#v: end of the world

[halliwellauto]

@crownedhopelesss II @feartheliiving for Negan

After the attack from the other wives, Aiden thought it was best to take some time away from the Sanctuary. She wanted to do her best to prove that she was better than those petty women. That she didn't need a man to survive in this world. If that meant being away from awhile, she was going to do that. She was a great hunter and she wanted to put it to good use. She knew it would displease her husband. But she only hoped that he'd still be happy when she came home.

She wanted to take the chance to go on her own for a bit. Clear her head, get food, and come home. That was it. She didn't plan on running. She knew she had a good thing here. Even if there was a bit of rivalry between her and the others. She said goodbye to him in the most memorable way before taking her gear and leaving. A week had passed before she came back home again, she had brought in a few bunnies and vegetables seeds she managed to find. Once she dropped them off to where they kept food, she headed back to her little home. She was welcomed back with a few sneers from the other wives. But she paid them no mind. She walked in and made sure to get herself cleaned up. She knew that there was a chance he'd come by if he knew she was back.

[mourning-at-night]

jace i don’t feel good was so funny but also made me so sad. like that’s a teenager with a strawberry squishmallow keychain and a tamagotchi and she doesn’t feel good and she's tugging on a teacher’s sleeve about it. a teacher who should have been responsible for protecting her in the first place and didn’t. who is manipulating and using her and her friends to help fulfill the desires of a wrathful power-hungry egomaniac. porter and jace it’s on sight >:(

[heybaetae]

maknae line + gestures of love 🫰🏼💋🫶🏼🌹🤟🏼 happy birthday @jkvjimin! ♡

[peacockrulz]

Comic I made earlier this month. Based on a convo w/ a friend :]

bonus:

Can you tell,,,shes my favorite,,,,

[basilpaste]

ive been trying very hard to formulate a way to say this that doesnt make me sound like an asshole but honestly ive like. given up.

youre gonna drive yourselves fucking nuts with all the doom posting. and all the "its gonna be okay, you have to live" posting isnt any less doom posting. its all the same song to a different tune.

its shitty and terrible and youre allowed to feel shitty and terrible. but its not like. gonna change because you feel shitty about it. and constantly thinking about how shitty you feel about it is just gonna make you feel worse.

go like. eat a snack or something. play a game you like. i dunno. its shitty! but dont spend your time catastrophizing. drink some fuckin water or whatever other cheesy bullshit keeps you occupied while you process.

[halliwellauto]

Aiden lowered her hands when he lowered his gun. She let out a breath of relief, her reaching down to pet Daisy. "Its okay. I understand. I'd do the same if I was in your shoes." Nowadays it was better to shoot right then and there than wait. Even the scavengers were known to kill people sometimes if it meant to have a free meal. The world was not a safe place to be in at the moment. "So you're sort of a local then. Things got too crazy in California. Figured things would be better this way." For the most part she had been right. San Francisco became a dangerous place when undead took over. She lost family and friends. all she could do was run with Daisy and hope to find a safe space. So far they had been successful but she didn't push her luck. One wrong move and she'd be in the army of undead. "How long did it take for the undead to take over here?" It had been rather fast in San Francisco.

"I'm Aiden. This is Daisy." She looked down at her golden retriever who wagged her tail at her name. "A bunker? That is a great place to stay and wait things out." she wasn't sure things would ever get better, but she had a small bit of hope. She looked at him surprised by his offer. She thought it over before nodding her head. "If you don't mind, then I'd be happy to join. Should I leave my truck and just ride with you or follow you?"

Dean let out a breath he didn't know he was holding before he lowered his gun and finally stowed it away inside the holster beneath his jacket. "Sorry, just one mistake in the world these days means you're dead, and I'd rather not join the ranks of the undead if I can help it," Dean said. He saw that she had a dog with her, that was sigh to see these days, he rarely ran across dogs or cats, if people became desperate enough they went from pets to food. "Kansas, I've been on the road ever since I left Lawrence," Dean explained. They were still in Kansas, but Dean stayed on the road and never stayed anywhere for too long. Still, he was headed for his grandfather's old bunker, and that's where he remained until the need for supplies drove him out into the world; he had no intention of inviting anyone else; he figured being on his own meant better survival and no attachments, but this lady looked like she has seen better days.

"I'm Dean, by the way; good to see that mankind hasn't been completely wiped out; I was just about to hit the road again, headed for my grandfather's old bunker, perfect place to stay in this wasteland now," Dean said. He didn't know if he would regret this decision, but to hell with it. "If you'd like a place to sleep and not worry about the dead or scavengers, you're welcome to come with a dog, too."

