younger man nods, wiping his tears. He's gone silent, now. Jungkook helps him up the stairs to get ready for bed.

Later that night, Namjoon brings a half-empty bottle of rosé and two glasses up to his and Jin's shared bedroom.

Jin is fresh out of the shower, wrapped in a bathrobe, hair still wet, a medical newsletter in his hand.

Namjoon puts the glass in his empty hand and fills it up. Jin smiles at him gratefully.

"Quite a day, huh?" Namjoon says as he pours a glass for himself.

Jin looks lost in thought.

"I'm worried about Tae," he says solemnly.

Namjoon pauses, then comes to perch on the armrest of the chair Jin is sitting in.

"He's still in denial. It's a hard pill to swallow," Namjoon says, wrapping an arm around his other half.

"Indeed it is," Jin replies, sipping at his wine.

"He'll come around," Namjoon insists.

"I know he will. It's just..." Jin trails off.

"Yes, love?" Namjoon prompts.

"There's this tension between them that I don't understand," he says. "I think Tae is mourning her old self because he doesn't think her new self will connect with him."

"Hmm," Namjoon says, thinking. "I think you're right. But we'll be there, to help both of them. That's what they need right now, for someone to guide and support them into a new state of being."

Jin downs the rest of his wine, beaming up at his partner.

"I love you, you know that?" he says, grinning.

"Of course I do," Namjoon replied, grinning back.

"Now come on, let's get in bed."

a/n: thanks so much for reading!! i would literally sell my left tit to hear any of your thoughts!

#bts ot7 x reader #bts soulmate au #bts ot7 #bts angst #bts fluff #bts x female reader #bts fanfction #bts slow burn #bts fantasy au #bts ot7 fic #bts series #bts hurt/comfort

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floralmusings · 4 months ago

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Hi hello, and welcome to my little writing corner!

You can call me Flora (she/her), and I’m hoping to carve out a place for myself in the writing community here on tumblr and follow along with new writing projects, as well as hopefully garner some interest in my own!

I hate the idea of creating this thing and asking for interaction without doing so myself; I am a huge believer of the idea of community, of bettering and bolstering other content creators, and participating in something bigger than myself. So, tag games, asks, challenges, and so on and so forth, are all welcomed and encouraged - additionally, I LOVE hearing about other people’s works, with a particular weak spot for high/dark fantasy, as well as urban fantasy.

Thank you for your time in reading this, if you are a writeblr, interact with this post and I’ll check out your blog! In the meantime, if you’re interested in learning about my wips, they’re below the cut - I am a predominantly adventure fantasy writer, taking inspiration from D&D and real world mythos.

UNDECIDED : Unbound By The Light

Dark Fantasy - Found Family - Hurt/Comfort

Ashaveth, a once devout woman, finds themselves dragged back into the throes of their old beliefs when they stumble upon a creature spoken of only in aeon old hymns and textbooks lost to dust; a creature that bears the symbol of a Goddess they had abandoned so long ago.

Donning a mask that burns with a holy light, all consuming, all radiating - this, was a Faceless One.

If legend was to be believed, they were servants of Vigil, molded and shaped by Her to be the perfect protectors of peace and divine will - they had no name for they had no identity, they had no tongue for they had no voice, they had no blood for they did not bleed.

Had the Goddess she fled finally tracked her down?

UNDECIDED : Parcels & Papercuts

High Fantasy - Cosy - Found Family

The Couriers are a ragtag group who are the proud owners of the delivery service Parcels & Papercuts - a wandering delivery service who will deliver anything to anyone.

This is going to be an anthology series following the characters of this group and their various escapades - from delivering baked goods to a homesick grandaughter, to handing over a love letter to a scorned god. No job is too big and certainly never too small.

This is the type of series that you can jump in whenever, and you won't miss any major plot beats or anything like that.

#writeblr #writeblr intro #writers on tumblr #fantasy writeblr #writeblr wip #booklr #dark fantasy #found family #hurt/comfort #writing #creative writing

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defire · 4 months ago

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Forest setting: whump in the woods

(army/scout, fantasy vibes)

Content: mild violence, restraints

Whumpee wakes up to a sword at their throat-- they close their eyes to just imagine this isn't happening for one more second

Getting dragged by the feet over sticks and stones, making gashes up whumpee's back and arms as they squirm and cry out

Whumpee getting tied to a tree and having to stay standing because there's thorns or obstacles at the bottom.

Trying to maintain their dignity by lifting their chin as they rest their head against the tree they're tied to

When that pose forces the bob of their throat as they swallow to be very visible (bonus: looking side to side to keep from crying)

A torch sparking and flickering as it's held a little too close to whumpee's face, whumpee pulling back as far as they can and squinting to protect their eyes

Tied up and bargaining "you look like you're having a little trouble with that fire. Sure would be nice if there was someone around that knew how to do that. Too bad the only ranger here is tied up."

Brigands. Whumpee gets caught, beaten up, manhandled, groped all over for valuables, left stripped and bloody in the woods

Army stuff--scouting and getting CAPTURED BY THE ENEMY (honestly this was my childhood favorite). That sinking feeling as whumpee's face mashes into pine needles under the knee of a soldier

Being up a tree hunting or hiding out, and whumpee's enemy camps below and instead of coming up after them, they start to chop the tree down. Cue a yelling match of "get down!" "Only if you promise my safety!" "Nope!" Chop.

Falling out of a tree and hitting the ground on their back, knocking the wind out of them (especially if then, they open their eyes to see they're surrounded by grinning enemies and just groan)

#whump writing #whump ideas #whumpblr #whump prompt #whump scenario #whump #captivity whump #tied up #whump settings #dark fantasy #if you can tell I'm into war #and hurt/no comfort #prisoner of war #army whump

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elsecrytt · 5 months ago

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so i had a thought.

what if 236 is actually jujutsu tech propaganda?

mei mei is broadcasting this entire thing, right? what better way to protect gojo from bounty hunters etc., than convince the entire world that he's already dead?

the final battle happened offscreen, with significantly less fanfare. gojo rescued megumi, defeated sukuna. the day was saved.

at a cost.

gojo gave up everything - at least, everything he valued. the six eyes, his abilities as a sorcerer. he assumed that would make him a normal man, and he was right -

what he didn't realize was that it would also make him blind.

so now... you live in a nice apartment complex. a guy moves in next to you.

you can't help but notice he happens to be blind - at least, he's wearing a blindfold, uses a cane, but he's often swearing and stumbling through his porch, over his entryway. he is very, very blind.

you, wondering what the fuck up is with your obviously blind neighbor who seems to have no sense of self-preservation.

he walks into objects all the time, especially hitting his head on things, since he's so tall. forgets his cane when going out. the dude just left his door open the other day, like, WIDE OPEN, who DOES that?

helping gojo learn, not only how to be human, but how to be disabled. how to not be disgusted with being disabled.

gojo learning that being blind isn't the end of his life, nor the end of his happiness - life is still worth living, even without one of his senses.

helping gojo mourn his lost sense while still finding things to enjoy. gojo who learns to cook by taste, by feeling heat or texture, with your help. gojo learning to organize things so he always knows where they are from memory.

bringing gojo audiobook versions of your favorite stories even if he teases you for your taste. he listens to them when he has nothing to do, which is most of the time, now.

he goes out on walks all the time because he doesn't have a job, you learn. while it's nice to not have to work, you can tell he comes from money, his life comes with a gaping hole inside it, one that isn't entirely explained by the blindness.

gojo who's overstimulated all the time because he no longer has infinity as a barrier, but somehow also as touch-starved as ever, alone in a foreign country away from all his students and colleagues.

gojo, who has only ever done Big Things with his life, who has only ever been an Important Person doing world changing things, now, just an ordinary guy.

he barely cares what happens to himself now. it's not that he wants to die, or anything. it's just that he doesn't have a reason to live.

and that wouldn't change overnight. not with cooking lessons or audiobooks or friendly greetings whenever you see him by the door. not with smiles or waves (he can't see them) or a braille rubik's cube you find online (how did he solve it in under a minute??) or karaoke (he has an AMAZING singing voice, and he knows so many songs better than you do?).

it wouldn't change overnight, because nothing worthwhile forms in a day, or two, or even a week or a month.

but gojo's life doesn't have to be amazing a day after he's gone blind. or a week. or a month. it's okay if it's difficult, he learns, it's okay if he hates it, hates himself, hates every choice that brought him here, even if he would never take it back.

it's okay. it gets better. with you there? it's getting better.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #fluff #elsey rambles #god i just LOVE the post-sukuna-fight gojo fics man #i love satoru being brought down to normal. learning to struggle like regular people do #and realizing! it is actually not so bad! it's okay actually! life is fine when you can't hollow purple or forcefield protect yourself!#gojo has spent so much of his life looking at the Big Picture. he can enjoy some little things. as a treat #a testament for my love for that man that i'd eat up a fic of him with 0 sorcery or fun fantasy elements in it #his personality is good enough for me. the awfulness of it is the charm!#there should have been sooo much more angst to his character #oh wait those tags too #angst #hurt/comfort #god hurt/comfort is my CRACK

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sweetarethediscords · 9 months ago

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It’s Hurt/Comfort. It’s listening beyond hearing. Seeing beyond sight.

