#wishes came true;

[mortellanarts]

I've found the path my heart will walk today

[oddberryshortcake]

OH MY GOD

[hairmetal666]

Read Part One here

cw: implied child abuse

Eddie's coming over for coffee. Not Eddie with Nancy and Robin or Eddie with the kids. Just Eddie.

They haven't been alone in 9 years and now Eddie is coming over for coffee.

They're friends, of course. After Vecna they didn't have much of a choice, but they've never talked about it--that they used to be something.

After Steve kissed Eddie goodbye for what turned out to be the last time, they didn't see each other again for months and months, except for a devastatingly fleeting moment in the Family Video parking lot. And the next time after that, Eddie's pinning him to the wall of a rickety boathouse, a broken bottle to his throat.

What's going through his mind, his body, at that moment is relief. For days, weeks, months, he ached for Eddie's touch again, and even though he was in danger, he relished in the push of their bodies together. Thought, if this is how he dies, he won't mind going.

But they don't talk about it, about them, because Eddie is on the run and Max is going to die, and they have to save the world, so there's no time. In the aftermath, it's the least of their worries, and now it's been almost a decade and Eddie is coming over for coffee.

The thing is, it's not like Steve has been pining away for a love long lost in the intervening years, and neither has Eddie. They've both had longterm, serious relationships; Steve almost got married. But for Steve...Eddie is the one that's lingered, the one that knocks around his ribcage on late sleepless nights, the one that makes him dream of what might have been. Because Steve truly loved his other partners, but Eddie--nobody will ever compare.

Someone is knocking a rhythm at his front door, and he can't stifle his smile even as his heart runs riot in his chest.

"Hey, man," he says, remarkably nonchalant as he takes Eddie in. Still beautiful, still brimming with energy; his smile wide and dimpled, bouncing on his toes.

"Harrington!" Eddie grabs him into a quick side hug, slapping his back. "Since when do you wear glasses?"

Steve chuckles, touching the horn-rimmed frames. "Oh, god, Robin forced me to get them back in '87? Too many concussions." He touches his forehead. "I usually just wear contacts."

"It's a good look," Eddie says. He's very much not looking at Steve, eyes roaming around the Chicago apartment he's been to many times before.

He watches as Eddie spots the display of his own books, index finger slowly slipping across the spines in a way that makes Steve remember when those same fingers would slide down his spine. He stifles a shiver, turns towards the kitchen.

"So, how's New York? How's the book coming?"

"Livin' the dream." It's not flippant, not like how most people mean it. Eddie leaks genuineness, always has. "The book though...it's a little rough."

Steve sets the coffee maker going, brings fresh pastries and a couple plates over to the table. "I can imagine. It doesn't--it doesn't have to be the same, you know?"

"Yeah, if only I hadn't written three other books leading up to the evil mind wizard," Eddie chuckles. He grabs a croissant and tears it in half. "It'll be alright, Harrington. I'll figure it out. I lived through it the first time, after all."

Steve doesn't remind him that he almost didn't, that they almost didn't. Instead, he pours coffee, listens as Eddie talks about how to fictionalize the worst month of their collective lives.

He splashes milk into Eddie's coffee, taps in three scoops of sugar. He carries it to where Eddie waits, still talking about the logistics of Vecna-slash-Henry-slash-One in his novel, but his words abruptly stop as his hands wrap around the porcelain.

"Steve?"

It's only then that Steve realizes what he's done--made Eddie's coffee like he took it back then, made it without thinking, totally on muscle memory, when the best of his mornings were spent in Eddie's arms.

His cheeks glow crimson and he grips at the back of his neck. "S-sorry." He says. "It--is this still how you take it?"

"Yeah." Eddie's eyes fall from Steve's face, his own cheeks pink. "It's--yeah. Still the same."

"I'm sorry--"

"--Steve, I--"

They don't laugh. They both stop speaking and look at each other, faces still red. Steve thinks there's nothing for it but to get it all out now.

"I'm sorry, Eddie." He takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry I never came back. I'm sorry I didn't explain why. I'm just--really, really sorry."