[mohntilyet]

rook being such a nobody and surrounded by more influential companions right after the obviously well known inquisitor could be really cool actually. that conversation w solas 'what will they call you after this is done' <- NO FUCKING CLUE LOL!! the idea that this millennia long, world-ending story of gods and a herald being controlled for a moment by a nobody is incredible. they start as an irritant and end having saved the world. nobody thanks them. they go back home. maybe they're literally wiped off the face of the world when they're trapped in the fade with the dread wolf! and most of all, their name is not remembered. literally, because they become a 'rook' to the inquisitor's king.

like i’m actually really liking the idea that the inquisitor and rook get conflated into the same person by the public and by history, and what little agency they had is taken away. you were never in control of this story. your narrative will be written by other people, just like every figurehead that came before you. you are not the chosen one. the choice to have faded out and see the irrelevancy as a boon, or struggle to make your name known (not rook, not the nickname, not the title) would have been so. interesting.

veilguard is a heroic story (and the game doesn’t even let you be rude most of the time) that has to end heroically (the evanuris are defeated in some way, the last archdemon dies, and most rooks climb down from minrathous to literal cheers and applause) but the hero themself is forgettable. narratively that could have been so funnnn. but it wasn’t on purpose so it just feels hollow.

[theholeyness]

[halliwellauto]

@crownedhopelesss II @feartheliiving sent: you’re not telling me the full story. / from negan to aiden

Aiden looked away for a moment, not sure what to say to that. ever since she came back from her trip, things had been great between them. She kept to her own business and stayed in her room. She made sure to keep her distance from the other wives. They kept out of her way, she kept out of theirs. It was a simple understanding that neither of them pushed.

But nothing never really stayed that simple for long when the world was in chaos.

One of the wives, she assumed who thought she was one of the tops, had started to push Aiden's buttons. Before Aiden had fought and argued with Negan. Now that they built their bond, this particular wife didn't seem to fond of it. She knew how fair Negan was to his wives. he made sure that they all got attention and that they knew they were loved and desired. She never got jealous, never asked for more.

Aiden wondered if this woman had hoped that the walkers would take her when she left on her own. It seemed like a logical thought when the woman pulled a knife on her over a small disagreement between them. Aiden had managed to disarm her but cut herself in the process.

She wondered what the other wife told him that made him question her. She had been somewhat honest about what had happen. But she didn't want anyone to be punished for it. Aiden was willing to let it go if it meant there would be peace again. she would just have to be more careful.

The other wives were much more better now. One even helped her get bandaged up. This one just kept holding a grudge.

"I told you everything that happened. I don't know why you think I'm holding back."

[halliwellauto]

"Well, it took the trip to get me to realize that things are good here. I may not agree with everything you do. But I can't deny that you do make me happy and protected." She placed her hand over his before leaning in to give him a gentle kiss. "I wouldn't say no to that. You can take me to my room and claim me over and over. Remind me again who I belong to and who I married."

🧟   ――――           ❛      I'M  GLAD  TO  HEAR  THAT,  AIDEN.  there's  nothing  more  that  can  make  me  happy  than  to  see  you  happy  and  fuck,  i'm  glad  to  have  you  back  right  where  you  belong.  i'm  dyin'  to  pick  up  right  where  we  left  off.  what  do  you  say,  darlin'     ?       ❜      he  asked,  his  eyebrows  wiggling  seductively  as  he  scooted  closer  and  closer  to  her,  placing  his  large  hand  on  her  knee,  rubbing  slowly.

[a-titty-ninja]

「Train to the End of the World」

[shakingparadigm]

what is the theory that ivan manipulated the event where till and mizi met the wagyein?

It's not a theory, actually! It's confirmed that Ivan orchestrated the whole event. The true reason as to why however is still unknown. The information provides more context to this scene, though:

During the earlier times of ALNST the most rational explanation for this scene was that Till ran after a flower crown (presumably Mizi's) and Ivan followed him in out of curiosity. Now we know that Ivan was conveniently just standing there because he was waiting.

Side note, I find it heartbreaking (and maybe a little funny, sorry) that Till most likely didn't notice Ivan in this scene. That's just like him, isn't it. Always too busy running after Mizi while Ivan trails behind, an ever-present shadow.

I'm not sure how Ivan manipulated the circumstances for both of them to end up there, but it is confirmed that everything was intentional. What strikes me most is how they describe this particular scene:

I can't copy down what they said word-for-word (Patreon info), but they described Ivan watching "creepily" as Till and Mizi are faced with danger. We know that Ivan was familiar with the Cerberus wagyein beforehand, enough to touch its teeth and even to rest himself inside its maw. To Ivan, the wagyein is not dangerous, but to Till and Mizi, it could be. Ivan prepared the wagyein, led them there, and watched "creepily" from afar as Till fell on his knees, seemingly injured.

