#yeah fucking neither of us are gonna heal if you keep doing this shit

[fuckyourg3ndernormz]

bitches be like "oh i want to heal, i want to heal" then ACTIVELY be the reason why they don't heal. literally don't even talk to me.

[harmonictechnicality]

Memory Log: Day 52

part 1 here | part 2 here | part 3 here | part 5 here | part 6 here (ao3 link here)

After seeing his ink-smeared biography all over Eddie Munson’s arm, Steve becomes extremely motivated. Obsessed, even.

He assembles a makeshift army. Eddie’s Memory Soldiers, he calls it. Okay - he doesn’t call it that out loud, only to himself (because even Steve is self-aware enough to know how deranged this all sounds).

Steve compiles a ragtag group of Eddie’s friends to nudge his brain along faster. Band mates, theater dweebs, potheads that can carry a tune. All of them bring mixtapes on their visits. After two weekends, there’s already a fuckload of thrashy melodies for Eddie to choose from.

He lets them take the reins on this music-healing plan because there’s no fucking way Steve will be helpful in that department. It means less visits that include his presence, which sort of sucks, but it’s worth it. Worth it to get Eddie back to where he used to be.

Before Steve heads out for one of his morning visits, Robin interrogates him. Asks him the question he’s been ignoring for weeks.

“Steve… not to sound harsh, but why do you care so much?” 

Yeah. Why does he care so much? 

She quickly follows it up with, “I just didn’t know you two were friends now. So I’m just curious, I guess.”

They’re not friends. They’re lukewarm tolerators - tethered together by monster hunting and Dustin Henderson.

They’ve flirted, sure. But who doesn’t? Steve would flirt with half of the leggy cartoon characters that appear on Saturday Mornings if he could. So that’s a weak argument to assume they’re more than just friends. Tolerators. Whatever.

So he lies. To Robin. To himself. Lies so much that it sits in his stomach like motion sickness.

He answers the exact same way he’s been answering since day one:

“I’m just doing this for the kids, Robs.”

He’s pretty sure neither of them are buying that statement. He tries again. Stamps the words onto his confused brain. Considers writing them on his arm just like Eddie might do.

“I’m doing it for them.”

Eddie is always on his Walkman (Steve’s Walkman) now that he has skyscraper of cassettes on his desk. Pretty much every time Steve returns, Eddie is head banging. Won’t stop until the nurses scold him.

Or Steve. He’ll stop if Steve scolds him too.

“You can’t keep jostling up your brain, Munson.” Steve whips the headphones off of Eddie’s ears. “Gonna undo all of our hard work.”

“Our hard work?” Eddie attempts to grab the headphones back. Gives up as soon as their hands make contact. “And who might be included in this our that you speak of?”

“You know…” Me. “The doctors and nurses and your friends.”

“Right.”

This is how things have been going lately. Eddie teases him mercilessly and Steve bats it all away. Doesn’t encourage it for a second.

Which blows so hard because he wants to flirt back. Steve wants to know what Eddie feels like beyond tubes and bandages and hospital gowns. He wants way too much after watching Eddie fall asleep smiling that night. After finding out that Eddie scams his own mind into remembering Steve in technicolor details every day.

But it feels wrong. Deep down, there’s this part of Steve that worries that Eddie only likes the scribbled notes, the good qualities of himself. The non-prickster qualities.

He doesn’t scribble the bad qualities on his arm. Eddie lets himself forget about those every night. 

So it seems wrong. Unfair to let Eddie only remember the good parts of him and take advantage of his weak mind.

Life was a fucking breeze before Steve cared about not taking advantage of people. Shit, he used the world’s biggest advantage-taker before all of this evil wizard nonsense.

“Quiz me, Harrington.” Eddie insists.

So Steve does. Steve goes down the list of questions. Things that Eddie’s memory typically hesitates to recognize. 

Music helps Eddie remember his childhood memories the best.

That’s the biggest discovery they’ve made over the last fourteen days. Tapes that include songs from the early to mid 70’s have the biggest mental impact on his memory skills. Every day, he recalls more moments from his past.

Winter birthday parties. Recess and tire swings. Nineteen chickenpox. A pet hamster named Sterling.

“Can’t believe Wayne trusted you with a living creature.” Steve sneers.

“Never said he did.”

He always gets fuzzy with stuff from the late 70s though. And the early 80s is just a jumbled-up shit show. That’s when Eddie really starts failing his quiz.

“What year did you get the tattoo on your chest?”

“You mean this one?” Eddie pulls down the wrinkly hospital gown, exposing way too much of his collarbone. “Or this one?” He pulls the fabric down even further.

They must’ve finally turned the heat on in this place. Or maybe Steve’s sweater is just extra itchy, scratching his skin all splotchy red. He rubs furiously at the collar, spreads the flush all over by accident. 

His eyes dart up to the fluorescent lights. Away from Eddie’s chest. “Um… the… creepy guy.”

“You’ll sprain your neck looking up like that.”

“Good thing I’m in a hospital then.”

“Okay - seriously, what’s up with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Sure.” Eddie snorts. His heart monitor beeps faster. Steve hates that laughing must be a bit painful for him. “And he’s not some creepy guy. He’s a creepy demon. Please respect the body art and get your facts right.”

“Fine.”

Not flirting back makes Steve feel like he could break out into hives. He has a fucking stockpile of pickup lines. He hoards provocative catchphrases like a horny pack rat. Talking is becoming increasingly difficult when he can’t banter back the way he wants to.

“Don’t remember what year I got it.” Eddie admits. “Sorry.”

Steve pulls his focus away from the ceiling and scribbles that down:

Eddie still can’t remember when he got his tattoos.

“Gee mister,” Eddie imitates a very masculine Shirley Temple voice. “Am I failing the pop quiz already?”

Eddie remembers who Shirley Temple is (weird, but okay).

Eddie does a really shitty impression of Shirley Temple.

Steve just keeps writing. Not even writing words anymore, just moving the pen to stay focused. Stay distracted from flirting.

The energy starts to feel swampy and stiff as he continues to give short responses with lifeless enthusiasm. Steve can tell that Eddie is picking up on the weirdness too. 

He’s so fidgety. Drumming his fingers, twisting the one ring he’s allowed to wear on one of his less busted fingers. Bobbing his knees and kicking off his blankets. 

Eventually, Eddie puts his (Steve’s) headphones back on and closes his eyes. A nonverbal surrender. A borrowed Walkman instead of a white flag. Why does it feel so shitty to see that he is just as defeated as Steve?

Once Eddie is asleep, Steve peaks over at his arms.

The notes are still there. Fading, but there.

It shouldn’t jab him in the heart the way that it does every time he checks, but christ. It’s so fucked up.

Slowly but surely, Eddie is gaining pieces of his past, but never his present. Why the fuck is that? Steve is so selfishly pissed about that because he’s a main role in Eddie’s present life. 

He’s the one that’s here most days. He’s the one that listens to Eddie’s rants and incessant complaints. He’s the one that calls the nurses when Eddie is too prideful to admit when he’s in pain.

Steve should be remembered without smudgey reminders and foggy recollections.

Steve should be un-fucking-forgettable.

After an unhealthy amount of moping, he comes up with an idea. Well, Dustin comes up with an idea, actually. Steve bribed him with nougat and R-rated movie rentals to construct a gameplan.

“And you need Eddie to remember your favorite sweater…why?” Dustin’s mouth is full of chewy candy as he asks.

Steve chucks a raisinette at his dumb hat. “I thought we agreed this was a no questions asked request.”

“You suggested that.” Dustin points at Steve. “I never agreed to it though.”

This is the part Steve despises. If he admits it to others, he has to admit it to himself. And while he’s come a long way since that first day with Eddie, he’s not there yet. His pride can only take so much vulnerability before it fractures completely. “Just… I’m testing a theory I have on his newest memories.”

“Right. And what theory would that be?”

That he thinks about me in kissable ways. “That he remembers more than he gives himself credit for.”

Dustin chugs back his soda and scrunches the can in his grasp. “Okay. Well, the mixtape theory is working decently well with older memories, right?

“Yeah. Definitely.”

“So maybe it can work with newer memories too.”

Steve is lost already. “Meaning?”

“Find songs that relate to you.” Dustin shrugs like duh. He must sense Steve’s hesitation, so he sputters back into his brainy explanation. “Think about it: you’re there all the time -”

“Not all the time, but -”

“Shut the hell up. You’re there all the time, so he must remember the essence of Steve Harrington.”

Steve fake gags. “Don’t say essence, that’s fucking gross.”

“Will you stop interrupting? Jesus christ.” Dustin yells, scrunching the soda can even more with his irritation. “Just make a mixtape with stuff that relates to you. Get his current memories to stick with lyrics and shit.”

Steve twists his mouth to one side. Then the other. “That’s…”

“Genius?”

“I was gonna say worth a shot, but sure.” Steve agrees. “We’ll go with your conceited analysis.”

Dustin finally picks up the raisinette from earlier. Throws it back at Steve. “You should be nicer to me. I possibly just solved your dilemma.”

“I should be nicer to you?” Steve tosses the raisinette into his mouth, despite its questionable duration on the floor. “Dude, you’re never nice to me.”

“Yeah, but it’s affectionate hostility.”

“And that makes it better?”

“Basically, yeah.”

“Fine.” Steve rolls eyes, offers a hand to Dustin. “Thank you for the hostile affection.”

Dustin accepts the handshake. He’s overly smug about it too. “You’re very welcome.”

Memory Log: Day 53

Right away, Steve determines it’s a Kathy Day. Eddie is a verbal nightmare already, whining about the dead batteries in his tv remote.

“I’ll get Sam to grab some batteries when her shift starts.” Steve reassures the bitchy entity possessing Eddie Munson’s body at the moment.

“Why don’t you just get the damn batteries?” Eddie bites back. “You have legs, don’t you?”

“You have eyes, don’t you? Of course, I have fucking legs.” Steve can play it this game. Doesn’t want to but he can be just as obnoxious if Eddie keeps going with his attitude. “Please don’t pull this Kathy shit today.”

That simultaneously shuts them both up for a while. Steve begins flipping through one of the outdated magazines on Eddie’s desk, avoiding the escalated atmosphere. At this rate, there’s no fucking way Steve is going to bring up his mixtape. Kathy/Eddie will probably smash it. Roll over it with the wheels on his imprisoning hospital bed.

Eddie clears his throat, speaking softer than he did at Steve’s arrival. “You know… you were sort of a Kathy yourself yesterday.”

Eddie remembers Steve’s weird mood from the day before (needs to check Eddie’s arm notes to make sure he didn’t write that down).

“Yeah well… I’m allowed to be the pissy one sometimes.” Steve doesn’t look up. He just keeps pretending to read the fossilized magazine in his hand.

“Whatever you say, Harrington.” There’s another pause. Just as awkward as the last one. Their dynamics today are clashing harder than their music styles. Eddie breaks through the awkwardness once again. “So… what’s on the brain agenda today?”

Eddie remembers their pop quizzes.

Right. The quiz. The quiz that Steve has no intention of administering today because he’s supposed to give Eddie this stupid mixtape. 

And look, Steve is pretty good at avoiding shit - homework and phone calls and extended family members. He’s good at dodging shit too, like the relentless one-night stands that can never seem to take a goddamn hint.

But this situation is different because Steve would clearly like to avoid the potential weirdness of giving Eddie Munson a gift. However, he’s innately aware that this particular gift could be helpful. Maybe more to himself than to Eddie, but who knows? If Eddie gets his memory tank back on track and Steve gets someone that reciprocates his affections? 

The payoff might be worth the weirdness.

“I actually wanted to contribute to your…” Steve gestures apathetically at the stack of tapes.

Eddie looks over at them and then back to Steve. “Oh you mean, Munsonopolis?”

“Boooo.” Steve heckles him immediately for that.

“You think of something better then.”

Steve thinks about this way too hard. “The Ed-pire State Building.”

“Boooo.” Eddie imitates Steve’s heckling.

“Better than yours.”

“Says who?”

“Says anyone with a sense of humor.”

“Brave of you to call that a sense of humor.”

“What can I say?” Steve clicks his mouth twice and does the most douchey finger-gun bit, blowing out the nonexistent smoke from each index finger. “I’m something else.”

Eddie bites down over his lip, hard enough that it goes white for a second. Doesn’t take his eyes off of Steve while he bares down.

“You sure are, Steve.”

Oh shit - did they just mindlessly segue onto Flirtation Boulevard without even trying? Is it really that natural with Eddie? Damnit, Steve needs to get his mind on the task at hand.

“Here.” He walks over, lays the tape on Eddie’s lap.

“Is this another one from Gareth?” Eddie flips the tape over, studies the back. “Cause I already assured him that I remember the concert we went to back in ‘84.”

Eddie remembers one of his closest friends.

“No, this one is actually…” Just fucking own up, Steve. “Well, I made it.”

Eddie’s eyes do that sequin thing again. Almost turn into disco balls. “You made me a mixtape?”

Ugh. “Don’t get too flattered, Munson.” 

“Too late.”

Steve was afraid that might be the case. So he does his damndest to channel Dustin Henderson. Provide a scientific explanation to his crush-driven theory. “It’s just an extension of our little music experiment. Some stuff that will help you remember me.”

“And why exactly do you want me to remember you?” Eddie does the same lip biting thing from before. He bites harder, and the color stays white even longer this time.

Steve involuntarily glances down at Eddie’s arm, giving himself away.

“Oh.” Eddie stops biting his lip, swiftly lifts the blankets over his arms. Hiding what Steve already knows is there. “Look… that’s just -”

“You don’t have to explain yourself, really.”

Eddie looks down, nodding in agreement. “Right. But it’s not-”

“Eddie.” Steve places a firm hand on Eddie’s shoulder because he can’t. He can’t listen to whatever Eddie is about to confirm or deny. “It’s okay. I mean it.”

He’s not ready for it, for whatever barricade that’s between them to come crashing down. Steve didn’t bring the proper tools to shield himself from raw emotions or desperate declarations of true feelings. And from the way Eddie goes breathless and tense under Steve’s shoulder-grip, he doesn’t think Eddie has the proper tools for that either.

“So you uh…” Eddie peers down at Steve’s hand. Catches a glimpse then abruptly looks away again. “Do you want me to listen now or…”

God no. Steve releases his grip at that thought. “Wait till I leave.” 

“Got it.”

The rest of the visit goes both fairly smoothly. There are only a few lingering particles of awkward tension left behind. It doesn’t bother Steve, not necessarily. The whole day has been kind of all over the place, just like Eddie’s Literary Behavioral Scale. So this uneasy atmosphere is to be expected.

They talk about movies while Steve packs up his things to leave. Eddie asks about all the new movies that have come out since he’s been in the hospital. Steve tells him to make a list of the ones he’s interested in seeing. Tells him that they’ll have a marathon at his place once they’re released to vhs. Eddie says he knows a guy that sells bootlegs before the vhs release date, but Steve shoots that idea down so fucking fast.

It’s not their usual banter, but that’s okay. At least they're talking. Getting along. Tolerating one another at a lukewarm temperature again.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?” Steve is met with the most anxiety-ridden face. Eddie’s whole forehead is covered in wrinkles, like that one fancy dog breed that his next-door neighbor used to have. There’s no shimmer in Eddie’s eyes, no disco balls. It’s all just dull. Fearful.

“Sorry if the arm thing made you...” Eddie trips over his words. He pinches the skin between his eyes, makes his even more forehead wrinkles. “I don’t know what’s the word I’m looking for.. Uncomfortable, I guess.”

“Don’t worry. It didn’t.” It made Steve a lot of other things: gutted, determined, confused, sulky, smitten. But no. Worried did not make Steve’s grocery list of Feelings.

“Don’t forget to tell Sam about the batteries on your way out.”

Eddie remembers bitching about the batteries.

Yeah, Steve’s memory isn’t the faulty one here. Even so, Steve reassures him:

“I won’t forget, Eds.”

Day 56:

Wayne had a couple days off from work and took over Steve’s Wednesday and Thursday shifts in the hospital. It’s probably for the best - especially since Steve decided to do the most high school shit ever, and gift Eddie a fucking bouquet in the form of radio hits and plastic.

He’s breaking out from the stress, just marinating on what Eddie’s thoughts might be of the mixtape. It can’t be good. None of the songs are his typical riffs of eternal damnation or whatever. But it certainly sounds like Steve Harrington in a Speaker. So it better help him picture Steve dressed in the tackiest, most burnable sweaters imaginable, goddamnit.

