#liability imagine

[chloesimaginationthings]

Michael knows FNAF Moon is a lawsuit waiting to happen

[brynn-lear]

"If you want to keep yourself in one piece, you better treat (Y/n) with respect."

(Yandere!Capitano/Reader)

Prompt: You, cursed to live as an elderly woman after losing a bet to Alice, decided to live your best life by watching thrills as the assistant of the most powerful man in Teyvat: Capitano. However, it seems that with you, he would gladly walk at a slower pace. (Tl;dr, you're Capitano's Harbinger!Sophie from Howl's Moving Castle)

Link to the fic: here

[local-hellhound-steals-spaghetti]

Watching Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron again as an adult is so great because not only do you appreciate the nostalgia and joy of it, the stunning 2D animation mixed with early 3D techonology and well written tight story with a main character that never speaks.

But also you appreciate that the plot relies on horses, despite not being typical talking horses in cartoons, being extremely intelligent to the point that they are aware of their captivity and exploitation. And it involves a hyper intelligent horse dismantling (or, at the very least significantly delaying) American colonialism's expansion into the west.

This horse also very likely killed many colonialists when they were either launched at high speeds from his back, kicked in the head or blown up in a train explosion.

Good for him.

[wastingawayinmyroom]

@rosekillermicrofic - prompt: falling - word count: 235 - warnings: mcd

The first time Evan asks him to dance, it's on a balcony, outside the crowded club, and Barty is powerless to say no.

"Just like that," Evan whispers in his ear, as they move their bodies together. There is no music outside; they don't need it.

The invent their own beat, their own melody. They create something new. Just like they created the bond between them.

Barty feels himself falling deeper and deeper into the blue of Evan's eyes, the subtle roughness of his voice, and he's powerless to say no to that, too. He doesn’t want to, anyway.

He feels himself smile. He doesn't know if Evan can see, since the sun went down ages ago, but he knows Evan can feel it, and he feels Evan smile back too.

...

The last time they dance, it’s in the kitchen, the warm glow of evening sunlight filling the space.

”You can’t do this forever,” Evan whispers, lips brushing against the shell of Barty’s ear.

Barty doesn’t want to acknowledge that. “I can. I will.”

Evan shakes his head, the movement slight and subtle. “I’m already gone, Barty. You need to let go.”

His voice is soft yet confident, and Barty finds himself wanting to bottle the sound. “Then what?”

Evan smiles. The light dances across his forehead, and he leans in. “You live, love. For me, hm?”

And when Evan Rosier, the beloved fragment of his mind, disappears, Barty realizes he is powerless to say no to this too.

[tswwwit]

Does this mean there’s some TLC producer frothing at the mouth to get familiarAU Dipper on My Strange Addiction? Bc if I saw a dude was married to a killer rocket launcher robot my first thought would be “wow, he really should not have that.” But also my second thought would be “wow, that guy’s a real pervert”

You absolutely know there is! The hard part is getting Dipper to agree to show up.

[enobariasdistrict2]

why did everyone deadass act like gloss and cashmere going into the 75th games together was normal. they are brother and sister. if i was kat i would be thinking "what the fuck are they going to do if they're the only two left/if they have to watch the other die." literally any character in the games should have been thinking that. even the capitol didn't seem to acknowledge that fact (despite how upset they were over peeta's fake kid). and the siblings themselves acted like this was just a normal hunger games and they were a normal career alliance like ?????

[mail-posting]

also thats not talking abput the random commissions he took up to get money and how the employers of those were anf the resulting exhaustion of doing as many as he could a day lest he fucking die but. you can guess i think

YEAH.....

[motordyk]

there is nothing that makes me quite more suicidal than fucking something up or not doing something at all than “you’re a grown adult” wow thanks I didn’t fucking notice. Did you know that I have a mental block that prevents me from understanding literally anything in simple terms

[nightmarearian]

I can’t be the only one whose like. A little bit surprised Wriothesley wears a tie. Not cause he’s like not-formal or whatever, but like.

A piece of fabric around someone’s neck that practically doesn’t really do anything except be a free handle to grab at??? In The Fortress of Meropide???

It does look nice and help with negative-positive space for his chest, design wise ig but like. Hm.

