#to the fic I'll never finish

[mariyekos]

Okay to reblog to help sample size!

[iindigoeyed]

saw this dress and purse and i KNEW i had to draw this, it's so her!!

[milkamel]

💜 Pain sharing AU ❤️ Here's some HorrorDust fluff! :D As I mentioned, I wanted to expand this AU's lore onto the other characters so I started with them, they're very lovely <3

There are also other pairings that I haven't revealed yet and they're a secret for now >:D

Dust belongs to ask-dusttale Horror belongs to Sour-Apple-Studios

[the-ace-with-spades]

Eddie knew Buck was going to cry the first time Chris called him any variation of dad.

It'd been weeks since Chris asked Eddie about this and he'd been thinking about what to call Buck because I can't call you both dad, it'll get confusing. He had concluded that he was too big for daddy, father was way too serious for Buck, and they didn't talk enough in Spanish for papi to sound natural for Chris.

Despite that, Eddie wasn't surprised when finally, while Eddie and Bobby were lying the table at Athena's place and Buck was entertaining the kids with Maddie, he heard Chris grumble at Buck's lame joke, "Pops, that's so embarrassing."

He had expected Buck to cry and he did cry and he was holding Jee at that moment so she started crying, too, when she noticed her uncle crying and it looked comical.

Eddie couldn't not smile at the scene, fond.

He had expected Buck to cry but what he hadn't expected was for Bobby to cry.

And yet here he was, still holding a plate in his hands, practically sobbing silently next to Eddie.

"You know, Buck used to call me Pops too."

"He did?" Eddie asked because he didn't know what to do - he wasn't best at comforting people in general but that had just taken him aback on whole another level. "Why did he stop? I'm pretty sure you're more of a dad to him than his own father."

"I told him the station isn't a family," Bobby said. "Then I fired him."

Eddie had heard that Buck's been fired straight out of probation, but he had never heard the details. Definitely nothing about this.

"He got the job back on the same day but he has never called me Pops again since."

"Maybe you should tell him to call you that again, then," Eddie said, pointedly. "You know he's not the sharpest tool in the shed about this stuff."

[piningpercussionist]

Weed smoking girlfriends! But they can just be hanging out if you prefer ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Happy 4/20!

[fioleespring]

i had this klance fic idea about an atla au where team voltron is alive during the avatarless 100 years and the waterbending purge

lance and allura live in one of the southern water tribe villages. one day the village is attacked by a fire nation ship where keith is one of the soldiers. lance and allura are captured. lance meets keith who is on guard duty and they start talking. one day keith isn't as careful with the water and lance manages to incapacitate him, free himself and allura and escape. he takes keith with them as a prisoner for information. then the three of them go on a quest to free the other captured waterbenders

some more details:

allura has white hair because she was blessed by the spirit of the ocean who saved her from drowning. her family was killed in one of the fire nation attacks. her waterbending style is powerful moves and controlling big amounts of water

lance is better at waterbending that requires precision. not as much power as allura but is better at control. one time he heats up water and keith starts thinking lance did some firebending and is the avatar which lance finds hilarious

keith's mom was from the fire nation but she opposed the rule and keith's dad was from the colonies. keith was orphaned though and the orphanage threw him into the army as soon as he was old enough. keith hates it there

later they meet pidge (nonbender, looking for her family), hunk (earthbender, offers them a place to stay when keith gets injured), shiro (nonbender, sailor who helps them get to the island prisons)

[aimbutmiss]

Buggy stared at the stone wall in front of him with wonder and curiosity, as if the mysterious box-shaped rock held the secrets to life itself.

It probably did. At least a fragment of it.

“Fascinating, isn’t it? The ancient language.”

Buggy stopped his deep staring to turn to the tall man beside him. “It looks beautiful.”

Oden smiled at him. “Couldn’t agree more, Buggyjiro. What’s interesting about the writing system here is that it doesn't display the phonetics alone. The order of symbols and the way they’re connected also dictates the grammar…”

Buggy listened to the enthusiastic man talk about the writing in front of them, explaining and translating as he went. Maybe he was trying to pass down at least bits of the forgotten yet ever important language to him, or he was just really passionate about the poneglyphs. Either way, Buggy took every little piece of information that fell from Oden’s mouth as if it was a sacred treasure.

