#s4 skull

[s4scandyeatinskull]

Hello Skull, how ya doing?

-Rider

Hello Rider. I'm doing okay.

.

.

Would you like some candy?

[simp999]

A New Home Ch. 30

Various! Splatoon Manga x Skilled! Isekai'd! Reader

Wc: 1.3k

Back to the Start! Previous Next

"And Y'know what they've got? TWO BROTHERS THAT CAN EAT SH-"

Tasha quickly covers Leo's mouth with a shake of her head.

"He is right."

Tasha. Well- she wasn't one to joke around, but she was saying what was also on Milo's mind. And now yours. Yeah, it's still worth a shot, isn't it?

Along with Leo's muffled shouts came a reassuring smile from Milo, carefully offering his hand to you to get you out of your dark room. You needed to start preparing, right? One thing that was reassuring was knowing you wouldn't have to face any salty comebacks, and you already knew your opponents would be good sports whether it be a win or a loss. Milo reluctantly let go of your hand after guiding you to the washroom thanks to Tasha's instruction to give your face a quick wash. You gently slapped your face and stretched it while you looked in the mirror, still being slightly unused to the face staring back at you. You swear you notice new things every time, mostly tiny scars. You run a hand over your tentacles and to the nape of your neck, gently rubbing it to soothe yourself.

You lean on the counter as you get a little closer, messing with your facial expression. That face is about to be on TV. And that face? Is about to beat Goggles.

...You hoped.

You slowly make your way over to the living room, face less red and puffy. Your family are all resting in the living room waiting for instructions. Leo's on the couch, playing on his phone. His phone screen is a bit too close to his face, and Milo is berating him for it. Tasha's sitting on the single chair, cleaning her weapon. Hm, she does that a lot. Milo almost seems like an exasperated mother or older sister, and it makes you stifle a giggle.

"What now, Boss?"

Well, as much as you'd love to be nice and treat them to the mall or something- that can wait till after the battle. You wouldn't want your team's legs going tired before the battles and come on, treats come after. Here, let's see... What should be done? Stretching, something to improve your moods, double check your timings, clean your weapons, maybe train for a short while. Well- stretching wasn't as important as a squid- no bones and all - but it was still useful to warm up your muscles right before your match.

"How is everybody for food?"

You all ate a few hours ago, but everyone was different. Milo of course always kept snacks on his person for anyone who needed them, but mainly for Leo. Tasha eats pretty light in general and isn't a fan of eating in public, Milo often eats three big meals per day, and Leo has smaller meals but much, much more frequently. It seems you didn't have to worry about food just yet, so you figured training first with frequent breaks whenever needed, food, taking care of your weapons, calming down for the night with some entertainment, maybe a game or if everyone wanted to do their own thing, you could catch up on your latest manga.

And so, the four of you made your way over to Sheldon's practice area by train. You honestly didn't have much of a plan, expecting it to be just the usual target practice- which sounded kinda lame now that you thought of it.

It took a bit to get there, Milo being too kind and letting people on the train before him.

Once you had finally arrived, you groaned as you noticed some purple ink all around the far room. That's alright you suppose, you'll just have even less space to practice is all. You began barking out training ideas when you noticed somebody coming up from behind you. They didn't seem like a threat- judging by your family's expressions, it was somebody familiar. So you teasingly aimed/swung your weapon right before hitting them. You were aiming for head height,but it matched at their chest level, them gazing down curiously, and you slowly tilting your head up; forgetting how stupidly tall he was.

"Oh, Skull,"

Whoops, that was dry. He didn't seem to notice as he began to ask you only extremely direct questions, starting with if you were about to start training.

Soon enough, the other S4 members came and found their leader, slightly irritated that he managed to wander off, but gaining a bit of excitement - or, well, seeming less down(?) depending on the squid. Aloha was quick to make his way over to Leo and start chatting. Army thought for a moment as he watched the interaction, shaking his head lightly. He repeated Skull's earlier question in his own manner, slightly tilting his head in thought.

"Well, if it's training you'd like- then I have a proposal. I heard that-"

"-OH YEAH!, The stage you're battling on tomorrow is open right now! We checked it earlier for ya!"