But like, why is he breaking out from thinking about Eddie Munson? Absurd. All of it. The feelings and the acne. His weird little crush is making him regress into adolescent woes and it’s pissing him off.

After popping the zit and crossing his fingers that it’s not outrageously noticeable, Steve sucks in a deep breath, and heads into Eddie’s hospital room.

“There’s my favorite Material Girl.” Eddie lowers the headphones, smiles bonus-level wide.

Steve’s gulps. His face feels like a fucking toaster. “I take it you listened to the tape?”

“I didn’t just listen to the tape.” Eddie picks up the Walkman and smacks it against the side of his head. “I practically absorbed that bubblegum bullshit. Think some of it is still stuck in my teeth.”

Steve plays along, hoping that his face will return to its usual complexion. “You should see a dentist about that.”

“With what insurance?”

“That’s fair.” Steve slides his hands into his jean pockets. He’s so rigid. “So?”

“So?”

“Final conclusion?”

“Oh, I hated it.” Eddie says bluntly. “In a very stick-that-syringe-in-my-neck kind of way.”

“Shocker.” Steve actually expected a meaner response than that.

“Why did you put so many songs on there that use Girl in the title?”

“Hey - it’s not my fault that all of the rich poster child songs are about women.” Steve gets defensive about that one. Honestly, it’s true. There needs to be more music about wealthy guys with genetically flawless hair. Somebody needs to get on that shit so Steve can have more songs that apply to him.

“Whatever you say, man.” 

“So did it…” Steve is still standing. Hovering a bit. “Did it help?”

Eddie sticks out both of his arms, flipping to reveal his forearms to Steve.

They’re blank, besides the usual tattoos and contusions. They’re as blank as Eddie’s arms can be at the moment. No more Steve Cheat Sheet to be found.

Steve exhales all of his relief. “And you remember me?”

“Remembering you was never the problem, Steve.”

“It wasn’t?”

Eddie shakes his head. “But if I ever allowed myself to forget, I…” He taps rapidly over the Walkman. Steve’s Walkman. “I just didn’t wanna risk starting over.”

“Oh.”

“With you.”

The metaphorical arrow, the one Steve has alway seen on department store Valentines Day cards, goes straight through his chest. Eddie aims the words with you directly for Steve’s heart. Punctures that wall he built up after Nancy Wheeler.

The monitor connected to Eddie is beeping faster again. It’s not like that day Eddie was writhing in pain. No, it’s a different tempo.

It sounds like his nerves are conducting the pattern. He’s nervous. Steve is making him nervous.

Or Steve’s lack of response is making him nervous.

But how does Steve respond? Is this Eddie giving him permission to flirt back again? To keep driving down the detour of attraction, take the scenic route?

Eddie’s heart monitor is screaming, ‘say something, Steve.’

But Steve’s archive of failed relationships is screaming, back, ‘don’t fuck this up, dickhead.’

Steve tries to meet the two in the middle. Say something inviting yet keep it simple.

“So… do you wanna make fun of the shitty soap operas together?” 

Steve puts a little emphasis on the together part, hoping it’ll tame the monitor. Make the tones evenly paced. He lets his hand tap once against Eddie’s arm. Right over his newly blank wrist. So clean. No more scribbles.

“I don’t know, I’ll have to check my schedule.” Eddie teases with his words, sure. But his hand lifts up. Tapping Steve back. Twice. “I’m a very busy man, you see.”

Steve shoves him away, laughing as he does it. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re not wrong.”

His monitor is ballad again.

One of Eddie’s (many) doctors walks into the room during their third hour of mocking the Home Shopping Network. Eddie has developed an elaborate backstory that they’re all cyborgs who are taking civilian money to grow their army of killer robots. Steve is surprisingly on board with this theory after the second hour. Some red headed lady twitches her eyes way too much to be human.

The doctor runs a few tests, looks over Eddie’s chart, the typical procedure. However, at the end of the visit, he decides to put Eddie on a new medication for his headaches. 

Headaches…

Steve flips back to that first day he started visiting Eddie. Finds the note he passive-aggressively took back then:

Eddie has a headache (that’s not a memory thing - he’s just told Steve a thousand times now).

He fans through the other pages as well. At least two-thirds of them mention Eddie complaining about headaches. How did Steve miss this? How could he be so stupid? He was too busy fantasizing about Eddie’s chest tattoos and making shitty mixtapes, that he glossed over something so significant.

Dustin wouldn’t have missed this. Robin wouldn’t have missed this. Nancy definitely wouldn’t have missed this - hell, she would’ve already cracked the Case of the Missing Memories by now. 

Steve is the wrong man for this job. Not enough brainpower to fix a broken brain.

“Uh oh.” Eddie says. “Where you’d go, Harrington?”

Steve glances up to see Eddie pointing his finger at Steve’s head. “Just.. thinking.”

“Share with the class, please.”

Steve struggles to make his voice sound causal about this. “I should’ve known about the headaches. Paid better attention.”

“Are you joking?” Eddie asks. “Because if you are, we need to work on your delivery.”

“Not joking, no.”

Eddie’s tone is mildly annoyed, still gentle though. “Stevie… that guy gets paid a shitload of money to figure out my problems. Truly - the reason there’s no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow is because it’s going straight into that guy’s pocket.”

Steve snorts. It’s even funnier to visualize because the doctor is kind of short.

“What I’m saying is, it’s his job to have a big brain.” Eddie’s eye contact is sharp. Broken bottle to his neck sharp. “And your job is to be my eye candy. Sit there and look cute while I try to not hack up my dinner.”

Steve’s hearing went crackly at all of the compliments. “Eye candy, huh?”

“Pretty much.”

Steve no longer has an excuse not to flirt back. Eddie has his mixtape; his arms are bare. He’s obviously encouraging it, even with the knowledge that Steve is a spoiled brat. He likes Steve, not just the good stuff. Eddie is still willing to pursue this even with Steve’s bad qualities.

So fuck it. Steve is gonna delve into his stockpile of pickup lines. He’s gonna rummage around his hoard of provocative catchprashes. Be the horny pack rat that he was born to be.

“Is the sitting part of my job description mandatory?” Steve leans forward, elbows resting on his knees.

“Oh, I’m very lenient on that detail.” Eddie’s voice drops lower. “The cute part… not so much.”

“So you’re only keeping me around for what? My great hair? My symmetrical bone structure? My biceps, maybe?”

“Definitely not your humility, that’s for damn sure.”

They share a smile as Steve gets up, inches closer to Eddie’s bed. He reaches out and pinches the sleeve of Eddie’s hospital gown between his fingers. He cautiously rubs it over a few times, waiting to see Eddie’s reaction to this droplet of affection.

Eddie catches Steve’s wrist with his other hand. Mirrors the rubbing motion Steve set in place with the material.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Steve nudges Eddie lightly. “Is this okay?”

And before he can even get a response back, Eddie’s face starts turning grayish-green. 

This happens. Eddie throws up biweekly, so it’s not a big deal at all. It’s just that Steve is usually not laying on the moves when Eddie is about to blow chunks. Honestly, it knocks Steve’s astronomical ego down a few notches.

He probably deserves it.

Eddie is really sick. He pukes three more times, and he starts running a fever after the second time. He’s all clammy and curled into a pillow, clutching it with shaky fingers.

It’s all side effects from the new medication apparently. Yeah, Eddie’s head is no longer splitting open, but his body is rejecting all of the cardboard hospital food.

Steve keeps an eye on him, not that he can do much about it. He gets a styrofoam cup of ice chips so Eddie can chew on it whenever his temperature spikes. He wipes the sweat off Eddie’s temples because one - it’s a nice gesture, and two - it gives him an excuse to be nearby.

The shivering is driving Steve crazy though. He’s so on edge just watching Eddie like this. Eddie keeps making jokes like ‘at least I’ll remember your stupid worried face in the morning’ or ‘damn, my past better be worth all of this.’ And Steve will chuckle halfheartedly each time.

The heart monitor is all jumpy now. Even, uneven, even, uneven. If Steve focuses on it for too long, it starts to sound like he’s driving by a highway collision. A pileup of beeps and tones.

He gets another cup of cafeteria coffee. Hopes the bitterness and chalky creamer will be enough to muffle his hearing. Steer his mind to an empty exit lane.

“What? No coffee for me?” Eddie is under an extra blanket now.

Steve scoots his chair even closer to Eddie’s bedside. “What’s the point? You’d just puke it all up.” He’s pretty lousy at supportive words, isn’t he?

“Aren’t visiting hours almost over?”

“You trying to get rid of me, Munson?”

“Never. Just figured you needed to catch the bus or whatever.”

Eddie remembers Steve taking the bus.

“Robin finally gave me my car back.” Steve conveniently leaves out how he demanded  for it to be returned to him. “So, I’ll stay until they kick me out… if that’s cool with you.”

He places his non-coffee holding hand over top of Eddie’s open palm. It’s sort of instinctual. Doesn’t give his mind a moment to wonder if this is crossing a line. 

Holding hands in a hospital doesn’t mean romance. It never has. People do it all time, no one bats an eye at them either. It’s just a gesture of helpless support. It’s what people do to signify, ‘I can’t heal you with medicine, but I can warm your under-circulated skin just a little.’

But when Eddie’s fingers curl around his own, Steve’s stomach swells like its romance. It swells with hot air, helium maybe. It swells and stays swollen. Stays thermal and full.

“Looks like I’m gonna have to pay my eye candy overtime.” Eddie’s face rushes all pinkish-red. Almost as if he’s trying to combat his blush with humor, but it’s not working. He’s all the colors now. And with or without them, he’s attractive.

“You don’t pay me at all.”

“You got me there.” Eddie shakes a frizzy curl in front of his cheek. A poor effort to hide his flushed face. “I’m a terrible employer.”

Steve traces the grooves of Eddie’s palm lines. Pretends that they form a railroad track. “The worst.”

Once his fever finally breaks, Eddie falls asleep. His body unfolds, his fingers uncurl. It’s a heavy sleep, one that makes him all languid and soft. Any traces of bones are questionable now.

And even though Steve is about to pass out from exhaustion, he doesn’t move his hand from Eddie’s. He’d rather give up his whole arm than move it.

Sam peaks in just before Steve nods off. She lets in the bright hallway light, not too much though. Not enough to wake Eddie. Honestly, not a lot of things wake Eddie up these days.

“Sorry.” Steve yawns. “I overstayed my welcome.”

She shrugs, checks the fluids in one of Eddie’s IV bags. “You know, you can stay the night, if you’d like.”

“Really?”

“It’s pretty late… you shouldn’t be driving on the highway at this time of night.”

“Won’t I…” Steve reworks the phrase. Tries to be less selfish about it. “Won’t you get in trouble for letting me stay?”

“Oh no.” She winks. “Because I never saw you here.”

Steve smirks. “Got it.”

“But if I did see you here,” She gestures her head to the door on her right. “I would tell you there’s extra pillows in the linen closet over there.”

Sam deserves a fucking raise. Steve would become a goddamn patron of this hospital just to give her more money. Let the godsend of a woman retire early for christ’s sake.

“Thanks, Sam.” Steve whispers.

“Thank you for keeping him company.” She whispers back. “He’s lucky to have someone like you.”

Steve doesn’t know if that’s true, if Eddie is lucky to have him, but he nods anyway. Gives a gentle wave as Sam heads back out of the room.

He sets the pillow next to Eddie’s leg, keeping their hands connected as he dozes off. Steve falls asleep the same way he used to fall asleep in class. All bent over in his chair, one cheek flattened out on the desk. It’s very reminiscent of that.

Only better because he’s with the guy that makes his chest swell, even when he’s being sarcastic or melodramatic. Even when he’s cobwebbed himself into a maze of cords. Even when he’s bitching about batteries and Steve’s vomit-inducing fashion sense.

Steve thinks maybe he likes the undesirable traits of Eddie Munson just as much as the desirable ones.

And once he’s knocked out entirely, the rhythm of his heart matches the beeping monitor hooked up to Eddie’s chest.

Day 57:

It’s been a long time since Steve has had a decent dream. And this dream he’s in right now? It’s fucking luxurious.

He’s at the hair salon, because of course he is - it’s his home away from home. 

His head is reclining back in that giant sink thing. The one that’s like a soup bowl for hair or whatever. The stylist is shampooing his scalp, scrubbing all of those foamy products into his roots. This is Steve’s favorite part of getting his hair done, he always feels blissed out of his mind afterward.

They keep washing it for the whole dream, digging their nails into his head, dunking water over his hair every so often. It’s downright perfection. A dream he could stay stuck in forever. 

The scenery of the dream flickers out, but the sensations linger as he gains consciousness. His squints both of his eyes open, immediately greeted by too much brightness, too much sunlight. Steve shuts them again, soaking up the remnants of his dream. The hair scratching that’s ongoing even though he’s awake.

Awake.

Steve is awake and can still feel all of that salon paradise. His brain finally wakes up enough to realize it isn’t a dream. It’s Eddie’s hands in his hair, combing it thoroughly.

Fuck, it feels so good too. Steve wonders if Eddie is aware of what he’s doing or if he’s also in that suspended place between awake and asleep.

It doesn’t matter, not really. It all feels way too incredible to care about the logistics. Steve nuzzles deeper into the pillow to hide the happy little hums that keep escaping through his mouth. 

Eddie doesn’t stop. He keeps moving his hand around. Twirling strands and releasing them. Ruffling strands and smoothing them. Massaging the pads of his fingers in all the right places. Every bit of it is dreamy. Better than the dream Steve initially believed to be unbeatable.

Being Eddie’s own personal petting zoo is way better. Miles, light years better. Is there any form of measurement longer than lightyears? Because it’s bigger and better than that too.

Eddie tugs a little harder, just once, but once is all it takes to make Steve melt. He open-mouth sighs into the pillow, hoping the fabric mutes the neediness of it. There’s drool on the pillow and it’s unclear if it’s from when he was asleep or if it occurred just from that one hair tug. 

“Steve?” Eddie’s voice still sounds coated in sleep. “Is this weird?”

Steve shakes his head no, still unable to lift his face from the pillow.

“Should I stop?”

Steve shakes his head much faster. Absolutely not. Stopping should be banished from Eddie’s vocabulary. The word ‘stop’ should be homeless as far as Steve is concerned.

Eddie tugs again, more firmly this time. The tug goes straight to Steve’s dick, which yikes. Humiliating. Yeah, it’s morning and this shit happens, but not this kind of boner. Not one brought on by hair salon fantasies and a metalhead with magical fingertips. This can’t be the reality of Steve’s life right now but somehow, it is.

“I think I combed through all of that cake-up hairspray.” Eddie talks as his hand continues to roam around Steve’s scalp. “Feels like cashmere now, so you’re welcome.”

Steve sighs again, pretty sure it’s much more audible this time because Eddie laughs.

“Embarrassing.” Steve mumbles. That’s all he can muster out without becoming a puddle of humiliation.

“The sounds you’re making?”

Steve nods.

“Oh that is not the adjective I would’ve gone with.” Eddie claws his fingers all the way down to Steve’s neck. “Not even close.”

Steve is all hormones now, all slurred speech and thoughtless words. “So good, Eddie.”

“Oh my god.” Eddie whines, sounds breathier than Steve. “You cannot say my name like that when I’m in a tissue-thin gown.”

Steve wants to sneak a peek, see if what Eddie is suggesting holds any truth. He resists, only because he’s trying to sort out his own tent-pitching problems at the moment.

He gradually lifts his head off of the pillow, back cracking as he straightens his spine out after hours of being shaped like fucking tetris piece. It’s the last thing he wants to do because it means Eddie has to take his hand out of Steve’s hair. But as Eddie pulls away, his knuckles brush against Steve’s ear, awakening this newfound urgency to not let this moment fizzle out.

Steve hops up onto the bed, sitting side-saddle next to Eddie. He looks through Eddie’s eyes, the ones that remind him of shimmery dresses and the backseat of his car on prom night. He looks through to find a reason to stop his actions. Stop his need to touch Eddie’s jawline or thumb over his lips. He’s searching for a reason to stop and finding none whatsoever.

“Do you remember me?”

“You’re Steve Harrington.” Eddie kind of stutters as he says it. “Hometown Slut extraordinaire.”

The nerdy bastard is never going to let that one go.