D’you think he eventually started wearing ties a few years into being administrator?

[spiribia]

also i remember when i first heard still alive (i didnt know anything else about the games) i was imagining like a small sad scientific mouse or something. recently i was like it would be funny to make an OC animatic but it never happened. she has a bone arm because in my mind this scenario happens after she wakes up from some kind of science explosion. get it literally a lab rat.

[brynn-lear]

Sugar Pills (Yandere!Capitano/Reader)

Questionable Overview: You're getting real tired of Dottore's theatrics. Which is a great shame, considering how it's only now that Capitano learns the value of surface acting and masking. (from my series: #Capitano's So-Called Liability)

CW/Tags: there is no "real" age gaps since this is a Howl's Moving Castle scenario, slowburn/soft yandere themes, afab!reader, mild violence. While this fic isn't "too dark", the reader isn't mentally stable. Please prioritize your mental health first, you matter.

Prev || Next

When coming up with a proposal, you've learned that it's best to approach a harbinger when they're in the middle of an arms race. It's been ages since you've applied this knowledge, but luckily, dusting off memories of yesteryears isn't challenging.

"Can't even spare me a proper welcome?" You yawned, dropping a beaten and dead fatuus just inches away from an unforgettable metal-laced shoe. The sound of their empty vision clunked on the hard floor. "I might not be as much in the spotlight these days, dear, but isn't it good manners to greet your elders properly when they visit?"

The aforementioned shoe brushed the body away. "Hah. You make a terrible habit of flaunting that cosmetic age of yours."

And yet, there you stood, glaring with a smug head up high. No ordinaire can don the demeanor you flaunt in front of the second-ranked harbinger. You'll always keep the cloak-and-dagger act. Dramatics are second nature to those who earn their keep through blood money. You only saw it right to greet him with a more appropriate entrance. Bold and unfaltering in resolve.

"And you have a great habit of looking younger with each passing day," you feigned a chirpy tone. "Isn't that right, Doctor?"

Behind a crow's mask, crimson eyes bore holes into your very being.

Since you received that "birthday present" from him, he had sent out men to secretly nag you behind the Captain's back. They ask you why you haven't taken the medicine at best and attempt to drug you at worst. This rendezvous had been going on for weeks. Enough times that could manifest anger and murderous intent out of you until it did.

After reaching the limit of your patience, you murdered the last person to spike your perfectly fine water, took his vision and portable waypoint, and teleported to his master harbinger's base. Too much work just to get someone to stop pestering you.

The feeling is mutual. Il Dottore— the last of his perspective— also found your presence troublesome.

The second-ranked harbinger spent his "free" time in a painfully bright, pale room. He likes to dub this phase a "recovery state." Typically, there would be plenty of "him" to go around— but striking a deal for a gnosis always beckons a great deal of self-sacrifice. Or self-sacrifice-s. 

Hence why you pushed to visit him this instance. Despite his placid demeanor, you're confident he's eager to prove that there's a method to his madness. Oneself is always the greatest competitor. 

A proper arms race. 

"You know very well that I do not take youth as a compliment," he retorted, though his tone was considerably friendly. He made repeated tapping motions on his armchair, almost impatiently. "What trivial matter have you dared to interrupt my brainstorming session with? Speak now— I'll let you know I'm engaged with matters of greater significance."

"I've done my due diligence of personally replying to your last letter." You glared down at your last victim. "Consider this my thanks."

Without tearing your gaze away, you fished the medicine from your coat and threw it at his chest with all your might. The bottle shattered on the floor.

Greatly "offended" by your rude antics, Dottore defeatedly abandoned his scrawls and turned to properly look at you.

"You decided to skip the pills. How delightfully reckless of you, Granny (Y/n)." He sardonically smiled.

At least he has the decency to name you correctly.

You rolled your eyes as you approached. Once you were just a foot away, you stabbed the corpse's head once more with your cane's pointed base— the force harsh enough to splatter the livor mortis flesh and brain matter on the floor of his beloved laboratory.

What an unnecessarily extreme scene, befitting of your old title.

"I grow tired of your games, Zandik." You spat back. "Must you constantly send your men to make futile attempts to lace my food with your de-aging concoction? I don't appreciate discarding their bodies— much less some perfectly fine meals."