Aloha swiftly cut him off, accidentally tugging Leo with him.

Mask shakes his head, you're honestly surprised to see that he was actually paying attention, gasmask in his phone.

Army rolled his eyes and continued;

"Yes, it is free tonight."

You caught the way he glanced at Aloha, and how Skull tilted his head, appearing confused but not saying anything of it. Analyzing people came natural as an S+ Ranker, and you could tell they were hiding something. Surely it couldn't be bad as they were willing to help you- and you'd hoped it was due to the fact that you've helped them before. Or maybe this is payback for those gruesome hours of trailing? Who knows.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Before you knew it, you were at the super jump area in Deca tower. A worker there offered your group a raised eyebrow before shrugging.

"Was wonderin' why ya booked a timin' so late on this stage, S4's Army. Either way, have fun, gang!"

His face flushed with orange as he stepped on the super jumper and swiftly went before you could object.

He paid for this training time?? How did he know? You swiftly turned to the S4 members with your mouth agape, but before you could even try to offer anything, Mask quickly shut you down.

"We're the S-fooour,-"

He dragged out his words, hesitating on the next,

"We woooon't take your cash."

And so began a short night of fun battles. You made sure to clarify you wouldn't be long- and Army had already assumed so, not wanting to tire out your team. 'Smart move', he called it.

You couldn't help but continue to wonder how different they were in battle compared to the blue team.

You sent ink flying as you thought,

'Aloha's probably the most like their team in general with their shenanigans- but I remember Rider saying that they were underestimated, especially due to improving so quickly by facing so many S+ rankers and winning. But are we stronger than the purple team? Likely. Maybe we do stand a chance?'

Battles went on until Leo complained, to which you took your first break 10 minutes in. You only battled for 40 minutes including breaks- you really hadn't intended on battling long. For the remaining 20 mins of time the S4 decided to do some 2v2s, which was mostly just to make you feel less guilty. You thanked them, already trying to come up with ways to repay them. But Mask caught you once again.

"Repay us by winiiiing, we don't want or need anything in retuuurn besides thaaat."

You sarcastically rolled your eyes, and bid your goodbyes.

The family decided on playing a few card games after dinner to wind down after cleaning your weapons, followed by being up to your own devices afterward.

.

.

.

Wc: 1.3k

Feb.18.24

[lunartearrose]

Skull!!!! Team sweet skull!!!!

[i-will-fight-cod]

Skull and Vintage before the drama and divorce

[vampyaloha]

A very weresquid Skull! He still loves his candy after all!

[loveinhawkins]

ao3

About twenty minutes into the hike, Steve hears Eddie’s breathing change.

They’re bringing up the rear, but they’re still close enough for some of the group’s conversations to be within earshot—Robin and Nancy leading in a silently agreed upon formation, despite Dustin holding the compass. That way, no matter what, the kids are shielded.

Speaking of the kids, they’re currently having a passionate discussion about who among them will reach the Gate the fastest—and yeah, there’s not a chance in hell that’s happening, Steve thinks, but they don’t need to know that yet.

It’s when the debate specifically turns to who’s the best swimmer that he notices the switch in Eddie’s breathing, air sucked in through clenched teeth. A glance behind confirms Steve’s suspicions; Eddie’s breaking away from the party, his face white, eyes steadfastly on the forest floor.

Steve leaves him be, doesn’t draw any attention to it—but he keeps watch in his peripheral, so he spots exactly when Eddie staggers off, soon swallowed up by the trees. He can still hear his footsteps, though, which is reassuring.

Slowly, making sure it seems casual, Steve bends down and picks up the smallest rock he can find, rubs his thumb across it to make sure the edges are smooth enough.

He throws, hits his target: the back of Dustin’s head.

Predictably, Dustin whirls around, mouth already open to voice his indignation.

Steve quickly puts a finger to his lips.

While Dustin doesn’t look all that thrilled about it, he obligingly stays silent. He’s damn quick on the uptake, of course; Steve can see the spark of understanding in his eyes when he notices that Eddie is missing.

He steps forward with urgency, but Steve’s just as quick to shake his head.