It’s finding ways to treat the wound, be it salve or bandage, kisses or quiet.

Salt to cleanse a festering sore.

Honey poured down a throat cried raw.

It's...

It’s limbs entangled in the dark of night, fingers knotted in hair, breath and heartbeats slowing into a steady rhythm, a reminder that you’re both still here, both alive, together.

It’s gentle lips pressed against old, deep scars. Silent prayers of gratitude whispered into the gnarled flesh.

It’s the years past the pain, when you’re both old and happy, but the nightmares still come. Far and few in-between nowadays but just as feverish and frightening as they were back when their cause was fresh. The hand that rests on your shoulder gently. The reverent, patient whisper of your name becoming a lighthouse beacon. Waking you, saving you. Thumb brushing the tears off your cheeks as tender as if it were the first time.

#writing #bookblr #the maiden of the barren rime #fantasy novel #fantasy romance #fantasy books #new books #mbr #hurt/comfort #romantasy #words #fae

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nat-1-whump · 5 months ago

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Whumpee was a capable magic user, having cultivated that skill their whole life. So, naturally, they took liberty in exercising it every change they got. From teleporting rather than traveling, to using telekinesis to carry heavy things, to using illusion spells to pull lighthearted tricks... it was a wonder they ever had any energy left to cast more spells at all.

However, they were injured and had to be hospitalized. The doctors put them on magic suppressants, warning them that using magic could be unpredictable, or even dangerous, in their vulnerable condition. It was safest to take their powers away for the time being.

Whumpee did not take this news well.

One evening, Caretaker went to visit Whumpee. Whumpee had seemed particularly upset with their loss of magic last time Caretaker visited, so this time, they brought them a stuffed animal. Hopefully it would comfort them, at least a little bit, as they recovered.

They expected to find Whumpee frustratedly picking at their bandages, or in a restless sleep, as usual. But when they opened the door, they found Whumpee knelt down on the floor, sobbing over a shattered mug.

Caretaker hurried to set the plushie on the bed. They crouched down next to Whumpee, and put a hand on their shoulder. "Hey, it's alright. I'll help you clean it up, and we can get you a new mug, okay?"

Whumpee sniffled. "I-I can't even fix a stupid cup..." They cried.

Caretaker instinctively glanced towards Whumpee's hands, worried that they'd cut themself trying to pick up the pieces. They were initially relieved to see that Whumpee hadn't, until they realized that Whumpee must have tried---and failed---to use a mending spell instead. That must be why they were crying now. "...Fix it? Whumpee, no... You can't. Not right now. Look, I'll go get a broom to clean up the pieces, and-"

"No, I want to do this..." Whumpee looked up at Caretaker, their eyes reddened and tearful.

"Whumpee, you can't, remember? They-the doctors, they put you on magic suppressants until you get better." Caretaker wasn't a magic user themself, so they wondered what it was like to lose magic powers after using them for so long. They figured it probably threw poor Whumpee's system all out of whack.

Whumpee considered for a moment. They looked at the broken mug, then back at Caretaker. "Wait, I think... I think I can force a tiny bit, just a little..."

"What do you mean, 'force?' Whumpee, I really don't think that's a good idea." Caretaker tried to take Whumpee's hands in their own, but Whumpee pulled away, focused on the broken mug.

Whumpee picked up a few pieces. They ignored Caretaker's protests and closed their eyes, chanting a mending spell under their breath. Their brow furrowed, as they seemed to strengthen their resolve to cast the spell.

To Caretaker's disbelief, a faint light began to flicker from Whumpee's palms, the glow peeking out from under the ceramic shards. A couple of pieces began to shudder, clinking as they seemed to gravitate towards each other.

Suddenly, the pieces went still. They clattered to the floor as Whumpee's arms fell limp. Like a reflex, Caretaker grabbed Whumpee and pulled them into an embrace before they could collapse into the pile of sharp pieces. The ceramic shards glittered in the light from the window, as if to taunt them.

"Whumpee!" Caretaker felt a warm trickle against their chest, and gently turned Whumpee's head up to see a stream of blood coming from their nose. They shakily pulled Whumpee up and took them back to their hospital bed, struggling to carry their limp body. After draping Whumpee over the blankets, they found a paper towel and began to clean the blood off their face.

Whumpee's eyes fluttered open as Caretaker wiped their bloody nose. "D-did I do it?" Their voice sounded distant and groggy.

Caretaker's heart broke. Whumpee sounded so hopeful. "No, Whumpee. Your cup's still broken. But you have to rest, okay?" They instinctively put a hand on Whumpee's chest to push them down, fully expecting Whumpee to try to pull themself out of bed.

Instead, Whumpee only stared up at them, defeated. Caretaker noticed the dark circles under Whumpee's eyes and was about to ask when they last slept, when Whumpee's gaze wandered past Caretaker to the floor.

Caretaker followed their eyes to where the fragments of ceramic seemed to glow in the fading sunlight. They felt they should leave Whumpee's side to clean it up, but now, such an action felt too... final. They figured it would only make Whumpee feel worse, watching the pieces they tried so hard to fix get swept up and dumped in the trash.

A sniffle from Whumpee pulled Caretaker back to the moment. They looked down to see Whumpee's eyes well up with tears. Wordlessly, they squeezed Whumpee's hand.

Whumpee pulled their hand away and curled themself up on the bed, hiding their face behind their knees. Their sniffling turned to full-on sobbing.

Caretaker gently stroked Whumpee's hair, trying to find the right words. "Whumpee... You need to rest. Nobody is expecting you to start casting spells again so soon. Not after all that happened."

Whumpee peeked over their knees. "It hurts. It feels like they took something out of me and it messed everything up."

"I know... But you'll feel better once you sleep, yeah? And the more you rest, the sooner you'll be recovered enough to handle your magic again." Caretaker pulled the blankets up to Whumpee's shoulder and handed them the plush toy they'd brought earlier.

Whumpee moved their legs away from their chest, exposing their face as they clutched the stuffed animal. Their momentary comfort gave way to worry. "What if I forget how to use magic while I'm in here, though? W-what if I'm never able to use magic again?" Their lip started to quiver.

Caretaker gave Whumpee a warm smile, though their eyes held a look of pity. "I'm not sure, Whumpee. I don't know a whole lot about magic... How it works, what it takes to learn it." They patted Whumpee's shoulder. "But whatever happens, I'll stay by your side every step of the way. I'll promise you that much."

A small smile formed on Whumpee's face. Though they still seemed worried, Caretaker's reassurance calmed their nerves somewhat. They closed their eyes, squeezing the stuffed animal against their chest.

The two rested quietly in the hospital room, the shadows stretching higher up the wall until the orange sunset outside had darkened to a rich purple. Once Whumpee dozed off, Caretaker swept up the broken pieces. They sat down next to Whumpee again and gently placed a hand on their cheek.

Whumpee mumbled contentedly. For the first time in a while, their sleep seemed... peaceful.

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icarusignite · 9 months ago

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PIRATE! ATEEZ MASTERLIST

The ships have come to carry you home Pairing: Captain Hongjoong x Runaway Princess Reader Summary: Weary of the gilded cage of royalty, you escape your opulent life, only to realize that your longing for freedom has landed you in the clutches of ruthless pirates. Determined to prove your worth, you must persuade the enigmatic captain to defy the bounty on your head.