Steve gives a quiet laugh, leaning in to his impulses. He slides his thumb over Eddie’s bottom lip, curving around, mapping invisible outlines. A blueprint for his imagination when they’re apart later. “Am I reading this wrong?”

Eddie’s gaze is glued to Steve’s lips as he shakes his head no.

“Good.”

Steve uses his free hand to lift himself up, get closer. Breathing in the same stale oxygen, sucking up the same early morning courage, existing in the same dizzying climate.

He can feel Eddie exhale softly over his skin when there’s a knock at the door.

Steve has never stood up so fast in his damn life. Gets a head rush that’s so overwhelming that his vision speckles out momentarily. 

It’s Sam. Thank god it’s only Sam. But also, screw god for interrupting what almost happened just now. Not cool, sky man.

“Just a heads up,” she starts, shutting the door behind her. “You have another visitor that just arrived.”

Right. It's the weekend.

Steve and Eddie say it in unison. “Dustin.”

Sam hums in reply. “I can stall him for a couple minutes. Give you time to sneak out the stairs that are tucked in the back hallway.”

“You’re the best.” Steve says. “I’ll be quick.”

She leaves, cracking the door on her way out.

Both of them just look at each other for a moment. There’s no time to even discuss the events that just took place. No time to recover the kiss that is already sneaking out the back hallway stairs.

Steve nervously whistles. “So…”

“I’ll see you Monday?”

“Monday.” 48 hours apart seems insane. “Yeah.”

Steve hurriedly makes his way to the door - refusing his horny impulses the opportunity to kick back in and ruin everything. “See you later, Eds.”

Eddie licks over his bottom lip - the one Steve mapped out with his thumbprint. “Later, sailor.”

Um. What?

Steve’s eyes go large. “What did you just call me?”

“Go.” Eddie flashes the wickedest grin. “We’ll talk all about your ocean of flavor on Monday.”

This can’t be happening. “Ocean of -”

“Get out of here already!”

Steve flings himself out of the room, sprinting down the hall. Does Eddie actually recall Steve working at Starcourt? How can that be possible? Steve doesn’t remember seeing Eddie outside of school ever. 

Plus, they’ve never even talked about his job at Scoops Ahoy. Family Video? Sure, that’s more recent. But Scoops? Steve tries to forget just about everything from his time at that seaside shithole.

Goddamnit, this is confusing. The hair foreplay. The almost-kiss. The nautical nickname. Confusing is an understatement. Steve needs to go back to high school and learn a better word for what this is. Confusing isn’t cutting it anymore.

If Steve can make it till Monday without spiraling into a bucket of nerves, he deserves a fucking trophy.

And a kiss on the lips.

Mostly the second option (although a trophy would be nice too). 

[notyouraryang0dd3ss]

Having a #1 Song doesn't mean SHIT anymore! It doesn't mean the song is a hit.

Let's be so serious rn. Nobody knows any of her damn fault track that keep charting. I asked my mom to name one song of hers and she could name "Shake it off."

Smooth Criminal went #7 in the US.

Remember the Time went #3 in the US.

Heal the World went #27 in the US.

They don't care about us #30 in the US. But it still went viral on tiktok. A song that is almost 30 years old!!

Thriller the song also never went to number one, but ask people to name one Halloween song they gonna name that song.

And what is more impressive, having 1M EAS the first day or still selling 1M EAS 15 years after your passed and more than 20 years after you dropped an album. Longevity is quality. 1M first day sales she's gonna sell that much for years. Hell, she be lucky if she even sold 50k in a year in 30 years.

5 music videos of his that are made in the 80's and 90's are about to have 1 billion views this year.

Billie Jean still gets 1M daily streams on Spotify.

I'm sorry if you aren't an Mjfan and I bring him up but he's the best example I can give you also because Swifties keep comparing her to him.

If people don't like the song they won't keep listening to it. And if Taylors song just stay in her fanbase and they just massstream her shit. Nobody is gonna know this song in 20 years.

Because what is the last hit Taylor Swift had that was known to the general public? Anti Hero maybe? Cruel Summer?

And something that is also funny is that, Remember when her drunk self got on stage and snatched the grammy from Celine Dion and didn't even look at her.

And people were pissed and her team was quick on working getting a picture with her to mend the damage.

Celine Dion has 5 Grammys and Taylor Swift has 14.

But they knew that Celine Dion got more respect from the GP then Taylor will ever have. And that is something you cannot buy. And they know if someone wins out of pure talent or just because of favourism. And let's be real. Most people know these award shows are rigged and they don't care about it.

Like when RollingStone came out with that fuck ass best singers list that put Taylor at #102 and excluded Celine Dion. People were mad that Celine was included but Taylor was.

Or just recently they also called her the better Adele. Nobody from the GP was like oh yeah that is true.

I mean they can try to name her the Queen of Pop in one of the award shows alà Michael Jackson style, but it's not gonna work with her. When he got that name people actually agreed and they still do. Outside Taylors cult nobody will agree with that.

Taylor's Team is aggressive with the Marketing and pushing these numbers onto us because they know outside of it she has nothing to offer. Her talent isn't marketable. Her singing and dancing isn't that impressive. The most marketable things about her career are her wealth and business success. Have they ever talked about her performance while she is on tour. What is so impressive what she does on stage? No they just keep talking about the money she makes.

No I completely get why MJ is a relevant comparison here. Swifties do keep comparing TS to him and for that alone they need to collectively get their asses beat. But you used good examples and I just want to applaud you for that

& you’re right, I can’t name a single vault track. Every time I’m exposed to her its against my will through my recommended (and its usually so out of place too because i watch really weird video essays).

Charts truly don’t reflect cultural impact because Drunk in Love by Beyoncé never went #1 and neither did Toxic by Britney Spears but both are super well known. Anti Hero is probably the last single to go #1 but I genuinely felt harassed by that song 😭 its sooooooooo bad

Yes! The vocal trinity—Celine Dion, Mariah Carey, and Whitney Houston—have done SO MUCH for music and all have less than half of Taylor Swift’s amount of Grammys. Celine and Mariah each have 5 and Whitney has 6.

I didn’t watch the Grammys this year (forgot to) but I heard about the Celine Dion incident I was SHOCKED because the audacity of this woman! Her entitlement shows in everything she does and she’s really starting to believe her commercial success makes her a better artist.

THE ROLLING STONE LIST WAS BULLSHIT. THEY DIDN’T INCLUDE JENNIFER HUDSON EITHER! Their definition of a “singer” was soooooooo bullshit too like that magazine’s merit has gone down so much in the past 20 years it should be regarded with way less status and credibility. And who tf called TS better than ADELE?

You’re right, her moniker will be chosen by the general public (probably from a viral tweet/tiktok/etc).

And she needs aggressive marketing because she really is a below average musician in all respects! She has her songwriting but she should’ve just been a hit songwriter (like Estelle Dean) not a singer. What makes her marketable is very “ordinary” image—which makes her relatable to “every girl, like me and you” 🙄 her soft voice really creates an intimate atmosphere especially with her vulnerable (but superficial) lyrics. She has to be friends with her fans for her success to work. Because there is no way you can justify her being regarded as a “god” the way people do with Beyoncé and MJ otherwise.

🎯 with the Eras Tour coverage. No one ever references or cites a particular jaw dropping vocal performance or dance number. It’s always the amount of wealth she’s generating.

[canirove]

In The Name of Love | Chapter 33

Previous chapter | Next chapter

Masterlist

Congratulations on that goal, bro 😊

Thank you, Pepi 😊 How is your injury?

I may start training next week

Oh, that's great!  Miss seeing you on the pitch  How is your other injury?

🤨

The one in your heart

So poetic, Ferran 😂

But that one is the same, not healing

And it will probably never will

Don't say that, Pedri

It's the truth

I should have fought for us instead of breaking up with Val

Now she has moved on and we will never get back together 

How many times do I have to tell you that she hasn't moved on, Pedro? 🙄 She still loves you 

That's what you say

Because it is the truth, you idiot Yes, she has good days where she is the Val we all know and love, she is healing  But she also has others where she just cries and doesn't want to leave the house And that's because she still loves you

Oh, great. So I still am making her feel like shit

Pedri… 🙄

🤷🏻‍♂️

Anyway… Did you know that she and her mum made up?

How am I supposed to know that? 

I don't know, maybe Marina or David had told you I know you keep talking with them 

I do, but they haven't mentioned it

How did that miracle happen?

It was all thanks to that amazing girlfriend of mine ☺️

Ana?

Yep Val and her mum had had an argument, the usual between them. And while talking about it Ana suggested that maybe her mum had always wanted for Val to settle down and find a good job, a good husband and start a family, because she didn't want her to go through the same she went through Because she didn't want her to end up alone with a baby and her career and dreams ending too soon like had happened to her

Oh… I had never thought about that

Neither had she

It makes sense tho

She was protecting her and just wanted the best for her

Though she could have done it better, tbh

Like with better manners

Yeah…  And that's why she said she didn't like you despite knowing the feelings you and Val have for each other She didn't want her to get hurt

I still hurt her, tho

That was just a little bump on the road

Yeah, one that ended up with Val in the hospital 

Pedri, for the millionth time: stop blaming yourself for that

I'll try…

You better 😠

But then Val and her mum are good? 

They still are working on it, but things have improved a lot So if they've been able to fix things, so will you

It isn't that easy, Ferran

I fucked up

Yes, you did But you still love her, right?

Of course I do

Well, she loves you too, so 💃🏼 And besides, you are meant to be together

Doesn't look like it… 😔

You are, Pedri Don't give up, ok?

Ok…

DON'T GIVE UP

Ok, no need to yell 😂

I needed to make sure you heard me Manchester isn't close to Barcelona, you know?

I know

But Ferran…

Yes, Pepi? 

Do you really think she will come back?

Like, over there no one knows her and she can have a normal life

Here, on the other hand… 

It won't be that easy, no But what doesn't kill you makes you stronger like the song says, and that's what has happened with Val Her home is in Barcelona with her family, all her friends, and she's gonna go back there and fight for a certain kid she is madly in love with and WHO CAN'T GIVE UP ON THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE EITHER, OK?

Ok, message received 😂

What about you, tho?

Will you ever come back to Barcelona?

I don't know, bro I'm loving the red side of Manchester, it's better than the blue one

Yeah, the red side and a certain redhead too 😏😂

😏

I'm glad you found someone, Ferran

You deserve to be happy 🤍

Thank you, Pepi 🥺

Will you EVER stop calling me that? 🙄

I know you only like it when it is Val the one saying it but… no ☺️ And speaking of Val… DON'T GIVE UP ON HER

I heard you the first time, Ferran 🙄

Just wanted to be sure Because she wants you back, Pedri So you know what to do…

Don't give up

Exactly 💪🏻

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

"Oh, Val, I'm gonna miss you so much" Ana says while hugging me.

"I will miss you too."

"Are you sure you don't want to stay with us for a bit longer?"

"I'm sure. You and Ferran deserve some alone time, I've bothered you enough."

"You haven't bothered us, Val" he says. "But yeah, you are right. We deserve some time alone. I'm tired of having to always wear clothes around the house and close the bathroom's door when I want to pee."

"Ferran!" Ana says.

"It's ok, don't worry" I laugh. 

"What are your plans now?" he asks me.

"I want to take my mum somewhere for the holidays, have like some proper mother-daughter time now that it looks like we've fixed things."

"Aww, that's lovely" Ana says.

"I also want to go somewhere with Marina and David to thank them for always being there for me. And I have to pay my cousin a visit and meet her baby."

"So family time" she smiles.

"Exactly" I smile back.

"And the school?" Ferran asks. "Are you going back?"

"I am. These months away have reminded me why I love teaching so much. Why, despite all the ups and downs, it is all worth it. And I miss Emma, Beth and Luis so much… They are like my second or third family."

"Third. We go first" Ferran says. "But I am so glad to hear that, Val." 

"Me too" Ana says, giving me another hug. "And about you know who… What are you going to do?"

"He still loves you and wants you back, you know?"

"I know, Ferran. You've reminded me of it many times over the past few months" I chuckle. 

"And you also love him and want him back."

"I do. Now that I feel like myself again and also stronger physically, mentally and emotionally, I want to fight for him. For us. Now more than ever I know that I want to spend the rest of my life with him. But I don't want to rush anything, you know? I want to let things flow and let it happen when it has to happen."

"You are letting destiny do its work." 

"That's it, yes. You all say we are destined to be together, so…" I shrug.

"You are, Val" Ana says. "I've not known you and Pedri for that long, and I probably didn't meet you at the best moment in your relationship… but I know true love when I see it."

"Awww, look at her going all cheesy" Ferran says.

"Oh, shut up" she replies, rolling her eyes.

"I'm gonna miss you, guys" I say, trying not to cry.

"We will miss you too, Val" Ana says.

"Group hug?" Ferran asks, opening his arms.

"Fine" I sigh.

"I love you so much, girls" he says while squeezing us. "Not in the same way, but you know what I mean."

"Love you too" Ana and I reply.

[carmenized-onions]

these are my thoughts

-the amish story?? we're starting with the amish story???? so you want me to bawl my fuckin eyes out, is that? i hate you onion.

-its been 0ERR minutes. damn right. feel the burn carmen berzatto, feel it!!!

-i actually had to switch tabs and play the countries of the world quiz cuz ohhhh my god carmy talking to chef david is never an easy pill to swallow

-mikey called me? i have been officially adopted into the family? im all warm inside. but as a middle child, i am offended. deeply. we also care for people and have to like keep the peace! also ouch, id feel so guilty as a baby getting the big bro attention when the big bro's actually baby is being left on read.

-oh shit oh shit we're back ahhhhhhhh please chef david/carmy needs multiple warnings. also so real so real so real receiving praise from someone who always criticized you is not as sweet as you thought it would be. actually somewhat repulsive.

-i mean,,,, great introspection there carm, but maybe like 0ERR minutes too late buddy

-"The only fuckin’ good thing in my life" ....okay maybe i change my vote and i support tony folding. im folding.

-“Hey asshole—” Richie stops, when he sees David. “Ah. You’re needed, Chef Carmen.” dont back down richie dont back down call him out in front of the stupid exec he put over everyone else. also did you notice in season three no one said 'cousin' once? not onceeeeee. carm deserved it, but damn did it hurt. please heal me onion

-“Want your coffee?” He corrects, like stroking your ego will make you fold. It does. ehehehehehe yeah yeah ill do itt

-fuck me this is dark.

-“Cousin get my fucking bag, now!” she called him cousin.

-ummmm can this be an x richie jerimovich now actually?

-carmen is definitely the joke. i know im tony, but id be on my hands knees for her too.

-onion. “And no one wants you to acknowledge that you’re the guy— Like you can take the compliment, but you can never say ‘I know, I’m doing it on purpose.’” how have you managed to capture the human experience of being the dependable people pleaser into words and such good words????? i could only wish to be as good at writing as you are. profession well chosen.

-'You laugh, and it quickly turns into a groan as you try to come up with something. “I uh… Oh! I fuckin’ hate the nickname ‘Jack’, that’s something.” “Oh?” He leans forward, teasingly intrigued— You’ve thrown him a bone, because you’re the guy, too. He’s able to focus on this in lieu of himself.' ahahahah i knew this was coming, if she liked jack it would've stayed jack but noooo its chip! i been waiting for this one, turn it up! also yes so 'the guy' of her, turning the convo to you only to help out the other guy cuz the guy never wants to be the center of attention unless its actively helping someone out ugh i love you onion

-i think im gonna try to minimize the comments, its like ive got one after every sentence, jeez cool it dude.

-sydmikey crossover kind of , wow. its hitting me. i wonder what they wouldve been like together.

-'and neither of you know this is a lie, yet.' actually fuck you onion.

-shit forgot the richie carmy fight was happening right out the window???????????????????????????

-lol. bear in the freezer 1.0

-you're making me miss mikey even tho im reading mikey but damn i miss my bestie and he should be enjoying the bear with us rn (even tho the bear is shit rn 0ERR but like if it wasnt)

-“If that’s what getting a star takes, I don’t want it.” oh fuck. us squidink truthers out here winning.

-'Richie’s a good dad. You will never find a good time to tell him this.' i know what you're referencing and i despise you for it. tony will tell him.

