#okay. okay. sorry. it's out of my system now

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Thirteen

NSFW

“You want to listen to it while we fuck?”

“Ah, no, honestly I’ve jerked off to that song so many times now I’ve Pavloved myself and I’ll come in three minutes and twenty four seconds exactly.”

Eddie laughs. He can’t help it, which is silly really, considering he has his hands down the back of Steve’s pants. He can’t stop laughing, face pressed against Steve's solid chest, shoulders shaking with laughter. Steve’s ass is meaty and solid in Eddie’s hands, and Steve just wraps his arms around Eddie and waits for him to get it out of his system.

Eddie thinks he’s done laughing, but when he finally looks up and sees how serious Steve’s face is, he cracks all over again. Steve’s laughing with him now though, finally losing it, his chest moving against Eddie’s cheek.

It finally tails off, Eddie sighing, letting himself relax into Steve’s arms. He gives Steve’s ass a little jiggle. It’s a good ass. He can feel Steve scenting at the top of his head, that’s followed by a very firm chin rub, right across the top of Eddie’s head, Steve’s throat rubbing across Eddie’s face.

If Steve was an Alpha, it would be a definite declaration. If Steve were an Alpha, Eddie might have even reflexively tried to stop it from happening. Steve’s not though, so it just leaves Eddie with his soft Beta scent in his nose, and a sense of loose calm spreading all the way to his fingertips.

It’s different, that scent. Completely sets itself apart from every experience Eddie’s ever had. There’s no cross over, nothing from sense memory to send him back anywhere unpleasant. Just a fresh start, right under his nose, literally and figuratively. It’s a sobering thought though, and it’s not anything they’ve ever spoken about before; suddenly it feels relevant, “I’ve been with a lot of people, you know that, right?”

“Can we not discuss it when you’ve got your hands down my pants?” Steve answers, but he’s smiling, light and unbothered.

“Actually, I feel like every single conversation we have from this point on should be conducted with my hands down your pants.”

Steve snorts a laugh, looking away for a second to gather himself, Eddie gives Steve’s ass a jiggle, and Steve sighs, but it’s mock put upon and Steve's still smiling, “I know you’ve been with a lot of people, but the past is the past...it doesn’t change anything now. We both have a past, and we’ve both done things we’re not proud of...but I don’t see why it should hurt either of us now. Not when we’ve both come so far, you know?”

“Yeah but...you’re not the one out of us that’s fucked, like, a thousand people. I’d understand if...that was a problem.”

Steve sniggers, “pretty sure you haven't fucked a thousand people...but. Since we’re talking about it,” Steve suddenly tilts his head, looking proud of himself, “you’re probably fondling the guy with the highest body count in his high school and college.”

Eddie can only shake his head fondly, “so you’re okay with it?”

“Yeah, I’m okay with it. It’ll be different because it’s us.”

“Pretty sure there’s a finite number of ways to fuck and I’ve already hit ‘em all, sorry.”

Steve huffs, “firstly, I didn’t mean that literally, and you know it...and secondly…” Steve leans forward, takes Eddie’s mouth slow, soft. Gentle touches of tongue until Eddie opens up and lets Steve in. Steve pulls back, leaving soft, pecking kisses on Eddie’s lips, he uses the waist of Eddie’s pants to pull Eddie closer, both of them hard and pressing together. He whispers against Eddie’s mouth, “so you’ve had someone hold your hand and look into your eyes the whole time while they fuck you deep and slow?”

Steve follows it with a harsh, dirty grind, pressing them together. Eddie makes a breathy noise that he will deny for the rest of his life, “no?” he finally manages, weak and whispery. No ones fucked Eddie, not ever. It’s probably the one thing he’s never done.

“It’ll be different then, won’t it?” Steve whispers.

“Jesus,” Eddie looks away. Can’t possibly keep looking at Steve or he might explode or something. He chooses to scent Steve instead, chooses to try and retake a little control by letting his Alpha out for a minute, being a little territorial. He rubs his scent thoroughly across Steve’s neck and shoulder. Steve just takes it, letting Eddie work it out of his system before he settles into Steve’s hold again. Just, standing there, holding one another.

“I kind of imagined this differently,” Eddie admits quietly. They’re rocking together now, no music, just swaying slowly in each others arms in the middle of the room.

“Yeah?”

“Uh hu...I, uhm, imagined making it really special.” When Steve wasn’t in the picture, Eddie just liked to imagine simple things. Liked to comfort himself with sad but easy imaginings of Steve kissing him goodnight. Now, since they’ve been together, Eddie’s been imagining much more explicit scenarios very regularly. It doesn’t help that Steve has made them ‘take it slow’ and Eddie could die of blue balls at literally any moment.

Steve grins down at him, “so eating our weight in snacks at Gareth’s isn’t your idea of romancing me? Honestly I’m glad, I was at least expecting dinner-”

Eddie huffs at him. They’ve had a nice day. Steve clicked with the guys straight away, and Eddie can’t really express how glad he is that they all get on. Eddie was pretty sure they would; the guys are easy going and Steve is...well, Steve about everything.

But still, even though Eddie got teased pretty relentlessly, he’s calling today a win. The guys knew who Steve was, kind of. Even with Eddie’s recovery going strong, they knew something was up. Something other than the whole dealing with alcoholism and drug addiction and figuring out how to move on with his life despite all of that. The guys still knew.

They knew Eddie was pining. And Eddie didn’t know really, how to explain that he’d kind of fallen in love with some guy he spent less than two weeks with. Some guy who, actually, was a total professional through the whole thing and just...shouldn’t have attracted that kind of attention.

Completely Eddie’s fault that he caught feelings.

A guy who had to distance himself from Eddie because of Eddie’s own stupid choices. And, if Eddie’s being honest, for Eddie’s own good.

Gareth and Jeff seemed to get it though, when Eddie explained. Even though Steve was a guy, and Steve was a Beta, Steve was still just...Steve. And Chrissy still didn’t seem to believe that Eddie’s feelings were really real, not for a while, at least. But months later, when Eddie was still missing Steve and ended up, one really, really fucking tough and lonely night, writing Boy Scout...she seemed to get it after that.

They all got it, once they heard Eddie sing it, playing his acoustic for the recording. Eddie had struggled through tears for the recording, made his voice sound even more rough, harsh and undeniably brimming with emotion. That's the recording that made it to the album though. That's the one they used.

They all knew then, how Eddie felt. And if record sales are anything to go by, a truly considerable number of people also know how Eddie feels about Steve. Even if they don’t know who Steve is.

Eddie’s going to do his best to keep it that way; but they know they can’t keep it a secret forever.

These things have a way of coming out.

He didn’t need the guys spending all day teasing him for mooning over Steve, though. Steve had absently linked their fingers together at one point. Steve had been mid conversation, and Eddie happened to be standing next to him..and Steve just, took his hand. Like a totally normal, affectionate boyfriend would. Eddie hadn’t known what to do with himself, not really, he’s still getting used to being treated this way, and for it to happen in front of the guys...well, Eddie’s sure he’d been blushing like a virgin.

And then Steve had lifted their joined hands, and pressed a soft kiss Eddie’s knuckles.

Again, no thought to it whatsoever, just easy affection. The guys had all clocked it, staring at them. Eddie’s pretty sure he’d gone red as a tomato, but, thankfully, despite all the knowing looks they’d thrown his way, the guys had been merciful and not said anything.

Probably because they all seemed to like Steve so much.

“No...when I was daydreaming about this I wanted to whisk you away to Italy.”

Steve goes still, holding Eddie tight but leaning back, a hand in Eddie’s hair pulling Eddie around to look at him, “tell me about it.”

Eddie immediately pulls free and goes back to hiding, resting on Steve’s shoulder now, “you know, usual daydream stuff. Private jet. Roses. Strawberries and champagne, that kind of thing. Well, not the champagne but you get the idea. Rent a villa for a week, somewhere really nice. Take you to see all the places you want. Naturally I’d let you do all the talking, and I’d be incredibly impressed.”

“Well I do my best for the green owl...and I am absolutely terrible at taking my PTO, and the gym is pretty kind with it’s time off, I’ve probably got loads.”

Eddie pulls back, “wait...you’d let me take you?”

Steve smiles, kissing Eddie’s nose, “just this once. I’m not waiting until we’re in Europe to have sex though, just to be clear.”

It’s not really the done thing, when there’s a Beta in the mix, and it’s selfish to ask. Steve isn’t built the same as Alpha and Omega, when Steve bites Eddie, Eddie’s going to feel mated. He’s going to feel good; he’s going to be so flooded with endorphins he’s probably going to have one of the best orgasms of his life.

All Steve is going to feel is pain.

But Eddie is selfish, and he can’t resist, and so when the need suddenly rises up inside him, he asks anyway, leaning back in so his nose is practically pressed to Steve’s barely there scent gland, “you going to bite me, one day? Let me...bite you?”