He stopped his little lecture as little Hiyori walked –more like stumbled, up to the stele and touched the surface with her tiny hand, babbling passionately. Though neither of them could understand what the little girl was trying to convey, they listened intently as if every little noise out of her made perfect sense.

“Is this one causing you two any trouble?”

Toki came over to them, walking in small steps as usual, and picked up the still bubbling Hiyori in her arms.

“Oh, not at all. She’s a clever girl, like her mom.” Oden said, making his wife giggle.

The samurai looked at them as if they were the most valuable treasure in the whole wide world. It warmed Buggy’s insides, yet there was a pang in his heart. Family. Something he longed to have for himself down the line, but he didn’t know if he could ever have it. He was pulled out of his thoughts when a strong hand squeezed his shoulder.

“I can tell you’re deep in thought. It’s good to think, but you need to learn when to get out of your own head, Buggy.”

Buggy looked up to his captain, not understanding when the man had even walked up to them. He hadn’t heard anything when he was approaching.

“Sorry. A lot to think about, though.”

“Hm, indeed. But you’re only 13. No need to think so hard at your age. Look at Shanks, he’s the master of not thinking.”

Buggy turned his head to watch Shanks run around the land, chasing a large snake around as he laughed without worry. Buggy grimaced. “That would be because he’s an idiot.”

Roger laughed. “That’s not such a bad thing in this world. If anything, you’re the one who’s too clever.”

“And that’s bad?”

“No, not quite. I just worry that’s all.”

Before Buggy could ask him to elaborate, the man abandoned the subject as he turned to Oden.

“You think you can leave a message in my steed on here? To let the future generations know that I was here.”

Oden laughed loudly, as he did most things. “Of course, Captain. That is if you can find anything that would dent this stone.”

Roger laughed back. “Who said anything about carving on the poneglyph, idiot? There’s no need, especially not when there’s a perfectly good gold surface next to it.”

That made Buggy smile. The captain was clever too, much clever than him, yet he couldn't see how that was a bad thing. If anything, he liked being clever because it made him more similar to the captain. They didn't look anything alike and he certainly didn't have his bravery. He'd like to have a trait of his to remember him by.

He frowned. Perhaps thinking too much was indeed not a good thing. He turned to the sacred bell of Shandora as the dialogue in the background became background noise; and though he was not raised to be religious, he prayed that he had a little more time with his dad captain.

[fallen-flier]

the moon will sing (time traveling tim)

so. i saw this super awesome post by @puppetwoman17 about time traveling tim drake and got obsessed, so here's a small ficlet i wrote about it!

part 2

The thing is, Tim expects it. He’s faintly aware of the blood seeping from his stomach, staining his hands red— hands which are uselessly putting pressure on his wound. If he survives this, he doesn’t even want to think of all the weeks of pure agony and fever, brought on by the wonderful lack of his spleen and the fact that healing from wounds sucked, period.

Death isn’t surprising— he really didn’t think he would live past, what, twenty-five? Thirty? To live until beyond 50 with his lifestyle was, well. It sounded painful, anyways. And you would need to be a deeply paranoid neurotic. Like Bruce. Because as much as he respected his father and looked up to him, if Tim turned out anything like Batman, he’d probably find a bullet through his brain sooner or later.

Half because Tim was reckless and his plans were so convoluted and insane that nobody really knew what was going on either, just to confuse his opponent. The other half was, well. You can guess.

So. He’s bleeding out, the night is uncomfortably cold and the wind bites into his skin, sand grating against his back, and all Tim can think about is how much he hopes Ra’s al-Ghul doesn’t show up like a damned wraith and drag him kicking and screaming to the nearest surgery table and take out his kidneys or something. 

Tim’s also thinking about his family. And the probable inconveniences that come with his death. Like arranging his funeral and all his assets and his Nest and the fact that Tim is a very integral part of the family and Dick will probably fall apart and Bruce will mourn and brood, and, and damn it. Tim should probably revoke his thinking process or something.