If Capitano were here, he would've made a vague comment about how your value on human life is concerning.

But he doesn't have to know about this interaction.

"You complain about my work, yet I vaguely recall an era in your life in which you'd routinely wake up screaming like a rooster in the morning." Dottore shrugged and pointed to himself. "And who provided you with a cure-all for those night terrors? Go on. I would be enthused to know."

You crossed your arms. The jaded look in your eyes heightened his interest. Hence, Dottore stood up, his footsteps crunching the shattered glass strewn about.

"Let me wager a proper hypothesis for this ...irrational behavior. A possible psychological or existential leaning toward death may be at the root of the patient's ongoing resistance to the recommended treatment." He craned his head like a bird inspecting its prey. "In simpler terms for meager minds like yours to understand: you're not accepting my charity since you wish to die. Is that right?" 

Dottore is a reasonable man. Disarmingly charming, even.

This particular segment just hates you.

You smiled back, returning the same malice.

"Who knows?" You tapped the beak of his mask. "Doesn't matter. I didn't come here to get psycho-analyzed. I came here because I want to strike a deal."

Dottore paused.

"I had a prediction that you would ensnare me with a gambit. No small wonder that Omega has found you a captivating individual, (Y/n)."

Many miss the fact that the good Doctor has a "seductive" air about him. He has a charisma that people will either dismiss in fear or fall victim to. You're part of the secret third group— the coworkers immune to his antics.

"Yes, well, I do pride myself on hosting the best picnics by the meadows of Ardravi Valley." You spoke, voice oozing with the same playful banter you once reserved for his deceased copy. "I've got no abundance in lifespan like you. I'd dare say I'm selling myself at a very limited-time offer."

However, this Dottore was not the one you befriended. This was his murderer.

"Playing the card of wisdom with that appearance may fool the world, but you can't dissuade me." Dottore clicked his tongue. "Are you mimicking Sohreh?"

What a surprisingly plain question.

You shrugged. "Am I?"

Feigning impassivity while he could, the Doctor placed a hand on your shoulder.

"Talk."

"I've only one wish, which is for you to stop being such a nuisance." You scoffed. "What can I do to get you to stop trying to make me your side experiment, Doctor?"

Intuition rarely fails you. You knew that this was a matter that could be reasoned with. The problem is that you needed to figure out what your bargaining chip would be. But by the look on his face, he had already sorted that out minutes, maybe even months, before you arrived.

His hand that once hovered on your shoulder slowly snaked towards your neck.

"I have a proposal," Dottore spoke softly.

You hardened your expression. "Spill."

"I can assist you in experiencing that honorable death you craved so much— at the right time and place." Using his thumb, he applied mild pressure against your throat. "However, I'll need you to befriend the upcoming tourists in Natlan."

You blinked.

… What a strange request.

"Befriend… The tourists?" You grabbed his intrusive hand, yanking it away. "What are you on about?"

"Under favorable circumstances, I would have had a copy extract these, but the old conventional tools are unavailable."

"But why?" You raised an eyebrow. "Dear, I just can't quite wrap my head around why this is the gamble you're betting your chips on—"

"And that is precisely why The Tsaritsa dubbed you La Ruffiana and not a respectable title," Dottore smirked, chuckling lowly. "Hence, I'll gladly elucidate you with brief guide questions in a language you're sure to comprehend."

"I'd rather we both save time by revealing the answer, pronto."

Since you had forgotten to let go of his wrist, he used your grip to pull you closer to him.

"Tell me, (Y/n), during the Sumeru fiasco…" With faces just inches away from each other, he tilted and teased your ear with his breath. "Who, indeed, served as the paramount subject in my quest to engineer a being that transcends even the might of the archons?"

… Who?

You placed a hand on his chin to create a respectable distance. "Child, I really hate to say this, but the world doesn't just spin around you and your little experiments. I wouldn't know a thing about that poor, nameless puppet you're on about. But if I had to take a wild guess, you're talking about that man you went and turned into a sorry excuse for an All-Knowing God, aren't you?"

Dottore grinned, baring his sharp teeth.