Eddie's eyes are hooked on the table top, fingers twisting and twisting his coffee mug. "Can I--why? I waited and you--why?"

Steve swallows, but it gets stuck in his throat, and now he's the one who can't look up from his hands.

"My parents got home early," he manages. "My dad, he was waiting for me. I guess one of the neighbors thought it best to tell them who I'd been spending my time with."

Silence falls over the table, and he chances a look up at the man across from him, the one whose knuckles bite into his lips, whose eyes shine with unshed tears.

"You should've called me. You should've--you could've stayed with us. We would've kept you safe."

"Eddie, I couldn't. I physically couldn't," the admission costs him so much.

"Steve," Eddie chokes on his name, voice nothing but anguish. "Did anyone--You could've--you were all alone."

He shakes his head. "Robin knew. She snuck through my window to take care of me, but my parents--I couldn't--" This time the words really won't come. "We made a plan. We started that job at Family Video, and we saved up our money."

Now, Eddie's face is creased with grief. "Sweetheart, I'm so sorry."

Steve shakes his head, smiles despite the wreckage around his heart. "You have nothing to be sorry for, baby. I left you with no explanation. I broke your heart. And--and--" He thinks, what does it hurt to say it at this point. "I love you. I love you so much. I convinced myself you were better off without me, that we could have a clean break and you could get over me."

Eddie's hands cover his face, muffle the sob that slips out. "Get over you?" He whispers. "There's never been one like you, sweetheart."

He slides around the table to kneel at Eddie's side. "Hey." Deep brown eyes stare back at him, Eddie's face wet with tears. "It's always you, Ed. Always. I didn't want to say anything, if you had moved on, but--"

There's not really any transition from them talking to them kissing; Steve slips into it like he did all those years ago, when he first asked for Eddie's kiss. Their mouths slot together, their bodies fit like they always used to, perfect puzzle pieces. Steve's knees give out at the first brush of Eddie's tongue, and they collapse into a heap on the kitchen floor. Even then, they don't part.

Eventually, Steve does break the embrace, face flushed and hair a disaster, glasses hanging off one ear. "Okay, trying to be responsible here. Should we take a pause, go on a date first? Slow down?"

"Nine years isn't slow enough?" Eddie's pupils are blown, hair frizzed around his head.

"When you put it that way," Steve can't help but laugh. "I just want to do right by you, Eddie. Make up for--everything."

Eddie grins down at him, that sunshine beam smile where his dimples pop. "Tell you what, how bout you take me to bed now, and I'll let you take me on a date tomorrow?"

"Oh, you'll let me?" Steve rakes a hand through Eddie's mane of hair. "I don't think you'll have any choice."

"You sure about that, Stevie?" Their lips are so close, the brush with every word.

"Uh-huh," Steve's having trouble keeping his eyes focused, overwhelmed by the sheer force of Eddie Munson. "Never letting you go again, Ed."

Surprise! Part 2! I genuinely had no intention on doing a follow-up, but so many of you asked so nicely that it gave me this idea. Sorry if I miss anyone in the tag list and thank you for reading! @everywherenothere @tiny-enthusiast @emma-elsa-0000 @fuzzyduxk @moonythepluviophile @anaibis @rhapsodyinalto @bunk12bear @tillystealeaves @velocitytimes2 @s-trawberryv-eins @marklee-blackmore @ignoremyworld @its-a-me-a-morgan @goodolefashionedloverboi @starman-jpg @djohawke @adaydreamaway08

[writer-room]

Isn't it fun how everyone saw what terrified them most, but Nya's was so "unbelievable" that she broke out instantly? She was shown the one thing that was supposed to terrify her, make her spiral. But of course it wasn't real. It's Jay. If there's one thing she never once doubted, its that Jay is absolutely smitten, so of course he'd never forget her. What a silly thing to think, to be afraid of. She went through so damn much for this boy, and him for her, and we know how she is. Wouldn't it be petrifying if all that work, all that emotional turmoil, that clawing for love, could be forgotten just like that? Its quite a feat, really, that she can finally be confident in knowing such a fear is irrational.

It was easy to break free from such a place. It was only ever meant to scare her, and she has nothing to be afraid of. Right?

