#fun turned hurt/comfort

[stevebabey]

and on the final day on august (not where i am hehe) i bring you my fic for @thefreakandthehair summer fanwork challenge! my prompt was nightswimming, its steddie (duh) and she's a baby 2.2k piece <3 | ao3

— hold my hand and tread the water

The water ebbs around his ankles gently and the ripples move across the lake surface like black slicks of ink, twinkles of moonlight catching on crests of the small waves.

Steve swallows thickly.

Why did he think this was a good idea?

It's not Lover's Lake. He knows it's not— he knows that Hawkins and all its crawling rot, through roots and beneath lakes, is miles away from him.

Steve knows that even with the gate closed, if something slipped by- somehow, he can't think of how- but it doesn't matter, if it did, it surely wouldn't be able to reach him here.

It looks an awful lot like Lover's Lake in the shadow of night.

Steve blinks harshly and curls his toes in the sand, grounding himself by burrowing his feet into the soil. The sound of lapping water was once a sound of comfort, connected to a bout of nostalgia — the sort of comfort that can only come with a routine of familiarity.

Swimming used to mean... it was the exhilaration of the dive. It was the pleasant burn in his muscles and the blaze deep in his lungs as he held his breath as long as possible, pushing the limit every time.

It was the gasp, the relief of breaking the surface, a moment of loud noise before he submerged once again, muted rushing water the only sound. It was the long and solid strokes that he carved through water with. Swimming always used to to make him feel strong.

And now... there's this new fear rooted within him.

But, hell, there's lots of things that the years of fighting and surviving the Upside Down had taken from him. Steve will be damned if he adds swimming to the list.

"—Steve?"

Eddie's voice is suddenly beside him, right in his ear, and Steve flinches, dragged abruptly from his wandering thoughts. He tears his eyes from the swirling lake surface to find the other man beside him, brown eyes searching with that glaze of concern. There's a furrow in his brows. Steve feels the warmth of his hand before it lands on his shoulder, tentative and wary.

"Are you okay?" Eddie asks quietly, like speaking any louder might spook Steve more. He has this tone to his voice, the one that Steve thinks might be reserved just for him. He hasn't heard Eddie use it on anyone else. His usual loud and raucous voice, so normally used for jeering and loud heckles, completely softened.

It softens Steve every time Eddie uses it.

"We don't gotta do this tonight, if you don't wanna."

"I want to."

The words rush up his throat and stick a little on the way out. Steve clears his throat and digs his feet further into the sand.

One of his hands creeps up his chest til his fingers brush against Eddie's own hand, still holding his shoulder. He meets Eddie's gaze for a moment before an intensity seizes his chest and that recognizable lurch in his heart forces his gaze away.

That lack of courage is new too. Though, that's one thing he can't seem to blame on the Upside Down.

"It's the last one." Steve murmurs, eyes back on the lake ahead of them. Faint crickets fill the orchestra of the night around them, an occasional frog tuning in with a ribbit! Something splashes in the distance.

It is the last one. The last fear to conquer to reclaim back that piece of himself. Through out their whole silly and impromptu road-trip, they've pushed that slimy fear further and further down in Steve. Burning it away, making it smaller, til Steve was feeling bigger and better. They started in a pool, in the daylight, Eddie's open palms and soothing eyes coaxing him back into the water.

Here is the end. The last one. A lake in the night time.

Steve can feel the fear curdling in his gut, the tenseness in his muscles, every single instinct that's kept him alive for the past five years screaming at him to not get in. He feels like a house of cards, ready to topple in the slightest breeze, just drinking in the sight before him. Eddie's hand on his shoulder might be the only thing keeping him steady.

He could leave, could avoid swimming during the nighttime, could retract into himself every time that sticky fear licked up his spine— bringing back memories of vines tight around his ankle, pulling, tugging, drowning him, and— Steve clears the memory with a violent twitch, muscles jumping in their tenseness.

He's so sick of being in survival mode.

Eddie's fingers on his shoulder flex, gifting a comforting squeeze. Steve can see the chipped black polish on them in his peripheral, bare of their usual rings, prepared to swim because Eddie always gets in with him. They always swim together. God, Steve's not sure what he'd do without him.

Steve swallows again, the stone is his throat budging this time as the want surges up deep in his chest; he wants to make some goddamn new memories too.

"Can you..." He murmurs, finally turning his head to peer at Eddie beside him.

"Of course," Eddie answers his unvoiced question easily, beginning to wade into the lake a little further.

The water sloshes around his ankles, climbing up his calves, and Steve's gaze drags up with it, lingering on Eddie's milky white thighs. There's another tattoo there, a sphinx-like character, curled up and stark in it's dark colour against his pale complexion.

Steve hadn't been able to hide his staring the first time they'd swum together — a tiny bright-tiled pool in a motel, one or two states back — completely entranced by the swirling ink and the bareness of Eddie's thighs.

Eddie had caught his gawking with a smug sort of grin and ribbed him for it, tugging the fabric of his swim shorts up higher to show off the full piece. Mercifully, he didn't point out the flush it brought onto Steve's cheeks. Steve had apologised, both for his staring and for doing it in one of the more improper places, but Eddie had only given that wicked beautiful smile.

"M'used to stares, Steve." He said, not nearly as bitter as Steve thinks he's entitled to be considering the man-hunt set on him. "You don't look at me like them."

Looking at the stretch of his thigh now, tattoo partially hidden away, Steve ponders Eddie's words to keep the itch of panic at the back of his neck away. What had Eddie meant? Just how he does look at him?

Some girls like long looks, like feeling eyes raking them up and down hungrily but most of them like skirting glances, always glancing away if they've caught Steve watching. Eager glances at thighs and down chests are certainly not encouraged. It's a game of back and forth. One can't be seen to be too eager, too ravenous.

Except for, Eddie seems the complete opposite. He catches Steve's keen gaze, he spots the staring and relishes in it — like Steve's attention is something is something divine and Eddie will drink in all he can get.

It doesn't feel like it's a prize the way it did in high school, girls vying for King Steve's attention. It feels... Eddie makes it feel like something to revere.

"C'mon, sweetheart." Eddie croons, beckoning Steve into the lake and away from his distracted thoughts. He's got his hand outstretched, palm up, calloused fingers relaxed and inviting Steve to hold them with his own.