“Only if you let me put a ring on it.”

Eddie doesn’t even need to think, “deal.”

“I want to get married outside,” Steve tells him, bending down and dislodging Eddie’s hands, hooking him under the thighs and lifting.

Eddie is an Alpha, he should not get off on being manhandled. He finds himself getting off on being manhandled, since it’s Steve, “that doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.”

Steve walks them over to the bed, throwing Eddie bodily into the middle somewhere, Eddie bouncing a little on the mattress, “late spring? Early summer?”

“Just as long as it’s not too hot, I don’t mind. Whatever you want.”

“Robin will be my best man,” Steve says, pulling his shirt off over his head.

Eddie stares at Steve’s bare chest, “I don’t want to talk abut your best friend right this second, funnily enough,” but Steve’s grinning, stripping off, then crawling nude up the bed, grabbing Eddie’s pants and boxers and peeling everything off in one smooth move.

Eddie pulls his shirt off, and then he’s naked. And Steve’s naked, kneeling at the bottom of the bed. And...they’re staring at each other. Steve is like...a golden fucking Adonis. He’s toned in the way you only really get when you have an active job. His chest is hairy, his skin is golden, and he’s got more moles than Eddie could have predicted but Eddie wants to find and take note of every single one of them.

Eddie’s still a little on the skinny side, he’s pale and his muscle is ropy rather than strong like Steve but...he doesn’t look ill any more. Doesn’t look sickly like he did at his lowest point.

Steve seems to like what he sees, if his cock standing to attention is anything to go by.

“Lube? Condoms?”

“Yeah,” Eddie points vaguely at the bedside table.

Steve crawls over there, rummaging, and Eddie felt like he was aiming too high when he bought supplies. Kind of felt like he was tempting fate, that the moment they got delivered Eddie would somehow be immediately punished for wanting this.

Steve grins when he sees what’s in the drawer, pulling out both boxes. They’re both brand new and sealed, and Steve peels the cellophane off both, one box of Alpha condoms, one box of regular. “You want to try?” Steve asks, holding up the regular kind.

“We could.” Eddie’s thought about it a fair bit, since the very first time Steve mentioned it, and he figures if there’s one person he’d be willing to try this with, it’s Steve.

“We don’t have to, we don’t ever have to.”

“Do you like it?”

“I...do. But I could live without it,” Steve answers honestly, or at least, Eddie hopes it’s honest. He’s got no idea how this will go. But it’s best they give it a try...Eddie can’t imagine that Steve is the kind of guy who would end a relationship over it...but he doesn’t really want to risk Steve becoming unsatisfied because Eddie won’t ever let him top. It feels like a small sacrifice to make.

“Then lets try, I’m about as far from my rut as I can be, my cycle’s leveled out...so it’s probably the best time to try for the first time.”

Steve nods, crawling back over, leaving a single condom and the lube next to them, “you should probably be on top though, for this first one, just in case.”

“Okay,” Eddie might be familiar enough now with Steve and his scent that he’s fine with being pinned by him sometimes, but being pinned with a dick in him? Eddie has no idea how his Alpha will react.

“Plus I’m not up to much for a little while once I’ve taken a knot, so if you want round two later then I’d better go first.”

Eddie wants to focus on the ‘round two’ part of the statement, because honestly, that sounds awesome. What actually happens is Eddie’s instincts become concerned with Steve taking someone else’s knot, and he rumbles out a little warning growl instead.

Steve settles next to him, all beautiful and naked and unbroken lines of muscled perfection, and he’s grinning, “what was that?”

“Apparently I don’t like the idea of you taking someone else's knot.”

“Ooooh, possessive huh? That’s nice. Well, don’t worry, it was a long time ago when I was young and dumb and willing to do anything to get what I wanted.”

Well that...that is a lot. Another small part of Steve’s past that Eddie didn’t expect. They don’t talk about their past much, neither of them do, and Eddie doesn't know about Steve’s motivations for that but...he just hasn’t felt the need to volunteer anything. It’s done now. That’s not who he is any more, not really.

“Hey,” Steve thumbs away Eddie’s frown, “don’t do that, it’s fine. I was still enjoying myself, even if I wish I could go back and give myself a talking to. Nothing bad happened to me Eddie, not like that.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Steve smiles, “good,” and then he leans in for a kiss.

They have made out a lot over the last few weeks. Like, a lot a lot. Like horny teenagers with their first beau kind of a lot. But...this is the same but different. Still soft, still nice, still...a little bitey sometimes. But still Steve. Except now Eddie can roll Steve onto his back and slide a sweeping hand across Steve’s stomach and over a naked hip and thigh. The head of Steve's cock brushes Eddie’s forearm as he does it, leaving a hint of stickiness there.

“You want me to open you up?”

“Yeah,” Eddie answers, “never...you know.”

“I know,” but Steve's grinning like he’s won something. “Come on.”

Steve rearranges them both, sitting himself up a little on a comfy pile of Eddie’s collected bedding, pulling Eddie after him to straddle his thighs. Eddie goes where Steve sits him, watching avidly as Steve cracks the seal on the new lube and pumping a fair amount out onto his fingers. He rubs his fingers together, spreading it a little, before he seems to be satisfied and slips his hand down between Eddie’s thighs.

Steve’s fingers are warm enough, and slick, but still the first touch makes Eddie yip and lean away reflexively, gripping at Steve’s shoulders, “sorry. Ready this time.”

“Just tell me anytime you want to stop, okay?”

“I ain’t a quitter,” Eddie replies confidently.

Steve raises an eyebrow, and then Eddie realizes what he just said. It’s not funny, it isn’t, but they both laugh anyway. “Okay,” Steve goes in again, and this time, knowing what to expect, Eddie lets him touch softly, rubbing at Eddie asshole for a second before pressing in with one finger. Which goes pretty easily, actually. It goes all the way in, right until Steve’s hand is pressing against Eddie’s body, “okay?”

“Yeah, yeah that’s good,” doesn’t feel like much, just a weird wet little intrusion. The second finger should just feel like twice as much, but it definitely doesn’t. Eddie is suddenly very, very aware that he has Steve's fingers in his ass, and he breathes out slowly.

“Still good?”

“Yeah, yeah I think so,” Eddie’s found himself staring at Steve’s chest hair, but Steve’s angling his head down, seeking eye contact. Eddie makes himself give it, he didn’t realize just how hard he’d been concentrating.

“Kiss me then?”

Eddie does. He has to keep hold of Steve's shoulders and lean down, but he does, kissing Steve slow while Steve gently fucks him on two fingers. The palm of Steve’s hand is pressing up tight behind Eddie’s balls, and it feels so good that when Steve pulls his fingers out, Eddie whines a little and tries to chase it.

He has to watch while Steve pumps more lube onto his fingers, and Eddie knows three fingers is coming. He braces a little, but there’s no need. The pressure is slow and even, and Steve’s used enough lube that there's no sting, just a little burn as things stretch to accommodate Steve.

Feels good, even, and Eddie’s panting a little into Steve's mouth when he goes back for more kisses. Steve eventually speaks against Eddie’s mouth, “put the condom on me?” he asks quietly, slowly and carefully pulling his fingers free of Eddie’s body.

“Yeah,” Eddie knows what it can be like opening one of these things with slippy fingers, so he’s happy to do it for Steve, holding his cock upright with one hand as he carefully rests the condom on the exposed head of Steve’s cock, like a little hat. Eddie deftly squeezes the air out of the end before sliding his hand down, unrolling the condom with it.

Steve’s pumping more lube onto his fingers while Eddie works, and without either of them needing to speak, Eddie keeps hold of Steve’s cock, keeping it upright so that Steve can slick himself up.

It’s suddenly very real, what they’re about to do, now that Steve isn’t distracting Eddie with his hungry kisses. Eddie’s scent must signal something, because Steve’s eyes flick up to Eddie even as he’s still working slick over his cock. It’s a little obscene to watch, really.

Maybe Steve will jerk off sometime for Eddie. Put on a show.

“Come here baby,” Steve guides Eddie’s face to rest in the crook of his neck, where the scent is strongest. It’s soothing; relaxing. Comfort. It has changed a little; subtle. Eddie probably wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been scenting Steve a lot for weeks now but...this must be what horny Steve scents like. A little brighter, something in the organic parts that give it a little zing, almost citrussy but too subtle to really identify as anything. It’s just...a little sharp. A little fresh.

Still nothing at all like an Alpha or an Omega. Totally different, new, fresh, safe.

Eddie’s gone a little soft through this, kind of sporting a half chub now, but Steve’s scent helps, the wet head leaving a sticky trail on Steve’s skin. The drag feels good.

Eddie takes a greedy lungful as Steve notches the head of his cock at Eddie’s hole. He stills then, nothing happening for long enough that Eddie’s gearing up to say anything, but then he realizes; Steve’s waiting on Eddie. Eddie has the control here, Steve’s giving Eddie the power.