Pairing: Siren Yeosang x Poacher Reader Summary: You have always lived by the code of the hunt, and as a skilled poacher of exotic creatures, the only law you abide by is that of your own survival. But when a lucrative contract tasks you with capturing a siren alive, you find yourself ensnared in a perilous game where delivering the prize without succumbing to your own guilt or its elusive song proves impossible. (coming soon)

Pairing: Ex-Naval Officer Jongho x Captive Reader Summary: As the daughter of the naval commander, you find yourself ensnared by the very pirates your father hunts. Among them, your most ruthless captor is none other than the man who once served your father but is now a deserter of the worst kind. As days turn to weeks, you uncover the hidden truths that drove him from the ranks of the navy, and through the eyes of your captor, you witness the cruel corruption that festers within the very force sworn to protect the seas. (coming soon)

Pairing: Cartographer Yunho x Pirate Reader Summary: When you find yourself marooned on a remote island after your ship is stolen, you must rely on your wits to survive. With the unexpected help of an old friend, you join a new crew ready to take back what was yours. Among your new allies is the soft-spoken cartographer, whose quiet strength and compassion offer you unexpected comfort. (coming soon)

Pairing: Explosives Master Mingi x Medic Reader Summary: Life as the ship's medic is no easy task, battling not only the fierce skirmishes and injuries typical of a pirate's life but also the ship's resident explosive expert, who constantly finds new excuses to seek your company, often accompanied by yet another injury for you to tend to. Despite your repeated warnings, his cavalier attitude toward safety continues to test your patience and skills, until his recklessness costs him more than he could ever anticipate. (coming soon)

Pairing: Lookout San x Spy reader Summary: You have managed to infiltrate a notorious pirate ship through deception and lies. Your mission: to pass on their secrets to their enemies. But navigating the perilous waters becomes increasingly difficult when you discover the all-seeing eyes of the ship's lookout, who seems to witness all and scrutinize your every move. Caught between the need for stealth and the watchful gaze that seems to penetrate your every facade, you must tread carefully, or risk being exposed and facing dire consequences. (coming soon)

Pairing: Firstmate Seonghwa x Ghost Reader Summary: Trapped for centuries within an ancient artifact as a restless ghost, you find yourself unexpectedly released by the intimidating first mate of a pirate ship. However, there's more to him than meets the eye, and as you struggle to adapt to a world you no longer recognize, he finds himself strangely drawn to you and your secrets. (coming soon)

Pairing: Quartermaster Wooyoung x Pirate Hunter Reader Summary: You have dedicated your life to eradicating piracy from the seas, but when a case of mistaken identity finds you on the wrong side of the law, you're forced to flee with the very crew you have sworn to destroy. Onboard the pirate ship, tensions run high, and you find yourself torn between your duty and an unexpected connection with the charming quartermaster who is determined to make you stay. (coming soon)

A/N: lol so Ateez at Coachella was my final straw and I absolutely had to write for them. This pirate/maritime theme has been rattling around in my head for a while so I'm excited to get into it. They're probably going to be one-shots or maybe 2 parters if they get long. Comment if you wanna be added to the tag list <3 will probably post the first one sometime next week cuz exams this week rip

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thisisxli · 7 months ago

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|| 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬 ||

❃.✮:▹　◃:✮.❃

Rs: Bakugou Katsuki x GN!reader (afab/amab)

Warnings:

slight heavy angst, neglecting boyfriend,

bad break-up.

Summary: you knew dating pro-hero Dynamite was gonna be tough but when you notice how distant he becomes, you can't help but wonder whether either of you chose the right decision to get together in the first place.

Wc: 0.7k

Suggested song: (P.S, if you're listening to the song recommended, please read a little slow at some parts if you want it to sync at the best parts (p′︵‵。))

*+:｡.｡　｡.｡:+*

It was one thing to know he was constantly busy and away with hero work. But to be deprived for his attention and have the first thing he did when he got home, ignore your entire presence and walk pass to sleep in your shared bedroom.

You know that Katsuki was working hard every day, fighting criminals, saving banks and civilians, etc. But you would've at least expected one kiss from your boyfriend when he got home. It tugged at your heart strings but you knew you had to let it go. You knew the priorities and the responsibilities he had and you couldn't put yourself above that. To pick you over the world is ridiculous.

By then, you slid into bed along with him but he wasn't facing your side of the bed. You didn't mind though, scooting close to him and running your hand in his hair. You slithered your arm around his waist before pulling your body close to his, savoring his warmth.

The next week's were honestly so painful. He would ignore you even when he was home. Every time you texted him or tried to call him at work, he would ignore you but respond when you were pissing him off.

One day, when he was home and finally spoke to you, he wanted to break up.

"Look-" he averts his gaze to the side, a solemn look on his face. "I just think we shouldn't be together. I'm caught up in work a lot so you shouldn't be with somebody that's barely around and.. I shouldn't be with somebody that...." He drifts off, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"What is it, Katsuki?" Your lip quivered but no tears formed in your eyes. You sure felt like crying.

"I shouldn't be with somebody that I don't feel something for anymore. I'm sorry. We're just barely around each other and.. I have other priorities. I don't think I should worry about needing to protect somebody close to me if they're ever caught up in danger."

This was the calmest Bakugou has ever been but yet, this was the angriest you've ever been with him. Was he calling you a damn burden?!

You felt like you shouldn't feel mad. But you did. How long did he feel like this? You were fucking stupid, you should've known from the start. You were both at fault. You should've known what you two were getting into.

You held your head low, jaw clenched tightly. You knew tears were forming when your vision started to become blurry.

"I.. really am sorry." You look at him through your lashes. Although it was blurry, you could tell his face only shown little remorse. You scoff at his half-ass apology, sniffling as you wipe your eyes with your sleeve before any tears escape. "Whatever. Just go, Bakugou."

He nearly winces at the use of his surname. He couldn't even be mad or make a remark at your petty attitude because he couldn't blame you. He's seen the way you looked at him at the times he came home, the way your touch was so yearnful and clinging. Of course, he loved you and wanted to be there for you, but he just didn't love you that way anymore. And he felt terrible about it. About as terrible as his old bullying toward his rival best friend back when they were in middle school. Luckily, instead of him staying, he let you stay in the house. He felt bad. And you hated it.

He had his things packed at the front door, slipping his shoes on. "Hey..."

You were hugging your arms, thumbs rubbing them and trying to soothe your nerves. You warily look up at the ash blonde man, biting your lip. You nearly cry out when he holds his arms out to you. Even in this moment, he was showing his soft side. Holding his arms out was like his signature move throughout your relationship. Your heart urged you to go and envelop yourself in his arms but then again, your heart also said not to. He hurt you, so bad. He hurt your ego and your heart.

When you stood in your place, bottom lip quivering, he sighs. Grabbing his suitcases and opening the door, he looks back at the place and you one last time. He opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out and that's right when you look up at him with teary eyes that pangs him in the heart.

He sucks in a breath, slightly frowning. "Do you.. Do you think we're together in another universe?"

You dryly laugh, tears escaping your eyes.

"We're not even together in this one."

*+:｡.｡　｡.｡:+*

A/N:

Honestly wrote this because I wanted to and I love writing angst. Was gonna make Bakugou a huge red flag but we all know that he's changed and that he's developed<3 after the latest chapters, there's no way he hasn't changed

Had to use the "do u think we're together in another universe" blablabla trope, it completed it ᰔᩚ

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night-market-if · 7 months ago

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Chapter Five Public Release

Book 2, Chapter 5, is now up for the public release!!!! There were a few coding changes within this chapter so I would advise going back to the end of chapter four and replaying the choice of where you are going to send Belladonna to (Reese, Elias, or send her) before going in to play chapter five.

It also came to my attention that some of my Patreon members may have had a code break at the end of Milo/Mal's route. It should not be there anymore. You should have an end scene with them in Malcolm's apartment.

Thank you all for the support you have shown me! It has been a crazy month and is bound to be a crazy July as well. Thank you for your patience!

Read book 2 here

#the night market #interactive fiction #book 2 #twine game #twine wip #angst #hurt/comfort #fantasy #writers of tumblr #indie developer

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unboundprompts · 10 months ago

Note

Hello! I'm back with another oddly specific request, if that's all right? My request is for prompts of a doctor in a low-fantasy setting coming upon an injured nonhuman, if it wouldn't be too much trouble. Thank you in advance!

Doctor Finding an Injured Non-Human Prompts

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him. A man-- a fish?-- lying nearly unconscious in the shallow waters. His skin was decorated with blue scales, flared gills on his neck as if they were gasping for air. He had a tail and fins in place of legs. What was most alarming, however, was the angry red gashes on his back. It looked like he had been hit by a boat or a jet ski, and was too weak to swim away. She cautiously approached him, and he looked up at her with red-rimmed eyes. "I don't know what you are," she muttered, trying to keep her voice unthreatening, "but please let me help you."

There was a werewolf in his backyard, littered in gunshots and limping. It left a trail of blood where it walked. The wolf was wild. Too afraid to allow him to get close, but just scared enough to know that it needed his help. The night would be over soon, and he was worried what would become of its injuries when it turned human again. He would be patient, though. Just to make sure that they would be okay.

They found a vampire unconscious in the woods. She had been caught in the sun, skin red and blistered like a severe sunburn. All they could smell was burning flesh. They lifted her, hooking their arms under hers so they could drag her to the shade.