The closest I can get to making sense of Ivan's "scheme" is that he wanted to see how other children would react in a dangerous situation. Ivan's always been an observer, after all, and he's learned to survive by copying the more "normal" behaviors of his peers. This situation occured when Ivan was still young and had not yet developed his more charming mask, so perhaps he staged this encounter to study a situational response, to learn and mimic the emotion of fear. And what better subjects for the experiment than two of the most expressive and reactive humans of their batch? It helps that he was already fixated on Till beforehand, too. I think Ivan became irreversibly obssessed after this incident, especially since it's framed as a turning point in Ivan's life, comparing Till to the stars.

This is just my attempt at an interpretation, though. It could very well be for another reason. He most likely chose Till and Mizi specifically for personal reasons, not just for reaction. I'm still not sure on the purpose behind the whole thing.

The team wanted to capture Ivan's "dark emotions" through the shot of his stalking, which could relate to his more sinister intentions. His gaze can be read in a few different ways, though. Curiosity, interest, fear, etc. Maybe that's why they decided to redraw the shot in ROUND 6.

I think this better sells the feeling they were trying to convey.

[lunarharp]

shirahama-sensei reminded me she has a thing for the teacher from pokemon s/v so i randomly went off on an au where qifrey is the professor. etc

[halliwellauto]

She was trying so hard to not let her panic show in her face. She normally did her best to stay away from Negan when he was conducting his important meetings. But this was not something she could wait on. With how hectic things have been with daryl escaping, she figured it was best to tell him now than wait. She had to test to the waters to see if this was something he wanted. Being pregnant when there was danger in every corner wasn't exactly an ideal situation to be in. She was just getting into the good graces of the other wives. news like this would either bring them closer or make her an outsider again. Either way, she needed her husband.

She let out a sigh when he noticed her approaching them. She gave him a smile and a kiss on the cheek. "I know, handsome. You know I don't like to disturb during this. But we need to talk. this can't wait." she looked up at him, hoping he would set aside what he was doing for her. She ignored all the other men and focused on him. Her eyes locked on his, pleading with him to give her a moment. "I just really need you right now, baby. This also isn't something I would like to discuss in the presence of others."

sc. / @halliwellauto.

[  ....  ]             ever  since  daryl  had  escaped  from  the  cell  the  saviors  had  placed  him  in,  negan  had  been  a  little  on  edge.  his  men  had  disappointed  him  for  allowing  this  situation  to  unravel,  and  he  had  a  sneaky  suspicion  that  the  redneck  was  hiding  back  with  rick  in  their  little  fairy  tale  land,  but  he  had  no  way  of  proving  it.  they  tried  turning  that  town  upside  down  but  came  up  empty-handed.  he  didn't  know  what  to  do  except  to  move  on  and  make  sure  his  position  of  power  hadn't  been  compromised  by  losing  a  prisoner.  again,  he  was  burdened  with  disappointment.

negan  was  outside,  talking  to  some  of  his  men  about  their  supply  runs  to  the  other  communities  they  had  completed.  he  was  just  about  to  put  his  foot  down  with  them  when  they  came  to  him  with  information  that  wasn't  helpful  when  aiden  had  approached  them.  he  looks  over  the  man's  shoulder  and  moved  him  out  of  the  way  so  he  could  take  a  better  look  at  her.  a  smile  erupted  on  his  face  as  he  swung  his  bat  casually  at  his  side  as  if  he  was  a  dog  wagging  his  tail,    ❝     well,  there's  my  beautiful  woman.  what's  goin'  on,  sugar  baby   ?     i'm  a  little  busy  right  now    ...     ❞

[hitlikehammers]

PART 2/2: in which lock-picking⛓️‍💥 is 100% a valid love language, and waking up with ✨Steve Harrington✨ was NOT the future (exactly. maybe. ish.)

...but waking up in a hospital bed just might be ♥️

<<< last time: And Eddie thinks that’s highly fucking debatable—he’s not sure where it comes from, because it’s a little out of place, Eddie didn’t say anything but maybe he’s just that transparent, the heart of him so quickly, so completely, and if that’s the case then it’s entirely fucking debatable because Eddie thinks he’s going to burst, splinter like a starburst, glorious in the unmaking for how big this thing that’s building in him feels, how certain he is that it’s about to break his ribs and he fucking looks forward to it, so no: Steve doesn’t love most because he can’t, because Eddie is overcome with this feeling and he, he— He’s drifting, because Steve’s heat is a heady fucking drug, and his heartbeat’s a metronome, a lullaby against Eddie’s back and it’s instinct, it’s unquestionable when he shimmies tighter into Steve’s hold and sighs the weight of the world out between his lips because… Because goddamnit, this feels right.

OR: y'know. Eddie thought he was dying in the Upside Down but then he's waking up in the future, in bed with Steve Harrington like what the fuck

Eddie comes to—again: un-fucking-expected—with the same sensation of his ribs snapping, the pain of it a dull thing he thinks he can just float through because his heart’s so gone on the impossible possibility of some future imaginary day where he, where Steve, where they—

“Eddie?”