Eddie just has to take the first step. It’s up to Eddie to choose to act. It’s so quintessentially Steve...Eddie gives a gentle nip to the side of Steve’s neck, and then sinks down just enough that the head of Steve’s cock pops inside him.

It feels...big. Like, it’s a lot. Eddie has to wait, just after that, to let himself acclimatize a little bit, “Jesus,” he breathes out low, “did your cock get ten times bigger while I wasn’t looking?”

Steve snorts, “you just got a tight little hole baby, that’s all.”

“Yeah because it ain’t designed for this,” Eddie replies grumpily.

Steve bites his lips together, holding in a laugh, but he doesn’t say anything. Probably the smart move, and Eddie shifts a little, Steve keeps rubbing comfortingly along Eddie’s thighs as Eddie lets himself sink down a little.

He’s not going to say how big Steve is again, he’s not. There’ll be no living with the smug fucker if he says it again.

Eddie breathes out slow, it’s a terrible moment to be reminded of all the stupid yoga breathing Steve’s been doing with him, but, hell, if it works it works. Steve’s cock feels like a fucking tree branch by the time Eddie is seated in Steve’s lap, and he’s dragging Steve’s scent across his tongue like his life depends on it but...he’s done it.

He lets himself have a moment to settle, Steve’s hands roving across Eddie’s back now, “you good?”

“Yeah. Yeah, just a couple of minutes.”

Steve kisses Eddie’s hair, and waits. It feels like it’s in Eddie’s lungs, and Eddie is...still kind of skeptical about this. But...he’s tried a lot of shit, and this isn’t any different. Plus he kind of loves Steve, so he’s going to give this a fair try.

The knowledge that Eddie’s never going to have sex with another person, all being well, ever again, prickles along Eddie’s skin. One final deep breath of Steve’s scent, and a tiny, possessive rumble on the exhale, and Eddie lifts himself up. Steve’s hands move with Eddie, sliding down to cup his ass. Not holding, not guiding, just following the movement.

Eddie slides down again and...oh. There’s a little zing of something, where Steve must have brushed against his prostate. Eddie lifts again, sitting up now so he can watch Steve’s face. He suddenly regrets hiding in the crook of Steve’s neck, because Steve looks wrecked. Eyes are totally blown, lips red and shiny like he’s been biting at them, mouth open a little, skin flushed and the hint of a prickle of sweat at his hair line.

Well if that isn’t going to encourage Eddie, nothing’s gonna’.

He sits down again sharply, and Steve can’t hold it in any more, he moans, eye’s sliding shut and then popping open again, like he doesn’t want to miss the show. And, well, if there’s one thing Eddie knows, it’s how to put on a show.

He shifts again, more confident now, tucking his shins closer to Steve’s thighs so he can move more comfortably, he rests one hand at the back of Steve’s neck, leaning in for the kiss and he lifts himself back up. There’s that zing again, that little pop of pleasure that has Eddie huffing a noise into Steve’s mouth.

Eddie’s rhythm is probably pretty slow, and he’s maybe working the end two thirds of Steve’s dick, but it’s just the right place to touch on his prostate on every pass. It’s just the right amount of slippy drag on his hole. The condom is smooth, but Eddie finds himself wanting it gone, he pulls back a tiny bit, watches as Steve licks his lips, Steve’s fingers tightening briefly on Eddie’s hips, “we're going to loose the condoms at some point, right?”

“Yup. Yeah. Lets do that. Get tested.”

Eddie hasn’t been with anyone since he was at the center, he hasn’t been with anyone since he was last tested for everything. But he doesn’t know about Steve, and quite frankly, he doesn’t want to ask if Steve’s been with anyone in that time.

It’s not his business, and it feels like the answers going to hurt either way. Eddie puts it out of his mind.

Eddie just crashes his mouth back against Steve’s instead. Steve’s fingers slip to Eddie’s dick; he’s grown hard again at some point, probably those little touches of pleasure he’s been feeling. Steve’s fingers go straight for the base, following the rise and fall of Eddie’s body easily, he massages at the sensitive skin Eddie’s knot will pop from, Steve’s sure fingers encouraging it.

Eddie might be exercising more, but the burn in his thighs is getting pretty real. He doesn’t stop though, taking panting breaths against Steve’s mouth since he doesn’t have the air for real kisses any more. The pleasure helps, gives him something to work for, the feeling of being full of Steve, that little wave of pleasure every time Eddie moves, Steve’s two fingers and thumb, gripping Eddie tight now at the base of his dick, pulsing pressure there right on Eddie’s growing knot.

Eddie looks down; the head of his cock is red, leaking precome all over Steve’s skin. Another fat drop pools in his slit for a second, before a squeeze from Steve’s fingers has his cock twitching and it slides off the end to splat on Steve’s stomach.

“I’m gonna’ come,” Eddie breathes, Steve just makes a noise in answer, and then keeps making it, huffing little noises of pleasure. His head is thrown back, long line of his throat completely exposed to Eddie as Eddie rides his pulsing cock. It’s different, there’s no intense wash of scent with a beta orgasm, no splash of slick or knot to go on. Just Steve, huffing through his orgasm.

Eddie’s knot pops in the tight band of Steve’s fingers and Eddie bites softly at Steve’s shoulder, because god he fucking needs something in his mouth. Needs the feel of Steve between his teeth, and it takes all of his control to keep it light.

Well, it might bruise a little.

Eddie’s orgasm is a pulsing, live thing, his body squeezing and clutching at Steve’s cock desperately. Steve hasn’t even touched the head of his dick, just keeps firm pressure on Eddie’s knot until the final, weak spurts of come drip off the head of his dick.

Eddie sighs, lapping at Steve’s shoulder, relaxing a little.

And then Steve squeezes. Eddie cries out, mouthful of Steve’s flesh, body clenching so hard it pushes Steve’s now softening cock out of his body, making him whine and wriggle on nothing. Another thick spurt of come splatters Steve’s already messy stomach, and Eddie’s left a panting mess in Steve's lap.

“Jesus,” he finally croaks out, body still twitching with the aftershocks of his orgasm, his cock resting in it’s own mess against Steve. It must be a little awkward, but Steve still hasn’t let up the even pressure on his knot, and Eddie settles into the feeling of connection, Steve’s salty sweat addictive on his tongue.

The nice thing about this having sex and being a couple and all that good stuff, is that now Steve is in the bath with Eddie while he washes his hair. Eddie’s glad he went for the silly sized bath really, Steve can comfortably sit behind him, Eddie cradled between Steve’s thick thighs.

Once he’s all washed and rinsed, he lies back, both of them spread out, Steve’s soft cock pressing against the small of Eddie’s back, “how did you know?”

Steve makes an inquiring noise. He sounds sleepy, and Eddie almost feels bad for disturbing him, but it feels important.

“How did you decide I was ready now?”

Steve yawns, “told you, I saw the interview.”

Eddie turns in the water, repositioning so he’s laid out on top of Steve, facing each other. Can’t really resist giving their cocks a little rub together while he’s there, making Steve huff, “yeah, but what about the interview?”

“Oh. Oh, you were helping people. That was...it was kind of the last conclusion I came to, when I was...you know, recovering. I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to stay okay if I didn’t...have purpose. If I didn’t do something that felt important. Helping people was...it got me through everything, at the end. Kept me...once I started helping, I knew I’d never go back. Not ever. I knew you’d released the album, and what it was for...obviously I bought a copy, so I was...thinking about it a lot then. Listened to the album a bunch of times...and then I saw you talking about it...and I just knew. I knew it would be okay if I tried.”

“What if I hadn’t called?”

Steve shrugs, “then you didn’t. I’d have...been sad about it, you know but...we’ve got to do the best thing for ourselves, and I had to trust you to know what that was. So I would have taken your answer, no matter what that was,” Steve kisses Eddie’s forehead, “I was just happy for you.”

Eddie nods. Pressing his cheek against the damp hair of Steve’s chest, Eddie rests.

[cheralith]

cw: cannibalism, blood, murder, heavier gore warning on this one (description of an eyeball taken out of its socket more specifically)

no one asked but yukimiya is a serial killer cannibal in cannibal!au.

he is also your sweet, seemingly innocuous friend that you may or may not have a crush on. part of you wants to believe that he feels the same way, since you've noticed he gives you a rather specialized attention, but you'd be lying if you said he wasn't hard to read.

but he's lovely to be around, lovelier when it's just the two of you alone. he'll stay close to you in public spaces as your own human shield. he always reminds you of your guys' friday movie nights—asking if you were still up for it (you always are, when are you not?). he always makes a compliment regarding your appearance whenever you meet up, something to set a good foundation for the day.

but every once in a while, you'll catch him staring at you in rather adoring manner, this quiet smile on his lips as he looks at you. it makes you giddily nervous, knowing that he has this spotlight for you and you alone.