If you like what I do and want to support me, please consider buying me a coffee! I also offer editing services and other writing advice on my Ko-fi! Become a member to receive exclusive content, early access, and prioritized writing prompt requests.

#writing prompts #creative writing #writeblr #dialogue prompt #prompt list #story prompt #ask box prompts #fantasy prompts #hurt/comfort prompts #mermaid prompts #merman prompts #werewolf prompts #vampire prompts

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oatmealdaydreams · 2 months ago

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Black Hole Fantasy: I'm pulling in the driveway, I'm turning off the car

Let me know if ya wanna be added on or taken off the general taglist!

Part 1

Inspired By Works: the Shifter Stan AU made by @the-east-art! Check out her stuff, it's super good. Shout out to East!

Pairing: Stan Pines & Ford Pines, gen

Warnings: Homelessness, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse

Summary: After reconciling, Stan answers what he can while Ford asks questions about his shifting abilities. Most of them are expected from his nerdy brother: how certain shifts work, what kind of limits there are, what the deal is with partial shifts, and all that. But then Ford asks about how he found out about his abilities, and…and Stan debates if it’s a good idea telling his brother about his time driving in Mount Tammany. Stan cannot lie to Ford without him seeing right through it, anyway.

Notes: Wrote a majority of this today (as of posting) because I damn well know a lot of us need some comfort right now.

[Masterlist] | ao3 link

[read under the cut]

Stan expected this. It’s Ford, he’s gonna be all nerdy and ask questions and wanna know more about things he doesn’t understand so he can understand them. He expected this.

As soon as the question leaves Ford’s mouth, he can tell it probably isn’t the best thing to ask, for whatever reason that may be, because Stan tenses in his seat and his gaze darts away from his brother.

Stan expected this. It’s Ford, he’s gonna be all nerdy and ask questions and wanna know more about things he doesn’t understand so he can understand them. He expected this.

The younger twins are due to arrive within the next week or so for another summer. Stan’s surprised their parents are letting back to Gravity Falls—depending on what they told their parents—but he’s not complaining. He grew attached to those chaotic gremlins rather quickly. They’re family, after all. Stan knows he’s got a weak spot for ‘em. Ford gives him shit about it sometimes when he’s being all stubborn and grumpy. It doesn’t come from a place of hypocrisy, though. Ford’s just as bad as Stan is when it comes to their niblings, and he most often admits it.

The time sailing across the vast seas on the Stan O’ War II with Ford helped with remembering things. Stan had remembered most of his life—the important bits, at least. There were still holes in his recollection here and there, still are, but important memories stuck before the rest of it. The fact that he had a twin brother named Stanford, his niblings, most of what he’s done while in Gravity Falls, the entire Portal Situation, and almost everything that has to deal with a certain triangular dream demon. When he has relapses, Ford is always there to help him remember and support him until the memories come back. Childhood can be a bit blurry sometimes. He doesn’t quite remember much about their father, but Ford reassures him that he’s not someone to worry about; Stan trusts Ford. That, and the way Ford’s eyes darken every time he mentions him…well, he can piece things together on his own. Some people aren’t worth remembering. That’s okay.

One of the periods in his life he struggles to remember much of is the ten years before he arrived in Gravity Falls. Ford doesn’t know much about them, either. When a memory from then resurfaces, it can be…really shitty. Sometimes, when a relapse happens and it involves something from his years being homeless, it gets a lot harder to calm Stan down. Especially since all the memories he’s remembered from then so far have been what his niblings would call ‘unfairly traumatic’. Stan knows by now where he got all his survival skills, at least.

There are a few memories from when he first got on the streets that aren’t so bad. A few failed attempts at cheap products that got him banned in some places. He vaguely remembers his Stan Vac, the whole not-rash-causing rash-causing bandaids, little things like those. His leaky towels that made stains worse.

His drive up through Mount Tammany.

Stan remembers a particular night from that. Getting banned from New Jersey and trying his luck in the next state over. Dark nights where the skies were perfect for stargazing if he’d only let himself stay still for a few minutes. But then again, staying still for even a second on the road is the kinda thing that gets ya killed. So. He can always stargaze now, though. Ford always watched the stars when they got the chance at sea. Maybe they can do that again, now, in a place that doesn’t involve a surprising constant of sea-bound critters out ta get their asses.

The fucking point: he remembers sitting in his car on the roadside, alone, in the middle of nowhere up on a mountain, getting all teary over his stupid fucking hands. He’d shifted them by accident, and suddenly six fingers replaced five. Missing Ford did that kinda shit, he supposes. Intertwining a five-fingered hand with a six-fingered one nearly broke him. Stan can punch a pterodactyl in its damn face, but he’s weak when it comes to his family. To his brother.

Stan hopes Ford never finds out about it. He hopes he does find out about it. It’s a complicated mess of things.

They sit in the chairs in the living room. Some rerun of an earlier Ducktective episode plays at low volume, perfect for background noise. Ford noticeably has a notepad and a blue-inked pen out on his lap. Stan’s counting down the seconds it takes for his brother to ask whatever questions he has on his mind. It only takes about thirty seconds for him to burst. A new record, really.

“Can I ask you a few questions about your shifting?” Ford’s eyes twinkle like the fucking stars.

Stan shrugs, genuinely open to it, “Sure, why not.”

Ford’s excited little smile is plenty of reward for agreeing to this. He knows if he said no, Ford would back off. He’d be a bit disappointed, yeah, but he’d back off. Brothers are like that, y’know.

His brother readies himself with his pen and all, eagerness leaking off him like some weird mist or something.

“How can you shift into a mermaid but not into a partial fish shift?”

“It’s not that simple, Poindexter. There’re limits to it.”

The sound of a gliding pen across paper, “I suppose that makes sense. Even with Shifty, he had to learn through visualization before he could shift into something. Perhaps you mimic in a similar fashion,” There's a brief pause as Ford writes another note. “What are the limitations?”

“Well,” Stan grunts out a sigh, “for one, shifts hafta be made of the same base stuff that humans are. Size is another thing. Can’t shift inta somethin’ too small or too large. And, uh, partial shifts are their own thing, not very sustainable. ‘S why I gotta shift into a full merfolk instead ‘a partial fish.”

Ford nods along to his brother, scribbling notes hastily as he talks. There’s a sense of ease that blankets the air between them. Lounging in the tv room, talking, listening, just hanging out with each other. When was the last time they did shit like this? When was the last time it started to feel easy? Maybe it’s because he’s answerin’ the things that he does know about his shifting abilities, but a warmth blossoms in Stan’s chest at the realization of how much it reminds him of being kids. Yappin’ with each other. No arguin’ or nothin’, just…yappin’. It’s nice.

“Wait, so—” a readjust of Poindexter’s glasses, “Then how come you’ve shifted into partial cat eyes or…ah, the partial bear shift the kids told me about?”

“It ain’t sustainable, so it doesn’t last long,” Stan tries, though he’s pretty sure he just explained the partial shift thing. “Wouldn’t wanna randomly shift underwater, y’know? And fish shifts are always a bitch to shift in and outta.”

“Ah, I see. Why are fish—”

“The gills, nerd. Breathing’s all different an’ shit.”

“Oh, well, nevermind then.”

Stan snorts at him, and Ford playfully rolls his eyes. He writes a few more notes down. Stan taps his fingers on the arm of his chair, lightly drumming out a tuneless rhythm. A companionable silence fills the room, and for once, he doesn’t feel the need to replace it with some sort of sound. Probably because he’s already making noise with his tappin’, but still. It’s like a gentle inhale of fresh pine air, drifting around them. It’s calm. It’s as quiet as any ambience can be. It’s peaceful.

And it only lasts for a few minutes, thankfully, because Stan might’ve started tappin’ with two hands instead of one if it went on for too long. It’s still silence, after all. Nothing good has come with complete silence.

“Given what you’ve explained…how does your shifting work?” and this question has the stars in Ford’s eyes turning into spotlights that gleam onto Stan.

Stanley clicks, shrugging, “Tch, I don’t know.”

Ford glances up from his notepad, pen stilling, “What?”

“I don’t know how it works, Six.”

“How can you not know how it works? It’s your shifting!”

“I’ve been busy.”

“But you just explained—”

“I know some things, just not everything!”

“How—wait, okay. What were you so busy with that you didn’t explore your shifting more?”

The peaceful air thins. There’s a slight pressure, tension, something that threatens to smother them if they don’t tread this carefully. A choking hazard.

Stan scoffs, a biting voice, “Jeez, Six, do ya not remember bein’ shoved into a massive fuckin’ portal? And I thought I was the amnesiac.”