He does. He's not sure when it became a thing, holding hands — probably sometime when they upgraded from pools to rivers and lakes — but Steve's grateful for it. Eddie's fingers blanch beneath the tight grip but if it pains Eddie, he makes no move to show it on his face.

Steve grips tighter. When Eddie drifts back a step, the dark water licking an inch higher on his legs, he lets himself be pulled along. Step by step. He keeps his eyes ahead, even as the other peers down into the dark water momentarily.

Eddie gasps and a jolt of fright fires off, deep in Steve's gut. He clutches Eddie's hand tighter and Eddie's head pops up, squeezing Steve's hand back.

"Fucking chilly, is all, okay? My balls are freezing, Jesus. H. Christ."

He does this silly little hop like it's going to help the chill of the night-time lake-water. It's a funny enough sight that Steve doesn't try to stifle his shaky laughter and some of his panic melts away with it. He still doesn't look down.

Eddie scrunches his nose up and then narrows his eyes at Steve. "You're laughing now."

Steve sticks out his tongue — and bites it harshly as the water sweeps up past his waist, submerging his swimming trunks and everything below. Fucking hell, it is cold. Eddie wasn't lying.

As far as each of their swims have been — there's been six altogether, or seven if you count the high bath they took together, which Steve doesn't — this one is going smoother than what he's come to expect. There's still that prickle down his spine, like ice ghosting atop his skin, but Steve can shake it in a shiver.

The water looms higher, swallowing the plains of his stomach and Steve can feel his neck craning up, trying to get taller. Still, he takes the next step. And the next.

Suddenly, there's a brush against his leg— scaly and mucky and he knows it's not what he imagines it to be but there's no clamping down the instinct built in. His heart slams in his chest and his practiced even slow breaths transform into rapid bursts, this dread clawing deep into his gut. Steve can feel his hackles rise, knows his hand must be twisting tighter and tighter in Eddie's grip.

It all shows as a minuscule reaction on his face. Steve knows because Robin told him once—regarded him with that crinkled look once when the panic attack had crept up on him during a shift, then uttered an oh shit! once she realised what was happening.

You're too good at that. She'd told once he'd managed to calm down, head between his knees in the employee room out the back.

What?

Good at hiding it. Robin said, nudging his shoulder. He can't tell from her tone it's a good or bad thing. Maybe, it's neither. You look so calm all the time, even when you're panicking.

Eddie's come to learn the signs too. The specific pinch in his eyebrows, the twitchiness of his lips.

"Woah, woah, hey, hey," He brings the two of them closer, no longer leading them out. Eddie's dark eyes dart across his face, a wrinkle in his brow as he tries to soothe. "Just a stupid fish, nothin' to worry about, you're good."

His hands travel as he speak, shaking off Steve's tight grip to slide up his tan arms. Steve's hands shoot out, desperate to hold something, to cling to something, his big hands enveloping Eddie's wrists as the other rubs gently at his biceps. Fingers curl around the tanned skin and beg Steve closer, beginning to sink down in the water as he does.

"C'mon, you're safe." He murmurs and Steve, hanging onto tight, sinks down with him. The water climbs higher, lapping at his collarbones. Steve clings tighter, clenching up in preparation. "S'just you, me, and the fishies."

"If you think that's all that's in here, you know even less about lakes than I thought," Steve grits out.

"Shit, really?" Eddie asks. Then after another moment, "You think there's crocs in here?"

"You didn't even check?"

Eddie's grin rivals the moonlight, cheeky and delighted. "Course I did," Then he scoffs dramatically, tossing his head back. Some of his hair hits the water with a splash. "Can't believe you don't trust me at all, after all this time together."

A sly smile fights to reach Steve's face; he lets it win. His panic isn't dissolved completely, just lingering in the back— but it's been beat out by his interest in conversation with Eddie, in the strange flirt they keep seeming to do.

"I don't have any trust in you at all since you picked Motel Evergreen and—"

His words get smushed beneath Eddie's palm, warm and soft against his mouth, as the other boy narrows his eyes. "Shut your pretty mouth, Steve. You promised you wouldn't bring that up again."

Even as he threatens, Eddie's eyes light with a mirth and there's that glorious grin on his face and oh god, Steve wants to kiss him.

Like a vacuum, the panic sucks out of him in a single moment as the tide turns and his nerves turn to that. Fuck. Eddie's hand slips from his face, nervous he's gotten too close, too touchy. And, well, Steve's always been one to wear his heart on his sleeve, so he says;

"Make me."

Something glitters across Eddie's face, a bewilderment dipped with glee. For a moment, his expression shutters as he tries to comprehend what's been said. What's been offered.

He lands on an astute, "What?"

Steve sinks into the lake and kicks off the bottom, water swishing as he starts to tread water. His feet kick and he has half a mind to spray Eddie with a face full of icy lake water but he's got that doe-eyed exuberance that Steve adores, like he's daring to let himself believe what Steve's saying.

So, instead Steve holds his hand out. He treads the water and says, "I said, make me."

Eddie doesn't waste another second.

[starry-bi-sky]

more cfau miscellaneous things because Childhood Friends Danny and Jason have my head and heart always and I need to finish rewriting chapter two dammit (and redo the half-finished chapter 4 because its just Not The Vibes). i'm almost through I need to get through the graveyard scene. (i just stubbornly refuse to have it be shorter than the original chapter and thats the little death. that is the mind killer.)

Danny and jason’s ghost forms both smell faintly like burnt flesh and cigarettes. However, Jason has a more smokey smell while Danny’s smells almost,,, electrical? In a sense? Like he just straight up smells like burnt flesh and sulphur while Jason smells like someone put him in a smoker first.

It’s very much an unpleasant smell but Danny finds an odd comfort in it just as much as he finds a comfort in the smell of nicotine.

(Jason post-revival smells burnt flesh once and is immediately offput by the fact that it brings him an instinctive comfort. He doesn’t realize its because it reminds him of Danny, and is uncomfortable by it.)

-

In an au of an au, Danny’s altercation with Rath ends with Rath regaining enough of his sanity to snap out of the grieving state and ends with him breaking down. Instead of being souped and imprisoned, Rath, who is permanently 14, decides to Move On into the unknown. He’s exhausted, heartbroken, and tired.

(Is this influenced heavily by the ParaNorman scene where he talks to Agatha and helps her move on? Yes. But it doesn’t fit with the Original Storyline so im shoving it into an Au of an Au.)