Wait.

Wait, that’s…okay.

Back up.

He tries to take in what his senses are willing to offer him: something starchy, itchy against his skin, both sides—definitely not the sheets from the bed he’d just felt visceral underneath him. Pressure and aching at his chest: but less sweet the longer he focuses on it. Stinging and the pull of maybe-bandages, maybe-sutures, maybe both and something deeper, like…oh, wow, fuck, it’s entirely possible his ribs are already broken. His heart still feels full, but also scared, unsure, wrong-footed as more and more little clues seep into his consciousness, before maybe the clearest of them all: a shrill little beep that’s fast, like embarrassingly fast—

A monitor.

He draws a shaky breath—iodine, like, burning levels as he inhales and holy fucking shit, he’s in a goddamn hospital.

He’s, did he…

Is this what Steve meant, when he said ‘wake up’? Did Eddie…

Did Eddie fucking survive?

It’s in the spiral of that thought that Eddie clocks the same voice that jarred him out of his own head…in his own head, before. With the fancy sheets and the warmth and the home and—

What…what if it wasn’t in his head at all—

But his body, his pulse recognizes that voice as safety. As…rightness incarnate.

“Oh fuck,” and that’s the Steve Eddie knows best, right there, a little breathy and a little pitchy for frayed nerves and constant worry and the weight of the fucking world to make sure everyone—everyone else—makes it out as okay as possible.

And it’s in thinking that, that Eddie recognizes what Steve-in-his-headin-the-future-in-his-dream-in-his-maybe-not-quite-death-hallucination meant, when he’d said Eddie’s eyes softened. Because Steve’s heart on his sleeve, in his eyes, had looked peaceful, then. Content, even.

Not so frantic. Not so…scrambling.

Still just as blinding, though.

“Thank fuck, you’re awake,” Steve half gasps, a tiny clattering against the tile floor vying to draw Eddie’s gaze away but there was genuinely nothing in the whole goddamn universe that could take Eddie’s eyes off of Steve just now, those lips parted ever so slightly, cheeks that tiny bit rosy, pulse maybe-maybe-not visible just below the bandages on his neck.

He’s beautiful.

“What do you need?” Steve’s leaning closer, hands reaching but then kinda fluttering, kinda hovering, not sure where to touch and even if they knew the answer, kinda like they’re not sure if they can touch in the first place, yet all Eddie can do when he sees them, when he feels the shift in the air for how close they are; all Eddie can do is remember what it’s like to be pressed close to Steve’s body, to feel Steve’s arms around his chest, like they’re keeping him.

“What can I do,” Steve asks, so earnest and Eddie’s pulse does a little skip for it, how good it feels; “I—”

And Steve’s eyes are already big, just short of pleading, darting to the corners of the room maybe for water, maybe for a button to call someone to help more than he can—as if anyone can help more than Steve can, just now, because Eddie’s waking up from what it feels like to have Steve, and the most pressing possible thing in the world just now is SteveSteveSteve, near enough to feel, to breathe in—

Steve’s eyes are already big, though, is the thing, even before the full-on fucking crash of something to the floor makes him freeze. Eddie tries to peer down, winces as it pulls to much at…everything, kind of, Jesus H., but he hurts everywhere, and…

“The hell were you doing?” he asks in the absence of being able to see because…metal. Metal had hit the floor, from the height of probably-the-bed, after Steve had pressed into the mattress, shifted the weight, and then he’d blinked all owlish and adorable: culpability for whatever he’d been up to written all over his gorgeous fucking face.

“Umm,” Steve chews at his lip a little, eyes peeking up through his lashes, that look that makes Eddie weak and wobbly at basically every juncture it’s possible to tremble at like that, but he doesn’t duck away; he doesn’t even blush. He’s not…whatever he was doing—and Eddie’s range of motion is fucked, he’s already super well aware of that shit when he even tries to move to see the floor, to follow the sound—but whatever Steve was doing, he’s unrepentant. But in a way where he maybe recognizes that other people would have been less brazen.

Eddie’s wrist tingles out of nowhere—weird, when all of him is already kinda in a sort of dull, narcotic-shrouded pain—and he frowns, glances down at least that far and notices the slightest ring of red that’s less angry, not attached to bite marks and broken skin, and he has the wildest thought cross his mind just then, and he steels himself to crane his neck as far as he can, to limit the strain he’ll put on his middle because now he needs to see, because he kinda knew before he cut the sheets and ran into the fray that coming out on the other side meant life behind bars if there was any life at all, yet here he is, increasingly seeming like this is real, and this is his ‘other side’, and…

He’s just in a fucking hospital. He’s…he’s here, and he’s, he’s not…he’s not in fucking chains.