"I perceive that our memories from that period have been tampered with. Nevertheless, your hypothesis remains merely superficial. There exists an individual whom I regard as the genuine subject of this experiment. Would you toss one last conjecture?"

…

You let out a strangled air, unable to properly articulate your disbelief.

It's the traveler. Of course, it's her.

Dottore aspires to transform humans into gods, yet his attempts have thus far been in vain. Save for one young woman who sought refuge in both Mondstadt and Sumeru, all subjects have perished during testing. In your days as a harbinger, you've watched others toil over the vulneraries and prosthetics the Doctor would jam into them. Your visit to certain hospitals by the desert is your testimony to his apathy. He is driven by relentless curiosity, never pausing for the ethical implications of his research, but would spend hours on the feasibility of his experiments.

You were relieved when you heard he used an inorganic lifeform in his last experiment. But if that was a mere dud, then…

"Don't tell me— all this time, your real goal revolved around how the traveler could ascend into Godhood?" You gawked. "So whatever that puppet was, is nothing more than a self-fulfilling prophecy in failure? Your experiments in blasphemy will always find new ways to make me utterly sick."

You flinched as Dottore caressed your cheek. It wasn't the contact that shocked you.

It was the respect in his eyes.

"Hmm... About a year ago, you'd make conscious efforts to bite your tongue. I must remark that I am fascinated with the concerning spike of confidence your senile age brings."

"Things change." You mocked him. "You should try growing older. About a year ago, I wouldn't have this deal with you, too."

With that, the verbal contract was set into motion.

"We'll keep in touch."

He pulled away.

You scoffed. "If I believed in Celestia, I would've prayed you'd become a decent person."

"How unfortunate that you'll need a stronger God to achieve that ambition," Dottore laughed. "And materializing a stronger God is precisely part of my current objectives."

This heretic.

"I see now why you and Capitano are far too different to be colleagues."

You glared.

"Have your glory. You may receive everything— the ego in victory— the spoils of war. Celestia may even watch you steal the blessings of ascension. But you have no honor. You live with no happiness."

You grumbled while you walked away. The erratic sound of your cane reflected the rhythm of your anger and disgust. Before you left, you gave him one high note to end on.

"You dance with no music."

As soon as you were out of the vicinity, Dottore quickly returned to his near-incoherent scrawling.

"I'd rather be a fool who performs for no one," he grinned, his stomach tucking in from stifled laughter. "Than a blabbering grandmother scared of sugar pills."

"(Y/N)!!!"

Upon your supposedly quiet return to the inn, you were greeted by a pair of large hands squeezing your cheeks with trembling worry.

"I told you to call me Granny—"

"Where have you been?!" He tilted your head, inspecting for wounds like an incompetent father. His strength would usually cause grief, but you've grown used to this. It's a sensation that's hard to hate.

His hands are rough but not unkind.

"When I awoke, I realized you were not in your room." He spoke, evident that he was reeling himself from rambling. Been a long while since you saw his long and gorgeous hair this messy. "Had I not instructed you not to wander alone without one of our men at your side."

The inn's staff whispered among themselves while his men stiffly avoided gazing at you two. You cringe at everyone's bloodshot eyes. There's more room to pity the Natlan locals— they didn't ask to be involved. Capitano ordered a search party this late on your behalf when there was zero need for it. The attention was getting embarrassing.

You should've known that he'd notice your absence.

Damn it. You were barely gone for half an hour.

"Steel yourself, child. I don't need your men to coddle me." Months have passed, and he has yet to accept that you do not have a respectable position as a personal assistant. "I can wander around Natlan as safe as I please, kid. Are you seriously doubting my strength?"

That dirty tactic sobered him up.

"You know that isn't so." Capitano sighed, letting you go. "I know you're plenty capable, however..."

"Need I remind you that before the incident, I was originally the Harbinger tasked with retrieving the pyro gnosis?" You shook your head, feigning disappointment. "You should know by now that I've studied this place's typography and wildlife. No encounter could shock and harm me— even with these old bones."

"It's precisely why I worry over you," Capitano glared slightly. "With your curse, you could've been marked by foes out there."

"I didn't go anywhere far. I was just sightseeing."