Rath tells Danny that Jason lied to them (which he genuinely believes), and that he’s tired of waiting/looking for him/grieving. Jason is gone. He isn’t coming back, he abandoned them. And he wants his mom and dad, and his sister, and his friends. And he’s ready to join them.

He leads Danny out to Gotham, which other than Amity Park might’ve been the only city left untouched due to Rath’s own mental block on the place. They go out to the park he and Jason used to frequent or up to one of crime alley’s rooftops, and there Rath lies down and goes to sleep. Only to never wake up again, materializing into nothing as his soul moves on.

Before Rath leaves, he forces Danny to promise him that he’ll only wait for Jason for ten years. After that if he doesn’t find him, or if Jason doesn’t show, then Danny has to move on. Whether that be like how Rath does, or if its inly mentally/emotionally, doesn’t matter. He has to move on. Don’t wait for him. Don’t waste his time any more.

(“Oh, and if you find him, kick his ass for me.”)

Danny reluctantly agrees, and Rath lies down. Danny sings to him as he falls asleep.

(Angsty points if the vigilantes including Red Hood caught wind of their presence and were silently watching from the shadows. Rath might know they’re there, but Danny’s too focused on Rath to notice.)

(If only so that Red Hood realizes that this is what happened to Danny, and that Danny is gone before he can make things right. The tragedy, folks. The angst. The initial realization that Danny was Rath, and then also that Danny was dead and has been dead for years, and that before he moved on, he moved on believing that Jason abandoned him.)

(like i said it doesn't fit in the original timeline/storyline hence why its an au of an au and isn't nearly a fleshed out, but i was largely just focusing on the tragedy of Rath moving on and Jason being alive to see it and realize just who Rath is.)

-

Just like how the Lazarus pits shot Jason's twiggy 4'6-5'4 (depending on what you find) feet tall and 86lb ass up like a tree an essentially fixed his malnutrition, the portal did the same thing for Danny.

(granted i forgot about malnutrition and danny's likely stunted growth at first -- his family lived in crime alley and despite both his parents working, I don't think they had enough food all the time. He probably wasn't as badly malnourished as Jason was, but he wasn't healthy either.)

Granted his ghost in its "natural" state (14) is short, and his growth spurts were slow at first, it did result in him reaching his dad's height. There were points where it just happened overnight, like a baby. He went to bed one night 5’6 and woke up the next day 5’10.

Jazz is shorter than him. Although I have't decided if she's even liminal at all (and if she is, it didn't cure everything because she would have also suffered childhood malnutrition, and since in au canon their parents didn't get their hands on physical ectoplasm until after they got to Amity Park. So the exposure is less.)

-

Danny's voice absolutely sounds like canon Dan's. It kinda just dropped one day when he was 16-17 and never went back up. Sam and Tucker sometimes ask him to just talk about anything because they find his voice soothing.

I'm not sure yet how Danny would feel about it at first considering Rath, but I imagine that Rath, when he did speak, would have had a quieter and scratchier/weaker voice considering he's spent the last decade shrieking and crying.

(and i suppose technically that shouldn't have any effect on his throat considering he's a ghost and idk if that would actually affect him, but i like the idea so im keeping it)

In the beginning you could hear him from a mile away by the sound of his loud, echoing wails, but ten years later you can only really hear him by the soft, shuddering sobs he makes. Like he's gasping for air that isn't there. The future is full of very quiet survivors.

And it's much easier to speak when you pitch your voice upwards (especially when whispering/speaking quietly) so he might've spoken in a higher, airy pitch in order to be heard. So Danny might actually find a comfort in having a lower voice.

[collegeboysam]

parkinson's can cause lung issues (the chest wall becomes stiff and muscles weaker, which can cause a lot of coughing) so maybe being given the dark gift stopped the advance of the disease but didn't erase how it had already affected daniel's body to that point. armand, your fledgling is sick. daniel needs you. armand. armand please.

[skyward-floored]

Whumptober Day 5: Debris, Pinned down

Wind and Four <3 ...and some unplanned characters. This changed a bit from that one wip I posted!

Warnings: the title stuff, broken bones, and a teeny mention of blood.

Read it on ao3

————————————————————

“Anybody over here?!” Four shouted, squinting through the smoke and dust blowing through the air.

Nobody answered him, and Four kept walking through the huge piles of rubble, the tight knot of worry in his chest only growing.

The Links had been hunting down a group of monsters who’d reportedly been stealing and stockpiling bombs, for what, nobody knew. They’d traced them to an old patch of ruins, and engaged, taking out a large chunk of the group without much difficulty. But when the monsters realized they were rapidly being exterminated, they’d decided blowing them all up was the best way to stop them.

That had led to a mad dash to get out of the ruins as they’d exploded around them, but the Links had been separated while escaping, and hadn’t realized until the dust had settled.

They’d quickly split up to look for their missing members, and Four had been poking through these particular ruins for what felt like forever. His worry was growing with every minute that passed where he didn’t find anyone, and he looked nervously at a few larger piles of debris. He’d gone by several really large piles, so big that if anyone was under them he would have no idea they were there, and he’d debated trying to move them more then once.

But what good would it do? If anyone is under them, there’s no way they’d even be...

Four’s eyes suddenly caught on a distant scrap of color, and his heart jumped at the familiar shade of blue. He bolted to it, nearly tripping in the debris field between, and bent down to pick up the torn patch of cloth.

It smelled faintly of the ocean.

“Sailor?!” Four called, but heard no reply, and he continued to search around a particularly large pile of debris, listening intently for any sign of life.

He continued to call the sailor’s name, using both Wind and Link, but he had no luck until he turned a corner into a more closed-off area.

And saw a shock of blonde hair, coated in dust that shone in the sunlight.

“Wind,” Four breathed, and bolted to his side, trying not to panic at the huge pile of rocks the sailor was under. He reached down to put a hand on his only visible arm, and gave it a light shake. “Wind, can you hear me?”

A groan came from Wind, and his eyelids slowly flickered open, face twisted in pain. His expression was twisted in confusion as he looked around, and his one free hand clenched at the dirt as he obviously tried to move without thinking. Then his face went white as he bit back a cry, and Four felt his worry triple.

“Sailor, easy, stay still,” Four soothed, heart in his throat, and Wind looked blearily up at him.