No, it’s okay. I’m on it.

He knows it’s not a coincidence that Eddie left so quietly—that having the kids see him in another moment of vulnerability is probably too much to handle on top of the ongoing nightmare he’s found himself in. Steve gets it; God, if he were in Eddie’s shoes, he’d be taking any opportunity that he could to get some privacy.

Even without words, it’s obvious that Dustin wants to protest, frowning hard.

Steve raises an eyebrow meaningfully. Dude, trust me.

Dustin heaves a silent, dramatic sigh, but he nods all the same.

Steve gestures for the water bottle Dustin’s got in his backpack. Mimes for Dustin to throw it to him.

Dustin brings out the bottle, but doesn’t throw it immediately, like he’s doubtful Steve will make the catch.

Steve rolls his eyes. Seriously? Dickhead.

Dustin rolls his eyes right back.

When he throws the bottle, Steve catches it one-handed as a point of pride.

Dustin’s theatrics grow: he gasps, all slack-jawed, wide-eyed disbelief; Steve flips him off.

Then Dustin taps his watch deliberately.

Steve softens, gives him a brief thumbs up before following where Eddie went. He looks back a couple of times, reassured by the sight of Robin and Nancy stopping and rearranging themselves so the group formation is kept up in his absence.

It doesn’t take long to find Eddie. He hears him first, harsh, bitten off retching—and while that’s not exactly a surprise, the sound still makes Steve’s heart sink.

Eddie’s doubled over, leaning against a tree with one hand. Steve feels a sudden impulse to pull his hair back for him but resists it—remembers Eddie violently flinching away from any touch in the boathouse.

So he just makes sure his presence is nice and obvious without being overwhelming—takes leisurely, even footsteps. He sits down opposite, just close enough that Eddie could reach out if he needed to.

But he doesn’t. He’s barely stopped retching before he’s trying to straighten up, grip slipping against the bark. Steve winces at the thought of splinters digging into his palm.

“Woah, man, take it easy—”

“M’fine,” Eddie mutters. He scoffs harshly, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He’s shaking. “This is kinda normal for me now.”

His head’s still half bowed, hair falling across his face like he doesn’t want to be seen. It doesn’t stop Steve from noticing the evidence of tears on his face; he thinks they’re simply from the exertion of throwing up, but he can’t be sure.

“Just—just give yourself a minute,” Steve says. “We’ve got time.”

He stretches out right there on the ground, slow and deliberate. It takes a second or two before Eddie—after another wobbly attempt at standing—mirrors him: sinking down until he’s sat, back pressed up against the tree trunk.

Steve listens to his breathing. It’s lost that nauseated gritted teeth sound, but it hitches once, twice, and then—

“I can’t stop—” Eddie covers his face with his hands.

Steve shuffles closer. “You’re okay.”

But Eddie shakes his head. He drops his hands, leans his head back against the tree. His eyes are distant. Haunted. Steve doesn’t need to guess about what he’s seeing.

“Eddie—”

“You know the funniest thing?” Eddie gasps out, like it isn’t funny at all. “I keep thinking if—if only I hadn’t ditched swimming lessons, I might’ve l-learned something fucking useful.”

At a loss for what to say, Steve tries for something normal. Thinks back to high school, something far away from all of this…

“You showed up to swimming,” he says. “I remember.”

He does, though it’s faint.

Honestly, he spent as little time as he could changing in the showers, wanting to make the most out of time in the pool. He didn’t even goof off with Tommy H or any of the other guys, preferring to do solo laps in the deep end. It was repetitive, calming; he treated it like a vacation from the adrenaline of being on the swim team.

Then came that November, and the whole routine became an escape from much more.

Eddie gives him a look that might’ve passed for amusement at one point, if his breathing wasn’t still so shallow.

“Yeah, I—I showed up for, like, the first week, Harrington. Fucking Lewinsky stole my clothes, you only let that kinda thing happen once.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve says sincerely. “I didn’t know.”

A wan flicker of a smile passes across Eddie’s face. “Of course you didn’t,” he says. It’s not an accusation. “You were, like, way too busy being part fish.”