"is there something on my face?" you ask him one time, dabbing around your cheeks.

yukimiya shakes his head, smile still settled.

"oh no," he says. "i was just... just admiring your eyes, that's all. they're beautiful, i hope you know that."

you blink in a doe-like manner, a curious ponder in your innocent gaze. yukimiya's own tangerine hues soften at your surprise, making him chuckle affectionately at your modesty that arrives not a moment later.

"sorry, i didn't mean to fluster you," he excuses, "hope i didn't weird you out."

"oh no," you laugh lightly, waving his apology away. "not at all. i just... no one really has told me that before. i didn't think my eyes were all that enticing."

yukimiya hums, allowing himself to stare at you again when you don't shy away from him, letting him be lost in your gaze, too embarassed at his sudden compliment to see the darker resolve that he hides behind his glasses.

--

the woman's wheezes come to a stop eventually when the last bit of blood needed for a pulse bleeds out.

yukimiya sighs in relief, gripping his hand around the knife plunged deep in her body and recklessly pulling it out, wincing when some blood sprays his face. he draws a tongue over his teeth, swallowing the bundle of saliva built up in his mouth as he gets off of the body of his former date now laid face down on the floor of his apartment. foolish girl, didn't anyone tell you not to trust strangers?

he pushes her body to face right-side up, allowing her face to stare up at him, the life completely gone from her eyes. he grins when he sees the familiarity of the deadened gaze and lowers himself down, taking the knife and carving out the skin around her eye sockets to better space the area out.

he snacks on the bit of meat, the sucking on the blood from the piece of eyelid, spitting out the mascara-caked lashes as he continues working his way through. she tastes okay—he's had better though. he assumes the alcohol from the wine in her system had melded in her blood a little bit. he's not too fond of the bitter aftertaste.

yukimiya sees it suddenly, that little fleshy arm from behind the eyeball. his fingers shove their way through the hollowed-out socket and pinches it between his middle and index, then cupping the eyeball around his palm and giving it a harsh tug.

the eyeball and its muscle disconnects from inside—mission success. with a blood-smeared hand, yukimiya pops it into his mouth, then goes to chew and suck off the leftover muscle framing around the gummy orb, being careful not to impact it directly.

he spits it back out as the sweet blood and meat from the muscle slither down his throat contently. delicate fingers go to pinch the eyeball and he holds it up to the light. a perfectly rounded shape, a pristine white all over with a beautiful rim of amber around the pupil. no signs of glaucoma, jaundice, or broken blood vessels anywhere.

he thinks this'll be a good piece to his collection, a good possible replacement. it looks rather close enough to his own.

it's not long until yukimiya takes out her other eye, placing the two into a jar of solution to keep them hydrated and ready if ever the case. he takes it to a private room in his complex, this darkened cupboard hidden away that holds other jars of eyes with some that mirror his own, some in different colors—but all healthy and pristine.

yukimiya admires his collection for a bit, welcoming the newest addition, but suddenly feels a vibrating in his pocket. he takes his phone out and blinks at the bright screen that lights up the dim room, the leftover adrenaline he felt from earlier bespeckling his vision with a few black spots that he attempts to blink away.

he presses the accept button.

"hiya," your voice rings from the other end.

"hey there," he chimes. "what's up?"

"movie night is still a-go?" you question.

yukmiya winces. right, today is friday, and he said last time you could come over to his place. but with the current body bleeding out in his living room, he feels as though he's going to need more than a couple of hours to completely discard the body. taking it apart and storing its flesh for later often takes a few hours, and yukimiya is not one to waste food for the sake of time.

"yeah, yeah," he hums. "but is it okay if we do at your place today? sorry, they're doing some construction outside my building and i'd hate for the noise to interfere."

your laughter echoes from the other end. "haha, no problem. could you give me an extra half-hour, though? i need to clean my place up."

yukimiya assures you that it's fine and bids you a temporary goodbye, agreeing to meet up soon. he sighs, going to stretch his limbs for a bit and opening up his camera roll to find a particular photo of you that he finds himself admiring a few times in the week, a soft smile on his lips as he traces a finger over your eyes, hues bright and attentive at the camera he had focused on you one night.

they really are one of your best features, aren't they?

[who-can-touch-my-boob]

<- love and deepspace masterlist

AN: angsty and a hurt/comfort drabble. Sorry just had to get this out of my system.

-

Imagine this, you’re sitting in Sylus’ living room, waiting and waiting. He’s been gone for hours, much longer than he’d told you. You’re anxious, finger tapping on your knee, eyes glancing over at the door as if he’s magically appear.

And then finally, he does. However despite him looking like he usually does after one of his cryptic “work” where he’s covered in blood, Sylus doesn’t have that same aloof expression.

The man who’s always so calm and collected, rarely fazed or shows emotions other than the tender smiles that’s exclusively for you, he is now looking utterly broken down.

His sharp features twisted into what you can only describe as agony.

You don’t say anything, instead you move as quickly as you can, just in time to catch him as he falls down on his knees. Slowly you ease yourself down, grabbing his shoulder and pull him into a tight hug.

Sylus buries his face into the crook of your neck, his warm breath hitching and his heart’s pounding so loud you can feel it against your own chest.

You’re too stunned and worried to speak, all you do is hug him tighter. Your hand gently rub his back as you coo softly, letting him know you’re here.

Something’s dampening your skin, warm droplets of tears that trickles down his cheeks and on you. His breath hitches again, he’s trying to speak but it’s as if the words are stuck.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything.” You murmur softly, placing a kiss on his temple.

After a long and heavy silence apart from Sylus’ muffled sobs, he slowly pulls back, just enough for your faces to be only centimetres apart.

With a tender hand you cup his face, the other brushing away the hair from his forehead, silently examining him for any injuries. You’re relieved to find out he’s not wounded, atleast not physically.

Sylus leans into your palm, nuzzling his before placing a small kiss. His eyelashes are sticking together from the tears he just shed, but it seems he’s managed to control his emotions.

“I… did something horrible.” He whispers, voice barely audible and hoarse. His red eyes flickers up to meet yours before looking away in shame.

You frown, studying his features to try and understand what had happened to make him this distraught. Sylus has done a lot of bad things, but he always walked out of the situations with a calm and relaxed demeanour.

“What did you do?” You ask him, but your voice is hesitant, almost scared of what he’s about to say next.

Sylus takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment before slowly lifting his gaze, his eyes filled with emotions.

“Amidst all the… exchange of firearm, a…”

He pauses, voice rough and shaky. He takes another deep breath before continuing.

“A small girl got caught in the middle of it. For once in my life, something happened that I had not anticipated.”

Your eyes widens, realising where this is going. Sylus can see it clearly and it’s breaking his heart imagining how you’ll just leave him. That this was the breaking point, that you’ll never want to see him again.

However Sylus is an honest man, he would never lie to you, so he clears his throat softly and use all his strength to finish.

“She was no older than eight years old… And my bullet was the one to. I killed her.”

He looks at his hand, covered in blood and dirt, but what catches your attention is the keychain with a small cat plushie.

“I didn’t meant to… I would never, not a child. Please, believe me.”

Sylus start rambling, the fear of being abandoned now by you, the guilt heavy for what he’d done, the small blood covered keychain that had not long ago had its home in a little girl’s pocket.

You see it, the way he’s digging himself deeper and tears wells up in your eyes at the sight before you.

“Sylus,”

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling in once more and you can feel how much he’s trembling.

“I believe you. I know you. You would never do such a thing. I’m here and I won’t leave you.”

Your voice is firm, yet affectionate as you hug him tighter.

Neither of you say anything after that, and you remain sitting on your knees for a long time. Not until Sylus finally calms down and speaks more do you release him from your embrace.

“Whatever did a monster like me do to deserve an angel like you?”

You flash him a smile and shake your head before kissing his cheek. Seeing his usual playfulness somewhat returned you hope to lighten up the mood.

“You can thank this angel after helping you bathe.”

As you both get up on your feet, Sylus glances down at the small cat plushie attached to the keychain and with a gentle smile looks at you as you guide him to the bathroom.

“Can this little kitten also get a bath? I want to change out my old keychain.”

[alltimecharlo]

hi! 😊 um, if you're still taking prompts, maybe Will with a small child (one of the older players' kids or a little fan?) and Mack simply unable to compute that image? Maybe even imagining Will with a kid with Mack's wide smile and Will's beautiful curls? anyways, thank you for your wonderful work, and the fics have been AWESOME

thank you so much!! 🥹 and uh YES a million times over. kid fics are my absolute kryptonite - fic under the cut! <3

Mack isn’t sure what he’s looking at.

Scratch that—he knows what he’s looking at. He’s just not sure how his brain is supposed to process it.

Will is crouched in the middle of the team lounge, one hand braced on his knee, the other holding a juice box for a toddler who couldn’t be more than three years old. The kid’s wearing an oversized Sharks jersey that nearly swallows him whole, and he’s staring up at Will like he’s some kind of superhero.