“...Smithy?” the sailor whispered, letting out a cough. “Is that... you?”

“Yeah, yeah it’s me,” Four replied, looking again at the large rocks covering most of Wind’s body. “Are you okay? How... how badly are you hurt?”

Wind was silent a long time, and looked to be thinking rather hard about the question.

“...I can’t move my legs,” he said quietly, voice taut with pain and barely-hidden fear. “A-at all. They’re stuck under everything, and... my arm is pretty busted up too.”

“Is there any part of you not incapacitated?” Four tried to tease, and Wind let out a laugh, though it broke into a pained cough a moment later.

“This arm, I guess,” he said tiredly, and Four swallowed, and began to feel around the stones, trying to figure out which ones, if any, were loose. But everything seemed solid and stuck, and Four looked helplessly at the rubble. There was no way he was strong enough to move any of it.

Then he squared his shoulders, and began pulling at the rocks that seemed the least load-bearing. Wind wasn’t going to get free if he just sat here, and hopefully his power bracelets would be enough to unpin him.

Wind stayed mostly silent as Four worked, sometimes letting out a quiet cough. At some point he began to hum, a quiet, rolling tune, and Four could tell it was to distract himself from the pain by the way it occasionally hitched. He hummed along once he figured it out, and tried not to despair at the absolutely tiny pile of rocks he’d managed to move.

He wasn’t making any progress.

“...Smithy?”

Four looked over at Wind, who had paused in his humming, and for some reason seemed paler then before. “Yeah, Wind?”

“I... I don’t think you can get me out by yourself,” he whispered, and Four shook his head and went back to scrabbling at the tiny, looser rocks. “You’re gonna, ha-ave to find someone… else to help.”

“I’m not going to leave you here,” Four replied sharply. He wouldn’t even entertain the possibility. Leaving Wind to go get help might have been what his logical side was telling him to do, but his emotions were horrified he was even considering it.

What if I leave, and I’m too late, and he’s all alone when he...

Four felt a touch on his leg, and looked over to see Wind giving him a pleading look, his single uncovered arm clutching at him.

“Four. I’ll be okay until you get back,” he said, a faint smile on his lips. “You gotta…”

He coughed again, and Four reluctantly paused in his digging, crouching down and taking Wind’s hand in his.

“Look, Wind, I don’t… I don’t know how much longer you have,” Four admitted quietly, and Wind let out a thick chuckle.

“Long enough for y-you to get help,” Wind promised, a drop of blood falling from his lip. He met Four’s eyes, and the Smithy was struck by how much trust he saw in them. I’ll be… okay, Four. Sailors’re tough. Go.”

Four leaned back on his heels, and looked at Wind again, studying the dust in his hair, the pained twist to his expression. Wind actually resembled himself quite a bit he realized, their hair nearly the same color, faces a similar shape. Their noses were even remarkably close, and as Four looked into his eyes, he suddenly felt like an idiot.

“Oh sweet Nayru, why on earth did I not think of this sooner,” he gasped, and quickly reached around to grab for his sword. “I have a solution Wind, I might not have to get anyone else after all.”

“...how?” the sailor asked in confusion, and Four held up his sword.

“Watch.”

Rainbow light shone brightly from the blade, and Four saw Wind squint against it as he split apart, the dust in his hair lighting up with bright colors. It quickly faded, and Vio dropped next to Wind, immediately setting in on studying the situation.

Red sat next to him, nervously holding Wind’s hand, and Green and Blue waited, one more patient then the other, for Vio to finish thinking.

Wind stared between all of them, blinking like he couldn’t believe his eyes, but his shocked faded soon enough, replaced by a look of dawning understanding.

“Oh. Four. I get it...” he snickered to himself, then his breath caught on a laugh and he winced.

Red squeezed his hand again, and Wind shakily squeezed back.

“Okay. I believe we can do it,” Vio said finally, standing up. “If two of us wear the bracelets, and are helped by a third, we can lift the rocks while whoever is left pulls Wind out. I think we have just enough strength between us.”

“Well then let’s go!” Blue said, cracking his knuckles. “Red’s gonna be the one to pull him out, right? Makes sense for him to do the easy job, he’s noodle-armed.”

“I am not noodle-armed!” Red cried, and Wind let out a faint giggle.

“You’re strong in other ways Red,” Green said patiently. “And actually, I was going to suggest Blue pull him out.”

“What? Why?!”

“Because you can easily pull him out while the rest of us move the rocks, and if you end up needing to be quick, you’ll do it even if it’ll hurt him,” Green said, meeting his eyes. “Now let’s go, Wind’s not getting any better.”

Blue grumbled, but agreed, and Vio and Green each put on a power bracelet. Red stood next to them while Blue crouched beside Wind, and the three of them began pulling the largest rock upward.

Wind’s breathing got shakier as they pushed, the rock shifting slightly. Small pebbles bounced, and dust billowed up into the shaft of sunlight as they lifted, slowly, carefully, straining as they pulled the huge stones.

Blue stayed as close as he could to Wind, waiting for the space to widen enough to pull him out. The sailor’s eyes were squeezed shut, lips trembling as they pulled, and Blue shifted uncomfortably as he saw a tear fall down his cheek.

See? Red would have been better, he grumbled to himself.

“Get ready Blue!” Green grunted, sweat beading on his forehead, and he, Red, and Vio all gave a concentrated push, lifting the stones up just enough to create a space above Wind.

Blue moved quickly, grabbing Wind under the armpits and pulling him out without jostling him too much. It didn’t seem to matter though, since Wind cried out the moment he tugged him, but Blue ignored the noise, and kept pulling until the sailor was all the way free and a good distance away from the rocks.

“He’s clear!” he shouted, and the other three parts of himself attempted to put the rocks down as slowly as possible, so nothing would collapse on top of them all. Something grabbed at Blue’s hand, and he realized Wind was clutching at it, breathing heavily as tears trickled down his face.

Blue looked away, and squeezed back.

The others dropped to Wind’s side a few moments later, and Green immediately began fishing in his pouch for something. Red’s face was pale, and Vio remained silent, studying the sailor as he breathed shakily.

His other arm was definitely broken, that much was obvious. Something seemed a little off about the way his lower chest looked, and his legs remained limp, Vio swallowing as he looked at them. He wasn’t sure if the others realized exactly what was wrong, but he wasn’t planning on telling them unless it was absolutely necessary.