"That explanation doesn't wash. I saw the glow of a portable waypoint when you came back."

… How observant. That's the first ranked harbinger for ya, you supposed.

"Okay, maybe I went home for a bit, so what?" You pouted. "It's a bit too warm in here for my liking."

The inn's staff immediately froze up.

"N-Not that it's bad, of course!" You laughed nervously. Ah, shit, let's not involve them. "It's my fault 'cause I didn't raise that concern with them. Old ladies such as myself are so stubborn. Hmm, hmm!"

Gradually, Capitano relaxed.

"I understand. At least, I'll choose to understand your fib for now."

"Not quite out of the cage yet, am I?" You joked.

"Not at all." Capitano exhaled softly, a hand barely covering his gentle smile. His voice made it painfully apparent that you're off the hook.

He's such a terrible liar.

Before you could comment on this, Capitano reached out his hand.

"Come with me." He wagged his fingers towards him, beckoning you to come closer. "Let's continue our conversation somewhere private."

Out of the 11 harbingers and those who had come and gone, you know Capitano the most.

"I didn't realize Natlan nights can be cold." You spoke thoughtlessly.

He stared at you blankly. "Cold enough to prevent you from running back home, clearly."

"Ah."

And likewise, he knows you best as well.

You digressed in an instant. "Why did you bring me here, Little Captain?"

You stood by a cliff, staring at the quiet night in the humble town. There's a noticeable increase of guards on patrol since the Fatui arrived in Natlan, but with Capitano as the lead, you saw no reason for their alarm. Obviously, Capitano didn't bring you here to make that observation. Judging from how his stare is on the ground and not the beautiful sight, public perception is pushed at the back of his mind.

"Your cane…" He whispered.

"What about it?"

"You forgot to wash the blood away."

Inspecting the cane without lifting it, you realize what he meant.

"Oh."

"Who was it?" His voice sounded a bit more stern.

Your eyebrows furrowed. "Who was what?"

There was a shift in the air.

"Who attacked you?"

…

You laughed uncontrollably.

"W-What?! Pfft— puh-lease! No one attacked me." You poked his helmet. He stared you down, unamused. "No-bo-dy."

Capitano has yet to let his anger go. He spoke steadily, but he wasn't fooling you. "I'll ask once more: who attacked you?"

"Don't tell me your memory is worse than this old lady's," you clicked your tongue. "I just told you, it's nobody."

Capitano shifted his foot down slightly. "Elena reported that you were assaulting a fatuus with your cane in an isolated dining area."

Curses. You thought you were alone. To be caught by Elena, of all people? Your senses must be dulling.

"Well, one of your men— I suppose— was disrespecting their elders."

"I ordered a headcount. None of my men have gone missing." Capitano crossed his arms. "Besides, they know better than aggravating my most prized assistant."

Should've known that lie won't fly.

"Okay, maybe it wasn't one of your men." Obviously it was Dottore's, but you bit your tongue. "But you should know I'm a polarizing figure in the Fatui. I heard someone say that getting rid of me is a noble act cause they'd be removing your right from employing an absolute loser."

"(Y/n), where did you get those ideas?"

Honestly? Straight out of your 'lovely' imagination. If not inspired by Pantalone's past remarks as well— just cruder.

It’s almost commendable how easy it is to assume everyone is out to get you. The work environment certainly helps. A strange grin or remark is sufficient to validate any doubts. Probably illogical for you to live life this way. You're aware enough that not every whisper is about you and that not every grin hides some hidden agenda, yet the uncertainties still seep in so effortlessly that it almost seems like breathing.

You've yet to find someone who will prove your inherent distrust wrong. That body you hurled at Dottore earlier was no exception.

"Whoever attacked me doesn't matter; I got rid of them."

"I know you did. I don't reserve any doubt whatsoever. That is not the issue at hand." Capitano shook his head, his last words hiding a slight growl. "What I am perturbed by is how you had hidden this from me."

Your eyes widened.

"I-I'm sorry, forgive me, Capitano." You fumbled. "It was genuinely not as big as you think it is. A traitor was in the mist, and I took care of it."

"You were targeted, (Y/n)," Capitano said, nearly whispering as he gently took your hands. No matter how callous he was or how much his skin resembled etched maps, they held yours with great care.