Which, fine. Mack gets it. Will does look kind of like a superhero sometimes. Blond hair all tousled and golden in the overhead lights, blue eyes that crinkle when he smiles, stupid perfect cheekbones. Even his laugh sounds like it was engineered in a lab to make people fall in love with him.

But still.

Watching him hold a juice box steady while making a lion sound to get a gummy smile from a kid who’s got applesauce on his chin?

Mack is toast.

"You okay over there?" Toff nudges him with an elbow, smirking.

"I—what?" Mack blinks, realizing he's been staring. Probably with his mouth open.

"You look like you're watching a nature documentary. Like Will's a rare bird."

Mack scowls and elbows him back, but his eyes flicker back to the scene in front of him involuntarily.

Will is now sitting cross-legged on the floor, letting the kid tug at the strings of his hoodie. He’s laughing, completely unbothered. The kid babbles something unintelligible, and Will nods like he totally gets it. "Yeah, that’s what I said too, buddy."

Mack’s heart actually hurts a little.

The kid’s dad—Wenny, who’s just back from injury and brought his son to practice—finally jogs over. "Sorry, sorry," he says, scooping the toddler up into his arms. "He likes you more than me now. I should be offended."

Will grins. "What can I say? I’m great with kids."

And that’s when it happens.

Mack has a vision so sudden and vivid it almost knocks him backward.

Will, barefoot in a sunlit kitchen, balancing a giggling toddler on his hip. The kid’s got wild curls, bright and unruly, but it’s the smile that hits Mack like a freight train. That wide, gummy, dimpled smile—his smile. But Will’s eyes. Their kid. Their kid.

Mack coughs, nearly chokes on air.

Will looks over, brows knitting. "You good, man?"

"Fine," Mack croaks, waving him off.

Will walks over, hands in his pockets, head tilted. "You sure? You look kind of flushed."

Mack shrugs, trying to play it cool. He’s not cool. He’s the opposite of cool. His entire internal operating system just rebooted.

"Didn’t know you were a baby whisperer," he says, aiming for casual.

Will shrugs, still smiling. "Guess I got the touch."

Mack makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat. Something like you really do but mercifully doesn’t say it out loud.

They start walking toward the locker room together. Mack keeps sneaking glances out of the corner of his eye. He can still see it—the domestic softness of it all. Will in sweatpants, toddler on his lap. Will reading bedtime stories. Will saying our kid.

He’s in hell.

"You ever want kids?" he blurts.

Will blinks. "Uh. Yeah. I think so. Someday. Not, like, now obviously."

Mack nods, a little too fast. "Cool. Coolcoolcool."

Will eyes him. "Why? You wanna co-parent or something?"

Mack nearly trips over his own feet.

Will cackles. "I’m kidding, dude. Relax."

But Mack is not relaxing.

Because co-parenting doesn’t sound like a joke. It sounds... kinda perfect.

Will opens the locker room door and holds it for him. "You coming or what?"

Mack exhales, dragging a hand down his face. He follows Will in.

Still thinking about chubby toddler fingers gripping Will’s hair and sleepy giggles and Will kissing their kid goodnight.

Yeah. He’s so screwed.

♡

[idiopath-fic-smile]

any chance of something whump-like for IDOAG? (inspired by me being SO brave and working on a grant report until very late at night)

congrats on yr bravery!

(to review, this ficlet is out of gratitude for my pilot of a musical audio drama about a rock band that secretly solves monster-related problems reaching 30% of its funding goal. we're actually at over 50% right now and i have one prompt in the wings but i'll need another today, so if there's anything you want to see, throw me an ask!)

October

By the time he hits “Print” on the co-op computer in the common room, Grantaire’s vision is going softly gray at the edges, and his stomach roils at the thought of coffee or breakfast.

“Jesus Christ,” mutters Grantaire.

“What’s the matter?” says Jehan, materializing at Grantaire’s elbow. Well, probably Jehan had walked there; that sounds like something Jehan would do. Grantaire’s awareness is coming in ungainly lurches, like a poorly animated cartoon brontosaurus.

The printer chugs away, slowly spitting out the first page of the history essay Grantaire had started five hours ago. It is now 8 a.m. The paper is warm to the touch, in a way that makes Grantaire think of food again. His intestines clench.

“My dumbass body,” says Grantaire at last.

“Ah,” says Jehan. “When they figure out a way to download our consciousnesses into Terminator-style robots without physical weakness or flaw, I will be first in line.” A pause, and then, charitably, “You can be second, if you’d like.”

“Cool,” mutters Grantaire. He sways a little on the desk chair. The printer is only on page two.

“Hey, Jehan,” someone says. Grantaire swivels towards the door and immediately regrets it. His brain takes another few unsteady seconds to catch up with his body, and that’s when he sees Enjolras and Combeferre standing together, bright-eyed and perfect in the early morning light. They’re both wearing sweaters, and holding reusable coffee cups. They look like an advertisement for L.L. Bean, for the very concept of being a cute gay couple in Autumn. Grantaire feels like a bridge troll.

“Hey, Grantaire,” Combeferre adds. “Are you okay?”

The printer belches out what sounds like page three.

Last year, Grantaire had a system for writing papers like this. The system involved doing a shot for every page he finished. If he was really stuck, every paragraph. Obviously, this is not an option at Amis House, and so Grantaire had compromised, made sleep deprivation his drug of choice. It had seemed like a good idea at 3 a.m.—a phrase so forlorn it could be a country song, he thinks, scratching the back of his neck as the printer shudders and churns. He needs a shower.

“Why are printers absolute, uh, hot garbage?” he says out loud.

Enjolras opens his mouth, then closes it.

“I read an article about this,” says Combeferre. “The conclusions were complicated. I can send it to you?”

It’s such a perfectly kind and normal response, Grantaire could cry. He blinks hard. The printer finally regurgitates the final page of his essay.

“Yeah,” he manages, “sure, that would be great. Sorry, I’ve gotta run.”

Grantaire gathers the papers, checks to make sure they’re in the right order, and staples them together. Ka-chunk. The stapler is impossibly loud.

“There’s ginger tea bags in the kitchen,” Jehan offers quietly, and Grantaire nods because it’s easier than explaining that the problem isn’t his digestive system, it’s his entire being. He needs someone to wipe down the surface of his eyes, take a squeegee to his brain. He needs his soul dunked in warm sudsy water and then wrung out to dry. That would fix him, he thinks.

It’s too bad he’s not holding onto his thoughts very clearly, because he’s pretty sure there’s another country song in there somewhere. He snorts.

“I can make you some tea to go if you’d like,” says Combeferre, and it’s too much, it’s too warm, it’s too close to what Grantaire doesn’t even let himself think about wanting.

“That’s okay,” says Grantaire. “See you.” And he books it out of the room before he can get a glimpse of the pity on Combeferre’s handsome face.

[sandcobangevent]

Kintsugi Honey

By @ghostofnuggetspast and @iwantthatbelstaffanditsoccupant

“And you’re sure you’re okay? For a minute there, I was kinda worried.”

“Fine, John. Perfectly fine. Just… well, I wouldn’t even call it a bad dream, because, overall, it was quite pleasant, but…it had its moments of distress.”

“Oh. Well, ummm. Wanna talk about it?” . “I suppose that may help in preserving the more pleasant aspects.”

John slid up against Sherlock, who closed his eyes to better recall the moment. A few minutes ago he had seemed so agitated, but now he seemed relaxed, and even…was it content? Maybe so. Sherlock had been sleeping much better since they began sharing a bed. Platonically. For now, at least. John occasionally wondered if it would stay that way. Time would tell though, wouldn’t it? And on nights like this, when he could soak in the calm before the adventure the new day would bring, he felt it was all he really needed out of life. Just...this. Whatever it was. And sharing this kind of intimate moment, well…that was part of whatever it was they had. And he loved every second of it.

“Well, it began simply enough,” said Sherlock. “It began with my getting shot.”

John bolted upright. “And this…this was a good dream?”

“Well, I should explain. I knew I would be perfectly fine as the bullet ripped through my chest, because I knew about the bees. That they were already there.”

“About… the bees?”

“Yes. Do you remeber that absurd post you read me right before bed? The one about freezing bees?”

“The— Oh! This one?”

John scrolled through his phone and pulled up a Twitter post which seemed to have found its way over from Reddit. John had to keep up with Discord and Twitter to see what the fans were up to, those crazy kids. Reddit, not so much. Social media tended to annoy Sherlock, but the more amusing posts were always worth sharing.

“The one from heckacute,” John said. “‘If you put a bee in the freezer it will get cold and fall asleep. After it’s asleep, put it in your mouth, but don’t eat it.’”

“As if I would eat the poor bee,” interupted Sherlock.

“‘Just let it sit there. It will get warm and wake up. Now you have a bee in your mouth.’ And then oboebandgeek99 says, ‘Why the fuck would I do that.’”