And it stings like a bitch, and Steve’s a second away from stopping him, reaching for him and pressing him safely back onto the the bed, but Eddie gets the glimpse he needs. Recognizes the shape on the floor, shiny steel against the scratched-up linoleum.

“Were you,” Eddie traces the ridges of his teeth with his tongue, because there are layers to what he’s about to ask; “were, umm, were you picking the,” and the first little clatter from before makes more sense if he’s right, and if he’s right, well, fuck.

It’ll be hot as hell, if he’s right.

“That?” Eddie tilts his head toward the floor because: cuffs. What he’d seen, what had fallen: handcuffs. On the floor. And they’d have had to have been not on the floor, and probably on him before, and so, he—

“Possibly,” Steve answers with a straight face, as unapologetic as ever, maybe more; maybe even defiant, and oh, wow. Steve Harrington picking his fucking handcuffs, setting his stupidly-quickly-lovesick ass free.

Hot as fuck; seriously.

“How positively criminal of you, Harrington,” Eddie grins half-maniacal, feels the stretch of it burn against a cut that’s gotta run half the span of his cheek but fuck it, the warmth flooding him is undeniable, is incredible—he’s giddy all of a sudden, straight to his bones.

“S’nothing on hot-wiring,” Steve shrugs, like it’s not fucking everything; “but I wasn’t,” and Steve takes a deep breath before he squares his shoulders, looks at Eddie straight-on and shit, if he thought the warmth in him up to now was something?

It’s kinda got nothing on what consumes him under those eyes.

“I wasn’t going to let you wake up fucking…shackled.”

And goddamn if the fire in that voice, those words, doesn’t light Eddie up like burning, doesn’t shake him to the core and then blanket him in sureness and the kind of protection he didn’t think really existed.

Save that he does kinda think it’s exactly what this man’s made of; made for.

And Eddie can’t escape the certainty rising in his veins and pumping, fierce and unshakable, that he wants—more than maybe anything—to be the one to give that same safety, that same promise of something unwavering and permanent and beyond question, right back to Steve.

“You’re an innocent man,” Steve leans in then, emphatic with it; “you’re a goddamn hero,” and he means it, holy shit, he believes that:

“Like hell I was just gonna,” and he shakes his head, like the idea is just that preposterous; like he cannot even consider anything but Eddie being free, and okay, and here, and…

Eddie’s struck with the sudden slap of realization across the fucking face that he couldn’t have gotten topside by himself. That someone had to get him from the hellscape to here. And of the able bodies in the Upside Down, no matter how strong the girls were, only one could have wrestled him through that gate. Only one could have…whatever he maybe needed, between this bed and that bat-strewn ground, it was, Steve would have been, he’d have—

The force his heart trips, then leaps with, is fucking cataclysmic. Eddie’s honestly surprised it doesn’t just tear out from his throat then and there.

“Plus they’re in the process of finishing the paperwork to make it all official, dropping the charges and all that, clearing your name,” Steve gestures vaguely in the air, like it’s all routine, the feds and the cops sweeping shit under the rug but then he remembers all the side comments he’d collected in the back of his mind these last few days about the ‘last time’ and then ‘the time before that’ and fuck all also the first time—

Maybe it is, just…sick and twisted and harrowing and heartbreaking routine.

“They’re just really fucking slow,” Steve smiles at him, all small and devastating and…

And okay, so that overwhelming urge to be a constant in Steve Harrington’s life, safe next to his heart kinda for always, zero to forever in half-a-blink?

Eddie knew he wanted, when he threw his vest at Steve’s bare chest more for Eddie’s own fucking sanity than anyone’s modesty, but it was all washed in the hopeless-helpless colors of desperation, of why not when I won’t see tomorrow; and now.

Now, all Eddie wants is tomorrow. Every tomorrow. No tomorrows without this man. Without what he saw, how it felt: what he knows in his marrow loving him would be.

It’s probably that conviction etching into his cells that makes makes him softer, a little weepy around the edges; drives him to need through the next words that escape:

“Steve,” Eddie breathes, wishes Steve were just that little bit closer so that the distance he can reach could reach him:

“Thank you.”

“Of course,” Steve waves him off almost, like he doesn’t think everything he is, everything he’s done is monumental. Not just the cuffs but with the cuffs like the cherry on top of how Eddie would—will, if he’s given the chance—devote all that he has and all that he is to making Steve happy. To making him as calm and warm and loved as Eddie could feel in that bedroom, in his head or in the future or on death’s fucking door.

“I mean,” Steve starts, and Eddie can already feel how he’s angling to downplay the thing that’s only swelling, building, growing under Eddie’s own ribs and, well: no.

No, Eddie won’t be standing for that.

“Stevie,” and Steve’s gravitated wordless just close enough for Eddie to be able to brush his fingertips against Steve’s wrist, to curl and pull his hand into Eddie’s grasp, palm splayed above Steve’s knuckles, holding. Keeping.