[mohntilyet]

Personal headcanon about the "you picked the wrong dellamorte" line, I don't think illario actually likes rook outside the context of them being someone close to lucanis. Like rook on their own isn't much to him, but when they meet it's yet another person talking about his cousin (why isn't he good enough for whatever job they're hiring for?) and on top of that they somehow bring him back from the dead (another whole can of worms for illario). Now he starts turning on the charm, but whether he's actually interested or this is just one more thing his cousin has that he doesn't and it gets under his skin, who knows. Either way, rook ignores illario, the guy who lives off his charm, and is instead interested in the guy who's never even dated before and thinks giving someone a knife is how to flirt. Infuriating

NO THANK YOU !! i am genuinely sorry if i have ever implied illario is into rook like i see some takes about it and unless it like ties into your rook's personal backstory i don't seriously think he's romantically jealous. at all. my enjoyment of that line stems from illario's pathological need to make it about himself and not see his strengths but what lucanis has, and therefore what he doesn't. he's annoyed enough to try and goad you in the middle of a fight about the 'wrong' dellamorte and completely blind to the fact that the venatori are at best, a stupid fucking alliance, and at worst, a cult that will devour the crows from the inside out and illario would have been the one to give them the keys. he sees lucanis make allies, needs his own, and instead of charming the other talons/houses as he should, he (probably spitefully) picks the venatori. or maybe he just thought it would be easier. ugh he makes me want to telekenetically throw him around

[lovedeathalice]

Rewatching fellow travelers rn and I literally just noticed that Tim kept a ticket for the COCKettes on his pin board😭 He was able to see a different kind of Rockettes alright

[rafedarling]

honestly i want him to be my baby daddy, but sadly he don’t even know i’m exist on this planet

[gunsatthaphan]

🎉🎆💋

[mpxayden]

a starter for the wonderful @mpahri and, well, the @inarimp feature the lion @lioxmp

TW: violence, homicide

“Hurry up, okay?”

Lio shoved the gun into his gloved hand, threw the commanding reminder over his shoulder, then off to the opposite direction, behind the bushes, where the still-warm corpses were waiting to be interred.

Ayden stared at his fingers squeezing the handle of the soulless weapon. Suddenly, he wondered if one could weigh death, then should it be about this size of heaviness?

To the ever-bustling city, this part of the forest was almost forgotten. Barely any light could spike through the maze of tree trunks and foliage, the one that did was weakened to the point it turned more illusion than reality.

But it was not a problem for Ayden, never a problem for a demigod whose fox spirit essence had just discovered its new limit. The once-dampened soil underneath his boots was all dried up, and so was that within the two-meter radius, all thanks to the burst of foxfire that immediately took a few out.

Lucky for them to carry this revenge scene in a clearing, a ‘stage’ created by Lio, or it could be some of his connections, Ayden forgot to ask about that. Physically and mentally tiring, he could not handle his words properly, yet he knew Lio knew he much appreciated the meticulous plan they had. The other even had two shovels at the back of his van, just in case one did not work fast enough to bury their crime.

The human kneeling in front of him let out a low groan, as if being unhappy for being ignored. Ayden steered his eyes to the man, the one that, according to his own testimony, was the instigator of Yeji’s misery.

Ayden’s head hurt, his pulse bumping like crazy, the gun in his hand trembling, silently screaming for a shot. The muffler now stared straight into the half-gone eyes of the sinful abuser. It, with the chilly breezes of Kyoto, waiting impatiently for the call.

The son of Inari still hesitated. Is this too merciful?

Deep in his thoughts and worn out by his half-planned foxfire combustion, Ayden missed the rustling noises and dull footsteps rushing in from behind his back. He caught Lio’s faraway alarming voice, but it was not behind a big shadow tackling him facedown on the forest’s bare ground.

wishes came true

[fairyofshampgyu]

HOLY FUCKING SHIT THE ALBUM RPEVIENHOFLY FUCK OMG OMG OMG 😭😭😭😭😭😭 HOLY FUCK 😭😭😭😭😭😭

[yuseirra]

** persona 3 reload spoilers**

P3R adventures - Messiah

the last time I played I was able to summon messiah (thanks to have beaten the reaper just with yukari and all.. I still don't know how I was able to make it but I did it and it gave out a lot of EXP...)