“Yes. Why indeed? And I fell asleep precisely as you read that aloud, and it latched on to my subconscious mind, creating a bridge between the waking world and the sleeping one to the extent that I was aware of this concept—of putting a bee in one’s mouth—just as I began to dream. Which was fortunate indeed.”

“Because—or should I say bee-cause—why?”

“You should not.”

“Sorry, already did.” John grinned. Deep down, he knew Sherlock liked the puns. It was, after all, part of what made John…John.

“Because I had, upon the point of reaching my dream state, already placed a bee in my mouth, and, it being—”

“Bee-ing.”

“— And it being disconnected from anatomical reality, the bee had somehow procured other bees and settled within my right ventricle.”

“As opposed to taking the only available route in reality and flying directly into your lungs or stomach.”

“Yes. They created a small hive there.”

“In your heart.”

“Yes.”

“Like a birdhouse in your soul.”

“They were bees, not birds. And the soul does not have a physical location.”

“My English teacher, Mr Nieburgher, always insisted the soul was in your left armpit. But I digress… So, there were bees… buzzing around your heart. And again, this was the good part?”

“Well, they would occasionally fly out of my ears and harvest honey. But their home was in my heart, yes.”

“No flower gardens in your spleen?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, John. Is this conversation disturbing you? You are trying to divert it more than your usual proclivity for random interjections.”

“No, I’m okay. I just, don’t like to hear about you getting shot. It is upsetting.”

“I see. Well, you need to keep in mind that I knew all would be well. You see, the bees gathered nectar and created a lovely comb that was integrated into my circulatory system. This was fortunate, because, as I have mentioned, when the dream began I had been shot. By M, I believe. But the identity of the perpetrator was not entirely clear.”

John leaned in a bit closer and resisted the urge to crack another joke. He was not one to buy into prophecy, but then again, it felt like either one of them could be harmed, even fatally, at any given moment. And things were reaching some critical point, he could feel it.

“And the thing is, there was damage to the heart, where the bullet pierced it. But the bees…the bees filled the missing pieces, John. Filled it with their honey.”

“Like Kintsugi?”

“John! You really were paying attention when you researched all that oriental pottery!”

“Well, I mean, there was a section on Japanese pottery, and I read it without intending to, but the concept of the thing was kind of nice, so…it stuck with me.”

“Yes. The honey flowed into the broken pieces and filled them in the same way that precious metal binds together broken pottery to make it whole again. Quite beautiful, really. Poetic.”

“And the honey…it…oozes—”

“Love. It oozed love, John. The hive was connected directly with my heart. It was, quite lovely. So. That’s why I cannot say being severely, even potentially fatally, wounded was a bad thing. It was…quite euphoric, actually.”

“Oh.”

“Indeed.”

“Well, I am grateful the bees were there to save you.” John paused a moment. “Was…was I in the dream?”

“Yes, of course. Do you think, upon my having been shot, that you were not by my side? You and Mariana. Not Archie though. I don’t think my subconscious holds him in quite the same level of esteem.”

“They wouldn’t let a dog into the dream-hospital, I bet.”

“As the honey stuck together all the broken pieces, it also healed them with flavonoids, catalase, glucose oxidase, polyphenols and phenolic acid. Bees are truly fascinating creatures. I should like to study them. Perhaps with a hive of our own? Nothing quite like being a hive, but, we can’t expect that now, can we?”

“I suppose not.”

“I wonder if my corpse might become a hive someday?”

“Sherlock!”

“No, it would be a very good thing. I’d have no use for a body at that point. The bees can have it then.”

“Can we not talk about your…future corpse?”

“Fine.”

“So, there were bees flying out of your ears.”

“Yes. Good thing Archie wasn’t there, actually. He might have tried to catch them and eat them. Then he’d look like that dog in the post you showed me last week.”

“And then they wouldn’t have been able to heal you.”

“It’s a dream, John. In dreams, I would have found some other means of healing, I’m sure. A dream is simply a story our subconscious tells ourselves because the brain is never fully at rest. Or mine isn’t, at least. If things get too difficult in the story we can avoid the unhappy ending simply by waking up.”

“You can’t always do that. Sometimes it’s bad all the way through. Just like in real life.”

“True. But I do think that you could have fixed my heart as well, John.”

“In a dream, I suppose I could have.”

“I don’t see why not. You did it in real life. You came in to my world and saw something in me no one else had. Not for a very long time, at least—and I was fairly convinced I didn’t have whatever that spark was anymore. And I think Mariana saw it only because you did first.”

“I didn’t. I was ready to leave. Remember?”

“But you did not.”

“No. No, I didn’t. But you fixed me as well. Gave me purpose.”

“I suppose so. You are…my honey.”

And John laughed. And then he stopped, and placed his head on Sherlock’s chest. Because, for a moment, it didn’t seem all that funny. Not really.

“No, you’re right. I…I sort of…am.”

“Thank you. I think I’ll remember it now.” And Sherlock closed his eyes again and went back to sleep.

[thaltro]

Hey, ummm. This might be a weird question and you can just ignore it if it makes you uncomfortable but. Do you have any any research you can share about how to support someone with DID? Asking for a friend …literally. Just links to sources/links would be fine, I have been looking around on the internet for a while trying to find helpful sources and it’s been hard. The book (The Haunted Self) you linked a while back was really informative, but not overflowing with what I was looking for? I have asked my friend directly how I can be helpful but they aren’t sure… And there’s so much conflicting and misinformation out there…

Again, you can totally ignore this! But even a direction to start about would be great!

But on a side note, yet still relevant. Hope that you are doing okay too! The way you turn pain into beautiful art is really remarkable and inspiring. (Seeing you strive makes me want to do better actually) You really are amazing with what you have accomplished . So yeah, hope the message finds you well. From an eternal lurker.

P.S. Your rants are really great

I’ve actually tried to find books like that too

Unfortunately a majority of books relating to interacting with those with DID are for clinical professionals to treat it. But what you want is a book on how to be a good support. I’m not entirely sure if I know of any. My guess is to why there’s so little is 1) it’s a very under researched thing in the first place and 2) help varies from system to system. You’ve probably heard “be there for them, listen to their needs, don’t pick favourite alters” which are important but not tooo helpful.

I can give you advice. I think what people do that helped us is what I’ll call “encouraging personhood”. Maybe it’s different for your friend but for a lot of systems alters feel disconnected not just from reality, but trapped and limited in self expression . When I was formed I was formed only for work. I’d do perfect work and that’s it, and everyone around me was aware of that. My family referred to me as the “cold working alter” and I accepted that. People around me found it funny when the host would hurt me by dehumanizing me and making me only front for work. It changed when I met people who encouraged me to be a person. They engaged with my limited interests and showed me things related that would get my attention. When I fronted they did things with me that weren’t just work. And they tried to convince the host to be kinder to me and allow me to rest. It took a long time but now I exist outside of working, I feel loved and have a sense of self.

To do this people were patient with me, they communicated to others in the system when I couldn’t, they challenged my rigid beliefs of self, and they showed me there are things worth enjoying in life. This works for other alters in my system too. From what I’ve been told I have an alter who holds torture memories and memories of our near death experiences, the people around him though introduced him to things he eventually learnt to like (video games, food, music etc) and he’s much more stable.

I’m sorry I have no links, if I find some I’ll send you some. But I hope this suffices.

[numetaljackdog]

AND. AND. these people do NOT know what a genre is. like rap, country, jazz, yes these of course are genres. but lots of real geniuses in the notes on that post are like ummm my least favorite genre is nepo baby top 40 pop music 😏 well MY least favorite genre is weezer 🙄 STOP TALKING AT ONCE. regardless of the quality one could try to ascribe to the music listed here it's all without a point!! because those!!!! are not genres!!!!!!! top 40 is not a genre!!!!!! do you dislike all the genres that currently have a presence on the top 40? i'll bet the fuck you don't!!!! especially bc then we're back to the previously resolved conversations about rap and country and how they are in fact, not deserving of the title of "worst genre." i don't care if you like weezer or not, but weezer is a rock band - do you dislike all rock?? or even all alternative rock??? do you think that somehow fits the mold of "worst genre," a style of music that... what, doesn't deserve to exist?? guess what!!!! that would be a dumbass thing to say too!!!!!!!!

and so on and so forth until we arrive at the obvious, easy-as-breathing-air solution, posited by my own dear mutual in the tags of the original post: there IS no worst genre!!!!!!! mystery fucking solved!!!!!!! all styles of music have equal potential for value because they are all vessels of human creation and expression!!!!!! all genres have some good material and some bad material and a whoooole lot of just okay material!!!!! and even those are clearly subjective it's just a matter of personal preference at a small scale and critical consensus at a larger scale!!!!! you fuckers!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[casscainmainly]

No because you see Duke was FORGED by his parents everything he does is in service of THEM to HONOUR their legacies. But Cass was forged IN SPITE of David Cain everything she does is not about HIM but to TAKE CONTROL of her destiny. And Batgirl was her, it was Cass it was all of her, it was the first thing she ever owned; and Robin was his but also theirs, it was Duke and his friends and Damian and the people Duke loves, it was something they shared. But now Cass shares Batgirl with Steph like a hoodie because she loves her, because she can now forge a community around her she never had as a kid. And now Duke becomes the Signal because he's forging his own path, because he's directly honouring his mother rather than using another mother's legacy, maintaining his focus on community but also celebrating what makes him special. They're SO DIFFERENT but they LOVE EACH OTHER and family is so so important to both of them do you even understand what it means for Duke to call Cass his sister??? And for Cass to let him??? These two people for whom family means very different things but is so fundamental to who they are, for them to meet and choose each other means THE WORLD. DUKE & CASS FOREVER

[autumnwoodsdreamer]

I wish whoever was in the kitchen for Skeleton Crew had been there for Mando S3

[unfinishedslurs]

every robin gets a freebie

reverse robins in the aftermath of the death of filipe garzonas

A CD was in the mail within the next week, blank but for a note that slipped out when the envelope was opened. You should really trust in your birds more often, B. Learn from your mistakes for once. 