“Here,” Green said, and pulled a fairy from his pouch. “This... this should do it.”

I hope.

Vio nodded, and Green opened the bottle, the glow of the released fairy making the tear tracks on Wind’s face glitter. The little creature made a beeline for Wind the moment she saw him, and chimed in distress, then swirled around him in tight circles, concentrating near his legs and spine like Vio had suspected.

Wind exhaled heavily as she finished, and the fairy chimed again, bobbing gently by his cheek, then flitted away into the sunlight.

“Wind. Can you move your legs?” Vio asked, and Wind scrunched his face up in concentration.

He managed to lift them both a little ways, and all of them sighed in relief.

The fairy had done her job.

“Think she didn’t get my arm all the way though,” Wind said with a wince, but he was noticeably less pale then he had been, and was already trying to sit up. “Guess she had to focus on my legs.”

“That would make sense,” Green said with a smile, and helped him sit up. Wind clung to him a little tightly as he assisted him, trembling slightly, and after he was upright, Red leaned over and hugged him.

Wind let out a shaky breath, his eyes glittering, and the others drew near and hugged him as well, even Blue and Vio.

“Thanks,” the sailor said into Red’s shoulder, voice smaller then normal. “Thank you Four, th-that...”

“Of course, sailor,” Green replied gently.

Wind swallowed, and didn’t say anything further.

They stayed there and hugged him for a long time, Red’s shoulder damp where Wind’s face was pressed to it. None of them really wanted to move, shaken and trembly after everything, but eventually Wind pulled back and wiped his face, and the colors helped him stand.

They looked at Wind, then around at each other, and wordlessly grabbed their swords, fusing back into one. Wind watched in surprise, but only asked a few questions before going quiet again, his normal exuberance obviously dampened by pain and leftover fear.

Four put an arm around Wind to support him while they walked, and they set off to rejoin the others, the sailor humming the same rolling tune as earlier.

Four joined in, and the debris around them quietly echoed the song.

[gotyouanyway]

i just love the idea of narvin seeing "torvald's" strange behaviours and justifying them to himself over and over, ignoring his own better judgement because it's torvald, how could he be untrustworthy?? how many times did he dismiss it as post regen trauma before he started to get worried either for torvald's utility as an agent or about him personally? just how badly did narvin think the regeneration went that torvald seemed to lose a bunch of memories, abilities, personality traits? and was he sympathetic or did it just piss him off

[erme-aeterna-arts]

going through the screenshots and this was the first time my wild magic subclass durge turned everyone in the vicinity into animals

oh that run astarion was sooo used to being turned into various beasts by the moment of the sentient cheese incident

he also has at least one reaction to being set on fire by those random magical effects like what in the hells darling and the darling in question doing the most pathetic eyes ever in response

anyways i still like wild magic for durge for narrative reasons and i like to think that as the adventure progresses the party becomes more used to these magical outbursts and develops strategies for dealing with those in battle

for example having potions prepared, some tactics tried-out for quickly dropping the spell like biting your friends-turned-cats to transform them back or a practiced reaction against the newly summoned mephit or cambion, for lae'zel or astarion to take them out as soon as possible so they wouldn't hurt the party sorcerer

because for durge, who already always feels one wrong move away from losing control, always unstable and unmoored, it is not just the magical effects that are triggered, i imagine them looking around every time to make sure all the companions are alive- was it the magic or the urge slipping between their fingers and greedily lashing out? and that's why they get distracted mid-battle. they never really explain what sets them off but the party (and definitely astarion, since he has most details about the urge) have correct enough assumptions about the causes

[jrueships]

I WANT WRITING PROOOOMPTSSSSSS

[the-insouciant-scientist]

Takes a break from writing the actual plot of a fic to start writing a frame narrative in the form of an entire fairy tale within said fic

[harringtonswriting]

the one with the birthday surprise | s.h.

summary: the day before your baby boy's birthday party, you and steve make a startling (but not entirely unwelcome) discovery as to just how much he takes after his dad (modern!au; spidey!steve universe; dad!steve) pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader word count: 3.4k warning(s): fem!reader; allusions to reader giving birth (not in detail); language; allusions to sex (none depicted or described in detail) notes: this lovely anon asked for dad!spidey!steve, so here you go! i hope you enjoy :)) this was originally written as a present for the lovely emma (@sunshinesteviee), who loves this universe as much as i do <3

...

“What do you think, bub? T-Rex or Triceratops?”

Loud giggles fill your ears as you hold out the two different cookies, one in each hand. Each one is decorated in colourful icing, which you’d spent all morning doing with the batches of cookies sitting on the kitchen counter for the birthday party you were throwing tomorrow. Your tiny toddler, little Jude the almost birthday boy, is sitting on his booster seat at the kitchen table and patting his hands on the placemat in front of him.

“Mama!” he’s calling out for you, and you walk closer to show him the cookies in your hands.

“Which cookie do you want?” you ask again, and Jude’s large, warm brown eyes crinkle at the corners as he inspects the two cookies you’re holding out. He seems to be weighing his choices, and you can see the tip of his tongue poke out between his lips as his hands slow their tapping.

He makes a snap decision, reaching for the cookie in your left hand. “T-Rex, please!” he cries, lisping slightly, and you hand him the cookie. He starts to chew on it, and you’re glad that you made the cookies softer than normal as you watch him eat. You put the Triceratops cookie back with the others like it before you take some rubbermaid containers out of the cupboard to start putting the cookies away.

The sound of the shower turning off and the squeaky bathroom door opening and closing sounds through the apartment as you’re snapping the lid on the container. You put it up into one of the cupboards.

“Sounds like Papa’s all done getting clean,” you tell Jude, but he’s too focused on his cookie to pay any attention to what you’re saying. You’ve seen the same intense look of concentration on your husband before; it’s normally reserved for when he’s trying to fix his webshooters, or when he’s stitching up his suit, and Jude has absolutely inherited that from his father. He looks so much like Steve, with your husband's sweet brown eyes and more than slightly untameable hair, and the resemblance is getting stronger all the time.