He winces as soon as he says it. That was a bit harsher than he intended, honestly. It’s in the past. Sure, there’re still some shit they gotta work out, but now wasn’t the time. Why is he always biting like a wounded feral dog when it comes to shit like that? What is he, a beaten hound?

Ford goes sheepish, “Oh, right…”

It’s awkward. The tense air simmers like New Mexico’s summer heat. It blazes underneath the first layer of their skin. It fizzles and crackles and makes both of the older twins fidget in their seats. Stan shifts his weight in his chair, and his finger-tappin’ gets quicker.

Ford clears his throat, “Right, well, I—thank you, Stanley.”

A small, fond smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. Warmth fills his chest like waves of the ocean, his heart sighing pleasant beats. Ford’s said it a number of times while they were sailing. Some nights, when the beer was cold and the stars were glistening across the vast seas, they figured out talkin’ about shit. Not everything, no, not even some of the things they probably should, but they were still important things they needed to talk about. The portal was one of them. At least, some of it. The parts that Stan remembered in flashes. Memory of its entirety came back before they returned to Gravity Falls, but he digresses. They talked about some shit, and Ford made a point of saying ‘thank you’ a lot more. He still does it.

The tense air dissipates a significant amount, easing, calming, gentle.

“Yeah, whatever, Poindexter,” Stan waves it off, but he couldn’t wipe the little smile on his face if he tried. “What else ya got, huh?”

Ford shares his own little smile, glancing down briefly at his notes, “Well, let’s see…oh! How did you initially find out about your shifting?”

And the tense air returns with a sharp bite.

“Of course, if you don’t remember it,” Ford adds quickly, “Just the earliest you can remember.”

Stan considers what to do here. He’s been given an out. He can just give the easy excuse that he doesn’t remember. It wouldn’t be too far a lie, what, with how fickle his memory from that far back can be. It’s still a lie, though. He does remember that night driving through Mount Tammany. Although it may not be his first experience with his new-found shifting abilities, it is one of the earliest. It would be around the time he first found out, anyway.

And he’d promised Ford on the boat that he’d try and talk to him. They both did. They made that promise. Stan is tired of breaking things. He won’t break a promise to Ford, especially now that they’re on much better terms. He can’t risk fucking this peace up. It’s too precious now. There’s been too much work and hard nights and shed tears they’ll never comment on. Stan won’t break it for anything.

He sighs, refusing to face Ford while he does this.

“It ain’t much. Just a drive through the mountains,” he forewarns, “Nothin’ pretty, nothin’ ugly.”

Ford’s eyes widen in momentary surprise, as if he’d expected Stan to take the out. He shakes it off, leaning in slightly. An eager listener. A nod to show he understands.

Alright, we’re fuckin’ doin’ this, Stan thinks.

A gruffer sigh, “Just been banned from Jersey, I think. A few failed business ventures or whatever, and I was drivin’ up through Mount Tammany.”

Stan ignores whatever Ford’s reaction is to him being banned from their home state. He can’t handle reactions if he’s gonna commit to this. Grabbing a half-drank can of Pitt Cola, givin’ something for his hands to do. Idle hands ain’t gonna do good. He can’t risk havin’ idle hands that reach for violence and excuses. This ain’t the time for it. Not now, not now.

He swallows, continuing, “It’s dark, probably in the middle of the night. Got used ta drivin’ in late hours so much I don’t think it made a difference.”

The scene itself starts to unravel in front of his mind’s eye. He can almost see it, hear it, smell it. He keeps talking.

“Mind kept driftin’, so I had ta pull over. I was wonderin’ about…people. Where they were, how’d they been, all that. Guess they really got to me, heh.”

Ford doesn’t need to ask who he’s referring to. This one, he knows. He knows what Stan is like when he talks about missing Ford. It’s one ‘a those times.

“Not even twenty yet, y’know. Still young enough to have a weak stomach about things. I couldn’t keep drivin’ all those curves up in the mountains like that, else I was gonna crash or somethin’. I pull over.”

Stan has to pause for a moment, swallowing again. He tries not to get lost in the memory. He fidgets with the can in his hand, thumbing across its smooth surface. Remind himself where he is. Remember he’s in a chair next to his brother, and not breakin’ at the sight of holding a five-fingered hand and a six-fingered one together. Five plus six is eleven. It’d only been ten years when he saw Ford next after that, but it sure felt like eleven centuries with the way they’d changed.

No longer lookin’ like each other. Both scared outta their minds and desperate. They’re twins; but back then, they’d been strangers that shared a last name. Not even that. Stan’s used many names throughout the years. He’s worn many faces, too. Droppin’ his shift for the first time in years, just to see his brother, had been a lot more unsettling than he thought it’d be.

Right, explain’ Mount Tammany.

Stan shakes his head lightly, ignoring his lingering thoughts of triangular portals.

“I felt the extra fingers before I saw ‘em,” a hitch of breath besides Stan, but he continues through it, “Six fingers on each hand. The last I recall, I wasn’t the one with hands like that. Turns out I shifted ‘em without thinking.”

Stan does that sometimes. In moments of heightened emotion—distress, usually—his body decides to kick into gear without askin’ Stan first and shifts itself into whatever it deems necessary to survive the situation. He heard Wendy explain it as a trauma response once. She’d been taking this psychology class to avoid some shitty required course that had a shitty teacher. She’s smart. Gonna do some pretty great shit one day, that kid. Badass enough as it is, really. What highschooler can say they’ve survived the literal apocalypse without referrin’ to a video game?

“I was already a weak mess at that point,” Stan hesitates, thumbing the can in his hand again. Quiet noises come from Ford’s chair, and he tries to write it off as squeaky furniture. “I, uh…shifted one hand back, and…intertwined them. ‘Bout broke me. I was already fucked-up with drivin’ in the middle of the night, anyway. Y’know, lackin’ sleep and all. That shit.”

Stan cannot look in Ford’s direction after he’s finished. He keeps fiddling with the Pitt can in his hand. His other hand drums a tuneless rhythm on the arm of his chair. He can’t have idle hands. They reach for things. Reaching for Ford might not be a good idea right now. Hey, at least Stan’s actually thinkin’ for once in his damn life. Mabel’s childlike optimism is rubbin’ off ‘a him.

The quiet noises include a sniffle, and Stan feels something in his chest crack like a statue about to fall off a breaking cliff. Something’s about to break and fall into the churnin’ waters below. The sea can be just as much of a hell as it can be a comfort. Life’s like that, he supposes. Your greatest comfort can be your easiest weak point.

They sit there, not talking, not looking at each other, hardly making a sound. It’s a fragile air. It’s a thin glass sheet. They’ve had practice on the Stan ‘O War II with learning how to navigate moments like these, but this? This is something else. This is about an earlier memory of being kicked out from home. This is about when Stan learned he was just as anomalous as his brother. This is about one of the first times Stan lost a little hope. This is different. It’s fragile, and Stan’s never been good with fragile things. He breaks what he touches. He doesn’t know how to touch this without cracking the glass like a hammer to a stained glass window.

Neither of them breathe for a moment.

How the hell do you navigate a conversation like this? How did it turn into thinly-veiled raw emotion with the steadiness of a paper house? The pivot from your average sibling bickering and stupid smiles to something made of a deck of flimsy cards. A sharp pivot. A sudden pivot. Where did the fragility come from?

Ford, surprisingly, is the one to break the stained-glass window.

“Lee,” his voice is thicker, choking, full of hitching breaths and sniffling that becomes all the more noticeable with the uneasy silence.

Stan can’t help but turn to his brother as soon as that nickname is uttered. There’s a lump in his throat at the sight of Ford’s red-rimmed eyes behind the guise of his blocky glasses. He doesn’t have it in him to swallow it down.

Okay, they’re doing this. Great. This is fine.

“Six,” Stan responds, and he sounds just as bad as Ford.

He ignores the prickling droplets in his eyes.

“You—when did—” words come tumbling out of Ford’s mouth like foreign concepts of another dimension.

“It’s fine, Poindexter,” an attempt at waving things off, even with how messy their voices are right now, because he cannot stand seeing his brother look so distressed.

“It’s not fine, Stanley.”

“...It’s not.”

“You were banned from Jersey?”

Starting there, okay.

“‘S what happens when yer products are a total sham.”

“I–yes, I get that, I just…I saw the commercials. Thought you figured it out, and not…”

“You saw the commercials?”

A pause, “Ah, well, yes. It was the only time I ever saw you.”

Something about that twists a heart or two. Neither of them can tell if it’s their own or each other’s. It doesn’t matter, really. It twists all the same.