Jason felt bile in his throat. It was body cam footage, blurry and half obscured, of Robin and Garzonas on the roof. Footage that still clearly showed Garzonas taking a too-far step back, Robin lunging to reach him, and then…

But that’s not what happened, Jason doesn’t say. His tongue feels swollen and thick in his mouth. 

Batman takes off the cowl solemnly. “Jaylad,” he says. “Jason. I’m so sorry for doubting you. I never should have…”

He can’t be here anymore. He can’t be in this cave, can’t stand Bruce looking at him like that, can’t stand to even be in the vicinity of the Robin uniform he no longer deserves. 

He bolts for the exit.

“Jason!” he hears Bruce call, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t. Not even when he nearly runs into Alfred, not when Damian tries to grasp his arm, not when Duke asks him what’s wrong or when Tim yelps in surprise and drops his cane jumping out of the way. He just runs, out the manor door and into the night. 

For a split second the figure on the roof is overlaid with Gloria. Beautiful, resigned Gloria, who was so scared of what Felipe would do to her that she would do anything to stop it. 

Then he blinks, and he’s on the rooftop with the Spoiler. 

“Relax,” Spoiler says, “I’m not gonna jump. I'm only three steps into my five-step plan for world dominance. Can’t leave that unfinished. Imagine the paperwork.”

“I dunno.” Jason’s hands are shaking. “You seem like the kinda freak who would enjoy that.”

Spoiler lowers her mask, and Stephanie Brown smiles at him. 

“How did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“You know.” His voice wavers. “You know. You know what I did. How did you…why did you…what was the reason?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes!”

“Call it tradition then, I guess.” Steph sounds almost amused. “Robin’s flock together.”

“But you don’t like me.”

“Who told you that?”

No one, but she doesn’t exactly go out of her way to talk to Jason. He just kind of assumed. 

Tim’s awkward around him. Sometimes they’re fine, like when he wandered into the library where Jason was and asked if he wanted to get ice cream together. Other times he wouldn’t see him for three weeks. Jason tries not to think about the nights Tim has had dreams that left him cackling loud enough to wake Jason up the couple times he’s stayed the night at the Nest, or the things he heard Tim shout about little birds and broken nests when he was fear gassed. 

It kind of sucks, being your brother's biggest trigger. 

(Those three weeks may be a case of mutual avoidance, but Jason will never admit it.)

When he doesn’t say anything, Steph sighs. “How much do you know about when I was Robin?”

“Uh,” he says, caught off guard, “not much, I guess?” He knows that it was because something was going on with Tim. That’s about it, really. He asked once, when he was still new to Robin and the Manor. He didn’t ask again after he saw the look on Tim’s face. 

“Bruce didn’t really want me. Damian didn’t think I was worthy of the mantle, and took every chance he could to remind me. Tim was pissed at me for it. None of them wanted me there, and I tried so hard to prove them wrong. To be the Robin I knew I could be.”

That…can’t be right. The few times he had asked about Stephanie Brown, Tim had nothing but good words to say. Bruce and Damian spent so much time wallowing in their regrets it was insane. For her to say nobody wanted her there, when her absence was a shadow that followed them constantly around Wayne Manor, was baffling. 

Steph looks down at the helmet in her hands. “All I wanted was their approval, and it made me stupid. I overestimated myself. That’s how you get killed in this game, kid. Don’t get too cocky for your britches, and all that.”

Jason is shaking again by the time they get to the Nest. He hesitates at the window, sending a pleading look to Spoiler that she completely ignores ushering him in. 

Tim spins around in his tricked out gaming chair, frown pulling oddly against the wide scars on his cheeks. He flicks his comm off. “Steph?” Then his eyes found Jason. “Jason! Thank God, we were starting to get worried about you. Duke told everyone to give you space, but…”

His mouth is too dry to say anything in response, so he just shrugs. Tim tilts his head, examining him, before looking at Spoiler questioningly. 

She takes off her mask again, lowering her hood and shaking out her hair. “We need some help,” she explains, and nudges Jason forward. 

He stays stubbornly in his place, head tilted towards the floor. Steph sighs. “If you don’t tell him,” she says, “I will.”

He whips his head around. “You promised!”

“My name is literally The Spoiler.” She bares her teeth at him. “I get that you’re nervous, kid, but I do not have time for this.”

“For what?” Tim says. God, Tim’s going to be like a dog with a bone with this. He’s never met a mystery he didn’t want to solve. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

“I killed Filipe!” He blurts out and freezes, moving immediately to hide behind Spoiler. She doesn’t let him, grabbing his shoulder and holding him firmly to the spot. 

Tim gapes at him. “You…” he trails off, slowly turning to Steph, who holds his gaze steadily. “The footage?”  

“I have connections.”

“Of course you do.” He rubs a hand over his face. “How are we playing this?

What?

“We keep going along with what’s been presented to him,” Spoiler responds without hesitation. “B’s paranoid, but he’s also the king of denial. There’s no doctoring on the tape itself, he won’t look any deeper.”

“And Damian?”

“Like he gives a shit.”

“True,” he admits. “Duke wouldn’t care enough to check either way, so that just leaves Cass.”

Steph swears. “Fuck, Cass. Do you think she’ll say something?”

“Yes. Ugh, yes she will. Fuck.”

“Think you can talk some sense into her?”

“Maybe.” He squints at Jason. “I’ll probably play up the ‘ridden by guilt’ and ‘will never happen again’ angle. He definitely reads it.”

“What the hell are you two talking about?” Jason finally says, lungs fighting for air. “I—I killed someone!”

“Not according to Bruce, you didn’t.” Tim tells him. 

“You want me to lie?”

“Yes.”

He looks at Steph imploringly, begging her to explain, but she doesn’t even look at him. “Chill out, kid,” she says, “We all get a freebie.”

“Damian got more than a freebie,” Tim points out. 

“He’d tell you it was his right as the blood son.”

“Stop joking!” He shouts, chest heaving for air. “Just—stop it! Why aren’t you telling Bruce? Why are you making plans to lie to him? What’s wrong with you?”

Tim exchanges a heavy look at Steph, before reaching his hand out to Jason. Jason takes it, trembling. 

“Plenty of vigilantes have to make hard choices when it comes to stopping people the law can’t touch,” he tells Jason gently. “I work with people who all choose different things. When it comes to people like Garzonas, who will keep doing it over and over with no remorse…it’s not a method I recommend, but sometimes there’s only one way to stop them. If Robin made that choice, I wouldn’t blame him.”

He can’t stop the tears from welling in his eyes, because this is Tim Drake saying it. Damian was the first Robin, yeah, and Steph left her undeniable mark with her cheer and wit, but Tim wore the mantle twice. He made it into something new, something a bit brighter in the dark nights. Then, after Steph, he made it into a memory. Bright yellow for her hair. Red for Superboy. Even after they both came back Jason wore their colors, because Robin was persistence, and spirit, and clever words followed by hard punches, and bravery and a million other things, but it was also hope and love and remembrance for the lost. 

He wouldn’t forget that. “Why are you so okay with this?”

“You know I’ve had to make that choice too.”

Jason almost laughs, but refrains. He’s heard the stories. “Never sounded like much of a choice.”

“It was.” His eyes snap to Tim’s at the sudden edge to his voice, and Tim meets his eyes carefully. “I was fully aware of what I was doing. It’s not something I’ll ever do again, but it was my choice, and I won’t have that taken from me.” 

“I don’t think I can be Robin anymore.”

“Well, we all have to give it up sometimes.”

“Are we really doing this?” Tim asks, after he thinks Jason has fallen asleep. 