“Thank you.”

And Steve stills a little, stares at him like he can see what’s tucked up tight and dear in Eddie’s chest and maybe he can, because his voice is feather-light and a little bowled-over. A little…a little awed.

“You’re welcome.”

So yeah, maybe he can see what’s in Eddie’s chest, less tucked in this moment now than fucking, like…

Blooming.

“Do you believe there’s anything waiting when we die?”

Eddie’s gonna blame the frantic blossoming warmth coursing through him for the way he blurts that shit out with no preamble, like maybe the flowering wonder of it all pushes it out without permission, sweet on the back of his tongue but heavy because it matters so much; because it’s all just nostalgia.

For now.

“What?” Steve gapes a little, sounds dumbfounded; maybe a little wary. Fearful.

His hand’s still held under Eddie’s, though, so it’s only natural the way Eddie lifts his fingers and presses them palm-to-palm like it means something.

“Do you?”

“I…don’t know,” Steve swallows hard enough the follow down the taut line of his throat, fucking mesmerizing.

So maybe the way Eddie licks his lips before he says anything more isn’t…isn’t just for the sake of the topic and its weight, is all he’s saying.

“I,” and Eddie doesn’t really know where he’s going, here, or else: he knows exactly where he’s going.

He’s just not totally sure the path he’s planning to chart along the way for getting there.

“When we were down there, and I was telling you to go after Wheeler,” which yeah, okay, surprise direction there, weird little detour, but…it doesn’t feel wrong.

Which means, if it’s right instead: then that’s everything that is Steve in Eddie’s lungs for breathing, in the chambers of his heart. So he leans into it.

Squeezes Steve’s fingers laced together with his.

“Eddie,” Steve starts, sounds tired, spent, and Eddie was never going to let that happen; no matter where he’s going, or leading them down the path of his revelations, the truth etched new but also deep in his bones like it was only waiting to be found and known.

“It was because that’s what I wanted. For me. I wanted to,” and his breath catches on a little chuckle, so light and choked and a little hysterical as he adds, giddy and a little bashful all together at once:

“Unambiguously, umm,” and he trails a little, wants to hide behind his hair just a touch but to do that would require a broader capacity to move in the first place and more, so much more: it would mean letting go of Steve’s hand.

So: absolutely not.

Especially not when Steve’s gone full dropped-jaw gaping at him, his fingers in Eddie’s grasp twitching like he’s confused, like maybe there’s part of him short-circuiting, and Eddie feels his exhales tremble when he finally blinks, finally tilts his head and takes Eddie in at a new angle before he asks, genuine and not just a little lost:

“Seriously?”

And Eddie…Eddie’s actually never been more serious in his life, so.

“Like,” and he circles Steve’s knuckles delicate-like with his thumb: “I wanted the chance, to try, I guess, yeah.”

And he doesn’t know if he’s risking everything to own it, even if he’s owning just a sliver of the breadth and depth that he feels, but he does know unequivocally that he wouldn’t hold it back if given the choice, the opportunity to do it over and not show his bloody-beating heart on display.

A bloody-beating heart that’s moving quicker, slamming harder against his chest but…that actually feels like the only correct thing it could do. Because this merits it.

This kinda is his whole fucking heart.

“Do you still?”

It takes Eddie a longer string of seconds than he’d prefer to own to, to process the words as having meaning, no matter that he doesn’t fucking understand what they’re aiming at.

“What?”

“Want,” and Steve’s the one squeezing Eddie’s hand now, turning a little to graze at the line of his veins at the wrist; “the chance.”

And he says it deceptively casual, despite how he’s staring at their hands, determinedly not meeting Eddie gaze as Eddie gets his chance at the gaping.

“Fuck yes,” Eddie finally huffs on something not unlike unabashed fucking joy, save that this thing he’s feeling is so much bigger, and when Steve looks up, meets his eyes and his own glimmer, shine so bright and brim with such disbelief, but so much stronger and with such hope, Jesus.

Eddie can’t help the giggle that bubbles out of him. Like his whole fucking soul gets shaped into a single breath of exultant delight.

And they both hold to one another, trace across skin and map the lines and dots and scars, and Eddie’s not stupid, he knows this isn’t how it works but…

But he’d still bet money on the fact that the way he’s touching Steve, so innocent and so quietly intimate, is healing his wounds, shoring up his weaknesses and stitching him up fuller, better, breath by shared-sacred breath.

It’s heady as fuck. It’s exquisite.

“Why’d you ask me about when we die?”

Steve’s the one to break the still, and even that’s not breaking anything, really; he speaks so soft. He’s stroking down from Eddie’s thumb back and forth.

It’s not breaking anything.

“I saw something,” Eddie whispers, not sure what reaction that’ll get, and Steve’s staring at their hands again, marveling really, so Eddie can’t read any hint save for the crinkled furrow in his brow.