—

Tim is twenty three years old when he bleeds to death alone, and nobody finds his body until three weeks later when his family has scoured the Earth and his distress signal rings, rings, but nobody sees it. His predictions about his family come true.

But that isn’t quite relevant, because Tim isn’t aware of such a thing. 

Instead, Tim closes his eyes and falls and jerks up on his bed, clutching his chest as years of memories flood his brain, too much for a mere eleven year old. It feels like his head has been cracked open and molten lava had been poured through, scorching his veins and circulation. It feels like agony of the highest level and Tim is faintly aware of the darkness creeping in, his mind too overwhelmed and overstimulated from years of memories flooding into his brain.

And so for the second time in a few minutes and a lifetime, Tim welcomes unconsciousness with open arms.

The next few hours are spent in pure agony, his body being too weak to move and his limbs too short for him to coordinate. He’s pretty sure that there’s a pool of dried blood underneath him from a nosebleed, but he’s too tired to turn around, so he just uncomfortably shifts away from it. Not for the first time, he thanks his lucky stars that his parents are neglectful, because he doesn’t even know how he would explain all of this. 

Two days later, he musters the strength to stumble out of bed, gulp down the bitter, carbon dioxide-filled water next to him and get to the kitchen. It’s April 1st, twelve years ago, Tim is eleven years old, and his family doesn’t know him yet.

Half of the terrible things that have happened to Dick haven’t happened yet. Jason hasn’t died yet. Duke is still a kid and his parents are healthy. Babs hasn’t been put into a wheelchair by the Joker.

Steph is still living with her father. Damian and Cass are being trained as assassins.

Mrs. Mac is due to come in a few hours. Tim looks at the blood-crusted covers of his bed and his crumpled clothes. 

Oh, shoot. 

So instead of researching or training, Tim spends the next hour trying to get the bedsheets off with his tiny, noodle arms, half stumbling on his feet because he’s way too damn short, and making his way to the bathroom so he can take a shower and get some of the blood off so it doesn’t stain too badly. 

It’s probably a lost cause. Not that his parents will notice or care about a missing bedsheet, but it feels wasteful to just throw it away to hide evidence of his unintentional time travel.

Two and a half hours later, Tim stumbles out of the laundry room, his bedsheets and pillow finally in the washer. He collapses on the nearest chair and scans the room for his father’s computer. 

He lets out a shaky breath. His family is generally unscarred. Jason is Robin again. Jason. The boy who Tim had held with a certain degree of, well, disdain. Thinking about it kind of makes him want to punch is past self in the face, or cringe in the way that you can only do when you think of something embarrassing you used to do. Like victim-blaming your older brother for getting beat to death while trying to find his mother. 

It wasn’t the only way he looked at Jason, but he had always thought of him as too reckless. Maybe he really did deserve the beating. Well, not that he believed that young teenagers should be beat up by young adults in Robin cosplay, but at least Tim wasn’t exactly traumatized by the experience. Better him than some other poor civilian kid Bruce could’ve adopted.

And Tim did get his revenge. By getting Jason on his private parts. But whatever. Revenge was revenge, and Tim was better than the whole crime lord setup his older brother had. In practice, anyways. 

Chewing on the ballpoint pen, he writes down the first thing on his list (in code, of course) since coming back in time.

prevent jason’s death 

Well. Now that he had a comprehensive list, Tim was down and ready to plan. 

—

A hour later, Mrs. Mac appears, none the wiser to what happened to him. Tim greets her as she walks in, and she smiles and greets him back, putting lunch in the fridge. She notices nothing wrong about how he stays sitting on the chair in the living room, and Tim says nothing about it. When she leaves, he pulls the piece of paper out of his book and the pen from his hair, scratching down some extra points.

Hmm. Maybe the Court of Owls should go early. Or perhaps that would create too much change?

Dick would have a better time in the future if they were gone, though. Tim frowns, dragging his pen back and forth in a short line on the table. 

He still needed to factor in the fact that he was an unknown to the family. The thing is, Tim loves their dysfunctional, broken family and he knows Bruce and Dick loved him back. But to be honest, it would be easier to change events if he wasn’t being scrutinized by Bruce every day. And it wasn’t like Tim had any shortage of money, with his parents still alive and his family fortune enough to cover whole lifetimes, so he wasn’t worried about his own safety.

It would be nice to go to college too. Maybe Stanford. He was smart enough to make it, and the location was close to the vigiliante community that if he so wanted to, he could probably join and watch his family from the outskirts. Last time around, Tim just couldn’t leave Gotham. Being a vigiliante was his life— he couldn’t even justify it as a temporary thing anymore. Their family had gone through so much tragedy and Gotham was still filled with crime and Tim had an obligation to keep her safe. It just… he couldn’t escape his mantle because he loved it, and Tim had a difficult time letting things go once he loved them. 

But if Tim could change things from the start, he didn’t need to be pulled back into the life. (He couldn’t have it, even if he loved it, because it was never his in the first place.) He could start anew, be a vigiliante when he was in college and far away from the family he hopefully would’ve fixed by then.

Well then. First things first, he needed to remove a factor from Jason’s death so he wouldn’t die in the first place.

—

Mrs. Mac comes by and cooks him lunch, and they eat in silence. Typically, Tim would fill the silence with chattering, glad to have someone to talk to in the empty manor.  But Tim’s mind is whirring, drawing up and discarding plans. By the time Mrs. Mac stands up and tells him she’s going to leave now, Tim has thought of three contingencies and twelve more future events he needs to address.

He mhms when Mrs. Mac prompts him to, and eventually she leaves out the front door, leaving him alone with his thoughts. It’s spring break and Tim doesn’t actually have anything to do because he’s in middle school now, so he mulls over the Jason problem for a few more hours.

It comes to him when he’s microwaving the leftovers from lunch, and Tim is pretty sure he’s a genius, or something. Sheila Haywood worked at a refugee camp in Ethiopia handling medical supplies, but she was embezzling funds from the organization she was working for. It wouldn’t be difficult for Tim to trace it and report her. By the time Jason began tracking her down, she would most likely be in prison, just for a few years and everything would hopefully blow over and the Joker wouldn’t blackmail her because she had no use to him in prison. 

It was cold, perhaps. But her life wouldn’t be over with a few years in prison, and Jason would be alive. Nothing more than they deserved.

Jason, alive. Then Damian, Cass, and Steph. He would see to his family, whole and happy. Then perhaps, in the future, when he was older and safely out of Bruce’s adoption zone, Tim could perhaps work with them. Laugh about how he never expected the Wayne family to be vigilantes, just to throw them off his trail. 

Tim allows himself this one selfish thought, because he has nothing else but the shattered remains of a future that will never come to be, and a family he left behind but still exists.

a/n:

i wrote this in two hours under an inspired haze of time travel and tim, two of my favorite things

tim is a super unreliable narrator if you haven't already noticed lmao

also if i get any characterization wrong feel free to leave some discourse or ping me on the head

but like please be gentle cause y'know constructive crit, not bashing

thanks for reading! :D

[writeouswriter]

You know what, this "actually writing" thing is really fun, someone should tell my adhd that 'cause it still doesn't believe me.

[wikiangela]

wip wednesday thursday

tagged by @tizniz @bidisasterevankinard @spotsandsocks @hoodie-buck @weewootruck thank you 💖 tagging y'all back for friday lol

(I was so sure it's still Wednesday and only checked after I prepared the post so fuck it, posting it now lol)

don't look at me, I started another bucktommy wip 🙈 istg these two inspire me like no other ship ever has lmao the problem is i can't finish anything bc I constantly have new ideas

this one is inspired by mgk's song "twin flame" bc it was stuck in my head and it makes me think about the invisible string theory, and I'm a little insane about them clearly haha - I have most of the dialogue outlined so now I just gotta write the fic around it and hopefully it'll be done soon and I can get back to all the other ones lol I feel like for each writing game i post a snippet of something totally different 🙈

___

He’s so focused on admiring every little feature of his boyfriend’s face, thinking about how much he loves him and wants to spend forever with him, he startles when suddenly Tommy turns his head, his blue eyes on Buck now, smiling softly.

“You okay, baby?” he asks, a hint of concern audible.

“Yeah.” Buck smiles, his hand on Tommy’s chest tracing small patterns on his pec over the fabric of his t-shirt. “All good.”

“You sure? I’ve felt you stare at me for like ten minutes straight.” Tommy raises an eyebrow.

“Can’t I admire my hot pilot boyfriend for a minute?” Buck answers and adores the blush on Tommy’s cheeks, the sound of his laughter filling him with warmth and affection

___

no pressure tags for friday!: @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @watchyourbuck @loserdiaz @ladydorian05 @diazpatcher @monsterrae1 @spagheddiediaz @rainbow-nerdss @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @bucks-daddy-issues @rogerzsteven @giddyupbuck @honestlydarkprincess @911-on-abc @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @buddieswhvre @fortheloveofbuddie @daffi-990 @aroeddiediaz @thewolvesof1998 @exhuastedpigeon @underwaterninja13 @hippolotamus @your-catfish-friend @dangerpronebuddie @loveyouanyway @theotherbuckley @diazsdimples @kinard-buckley @evansboyfriend @bucked-it-up

[couch-house]

the sonic big bang got me excited about writing again so I quickly doodled out another chapter for Pinocchio Complex :)

“So what do you think?” “Hmm?” She leaned back in her chair, tapping her pen on the edge of the table.  “About changing your identity for a bit.  Just until things start to smooth over.” Super leaned back against the counter, angling his head just slightly so his quills rested across the top.  He tapped his fingers on the cabinet doors in thought.  “I guess… Super Sonic isn’t much of a name, is it?”

Ao3 link

[straw-hat-nakama-22]

Snipits from fics I'll never finish. Part 2!

“Cook. Would you join me?” Robin invited him to sit across from her in the galley.

Sanji was caught between tripping over himself to get to the bench, and wondering if this was some kind of trap. Which was ridiculous because this was Robin not Reiju and she wouldn’t hurt him but he felt like she should because he deserved it-

He sat cautiously and Robin’s pleasant expression, carefully arranged as it always was, became a little tighter at the edges.

“Is there anything I can get for you? I can warm up some hot chocolate in no time at all? Or if you’re craving something savory-”

“Sanji.” Sanji’s jaw snapped shut and his head ducked. He’d flinched involuntarily. “Would you look at me please?” She tilted her head to try and catch his eye. He peaked up at her and Robin frowned at the dark circle under his eye. “You’re not sleeping.”

Sanji's shoulders dropped slightly, like he was relieved.

“I’m getting as much as I need. Thank you for your concern, but it’s not something you need to worry about.”

“You mean that you’re not worth worrying about.”

Sanji looked stunned.

“What?”

“That is what you mean, isn’t it? That you’re not worthy of my concern or attention or care.”

“As far as I’ve noticed this is the first time I’ve been offered any of that since I got back.” He snapped. Then, immediately dropped his head into one hand. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You did say it and I’m glad. You’re right. None of us, myself included, have been treating you as we did before. We don’t understand. I was, hurt, when you left.”

Sanji’s head shot up.

“Robin...”

“I wondered, rather self-centeredly, if I had done something to drive you away. You fought the world government to get me back once, and half a dozen times since to keep me.  And then you were gone. No real explanation, just the promise to come back after you’d taken care of whatever was more important than us. It sounds rather petty to say out loud, but I believe everyone on the crew, sans Luffy and Jimbe feel the same way. After some time and thought, Usopp has decided that the woman you ran off with was secretly a Marine spy who then tried to capture you. Zoro just thinks she was already married. Franky is of the opinion that her father was a warlord of the sea, or someone equally as powerful. I have a different theory.”

Sanji leaned back on the bench. If Robin had taken time to think this through, she was going to be right. There was no fighting it, no hiding it, no point in denying it. There was only waiting to be put out of your misery. She knew he’d been a coward and a weakling and always had been.

Robin stood from her side of the bench and sat next to him. Softly, eyes never moving from the aquarium across from them both.

“When you faced CP9, it was the second most terrifying time of my life. Even just the words, buster call... I didn’t want them anywhere near you. Everytime I considered leaving, letting you save me, I saw you all burning. The words, the words wouldn’t even come to my lips. Instead, I’d spew whatever lie I thought would force you to leave me alone. A lie you’d believe. So I wondered, what lie you might tell and why. After careful consideration of your character I came to my conclusion.” Robin looked at him and slipped her hand over his own clenched, trembling fist. She whispered, brows pinched, “You must have been so afraid. I’m so sorry, for not noticing sooner.”

Sanji bit his lip to fight back tears. He’d cried enough. He’d cried too much. He didn’t want to cry in front of Robin. He felt like he needed to say something, but he didn’t know what would come out if he opened his mouth right now. Instead he took Robin’s hand and several long, deep breaths. Once his lungs stopped burning he chanced to mutter.

“I can’t sleep. Not yet.”

Robin nodded in understanding.

“Alright. Can you eat?”

Sanji looked at her with shock, horror, confusion, and guilt all at the same time. It would be amusing in another situation. Not this one.

“I, I eat.”

“A full portion, with us, at the table.”

“They don’t, they don’t want me there, Robin.”

“Even if that’s true, I seem to remember you telling me that the Captain has final say on matters regarding the crew.” She said it with a little smile in her voice. Maybe that’s why Sanji agreed to give it a go.

“I’ll try.” Robin gave his hand a tight squeeze.

“Thank you.”

Sanji slid out from the bench and started on prep work for the next day. He needed to get pie dough in the fridge chilling if he was going to make Franky’s favorite cherry turnovers for a snack tomorrow afternoon. Plus he’d save time to prep dinner then if he pitted the cherries now. He set about pulling out bowls and ingredients.

He was just about to start the actual work when he realized that Robin had settled into the bench with a thick book in hand and three more on the table. A blanket was draped over her lap. 

“Robin?”

“Don’t mind me. It’s a lovely night for reading.”

“Aren’t you tired?”

“I am.”

“Don’t you want to sleep?”

“Not yet.” She smiled at him softly and Sanji understood. Skipping two nights of sleep was easy for Robin. She would stay up with him for this one. Sanji had been found by a wonderful crew. He didn’t deserve them.

[whataboutthreateninganass]

Merlin and Arthur's prophecy:

“The Golden Age is promised. The Great King will come, born in love and death. He will be a miracle, Blessed by the Religion itself. The Great Purge of his Kingdom will follow. Dragon will slay dragon. Flame will die in flame. The kin of the Isle will burn. And from the ash, The Great Sorcerer will come, born in death and love. He will be Divine, Blessed of the Religion itself. They will mend the chasm. They will unite Albion. Two Dragons will rule the age of prosperity. They will come. It is promised.”

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 39.5

(this takes place just before their first day back to school after the events of season one)

They slip out of the trailer. 

The park is just waking up around them, a few birds chirping, Mr. Robinson’s car starting up as he drives to work. One of their older neighbors must have fallen asleep with the television on – he can hear its static blaring all the way out here. 

It makes a shiver run up his spine. That almost familiar, eerie sound that resonates through a Demogorgon’s call.

But, the sun is shining and Steve’s safe and whole and warm at his side. So, he brushes it off, skipping over to the passenger side of the van and holds it open for Steve with a bow. 

Steve rolls his eyes, but there’s no more desperation bleeding into his expression. He’s like a caged bird, freed. He even settles his fingers daintily into Eddie’s flourished out hand, like he’s a maiden being helped into a carriage. 

Eddie closes the door once all of Steve’s limbs are in and accounted for, and damn near skips around the front of the van and flings himself into the driver’s seat. 

Dio blares out of his speakers when he turns the key until Steve reaches over to turn the dial down. Eddie tries to pout about it but the edges of his mouth keep turning up.

Steve’s slumped over in the passenger seat, arms crossed as he lolls his head sideways against the headrest to glare over at Eddie. “You’re really not going to tell me where we’re going?”

“It’s a surprise.” He bites his lip against a grin as Steve huffs and rolls his head the other direction to glare out his window. 

Eddie taps his fingers to the quiet beat of the song, blood sizzling with anticipation. 

It’s a short drive, made longer by the careful way he’s stopping and starting, taking each turn ten below his usual. There’s precious cargo barely on the mend in here, and he won’t risk damaging it any more.

He pulls into an empty parking space, easing his foot onto the break. There’s only one other car in the lot, but the open sign in the front window of the diner is lit up. It’s a lurid red, but Eddie’s willing to forgive it.

“This is the surprise?” Steve asks. He’s not glaring anymore, but he’s looking doubtfully out of the windshield, eyebrows raised as he eyes the diner’s front door like he’s never seen it before. “Breakfast?”

Eddie reaches over to pinch his side – softly, gently – until Steve laughs that honking pig laugh that Eddie loves so much and has so rarely heard.

“You don’t remember?” Eddie asks, teasing. “You said you’d kill for some bacon, and now you don’t even want to go in?”

There’s something fathomless in Steve’s eyes as he finally looks over at Eddie. It makes heat pool in Eddie’s gut, sinking into him until he’s aflame. He wants to scoop out Steve’s brain, figure out what’s ticking away in there. He wants to rip out one of Steve’s eyelashes and make a wish. 

“I remember,” Steve murmurs, looking up into Eddie’s eyes. 

He still looks sallow and tired, but there’s a rudy pink blooming on his cheeks by the time Eddie rounds the van again to open his door. He doesn’t hold out his hand this time, but Steve still settles his fingers onto Eddie’s shoulder and uses it to lever himself up and out.

Eddie rushes back around to lock the van. Steve doesn’t wait for him, but he holds the door open wide to let Eddie in. There’s a little bell dangling off the handle that jingles under Steve’s shaky grip. 

Eddie hurries in. 

The waitress moves at her usual sleepy pace, calling out a quiet, “mornin’”, as she heads over to their chosen booth with unnecessary menus. 

Her eyes widen when she catches sight of Steve’s state, but she doesn’t comment, just takes their orders and walks away without writing anything down.

They settle into sleepy silence. 

Eddie’s breath stutters in his lungs when he feels Steve’s foot hook atop his under the booth. He taps the toes of his boot three times against Steve’s tennis shoe and smiles across at him.

The cook must be raring to go because it takes less than ten minutes for their waitress to round the partition, arms laden with dishes piled high with food. 

Eddie’d followed Steve’s lead, so there’s two of everything. The pancakes are fluffy, squares of butter melting at their centers, sides of warmed maple syrup just waiting to be poured. The hashbrowns are greasy and crip on the outside, soft on the center.

The bacon’s bubbling with fat, edges crisp, steam still rising from its surface. Fresh off the griddle. Eddie skewers a piece on his fork. He thrusts it up toward the middle of the table, nudging Steve’s sneaker repeatedly.

“What?” 

“A toast!” Eddie calls, beaming across at Steve when he finally gets with the program and raises his own fork and its dangling bacon. Eddie clinks their forks together. Fat drops in fat drops down onto the previously clean table. “To fresh starts!”

Steve brings his fork down to his mouth and takes a huge bite, closing his eyes in apparent ecstasy. “To good bacon.”

“And a monster free life.”

“And staying right-side-up.”

“Here, here!” Eddie cries, ignoring the way the waitress is glaring at the mess and ruckus their making. 

Because Steve’s smiling down at his food, taking big, savoring bites. The edges of the morning have been sanded down. 

Besides, it’s only fair. All Eddie had wanted when he got out was to hug Uncle Wayne, and he had. Steve doesn’t have a Wayne, so if he wants bacon, he gets bacon.

Eddie’d make sure of it, for as long as Steve will let him.

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[sillyfudgemonkeys]

I need the 12 year old Rangi with her mother lore dropped like yesterday FC Yee. Don't leave me hanging. TT0TT

[eli-workshop]

Inktober day 26

Took the oportunity to draw the twins together :)