“You went through Mount Tammany?” Ford continues.

“Headed towards Pennsylvania. Business opportunities and all that.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

Moses, they’re pushing towards seventy and still this awkward? What are they, pre-teens?

“Can you show me?” Ford is so quiet that Stan almost doesn’t hear him.

“Uh, what?”

“Just—you said you shifted into six fingers, so…” the shrug he gives is a little unlike him, but this entire conversation is a little unlike them. Too many emotions going ‘round in a circus display of some spin-top toy.

Well…not exactly where Stan thought this conversation would go, but it’s not a bad direction. Just show his brother that he can have six-fingered hands like he does. He’s done it before. It’s not the shift that holds a heavy weight behind it, but it’s the reason Ford’s even asking. He’s not gonna point out that Ford’s already seen him with similar hands before.

Stan tears a hole in the paper house, and he nods.

Ford watches with a gaze of…something. Careful curiosity is in there somewhere. Along with whatever else is racin’ through his damn head. Lots of things today, huh?

Stan doesn’t need to concentrate as much as he usually does with partial shifts. This one is something he’s practiced and done so often that it’s instinctual. In fact, he glances down and notices one of his hands already has six fingers. He shifts the other to match. Ford stares. He fidgets with his own six-fingered hands. They twitch like they wanna reach out. Stan feels that echo in his knuckles, his joints, the bones of his wrists and hands and even in his sockets.

Stan slowly reaches out first.

Ford spares a darting glance at his face, and he meets him halfway.

They hold hands.

The very much not-there-at-all tears glide down Stan’s face. Ford’s sniffling again as his breath hitches again. Quiet sounds flitter around the room. Little sounds. Sounds they won’t admit to making because that means admitting to crying over holding hands, and they sure as hell ain’t gonna do that. Doing that means facing the truth of how heavy it feels. Holding hands with your brother isn’t supposed to be heavy. He’s seen Mabel and Dipper hold each other’s hands, and they certainly don’t get weepy over it. Not that Stan would dare to make fun outta them if they did, no, he rather shift in and out of bein’ a fish a million times before he even thinks about doin’ such a thing.

Ford squeezes, and Stan squeezes back.

A deck of flimsy cards topples over and scatters across the floor in a whirlwind of sad old men and old wounds.

Little birds keep close together for winter.

A sparrow holds his brother’s hand, and it brings more comfort than he’d thought possible. Maybe the scared teen that drove through Mount Tammany heals a little. Maybe the lost kid that cried over his hands while stranded alone in his car starts to smile again.

A small, teary smile tugs at the corner of Stan’s mouth.

Taglist: @lost-in-thought-20 @thegoldenduckie @not-sure-what-im-feeling

#oatmeal ink pens #shifter stan au #gravity falls #stan pines #stanley pines #stangst #angst #part 2 #oneshot #hurt/comfort #inspired by the song Black Hole Fantasy by The Crane Wives

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hitlikehammers · 7 hours ago

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PART 2/2: in which lock-picking⛓️‍💥 is 100% a valid love language, and waking up with ✨Steve Harrington✨ was NOT the future (exactly. maybe. ish.)

...but waking up in a hospital bed just might be ♥️

<<< last time: And Eddie thinks that’s highly fucking debatable—he’s not sure where it comes from, because it’s a little out of place, Eddie didn’t say anything but maybe he’s just that transparent, the heart of him so quickly, so completely, and if that’s the case then it’s entirely fucking debatable because Eddie thinks he’s going to burst, splinter like a starburst, glorious in the unmaking for how big this thing that’s building in him feels, how certain he is that it’s about to break his ribs and he fucking looks forward to it, so no: Steve doesn’t love most because he can’t, because Eddie is overcome with this feeling and he, he— He’s drifting, because Steve’s heat is a heady fucking drug, and his heartbeat’s a metronome, a lullaby against Eddie’s back and it’s instinct, it’s unquestionable when he shimmies tighter into Steve’s hold and sighs the weight of the world out between his lips because… Because goddamnit, this feels right.

OR: y'know. Eddie thought he was dying in the Upside Down but then he's waking up in the future, in bed with Steve Harrington like what the fuck

Eddie comes to—again: un-fucking-expected—with the same sensation of his ribs snapping, the pain of it a dull thing he thinks he can just float through because his heart’s so gone on the impossible possibility of some future imaginary day where he, where Steve, where they—

“Eddie?”

Wait.

Wait, that’s…okay.

Back up.

He tries to take in what his senses are willing to offer him: something starchy, itchy against his skin, both sides—definitely not the sheets from the bed he’d just felt visceral underneath him. Pressure and aching at his chest: but less sweet the longer he focuses on it. Stinging and the pull of maybe-bandages, maybe-sutures, maybe both and something deeper, like…oh, wow, fuck, it’s entirely possible his ribs are already broken. His heart still feels full, but also scared, unsure, wrong-footed as more and more little clues seep into his consciousness, before maybe the clearest of them all: a shrill little beep that’s fast, like embarrassingly fast—

A monitor.

He draws a shaky breath—iodine, like, burning levels as he inhales and holy fucking shit, he’s in a goddamn hospital.

He’s, did he…

Is this what Steve meant, when he said ‘wake up’? Did Eddie…

Did Eddie fucking survive?

It’s in the spiral of that thought that Eddie clocks the same voice that jarred him out of his own head…in his own head, before. With the fancy sheets and the warmth and the home and—

What…what if it wasn’t in his head at all—

But his body, his pulse recognizes that voice as safety. As…rightness incarnate.

“Oh fuck,” and that’s the Steve Eddie knows best, right there, a little breathy and a little pitchy for frayed nerves and constant worry and the weight of the fucking world to make sure everyone—everyone else—makes it out as okay as possible.

And it’s in thinking that, that Eddie recognizes what Steve-in-his-headin-the-future-in-his-dream-in-his-maybe-not-quite-death-hallucination meant, when he’d said Eddie’s eyes softened. Because Steve’s heart on his sleeve, in his eyes, had looked peaceful, then. Content, even.

Not so frantic. Not so…scrambling.

Still just as blinding, though.

“Thank fuck, you’re awake,” Steve half gasps, a tiny clattering against the tile floor vying to draw Eddie’s gaze away but there was genuinely nothing in the whole goddamn universe that could take Eddie’s eyes off of Steve just now, those lips parted ever so slightly, cheeks that tiny bit rosy, pulse maybe-maybe-not visible just below the bandages on his neck.

He’s beautiful.

“What do you need?” Steve’s leaning closer, hands reaching but then kinda fluttering, kinda hovering, not sure where to touch and even if they knew the answer, kinda like they’re not sure if they can touch in the first place, yet all Eddie can do when he sees them, when he feels the shift in the air for how close they are; all Eddie can do is remember what it’s like to be pressed close to Steve’s body, to feel Steve’s arms around his chest, like they’re keeping him.

“What can I do,” Steve asks, so earnest and Eddie’s pulse does a little skip for it, how good it feels; “I—”

And Steve’s eyes are already big, just short of pleading, darting to the corners of the room maybe for water, maybe for a button to call someone to help more than he can—as if anyone can help more than Steve can, just now, because Eddie’s waking up from what it feels like to have Steve, and the most pressing possible thing in the world just now is SteveSteveSteve, near enough to feel, to breathe in—

Steve’s eyes are already big, though, is the thing, even before the full-on fucking crash of something to the floor makes him freeze. Eddie tries to peer down, winces as it pulls to much at…everything, kind of, Jesus H., but he hurts everywhere, and…

“The hell were you doing?” he asks in the absence of being able to see because…metal. Metal had hit the floor, from the height of probably-the-bed, after Steve had pressed into the mattress, shifted the weight, and then he’d blinked all owlish and adorable: culpability for whatever he’d been up to written all over his gorgeous fucking face.

“Umm,” Steve chews at his lip a little, eyes peeking up through his lashes, that look that makes Eddie weak and wobbly at basically every juncture it’s possible to tremble at like that, but he doesn’t duck away; he doesn’t even blush. He’s not…whatever he was doing—and Eddie’s range of motion is fucked, he’s already super well aware of that shit when he even tries to move to see the floor, to follow the sound—but whatever Steve was doing, he’s unrepentant. But in a way where he maybe recognizes that other people would have been less brazen.

Eddie’s wrist tingles out of nowhere—weird, when all of him is already kinda in a sort of dull, narcotic-shrouded pain—and he frowns, glances down at least that far and notices the slightest ring of red that’s less angry, not attached to bite marks and broken skin, and he has the wildest thought cross his mind just then, and he steels himself to crane his neck as far as he can, to limit the strain he’ll put on his middle because now he needs to see, because he kinda knew before he cut the sheets and ran into the fray that coming out on the other side meant life behind bars if there was any life at all, yet here he is, increasingly seeming like this is real, and this is his ‘other side’, and…

He’s just in a fucking hospital. He’s…he’s here, and he’s, he’s not…he’s not in fucking chains.