Within a few minutes Steve is walking into the kitchen, and you turn to see him. His still damp brown hair is hanging in his face, getting droplets of water on his glasses and the shoulders of his yellow sweater. He’s also wearing the salt and pepper joggers that were normally reserved for late night Spidey runs for junk food or anything you needed; those had become less frequent once Jude was born, but with how cold the weather is this winter, you’re not surprised your husband has broken them out to wear around the apartment. He’s also got some mismatched fuzzy socks on his feet, ones you recognize as your own, with the little non-stick bumps on the bottom so you don’t have any slips or falls.

“Someone looks extra gorgeous today,” he says, and you can’t help the smile that stretches across your face. He returns it, bigger and brighter, pushing his hair back out of his face. “Is this all for me, pretty baby?”

You roll your eyes, though your cheeks feel warm at the praise. Steve never hesitates to remind you how much he loves you, all of you, and it never fails to fluster you. ��It’s all for Robin,” you tell him as he walks over to the kitchen table where Jude is nearly finished with his cookie. Steve makes a face. “I’m meeting her to go shopping for Jude, remember?”

“Last minute shopping? She does this every year,” he tells you. Jude finishes eating, finally noticing his father is here and clapping his hands in greeting. Steve reaches out to pick up the toddler and pull him up into his arms, which has Jude squealing in delight. “Good morning, bub! You look happy today.” He does; Jude is always happy to see his dad, and it always makes you melt to see the two of them together, all soft words and happy noises that you’ll never get tired of hearing.

“Hey, she just has a few things she wants to get. And we’re also going grocery shopping. We need enough food to be able to feed everyone.” All of the kids are driving in from Hawkins to spend time with you two in the city to celebrate Jude, plus all your friends in the city will be stopping by at one point or another. Steve’s been excited about it for weeks now, his mood even more cheery than usual. It’s been nice, seeing him so happy, and if it’s anything like last year’s party you’re going to need to get enough to feed a small army just for Dustin, Mike, and Lucas. Thank goodness for Costco.

You walk over to him and Jude, and press a kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth. “Can you finish putting up the rest of the decorations in the living room while I’m out?” you ask, and Steve hums his affirmation as he bounces Jude lightly in his arms and presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. “It's all in the boxes by the TV. Need to get everything put up before everyone comes over tomorrow.”

“We can definitely do that, right, bub?” he asks your son, who’s busy licking his fingers now that he’s finished his T-Rex cookie. You push the sleeves of Jude’s little blue sweater up his arms and brush his hair out of his face while Steve bounces from foot to foot. When you’ve finished, while your son is distracted, you move to put on your coat and pull on your purse from where it had been sitting on one of the kitchen chairs.

“I’ll only be a couple hours at most,” you tell Steve. This is when Jude, having gotten most of the sweet sugary icing off his fingers, looks up and sees you bundled up and ready to head out. You smile at him while Steve walks closer. “Hey, baby. You’re gonna have so much fun with Papa today, and I’ll make you some spaghetti for dinner when I come home. How’s that sound?”

Rather than answering you, Jude grabs your face in his hands, his palms and chubby fingers are still sticky with the last remnants of icing that he hadn’t managed to clean off, and he presses a kiss to the tip of your nose just like he’d seen Steve do earlier. You grin, pressing your own kiss to his tiny little nose, and you relish the loud, unabashed laughter that bubbles up from your baby boy. His hands pat your cheeks, a little rougher than you’re sure he intends, before he lets go.

“Be good for Papa, okay?” You keep your voice soft, using your index finger to tickle his tummy. Jude nods, loud peals of laughter ringing through the kitchen. You give him one last kiss on his chubby cheek before you move to get your boots on at the front door.

“Be good, Papa!” he says, and he waves his little hands at you as you leave and close the door behind you.

…

You know this is going to be a big birthday because, while out shopping with her, Robin tells you twice that Jude is now old enough to be fun while opening gifts; he’s finally interested in them enough to grab and hold his presents on his own (most of the time) and to rip off any wrapping paper. Which means that you know she’s gotten him too much; everyone did last year, since he’s the first baby out of all of your friends, and they love him and his huge amounts of personality. Dustin especially gets a kick out of Jude, and he’s always down to play games and be as silly as possible with the toddler. You're sure you have hours of videos of the two of them together, which you've sent to Dustin's mom at Steve's request.

Thankfully, you’re able to get what she needs and make it through the massive hordes descending on Costco without too much fuss; Robin had to keep her elbows up to wade through the crowds and clear a path for you, and there’d been a bit of a scuffle with an elderly lady over the last of the chocolate oranges on sale, but you got almost everything you need. You drop Robin off at her place with a big hug and a promise to see her tomorrow, before you’re heading back to your apartment. You leave the presents you’d picked up in the trunk for now, just to keep them out of Jude’s sight until you can wrap them without interruptions, and grab the groceries before you make it back to your place.

“I’m home!” you call out after you open and close the door. You toe your boots off, leaving them a bit haphazardly by the front door as you walk into the apartment. You can hear soft music and the low hum of Steve’s voice coming from the direction of the living room, so you drop the heavier bags onto the table and keep one in your hands before heading into the room.

You were expecting them to be sitting on the couch, reading one of Jude’s books or watching a movie on TV (Eddie had given Jude a new Elmo movie recently, and your baby had not been able to get enough of it). Or, maybe they were still putting birthday decorations up, having gotten busy eating some more cookies or sneaking some of the cupcakes you'd made for tomorrow (which you’d caught Steve doing yesterday, claiming Jude talked him into it). Hell, you would even be expecting the two of them to be facetiming with Dustin or Max to talk strategy for beating the others at the party games you'd gotten before you’d find out what Steve and your son are actually doing.

It takes a minute for you to realize what’s happening, because while you can see that the TV is turned on and an oldies music channel is streaming some from previous decades hits, the living room is empty. Or, well, there’s no one sitting on the couch or the floor near the TV or the big living room window. You can see that the decorations you’d asked Steve to put up are all out, and he’d also done some vacuuming and dusting as well. Jude is a big fan of the duster, and you can imagine Steve letting him use it on everything that wasn’t super breakable.

You hear Jude’s giggle, which you’d know anywhere because it’s very quickly become one of your favourite sounds. It’s coming from the living room, which you’re currently in, but you don’t see him. You’re very confused, until you realize that the giggling is coming from above you. So you look up.

You drop the bag in your arms. You very vaguely register the sound of glass breaking; that’ll be the pasta sauce you bought for dinner. You blink once, then once more, hoping this isn’t happening. It is. And you’re not having spaghetti for dinner.