-'“Yeah, well you need to read Mark Wolynn’s ‘It Didn’t Start With You.’” Richie’s got lists of books now, instead of zingers. They somehow hit harder.' they hit very hard my man, very hard. #teamfuckeveryonebutrichie

read the rest so quick that i felt like i lived it. i hate you. you write so well. my best friend died dude ,you gave me a best friend who knew me and saw me and you killed him???

those are my thoughts. ive been reading this on an off since 10am, it is now almost 5pm. i was meant to be studying. truly the best form of procrastination is reading your work. i hope my review, tho lacking, it welcomed.

-jude the dude <3

So fun fact before we get into this, I am currently at my parents house packing all of my shit because I move into my apartment next thursday!! Thank y’all for being patient w/ me. I would fucking love to get the next chapter out tommorow (and answer all my asks) but we’ll see. I really need to prioritize packing but I,,,,, don’t want to. 

So now as my form of break I’m answering asks between boxes LMAO. SO ANYWAYS LETS FUCKING YAP FOR A WHILE!!~

(also please continue to send in essays, I've got quite the backlog if you're worried I didn't get it!! I probably maybe did!! Just busy fucking couple weeks)

I was so excited to do “what are you amish” as an opener, the doc was literally named ‘amish’ in google docs. I knew it was gonna shoot everyone dead on impact. Speaking of doc names, you ever wonder what the docs of these chapters are named?

(mushy potato is still chapter 13 I just had edited it a lot and made a new guy) I’m a little unhinged. 

Anyways FEEL THAT BURN CARMY BABY!! This was such a distressing chapter. I think it only adds to the stress to have those really sweet (mostly) moments with Mikey and then go into actually on the fucking brink with Carmen. 

I APOLOGIZE TO ALL MY MIDDLE SIBLINGS!! I think we babies and middle kids should team up tbh to beat Older Sibling’s ass. Middle/Babies are 100% also taking weight on our shoulders and I feel like this is never appreciated, so I wanted to have Tony be a baby, cause it goes against that type of a Baby Sib never being the dependable one. 

I love my middle brother dearly though. I think I see trio siblings fall into the categories of

Oldest - On a hierarchy level, emotionally responsible for everyone. 

Middle - Often financially/emotionally responsible, keeps family connected.

Baby - On a personal level responsible for emotions! One-on-One dynamics, yknow?

At least, that’s where my family and coincidentally the Berzattos seem to fall. I have to stop yapping about this let’s MOVE ONNN

SOOO REAL to get praise and not feel good. It’s so wild. It’s such a wild experience to get the praise you always wanted from someone and then realize immediately oh what the fuck i don’t give a fuck what you think and quite frankly i should’ve never been trying to impress you?? It’s such a weird human experience. Can a psychology major explain this to me. 

0ERR MINUTES TOO LATE LMAOOOO— But yeah, from what I noticed, some seemed to fold after seeing how fucked the rest of Carmen’s Friday went. I feel like it also completely changes the feeling of Something to Do. Should I do a poll again? Actually no I wanna do a different poll hold on…

RICHIE! NEVER BACK DOWN NEVER WHAT? NEVER GIVE UP!!! I did notice the lack of cousin in S3, which completely made sense and hurt deeply, however I live in a world where I wanted everyone to at least a little bit understand each other. 

-ummmm can this be an x richie jerimovich now actually?

This is the poll I wanna do. Because I’ve seen a lot of RiChip or SquidInk truthers coming to the light. What the fuck would Mikey’s ship name be actually? Mikchip? McRib. What? 

You had me blusshinn with quoting the guy scene!! Thank you for saying so. I was fucking tweaking like ‘is anyone going to understand what the fuck i mean when i’m saying this or do i just need to go to therapy’. Turns out we all do. So. That’s good. THANK YOU!! I 

WAITTIN FOR THIS ONE!! CHIP ORIGINS!! I was considering having the Chip origin be another scene that would essentially be ‘off screen’ but it just felt so apt to do here. I actually had an entire other conversation planned for Mikey/Chip to have here but it just didn’t suit them. I’m so glad I went with this. And aufgh, my heart… It was always so fucking sad for me while writing this and switching back and forth between scenes and being like “GOD I DON’T WANNA GO BACK TO CARMEN/MIKEY ERA” they were both very difficult to write for different reasons. But going back to Carmen was always tough cause it was like oh yeah. Mikey’s dead by this one. And he’s not suddenly gonna come out and give someone a painful back massage. This SUCKS!!

I cooked with neither of you know this is a lie, yet. Everyone knows I caramelized the shit out of that one. 

More people need to fight in front of the restaurant. I want those bitches on STAGE. It’s so much more fun when it’s public and weird. 

Now are we a squidink truther or richip gang affiliate we have to choose one jude or are we doing a polycule because i dont know if that’s possible

LISTEN BE HONEST WHEN IS THERE A NORMAL TIME TO GO UP TO YOUR FRIEND AND BE LIKE “hey i think you’re a great father” WHAT? WHAT? I’D start fucking tweaking (crying in public), personally.

All the book reccs were brought to you by my family doctor prescribing them to me. I literally have them on a sticky note next to me. Shout out Dr V! Love you baby!! #teamfuckeveryonebutrichieanddrV

The last scene was very much so my full deep dive into time distorted grief poetry, which I fucking loved doing so thank you to everyone who enjoyed it (you!!). Bro, getting to the end was so hard because I also fell in love with best friend Mikey writing it and I was like man,,,, does he have to die though,,, can we like,,, make him into a marvel superhero or something and pivot genres?? I hate this,,, So listen Mr Storer killed him I just poured a fuck ton of salt in the wound. 

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR REVIEW, ALWAYS FEEL FREE TO SEND IN MORE THOUGHTS I LOVE TO GET THEM IT’S NEVER LACKING!!! Back to packing I go. I think I’ll tackle the desk next? Wish me luck brothers.

[nokingsonlyfooles]

We'll see...

We took a hiatus from streaming for a while, but we decided to head back to Netflix for a month. Mainly to see Nimona and whatever else fun. We found a new one from Mike Flanagan. The Fall of the House of Usher was waiting for us. That was fun. It clunks in some places, but it's fun.

Towards the end, I felt some of that unreal brain tingle I get sometimes - either because I'm slightly psychic, or I have some kinda undiagnosed transient seizures, or the universe is a hologram and on some level I know it. Eh, could be all three.

I'm a storyteller, so take it with a grain of salt, but I'll relate to you what I said to the spouse, more or less: "You know, when Verna offers Madeline the choice, rich or famous, and she picks rich... I'd say 'Neither.' I'd say, 'I've seen both of those and they suck. I want power. I want to make changes. I want to set wheels in motion that keep turning a hundred years after I'm in the ground, and when I'm gone, I don't want anyone to know I was even here.'"

History has enough great men, and great women, and great whatever, don't you think so, Random Reader?

"'And I don't care about positive or negative, bad or good...'"

His eyebrows went up.

"'No, I want Justice.'" And I said, "I'm pretty sure you wouldn't be here, unless I talked you into it. You would've picked something much simpler, if it was just you. Would you have let me make that deal?"

He said, "I think, if we were making deals, I'd want Peace..."

"Peace?" I said. "Peace is boring. Peace is Death. Peace is the nothingness before existence and the Universe itself said 'Fuck that shit.' You don't want Peace."

"I think," he said, "if you made that deal, I'd say, 'I want to be there to make sure it turns out better than you would've done it alone.'"

My eyebrows went up. "You're here to mitigate me?"

"Yeah."

We laughed, a little.

I said, "If I made that deal, we're going to lead interesting lives."

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah."

"I'm sowwy," I said, and he leaned over me and put his hands on my shoulders, warm. "Do you fowgive me?"

"Yes I do!" he said indulgently.

We laughed some more.

"You're Mr. 'I Want the Death Note,'" I said. He'd mentioned it just a few hours ago, regarding the characters in the series and others like them. "That's really all you want?"

"Look, I talk a big game!" he said.

I believe him. Heh. He's here to make sure I play nice, I guess.

Well, it's halftime for me, if I'm lucky. Maybe a little less than that for him, if he's lucky. I've been... Let's be delicate and say I've been Nerfed for a long time. I needed healthcare. I'm finally getting some. My vision's coming back after the surgery, and it's a little balky, but now that I'm out of glasses, my stupid eye has stopped wandering off and doubling my vision. Still healing and I dunno how it's gonna shake out, but for right now, it's just stopped. I'm getting other things addressed too. I have energy for more things, even if I can't quite draw or spend hours in front of a screen yet.

I don't want to build an empire out of corpses. I tell stories. I'm telling one real long one that probably also clunks in places, and needs a tune-up that it's never gonna get because I can't pay someone to help me and I'm not popular enough to be picking up volunteers. But I'm also not gonna have a corporation breathing down my neck and trying to make it look marketable. I've chosen freedom over marketability every time, and so far it's gotten me... Very, very few readers. Very few. Like, two, I'm pretty sure.

But I still care more about telling my story without limits than forcing it into a hamster wheel to power the capitalist machine. (Don't hold me to that, but while the spouse is making sure I get enough to eat and stay alive, it's a luxury I can afford.)

That's a mistake Mike Flanagan or Netflix or someone in the creative pipeline made. That's a place where The House of Usher clunks. They try to end their story by saying "Nobody cares about this story," but we care deeply about stories. And, no, of all the things we could cut back on, movies and TV - methods of storytelling - will not be defunded so we can use the money to change the world. Money won't change the world, not for the better. Stories might. If my big, long story ain't gonna do it, well, maybe it's practice for later. Or creative fodder for someone who comes after me.

The story continues, painfully, with grave doubts and insecurity, and my art manifesto is still pending. (I'll get back on it now that the super strike is ending, if my eyes and brain let me.) I don't know what else my fragile human body and mind will let me do. Or the spouse, come to think of it. Darn him.

New year's coming. New me, new priorities... In part, because someone told me a good story. I'd like to tell one too.

We'll see...

(Heh, I might as well pin this for my intro. This says way more about me than the happy, apologetic face I try to show the internet so you won't get mad and hurt me. I don't wanna hurt anyone, I really am sorry. But I guess, deep down, I'm willing to do it to be heard.)

[transarsonist]

I feel you in relation to healing relationships with parents, I still talk to my therapist all the fucking time about how shit my dad did fucked me up. It honestly got SO MUCH BETTER once I moved out. My little sister actually just moved out of my dad's last month, she was going between each parents place every two weeks and that was stressful to her as well as not great for her relationship with my dad. He's..... a lot. But my sister and I had such a great conversation over Winter break and I encouraged her to make that move and it's been working out well for her! And I think for him too cause now he's almost constantly in another state with his girlfriend.

We can talk more in depth about everything when I'm ready to DM. And honestly thank you for letting us keep up this cute lil pretense. It's giving me time to process where all my feelings are coming from, that they're not actually directly related to anything about our little romance, and having that time to think and process has always been something that I really need but not something everyone in my life has understood.

I think this week I'm gonna treat myself to some peanut butter beer!!! I'm a silly little yes machine living in the world of capitalism so out of the next 7 days, 5 of them I'm working my day job and 5 of them I'm doing evening babysitting work, not a single day full day off for the next 13 days. I'm sure I'm gonna hate myself at the end of it, but I'll have extra money for my birthday!

-🐱

yess definitely more detail in the dms but its a comfort to know we can comiserate on having a shitty father, mine should probably be in jail but... thats neither here nor there and hes making things right now so alls well that ends well i guess.

of course! i have a bad habit of jumping headfirst into things too quickly, especially when im as compatible with someone as its clear we are, so having this sort of slow and comfortable thing has been really healthy for me. its like two unfamiliar cats being introduced through a closed door XD and tbh the silly little pretense has kinda grown on me, i think even after we talk in the dms it would be cute and fun to send each other handwritten letters signed "🐱" and "🔥"

yeah!!!! oh my gods i dont think i could survive that, im barely able to pull a 9-5 consistantly lmao. but YA chase that PAPER!!!! :D!!!!!

[tears-of-boredom]

ok finished life is strange true colors. probably gonna be spoilers in this. so, i dont know if its because i was expecting to not like the ending, but i didnt like it. ended up really angry at the ending. tbh the whole vibe of the story was weird. my vibes didnt match its vibes. reminds me a lot of tell me why in a sense. with the siblings being reunited after both were separated when young and so the foster care system fucked them up even worse. and they can only begin to heal once they get out of it. and they investigate a family member's death. and the character models never seem to actually be touching anything around them. kind of like trying to get your barbie to hold something that didnt have that small finger ring. but the difference is that i like tell me why. maybe its just because the emotions matched mine more. idk. i wish we got to meet izzy. oh and yeah im not gonna even do the bisexual thing.

idk just left me angry and feeling shitty. but ig something happened outside of the game at the same time so that might contribute to my mood too. but man. i didnt even get to cry. and no one even went after someone in a fit of unbridled rage.... i mean,, of their own choosing you know? i wanted alex to walk into the black horse and just charge jed with a knife. and it is so fucking annoying because everytime i saw jed, i was thinking about how happy i am that for once the old man who the community trusts didnt do some horrible shit. like oh my god, i wasnt even fucking surprised when he pulled the gun, i was just so disappointed. i fucking hate that trope. so much. let old people be fucking good people for once, who arent trying to hide their past at all costs. like oh my god, let a main character actually get a father figure into their lives without them being a liar and a coward. and sorry but why the fuck did the game even give you an option on whether or not to forgive him?? like, yeah i could've fucking forgave him for being a bit too proud and making a horrible mistake because of that, but who the fuck fucking is forgiving him for all the shit he did to keep the secret. he didnt intentionally kill those miners, but by creating this lie about being a hero, and putting everything on keeping it up, he killed someone. and to be honest, i would not be surprised if there were more. and why the fuck did they make alex see herself in him? whatever her "gift" canonically is, she did not choose it. the monster she is ashamed of was something she did not choose. but jed made a decision. he hates himself because of a choice he made. neither of those things are less real or,, anything. they are just different. pretty fundamentally. hating yourself for something you cant change, and hating yourself over something you can change. oh my god i hated the ending. and hated how unlike me alex was. despite there being so many similarities between us. that flashback about the guitar, when shes imagining gabe and her at the orphanage. it hit me quite hard. i wonder how many kids have thought that. because i sure have. i wasnt even there for that long. but everynight, when i wasn't allowed to do anything but lay in my bed,, i think i thought "they cannot be so stupid to do this to me with sincere intentions." but,, i wasnt stupid myself. i knew that they were genuinely trying to help with all the restrictions. so eventually i concluded that they're stupid as fuck and know nothing. but they think they know better. the worst fucking combination ever. impossible to argue against people like that. usually they are like cops too. if you make them question the rules, they just fall back on "well thats still how it is (and there's no changing that)". adults love to obey authority and not question anything. and i would understand that if it was just a choice for an individual, but they affect a lot of other people by being like this. young people. but thats just how it is right. adults fuck up kids because they dont want to challenge anything, and then those kids grow up to be afraid of challenges too.

im really tired. i cant really tell if im even making sense. im gonna shut of my pc now.

[adelior]

Name: Unconditionally

Author: R. Adelio

Genre: Romance, Minecraft, Comedy, Fluff

Main Lead: Technoblade, Dreamwastaken, DreamXD

Female Lead: Reader

Chapter: 3

Special Addition: Tchnomaid, Blob Dream, Accidental Marriage To Technoblade

Letters: 8,087

Tag: Territorial Behavior, Delusional Behavior From Wilbur, Wilbur Slowly Tipping Away Into Madness, Fluff, Possessiveness, Deep Kisses, Blob Dream

<- ->

Wilbur stood up, his fists clenching. You noticed the odd behavior coming from the brunette, it was unusual for him to look so stressed, and on top of that bothered. "Wil, what's wrong? You can't just lie to me if something is happening" You caught the way his fists tightened. "Don't worry, it's nothing."

He gave you a reassuring smile, turning to the door and leaving you behind with a questionable expression on his face. Wilbur looked pissed, but what could it possibly be that made him this distressed.

° ° °

"M-Mm.." You whimpered, eyes closed as the being kept exploring your mouth with its tongue. His eyes narrowed, enjoying the way your body reacted so naturally to his. "So obedient even in your slumber." The blonde complimented but stopped in his tracks when he sees a man in the corner of his eye.

XD quickly became defensive, hiding your unconscious body under his cloak. "What the.." Wilbur's eyes widened, teeth pulled back into a snarl. "LET HER GO-" The God chuckled, softly patting your head from above his cloak. "A mere human, ordering me to submit what is mine? How ridiculous." He said as he looked down, admiring your kissable lips.