And it stings like a bitch, and Steve’s a second away from stopping him, reaching for him and pressing him safely back onto the the bed, but Eddie gets the glimpse he needs. Recognizes the shape on the floor, shiny steel against the scratched-up linoleum.

“Were you,” Eddie traces the ridges of his teeth with his tongue, because there are layers to what he’s about to ask; “were, umm, were you picking the,” and the first little clatter from before makes more sense if he’s right, and if he’s right, well, fuck.

It’ll be hot as hell, if he’s right.

“That?” Eddie tilts his head toward the floor because: cuffs. What he’d seen, what had fallen: handcuffs. On the floor. And they’d have had to have been not on the floor, and probably on him before, and so, he—

“Possibly,” Steve answers with a straight face, as unapologetic as ever, maybe more; maybe even defiant, and oh, wow. Steve Harrington picking his fucking handcuffs, setting his stupidly-quickly-lovesick ass free.

Hot as fuck; seriously.

“How positively criminal of you, Harrington,” Eddie grins half-maniacal, feels the stretch of it burn against a cut that’s gotta run half the span of his cheek but fuck it, the warmth flooding him is undeniable, is incredible—he’s giddy all of a sudden, straight to his bones.

“S’nothing on hot-wiring,” Steve shrugs, like it’s not fucking everything; “but I wasn’t,” and Steve takes a deep breath before he squares his shoulders, looks at Eddie straight-on and shit, if he thought the warmth in him up to now was something?

It’s kinda got nothing on what consumes him under those eyes.

“I wasn’t going to let you wake up fucking…shackled.”

And goddamn if the fire in that voice, those words, doesn’t light Eddie up like burning, doesn’t shake him to the core and then blanket him in sureness and the kind of protection he didn’t think really existed.

Save that he does kinda think it’s exactly what this man’s made of; made for.

And Eddie can’t escape the certainty rising in his veins and pumping, fierce and unshakable, that he wants—more than maybe anything—to be the one to give that same safety, that same promise of something unwavering and permanent and beyond question, right back to Steve.

“You’re an innocent man,” Steve leans in then, emphatic with it; “you’re a goddamn hero,” and he means it, holy shit, he believes that:

“Like hell I was just gonna,” and he shakes his head, like the idea is just that preposterous; like he cannot even consider anything but Eddie being free, and okay, and here, and…

Eddie’s struck with the sudden slap of realization across the fucking face that he couldn’t have gotten topside by himself. That someone had to get him from the hellscape to here. And of the able bodies in the Upside Down, no matter how strong the girls were, only one could have wrestled him through that gate. Only one could have…whatever he maybe needed, between this bed and that bat-strewn ground, it was, Steve would have been, he’d have—

The force his heart trips, then leaps with, is fucking cataclysmic. Eddie’s honestly surprised it doesn’t just tear out from his throat then and there.

“Plus they’re in the process of finishing the paperwork to make it all official, dropping the charges and all that, clearing your name,” Steve gestures vaguely in the air, like it’s all routine, the feds and the cops sweeping shit under the rug but then he remembers all the side comments he’d collected in the back of his mind these last few days about the ‘last time’ and then ‘the time before that’ and fuck all also the first time—

Maybe it is, just…sick and twisted and harrowing and heartbreaking routine.

“They’re just really fucking slow,” Steve smiles at him, all small and devastating and…

And okay, so that overwhelming urge to be a constant in Steve Harrington’s life, safe next to his heart kinda for always, zero to forever in half-a-blink?

Eddie knew he wanted, when he threw his vest at Steve’s bare chest more for Eddie’s own fucking sanity than anyone’s modesty, but it was all washed in the hopeless-helpless colors of desperation, of why not when I won’t see tomorrow; and now.

Now, all Eddie wants is tomorrow. Every tomorrow. No tomorrows without this man. Without what he saw, how it felt: what he knows in his marrow loving him would be.

It’s probably that conviction etching into his cells that makes makes him softer, a little weepy around the edges; drives him to need through the next words that escape:

“Steve,” Eddie breathes, wishes Steve were just that little bit closer so that the distance he can reach could reach him:

“Thank you.”

“Of course,” Steve waves him off almost, like he doesn’t think everything he is, everything he’s done is monumental. Not just the cuffs but with the cuffs like the cherry on top of how Eddie would—will, if he’s given the chance—devote all that he has and all that he is to making Steve happy. To making him as calm and warm and loved as Eddie could feel in that bedroom, in his head or in the future or on death’s fucking door.

“I mean,” Steve starts, and Eddie can already feel how he’s angling to downplay the thing that’s only swelling, building, growing under Eddie’s own ribs and, well: no.

No, Eddie won’t be standing for that.

“Stevie,” and Steve’s gravitated wordless just close enough for Eddie to be able to brush his fingertips against Steve’s wrist, to curl and pull his hand into Eddie’s grasp, palm splayed above Steve’s knuckles, holding. Keeping.

“Thank you.”

And Steve stills a little, stares at him like he can see what’s tucked up tight and dear in Eddie’s chest and maybe he can, because his voice is feather-light and a little bowled-over. A little…a little awed.

“You’re welcome.”

So yeah, maybe he can see what’s in Eddie’s chest, less tucked in this moment now than fucking, like…

Blooming.

“Do you believe there’s anything waiting when we die?”

Eddie’s gonna blame the frantic blossoming warmth coursing through him for the way he blurts that shit out with no preamble, like maybe the flowering wonder of it all pushes it out without permission, sweet on the back of his tongue but heavy because it matters so much; because it’s all just nostalgia.

For now.

“What?” Steve gapes a little, sounds dumbfounded; maybe a little wary. Fearful.

His hand’s still held under Eddie’s, though, so it’s only natural the way Eddie lifts his fingers and presses them palm-to-palm like it means something.

“Do you?”

“I…don’t know,” Steve swallows hard enough the follow down the taut line of his throat, fucking mesmerizing.

So maybe the way Eddie licks his lips before he says anything more isn’t…isn’t just for the sake of the topic and its weight, is all he’s saying.

“I,” and Eddie doesn’t really know where he’s going, here, or else: he knows exactly where he’s going.

He’s just not totally sure the path he’s planning to chart along the way for getting there.

“When we were down there, and I was telling you to go after Wheeler,” which yeah, okay, surprise direction there, weird little detour, but…it doesn’t feel wrong.

Which means, if it’s right instead: then that’s everything that is Steve in Eddie’s lungs for breathing, in the chambers of his heart. So he leans into it.

Squeezes Steve’s fingers laced together with his.

“Eddie,” Steve starts, sounds tired, spent, and Eddie was never going to let that happen; no matter where he’s going, or leading them down the path of his revelations, the truth etched new but also deep in his bones like it was only waiting to be found and known.

“It was because that’s what I wanted. For me. I wanted to,” and his breath catches on a little chuckle, so light and choked and a little hysterical as he adds, giddy and a little bashful all together at once:

“Unambiguously, umm,” and he trails a little, wants to hide behind his hair just a touch but to do that would require a broader capacity to move in the first place and more, so much more: it would mean letting go of Steve’s hand.

So: absolutely not.

Especially not when Steve’s gone full dropped-jaw gaping at him, his fingers in Eddie’s grasp twitching like he’s confused, like maybe there’s part of him short-circuiting, and Eddie feels his exhales tremble when he finally blinks, finally tilts his head and takes Eddie in at a new angle before he asks, genuine and not just a little lost:

“Seriously?”

And Eddie…Eddie’s actually never been more serious in his life, so.

“Like,” and he circles Steve’s knuckles delicate-like with his thumb: “I wanted the chance, to try, I guess, yeah.”

And he doesn’t know if he’s risking everything to own it, even if he’s owning just a sliver of the breadth and depth that he feels, but he does know unequivocally that he wouldn’t hold it back if given the choice, the opportunity to do it over and not show his bloody-beating heart on display.

A bloody-beating heart that’s moving quicker, slamming harder against his chest but…that actually feels like the only correct thing it could do. Because this merits it.

This kinda is his whole fucking heart.

“Do you still?”

It takes Eddie a longer string of seconds than he’d prefer to own to, to process the words as having meaning, no matter that he doesn’t fucking understand what they’re aiming at.

“What?”

“Want,” and Steve’s the one squeezing Eddie’s hand now, turning a little to graze at the line of his veins at the wrist; “the chance.”