Steve and Jude are here, all right. Sitting together on the ceiling. Steve is cross-legged and Jude is beside him, mirroring his father's sitting position. By himself. They’re both sitting on the ceiling and Steve isn’t supporting or holding Jude. Jude is sticking to the ceiling on his own. Both look absolutely delighted with themselves, hair askew and cheeks flushed pink with glee.

“Say surprise, Mama!” Steve says, waving at you, and Jude giggles and waves too.

“Surprise, Mama!” he repeats, his words a little jumbled. You feel faint. Your baby is sitting on the ceiling. Steve on the ceiling? You wouldn’t bat an eye. That’s how you get cobwebs down, and it’s how you painted the ceiling last summer. Spidey powers come in handy sometimes. Not right now, though. Jude, though? This is not what you wanted for his birthday, or any day. You don’t know if you’re proud, or terrified, or angry, or maybe a mix of all three. Or maybe something else.

Steve seems to realize that you’re not saying anything, just standing in the middle of the living room while red pasta sauce oozes through the cloth grocery bag on the floor. This is obviously not what he was expecting as he looks sheepish and shrugs his shoulders. “Surprise, babe?”

“Oh my god.” The words sound weak to your ears, and Steve’s eyes widen before he pulls Jude into his arms, carefully flipping down off the ceiling to land on his feet. He’s careful to mind the bag of groceries and the small puddle of sauce forming on the floor, and pulls you over to sit down on the couch. You let him, still a bit stunned at the idea of your son crawling around on the ceiling by himself. Jude is wriggling in Steve’s arms, reaching out for you and calling out for you. He manages to kick Steve in the abdomen, and he winces as he passes Jude to you.

As soon as Jude is in your arms, his little hands find your face and he starts babbling happily about his day and his time with Steve as he presses kisses to your cheeks. His hands aren’t sticky like they were earlier, but the feeling of his hands grabbing at your nose brings a small smile to your face as you look down at him. You’re still in your coat, and he moves to play with the material on that while you check him over. He seems absolutely fine; he’s wearing a yellow sweater now, the one you’d bought him to match with his dad, and his hair is freshly washed and brushed back out of his face. He doesn’t have any bumps or bruises, which brings you some relief as well; not that Steve had ever let Jude get hurt before, not on purpose, but you also didn’t know your son was part spider too, so maybe he also inherited Steve’s knack for injuring himself. God, you hope not. Patching one of them up constantly was bad enough, you don’t want to have to do it for both of them.

You look up and Steve is cleaning up the spilled sauce; the bag is no longer on the floor, and he’s got a roll of paper towels and some cleaning wipes while he kneels on the floor to get it all taken care of. “Hey Jude, can you do earmuffs for me please?” you ask, and Jude complies by covering his ears with his hands while he buries his face in your chest. You then hiss out, “What the fuck, Steve? Why was our baby on the ceiling?”

“Well I was putting up the decorations like you asked, and you know it’s so much easier to get the banner up if I do it while I'm on the ceiling,” he explains, gesturing wildly with his hands. He accidentally flings a glob of sauce back onto the floor, which he starts to wipe back up. “So I got up there while Jude was watching the Muppets, and I swear I took my eyes off him for two seconds and then boom! He’s up there with me. Holy shit, right?”

You sigh, tapping Jude on his head. He removes his hands from his ears and goes back to playing with your jacket. You’re getting much too warm to keep it on, but you don’t move to take it off while he’s playing with it. You would much rather he do this than crawl back up onto the ceiling. How are you supposed to baby proof the walls to stop him from climbing them? This is going to be a problem, and you can already feel the headache settling in behind your eyes.

“He’s like me, babe! I mean, we both knew it might happen, but he’s just like me!” The joy in Steve’s voice is extremely apparent, and you can’t blame him. God, Steve looks absolutely radiant right now, all smiles and glowing skin in the warm light coming from the lamp in the corner of the room. He’s radiating pure warmth and joy, looking so sweet and happy at the thought of Jude taking after him in yet another way that you really can’t find it in yourself to be mad at him for this. It’s not his fault that apparently DNA-altering radioactive spider bites are genetic; it’s not like you knew anything about that either, so really, who would have predicted this?

Steve tries to take Jude from your arms, but the toddler pushes his dad’s hands away. Steve’s eyebrows furrow and his mouth drops open as Jude’s arms wrap around your neck and he snuggles closer to you. You laugh at how offended he looks, and Jude copies you.

“I am literally a superhero; I’m Spider-Man! Why am I not his favourite?” He tries tickling Jude, but your son climbs higher up in your arms to get away from him while shouting at his father to stop.

“Steve, he’s too young to understand who Spider-Man is,” you tell your husband, and you lean over to kiss his soft, pink lips where they’re pulled into a pout. He kisses you back, though he grumbles through it.

“This is blatant arachnophobia and I will not stand for it.” You roll your eyes, getting up off the couch.

“Not what arachnophobia is.” You settle Jude on your hip, his hands fisting in your coat as you bounce him gently and walk towards the play area you have set up for him near the TV. You notice Steve has tidied it up a bit, and you smile. “Do you wanna watch Bluey, Jude? Want Mama to put on Bluey for you?” Jude squeals loudly, shouting the affirmative, and you ruffle his hair gently before you put him down on the soft blanket set up on the ground. He immediately latches onto his favourite stuffed animal; it’s a large, fluffy stuffed black cat that Eddie gave you and Steve for Jude at your baby shower. It looks so much like Ozzy, right down to the yellow stitched eyes, and Jude always has to have it with him. Eddie brags about it every chance he can, stating that he’s training Jude to love Ozzy. You tell him to wait to indoctrinate your son into his cat cult until he’s at least in pre-school.

You grab the TV remote from the coffee table, changing it from the music channel so you can put on the first episode of Bluey that you see. Jude yells out happily, and seeing him laugh and wiggle and shake his stuffed cat makes you smile. You pull your coat off, which Steve takes from you without any words, and you look at Jude paying rapt attention to the tiny Australian dogs running around. You really hope this keeps him distracted for a while, long enough to figure out what to do about having a tiny Spiderling for a son.