“But you didn’t die.”

Which isn’t the reaction he thinks he expected, even if Eddie couldn’t name what he did expect. And it’s also not a revelation he thought he’d receive.

“Not at all?”

Because he’s genuinely surprised. He at least figured he’d flatlined like…long enough to have visions of absolute and total domestic bliss and shit.

But Steve’s shaking his head decisively, holding on to Eddie just a little bit tighter.

“You had a pulse, whole way to he hospital,” he tells Eddie, voice gone a little hoarse; “it wasn’t strong but,” and Steve looks up at him, and fuck, those eyes are too shiny now and Eddie doesn’t want that, he doesn’t want his Steve to hurt, he—

“I fucking held you,” Steve croaks and oh, oh he’s shaking, Jesus—

“I kinda,” and he swallows with a click Eddie can hear, around a throbbing pulse Eddie can see, wants nothing more than to soothe with his lips against that tender skin; “I kinda had to make sure, so,” and the hand that’s not holding Eddie’s comes up, trembling as he reaches toward Eddie’s chest:

“Kept my hand pressed, just,” and his voice gives, and he looks up at Eddie with something like devastation, begging something like permission because he doesn’t know that everything that Eddie is, is his.

But he will.

He will know.

“Yeah?” Eddie breathes out, holds Steve gaze as he nods, as he tries to make it clear that anything Steve needs is his, and then some.

It takes a second, but the shine in those eyes finally shifts, finally brightens and then Steve’s breathing’s made of tremors, but his hand finds Eddie’s chest and sends something sparking like lighting through him just as the whole of Eddie feels immediately like he’s home.

And Steve’s hand on his chest feels exactly like it did in their future bed, in their future room, in their future life.

Their always love.

“Yeah,” Steve whispers, then takes a moment, palm splayed wide just above Eddie’s bandages, before he’s gripping Eddie’s wrist with the other hand a little harder:

“It’s so fast,” he exhales like it holds the whole world and then some; he wonders at just Eddie’s heartbeat under his touch and god.

God, but Eddie…Eddie couldn’t have imagined he’d ever feel like this. Let alone feel like maybe it’s mutual, maybe it’s real, maybe he can keep it and stay in this feeling for forever.

“Fuck yeah it is,” Eddie murmurs, then he chuckles, inhales deep maybe just to better feel the weight of Steve’s hand; “making up for the lost opportunity, y’know,” and fuck, all he wants is to be able to lean, to kiss the pout of those lips, to taste what it means to love somebody like he’s never done before.

“Making up for what it missed the last time your hand was there to feel it.”

And Steve’s hand above his thrumming heart twitches just a little, but never flags or makes to move, to leave, and Eddie thinks that he’d be fine if he lived the rest on his days with Steve like that, near enough that he could press a hand to Eddie’s heart at all times and just…just know that it’s his.

Because maybe it’s sudden—it’s definitely quick—but Eddie’s never known anything like he knows this.

“Eddie,” Steve finally whispers, a question and a claim and a means of cradling Eddie to his heart, somehow, for how swathed in light and affection Eddie feels in that moment, in just the shape of his name like it’s never been spoken before.

“I saw the future,” Eddie blurts out in a rush, breath coming a little quicker and heart-under-Steve’s-hand pounding harder. “Maybe. I don’t know, I mean, it sounds so stupid when I say it out loud but it felt so,” but then he looks into Steve’s eyes again and Steve is listening, Steve’s maybe doesn’t think he’s crazy, so he feels safe enough to say with his whole fucking chest:

“It felt real, Stevie.”

“What was it?” Steve asks, so quiet, so gentle like he doesn’t want to disturb this thing either, like he doesn’t need to hear it spelled out yet to know it’s delicate, the most important thing in the world, which fuck yeah it is, even as it cracks and chokes for the flood of feeling around it when it presses up from Eddie’s chest:

“Us,” Eddie breathes it out like the precious truth it genuinely fucking is:

“It was us.”

And Steve doesn’t say anything, but his eyes glimmer all the more, swimming with a riot of emotion to a degree than Eddie feels drowned in awe just to see it, and his hands on Eddie hold tighter, more fervent, devoted like a pledge for the way it runs through Eddie’s blood and sings in his veins:

“Even if it wasn’t real,” but Eddie’s doesn’t believe that, not really, not in his heart of hearts where it all pounds into the crevices that map Steve’s touch; “even if I wasn’t seeing the actual future,” and maybe he wasn’t, maybe that wasn’t their future, and maybe he’ll never know, but what he does know, is—

“It felt right, Steve.”

He knows that clearer than he knows the sky is blue.

“It was just a few minutes,” Eddie flounders a little, mostly because he remembers how good it was, written indelible into how much he wants, here and now:

“But I have never felt anything so right.”