Orpheus + Thanatos = Messiah is such a cool concept. I think it's supposed to imply a lot of meaningful stuff too but here's a smol..lighthearted comic :)

[rimouskis]

I know there's a lot of talk about how childfree people are more free to discuss their wants and lives and lifestyles but there is also a lot of talk from parents (specifically mothers) who feel abandoned by society and let down and as someone who is uninterested in kids yet feels deeply for and wants to improve the material conditions of parents in this country..................... it still feels stupidly and frustratingly selfish and hard to watch a friendship deteriorate because of someone's journey into parenthood and the only societally-acceptable message I'm allowed to take from and communicate about it is "it's so hard for parents and we need to give them grace"

[the-names-kam]

in honor of me finally watching season 2 of the bad batch (and once again losing my mind over these two) i decided to redraw this old comic of mine!

(originally based off of this post by @simplysummers!)

[ildiavoloro55o]

Ferrari boys getting pole after their birthdays is so special to me!! 🫶🫶

[lamemaster]

Feanor's Wife

Request: @lamemaster Hiiiii I literally love you so much 🤌🏻can we please get a Nerdanel fic? Pleaseeeeee

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: Nerdanel x gn Reader

AN: I sort of need this every few months

Summary: "You cannot love Fëanor's wife," she hisses. "She does not want that. She needs a friend. Not a lover. And if you cannot give her that, then leave. Leave."

"You have lost your mind," Indis exclaims, throwing her fan at you. "You truly have!" She frantically downs her wine in one swift motion, her composure fraying.

You look out the open window, your gaze falling on the shimmering city of Tirion below. The beauty of it offers no solace, only amplifying the storm inside you.

Getting up with a sharp rustle of fabric, Indis strides across the room to close the window with an audible snap. She turns to you, gripping your face in her hands, her voice low and urgent.

"You cannot love Fëanor's wife," she hisses. "She does not want that. She needs a friend. Not a lover. And if you cannot give her that, then leave. Leave."

Her words pierce you deeply. Yes, a friend. That is what you are meant to be. A comforting presence, a steady shoulder. That is what Nerdanel needs.

"I know," you whisper, your voice cracking as you bite into the torn skin of a cuticle, further tearing the skin. An unconscious act of anxious fidgeting.

Indis sighs heavily, the weight of your grief reflected in her troubled eyes. Without another word, she wraps her arms around you. "I'm sorry," Your elder sister sighs her heart troubled by your grief.

But that wasn’t what you had planned. Not what you imagined at all.

Your thoughts spiral as your lips are suddenly captured by hers. Nerdanel’s kiss. Desperate, fiery, and unstoppable. It shatters everything.

It is a mess. Broken shards of glass at her feet. Tear-streaked cheeks. Panicked breaths, trembling and raw in her chest. No, this wasn’t how you imagined it.

By the Valar, Indis was going to kill you.

But your sanity, the prudent voices in your mind, all fall silent against the overwhelming reality: Nerdanel is kissing you. Illúvatar above she is kissing you.

She pushes you against the kitchen cabinet, her hands tangled in your hair, tugging with a familiarity you never thought she’d dare share with you. She kissed like she did everything else with passion, fervor, and the ease of mastery you had yet to learn.

Your breath hitches as your eye catches the glass shards next to her feet. With effort, you switch places, reversing your positions and carefully keeping her away from the danger. One arm wraps around her back, sparing her the hard edge of the counter, while your other hand lifts to cup her tear-damp cheek.

Her eyes blink open, and for a moment, she looks at you. Truly sees you.

You brace yourself for the realization to dawn on her. For the grief to surge back, for her to remember that you are not him.

You are not Fëanor.

Despite the silvery-gray eyes you share with him, your hair is golden, your presence so unlike his. She would see it, surely she would.

But you are robbed of the moment. Nerdanel leans into you, burying her face into your shoulder. Her body falls limp in your arms, not out of collapse, but surrender.