Steve huffs a laugh through his nose, but Eddie doesn’t join in. Instead his breathing quickens, like the distraction of high school hasn’t been nearly enough.

“It’s just—I should’ve been more—should’ve known h-how to—” He shakes his head again. Swallows. “After Chr—”

He chokes on her name.

Steve reaches out, only to hesitate and leave his hand hovering in the air between them. “Hey, man, there’s nothing you could’ve—”

“What if it’s not a coincidence?” Eddie whispers. “What if there’s—there’s a… there’s gotta be a reason that—that it’s me.”

Steve moves closer still. Draws back at the last second; Eddie’s still trembling.

“That’s bullshit,” Steve says firmly.

Eddie laughs bitterly. “Is it? D-don’t fucking kid yourself, Harrington, s’not exactly looking good. Two people died r-right in front of me, and I just…” He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. “I’d arrest me.”

“Stop, would you just—”

“Come on, man. You’ve gotta know, even if Wheeler and Buckley are still too polite to say it.” Eddie’s voice is soft in resignation. “I’m just wasting your time.”

It’s Steve’s turn to scoff. “Do you seriously think we’d be doing all of this if we thought you were a lost cause?”

Eddie shrugs, the sleeves of his leather jacket scraping against the bark. “There’s only so many signs a guy can ignore, right? Hell, even my watch has stopped, like I’m literally outta fucking time.”

“Okay, no wonder you failed English,” Steve says, “that is overwrought as shit, dude.”

The jab doesn’t quite land—his barely concealed worry just makes him sound sharp. Fraught.

But Eddie’s eyes widen in surprise, and he finally seems speechless, and this is it, Steve realises, the one chance he has to get through to him.

“Nothing prepares you for this shit, Eddie,” he says—thinks of 1983, of seeing the impossible. Terrified out of his mind. “I mean it, there’s nothing you could’ve done. Nothing,” he adds pointedly, when it looks like Eddie might protest. “Chrissy, Patrick, it’s fucking awful what they—but it’s not—not a, um. Not a reflection on—it’s not your fault.”

It’s not enough, Steve knows it��feels acutely like a shitty school guidance counsellor, only able to parrot empty platitudes. He has to dig deeper.

He looks at Eddie directly, unflinching. Can read the fear lurking in his eyes, the one he keeps dancing around.

A fierce emotion floods Steve’s chest—like being flung into the deep end without warning, the water already over your head before you can take a breath.

He’s felt it before, mixed up in a wave of anger as he watched Powell raise that goddamn picture to the camera.

Don’t you go believing a word this town says about you, Eddie Munson. Don’t you dare.

Steve braves a touch, places a hand on Eddie’s knee. Eddie doesn’t move.

“You’re not the curse, Eddie. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Eddie shudders. He looks away, but not quick enough to hide the definite tears this time.

Steve waits. He doesn’t move his hand for a long moment.

When Eddie’s finished roughly wiping at his face with his sleeve, Steve hands over the water bottle. He’s silently relieved that Eddie takes it without a fight, like accepting even this smallest amount of help means there’s still a part of him that hasn’t given up yet.

There’s still hope.

After a few sips, Eddie sets the water bottle aside. He’s breathing deeper now, and when he looks up, his eyes have that keen, almost analytical gaze.

“What’s…?” he murmurs, and then he’s the one that’s reaching out, as if without thinking, fingertips lightly brushing against Steve’s forehead.

He feels cold, Steve thinks. Like he’s still half frozen from falling into the lake.

“Did you… cut yourself on something?” Eddie says.

Steve’s about to say no automatically before he remembers.

“Right, yeah. Um, our flashlights kinda… exploded when…”

He trails off. Watches with sympathy as Eddie fills in the gaps.

“Oh,” Eddie says very quietly.

He keeps following the trail of the cut—Steve can still feel the chill of him: the light pressure travelling across his skin, like Eddie needs the motion to stay calm.

“Ow,” Eddie says, hushed, almost as if it happened to him, too. “You’re lucky you didn’t get glass in your eye, dude.”