Jokes on him, Jason doesn’t think he’s gonna sleep ever again. 

“Are you seriously getting cold feet now? I thought you loved lying to Bruce.”

“I don’t love lying to Bruce, it’s just—“

“‘—necessary sometimes,’” she finishes. “Whatever. Like you don’t love the thrill of it.”

Tim doesn’t bother denying it. “This isn’t just lying to B, Steph. This is—are we really going to cover up a murder?”

The room drops ten degrees. 

“If you’re not going to back me on this, we can go somewhere else. Don’t want you getting your hands dirty or anything,” she sneers. 

“You know I’ve always got your back,” Tim says. Jason thinks back to what Spoiler told him earlier about her time as Robin, and wonders if that might not be as irrefutable a truth as he’d always thought it was. “I’m worried about Jason.”

“You wouldn’t need to be if you would just help him out—“

“You saw him. The kid looks like a ghost. He looks like I did. Don’t—no, Steph, I’m serious. I’m worried about him. At least I didn’t have to hide that I killed the Joker. You think keeping this bottled up will be good for him? It’s going to kill him.”

“The alternative is telling Batman that his precious Robin killed someone. You remember how that went last time?”

There’s a long pause, and then he hears Tim hiss an exhalation behind clenched teeth. “Don’t bring that into this. Jason’s not me.”

“That’s the fucking problem. You were his golden boy—“

“Seriously? You think I was the golden boy?”

“I’m hardly his favorite,” Tim scoffs. “Jason is.”

There’s a shocked silence. Then Stephanie scoffs. “You can’t seriously be jealous.“

“I’m trying to tell you it’ll be different from me. Have you seen him with Jason?” He waits, but Steph doesn’t answer. “He laughs. He laughs, he smiles, he’s fucking…happy. Jason makes him happy. I never did that. None of us ever—“

“Jesus, Tim,” Steph says roughly. “You made him plenty happy. Damian, Cass, Duke, you all make him laugh—“

“Not like Jason does.”

“You willing to risk the kid on that?”

A beat, and Tim sighs. “No. But it’s different now. Jason has us. All of us. It wouldn’t be like last time.”

“Jason’s not me.” He pauses, almost like he’s debating what he’ll say next, before he says, “He’s not you, either.”

Steph stays silent for so long Jason wonders if she climbed out the window and left. 

Finally, she exhales. “He’s not you, and he’s not me,” she agrees, “but Bruce is always going to be Bruce.”

They sit in silence for a long moment. Finally Steph speaks up. “Are you really jealous of him?”

“No, Steph. Jesus.”

“You’re such a liar.” It’s affectionate this time, though, clearly poking fun. 

Tim sighs, heavier than the teasing warrants. “It’s not him. It’s not him, and it’s not you, I just…I was never able to give up Robin on my own terms. I never…I never got to feel like I was putting it down. It never stopped feeling like—“

Stephanie doesn’t say anything. Eventually, one of the chairs slides back, and Jason hears a cane clacking on the ground. A cabinet opens. “Did you want coffee?”

“What happened to those awful sodas you were addicted to?”

“I assumed you wouldn’t want one,” Tim responds, voice dry. There’s no indication of their discussion in either of their tones. “Considering the first thing you ever did in this apartment was go through all my stuff and make fun of my taste.”

“Fuck it. I’m feeling abominable tonight, I should have something to fit the mood.”

“Shut up.” The fridge opens and shuts, and there’s a quiet thunk like a hand catching something out of midair. Then two drinks crack open. 

“God, I forgot how awful these were.”

(some undetermined amount of time later)

Bruce: Dick you can’t kill Tony Zucco. Batman and Robin do not kill.

Dick: Steph said Robin gets a freebie >:(

Bruce: 

Bruce:

Bruce: STEPHANIE-

[hrokkall]

A solution has been found

The solution is portable

Technical implementation is possible and generally applicable

[revvethasmythh]

absolutely no one:

me:

[viorhysealberia]

hot take: not that it matters, but I truly don’t think lazy people actually exist. even if we DO run with the truly heartless idea that everyone has to be “useful” for the right to live, everyone wants to be “useful”. Everyone wants to do something. Nobody wants to completely waste away doing nothing, that’s just not the nature of living. They just don’t have the drive to go with the options the government has decided are worth having the right to live for. And they shouldn’t have to.

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

HIII THABK U FOR THE TRIVIA AND ASHE SONG before i take forever 2 answer those or forget here is a blank ticket to please please talk about prime defenders and their AWFUL emotional literacy and processing skills i would literally love to read that essay so much ive also been thinking about it incessantly. big eyes staring up at u.png. ok ok peace out GOODNIGHT !!!! <33

i lied actually im not going to bed im judt thinking about this ans listening to St. John on a loop now. hello catkiss.gif i forgot how youve filled me with so much joy. that cat is so fuckign cute

anyway. hi :) prime defenders huh. this is gonna be less of an essay and more of a sleepy ramble but ohhh i have so many thoughts. they all process things so differently and none of them are good at it they all need therapy so bad. ms.g where is the hero therapy why didnt you build that into w.a.t.c.h ma'am

vyncent is probably the best at actually processing things out of all of them, he just internalizes everything to the point where he wont talk about it unless hes pushed past the breaking point. vyncent is actually very.. emotionally intelligent? i want to say mature but that feels like im singling him out because hes the oldest. i just feel like because he grew up on Fauna and had to be in basically survival mode in a world full of monsters trying to kill you.. that makes a person grow up quicker than they should. i think vyncent had a good childhood and for the most part his parents took good care of him but just.. living in that world doesnt seem like it leaves room for a whole lot of expressing emotions. vyncent is good at quick analysis of a situation, but unless a problem directly interferes with the current goal he doesnt externalize it to everyone else. but bottling up his feelings and emotions just builds up pressure over time until something like the lich makes him blow up and let it all out at once, usually in a dramatic monologue format bc condi is really good at those god damn it. also they played off the fact that vyncent said all of that to the lich and then missed his attack as a funny thing but i like to think of it as. he got too overwhelmed w his emotions and lashed out too soon it made his fighting messy. vyncent is so angry and honestly after what hes been through he deserves to be !!!!

william wisp. my boy. god hes just like me fr so much so that it physically hurts sometimes. anyway. i always think back to the scene where theyre all in the cabin talking about themselves/sharing backstories and william keeps desperately trying not to talk about himself. the fact that hes so ashamed of his powers he hides wisp form every time. two of his powers are LITERALLY a) turning invisible and b) turning intangible, usually as an excuse to leave whatever situation hes in ("accidentally" falling through the floor at opportune moments in season 1) . theres. a thing that happens at the end of episode 13/beginning of epidode 14 that youre really close to and i wont spoil yet but god it has to do with this so extremely much please come back to my inbox when you get there. youll know what it is trust me. um. yeah. so anyway. i think a lot of this comes from a place of. he doesnt want anyone to be scared of him. williams not stupid hes incredibly smart and insightful he knows his powers are objectively SCARY. hes scared of himself constantly, he doesnt want anyone else to feel that way about him, so he shifts focus whenever those aspects of himself are brought up because if someone were to think about it for any amount of time theyd realize the truth that hes scary and dangerous to be around (<< william logic. hey remember how one of the reasons he originally left deadwood was because the monsters there were attracted to the wisps and therefore Him so he left to keep his friends/family out of danger)

i think a lot about williams death and the immediate aftermath, i dont know how much you actually know and how much of this comes later but . how does he go home after waking up from that. his parents know about his powers, so they MUST know what happened. what do you think he told them when he god home muddy and dirty and broken and probably bloody after being missing for. god knows how long. how does he look his mother in the eyes and tell her her little boy is dead. but hes also not because hes standing right in front of her. how the fuck do you think he felt the first time he went into wisp form and saw his body laying there !!! of course he wouldnt want to talk about that!!!! youre gonna have to pry william wisps emotions from his cold dead hands !!!!!!!

dakota's response to the ashe situation was to run away in the woods and do nothing but train for 10 months. he didnt think about it for 10 months. i dont even have a whole lot to say about dakota other than like. stunned silence whenever his inability to process trauma is brought up because grizzly does such an incredible job at being like "you ask dakota how hes doing and his face is just blank" << paraphrased actual quote from an episode i cannot remember which one. either 11 or 12 ?

also because im thinking about him im including ashe in this. we didnt get to see a whole lot of his canon reactions to extreme emotional situations so a lot of this is just coming from My Mind but ashe seems like hed be the type to repress a lot of his emotions too. being alone in your house/in your room for extended periods of time will do that to a guy. i think he feels a lot of things and will probably very openly cry/scream/get angry when hes alone but as soon as he knows another person is there he can immediately flip the switch to turn it all off like nothing happened. very much a deadpan "im fine." if someone asks how hes doing, even if hes got like. the remainder of tear tracks down his face. cannot physically express his emotions in the presence of someone else

[runawaymun]

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