"I'll fucking kill you if you don't let her go."

° ° °

Even thinking back to what he saw gave him the shivers. A God, specifically DreamXD being infatuated with a human? And not just any human, but it just had to be you, someone who he sees as more than just a friend. "Fuck." He cursed under his breath as soon as he exited your room. Once he was far away he punched the nearest wall. "DAMNIT."

"Wilbur..-?" Tommy's voice softened, he was about to call out to him but decided that maybe it wasn't a good idea. "What do you want Tommy?!" Wilbur screamed, stepping back once he realized that he had raised his voice. "Sorry, I'm just.. Stressed from all of this" He chuckled, stroking his bangs back with a sigh.

"That's.. fine? But enough from that man, what are we gonna do about the problem? We can't fucking contact Techno or Phil without actually going to where they are"

"Tommy, I'm well aware that it'll take days for us to get there but it's alright. As long as we resolve this problem we shouldn't complain about it."

"What about [Name]? Will we bring her along?" The kid asked, a hopeful look in his eyes. Soot knew how much Tommy wanted you to experience the world, more than anybody else. "We aren't bringing her, neither are we bringing anybody else. It'll just be us two."

"WHAT? Bro, I'm gonna fucking starve out there. Not to mention it's gonna be cold as fuck in that damn tundra." He complained, childishly stomping his feet on the ground. "Tommy, it's for the sake of everyone, for us. Now, will you join me or not?"

Tommy pondered but eventually gave in with a grumble. "Fine, we better stop by at Tubbo's place when we're heading out"

"Deal."

° ° °

"If you need anything just let me know," Niki said in a soft voice, pressing her hand against your neck, checking if you have a fever. "Niki- I'm not sick so it's okay!" Despite your words, she still looked somewhat puzzled. As if she couldn't connect something but was restricted to tell you. "Well, alright! I'll be at my cottage so just ping me whenever"

"Alright" You responded. "I'll make sure to keep that in mind" She smiled, turning to exit your room. "Is she doing okay?" Tubbo asked in a worried tone, earning a nod from the passing female. "Thank god.." Sighing, he walked in once Niki left the room. The goat hybrid came closer to where you sat on your bed, his hands behind his back.

"Tubbo?"

"Yeahhhhhh?" He dragged his words along, smiling happily as if he's waiting for you to ask what he was hiding, it made you laugh. "Haha, what's in your hand?"

"Oh, this?!" Tubbo happily revealed the flower crown, one that he crafted himself. It took a few hours, but he was able to pick out your favorite flowers on his way back during their exposition. "Wait... Is that for me-" He nodded, gently placing the flower crown on your head. "It suits you! I hope you like it"

"Like it? I LOVE IT TUBBO! Thank you! When did you even have time to make this?" You asked, earning a confident 'hah' from the boy. "I was able to pick out a few of your favorite flowers on our way back. I saw them so I asked Wilbur if I was allowed to bring them home"

Too sweet, you thought. Tubbo was a child who always looked at you with stars in his eyes. It was as if you were one of the many thousands of pulsars that adorned the limitless sky, something that he always admired. "Look I even made one for me, so now we match," He said as he showed his own, one that was decorated in yellow, black, and white flowers.

"How does it look?" Tubbo asked with a sheepish smile. "It looks amazing" You returned the same expression, causing the boy to laugh in satisfaction. "Fuck yeah!"

"Tubboooooooo" Fundy said as he peeked from the door, waving at both you and the male. "We gotta go out now, didn't you say you wanted bees for your bee farm?"

"OH YEAH!"

"Bee farm-" You stared at the brunette with a baffled look on your face. "Oh sorry I didn't tell you, but I'm planning to make a bee farm! I love bees"

Smiling, you waved both of them off. It was always nice to hear Tubbo express his liking for bees. You couldn't blame him for liking them, after all, they were cute when they didn't viciously attack you. "Man now I feel fucking old" You muttered, falling back onto your pillows. "Not to mention, everyone has something to do apart from me"

'Damn that just makes me seem like a freeloader' You thought in your head, smirking at how stupid it was. "Wait I could help farm the Nether Warts-" With that, you quickly changed your clothes and head towards the Nether Portal room. 'I could at least do this. And if I get caught I could just say that I'm preparing ingredients for future potions that I'll be brewing.'

You praised yourself, patting your hand against your right shoulder with a smug smile. 'I'm so smart'

Minutes passed, and you've been working away with growing the Nether Wart farm that's been installed beside the Portal. You managed to harvest at least a stack or two before you became tired. It was more tiring than you expected, but you didn't care. Being able to move around was better than sitting in a singular spot.

"Farming Nether Wart sure is tiring huh?" A male voice asked. "It sure is, takes a lot more strength to pull them out compared to normal crops." You replied, groaning. "That may be true but did you know you could easily harvest them if you heated the roots with lava?"

"Oh, rea- WHAT THE FUCK" You realized how familiar the voice was once your brain started to regain energy after all the moving. "You scared the shit out of me Clay-"

"My bad~" He smirked, pushing himself off of the Nether Portal that was.. lit again..? But how, how did the portal appear again? "Since when did that portal reopen?" You questioned, walking past the male who was outstretching his arms, expecting a hug. "How the hell is this..-"

"Rude, I didn't even get a hello how are you hug?" You glared back at him, nodding to the portal that you were curious about, silently telling him to explain himself. "I wanted to see you again, so I thought I should light it."

"Light it? Are you saying you were the one to destroy that portal in the first pla-"

[SLAM]

You stiffened in your spot, back pressing against the wall as you feel Clay's staggered breaths fan over your face. "You know... You should be grateful I came all the way here just to see you, on top of that with an.." He stumbled forward, body leaning over yours as he continued to breathe heavily.

"Hey, are you oka- CLAY YOU'RE BLEEDING-"

"It's fine." The man breathed out, lips dangerously close to your neck. "What do you mean it's fine?! Let me heal you with potions are you insane?!"

"Just.." His voice softened, body slowly getting smaller and smaller. "Let me rest.."

[POOF]

'Huh' You stood there confused, a gust of wind blowing in your direction. He was gone, and what was left was a white blob that happily pressed its cheeks against your neck. "What the- FU-"

<- ->

ec: @quacobs (instagram)

[whump-a-la-mode]

Hero and villain falling into a river together. Villain is unconscious or hurt or something so hero gets them both outta the water. They then have to figure out how to heal villain and survive in the woods.

This has the tiniest bit of angst but is mostly some fluff! This is a super interesting prompt, I hope I did it justice.

Also I’ve never seen Lost in my life.

CW//Car accidents, very unsafe driving, driving off a bridge, blood, broken legs

Nobody liked backseat drivers.

As removed from the life of a normal civilian as they were, Hero still knew that fact quite well. Powers or not, they had had plenty of experience with know-it-all acquaintances and overbearing relatives who had decided that their driving abilities could use improvement in one way or another.

Yes, backseat driving was bothersome. But that was all it was. It wasn’t dangerous.

Having two front seat drivers at once, however? Yeah, that was dangerous.

“Let go!” Villain cried out, wrenching the steering wheel to the right, threatening to throw the vehicle into a tailspin. Their position was as awkward as it was uncomfortable, kneeling in the passenger’s seat, stretched out over the center console, shoulders forcing Hero against the driver’s side door.

“You’re gonna make us crash, you daft idiot!” The hero protested, quite literally butting heads with their adversary. They, by all accounts, had the right to the steering wheel, considering the fact that they were quite literally sitting in the driver’s seat. Yet, their arms were locked in a furious tangle with Villain’s, struggling with white-hued knuckles to simply grip the damn wheel.

“You’re going to make us crash!”

“No, you are!”

“Let go of the damn wheel!”

“No!”

The two jerked the steering back and forth, back and forth, sending the car lurching back and forth like a bucking bronco.

Hero’s panicked gaze flickered in between their nemesis and the world outside the windshield. Alarms howled and metal crunched as traffic veered out of the way of the oncoming vehicle, shuddering as it was as its tires were jerked from ninety degree angle to ninety degree angle, back and forth and back and forth.

“You’re gonna kill someone!” Villain’s mouth was close enough to the hero’s face that they could feel their hot breath on their cheek.

“You do that all the time!”

“Do not!”

Despite the less-than-ideal technique with which it was being driven, the car was moving, and moving quickly. It screeched down the city’s central highway, striking traffic cones and trash cans and curbs, all in equal measure, in its rampage.

“Left!”

“Right!”

The car continued straight as both ‘drivers’ exerted as much force as they could manage onto its wheel. A pedestrian dove out of the way of the oncoming, trundling brick of metal and rubber, narrowly missing a terrible fate beneath its wheels.

For a split second, the vehicle was rendered airborne as it struck a particularly large bump in the asphalt.

“You’re going to get us both killed!” Villain snapped.

“No, you are!”

“You don’t even know-”

“What don’t I know?!”

“What street the fucking drawbridge is on, dumbass!”

Within Hero’s chest, fury was replaced by freezing, liquid cold.

“If you would have just turned left-”

“We needed to go right!”

And, yet, the car continued forwards.

It seemed as though local traffic had gotten the memo regarding the occurrence, as the street before them seemed almost suspiciously clear of vehicles.

“Come on.” Hero insisted. “There’s no way its gonna open now, right? What are the chances?”

“What are the chances that you’re an idiot who can’t see bright flashing warning lights?!”

Now that they thought about it... They had assumed the flashes to simply be from another vehicle, but-

“Shit.”

“You did this!”

“If you would’ve just let me drive-”

The duo of nemeses had their petty argument abruptly cut off by something far, far more important. To be more specific, their argument was interrupted by being in a vehicle, speeding down a road-- a road that had decided, at that very moment, to split in two. At the drawbridge’s side, a massive ferry boat honked its disapproval.

“We have to turn around, shit!” Villain hissed.

Before them, the solid, grey asphalt cracked to reveal the dark, murky depths below.

“We can’t turn around, dumbass! There’s no time!”

The villain jerked the wheel to the side, but was quickly countered. Regardless of the struggles of either side, the vehicle was staying on its path.

“Stop the car!” Villain’s foot lurched out, but missed the brake on account of its awkward position. Hero gritted their teeth-- their nemesis was practically laying on top of them!

“There’s no time!”

“Of course there’s time! What are you talking about!”

The gap was growing wider.

“We’re going too fast, we’ll never make it. We need to jump!”

“You’re insane!”

“You’re insane!”

“Slow down!”

“Speed up!”

“Stop it!”

“Keep going!”

The car stayed at the exact same speed as the knot of limbs fought amongst itself. The accelerator was struck, then the brakes, then the gas, then the pedal.

And neither driver got their way.

With a pair of screaming fools inside, the car jumped the gap, and plunged into the river below.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

Its easy to see cars as unstoppable, unbeatable things. Able to crush and destroy with a driver’s slight wrong twitch. Hunks of contorted, twisted metal, more than willing to maim.

And, on land, perhaps those things were true. But underwater?

The car screeched as its hood slammed into the riverbed, crumpling to a tin can with the impact alone. Contorted into a far smaller form, the river’s current swept the metal brick alone with far greater ease.

Above, the world rushed by at a million miles an hour.

Below the river’s surface, it crept along in slow motion, because Villain was not moving.

Oh, god, they weren’t moving.

Hero couldn’t care less about the alarms, the screeching lights that surrounded them. Every safety precaution had been long forgotten, they were far, far past the point of precaution.

Their nemesis was thrown around the passenger’s seat, no seatbelt or consciousness to aid in keeping them in place. The hero struggled to move closer to them, but found themself just as much beholden to the vehicle’s whims.

The car slammed once more into something, a spiderwebbing crack launching across the windshield. Water began to hiss through the fissures.

They couldn’t stay in here. The car would do more to harm them than protect them. The red, sticky fluid staining the back of Villain’s head made that fact more than apparent.

Hero sucked in an anxious breath.

They spent every day of their existence saving lives, but this was different. This was Villain.

But, letting harm come to them was out of the question.

Their nemesis was surprisingly light-- though that could have been just the adrenaline talking. With one arm, they drug the unconscious villain to their lap, holding them firmly to their chest, trying to ignore the red trickling down their neck, and the way their leg didn’t seem to quite be moving right.’

Another breath, this one deep and shuddering.

Their life as a hero would do nothing for them, here. Desperately, they struggled for civilian knowledge. An old PSA came to mind. As a kid watching it on TV it had always seemed ridiculous, but-

Wait till the car is completely submerged. That was already well taken care of.

Aid unconscious passengers. Check.

Undo or cut all seatbelts. They had been too stupid to wear any.

Then... Then open the door, and swim to the surface.

Open the door.

Open the door.

Just do it! Okay, on three.

1...

2...

3.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

Villain was soaking wet.

It was the first thing they managed to notice as they struggled to jolt upright, only to find that they were already positioned in such a way.

Before their eyes were even fully open, a new instinct wracked them: The intense desire to cough. It was not an urge they could resist, and, soon, their chest was wracked as they struggled to...

Water. Water, coughing from their lungs.

They blinked, managing to open their eyes on the second attempt. Though, almost immediately, they closed them once more. They stung terribly, stinging with...

Smoke?

It was confusion that allowed them to try a thrice time, squinting to protect their eyes.

Yes, it was smoke! Grey and heavy, twisting through the air. The fire presented itself just as quickly-- small and contained, to their good fortune. An equally fortunate wind turned the singing smoke from their face, allowing them to fully see the world around them.

Trees and dirt-- a thick wood, all tangled in on its own biomass, hardly allowing them to see the dark, heavy sky hanging above.

Oh, and Hero was there.

Villain blinked, then, once their mind remembered what surprise was, yelped.

“Um...”

“Morning.” Hero lifted a hand, waving from where they sat, on the ground, behind the campfire.

“I didn’t realize you were a boy scout.”

“I’m not.”

“Then...”

“I just watched a lot of Lost.”

The hero’s gaze drifted downwards, to Villain’s legs, outstretched before them. Their own gaze followed.

A stick. On the side of their leg, secured with taut vines, was a big ass stick.

“You...”

“They did it on Lost!”

“Where are... Where are we?”

“No clue.” Hero shook their head. “But, you’re in no condition to go anywhere with that leg.”

“Then... why are you here?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your legs are fine.”

“Yeah, I know. But you’re hurt.”

“You hate me.”

“Really?” Hero raised a brow. “No one told me.”

[alphacygni]

from The Haunting of Edward Teach, Chapter 4

Edward Teach had patched up more men than he could count. Some had made it; some hadn’t. He'd never really thought about it much one way or the other. You tied the bandage, you hoped, and the days went on.

For the first time, his hands shook as he cleaned the wound.

Stede hissed.

“Sorry, sorry.” He eased up the pressure. Went gently. Shit, his hands were rough. 

“Not your fault,” Stede managed through quickened breaths. “I’m. One who. Went and got myself. Stabbed Up.”

Ed smiled. “Yeah, you, uh, might want to work on that.” 

Actually, Ed was fairly impressed by Stede’s performance, all things considered. What the man lacked in swordsmanship—and there was a lot—he more than made up for in wits. He’d even managed to get himself run through as clean as any seasoned ol’ salt. When Ed and Fang had finally shaken the blade loose, the wound wept, yes, but not alarmingly so. 

Stede had still whimpered a little at the sight of blood wetting his shirt.

“You’re gonna be alright, mate.” Ed had braced him lightly under his arms. “I can help you to your quarters, yeah?”

Stede only made it a few steps before the weight went out from under him. Ed caught him without a thought and swept his legs up to carry him the rest of the way. 

And Stede had looked up at him, brown eyes slightly unfocused from the rum but bright with the sunrise. And with something else…

It had come back to him at once.

Please, she pleaded. Please.

He’d swallowed. Lifted the other man a little higher, held a little tighter, and taken him to his bed.

After the incident with the Spaniards, Izzy had been the one to take care of this. The undressing, the bandages, all of it. By the time Ed had made it back from the torched ship and arranged everything needed, Stede had already been stripped, cleaned, and covered neatly in blankets.

But Izzy was gone now: something he couldn’t quite think about yet. 

So this time he was the one to peel Stede’s shirt from him, trying not to let curious fingers touch too much or eyes show more interest than they should. As he laid Stede back in the bed, Stede had groaned, chest heaving.  