Steve doesn’t say what he’s thinking—that he’d have dealt with it, that he would’ve been fine—because he thinks he understands: that maybe by focusing on something small, it helps keep Eddie here, temporarily blocks out the sight of Chrissy and Patrick’s deaths.

He checks his watch. They’re just creeping up on fifteen minutes; they’d better make tracks soon.

He stands but not abruptly, conscious of not rushing Eddie unnecessarily.

“If we cut across, uh, this way,” he demonstrates with one hand as Eddie gets to his feet, “we’ll catch up pretty quick. Don’t need Henderson’s compass to tell me the way. Honestly, he acts like he knows places better than me when I’ve known them, like, all my life. He does it all the damn time.”

Eddie lets out a laugh that still sounds slightly wet; he sniffs as if to cover up the sound. His smile is shaky at best, but it seems genuine.

“Man, he does that to me, too. What is up with that? Last week, he swore he found some shortcut to the Hellfire room that I’d be totally unaware of, like I’ve not spent forever in the damn building.”

He falls into step with Steve as they walk on, and Steve catches the very slight grimace he makes as he swallows.

Steve checks his jeans pocket. It turns out luck is on his side, at least for this: he’s got a couple of mints, still unwrapped.

When he offers some to Eddie, he gets a heartfelt thanks in reply. But at the same time, Eddie also looks suspiciously close to fighting a smirk.

“What?”

“Nothing!” But the smirk’s definitely won; Eddie tucks the mint into the corner of his mouth as he says, “Just didn’t realise I was getting the full Skull Rock experience.”

It takes a second for Steve to catch on. “The experience—?”

Eddie’s smirk grows. “Your reputation precedes you.”

Steve snorts. “Fuck off, are you twelve?”

“Maybe,” Eddie says, halfway to singsong.

Steve shakes his head, half in amusement, half in thought. Sharing juvenile kisses with girls at Skull Rock feels a world away, almost like it happened to someone else. That’s not even why the mints were in his pocket in the first place—not that he’s gonna put a dampener on Eddie’s teasing or anything. In truth, the habit began the night after Starcourt, using a mint—despite his stinging mouth—to help keep himself awake.

Of course he doesn’t say all of that. Chooses instead to nudge Eddie in the side, fighting a smirk of his own.

Eddie acts like he’s been dramatically winded in response, makes a crack about how that move wouldn’t fall under the Skull Rock experience.

Steve thinks he’s getting a handle on how to read him, charting the improvement of his mood through just how stupid he sounds—when smiling no longer seems like it’ll fracture his face from the strain.

By the time they catch up with the others, they’re both stifling laughter (Steve keeps having to remind himself that this is technically a stealth mission), Eddie reaching across to mess with Steve’s hair in retaliation for being repeatedly nudged in the ribs. His hands feel warmer now, Steve realises with a smile, as he pushes Eddie back with a forearm against his chest.

For the most part, it looks like their disappearances haven’t been noticed—Nancy quietly moving to rejoin Robin at the front as if by chance. Steve knows better, knows everything has been carefully coordinated to look that way; as Eddie relaxes at his side, he feels a rush of gratitude for the group’s tact.

Granted, Dustin kind of breaks the illusion when he turns around and starts walking backwards—but what he lacks in subtlety he makes up for in entertainment: using needlessly big, questioning gestures, brow furrowed in concentration.

When Dustin widens his eyes impatiently, Steve relents and nudges Eddie again. “He’s not gonna stop til you respond, trust me.”

“Hmm? Oh.”

Eddie lifts up Dustin’s water bottle with a grin and gives a thumbs up with his free hand.

Dustin brightens, replying with a thumbs up of his own—still stubbornly walking backwards like it’s simply his preferred way to travel.

“Gonna bet on how long it takes for him to fall flat on his face?” Steve says in an undertone.

Eddie snorts in a way that can’t be disguised as anything else, though he gives it a shot with the world’s least convincing cough. He gives up in the next breath, chuckling through a, “Steve,” in joking disapproval, like Steve’s such a terrible influence, which just sets them both off again.

Dustin’s probably too far away to hear them properly, but he’s clearly got the gist, eyes narrowing in suspicion. He does a series of emphatic gestures that Steve can’t make sense of; it just looks like he’s doing a complicated mime for charades.