His eyelids drooped slightly, hiding unspoken grief. "You were attacked when I made an oath that I would protect you while you are under my care..."

Capitano's tone softened further, almost withdrawn from hurt.

"I should have been there..."

You've never been one to immediately process emotions in a snap. When you and Capitano share ideas, theories intersect like constellations on Teyvat nights. But that look in his eye? You can't read what he's thinking.

"Why do you fret over it, dearie? Death is but a doorbell away for me." You hummed with a wide smile. "I'll be claimed soon enough. Maybe tonight might even be the night. Oh, honey, it's no skin off the Tsaritsa's back if an old gal like me bites the dust."

…

You have a feeling you said the worst thing imaginable at that moment.

…

Capitano said nothing.

In fact, you'd wager that was on purpose.

There's a glint in his eye. A look that you couldn't place— a dangerous thought you can't hear. It ringed endlessly in his ears, and the slight tremor in his fingertips proved it. His blue eyes stared straight into your soul.

A revelation. An epiphany. A newfound raison d'etre that he refused to let anyone know— you specifically.

Something about him drastically changed.

But that look vanished in an instant.

Capitano's mouth curled upward.

The smile did not reach his eyes. 

"I prefer if it's kind sleep who takes you tonight," Capitano muttered. "Death is far too early for a woman like you."

"A woman like me?" You chuckled. "You meant grandmother, right? And what do you mean by that?"

"A woman like you deserves all the time in the world, not to be taken prematurely. Your spirit is far too bright to be dimmed so soon." He took off his cloak. "Because a woman like you is a woman loved by many."

Capitano wrapped his cloak around you before you realized it. As you looked down, you noticed how much larger his frame was than yours. The cloak reached the floor when you donned it. Though it was night, the cologne he put on reminded you of sun-drenched clothes and steel— but it's possible that this was just Capitano's natural scent.

"I should add cloaks as an interest for your late birthday present." You could practically hear the smile on his face as he said, "It suits you."

Something about the way he sounded was way off now.

The weariness from your conversations with Dottore seemingly washed away. You grabbed a fistful of the cloak and raised it. "I think every tailor in Teyvat would beg to differ."

Capitano chuckled. "Respectfully, they wouldn't know any better."

"And you do?" You raised an eyebrow, but that grin on your face is too difficult to wipe off. "I don't think you know me well, little Captain."

You continued.

"Anyone can learn to like me, but to love me…"

Is devastating.

You trailed off, eyes back on the quiet streets. You've always admired those who teased on the edge of retirement and eternal sleep, their bravery surpassing the young's. They act on reckless abandon, unburdened by the opinions of others. Alice saw this in you, and she knew— deep in her heart— that she'd be more than willing to help you embrace that freedom in whatever form that may take.

Since you became a "grandmother", seemingly everything and nothing has changed. You've pushed away those who pretended to care, only to find that no soul can stand to be with you. Maybe it was a glorious boon or just as the witch said— a desperate cry for help, nothing more. The experience so far taught you things you already knew you hated about yourself that you wondered if this were all for the sake of mastery. Have you destroyed yourself for nothing? Who knows. But you'll continue to take solace that maybe, just maybe, death may end the loneliness you've endured for so long.

But if you so badly chase for death…

"████████."

You looked at him.

"Can I ask for a favor?"

You're going to do it right.

Taglist: @macaronilovingracoon, @lucienbarkbark, @meimeimeirin, @notthefib987, @meowmeowakutagawa

[missingexaltation]

Yet another steddie ficlet:

Steve and Eddie move into their first home, but it's a real fixer upper. They were originally looking at apartments, but this house is such a good deal, even considering the updates it needs. The yard out back is huge, if overgrown, but the interior needs scrapping from the bare bones.

The main area they get done first is their bedroom, but it takes forever on their tiny joint income, and it frustrates the hell out of Steve. It becomes a hideaway from the state of the rest of the house, and Steve finds himself venturing out of those four walls only if he needs to.

The other issue is time. Eddie's working two jobs (well, full time hours at Thatcher's and another part time at his annoyingly unpaid tattoo internship), and Steve's working part time whilst juggling his community college studies.