Ed had felt the beginnings of a groan, too, but he’d managed to keep it to himself.

He pulled away another rag, stained pink. Traded it for a clean one. “Gonna heal neat, looks like.” 

“I don’t doubt it. You’re good at this.” 

Ed scoffed. Stede always did that. Said things like that. How those words weaved past his blade and hit someplace tender, Ed had yet to figure, but they always hit the important bits. “Shouldn’t’ve happened in the first place. I should’ve, dunno…said something. Stepped in or…”

Ed thought of the bathtub, of the easy way Stede had waved off the idea of his own murder just a few moments before. What sort of fucking friend was he, to let this happen?

He’d gotten a little too fucking used to outsourcing the big job. To handing Izzy a sword and pointing him in a direction and turning the other way. Izzy had, too. Neither of them knew any other way to make it work. To keep Blackbeard up and running. To keep sailing.

Stede deserved better.

“‘m sorry, mate. I shoulda taken care of—” A hesitation. “Things.”

You. He’d wanted to say you. 

“You are taking care of things.” Stede looked down at where Ed’s hand lay on his stomach. “Besides, if you’d stepped in, I would never have gotten a chance to try out your more advanced trick of the trade.”

“Oh, I dunno. Way you keep gettin’ stabbed, I have a feeling you’ll have plenty of opportunities to perfect it.”

Stede chuckled then winced. “At least I’ll get good at something, eh?” 

When Ed lifted this rag, the bleeding had stopped and the wound finally looked calm. “‘Right. Think it’s safe to wrap it up now. Might, uh, might hurt a bit.” 

Stede nodded, lips set.

“Ok, now…do you think you can sit up a little? So I can, you know…”

“Oh. Yes. Just…” Stede grunted and, with some difficulty propped himself up on his elbows. 

Ed didn’t stare. He didn’t.

With a steadying breath, he snaked a hand around Stede, placing the flat of his palm certainly in the middle of the other man’s back. “Careful. Yeah, careful, just a bit more…there. Okay.” 

Wrapped like this, Stede was solid heat, and…fuck. A stutter of breath slid across Ed’s cheek, the shape of a moan against his ear. It ran straight down him like wind down a sail, and it took everything in him not to shiver like one, too.

Stede did shiver, but Ed realized to his chagrin that it was probably from fucking pain.

“Yeah, sorry, just a little—” Ed wound the bandage all the way round, but it wasn’t secure enough. He wrapped his arm around again.

This time, he made the mistake of looking down. Stede’s face was there, tilted under his. Brown eyes.  A breath pulled between lips.  With their chests pressed together, he could feel a leap, but he couldn’t tell if it was his heart or…

Fuck, he wanted to kiss him. It wouldn’t have taken anything—just a little lean, and he would be there. Soft lips and arms wrapped around and a proper, good moan. He could press Stede gently back into the bed, and they could lie there and kiss. And not kiss. And then again. It would be so easy to tangle legs and to reach down and turn that groan of pain into a sweeter tune…

The man has a fucking gut wound, you twat. 

Why his voice of reason sounded like Izzy Hands was something Ed didn’t want to think too hard about, but it was enough to sober him. 

He forced himself to tie off the bandage and sit back. Stede felt, suddenly, very far away. 

“Alright. I—I think that does it.” He was sure he was sweating. Nervous heat had spread through every inch of him, with its center, hot and needy, low in Ed’s groin. Shit. He was going to have to return to this moment before he slept tonight, certainly. 

When he finally worked up the courage to look back at Stede’s face, the other man was smiling. There was no sign of any of it. A little flushed, maybe—probably from blood loss. He didn’t seem in the least affected.

Ed tried to tell himself it didn’t matter. “Yeah. Okay, well. We’ll, uh, we’ll change the bandages tomorrow prob’ly. Well, the boy will change ‘em. I’ll um—I should let you get some rest then.” 

He stood to go, but Stede grabbed his hand. 

“Wait…” Stede stopped. Pressed Ed’s hand to his cheek. “Thank you.” 

The heat that had suffused him softened, and the need at his center turned to a different sort altogether. Somehow, though, it was every bit as desperate. “Look, mate, I’m not sure you should be thanking me on the night I planned to kill you.”

“I thought we were forgetting about that.” Stede gave Ed’s hand a squeeze before pulling away.  “And you wouldn’t have done it, Ed. I know.” 

Stede said it with enough gentle certainty that Ed almost believed it. 

He almost believed it. 

“Besides, it’s not the same night.” Stede gestured out the window where the sun had already lit the ocean up pink.  “It’s a new day.”

Ed looked down at him. At the spot on his hand where Stede’s fingers had held his. 

Yeah it was, wasn’t it? New fuckin’ day.

Maybe they could find another way to keep sailing. To keep him going. Together.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, and, fuck, he meant it. 

[usedtobe-angstyoikawa]

Ghost

Oikawa Tooru x gn!reader

Summary: you watch the love of your life fade away and turn into his worst habits.

Warnings: angst :(

Word count: 1441

a/n: this wasn’t proofread sorry

Songs I listened to while writing this: protocol, ghost of you, dancing with your ghost, remember that night, heal, to be so lonely, lonely as love, because I had you, end like this, younger, hold on

———————————————————————

Oikawa is a very stubborn man, almost childish. He’d constantly overwork and push himself to extremes his body and mind couldn’t handle. You fell in love with his determination and consistency, finding it attractive how capable he was of getting what he wanted. It took you a while to realize those characteristics, which people usually liked to point out as gifts or blessings, were actually his weaknesses.

You knew very well when you chose to love this man that you’d also have to accept the worst parts of him. You thought you’d be able to change him for good and make him see that by hurting himself he was also hurting his loved ones. But things don’t always turn out the way we want them to.

You walk around what used to be your shared apartment with Tooru, memories of good times and soft laughs flood your mind.

Strong arms wrap around your figure and you smile widely.

“Hey love, I’ve missed you” he whispers in your ear and kisses your cheek.

“You were gone only two hours Ruu” you say trying to annoy him.

“Oh I see so you didn’t miss me?” you shake your head no, playfully, and a smirk makes its way to your boyfriend’s lips. “You’re being mean, you know what happens to mean people?” you know exactly what he’s going to do, but decide to play dumb.

“Mhm, not really. I always get away with it no problem” you look him straight in the eyes, challenging him. And without any warning he starts tickling you and kissing your face, his strong self arms holding you so tight there was no way you could escape.

Those were the arms of your lover, your friend, they kept you warm and safe every night. Well, almost every night. The sweet memory turns bitter and harsh words fill your head.

“You are late, again.” you say while finishing off with your dirty dishes. “This is the fourth time this week, you know I don’t like eating on my own.” you look up to meet his eyes but his not even facing you. You watch him pour himself a glass of water and leave the kitchen, probably to go get a shower. “You know you won’t get kicked out of the team if you stay home just once, right?” you raise your voice, making sure he hears the hurt in your voice.

He turns around and takes a few steps back till he’s resting his shoulder against the kitchen door frame. Icy glare staring you down.

“But you will?” he’s mad, probably had a bad day, maybe something to do with that goddamned knee of his. Doesn’t matter what it is, you still won’t tolerate his attitude.

“If you keep ditching me for volleyball I might” that’s not entirely true, but you can’t stop the words from leaving your mouth.

“Oh please, you don’t want to make me choose, believe me” and with that he turns around and heads to the bathroom.

Warm tears slip past your cheeks, the same cheeks he used to kiss and caress. It’s hard not to miss him, after all he was a charming idiot who was just too lost in his own ambitions. Always putting his passion over love, but making it up to you with gifts and longing stares.

As soon as you step inside your apartment the smell of vanilla reaches your nostrils. The lights are low and you notice rose petals spattered on the floor. Oikawa. You follow the red path till you reach the bathroom and your jaw drops. In front of you is your boyfriend careful lying placing lit candles near the bathtub, which is filled with water and bubbles.

“Oh shit you’re here already, give me a second I’m almost finish” he says once he notices you standing by the door. He goes up to you and gives you a soft peck on the lips. “You can start undressing it’ll only take me a minute. Unless you want me to take care of that too” he teases you.

Once he’s done and you’re finally enjoying the warm bath, he stays next to you and hands you a glass of white wine. You know this is his way of apologizing for not spending enough time with you, and even though you don’t want to give in that easily it’s hard not to when he’s being so sweet. The music playing in the background is slow and makes you feel sleepy. You turn your head to look at Oikawa, wanting to admire his pretty boy features. But his eyes are already on you. His resting his chin against the palm of his hand while his brown orbs scan your face, taking you all in. He stops to stare at your lips for a second, and then moves up to your eyes. Neither of you say a word, there’s no need to. Most people think te prettiest eye colors are blue or green, grey being the most intimidating and hazel the cutest. If that is true, then brown eyes have to be the most intense, you think. Or maybe it’s not the eye color but the boy behind them, piercing through your soul and giving you butterflies. He smiles at you and let’s out a long sigh, never once breaking eye contact. It feels so intimate, he’s undressing your heart and caressing it with his soft fingertips.

That smooth motherfucker. You still have some of those rose petals decorating your living room table, probably won’t ever be able to throw them away. Your heart aches but you know you made the right choice.

“It’s not my fault you have the need to play the hero every time I do something wrong. I’m an adult, I know how to take care of myself” his voice is deep and rough.

“I’m not playing the hero, I just want you to rest and give yourself a break. You say you can take it but I know you can’t, that doesn’t make you weak it only makes you human” you try to talk some sense into him, he’s been overworking himself even though he shouldn’t because of his knee injury. Apparently, not even his teammates could stop him from hurting himself.

“ I am not a child! You say you’re trying to help me but you’re acting just like the rest of them. I thought you understood me, but how could you when the only thing you’re good at is getting on my nerves. And you think you can come to me with your puppy eyes and pretty smile, making me feel guilty for not spending time with you, you should know I don’t have time for that!” his words cut like daggers through your skin “You knew volleyball was important to me when you first met me, so don’t play the victim.”

“Toruu, the only victim here is you, you’re victim of your own thoughts and words. If you keep up with this whole burned out gifted kid act you’re not only gonna loose yourself but also the people you care about.” it was during fights like these that you asked yourself if staying was the right choice, but you couldn’t leave him when he was like this “ I know you want to be the best of the best, but this is not the right way to do it. How are you planning on playing volleyball with a fucked up knee? “ shit.

“The only fucked up thing here is this relationship”

The sound of the doorbell shakes you out of your thoughts and you make your way towards the door.

“Hi... I’m here to pick up what’s left of my stuff. If you still have ent thrown it away that is” he’s staring at the ground, hands in his pockets and a backpack hangin from his shoulders. He looks tired and a little gloomy. At first you don’t really understand what’s going on, but then you remember the box in your room, sitting at the top left shelf. He was supposed to pick it up a week before, but of course he was busy training.

“Yeah sure, come in I’ll get it for you.” you let open up the door and he steps inside, eyes still glued to the floor, and you tell him to sit in the sofa.

You return to the living room, box in hands, and you find him staring at the rose petals placed on the coffee table. None of you comment on it. He takes his things and leaves your place with a sad goodbye, locking your eyes one last time.

[daydream-believin]

MERLIN’S APPRENTICE & MERLIN’S CHAMPION || trollhunters

warnings: swearing

a/n: if rott gave me anything it gave me this idea

I KNOW I SAID “JUICY” BUT REALLY THAT WAS JUST THE ANGST POTENTIAL,, THAT IM NOT INDULGING IN THIS POST IM SORRY LMAO

OKAY WHAT IM REALLY TALKING BOUT HERE IS A GOOD MERLIN/ARTHUR BUT IT ACTUALLY WORKS

no sorry i haven’t seen bbc merlin don’t come for me i’m ignorant

OKAY SO

we know douxie kept an eye on the human trollhunter and co

but douxie’s really having a hard time convincing himself he’s just doing his job

he’s actually enjoying this a little too much despite how boring staying in the shadows is

and he’s kinda worried?

so he’s got this bright idea: you know what would better help him keeps tabs? if he befriends this person

and so he does

fuck merlin’s shadows

sod the rules

ofc he’s very up front about knowing they’re the trollhunter and that he’s merlin’s apprentice

we wouldn’t want that to become a huge festering secret that eats douxie from the inside out until the inevitable reveal when merlin calls them both to help with the arcane order and they realize they’ve both been lying to each other’s faces for months/years and neither of them know if they could ever trust the other again, right? — phew *catches breath*

but before you know it, mr. casperan and mx. trollhunter are best friends

he’s basically the toby to your jim

and you’re very happy to have a best friend like douxie

he understands that monster hunting hustle

he’s the only person you can vent to and actually talk about what’s going on without sounding like a loon

and douxie likes being able to tell someone all his frustrations with merlin, since you’re also in that boat with him

you spar sometimes. it’s fun, but you’re very careful not to accidentally hurt your friend (he’s extremely careful not to hurt you or wound your ego by effortlessly wiping you out)

ofc, there’s the occasional, brushing of hands, faces a little too close together, accidentally winding up on top of one another, purposefully winding up on top of one another 👀 you know how sparring be

you and douxie are a duo. a duo who have become trollmarket’s resident troublemakers, to vendel’s exasperation

you guys tease each other a lot

you do a lot of stupid shit, cause hey, now you have magic armor and a magic sword and a magic best friend, did you think you wouldn’t get up to some shenanigans?

douxie is your impulse control and he’s not a very good one, as he’s just as bad

truthfully archie has the brain cell

and pranks? gods the pranks. you two are always either pranking each other or you’re teaming up to prank some other troll who said smth mean to you in the pub. vendel had to personally put a stop to it (read: chew you out)

doux thinks the world of you tho, you’re such a noble knight, and likes to tell people about how you’re a cinnamon roll, so innocent, so pure

and then they meet you and you directly contradict those statements

trollhunter: i’ve never done anything wrong in my life, ever

douxie: i know this and i love you

(spoiler: you’ve done lots and lots of wrong)

doux spends an awful lot of time slinking around trollmarket now, and he’s in the know for everything that’s happening

(no more being kept in the dark for this wizard apprentice)

and doux knows merlin won’t completely approve of this, but hey, it’s not like he’s helping and thus directly disobeying

really, he’s not helping you at all, it’s really fucking annoying

okay so mayyybe the occasional healing spell. you’ve got those puppy dog eyes he can’t say no to

but you understand his sense of duty, or whatever it is that drives a follower, technically being a follower of merlin yourself

you respect the old geezer (as you have not been turned into a half-troll yet) as a wise mythical figure, and as your best friend’s father

and what a perfect match you are for each other, champion and apprentice, mutually being screwed over by a guy you both think has all the answers

you and douxie help each other grow in your self-worths, that you two are more than the chances merlin has given to you

unfortunately, mortifyingly, you have caught feelings.

douxie has also caught feelings, and is saying nothing yep you have enough on your plate without him putting this on you so he’ll just quietly pine and suffer don’t mind him choking to death in the corner when you take off your helmet and throw back your hair

y’all’s problem really starts manifesting itself as protectiveness. you are really protective of your wizard and he is really protective of his knight

lots of things said that are Not What Friends Say but neither of you really want to be the one to point that out

lots and lots of i love yous that slowly get more and more serious until it’s not exactly platonic anymore

and it’s just really nice to have someone to get coffee (or your favored hot drink) with at four in the morning after a tussle with a troll

and that’s basically how you and douxie spend the bulk of trollhunters, just vibing

as much as you can vibe, with all the changelings and shit trying to murder you all the time

then merlin wakes up and shakes up your world

you are aware of your impending doom

you’re aware of it

merlin keeps looking you up and down like he’s mentally making up the measurements of your coffin

and tbh the idea of fighting gunmar freaks you tf out

and you’re supposed to win that fight?

gods

you’re preparing for your nightmares coming true soon

truthfully you knew your fucking job had a 100% mortality rate

you don’t want to die with regrets

so

you spill

you spill all the things you’d wanted to tell him and how much he means to you and that you couldn’t bear it if you were a goner before he knew

miraculously, douxie feels the same and tells you all the things he’d been holding back and and what you mean to him and how much he wants to protect you, that you’re gonna make it, if he had anything to say about it

and everything is perfect for one night

now you have a real reason to win

not that saving humanity isn’t a big responsibility on your shoulders and definitely A Reason

but knowing douxie’s waiting for you, for the life you’ll build together after this, the peace you’ll both have, it’s absolutely a big motivation to give your all and come out victorious and survive

hahaha loser you don’t know about the arcane order

and then merlin uses your microwave to cook a weird potion

you and merlin are alone in the house, but there’s no real mind games necessary. you may have grown past thinking he was a god, but in the end, you’re still a follower of merlin, and if merlin thinks this could give you an edge, well, who are you to question his methods

doesn’t mean you aren’t nervous as your master hands you the bottle

yet you don’t even hesitate to drown yourself in the black abyss of the tub

whatever it takes amirite?

and now you’re a half-troll

a sexy half-troll, if you do say so yourself

yeah, no ‘i’m a monster’ angst here, you’re loving the power-up

you’ve got to treat it like a cool new power-up or you will cry actually tbh i lied about the no-angst thing a new body is disorienting

your only real concern is douxie

not concerned for long tho, he sees you and the first thing out of his mouth is “nuclear!”

and he senses your concern, so he does go out of his way to assure you that boy, girl, enby, or half-troll, he loves you for your soul, darling

also again half-troll! you is hot as hell so he’s not really losing anything here 👀

he makes sure you know that too, not to let any insecurities fester

him raking his eyes up and down you gives the opposite effect of the dread merlin sent down your spine doing it

anyways,,,

doux helps out a lot more in the eternal night

like helps merlin re-defeat and re-seal morgana

he’ll do it again in few weeks but with a bigger role you know, this is practice

thank merlin for that edge YOU ARE THE LAST TROLLHUNTER YOU ARE VICTORIOUS YOUVE GOT GUNMARS HEAD IN YOUR HANDS HAHAHA

but now you’ve got to go to new jersey

douxie’s been instructed to stay in arcadia tho 🥺

it’s okay, you’ll see each other again soon

sooner than you realize

and until then you talk each other to sleep every night over the phone <3

merlins glad, actually. he’s glad hisirdoux found some solace. even if it is with the lamb he was raising for the slaughter. maybe things will go okay for them. the time map suggests it might be so

hisirdoux may have done things in a way he didn’t quite approve of, but that’s because he’s becoming his own wizard, and merlin is proud

[all-hail-the-witcher]

rest well my songbird

its @softdarlingjaskier‘s birthday!!! and i have some soft eskier for him!!! a little birdie kings of the bog told me that you like jaskier getting his hands massaged so...without further ado...