You then swear you’ll never refer to Jude as a Spiderling out loud because Steve will never let that go. Neither will Robin, who you’re sure Steve has already told about this. Tomorrow is going to be an adventure.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the feeling of Steve’s arms wrapping around your waist, and the warmth of his front pressed to your back. His chin hooks itself on your shoulder as he presses a kiss to the side of your neck. You melt into his embrace, leaning back to have him support some of your weight. “Y’know, I think we need to make another one so I can be that one’s favourite.”

You laugh, pinching the back of one of his hands with your fingers. He squeezes you tighter in response, not letting go. You tell him, “Steve, do you know what your son did to my body? Do you remember that? I deserve to be loved.” Which you know he did; Steve was never shy about how much he worships you, how much he loves all of you and every inch of your body, both during and since your pregnancy. He always made sure you knew how grateful he was to have you, every single part of you, and helped you fall back in love with yourself and how you look.

“And if we make another one, I can show you just how much I love you,” he murmurs, his nose nudging the soft patch of skin behind your ear. “Many, many times.”

Jude shouts out something at the TV, getting up to dance with his little cat, and you think maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.

Well, until you realize you somehow have to clean his little footprints off the ceiling.

[izzydaninja]

Summary:

"Basically: 'Five Times Zane Helped the Others, and One Time He Couldn't.'

When my guard is down... When I'm not feeling well... When I get lost on how... When I lose myself... When I'm stuck with no way out... And when you saw we fell..."

[mamawasatesttube]

HALLOWEEN FIC >>>>>>>

it’s actually so good I’m screaming sobbing losing my fucking marbles omg I love it <333

want to stick kon into the microwave until he’s not cold in the middle and then hug him ;-;

also, i’d like to present you with a very low res goober the squirrel as an award for your fabulous work <33

THANK YOU!!!!!!!!! kon definitely needs to be hugged and also microwaved this is true. im glad you liked it!!! i haven't really written much horror before at all so i was really just winging it on this one gdhfkd

and thank you i cherish him. i love a low res creature

[fragglerockopinions]

The worst thing about suffering is that it still hurts when the danger is over but no one cares about it anymore because it shouldn't hurt. No one will ever say "I'm sorry that happened to you" especially when they barely say "I'm sorry that's happening."

[starlooove]

Reading isn’t enough I need to start beating white ppls asses

[nouseryetlol]

Been brain rotting a lot these days about the idea of a whumper being forced to hurt Whumpee.

Whumpee being a completely random bystander grabbed for the sake of Whumper's torture, essentially being an innocent bystander dragged into it.

Whumper who refuses at first. Maybe they're squeamish, maybe they don't do well with gore or blood, maybe they just don't have it in them to torture an innocent person. All that earns the two is a comparatively more hellish beating. The guilt gets so overwheming Whumper gives in, not for themself but as a mercy to Whumpee. All the while the guilt eats them alive.

Whumper and Whumpee starting to grow a bond, Whumper maybe even acting as a Caretaker in a desprate attempt to make up for the pain they caused, despite not being able to do much at all to make it stop. Fleeting moments of gentle touches and soothing words after torture sessions before Whumper is dragged back to their own cell.

And the dynamics after rescue! Does the trauma bond between Whumper and Whumpee keep them clung together? Maybe seeing the other is too painful for them, whether it's the gnawing guilt or the fear of pain that comes with seeing their face. Maybe a friendship that grows into a bitter resentment as they stay together, being all the other has but all it becomes is a painful reminder of their hell. The possibilities are endless.

Honestly I'm just a sucker for characters with guilt complexes.

[trollbreak]

< read some hurt comfort, caught up with the story again, and now is itching for a particular flavor of dynamic but doesn’t have the fortitude to build it up

[catcatb0y]

This is the same op. The same post. Just edited.

I entered the notes expecting a TERF block list, but I was instead greeted with thousands of accepting and understanding queer people echoing the initial statement. Butch lesbians loving being called 'boyfriends', casual women enjoying "dude," or "bro," or "man," people embracing he/him lesbians, an abundance of love for drag kings, and people being incredibly supportive of gnc and genderfluid people.

But the edited post. Is TERF bait.

Like, taking it at the value that it's at (we should hate men because they can fuck with gender but we can't) is outrageously hypocritical??

Misandry (a predjudice/hatred of men and masculinity mirroring that of misogny) is not going to solve the demonization of masculinity within the queer community- which is a large part of WHERE the issue originates. The queer community and the non-queer community have two vastly different divides (which is important when considering the 'legitimacy' around discussions concerning misandry)

The reason [non queers] push or accept femininity in gay men is because of misogny, because it allows them to push a homophobic stereotype of gay men being 'basically women' and therefore [basically (lower than) men]. Gay men reclaim this stereotype by embracing said femininity, but that does not exempt them from the misogyny that they face as gay or gnc men*.

Because of that misogyny outside of the queer community, the people who use femininity to demonize gay men are appalled by the idea of using masculinity to empower queer women.

If this were the standard case within the LGBT community, it would already be rectified by the very people who have claimed to create a community haven.

But it's not.

Because the LGBT community has created a reactionary space based on the same principals that demonized them, but in reverse.

The reason that LGBT people aren't accepting of he/him butches or drag kings or masculine gnc women is because a large part of them has pushed out that masculinity and created a stereotype of femininity being the epitome of comfort and queerness. Gay women who attempt to co-opt any sort of masculinity are demonized by the (fear) of [the patriarchy] in the form of men, and their femaleness does not exempt them from the bioexistentialist misandry that has been birthed of TERF ideology*.

Because of, what's boiled down to radical reverse misogyny (which leads to reactionary misandry), the people who use femininity to (humble) and claim gay men as "safe" via are appalled by their very own Peak Of Goodness (women who are Pure and Good, who Only Love women who are Good and Pure) co-opting the very thing they have claimed to build a haven from.

(*It's the same principle in reverse. Feminine gay men still experience misogny, and masculine gay women still experience misandry. There is no predjudice that ONLY harms it's attempted target. Ergo: misandry would NOT help gay women who want to act masculine or to be a man.)

Misandry and butch lesbians cannot coexist. Misandry is the thing that gets trans women assaulted in women's bathrooms. Misandry is the thing that gets transmasc nonbinary people turned away at the door to queer spaces. Misandry is the thing teaching young lesbians to parrot "All men suck," like 'Polly wants a cracker'- because wild concept. Women- espeically wlw- who don't like men. Won't be welcoming and accepting of people like them (women (who love women)) co-opting the language of the people they hate.