Eddie must get the same impression because he soon calls out with a shit-eating grin, “Book or movie?”

Dustin flips them both off, but he can’t quite pull off the deadpan expression, his lips twitching, and Steve knows for sure that he’s hiding a laugh when he turns back around to walk with Max and Lucas.

Eddie smiles as if he’s noticed the same thing. He jostles their shoulders one last time, and it feels like there’s something more intentional behind it. A touch that lingers.

It’s easy when there’s still a long walk ahead of them—when there’s still daylight—to be convinced that they’ve got all the time in the world. Steve’s become kind of an expert at it: in his head, he could make swimming lessons last forever.

But even that old trick doesn’t last; he feels the clock restart as soon as that damn vine wraps around his ankle, cold and unyielding.

In the split second before being dragged under the lake, all he can think is thank God the kids aren’t here.

The thought follows him all the way into The Upside Down—later joined by the fervent wish that he could somehow summon up Dustin’s water bottle, as his head spins through the hopefully staunched bat bites.

“Christ, Harrington,” Eddie says when the dizziness persists, and Steve barely catches himself before falling against a vineless tree. “D’you ever take your own advice?”

“What?” Steve says faintly.

He screws up his eyes, forces himself to blink until his vision doesn’t waver—braces his weight against the tree with a sigh, ready to push himself up—

But Eddie’s hand is suddenly on top of his, halting him.

“Just… wait,” Eddie says. “Just a minute.”

Steve doesn’t know if it is a minute; he tries to keep track in his head, but the seconds slip away from him, and all he can focus on is each breath he takes, until they lose that gasping edge, grow deeper. Slower.

The world sharpens around him, like he’s been underwater without realising and has finally broken through to the surface. He feels the muted scratch of damp wood beneath his palm. The pressure of Eddie’s hand—not enough to hurt, but enough for Steve to tell that he’s still freaked out.

“I’m okay,” he says, looking Eddie in the eye. Does his best to silently project the sentiment of I’m not gonna collapse on you, I promise. “We’re not far from Nancy’s place.”

He can see a flicker of light just ahead, off to the side—thankfully not spots in his vision, just the flashlight he gave to Robin and Nancy; he’d tried to make it sound like he was doing them a favour when he actually thought it’d be best to leave both his hands free, just in case he did end up collapsing. At least he’d have a chance to brace for a fall.

There’s an uncertain air to how the girls are walking, and Steve suspects they feel a little like him: at a loss without the kids sandwiched between them. Now the usual priorities are thrown to the wind; what do you do when you want to shield everyone, all at once?

Eddie’s surveying him like he’s far from convinced by his definition of ‘okay.’

Still, he laughs weakly and says, “Good to know your navigating skills still work in this fucking hellhole.”

Steve’s hand shifts beneath Eddie’s as he stands up properly; it’s only then that Eddie moves away.

“Not far, not far,” he’s muttering under his breath, like he’s trying to reassure himself. His voice cracks in quiet desperation, “God, how long have we even been down here?”

Steve glances down to his wrist. He’s met with a watch face that’s smashed, jagged cracks running through it so he can’t even read the time it must’ve stopped at.

“Hey,” Steve says wryly, tilting his wrist so Eddie can see, “we match.”

Eddie doesn’t laugh, doesn’t even crack a smile. His eyes just go all big and dismayed, like he’s looking at something far worse than a broken watch.

Steve suddenly wants to tell him that it’s fine, to cover up his wrist like it’s somehow more gruesome than the wounds on his stomach—maybe it is, because Eddie keeps staring like he’s bleeding out right in front of him.

“Shit, Steve,” Eddie whispers with this horrible, helpless little laugh—almost like he’s on the verge of tears. He sounds like he did after throwing up, trying to say that something was funny when it was anything but. “You’ve had that forever.”

And Steve feels a rush of something still too big and complex to name, flickers of emotion too rapid to keep track of: the initial pang of sadness he’d pushed aside because the watch had been his grandfather’s, after all; wondering faintly what classes Eddie had shared with him, that would allow him enough time to notice something so small, you’ve had that forever—

So what? Steve thinks. So what, what does it fucking matter?