__

ship: eskier :) (eskel x jaskier)

warnings: jaskier overworks his hands and eskel takes care of them. lamberts an ass for 1 second in true lambert fashion

words: 1.6k

editing: ye

genre: somfte

__

Jaskier flexed his hands and winced as he put down his lute. Winters offered him more down time than on the road, so he could spend the winter months composing to his heart's content, working on the longer ballads that he often neglected while tagging along on the Path.

The only problem with composing and songwriting non stop was that it made his hands ache terribly.

Between plucking at his lute and gripping his quill, his hands would usually start to protest a month or so into winter. But, as all good songwriters did, he pushed through the pain, willing to continue composing no matter what. He had a reputation to uphold and Witchers to help, after all. He couldn't afford to slack off.

Eskel did not share his views.

Well, neither did Vesemir, Geralt, Lambert and Aiden, but Eskel was the most vocal about it, often plucking the quill or lute from his hands after so many hours and demanding that he rest. Right when he was in the middle of a good line too! Jaskier had lost so many good ideas to Eskel’s forced breaks.

This was the first time though that he had chosen to take a break on his own that winter, and Eskel was on him in a second.

“Are you alright?” he asked, concern flowing off of him in waves as he approached Jaskier, who had been sitting the farthest away from the fire. It wasn’t his fault that the fire would dry out his lute!

“Fine,” Jaskier muttered as he struggled to close his bottle of ink. He didn't want Eskel to worry, but he realized perhaps a second too late that Eskel could probably smell the pain coming off of him.

“That’s not true,” Eskel said, seeing through the lie immediately. “Usually I have to force you to take a break.”

He didn't say anything else and Jaskier sighed. Eskel was waiting for him to admit that he was in pain, despite the fact that he already knew.

“My hands,” he whispered, forgetting that he was in a room full of Witchers with enhanced hearing. “They’re stiff, and sore, and cramped. More than usual.” He looked up at a blurry Eskel and it took him a moment to realize that he had been almost crying.

“Yeah no shit they hurt!” Lambert shouted from the couch. “If you keep fucking playing with that damn lute of yours theyre gonna fuckin fall off!”

“Lambert,” Aiden said sternly. “Shut up.”

Jaskier laughed and tried to wipe away his tears with his hands, but winced when his fingers cramped up.

Eskel brushed his hands away and gently wiped away Jaskier’s tears with his thumbs, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.

“You need to not push yourself so hard, Jaskier,” he whispered, pulling Jaskier’s face against his chest. “You don’t need to spend every single waking second of the winter composing. Winters are supposed to be for relaxing, and you haven't been doing much of that.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier muttered into Eskel’s shirt. He longed to bring his hands up to hug Eskel and reassure him that this was fine, it just happened every so often, but his hands hurt too much. He didn't want them to cramp so hard that they ended up stuck in one position. That was never pleasant.

“No,” Eskel said firmly. “Don’t apologize.”

He tugged Jaskier closer to him, resting his chin on top of his head so that Jaskier was engulfed in the arms of his Witcher. Jaskier inhaled Eskel’s scent deeply. He smelled like he always did in the winters: of wood and musk, chamomile and fresh bread. It was Jaskier’s favorite smell in the world. It meant that his love was well rested and taken care of, healthy for once after a long year on the Path.

Eskel pulled away after a moment and tugged at Jaskier’s upper arm, encouraging him to stand.

“Come here,” he said, his eyes bright with what could only be an idea. And who was Jaskier to say no to him?

He followed Eskel over to the nest of furs that they kept in front of the fire, for puppy piles usually. Eskel directed him to sit down in the nest and then with a stern look not to move, he darted out of the room.  

“What the hell is that sneaky fucker- mmph” Lambert’s insult was cut off by Aiden kissing him on the mouth, likely to get him to shut up.

Geralt sighed and turned a page in his book, but Vesemir, who was sitting on the other side of the fire knitting, regarded them with a fond look before turning to Jaskier.

“I have a salve that you could put on your hands, it’ll help with the cramping,” he said.

“Oh! That’s very kind but-”

Jaskier was cut off by Eskel running back into the room.

“I already got it, Vesemir,” Eskel said, walking back to the nest.

Vesemir smiled knowingly and went back to his knitting.

“C’mere Jaskier,” Eskel said, sitting behind him and tugging one of the furs across Jaskier’s lap. He carefully rolled up the sleeves of Jaskier’s chemise before opening the little tub of salve. “Lean back, relax, you don't have to do any more composing today, or tomorrow, or this whole week. I’m going to take care of you.”

Jaskier was glad that his back was to Eskel because he could feel his cheeks flushing.

Eskel picked up Jaskier’s right hand delicately in his much larger, sword calloused ones. “Let me know if I’m hurting you at any point, okay?”

Jaskier nodded and watched, mesmerized, as Eskel began to rub out the cramps in his hand. He started with his fingers, beginning with his pinky finger, and rubbing out the tensions in each of the joints. It was almost painful at first, but Jaskier soon adjusted to it and found himself craving more.

Once Eskel had worked his way slowly through Jaskier’s fingers, he moved to his palm, taking it in both of his hands and massaging it slowly in small, but firm circles. Jaskier couldn't help the sigh of pleasure that escaped his lips.

“Yes, that’s it,” Eskel murmured. “Just relax, I’ve got you.”

Jaskier let his head drop back against Eskel’s shoulder as he looked out at the room. Lambert and Aiden were bickering over a game of Gwent, passing a bottle of White Gul back and forth between them. Geralt was pretending to read, but every so often his eyes would flick up to the game and he’d mutter sometimes useful hints to Lambert and Aiden.

Jaskier watched them fondly as Eskel moved to his wrist, giving the tendons there extra attention. From there he moved up Jaskier’s forearm to his elbow, massaging his skin carefully.

Jaskier flexed his hand experimentally and was surprised when he discovered that he had definitely more movement than before. But Eskel covered his hand scoldingly.

“No,” he said. “Don't go undoing all of my hard work.”

“Sorry,” Jaskier murmured. “It just felt so nice and-”

“I’m not done yet,” Eskel said, cutting Jaskier off as he dipped his fingers into the salve.

Eskel warmed the salve first in his hands before rubbing it against Jaskier’s skin. And Meliele’s sweet tits, if the massage had been heavenly, this was absolutely divine. Vesemir had been right, the salve was positively wonderful, seemingly wonderful, drawing out the pain from his hands almost instantly. Jaskier couldn't help the sigh that escaped his lips.

Eskel laughed lightly, rubbing the salve all over Jaskier’s hands and wrists, even going up his arm a little, before reaching for a few small straight planks of wood and a roll of bandages that he must have grabbed while he was getting the salve.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Jaskier protested. “Just what are you doing with that?”

“You don't want the salve getting everywhere,” Eskel explained. “So it’s best to put the bandage on until it soaks into your skin. And the splint will help keep your hands from cramping and getting stuck in an uncomfortable position while they’re bandaged.”

“But what is a musician without his hands!”

“A resting, healing one,” Eskel said, pressing a light kiss to Jaskier’s nose. “I’ll help you with everything, my songbird. I’m here to take care of you.”

Jaskier pouted but held his hand out to Eskel to bandage. “You better mean that.”

“Of course I do,” Eskel said, wrapping Jaskier’s hand and wrist in bandages first before placing the wood underneath it and arranging his fingers over it before wrapping it in even more bandages. The end result was a bit clunky looking and Jaskier wasn’t crazy about the fact that he wasn't going to be able to use his hands at all, but Eskel had promised that he would take care of him and Jaksier knew that he would deliver.

“See?” Eskel said, placing a kiss to the back of Jaskier’s bandaged hand. “All better.”

Jaskier smiled at his lover's efforts before leaning back against Eskel’s soft chest as he got started on his other hand. He watched his careful ministrations through half lidded eyes before the heat from the fire and the warmth from the furs lulled him into a half asleep state. The only thing keeping him awake was Eskel’s gentle massaging of his hand.

But eventually, Eskel finished, tying off the bandage with another kiss before wrapping his arms around Jaskier.

“Are you feeling better?”

“Yes,” Jaskier muttered truthfully. He was tired, but at least his hands didn't ache so fiercely anymore.

Eskel pressed another kiss to his hair and laid back, tugging Jaskier until he was resting his head on his chest, and wrapped a fur around the two of them.

“I’ll wake you in a few hours to take the bandages off,” Eskel murmured into his ear. “But until then, rest well my songbird.”

And Jaskier did. He fell asleep to the gentle roar of the crackling fire, to Lambert and Aiden’s drunken bickering, and to Eskel’s steady heartbeat under his ear.

__

happyyyestttt of birthdayssss to peterrrrrr

tag list: hmu if you want on or off

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[eliemo]

Something Long and Stupid (Part 2)

Summary: Remus knew he wasn't a good person. He was Deadpool, a killer for hire, "the merc with a mouth." He'd come to terms with what he was a long time ago. He didn't need Spiderman to remind him of what he was.

He didn't need Virgil to come into his life and make him question it for the first time

Notes: Violence, blood, gore, sexual inneundos

I didn't make a taglist for this story but I know @teamplutoforlife wanted to be tagged <3 And thank you @cheshirevalentine for editing

Part 1

Remus was falling, twisting onto his back as he plummeted towards the ground, the buildings around him nothing but a blur as he flew past. He could faintly hear the construction on the ground over the pounding of his own heart and the howling of the wind rushing past him, barely hearing the alarmed shouts of the workers watching him fall.

Virgil was nothing but a speck in the distance now, perched on the edge of the roof. Lifeless white eyes watched him fall, unfeeling and still.

Pain exploded in Remus’s back as he slammed into something sharp, legs hitting the ground when he finally stopped falling. He could just barely make out the rusty, blood stained spike in front of him, poking through his chest from his back where he'd fallen, blood pooling around the wound and into his suit.

-

“Hey.”

Remus jumped so hard he nearly fell off the roof, scrambling to his feet and reaching for his gun as he whirled around to face whoever the fuck was stupid enough to sneak up on him.

Spiderman was perched beside him, apparently fine after his near death experience last night, and holding… a pizza box?

“Hey,” Remus said carefully. “What the fuck?”

Spiderman shrugged and held out the box in his hand. “I have pizza. You asked for pizza.”

Remus stared for a moment, frozen where he stood with his hand hovering over his gun, trying to figure out if this was a joke. “You… actually brought it?”

“Yeah?” Spiderman said, like he didn’t understand how this was in any way strange. “Oh did you… were you joking? Did you not actually want it, or—”

“No, I did.” Remus stayed right where he was. What the hell was this? Was this a prank? Was he being pranked?

“Then… here,” Spiderman said. He held out the pizza box, close enough for Remus to cautiously take. “I didn’t know what you liked so I just got cheese. But cheese is good. Everyone likes cheese.”

Holy shit. Spiderman was a dweeb.

Remus carefully opened the pizza box, and when there wasn’t a bomb or some kind of spider-themed booby trap inside, just a freshly baked cheese pizza from some local place he’d vaguely heard of, Remus let his shoulders relax and barked out a laugh.

“Well shit,” he said, pleasantly surprised. “Thanks, Webs.”

Spidey was shuffling a bit, looking ridiculously awkward, and Remus was suddenly reminded that they were both just… people under their masks. “Uh, yeah. No problem.”

Remus hesitated, because he hadn’t been kidding about Spiderman owing him a pizza he just… hadn’t actually expected him to follow through. There was no way Remus was eating all of it on his own, he barely ate much as it was.

“Do you, like…” he paused, wondering if this was going to get him punched or laughed at. “Do you want a slice?”

Spiderman actually startled, like him being asked to lunch was just as rare as Remus asking someone to lunch. Jeez, he’d have figured people begged Spiderman to eat with them all the time.

“I, uh… I bought it for you, so—”

“Yeah, and I’m offering. Christ, do you want some pizza or not?”

Spidey still hesitated, and while it was annoying as hell Remus supposed he’d be a hypocrite to judge when he’d been half convinced there was a bomb in the pizza box two minutes ago.

Well, it wasn’t like it would have been the first time.

“Uh, sure,” Spiderman said, still visibly wary. “Thank you.”

Remus ignored him in favor of opening the pizza box and setting it down, motioning for the vigilante to take as much as he wanted.

It wasn’t until Spidey turned away slightly to hook his fingers under the bottom of his mask that Remus remembered- duh- they both had to pull up their masks to eat.

It wasn’t a problem, it wouldn’t be nearly enough to risk exposing their faces to each other, but Remus really wasn’t in the mood to be gawked at. A glance at his jaw might ruin Spiderman’s lunch.

“I’m not looking,” Spidey said, and Remus realized he’d been hesitating for a few too many seconds. “I can go, if you don’t wanna pull up your mask around anyone.”

Remus waved him off, even as he continued to fiddle with the leather. “I’ve got some scars, is all. Like… a lot. People think they’re gross.”

“Oh,” Spiderman said, and then simply shrugged. “That’s fine, I don’t care. Scars happen, dude. I’ve got a bunch.”

Remus still hesitated, a little caught off guard from Spiderman calling him ‘dude' while so nonchalantly eating his pizza just a few feet away, but he quickly pulled himself together and tugged his leather mask up just below his nose.

It was just a few inches of skin, and still enough to reveal a handful of scars littered across his jaw, and the one that stretched down from his cheek.

Spidey barely glanced at him, which Remus guessed he should have seen coming. It’d be a little out of character for New York’s hero to be an asshole about someone’s scars, but you never knew with heroes. Some of them were pretentious assholes.

They ate their pizza like common civilians, perched on their rooftop and watching the people of New York mingle below.

Remus barely ate two slices. He didn’t really eat much to begin with, and it was far more entertaining to watch in silent awe as Spiderman easily finished the rest of the box. The hero was a good two heads shorter than Remus, and looked like he barely weighed a hundred pounds. If Remus didn’t know better, he’d think the guy never ate at all.

“My metabolism is different,” he explained sheepishly when he caught Reus staring. “I eat more than… you know. You. Regular people.”

Remus scoffed, because this was definitely the first time anyone had described him as a ‘regular person’ but he let it slide with an eye roll and a thanks for lunch.