They have most weekends together, but they both quickly realise how catty and bitchy they both get when things don't go as planned, and instead decide to spend at least half their time snuggled up in bed watching movies. If the home improvements take longer, that's fine, as long as their relationship is intact at the end.

Steve knows he's the problem. He's a rich boy unused to living in anything but mild luxury. Visiting the old Munson trailer had been fine, as he'd been able to go home to the comfort of his parents' place. But there was no escape now they'd essentially disowned him, and he's now trapped in a kind of living that he's never really had to experience before.

Eddie, on the other hand, was fine. A little gloomy and frozen at times, but he was a natural born survivor. He'd spent a week or so living on the streets as a kid, he'd confessed one night. He'd run away from his dad, terrified out of his mind but Wayne had tracked him down, found him and brought him to his own home instead.

And any home, no matter how creaky and in desperate need of repair, was better than that.

Eventually though, Steve had had enough. He gets to the end of his first year and decides to go out of state to visit Robin for a couple of weeks, to help her settle in her new apartment. Eddie's invited too, but he declines as he has to work. There's a gentle glint in his eyes that suggests that he knows Steve's at breaking point, and needs to vent it out, without him there to bear the brunt of it.

So off Steve goes. And he does vent at Robin, who's sympathetic and comforting in all the right places. Eddie was right, he needed to get away from the situation and get some perspective.

Two weeks turns into three, which turns into four, and Steve starts to miss Eddie terribly. The phone calls home were fine to start with, but they're just not enough anymore, and Steve's far more miserable being away from Eddie than he is at living in 'that house'. So he packs his things up and returns home, refreshed and ready to get to work, if a little late.

He pulls into the driveway early in the morning, and immediately notices that the door's been replaced, and the outside of the house has been repainted. It looks good. His key doesn't work, but Eddie's home so it doesn't matter. He's taken the day off so they could spend it together, which is sweet, and also helpful as they've had nothing but (awkwardly quiet) phone sex for about a month.

Eddie opens the door a few seconds later and practically flings himself into Steve's arms, half tackle, half cuddle. Any lingering concern about coming home evaporates instantly, and Steve internally scolds himself for taking so long. He adores Robin, he really does, but his heart is here with Eddie.

Before he can get into a spiral of self annoyance, Eddie's spinning him around and covering his eyes, walking him through the door. Once inside, he tells Steve not to look and moves his hands away, stepping further into the house.

It's only when Eddie says 'ok baby', that Steve opens his eyes to find the biggest fucking transformation he's ever seen.

He's standing in the dining room, but he doesn't recognize it without all of that nasty, peeling, puke-coloured wallpaper. It's been removed and replaced with freshly painted walls and what looks like brand new sockets and an actual, real, functioning table and matching chairs.

The kitchen behind it is similarly beautifully restored. What before had been a shitty, vaguely standing sink, piles of dismantled cupboards and stripped back walls, was now tiled to perfection, with brand new storage space and glorious, gleaming countertops. It looked brighter, bigger and infinitely cleaner, somewhere Steve could actually see himself cooking.

The living room to his left is now open plan, like he'd wanted, with an archway where the old door had been. The musty, deteriorating old cupboards had been completely removed, and instead their shared music collection now sat proudly on brand new shelves, out in the open. And, like the other rooms, it had been painted lighter, which suited Steve down to the ground.

Their photographs were hung up too, dotted around various walls and staring at Steve as he stood in the centre of the room. The kids, Wayne and Eddie, Steve and Robin, Eddie's band and nerd club, and loads of Steve and Eddie and the rest of their friends and family. It's their life, and it's been here waiting for him to come home.

Steve becomes aware that he's gaping, silent in shock, while Eddie's bouncing with anticipation behind him. The floors are all done too, he notices. The gorgeous, hardwood floors they'd cooed over (well over their budget) were here, covered by the rugs Steve had pointed out months ago.

He turns to look at his boyfriend, who is looking way more fidgety and nervous by the second.

"You did all this?" He asks, and Eddie nods eagerly, before tilting his head and correcting himself with a shrug.