He breathes, shaky and shallow and too fucking fast, but then Steve starts stroking his palm along the unmarked spaces of his chest, back and forth over the gallop of his heart like he means to stay there. Like he could ever want to keep.

“Well,” Steve whispers, his eyes on the path of his hand to make sure he doesn’t draw any pain—as if he ever could—until he knows the safe route over and back, again and again, and then he looks up, catches Eddie’s eyes and locks there, doesn’t pin so much as holds, holds, holds.

And good fucking god, Eddie feels it glisten through him like starlight; Eddie feels remade before Steve’s leaning in, lower than to meet Eddie’s mouth but then he’s pressing his lips to the dip between Eddie’s collarbones, holding there, breathing like he means to savor, like he means to cherish, like he means to, to…

To stay.

And Eddie’s heart’s under that hand and those lips all at once, wholly Steve’s while it quivers like a riot, while it leaps as Steve changes the world, writes their fucking future where his mouth drags wet and warm and ardent and there’s nothing in it at all that can be anything other than at least on the way to love as he breathes, fucking vows:

“We gotta try, then, don’t we?”

♥️

>>>also on ao3✨

for @penny00dreadful 🖤 still very fucking sorry it's this late

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[jadewritesficshere]

Watching

Vampire!Eddie Munson x reader

Contents: stalking, talks of kidnapping, violence (guns mentioned), vampirism (blood, biting, and all that entails)

18+ only

Eddie watched you from a distance. You caught his attention that night, and he couldn't stop thinking about you. It was a shame, really, that you had such potential and were wasting it being good.

Well, not good for Eddie.

But that's neither here nor there. What matters now is that he knows where you live. He's only seen your apartment from the outside. You rarely close your blinds, thinking you are safe in a third story apartment.

You didn't count on Eddie hiding in the trees. You didn't count on Eddie turning into a bat and getting a closer look. You definitely weren't counting on Eddie watching you while you slept.

Which, okay, Eddie knows is creepy. But if Edward can do it why can't he? Besides, he always told people he wasn't a good person. Ever since being turned, he no longer said it because of insecurity. He said it because he could feel this thing inside of him. This urge to feed.

The guilt never seems to come when that voice rises in him. So, yeah, not a good person. Eddie doesn't try to be a bad person, tries not to go out of his way to hurt people. But he feels less human each time he feeds, feels less shame and guilt.

Just like the rational part of his brain tells him he shouldn't be watching you right now. Yet that voice inside drowns it out screaming that you are his, to feed on you, to claim you.

You looked so peaceful at rest. Eddie couldn't help watching the way your torso moved with every breath. He could practically hear the calm thudding of your heart pumping the blood that called his name.

Your blood was so so tempting. Eddie knew it would taste like heaven. Just one drop...

Eddie watched you for weeks. He didn't have a job, took whatever money he needed from who he fed on. Didn't really have plans, only allowed himself to be around the others the day after he fed just in case he, ya know, snapped. Steve tried to get him not to self isolate but Steve also seems to be the one to sacrifice himself the most, and Eddie really doesn't want to end up hurting his friends because of his own weakness.

Every night you would spend a long time in the bathroom. Eddie could hear one night when you had cracked a window to let fresh air in. You brushed your teeth, cleaned your face, and talked to yourself, going over a plan for your job. A new tactic. A cute little pep talk.

You really were cute. Cute enough to eat. And Eddie wanted to sink his fangs in you. Wanted to feel you pressed up against him, gasping as he sunk into you (in more then one way). Wanted to watch the hazy euphoria fill your eyes, hear you moan for more.

But he can't. Not yet.

By the time the sun comes up, he's gone and you're none the wiser. Eddie never liked the sun to begin with, pale skin always burned in the summer. Now, being a vampire it's like having an allergy to the sun. He gets all itchy and tired- no thanks, if he wanted to feel that he'd have went to prom.

Eddie has a plan. Not the best plan, but a plan. Step one is getting invited in. He couldn't just use the education he got from his dad and break in. Vampires had rules, or at least whatever was inside wouldn't let him cross someone else's threshold without permission.

So step one, get invited in. Which also was step 3-5. Step two was get you to trust him. Eddie knows you already don't. Can still feel the sting of the silver gun you held under his chin. The way it bit into him, the way your face was hardened into a glare but your eyes were alight with mischief.

He thought about swooping in when you were on the job one night. Wrapping you in his arms and biting you quickly to subdue you. Get that blissful ignorant feeling to fill you up and then he could drag you home. But he didn't want to hurt you, not unless you begged for it.

He wanted you to come willingly. Eddie wanted you to give yourself willingly. To turn against your own code because you were so enraptured by him.

Eddie would get you to trust him. Then Eddie would get you to let him taste you. In any and every way he could.

Even miles away, his unbeating heart calls out for your blood. And soon, your heart will return his call, or at the very least tolerate him.