They parted ways, and Remus let himself relax at the thought of having one less enemy roaming New York.

Remus hadn’t meant to start hanging out with Spiderman.

Really, he hadn’t. The impromptu pizza date was supposed to be the end of it, just a slightly awkward peace offering that made it clear neither of them would actively try to kill each other in the near future.

Remus had saved Spiderman because he was bored, and Spiderman had bought him a pizza. That was all.

But then less than a week later Spiderman had swung (literally) by with takeout- coincidentally from Remus’s favorite place a few blocks away- and Remus hadn’t been able to say no to sharing.

They’d shared a meal together three times in the last two weeks, and Remus was starting to think it wasn’t an accident.

It probably wasn’t helping that Remus had started carrying snacks on him.

Remus wasn’t going to eat them himself, and Spiderman was always complaining about how hungry he was, so he’d just started keeping packets of gummies or granola for when he saw the hero swinging past. Chucking them at his head was good target practice, anyway.

That didn’t mean they were friends. Remus didn’t have friends, because being friends with Deadpool was possibly the dumbest idea anyone could ever have.

Remus had seen what happens when people get close to him. He wasn’t going to go through that again.

Apparently, Spiderman had other ideas.

It had been just another fight that Remus had happened to run into, watching for a moment as Spiderman took down what was probably his third armed robbery of the day.

He knew he probably could have just continued on his way and gotten lunch, but there were five of them, all armed, and Remus didn’t feel great about those odds despite Spidey’s reputation.

So Remus had decided to return the favor, Spiderman had introduced himself by butting into Deadpool's fight after all, and stepped in to finish the job twice as fast.

And it had gone fine. Spiderman had greeted him with stupidly cheeky finger guns and unfortunately insisted they keep all of them alive, which wasn’t Remus’s specialty but he’d manage.

It had been easy, some druggie civilians no match for New York’s hero and the merc with a mouth, three of them encased in webbing within two minutes, another on the ground with a bullet in his knee.

It had been fine, until Remus was shot in the chest.

Which, to be fair, wasn’t a big deal. He was shot in the chest all the time. It’d be a hassle if he didn’t get the bullet out before his skin healed around it, but it wasn’t like he could die.

It occurred to him a bit too late that he had forgotten to tell Spiderman that.

“No!”

The raw panic and emotion In Spidey’s voice caught Remus off guard as he stumbled backwards, pain he was unfortunately used to by now exploding in his chest as the bullet met its mark. There had been a fifth goon, hiding out and biding his time, which would have been a great plan if it didn’t end with a face of webs and a swift punch to the temple.

Remus lowered himself to the ground, the wind knocked out of him, dark crimson blood pooling around his hand and flooding through his fingers as he clutched the wound.

Spiderman was rushing over, and Remus could practically feel the worry behind that lifeless mask. He skidded to a stop and dropped to a crouch, hands hovering, frantic and unsure.

And maybe Remus was just an asshole, but this was fucking hilarious.

“Deadpool?” Spidey called, the vigilante leaning over him as Remus dropped to lay on his back. “Jesus- hang in there okay? You’ll be fine.”

Remus forced himself to cough, wet and ragged, biting back a smile. “This is it for me, Webs. I can see the light.”

“Deadpool shut the fuck up!”

“Everything’s getting dark—”

“I said shut up,” Spiderman snapped, and Remus gasped involuntarily, arching his back when gloved hands pressed down on the wound. “You’re gonna be fine, you’re… just- just stay awake, okay? Don’t close your eyes.”

Remus coughed again to hide a smile, blood splattering his chin, closing his eyes anyway and letting his head fall back on the concrete. He stopped listening to Spidey’s rambling, committing to the bit of playing dead- very obviously playing dead, for the record. He stuck his tongue out the side of his mouth and everything, waiting for Spiderman to catch on and tell him off.

“No!” Except Spidey still sounded genuinely distressed, only pressing harder on the wound. “No, no, no! Deadpool! Wake up!”

Well. This wasn’t any fun if Spiderman was too panicked to even pay attention. He sighed, opening his eyes again to sit up slightly and whack the vigilante’s shoulder.

“I can’t die, stupid,” he said, grinning when Spiderman scrambled back. “Cut it out. I’ve just gotta get the bullet out so it doesn’t heal around it. Those things hurt like a bitch, so—”

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Remus opened his mouth to respond, because there were lots of things wrong with him and he had a list at the ready. But he didn’t get the chance because suddenly Spidey was throwing himself forward, wrapping his arms around Remus and pulling him close, probably getting blood all over his suit.

Haha, what the fuck?

“You’re such a bitch,” Spiderman said, muffled since his face was practically buried in Remus’s shoulder. “You’re the fucking worst.”

“Aww, were you worried about me?” Remus asked, burying his shock. “That’s so sweet, Spidey.”

“Shut the hell up,” Spiderman growled. “I thought you were going to die.”

“You were so worried! It was so cute, oh my god!”

Spiderman finally pulled back, only to rear back and punch Remus square in the shoulder. Hard.

Remus barked out a laugh, now nursing two injuries. “Fucking- ow. I still feel pain.”

“Sucks.”

Remus crossed his arms, wincing when it pulled at the bullet wound still in his chest. “Rude.”

“I’m rude?” Spiderman asked, incredulous. “You thought it would be funny to play dead!”

“To be fair,” Remus argued. “It was funny.”

“No it wasn’t!”

Remus shrugged, already turning his attention to the bullet in his chest. “If you had known it would be funny.”

“Well I didn’t,” he said, the mask’s white eyes glued to Remus’s hands. “I thought you were dying.”

“I can’t die,” Remus said. “That’s not a joke, Webs. I don’t just regenerate fast, I can’t be killed.”

“How the fuck was I supposed to know that?”

Remus shrugged, a little put off because this was not how he’d expected this to go. Damn Spiderman and his stupid savior complex.

He turned his attention back to the bullet wound, the pain already faded to a familiar numbness, but two gloved hands grabbed his wrists before he could start digging around for the bullet.

“Here,” he said, obnoxiously soft. “I’ve got it, let me help.”

“Nah, it’s cool,” Remus said, tensing against his will at the thought of someone else caring for a wound. “It’s not too deep, I can get it.”

“Are your gloves clean?”

He took a minute to consider that, calculating the swords he’d been holding, the gun he’d reloaded that morning, coming up blank when he tried to think of the last time he’d properly cleaned any of his weapons. Not to mention he had to climb buildings with his hands, lacking Spidey’s abilities to walk up walls and propel himself across the city in seconds.

“Probably,” he lied. “What am I gonna do, get sick?”

Spiderman hesitated. “Do you do that?”

“No.”

“I can still get it,” Spidey said. “Let me help.”

Remus scoffed, trying to cover up his own uneasiness. “You wanna stick your hand in there? You know it’s gross, right?”

“I know how to remove a bullet, Deadpool,” Spiderman said. “I’ve gotten shot before, I can get it.”

There was no reason not to drop his arms and let Spiderman do what he wanted. The asshole was stubborn, but he obviously meant well. With how shaky Remus’s hands were, Spidey getting the bullet out would probably be quicker anyway.

And he was the city’s hero. He’d made it clear he didn’t mean Deadpool any harm, especially not when the Merc had so graciously dropped in to save his ass today.

Remus didn’t know why it was so hard to just relax.

“This is dumb,” he said, wondering if he could annoy Spidey into giving up. “I can handle it fine.”

“I know,” the vigilante said. “But I want to help. It’s like...returning the favor or whatever.”

Remus sighed, a little shaky now, but reluctantly nodded. The longer they argued, the faster the skin would heal over the bullet still lodged in his chest, and Remus would really like to avoid that happening. Again.

“Fine,” he growled. “Jesus, you’re stubborn.”

Under the mask, Remus was sure Spiderman was smirking at him. “Look who’s talking.”

Remus hadn’t expected Spiderman to be so gentle. He was digging a bullet wound out of Deadpool’s chest, there wasn’t really a way to make this a pleasant experience, but Spidey was taking his time, moving carefully as he dug into the wound.

“Could you hurry up?” Remus growled, teeth clenched. This would have been over in seconds if he was doing it himself. It was so much easier to just stick his hand in the wound, dig around for a second, and rip the bullet out. “I’m not exactly a fan of having someone else’s fingers in my chest.”

Spiderman didn’t even spare him a glance. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I got shot,” Remus snapped. “We’re well past that.”

Spidey didn’t respond after that and Remus for once stayed quiet to let him concentrate, breathing heavily to try to ignore the panic that came with being vulnerable like this. The vigilante couldn’t kill him, but he sure as hell could cause him a shit ton of pain.

But he wouldn’t. Remus had to keep reminding himself that he wouldn’t. Spiderman was insufferably good- he wouldn’t kick someone while they were down.

Eventually Spiderman’s fingers found the bullet and Remus gasped, forcing himself to shove the pain away and make a lewd sounding moan when Spidey’s fingers left the wound.

“Jesus,” Spiderman muttered, and Remus laughed when he tossed the bullet dripping in dark blood to the side. “You okay?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” Remus said, and he was. Physically at least. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a civil conversation with someone, let alone had someone willing to help patch him up. “See? All good. It’s already healing itself.”

True to his word, Remus’s chest was fusing itself back together, skin closing up over the still bleeding wound, the rest of the pain fading to a background throb. It’d be like nothing ever happened in ten minutes.

“Holy shit,” Spiderman muttered, leaning in close to watch. Remus tensed uncomfortably. “That’s...fucking wild.”

“Yeah, it’s great.” Remus brushed it off, scrambling to his feet and ignoring the way Spidey moved to try and help. “Anyways. Are there any more fights you need me to hold your hand through, or can I go take a nap?”

“Oh please,” Spidey scoffed. “I was fine. All you did was get in the way and get shot.”

“I saved your ass,” Remus retorted, smiling behind the leather mask. “You’d be dead if it weren’t for me, Webs.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Spiderman mumbled, but Remus was willing to bet money he was smiling too. “Go take your nap, Deadpool.”

Remus gave a mock salute, sheathing his sword and turning away from the remnants of the battle and starting for his apartment.

Maybe Spidey wasn’t so bad after all.

[alphawolfanimates]

Omg I'm so sorry I didn't get to this sooner! Anyway, lets get this started!

I'm going to do the borrower!Dream headcanons first because the Karlnapity one will be a fic and not headcanons.

·Dream is smart when borrowing, but gets a little cocky

·His cockiness will be his downfall

·He studied the human's schedule so well, that he knew the exact minute he would head out to leave each day

·Or, at least, he thought he did

·One day he went out to borrow as usual, assuming the human was already gone, he decided not to check if his car was still there

·So that's when the human came into the kitchen, after waking up just minutes ago and sleeping through his alarm

·Let's just say, neither one of them expected to see the other

·The human, who's name is George, was panicking because 'wtf there's a tiny person in my house' and Dream was panicking because 'I THOUGHT I MEMORIZED HIS SCHEDULE BUT I GUESS I DIDN'T CAUSE HOLY CRAP I WAS JUST SEEN'

·George absentmindedly moved his hand toward Dream, and that took Dream out of the trance he had just been in and he booked it

·He didn't make it very far

·Now he was being held in the human's hands, not sure what to do because he never expected to get caught

·He started shaking, and now George finally realized how fucking terrified Dream must be

·He brought him out to the living room, set him on the coffee table, and apologized for grabbing him without his permission

·Dream was absolutely confused because he wasn't used to humans apologizing

·Soon, they both calmed down, introduced themselves to each other, and got to know each other

And that's all the borrower!Dream headcanons I have! Now let's do the Karlnapity fic :3

Quackity and Sapnap had lived together for about a month now, and they soon realized that their food was being stolen. Not a lot, just a couple crumbs at a time. So they believed it was a mouse. But it wasn't. Unbeknownst to them, a small borrower named Karl lived in their walls, taking food and resources when needed. He made little holes into the cabinets from the walls so he could go from his tunnel to the cabinets with ease. He memorized where everything was in the cabinets because they were always so dark so he couldn't really see where anything was when the doors were closed. So he wasn't exactly expecting to be caught in a mouse trap anytime soon.

He was just borrowing as normal when he decided he wanted something sweet. The humans had these things called "Oreos" that he really liked. So he climbed into the snack cabinet. The second he put his foot down, SNAP! His foot set off the mouse trap. He fell to the floor, in immense pain. He felt his blood drip down his foot. 'Ok, Karl, just breathe. It'll be ok. Just get your foot out before the human's reali-'

He didn't even get to finish the thought

"Hey Quackity, I think the mouse trap went off!" Sapnap called out. "Ok, go check it out, I don't feel like getting up." Quackity called back. "Fiiiiiine." Sapnap said. No no no no no NONONONO! Karl felt his tears fall down onto his hand. To say he was scared would be an understatement.

He saw light flow into the cabinet. Now he could clearly see what happened to his foot. It was bent in an odd way, blood still oozing out. It was definitely broken. He saw the package for Oreos move as Sapnap said "Now let's see what's been getting into our food." The Oreos were moved fully out of the way. They started at each other for a moment before Sapnap yelled "That's definitely not a mouse!" Quackity walked into the kitchen. "What do you mean it's not mous-" Quackity stood there before crouching down to get a better look at Karl.

"Holy shit. What is that?" He asked. Sapnap shrugged in response. Karl hated this. Not only was he extremely hurt, he was being stared at like an exotic animal. Sapnap reached his hand in to grab Karl, so Karl flinched in response. A sharp pain climbed up his leg. He screamed in pain, and the tears started to flow again. A wave of guilt hit Sapnap and Quackity. They didn't realize they were scaring him that bad, and that they probably should of helped Karl sooner. "I am so sorry! I need you to calm down, though. We won't be able to get you out of there when you're shaking like that." Karl didn't even know he was shaking. He managed to stop relatively quickly though.

He felt someone's fingers lightly curl around him. He was still scared, yes, but the human's hadn't done anything to intentionally harm him yet. He just let it happen. Sapnap set him down on the counter, his leg still stuck in the mouse trap. He felt his fingers tighten slightly. "Quackity, can you help me get this off him?" Quackity nodded and hurried over towards the counter. "Ok, I'm not gonna lie to you, this will hurt, but if we keep it on there it won't heal." Karl nodded to show he was listening. "We'll take it off on the count of three." "One.." Karl tensed up. "Two.." He squeezed his eyes shut. "Three!" The mouse trap was taken off his foot. Karl screamed in pain for a second time. Quackity and Sapnap winced, obviously feeling guilty for the pain he was put through.

Karl's hands shot up to his mouth as he started to cry. Sapnap ran to the bathroom to get the first aid kit, while Big Q stayed behind to make sure Karl was ok. "Hey, it's ok, calm down. Sapnap is getting the first aid kit to help your foot heal better. Breathe." Karl took long, shaky breaths while Quackity rubbed his back with his thumb. Sapnap got back with the first aid kit, took out some bandages, and cut them down to size. He lightly wrapped Karl's foot in them. Karl winced, but let him finish. Quackity was still rubbing his back to keep him calm.

After Sapnap finished wrapping his foot, he picked Karl up and brought him out to the living room, Quackity following close behind. He set Karl down on the coffee table while he and Quackity sat down on the floor next to it. They sat in silence for a little while before Quackity finally said something. "I guess we should introduce ourselves. I'm Quackity, and this is my boyfriend, Sapnap." Sapnap waved. "What's your name?" Karl hesitated before replying. "M-my name is K-karl." Quackity and Sapnap smiled softly. "It's nice to meet you, Karl." Sapnap said. Sapnap thought for a second before asking this next question, "How long have you lived here Karl?" Karl replied "About 4 and a half months, I think." Sapnap and Quackity stared in disbelief before Quackity exclaimed "You've lived here longer than we have!" Karl laughed a little and said "Yeah, and I wasn't expecting anyone to move in so soon." The three boys talked for a while after.

Sapnap sighed. "You probably won't be able to go back to borrowing anytime soon, so would you like to stay with us?" Karl looked at him, completely baffled. 'They're not forcing me? They're giving me a choice?' Karl thought for a second before smiling and saying "Yeah, I'd like that." Sapnap and Quackity grinned. "Hell yeah, new roomate!" Quackity yelled. Karl covered his ears. "Right, sorry." Quackity said apologetically. Oh god, Karl was in for a wild ride.

And that was the Karlnapity fic! I think it came out well. Anyway, hope these were acceptable for you, and sorry for not replying sooner.