"Yeah, well not all of it." he says, excitedly jabbering at a hundred miles an hour, "I asked Wayne to give me a hand, and he knows a builder who knows all sorts of guys, and they all pitched in. They taught me a lot, so I have kinda done a lot, but they did loads too, they really helped get the awkward, technical things done that I didn't have a clue about. Even Dustin came by, not that he was any fucking practical use, but..."

And Steve's kissing him silent.

"You did this for me?" He asks, still shellshocked. "I know I've been awful babe, but -"

"Nah, in all honestly I've had a blast." Eddie admits, "the old guys have been showing me all sorts of practical stuff. Shit, I cut, built and fitted the countertops by myself, and I actually enjoyed doing it. I missed you like hell though."

"You liked doing this." Steve repeats, dazed, "Four weeks, and you've got so much done. Is there anything left to do?"

"Yeah, there's the guest bedroom, the yard and furnishing the living room." Eddie admits, "We can't afford to get the couches yet, hell most of this stuff is actually donated from Wayne's guys, just painted and updated. They're paragons of charity, baby, and we're their lucky recipients."

There's a familiar video camera on the side, and Eddie gestures at it before picking up the photo album beside it. 'I know I said Henderson was useless, but he's been documenting it for us." he says, "I even got the rest of the gremlins in on the painting, figured they couldn't fuck that up."

He hands the album over, and Steve opens it to find dozens of photographs and polaroids inside, showing various people (some Steve knows, some he doesn't) helping and teaching Eddie how to fix up the house. Each photograph is partnered with a sentence underneath in Eddie's best handwriting, detailing what's going on and who's involved.

"Wayne and Danny did most of the floors when I was at work." Eddie says, finding himself rambling as he taps a couple of the early pictures. "But I helped when I got back. I did the kitchen tiling all by myself though," he adds, grinning as Steve turns the page to reveal a beaming Eddie posing next to the splashback. "Tony says I'm a natural!"

Steve reads the sentence underneath and snorts.

Stevie's awkward-as-fuck tiles, masterfully installed by his abandoned boyfriend, Summer 1987.

Steve flicks through more pages, seeing evidence of (a supervised) Eddie using power tools, assembling furniture, and covered in both paint and sawdust at various times. (And an entire double page spread dedicated to him making coffee, because Henderson was indeed a little shit.)

Steve slams the album shut and tosses it back onto the counter. Eddie jumps slightly at the sudden noise, once again looking nervous as Steve puts his hands on his hips, meaning business.

"Babe," Steve starts, seriously, "if you don't get that ass of yours upstairs right now, I don't know what I'm gonna do." He paused (mostly for dramatic effect, because Eddie has actually increased his penchant for drama).

"This is the most incredible thing anyone's ever done for me, and I'm not gonna let you go until I've thanked you properly."

Eddie grins back at him, and holds his hand out. "I've even put the good sheets on the bed for you." He says, waggling his eyebrows, and finds himself being dragged towards the (sanded, buffed and recarpeted) stairs.

Yes, Steve thinks, as they stumble eagerly to bed at ten in the morning, it was definitely a good idea for Eddie to take the day off.

They were going to need it.

[dykeseinfeld]

rwrb is like. a good romance but the premise of it lowkey. drives me insane and seeing it on the screen might break my brain lol

[amakumos]

imagine if i renamed heeseung’s smau to smth like “Cupid’s Cash Budget😍” my accounting god😊😊😊

[pastelsapphy]

when you have 15 confirmed guests and one maybe so you keep restarting the app so you can get the Good Ending

[moe-broey]

I'm too lazy to illustrate it (plus I think I'd get too caught up in the process LMFAO) but when drawing/adding personal touches to Lif's design I am channeling Lio Fotia Promare for his armor (ESP the Mad Burnish armor) Lewis Mystery Skulls (less aesthetic similarities reflected but like, kinda similar broad chested body type similar vibes and important heart motifs) (heart motif isn't pictured in this Lewis image but if you've seen the animated music vids you get it) and literally just any 2D animated Disney villain who is Shaped and Dramatic (and has a huge fucking cape or coat -- tbh the specific ones I think about are Maleficent and Cruella just from the dramatic/big cape standpoint, purely aesthetic)

(fuck it after a lot of thinking Hades is a good one too)