And he says it deceptively casual, despite how he’s staring at their hands, determinedly not meeting Eddie gaze as Eddie gets his chance at the gaping.

“Fuck yes,” Eddie finally huffs on something not unlike unabashed fucking joy, save that this thing he’s feeling is so much bigger, and when Steve looks up, meets his eyes and his own glimmer, shine so bright and brim with such disbelief, but so much stronger and with such hope, Jesus.

Eddie can’t help the giggle that bubbles out of him. Like his whole fucking soul gets shaped into a single breath of exultant delight.

And they both hold to one another, trace across skin and map the lines and dots and scars, and Eddie’s not stupid, he knows this isn’t how it works but…

But he’d still bet money on the fact that the way he’s touching Steve, so innocent and so quietly intimate, is healing his wounds, shoring up his weaknesses and stitching him up fuller, better, breath by shared-sacred breath.

It’s heady as fuck. It’s exquisite.

“Why’d you ask me about when we die?”

Steve’s the one to break the still, and even that’s not breaking anything, really; he speaks so soft. He’s stroking down from Eddie’s thumb back and forth.

It’s not breaking anything.

“I saw something,” Eddie whispers, not sure what reaction that’ll get, and Steve’s staring at their hands again, marveling really, so Eddie can’t read any hint save for the crinkled furrow in his brow.

“But you didn’t die.”

Which isn’t the reaction he thinks he expected, even if Eddie couldn’t name what he did expect. And it’s also not a revelation he thought he’d receive.

“Not at all?”

Because he’s genuinely surprised. He at least figured he’d flatlined like…long enough to have visions of absolute and total domestic bliss and shit.

But Steve’s shaking his head decisively, holding on to Eddie just a little bit tighter.

“You had a pulse, whole way to he hospital,” he tells Eddie, voice gone a little hoarse; “it wasn’t strong but,” and Steve looks up at him, and fuck, those eyes are too shiny now and Eddie doesn’t want that, he doesn’t want his Steve to hurt, he—

“I fucking held you,” Steve croaks and oh, oh he’s shaking, Jesus—

“I kinda,” and he swallows with a click Eddie can hear, around a throbbing pulse Eddie can see, wants nothing more than to soothe with his lips against that tender skin; “I kinda had to make sure, so,” and the hand that’s not holding Eddie’s comes up, trembling as he reaches toward Eddie’s chest:

“Kept my hand pressed, just,” and his voice gives, and he looks up at Eddie with something like devastation, begging something like permission because he doesn’t know that everything that Eddie is, is his.

But he will.

He will know.

“Yeah?” Eddie breathes out, holds Steve gaze as he nods, as he tries to make it clear that anything Steve needs is his, and then some.

It takes a second, but the shine in those eyes finally shifts, finally brightens and then Steve’s breathing’s made of tremors, but his hand finds Eddie’s chest and sends something sparking like lighting through him just as the whole of Eddie feels immediately like he’s home.

And Steve’s hand on his chest feels exactly like it did in their future bed, in their future room, in their future life.

Their always love.

“Yeah,” Steve whispers, then takes a moment, palm splayed wide just above Eddie’s bandages, before he’s gripping Eddie’s wrist with the other hand a little harder:

“It’s so fast,” he exhales like it holds the whole world and then some; he wonders at just Eddie’s heartbeat under his touch and god.

God, but Eddie…Eddie couldn’t have imagined he’d ever feel like this. Let alone feel like maybe it’s mutual, maybe it’s real, maybe he can keep it and stay in this feeling for forever.

“Fuck yeah it is,” Eddie murmurs, then he chuckles, inhales deep maybe just to better feel the weight of Steve’s hand; “making up for the lost opportunity, y’know,” and fuck, all he wants is to be able to lean, to kiss the pout of those lips, to taste what it means to love somebody like he’s never done before.

“Making up for what it missed the last time your hand was there to feel it.”

And Steve’s hand above his thrumming heart twitches just a little, but never flags or makes to move, to leave, and Eddie thinks that he’d be fine if he lived the rest on his days with Steve like that, near enough that he could press a hand to Eddie’s heart at all times and just…just know that it’s his.

Because maybe it’s sudden—it’s definitely quick—but Eddie’s never known anything like he knows this.

“Eddie,” Steve finally whispers, a question and a claim and a means of cradling Eddie to his heart, somehow, for how swathed in light and affection Eddie feels in that moment, in just the shape of his name like it’s never been spoken before.

“I saw the future,” Eddie blurts out in a rush, breath coming a little quicker and heart-under-Steve’s-hand pounding harder. “Maybe. I don’t know, I mean, it sounds so stupid when I say it out loud but it felt so,” but then he looks into Steve’s eyes again and Steve is listening, Steve’s maybe doesn’t think he’s crazy, so he feels safe enough to say with his whole fucking chest:

“It felt real, Stevie.”

“What was it?” Steve asks, so quiet, so gentle like he doesn’t want to disturb this thing either, like he doesn’t need to hear it spelled out yet to know it’s delicate, the most important thing in the world, which fuck yeah it is, even as it cracks and chokes for the flood of feeling around it when it presses up from Eddie’s chest:

“Us,” Eddie breathes it out like the precious truth it genuinely fucking is:

“It was us.”

And Steve doesn’t say anything, but his eyes glimmer all the more, swimming with a riot of emotion to a degree than Eddie feels drowned in awe just to see it, and his hands on Eddie hold tighter, more fervent, devoted like a pledge for the way it runs through Eddie’s blood and sings in his veins:

“Even if it wasn’t real,” but Eddie’s doesn’t believe that, not really, not in his heart of hearts where it all pounds into the crevices that map Steve’s touch; “even if I wasn’t seeing the actual future,” and maybe he wasn’t, maybe that wasn’t their future, and maybe he’ll never know, but what he does know, is—

“It felt right, Steve.”

He knows that clearer than he knows the sky is blue.

“It was just a few minutes,” Eddie flounders a little, mostly because he remembers how good it was, written indelible into how much he wants, here and now:

“But I have never felt anything so right.”

He breathes, shaky and shallow and too fucking fast, but then Steve starts stroking his palm along the unmarked spaces of his chest, back and forth over the gallop of his heart like he means to stay there. Like he could ever want to keep.

“Well,” Steve whispers, his eyes on the path of his hand to make sure he doesn’t draw any pain—as if he ever could—until he knows the safe route over and back, again and again, and then he looks up, catches Eddie’s eyes and locks there, doesn’t pin so much as holds, holds, holds.

And good fucking god, Eddie feels it glisten through him like starlight; Eddie feels remade before Steve’s leaning in, lower than to meet Eddie’s mouth but then he’s pressing his lips to the dip between Eddie’s collarbones, holding there, breathing like he means to savor, like he means to cherish, like he means to, to…

To stay.

And Eddie’s heart’s under that hand and those lips all at once, wholly Steve’s while it quivers like a riot, while it leaps as Steve changes the world, writes their fucking future where his mouth drags wet and warm and ardent and there’s nothing in it at all that can be anything other than at least on the way to love as he breathes, fucking vows:

“We gotta try, then, don’t we?”

♥️

>>>also on ao3✨

for @penny00dreadful 🖤 still very fucking sorry it's this late

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @estrellami-1 @finntheehumaneater @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here @pukner @ravenfrog @sadisticaltarts @samsoble @sanctumdemunson @shrimply-a-menace @slashify @stealthysteveharrington @swimmingbirdrunningrock @theheadlessphilosopher @theintrovertedintrovert @themoonagainstmers @theohohmoment @tillystealeaves @tinyloonyteacups @tinyplanet95 @warlordess @wheneverfeasible @wordynerdygurl @wxrmland @yourmom-isgay @1-tehe-1

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#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #post-s4 #established relationship #soft domestic fluff #picking handcuffs as a love language #picking handcuffs as a turn on #both/all #future fic #but possibly not that at all #because this whole thing is probably just eddie's brain postponing the death thing after the bat-mauling #(in the dream/death-throes-fantasy eddie's indulging in a bed with Steve Harrington—or NOT how can anyone KNOW FOR SURE?!?!?!?!!)#the last thoughts of a dying!eddie munson #(PROBABLY; that WOULD make more sense)#(right?)#waking up in hospitals after being very sure you were dead? I don't know her #(100% actually I do know her)#not exactly how you'd expect but there ARE kids and there IS steddie caring for them #emotional hurt/comfort #happy ending #Falling in Love at the End of the World #But When You Stop The Apocalypse—IF You Live To See It—Then It's Just Falling In Love #stranger things #gift fic #penny00dreadful #hitlikehammers v words #hitlikehammers writes

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