Perturbed, you lift a hand to check her pulse, only for her to swat it away with the faintest annoyance. “I’m not dead,” she mutters, her voice hoarse but steady.

It had all happened so quickly.

One moment, you had been perched on the counter, calmly deshelling peas as Nerdanel wiped the kitchen surfaces in her quiet, methodical way. The next, she was on the floor, a glass carafe shattered around her, the fragments sparkling like stars against the cold stone.

And then, it had come unleashed.

Sorrow, dense and suffocating, like storm clouds heavy with thunder.

You crouched beside her instinctively, your hands gentle as you pulled her into your arms. She didn’t resist. She clung to you, her grief spilling out in broken sobs that shook her frame.

What memory had the carafe unearthed? What thread of her past had snapped to pull her under? You could not know, and you would not ask. Some things were too fragile to touch.

So you held her.

You held her the way you had held others in the past, Indis in her quiet mourning, Anairë in her despair, Arafinwë in his rare moments of doubt. Even Amras once, though that had been a strange, fleeting encounter.

Your hands moved instinctively, running through her auburn hair, soothing her as best you could. You were already planning how to move her to her bed, imagining the quiet reassurance you would offer as she drifted into another restless sleep.

But then, with a sudden, fluid motion, Nerdanel’s lips found yours.

It was not tentative. It was not careful. It was full of urgency, of need, of raw, unfiltered emotion.

And you? You complied. Without hesitation, without resistance, you kissed her back.

Your arms tightened around her, your response wordless but clear: yes.

So much for being a friend.

You were meant to be her steady rock, her comforting presence, her platonic solace. But Nerdanel had torn through those boundaries, and you could not deny her. Never.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, Indis’ voice echoes like a warning: You cannot love Fëanor’s wife.

But here, in Nerdanel’s arms, her lips on yours, those words feel a world away. And for the first time, you wonder if you even care.

Because this is Nerdanel, who is not just Feanor's wife.

You hold her as you always do, murmuring soft reassurances, your hands threading through her hair with careful precision. You are steady. Solid. Everything she is not.

And it is too much.

You’re not him.

Even now, in the haze of her emotions, she knows it. She doesn’t need the physical reminders. The golden hair instead of black, the softer touch where his hands were calloused. She knows you’re not Fëanor because she has grieved him, and continues to do so. 

Nerdanel hadn’t planned on this.

It was supposed to be simple cooking, cleaning, filling the silence of her life with manageable distractions. She was supposed to find comfort in your presence, not complicate it.

But when she looked up from the shattered carafe and saw the way you knelt beside her, she felt something shift.

For years, she had carried her grief like a second skin, folding it neatly into the corners of her life where no one could touch it. With you, it all came undone.

She doesn’t know what prompted her to kiss you. Perhaps it was the way your hands soothed her hair without hesitation, or the warmth of your arms when she felt herself drowning. Or maybe it was the unbearable thought of losing someone else, someone who looked at her as though she still mattered.

But now, her mind churns with guilt. She doesn’t know how to take it back, how to undo the kiss without shattering everything.

Her hands tremble as she pulls away completely, stepping back from the kitchen counter. Her breath is uneven, her voice barely a whisper. “I—”

You reach for her, your touch light but grounding. “Nerdanel,” you say, softly but firmly, and her name on your lips feels like both a comfort and a wound.

For a moment, she considers apologizing. She considers stepping back into the role she was meant to play the grieving widow, the dutiful friend. But the thought of pretending again makes her chest ache.

“I can’t,” she says finally, her voice breaking. “I can’t keep doing this.” She gestures vaguely to the kitchen, the shattered glass, herself. “I don’t know how to carry it anymore.”

You don’t respond right away, but your expression is steady, patient. It’s the quiet reassurance she has always taken for granted.

When you step forward, gently cupping her face with your hand, she lets herself lean into the touch.

“You don’t have to carry it alone,” you say simply.

[d1sapp01ntm3nt]

if you’re a GGY artist or just fnaf artist in general PLEASE consider becoming mutuals with me!!! I’m trying to find other people in this little corner of tumblr who like GGY and Gregory and it’d be really cool if I could be friends with y’all!!!!