He’d rip the watch off if it’d help, Eddie’s too, stamp and grind them down until they’re indistinguishable from the ash in this place, and who gives a shit if it’s overwrought, it doesn’t have to mean anything—they still have time; they’re owed it.

He doesn’t do any of that, because the ground shakes again, and he’s ready—anticipates the stumble Eddie makes and reaches out to correct it.

They land safely away from any vines.

Eddie’s hand is clamped around his wrist, right at the part where the watch strap used to rub against his skin—back in sophomore year, when he’d always put it on too tight in fear of losing it; “Sorry, sorry,” Eddie’s mouthing, out of breath from the fall, but Steve’s holding on just as tightly, can feel Eddie’s pulse thundering beneath his fingertips.

And it’s so fast and frantic that Steve thinks he can hear it, too, a sound that he can’t get away from, in spite of it all: like a clock ticking. Counting down.

WRIST WATCH The explosive time shackle That never goes off Eternal zero Synchronize your deaths —Philip Murray

[smileyobrien]

STAR TREK: LOWER DECKS — SEASON 1 (2020)

[plaguedogs123]

Made a silly Coroika animatic~ Also on my YT

[hmspogue]

IM LITERALLY WEEPING WHY WAS THAT THE BEST PROMO OBX HAS EVER PUT OUT (thank you jd)????? HELLO???????

BRINGING BACK “good time all the time”!!!!

ON THE OLD MAYBANK PROPERTY?????

THE WAY ALL OF THEIR CHARACTERS WERE BASICALLY HOW THEY ARE IN FIC?????

HIMBO JOHN B. CHAKRA READING, TURTLE LOVING, BOARD PAINING KIARA. CHARTER JJ. SARAH BEING THE BIGGEST DWEEB. CLEO WITH HER KNIVES. POPE BEING THE BEGRUDGING BRAINS OF THE OPERATION. IM SO UNWELL THIS HAS AWOKEN SOMETHING DEEP INSIDE OF ME IM BACK BITCHES I MISSED THIS SHOW SO BAD.

(now confirmed that jd reads fic bc how else did he get it so right like this?)

[bensiebetsy]

heh

[s4scandyeatinskull]

gimme ur autograph

Sure

[steveshairychest]

While Eddie is on tour, Steve practically lives in the clothes Eddie left behind.

He goes to work in the old Metallica shirt, wears the sweatpants that are a little too tight around the house, and sleeps in Eddie's pyjamas that did technically used to be Steve's. It's his way of being close to his boyfriend while he's gone. Sure, they call every couple nights and once a month a post card from whatever city Eddie's been in shows up in the mailbox, but it's not quite enough to stop the ache in his chest. The ache that wishes his lover was home with him.

When Eddie gets home a day early and silently let's himself into the house at 1 in the morning, the sight he finds in the bedroom causes him to stop dead in his tracks and he decides right then and there that he's never leaving Steve again. In the middle of the bed, Steve is curled up in Eddie's old Black Sabbath hoodie, his hands clutching Eddie's pillow to his chest as he softly snores. His feet peek out from under the covers, Eddie's Garfield socks lit up in the soft glow of the lamp Steve forgot to turn off. His heart aches. He never wants to leave Steve alone again for so long.

Eddie slips into his (Steve's) pyjamas and gently climbs into bed behind his boyfriend. He's met with a startled elbow in the ribs and then a soft sigh as Steve's sleepy gaze falls on Eddie's face. "Missed you." Is all Steve says before turning around to snuggle against Eddie's chest, his legs tangling with Eddie's.

"I missed you too, Stevie."

The next time Eddie goes on tour, they're both a little older, their hair is a little greyer, and they don't spend a single day of the tour apart.

[buckingham-ashtray]

BBC Sherlock, The Final Problem (x)

[i-will-fight-cod]

Silly guy

[xxbanditoxx]

Day 14: Incorrect Quote

It's been a while since I last drew the S4 I thought it'd be funny to do this prompt with them lol

Prompts undercut: