#THIS GOT LONG I'M SORRY

[snnynatural]

based off of this post : making it an open starter instead of individual ones! also leaving the monster choice up to you! shifter, demon, werewolf, vampire, ect.

the  last  sonny  has  seen  the  other  was  about  a  week  ago  when  they  stopped  by  the  safehouse.  and  then...  radio  silence.  she  was  used  to  everyone  coming  in  and  out  and  being  gone  for  awhile.  but  something  didn't  feel  right.  her  gut  telling  her  that  something  was  wrong.  even  dialing  their  number  and  nothing.  it  would  ring  and  ring  until  eventually  would  go  straight  to  voicemail.

now  here  she  was.  after  doing  research  on  the  hunt,  she  figured  out  what  she  was  dealing  with.  finding  their  hideout  and  making  her  way  over.  should  she  have  gone  alone?  of  course  not.  but  sonny  was  used  to  hunting  by  herself,  so  it  wasn't  anything  new.  however,  she  remained  careful  as  she  snuck  inside.  weapon  at  hand,  quiet  steps  as  she  made  her  way  further  into  the  dark.  killing  in  silence  one  by  one  that  was  also  there  to  cause  trouble.  bodies  dropping,  but  making  sure  no  attention  was  pulled.

the  further  she  got,  she  was  soon  able  to  find  the  other's  hands  chained  up  to  a  pipe,  looking  battered  and  bruised.  anger  fueling  inside  of  her.  remaining  hidden  as  the  monster  did  its  usual  dialogue  and  boy...  did  monsters  love  listening  to  themselves  speak.  only  then  she  snuck  up  behind.  no  remorse,  no  hesitation,  she  shot  both  legs  then  the  shoulder  and  watched  them  drop  in  agony.  leaning  down  to  their  level,  she  gripped  the  shoulder,  pressing  onto  the  wound,  "don't  worry,  i'll  make  this  slow  for  you."  while  it  bled,  unable  to  move,  sonny  took  the  opportunity  to  unlock  the  other,  helping  them  down  as  she  examined  them  carefully,  "okay,  let's  sit  you  down  first,  okay?"  eyes  once  filled  with  anger,  turned  to  concern.  only  for  a  short  moment  as  she  got  the  other  to  sit  before  turning  back  to  the  monster  that  took  them.  eyes  back  to  anger.  "remember  when  i  said  i  would  make  it  slow?  i  changed  my  mind.  can't  have  you  running."  with  that,  she  killed  the  monster.

#𝙸𝙼𝙿𝙾𝚁𝚃𝙰𝙽𝚃 . . . open starter #murder tw #torture tw #if it's a demon she used demon bullets BYE #otherwise here you go #have a menacing sunshine #this got long i'm sorry

[i-need-a-doctor-run]

What I love about this arc with the Crown Keepers is how much it reminds me of the Mighty Nein and Molly/Lucien. There's a party member who is taken from the group in some way, the remaining members want to fight to get them back. Molly was killed and later resurrected, but it was Lucien who came back. That gave the Nein hope that their friend could be returned. Yeah the world was at stake but the Nein chose to fight Lucien with memories of Molly.

The Crown Keepers arc feels like it's going in a similar direction. Opal is losing herself to the Spider Queen, possibly for good. The Crown Keepers are trying to preserve her memories in the crystals to remind her who she is. Even a tiny little flicker is a light in the darkness, a direction to turn towards.

But this could also go horribly wrong. Opal might lose herself for good. I can see the Crown Keepers still fighting to save their friend, but with the Luxon beacon reveal, something else could happen.

Let's say Opal is killed in the effort to stop Lolth. Assuming Campaign 3 is heading for an Avengers Endgame level team up from the parties from every campaign, the Crown Keepers might try to have Opal resurrected like the Nein did with Molly after they defeated Lucien. Thing is, Molly wasn't able to return. A new friend, Kingsley, came to be instead.

If Opal dies, it won't be near a beacon. And who knows what the Spider Queen would do to Opal if she saw that she was going to die. So if a cleric was able to do Revivify, Opal may or may not be able to come back. BUT: Opal isn't the only soul in her body.

Ted is also there. Maybe Ted's soul comes back if Opal's can't. And wouldn't that be an interesting parallel to Kingsley?

#this got long I'm sorry #i also apologize if i got any mechanics wrong #i got into dnd and critical role a year ago so please bear with me #critical role #campaign 3

[thefreakandthehair]

Do you ever get writer's burnout? 😔

I'm so stuck with my thesis for uni and fun writing projects.

I don't think I've felt it this strongly before either.

Probably because I'm also in the middle of grad apps but I want to finish my projects to get to the fun stuff.

My brain is gibberish.

Is there anything you do on a rough writing day?

Thanks for answering

hi anon! ugh, I'm so sorry you're feeling that. when I was in school, I had a similar rough patch. it felt like, I couldn't write the stuff I needed to write because my brain was mush, and then I couldn't write the stuff I wanted to write until I wrote the stuff I had to write. it was the worst cycle. and I've had lots of moments where I'm texting my friends wanting to scream because I can't get the story in my head out onto paper, so yep, definitely have had writer's burnout! put the rest under a read more because I got carried away. (what a surprise, said no one.)

for academic writing, I would tell a friend or someone that I was gonna spend [x] amount of time working on whatever project I was working on. for my thesis specifically, I set some kind of goal (page count, word count, or a section I wanted to finish) based on the deadline and had my friends hold me accountable. it was easier when I had someone else to answer to because my self-control was/is non-existent. I'd suggest time-blocking or using pomodoro videos on YouTube, but I know that doesn't work for everyone!

for fun writing, remember that it's okay to take your time and breathe. if you're feeling really burnt out, it's totally okay to take a short break and let that writing muscle heal so you don't burn out even worse! other than that, I find lots of inspiration in reading other works or those inspo/quote blogs to get my brain in that headspace (especially when switching between academic/fun stuff) and listening to moody writing playlists. writing in a different space than where you write for school helps too! even like, writing in bed versus writing at a desk. nowadays, I bounce creative ideas around with people here on tumblr (always open to that, for anyone reading!) and I commit to writing a few hundred words every day, even if I don't like what I come up with, just to keep the wheels from getting rusty.

oh! and when you have an idea, even if it's just a little line that doesn't fit in anything you're writing yet, or when you see something that could be inspiring, write it down immediately. note app in your phone, back of a receipt, voice memo, etc. I can't tell you how many ideas have gotten lost to the void because I thought oh, I'll remember this when I get home!

#asks #this got long i'm sorry #also please note that i have adhd so things that work for me may not work as well for everyone! :') #feel free to message off anon too if you wanna spitball anything! #i have so much empathy for the plight of academic/fun writers

[leoyoons]

—THE DAREDEVIL ( 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓 𝐉𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 ), 𝕃𝔼𝕆 𝕐𝕆𝕆ℕ

✦⋆ CONNECTIONS ✦⋆ PINTEREST ✦⋆ PLAYLIST

FIRSTLY, SOME BASICS

FULL NAME: Leonora Everly Yoon PREFERRED NICKNAME: Leo ( call her Nora at your own risk ) PREFERRED PRONOUNS: currently she/hers, but she’s reevaluating DATE OF BIRTH: April 1st, 2000 ( aries sun,  pisces moon, aquarius rising ) [ Leonora was born two months premature; her dad thought it was a joke but lo and behold, Odessa’s water had really gone and broken on April Fools ] ZODIAC SIGNS: aries sun, pisces moon, aquarius rising ( une ) AGE: Twenty-Two but she feels ancient HOMETOWN: born and raised in Gravewood, WV FAMILY: George Yoon ( father, sheriff ), Odessa-Marie Yoon ( mother, waitress ), Feodore Avery Yoon ( older brother & Yoon golden boy ) OCCUPATION: Ice Skating Attendant & Teacher at the Windsor Ice Rink SEXUAL ORIENTATION: she’s not for the streets, but it’s the whole spectrum ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: re: last line [ —the rest can be found in the DOSSIER: additional background information, physicalities and personality stuff among other things! ] 

WHAT’S IN MY BAG: The Shape of Water by Daniel Kraus, A Visit from the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan, a sketchbook she’s been filling up with still-lifes and stuff, and an empty planner her dad gave her SENIOR SUPERLATIVE(s): class clown, life of the party, best smile CURRENT QUOTE(s): “the feminine urge to enter a hell of my own making” “who the fuck decided to call it emotional baggage and not griefcase?” TV PARALLELS: Gina ( Brooklyn 99 ), Winston ( New Girl ), Montana ( Do Revenge ), Orla McCool ( Derry Girls ), Sokka ( ATLA ), Ruthie ( Shrill ), Willie Jack ( Reservation Dogs ), Guillermo ( What We do in the Shadows ), Sperncer Shay ( iCarly ) TROPES: Allergic to Routine, Annoying Laugh, The Chew Toy, Cloudcuckoolander, Cool Loser, Crouching Moron Hidden Badass, Deadpan Snarker, Endearingly Dorky, Erudite Stoner, I Just Wanna Be Special, Jack of All Stats, Kaleidoscope Hair, Once Done Never Forgotten, Sad Clown

SECONDLY, A LIGHT OUTLINE

✧ No one would really admit it, but Leonora was that baby that married couples have when they’re on the brink of divorce— she was meant to fix George and Odessa’s failing relationship but the novelty of a new baby faded soon enough as her parents returned to their old routine, the new baby falling to the wayside. 

✧ Even so, they’d never gotten around to the divorce. Babies are like monkey’s paws in that way and neither one of them wanted to go through with a divorce when they’d gone and had another baby to care for. Through the mess of their marriage, they loved each other still, and those legals proceedings would only be inconvenient.  

✧ After his paternity leave had come and gone, George went back to working his long hours in the Sheriff’s office and Odessa was left home with a toddler and a newborn. She’d spend all day feeling alone at home, tending to the home and her kids; trying and failing to rekindle the love they’d cultivated in their adolescence.  

✧ While Leonora and her older brother were babbling little ones then, kids can still sense these things. Leo was a fussy girl herself, and she’d always demanded more attention than her mother was willing to give. Once she’d started crawling, her mother set her down in a little corral and left her to her own devices. 

✧ Most of her infancy was spent that way, her mother holding her at arms length as she reached out to her. George was a little better, though his own love came in bursts and then fizzled out entirely— he’d never had much energy when he came home, and most of the time he’d set her on his chest and doze off. 

✧ Toddlerhood was a little easier on Leo, if only because she’d had access to other forms of distraction ( unfortunately for her mother, these were messy ). She’d started painting around this time, though it’s something all kids do, right? Must be the same with the colorful handprints all over the walls which pissed her mom off to no end.

✧ Life teaches Leo to be loud and messy— those are the most surefire ways to get her mother’s attention: throwing food at her brother, running a crayon along the surface of the fridge. Anything to get her parents’ attention, though hindsight would say these acts only pushed her mother further away than before. 

✧ By the time Leo and her brother are in elementary school, Odessa’s thinking of joining the workforce. Desperate for anything that will get her out of the house, she applies for a waitressing job at Marie’s. The pay is minimal but the work fills whatever hole in her heart George has left. She needed this.

✧ It’s obvious then why she turned out the way she did: needy, nosy, annoying and whatever else the other kids would call her during her childhood. Leo hadn’t learned how to separate the good press from the bad; so long as someone was looking at her she’d felt like a sunflower facing the sun, and that would be her undoing in the end. 

✧ Puberty hits a girl like a ton of bricks then and it only gets worse. At home she’d had no audience save her brother and he’s gone and tired of her shit. He was hanging out with his own group of friends and she’d grown ungrateful of the ones that had allowed her in their own circle; she’d go and ruin them soon enough.

✧ One risky dare starts it all and then she’s flying higher and higher towards the sun in one massive Icarian feat before the wax on her wings start melting. Icarus’ own father warned him about his recklessness, and her own had gone and put her in handcuffs. When she’s high as a kite, she thinks about how tragically poetic that is.

✧ Fuck up first, apologize later is all fun and games until you’ve gone and burned all your bridges. Leonora now exists in a limbo of her own creation, not knowing how to move forward though everything she’s done keeps her from turning back. ‘I’m sorry’ seems meaningless at the end of the line, but what else is new.

✦ keeping myself from adding more so we can fill in the gaps together? ✦

THIRDLY, SOME HCS

Leo wasn’t diagnosed with ADHD until the latter years of Middle School; while she knows this is due in part to the socialization of girls and all of that, it digs the ‘your parents really went and overlooked you’ knife a little deeper.

The first time she ever put ink on her skin, it was because of a dare ( go figure ). Leonora could choose whatever design she wanted so long as the ink went on her lower back; the pain of getting her tramp stamped nearly killed her.

If memory serves her well, Leo first bleached her hair the day before the first of high school. She’d thought to make it subtle to keep her mom from freaking out, but once it was said and done she didn’t even try to hide it.

Foster Home for Imaginary Friends was one of those things that stuck with her in her childhood, so when her grandfather gifted her a red doberman, Leonora was quick to name the little guy Blooregard Q. Kazoo ( Bloo for short ).

She feels ridiculously lonely all the time, and her therapist tells her that it’s directly correlated to the reckless behavior of her youth. Leonora doesn’t necessarily think correlation equals causation, but the man might be right. 

One such bit of reckless behavior had her piercing one nipple on a dare, another had her biting into some shellfish she was allergic to ( leading to a fun ER night ), and a third had her eating a steak even though she’s vegetarian.

As far as more lasting consequences ( the piercing has since closed, so that doesn’t count ), one small piece of the cartilage on her right ear is missing and she has one scar running down her calf from these dangerous liaisons. 

Watched a single clip of Euphoria, a zoom-in of some lady’s eye makeup and it's kinda become a whole thing. Leo isn’t going all out with it or anything, but she can’t stop herself from sticking those little diamonds underneath her eyes.

As far as cliche artsy things go, she’s lugging around a sage green kanken decked in patches and pins, filled with hb pencils, an overfilled sketchbook, an empty one, and two toiletry bags because you can never be too prepared. 

Has a replica of Sam’s iCarly remote, which is basically her soundboard. She’s got it programmed with her favorite bites but switches some of the other ones out depending on the season ( and she’s got terrible comedic timing ). 

Follow-up for the iCarly remote, she’s got two specific sounds on lock: a slow clap ( because obviously ) and the sound of the world’s smallest violin from that one episode of Spongebob. The other stuff on rotation is mostly from TikTok. 

She’s got a membership to the fabric store in town and they know the girl by name; Leo loves all those fashion things but she’s not gonna burn money she doesn’t have so enter a hand-me-down, some fabric and a sewing machine

Also did some tasks for character development! ONE. TWO. THREE. FOUR.

#this got long i'm sorry #apurgintro #* ✶ about— but i'm starting to see

[sanguine-law]

‘X’

[Send ‘X’ to find my muse beaten, bloody, and left for dead.]

Joseph had been taking a stroll around the city in the night. He didn't get the chance to walk the city very often, especially not during the day. So, once he'd gotten off for the day, he'd decided to walk around. And to keep his cover, due to a certain visitor, he kept his form as the judge.

He'd heard the flutter of wings before long. And he heard them dive. This was far from the first time he'd been shadowed by a young vampire. They always thought him such easy prey.

So when they dove down, he just had to lean to the side. They barely got their jaws on his shoulder. Joseph slammed his fist into their face. They screamed at the burn of his silver ring.

"Insolence," Joseph muttered. He dusted off his robes. New vampires, such pompous things.

Most of them fled after such a reaction. So when this when launched at him again, Joseph was caught on his heels. Their claws gripped his shoulders, stabbing through his cloak and drawing blood. He barely managed to keep them from biting his neck.

But the young vampire overpowered him, forcing Joseph to the ground. Hitting the cold sidewalk stung. They pinned his shoulders down.

"It's no use," the young vampire snarled. "No one can help you. You'll be my slave one way or another, witch."

He glared at the young vampire, and spat in their face. "I don't need help." Joseph grabbed their throat, and they shrieked again. They let go of his shoulders to claw at his hand. He used that to shove them off.

Joseph got to his feet and took a step back. "You're arrogant, you can't tell a witch from a human."

The young vampire whined and clutched their throat as they stood back up. Joseph braced himself for them to jump at him again.

So the noise beside him caught him off guard.

Pain in rippled through his right arm. He glanced over. Thorny vines had broken up from the pavement and ensnared it. Magic. They'd cast magic this time. Joseph tried to pull his arm free. The thorns only dug deeper in.

Another thorny vine burst up and snagged his left leg. It dug through his flesh and yanked him down. A third crawled up and wrapped around his stomach. Joseph cursed his inability to use vampire magic in his form.

The vampire stepped over. Joseph looked down and reached into his coat with his left.

A hand forced him to look back up. He snarled.

"You're the arrogant one. Thinking I can't tell what you are," they growled back. The vines tightened. Joseph felt a hot agony in his leg as he heard a snap. "You'll be me slave, or a trophy!"

They leaned down to bite his neck.

Joseph pulled something out of his pocket. A little golden snake crawled around his hand. It shined, and a hilt appeared in Joseph's palm. The snake crawled onto it, and the sword's blade materialized with a golden glow.

He felt the vampire's fangs pierce his skin. It stung for only a moment. What would normally be a pleasant numbness now felt hollow. Joseph glared, and ran the blade through the creature's stomach.

They choked and tensed.

Through gritted teeth, "I would sooner kill us both than be your slave."

The young vampire choked in response. They let go of his neck, causing blood to pour out, and gripped their gut. They swayed.

And then they fell back. Blood splattered on the ground. They clutched their side tighter, a black mist covering the injury. They pulled themselves back. Joseph slashed at them, but missed.

The young vampire pushed themselves up, and flew off toward a different city.

Joseph placed the bloody edge of his sword on the ground and used it as support. He felt himself sway. His ears rang a little. He wouldn't be able to slice the vines up like this.

He concentrated as best as he could. It took a moment, but he could reach the rest of his magic.

A gold light surrounded the center of each vine. A moment passed. There was a pop as the magic ignited, and then they snapped off. Joseph at least wouldn't be confined to this spot.

Then he heard something. Someone else was here? He looked up with a stern, "Who's there?!"

#violence #blood #judge #this got long i'm sorry

[14dayswithyou]

💖 Day 3.5 is now available! 💖

For the last couple of months, only Server Boosters had access to the 3.5 update... Buuuuut now it's available for everyone to play in the 14DWY Discord — and soon itch.io once I'm happy with the QA and state of the game — so please don't feel pressured to join unless you want to!!

The full devlog + even more screenshots are under the cut ^^

What's been added to the 3.5 version?

📺 Streamer Mode!

I've been told that it's difficult to stream and monetise age-restricted videos on YouTube and Twitch, so I added an option to remove the sexual content and strong language used in the demo.

Now y'all can invite Ren into your bed for cuddles without putting your streamer career on the line /silly /lh

This won't affect the 18+ rating or dark themes/elements of the game, however! Although Streamer Mode will prevent you from seeing any "gruesome" CGs in the future, most of the core elements of the game will still be tied to the choices and decisions you make. So you won't miss out on the overall experience by using streamer mode!!

⚙️ Custom Pronouns!

It only took me one entire year to get around to it, but you can finally choose your own preferred pronouns (or use a set of pronouns instead)... At the cost of being able to change them mid-game ^^;

Since the original pronoun screen wouldn't update until a new scene was displayed, I temporarily disabled the feature. But once I find a workaround, I'll bring it back!

💗 Choose how others perceive you!

You can now choose how the cast and narration perceive you! Originally, the narration was kept strictly gender-neutral (outside of pronouns and genitalia picked by the player), but this will soon change in future updates.

For more clarity: you don't get to choose the words specifically, but you can choose between masculine, feminine, and androgynous terms!

📋 Separate top and bottom genitalia!

You can now choose your tatas and pps separately! >:3

Alongside that, you can also choose your preferred body type!

I removed the "both" genitalia option because a few players still assumed it was an obscure version of "intersex". That wasn't my intention and I don't want to mislead anyone, so I took it out for now ^^;

I also didn't want to include a screenshot of the new genitalia choices in action (because it's NSFW), so y'all get the same character menu screen for the nth time instead lmao

📱 Relationship Screen Overhaul!

You can now change your own status for more immersion, and long-term Server Boosters will eventually be able to submit and use their own icon within the game as well!

Stalking finding your friends has now become easier by using "Buddy Maps"; a new app that allows you to see the location of all the cast members!

I want to offer players more incentive to check the relationship screen since they tend to miss the status updates, so hopefully this might help ;v;

It also says it "updates every few hours" so folks don't go overboard and check every 5 seconds to see where Ren is gdsghf (also keep in mind that he's a hacker lol)

🖤 Additional Scenes Update!

Day 2 received a brand new CG!!!!! Originally, I planned on only adding a few CGs sporadically throughout the game, but it didn't feel right to leave Day 2 so... empty... so I added a brand new CG to (hopefully) make things feel more balanced and natural!

If you decline Teo's offer on Day 3, Leon will now call and try to convince you to reconsider. However, players are still allowed to decline, and if they do, they'll reach a dead end.

After listening to feedback on itch, I changed some of the dialogue during Days 1-3 to make it seem more consistent! They're only small changes though, so it's honestly not worth looking for sdgjssga

🎶 Updated BGM and SFX!

I wanted to try out a different style of music to see if it fits the vibe of 14DWY more! The BGM features more acoustics to suit the "beachy" theme of Corland Bay, though I made a conscious effort to include piano elements as well to stay true to the original!!

I figured it'd be better to give players a live example before I make a poll (to see if they prefer the change or not) and publish it to Itch.

Some new SFX have also been added, though it's very minimal and honestly not that noticeable.

How to download and play the update?

(warning: clicking on the following links will open Discord!!) To download the Day 3.5 update, simply join the 14DWY Discord server, verify your age, and visit the "14dwy-updates" channel!

Alternatively, you can also wait until the update is publicly released on Itch to play it as well!! (It normally gets released shortly after a round of QA testing/getting feedback from the server, though I may release it earlier if I feel like it hehe ^^)

Enjoy!!

#14 days with you #14dwy #💖 — 14 days with queue. #🖤 — updates. #🖤 — spoilers. #I'm not gonna say much about my current doxxing situation because I've got it under control now + it's being handled privately #Plus I don't wanna give it/the people involved any unnecessary attention. I just wanna announce the update and Get Back To It™️ #(''it'' bein the grind 💪 It never stops lmao /silly) #OG followers will also know that these topics aren't the vibe I normally have on this blog (or any of my accounts); so I don't think I'll— #—make ANOTHER public post about the situation and bring more attention to it (when I just want everything to be over and put to rest ^^;) #However I also don't want people to think that I'm... ignoring?? the situation entirely (because gettin doxxed is a very endangering thing) #So I DO want to quickly acknowledge it here and say that it's all currently handled + I'm safe and okay + this won't stop me from— #—continuing to work on 14DWY (and other future projects). I also don't want to give these awful people more power and incentive to continue #—this kind of pathetic behaviour; so the less attention and encouragement being shown will ultimately be better in the long run :3 #Aaaaaanways!! 😮‍💨 #My other accounts will be restored shortly and my askbox will be opened once I feel comfortable. I'll get around to following folks— #—again in my own time; so please don't feel offended if I unfollowed you during a moment of vulnerability and anxiety!! #This is all EXTREMELY overwhelming and scary for someone with SAD/AvPD; and I /gen can't handle seeing it all over my timeline ;v; #Sorry this got ranty and personal again hjdsgjsdh T_T I said I wouldn't say much; so I'll shut up now hehe #🖤 — shut up sai.

[vaguely-concerned]

can't believe garak went from 'hope you have fun following my little breadcrumb trail of maybe-truths doctor it builds character ;)' at the beginning of the show to '*sigh* fuck it here's the whole loaf. the entire fucked up bakery of my soul. if you somehow still wanna have sex with me after this you know where I am, yours in infinite longing etc.' in a stitch in time. has anyone ever been so pathetically horrifically enduringly down bad as garak is for julian (laudatory)

#that's some real lodestar simp stuff you've got going on garak and I'm so happy for you/sorry . I guess that's the thing about love #garashir #elim garak #star trek #star trek ds9 #ds9 #I take the same approach to 'a stitch in time' that I do to deacon's final story in fallout 4 -- I'm agnostic on if ALL details are true #but overall it's certainly *emotionally* truer than even the truth could be sort of situation. genuinely emotionally intimate finally. #which I think is the more important part #and part of that is being weapons grade longing material fjdskjafsa. off the pining scale.

[flowercrowngods]

who did this to you. part 2

🤍🌷 read part 1 here pre-s4, steve whump, protective (but scared) eddie

This is not happening. None of this is happening, he’s… He’s dreaming. He’s high. High as a kite somewhere where reality doesn’t matter, where it can’t fucking reach him and he’s— He’s not panicking behind the wheel with Steve Fucking Harrington bleeding against the passenger side window. 

It’s not happening. 

Because if it were happening, Eddie would simply throw up. He’d leave his van on the side of the road and run the fuck away. Away from Harrington and his trouble, away from his rattling breath that’s so loud and unsteady, Eddie doesn’t even dare to turn on any sort of music, even though he’s itching for it, his hands clenching and unclenching around the wheel until his knuckles go white. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” he mumbles under his breath, barely aware of his surroundings at all, his eyes flitting from Harrington to the red stain against the window, back to the road and then down to the white-knuckled grip and the speckles of dried blood that is decidedly not his. 

Lost in his panic and disbelief, Eddie almost runs a red light. 

It’s harsh, the way he hits the brakes, and the sound Harrington makes is pathetic enough that Eddie feels like maybe this might actually be happening. 

“Sorry,” he breathes, his voice no better than Steve’s — and he’s not the one with a concussion, a broken rib, and that… fucking fear. Of something. Or someone. 

Who’s hurting you, Steve? 

Jus’ everyone, sometimes. God you don’t… You don’t even know.

He doesn’t even know. He doesn’t wanna know. All he wants is for Harrington to stop fucking bleeding, to keep his eyes wide open and— 

“Ed,” the boy says, wheezes, and it sounds like he wanted to say his full name, but had to swallow first. Blood, Eddie thinks. Don’t let it be blood. “Think I’m… ‘M gonna throw up.” 

“Please don’t throw up,” Eddie says before he can stop himself, hating how small his voice sounds, how urgent — like that’s the thing to be urgent about. God, he’s such an ass, but he… If Harrington throws up, Eddie will lose it. He knows he will. 

He chances a glance over at Steve, who has somehow managed to get his right arm tangled with the handle at the door, keeping himself upright and safe from Eddie’s rather frantic driving style. His head is drooping, moving this way and that against the red-stained glass, and he blinks unseeingly as blood begins to trickle down from his nose and temple again. 

He’s making himself small, and Eddie wants to pull him upright and tell him to stay like that, tell him to stop looking so terrible, so horrible, so… 

So much like Eddie’s fucking problem. 

He hates it. Hates everything about that vision. Boys like Harrington shouldn’t look like this, shouldn’t hold themselves like this, shouldn’t… Shouldn’t have no one but Eddie to take them somewhere safe. 

It’s just not tight. 

“Don’ wanna throw up,” Steve says at last, the pause too long for Eddie’s liking, and he sounds so solemn about it, yet so helpless, and Eddie kinda wants to scream. Wants Harrington to scream. Anything to stay awake and maybe not ruin his car. Anything to not fucking die in it. 

“Tell me something,” he says then, because he knows he has to keep Harrington awake and speaking. Just for another ten, fifteen minutes, he tells himself. “Anything, yeah? Tell me anything. Gotta keep you awake there, you hear me? Sounds great, right, staying awake?” 

He’s rambling and he knows it, desperation shining through his words and the god-awful way his voice breaks a little. This is not about him, he knows it isn’t, but still he wants to punch himself, wants to pinch himself and stay fucking calm. 

But who could stay calm in a situation like this? The silence is filled with the horrible wheezing and rattling of Harrington’s breath barely audible over the engine, and Eddie has to look over several times to make sure he’s still there, still with him, still alive. His panic spikes each time. 

He’s just about to reach over and shake him a little, snap in front of his face to get him back, when—

“I don’t know what.” 

It’s quiet, that voice, breathy and tiny and almost invisible, and Eddie wants to scream again. 

Tell me why you’re so scared. Tell me why your old buddy did this to you. Hagan would never touch you, so why did he now? Tell me what happened to Hargrove. Tell me why you sound so fucking small. 

“Tell me about your…” He fumbles for a moment, taking a sharp left and pretending not to hear the choked-off whimper. Focusing on good things. On normal things. “Your favourite person.” 

Eddie cringes at himself the moment the words leave his mouth. Your favourite person? Really, Munson? He scrambles to find something better, something cooler, or maybe something easier like asking his favourite fucking colour, but the overthinking really doesn’t mix well with the already panicked state of his mind. And Eddie just blanks. 

Beside him, though, Harrington sits up a little straighter, smearing more blood against his window in the process that Eddie pretends not to feel nauseous about. 

God, he never did like blood. 

“You wan’ me to tell you ‘bout Rob?” 

“Sure, yeah,” Eddie says, a little too loud, a little too shrill, actually running a red light this time because he doesn’t want to brake again and hurt the boy some more. There’s no one around anyway. This is Hawkins. Fucking dead-end of a town. It doesn’t need red lights, or boys who look like Harrington. “Rob. Tell me ‘bout him, what’s he like? Favourite colour, all that shit.” 

“Her.” 

Eddie blinks, looking over to find Harrington looking at him — or trying to, his eyes still drooping and empty. But it’s a good sign. People don’t die when they look at you, right? 

“What?” 

“Her,” Harrington says again. “An’ blue. Deep ‘n’ dark blue. She’ll say something corny when, when you ask her, jus’ to fuck with you. Sunset gold or rose, jus’ to mess with… But is blue.”

Eddie doesn’t really listen, doesn’t really process what Steve is saying, already thinking of the next question just to keep him talking. But then he continues on his own. 

“Mornin’ blue dep— de… makes her sad, though. So only dark blue. Says it’s why we’re friends. You’re so blue, Stevie. Got half’a my clothes, still, she does. All the blues.” 

That's... really fucking endearing, actually. 

And he says it with a half-smile, too, bloody and pathetic as it is. Like it’s a secret that only the two of them are in on, only Steve and Robin. It’s kind of sweet. 

Not for the first time today does Eddie find himself wondering, Who the hell are you, Steve Harrington?

He exhales through his nose, ignoring the way he’s started to shake with all that panic that’s been sitting inside him for a little too long now with no way to let it out. 

“Not much longer,” he mumbles under his breath again, or maybe he just thinks very hard. Maybe he doesn’t know where he is at all. It’s like he blanks every few seconds, too busy thinking and trying not to.

Before he can tell Harrington to talk some more about that girlfriend of his, there’s a pained, confused little whine that forcefully tears Eddie’s eyes from the street for a moment only to meet hazel eyes widened in confusion. 

“Wh— Where… Where’re we going?” 

Oh no. 

“Why’m I in y—“ 

“You’re safe,” Eddie interrupts him, speaking slowly because suddenly his tongue is too big for his mouth, and not entirely sure if he’s reassuring Harrington or himself. “You’re hurt, okay? It’s bad, but it wasn’t me. I’m taking you to… to someone. My uncle Wayne, he’s— He knows about that kinda stuff. You were telling me about Rob. Remember her, Blue? How about you tell me some more, hm?” 

Eddie’s voice is unsteady with worry and fear and panic, and he’s doing a piss-poor job at hiding it. The thing is, he’s going to cry. He’s actually, absolutely, no-doubt-about-it going to scream and cry and punch a fucking hole into something when this day is over, when his van is no longer bloody, and when Steve Harrington won’t have reason to look at him any longer. 

Oh, how he wants to skip forward. Past the nausea, past the fear, past everything that’s happening right now. Maybe past the insomnia that will come with a day like this, too. 

Past all of it. 

Or better yet, travel back in time and never get to that fucking boat house. 

But he can’t. So he breathes. 

At first, through the ringing in his ears and the racing of his own heart so loud and so forceful he’s shaking with it, he worries that Steve’s gone silent again, that he’s gonna ask again, ask what happened, ask where he is, ask all the questions that make Eddie feel like he’s been doused in ice water because they’re questions that only get asked in stupid movies where terrible things happen to people. 

But then he hears him mumbling something. Numbers. 

“What’cha mumbling there, Blue?” 

“‘S her number,” Steve says, his voice slurring again, worse than before, and Eddie hits the gas a little harder. “‘S jus’ her number. Robbie’s number.” 

And he mumbles again. Over and over and over, until Eddie couldn’t forget it if he wanted to, ingrained into the frayed edges of his mind now. 

He lets him ramble, lets him repeat the number until the words slur together and he can’t separate a four from a nine anymore. Each time Harrington hesitates, each time he stumbles over the words or forgets a digit, Eddie wants to punch the wheel. 

He doesn’t. He only grips it tighter and counts down the turns he takes, the streets he passes, the fucking trees that are familiar, before, finally, the trailer park comes into view. 

The sob Eddie lets out when, with shaking, trembling hands he pulls up to his home to find his uncle having a smoke outside is deafening to his ears after the quiet weakness of Harrington’s voice. 

It startles him, makes him stop his rambles and sit up straighter when Eddie finally kills the engine. For a moment, without the steady, rolling hum, the car is filled with the small, tiny whines Steve makes on each exhale. Like it hurts to even breathe. 

“Wha’s wrong?” He asks, but Eddie can’t really hear him. Can’t turn to him, can’t— “Eddie?” 

He’s out of the car before he can take hold of another thought, stumbling out of his open door on legs that feel numb and heavy. The urge to cry is back again, the burning in his eyes only getting worse when Wayne takes in the dried blood on his clothes and hands with careful, calculated worry.

“Ed?” 

“I didn’t know what— where—- I’m… Wayne, I’m sorry.” 

“Slow down, kid,” Wayne says, raising his hands as if to calm a spooked deer. Like Eddie is the one who needs his help. And he is. He really, really is, and he shouldn’t be, because this isn’t about him, but—

Wayne grabs him by the shoulders to keep him still, and only now does Eddie realise he’s shaking again, restlessly moving his weight from one leg to the other. His uncle steadies him, gently pressing down on his shoulders to ground him, and Eddie nearly sobs again. 

“Ed. Are you in trouble?” 

“No,” Eddie scrambles to say, becoming aware of what this looks like, hiding his hands behind his back on instinct, like that’ll make Harrington’s blood disappear. “‘S not my blood, I didn’t do anything, I swear! I swear. It’s, uh. I just found him. In the boathouse, I found him, and he was… God, he looked so bad, okay, but he didn’t want the hospital, and he was, like, so scared of something, and we don’t even talk, we don’t even look at each other, but I just… I didn’t know what to do, and you know something about concussions and people who were beat to shit and, again, I’m—“ 

“Eddie,” Wayne says, his voice so calm but so assertive that Eddie shuts up immediately, gladly handing over to controls to his uncle now. “Who’s the kid?” 

He nods towards Eddie’s van, where Harrington looks to be halfway unbuckled, but his eyes are closed and his face smushed against the door again, like he just gave up.  

“Shit,” Eddie says, adrenaline and panic slowly falling from him with Wayne’s hand on his shoulder. He sags into his uncle and rubs at his face. “It’s Steve. Uh, Steve Harrington, I mean.” 

“Okay,” Wayne says, and he’s so calm. So calm. Eddie feels like he’s about to fall apart, and Wayne is the only one keeping him together, with that’d steady, warm hand on his shoulder. “And you promise me he didn’t give you trouble? Or anyone else who’ll come finish what they started?” 

Eddie shakes his head profusely, getting a little dizzy with it. “I promise I’m not in trouble. He said Hagan did this to him, was alone when I found him. No trouble, Wayne, I swear, I’m not like that, you know I’m not.”

“Okay,” Wayne says again, and Eddie wants to weep. “I know you’re not like that, but some people are, y’know? You did good, son. You did good. Now help me get him out of that car.” 

It takes his uncle tugging him towards the van for Eddie to kick back into motion, nearly falling over his feet turning back around. It’s only Wayne’s “Easy” murmured under his breath that keeps the ground from opening up and swallowing him whole. 

He climbs in on the driver’s side while Wayne rounds the car and gets to Harrington’s side. 

“Hey there, Blue,” Eddie says, his voice shaking and the nickname slipping again — but it’s easier to call him that than his real name, it’s easier to pretend it’s literally anyone else in here with him, bleeding against his door. 

It’s easier to pretend it’s not Harrington’s breath rattling the way it does, easier to pretend those pained groans so high in their cadence they can only count as whines don’t come from Hawkins High’s Golden Boy who graduated a few months ago and was supposed to be done with bullshit like this. 

“Come on, up you get,” he tells him, not daring to raise his voice too much. 

He looks so frail. Like he’s already broken. Or like he’s trying not to. Like he’s holding on. 

Eddie pretends not to think that the hand he places on Steve’s cheek to gently pry him from the window is not the only thing keeping that boy together right now. 

Harrington groans, whines, wheezes, but opens his eyes to meet Eddie’s. Jesus, we’re they this blown before? Or this swollen?

“Hey,” Eddie says, just to say something. Just so he won’t have to hold the boy’s face in silence, just so he won’t have to focus on all the blood. Just so he won’t have to hear more questions that people aren’t supposed to ask. 

Steve opens his mouth, his breath coming out a little sharper, like he wants to say Hi rather than Where am I? or When will it stop hurting? Like he wants to say How can I help you help me? 

Somehow, Eddie manages a smile. 

Wayne chooses that moment to open the door — just unclicking it, not pulling yet; giving Eddie enough time to support Harrington, make sure he doesn’t fall.

“Careful,” he whispers, though whether it’s for Wayne, for Steve, or for himself, he can’t quite tell. Maybe it’s a plea to the rest of the world, and to anyone else who will listen. 

Steve is still staring at him. That’s probably not a good sign. He leans back a little, turning Steve’s head to make him follow him. Slowly, of course. Gently. Eddie can’t remember ever having touched something like it was going to break if only he looked at it wrong, but somehow he’s hyper-aware of it now. 

Because Harrington is staring at him. Entirely too still, like he has no strength, no coordination to do anything but stare. And yet Eddie is the one who, now that the adrenaline has fallen from him, now that he can let someone else take over, now that Harrington doesn’t need him anymore, finds himself unable to look away. 

Because Steve is just a boy. And so is Eddie, who can feel Steve’s breath against his wrist. And maybe, out of the two of them, Eddie is the fragile one. The one about to break. 

“Blue, you with me?”

Steve nods. Doesn’t speak again. Doesn’t move. Eddie swallows, briefly looking back down at Wayne to see if he’s ready. His uncle nods, ready to catch Harrington should he go down, and Eddie turns back to the boy who’s smeared with his own blood.

“I’m gonna take off your seatbelt now, yeah?” he tells him, not entirely recognising his voice anymore. “That man out there, that is Wayne. My uncle. He’s safe. He’ll take care of you, okay?” 

“Safe,” Steve breathes, and that shouldn’t be the one thing he focuses on. It shouldn’t sound so unsure. So insecure. So hopeful, so relieved, so— Fucking earnest. 

Swallowing all these thoughts, all this desperation and all those questions, Eddie reaches over Steve, one hand still supporting his head and feeling the overheated skin of Harrington’s cheek against his palm, the hint of stubble and the crust of dried blood. As if in slow motion, not daring to make a wrong move and hurt him more than he already does, Eddie frees him the rest of the way, letting the seatbelt slide into its hold behind his shoulder. 

“Careful,” he says again, just to say anything, but he is careful, and his hold on Steve is steady. 

“‘M careful. Not gonna break, Eddie.” 

“I know.” But maybe I will. 

“Good. ‘Cause… Don’ wanna break.” 

Eddie smiles, despite everything. “You’re not gonna break, Blue. Wayne’ll catch you.” 

Harrington loses his focus then, his eyes glazing over, but the small smile on his lips widens. “Blue. ‘S nice.” 

Yeah, Eddie thinks. He kinda is. 

Somehow, miraculously, they get Harrington out of the van and into the trailer. He throws up halfway to the doorstep, and Eddie curses under his breath while Wayne talks quietly, asking him yes and no questions that Eddie can’t really hear through the ringing in his ears — a strange mix of fear and relief, a panic not quite over, but soothed by his uncle’s familiar voice; even if it’s not directed at him.

“Don’t worry about it, kid, the next rain’ll take care of that. Stop apologising.” 

It throws him then, rather suddenly and violently, watching Wayne supporting Harrington, watching the blood smeared boy with the swelling, angry red bruises in his face. Somehow it’s different, seeing him in his home. 

This was always a safe space. Always void of everything terrible. 

And now there’s a broken boy on his doorstep who’s not Eddie. 

He remembers the fear, the panic, the plea for no hospital, Eddie. Can’t go there.

Why not? You need a doctor—

Monsters. Only monsters there.

It paralyses him and he stays where he is, holding the door with an arm that’s heavy like lead, standing on legs that begin to go numb again. He watches, but not really, as Wayne sits Harrington down on the living room couch, between magazines and brochures and some of Eddie’s calculus notes from last night that he was searching for a sketch of a monster he was so certain he’d drawn in the margins a few weeks back. 

Now there’s blood on his calculus notes. And Eddie is helplessly keeping the door open as though he’s going to run away any second now. Letting in more trouble to join Harrington on his couch. 

He should… He should close the door. Help. Run. Disappear. 

“Ed,” Wayne calls, snapping him out of his stupor. “The first aid kit, please. A bottle of water. A clean, wet cloth. A blanket, too.” 

Wayne talks him through it, takes it one step at a time, has Eddie bring him one after the other like he knows how much he’s keeping his nephew together by keeping him on the brink of usefulness.

Soon, Wayne has everything he needs, taking care of Harrington and his wounds, keeping him awake and talking so much better than Eddie did, even making him smile here and there, hiding his wince when the motion pulls on his split lip or the huffed breath sends a jolt of pain through his rib that Eddie is absolutely certain must be broken with the way he holds himself — with the way he lets Wayne hold him up. 

Wayne is doing his thing and Eddie is hiding, gripping the kitchen counter like a vice, staring both unseeingly and hyper-vigilantly as exhaustion washes over him, dragging him under and draining him of more than adrenaline. He slumps against the cupboard behind him, rubbing at his face like that’ll make it all go away. 

It’s not right. It’s not. This is Eddie’s home, it’s supposed to be safe, it’s not… 

He breaks away, ripping his hands from the counter and all but stumbling outside, heaving a deep breath and giving in to the urge to cry. Tears spring to his eyes and he wipes them away angrily, because it’s dumb, it’s so stupid, it’s absolutely fucking insane that he should be so worked up when Harrington talked about dying earlier. 

These things don’t happen. They don’t! 

“Stop fucking crying,” Eddie grumbles, sniffling and wiping away more tears as he closes his eyes against the afternoon sun. “Get a grip, Munson, Jesus Christ, there’s no reason to cry you big fuckin’ baby.” 

Nobody’s there to contradict him. Nobody’s there to make it worse. So he lets his eyes sting for a while, lets his lips wobble, his jaw clenched shut, the balls of his hands pressing into his eyes, breathing deliberately. 

In. Hold. Out. Hold. 

He doesn’t even scream. Doesn’t punch the still bloody side of his van, doesn’t run into the woods and disappear into the void. 

He simply breathes. Tries not to think about boys dying in mall fires, and even less so about boys beaten and abandoned in boat houses.

Doesn’t think about fucking Hawkins in Bumfuck-Indiana and the cursed way it has, driving its people mad. 

Doesn’t think about, They said my brain is hurt, Eddie. Doesn’t think about the Monsters Harrington mentioned. Doesn’t think about Blue, doesn’t think about I’m tired, Eddie. Don’t wanna hurt anymore. 

Doesn’t think about blue, blue, blue. 

He’s shaking when he comes back inside. He’s shaking when Harrington meets his eyes, looking a little clearer now, the blood washed away and everything bandaged a lot better than Eddie managed. He’a bundled in Eddie’s blanket. It’s wrong. It’s so, so wrong. 

Eddie can’t move, and neither does Steve. 

“Steve,” Wayne says, waiting until those eyes tear themselves away from Eddie and back to him, though Eddie sees them fill with such trepidation, he almost asks what’s wrong. “I won’t hear a no on this, and I won’t let you go home. I’m taking you to the hospital. Especially if you tell me your head was hurt like this before, more times than one.” 

“Three,” Blue breathes, a little dazed still. Not magically healed, not even from Wayne. Another thing that doesn’t feel right. 

“Three times,” Wayne says, nodding, like he’s encouraging Steve to continue. 

“But I don’t want a hospital.” Again with that tiny fucking voice. Like the Monsters are hiding under hospital beds. 

“I know, son,” Wayne sighs, tugging the blanket a little tighter around Steve, and Eddie’s eyes begin to sting again when he notices the tone Wayne uses. When he realises. When he remembers. 

”I want my mom.“ 

”I know, son. But she’s not coming. Your mama is gone, Ed, and this is your home now. Think we can make that work, hm? You and I?” 

Eddie had never felt so lost as he did then, clutching his blanket to his chest, burying his face in the wet fabric even as this man — his uncle — tugs it tighter around him. Like he is fine with Eddie wanting to hide as long as he doesn’t run away. 

He had shrugged, then, even though we wanted to shake his head, tell him no, tell him he wanted his mama. 

”I’m scared, uncle Wayne.” 

And Wayne had smiled a little, and nodded. “Then we do it scared, Eddie.”

Actually, Eddie feels like he never stopped doing it scared. 

And now there is Steve, who Eddie never believed knew what being scared felt like. It’s dumb, of course, because even Harrington is just a boy, but he was always untouchable to Eddie. They never talked. They never existed in the same space together, not in a good way and not in a bad way. Their worlds just never aligned, never collided, never coexisted. 

And now… 

“I’ll tell you what’s going to happen, okay? There’s a doctor, Doctor Clarke. Like— Yeah, like your science teacher, remember him? ‘S got a brother who’s just as much of a genius, and just as kind. He’ll take a look at you, yeah? Make sure your brain isn’t too hurt, clean your wounds, give you something for the pain. He won’t, uh. He won’t hurt you, kid. Whatever’s got you so scared, Dr Clarke will be nice to you. Especially when I’m there with ya, I’m an old pal of his. And I will be. Won’t let you outta my sight until you’re well enough to run away from me, you hear me, kid?” 

Eddie’s hands are hurting, his fingertips raw from where he’s been biting his nails while Wayne talks Blue through what’s going to happen — and he wonders, with the way Steve’s eyes are glued to Wayne, if he ever had anyone talking him through shit like this. 

“Okay,” Harrington breathes at last, still sounding way too small. “But. I’m…” 

“Scared anyway?” Wayne offers. Steve nods. You’re so blue, Stevie. “Then we do it scared anyway.”

And they do. Wayne goes to get the car so Steve won’t have to walk too far, leaving Eddie alone with him for a brief moment. 

He watches, from his place in the kitchen, how Steve’s face falls into a look of utter exhaustion and tiredness; the adrenaline washing from him just the same. Eddie wants to reach out. Wants to say something, break the spell of tension and silence and I know we don’t talk, but I’m glad you’re doing a little better. I’m glad you’ll go see a doctor. I’m glad you haven’t died, I guess. Do you really think you will? Are you really so scared of that? 

But Eddie keeps biting his nails, and Steve keeps his eyes closed, blanket around his shoulders. And they don’t talk. 

“Thank you.” 

Eddie perks up, not entirely sure he didn’t imagine the words — but Harrington moved slightly, his eyes still closed but his face now turned towards Eddie. 

“For, uh. This.” 

“I didn’t do shit, Blue,” Eddie says. “That was all Wayne. All I did was freak out, I promise.” 

Harrington shakes his head, though, slowly. “Mh-mm.” 

Eddie’s mouth snaps shut, because there is no room for discussion here. They don’t talk. And he doesn’t want the bubble to burst with insecurity and sourness. 

“Thank you,” he says again, and he sounds final about it. It makes Eddie wonder what he’s like, really like, when he doesn’t consist of pain and nausea and disorientation. 

He has a feeling that, despite everything, despite Monsters under hospital beds and torture in boathouses and mall fires that kill teenagers, Blue Harrington might be someone good to talk to. Compassionate as shit, even when all he wants to do is pass out. 

“You’re welcome,” Eddie rasps, pretending that his eyes don’t sting.

He wraps his arms around his chest like he’s hugging himself, or like he’s holding himself back. From reaching out, from asking, from telling, from talking. 

Unwittingly, even with his eyes closed, Steve mirrors him, and Eddie wonders if he, too, it holding himself back, or just curling in on himself some more even though it must hurt, feeling so small. 

Maybe that’s what fear of death does to a nineteen year-old. It’s so fucked up. Eddie wants to scream again. 

Outside, he hears a car door fall shut just before Wayne reappears in the door, giving Eddie some kind of meaningful look that he wouldn’t mind deciphering on any other day, but today he fears he needs words. 

“I don’t know how long this’ll take. Will you be okay, Ed?” 

“Will I be— Yes! I’m not the one with the concussion, man, of course I’ll be—“ 

It’s a bluff, comes too fast, and Wayne sees right through it before Eddie even realises it, and he steps closer. A warm hand on his shoulder. His eyes stinging again. 

“You did good, kid. Everything will be fine. But it might take a while. It’s fine if you need to go somewhere, just… Don’t drive. Call Jeff if you need someone, just. Don’t do anything stupid. And don’t get behind the wheel. Deal?” 

Eddie swallows hard, hit by another desperate, aching wave of I wanna go back in time and skip this day. A wave of tired exhaustion and wondering, aimlessly, just who the fuck Steve Harrington really is. 

“Deal,” he says, and Wayne pulls him into a hug. 

Eddie follows them outside then, trailing behind them like a lost little puppy, helping Harrington into Wayne’s car. His movements are still slugged and a little disoriented, so Eddie decides to lean in again and fasten his seatbelt. 

“Careful,” he mumbles, allowing the boy a moment’s warning, a moment to adjust before the weight settles on his chest. 

Dejá-vù hits him and makes him pause, with Harrington staring at him again. 

“I’m careful,” he says, the corners of his mouth tugging into a little smile.

More lucid than earlier, and Eddie thinks it that which takes his breath away for a moment. 

“Not gonna break, Eddie.” 

“I know,” he says, still not moving back, instead reaching up to tighten the blanket around his shoulders even though the seatbelt is already there to hold it in place. “You’re not gonna break, Blue.” 

The smile on those lips is genuine now, gentle enough to not be ruined by the blood crusting them. 

“Thanks. Again.” And then, when Eddie finally pulls away to close the door and tell Wayne to drive safely, “I really do like that name.”

It soothes the urge to scream.

Eddie closes the door as gently as he can — which isn’t much, because the car is old and not exactly smooth. 

“I’ll see you later,” he tells Wayne. Promises. To stay out of trouble, to stick around, to not run away for a while again, to stay out of his car. 

Wayne nods, a faint smile on his lips. 

“Later, Ed.” 

And then they’re gone, and Eddie is untethered again. Wonders, for a few seconds every now and then if it really happened, if this is real. 

But it did. And it is. 

And after sitting on the steps for a while, having a smoke and staring at where Wayne’s car disappeared ten, twenty, forty minutes ago, Eddie heads inside. 

He has a phone call to make.

🤍🌷 tagging: @theshippirate22 @mentallyundone @ledleaf @imfinereallyy @itsall-taken @simply-shin @romanticdestruction @temptingfatetakingnames @stevesbipanic @steddie-island @estrellami-1 @jackiemonroe5512 @emofratboy @writing-kiki @steviesummer @devondespresso @swimmingbirdrunningrock @dodger-chan @tellatoast @inkjette @weirdandabsurd42 (a thousand percent sure i missed some but oh well such is the 3am disease)

addendum 22 jan 24: onwards to part 3

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington whump #this is so long i am SORRY #i hope tagging y'all was okay (and equally i'm hoping i missed nobody but also it is 3am) #who did this to you #most of y'all will know most of the beginning already maybe i should have split it up but i wanted y'all to have Something New too #and then the Something New got out of hand and oh well :( #dio words

[utterlyazriel]

an eternity, my love

eep! this is a bit longer than the last at just over 6k forgive me... but thank so much for all love on the first piece 🥹 and thank u for all your lovely ideas! i hope this does sum justice to the nonnie who asked for further miscommuncation... <3 part one here but u don’t need to read it to read this :)

How does one even begin to decide what to wear to dinner with a person, the person, who matched your soul perfectly?

When your friend had hunted her way through clothing stores of Velaris and stashed away a custom dress — far fancier than anything you owned — for the first date with her mate, you had laughed at her.

Now, staring at your closet in only your undergarments, you were beginning to envy her preparation.

Seriously, how are you supposed to choose?

You pick up your latest addition to your closet, a glossy dress the colour of red wine that reveals the length of your legs and planes of your collarbones— perfect for a night out dancing.

With a grimace, you place it back on the hanger. It was far more scandalous than you would want to be on a first date, even though — well, you’re sure that, being mates, Azriel would like anything you wore.

You heave a sigh. An uneasy prickle beneath your skin has you crossing your arms; it was almost alarming how badly you wanted to impress him. But… mating bonds were rare and powerful.

Almost as if you had summoned it — in fact, maybe you had — there’s a soft shimmer in your chest. Your beautiful glow, the bridge between you and Azriel humming to life. In a way you can’t explain, it’s as though you can feel him soothe across your mind, his soft touch full of assurances.

He’s comforting you. All your emotions must be shooting down the bond without your permission. Gods, that would take some getting used to. You wonder if he can feel your resounding pang of embarrassment as well.

You do your best to push back something less nervous, more of your excitement for the night to come — and you know, without even seeing him, he’s smiling.

After another moment of fussing, you decide on something simpler than your glossy night dress.

Comfortable black slacks with plenty of flow to them and a shirt you thought was one of your nicer ones. With the slightest touch ups to your makeup, you rush yourself out the door before you convince yourself to change all over again.

The Sidra keeps you company, a rush of water beside you as you wind through the streets of Velaris, eyes flicking up to take in the darkening sky. The sun was sinking below the mountain tops, rays tickling across the ridges.

And while you could admit that Velaris was very beautiful in the daytime, you were a true Night court citizen— and believed its true beauty came out at night.

Somehow, despite the lack of concrete plans made as you had ushered the male out of your office, you knew resolutely that you would be able to find him. You weren’t even worried about the timing of it all. It was… what was the word? Absurd. Insane. Utterly, breathtakingly incredible.

Sure enough, as you exit the alley and round the corner, your eyes falling on the sage green building you reside in for work, there he is; waiting for you.

You inhale a sharp breath. A thousand cells in your body fizz, hum, and glow, at the mere sight of him.

It's easy to understand just how he had garnered his dark reputation, the image of him every bit of the Spymaster of the Night Court — a title like Shadowsinger has never been so fitting for him.

He’s blurred at the edges, a thousand tiny wisps that blend him into the shadows of the nighttime. His wings stretch up behind, towering over his already tall frame, black as ink, and beneath his darkened attire, you can spot his tan skin. Your eyes drag up his neck, tracing his adam's apple, along the scruff of his sharp jaw until you reach his hazel eyes.

Your heart burns.

In the depth of it, you know, if he doesn't love you, he will undo you completely.

It's wholly terrifying to come face to face with — the intensity of the mating bond scorching through your mind like a fierce wind, burning embers left in its wake.

It's enough to make you pause, the definitive thought that doing this, offering him your heart and trusting him, could very well lead to your ruin.

Your chest squeezes tightly. You let your eyes drink in the Illyrian, the Male who waited so patiently for all those years and was prepared to wait years more, if you had asked.

Focusing, you pluck up that golden thread in your chest and hold it tightly. It heats and melts, hotter and hotter, and you know that any fear you have, you can conquer to be with him.

Ruination be damned.

—

Azriel notices you the moment your frame exits the alley, notices the moment you pause — has been able to feel you drawing nearer to him this whole time. Your every emotion is transparent to him through the bond between you, whether you’re aware of it or not.

You must not have the tightened mental shields he had come to be so familiar with over all his years. It makes sense; you are no warrior. Mental walls over your mind are not something you have ever had to concern yourself with.

Azriel vows it to be one of the things he teaches you. You deserved the privacy of your emotions, at the very least.

But... for now, Azriel can feel them all. It's why, as you round the corner, Azriel can feel your eyes on him and then, then he feels it.

The wash of fear that spills over your bond like icy water.

An old enemy rises within him. He grits his teeth, even as he feels the fear from you slide away and he tries to ignore the sting from an unhealed wound. But self-deprecation never seems to drown, no matter how much he tries to suffocate it within him.

He shifts his hands, relieved suddenly to have them covered up beneath gloves. His wings tuck in tighter, if possible, and he wills his shadows sternly to contain themselves. Something in the slightest baring of his teeth has them obeying. They shoot to his sides and make themselves scarce.

All this in time to greet you pleasantly as you bounce into view, sidling up before him with a shy grin. It's only been a few hours since he got his proper look at you and yet, you're every bit as breathtaking as you were earlier. More so, in fact.

It feels as though Azriel has never seen the sky before and you before him, are the first sunset of his life. You look so pretty that Azriel could probably gaze at you all evening if you so allowed him to.

And then, he remembers the pang of fear.

He doesn't waste time mulling over which detail of him had made you afraid — only that he would dim or change or hide any part of himself to stop it from happening again.

"Hello, again," You say, your lips pressed together to contain your smile. You have to tilt your head back to look up at his handsome face. His shadows swirl around him and despite his strict instructions, one still slips away to touch you.

You don't notice it circling your ankle, tentative and shy.

"Hello, again." Azriel echoes your words, unable to help his own glimmer of joy.

He wants to offer you his arm, his hand. Can feel it within him, down to the very marrow of his bones, the craving to be closer to you, to touch you, however he can.

Azriel swallows heavily and does what he has done over decades, over centuries; he takes the wanting and pushes it down, down, down.

The two of you begin to walk, side by side, with no destination in mind. Aimless and content at the same time.

Azriel doesn't need the bond to see the flittering of nerves hidden in your expression. The shadow still circulating around your ankle climbs higher, like it wants to comfort you too.

Azriel wills it to still, desperate to not scare you again. He drops his shoulders from his usual warrior posture in hopes of making himself a little smaller.

“You don’t need to be nervous.” He says reassuringly.

You steal a glimpse at him, your smile breaking into a grin. Your nerves are still potent but less so.

“Who says I’m nervous?”

Azriel smiles gently, his eyes dancing across your face as he reads your lie easily. “I do."

There's a scrunch between your eyebrows then, like he had seen during his time in your office earlier. Azriel places a hand on his chest, over the place where the glowing tug is strongest.

"I can feel it.”

Your eyes widen slightly as you stare at his gloved hand, the cogs in your brain spinning and turning at a rapid rate. Still strolling, your hand rises slowly and touches to the same spot on your own chest. Azriel can feel his heart stutter at the sight, you holding the spot that connected you to him undeniably.

"You can?" Your gaze lifts to his face, puzzlement adorning your features. You frown and focus for a moment, staring hard into the distance — and Azriel feels a sudden twinge of disgust through the thread.

"Did you feel that?" You ask, eyes wide and curious.

Azriel nods wordlessly and he can't help but ask. "What is it you were thinking of?"

You look embarrassed for a moment, eyes averting to the ground. You chuckle awkwardly and tuck your hair behind your ears, glancing back up at the Male with a sheepish smile.

"Brussels sprouts."

Azriel blinks once, twice, and then has to turn to hide his smile. He tries to cover his laugh with a cough. It doesn't work, given how you make a small noise of indignation. He turns back, his politest expression on.

"Don't laugh at me!" You whine, reaching out to poke him in the shoulder. Your touch radiates through his body like a drop of golden sun, blazing warm.

"You're right," Azriel hums, his lips twitching as he presses back his smile. "My apologies, my lady. This is important knowledge I should be filing away. I swear on my life I will feed you no brussels sprouts this evening, or any in the future."

He wants to nudge your shoulder with his own, just to touch you, wants to reach out as easily as you had. But his shadows slip before his self-control does, skittering out along onto your shoulder and giving you a small shock and Azriel remembers himself. His fists clench tightly at his sides.

You walk side by side all evening, like two planets in orbit — close, oh so close, but never quite touching.

—

The first date you share is nothing short of… wonderful.

Resolutely and overwhelming good, the entire date you can't help but feel as though your very soul is singing, a thousand particles blithesome at the nearness you get to share with Azriel. He's surprising in a manner of ways.

Firstly, he's terribly quiet.

Next to him, you look quite the blabber-mouth, no matter how much he insists he enjoys it. His dark eyes are intense as they watch you closely, soaking in every word that passes your lips, and yet, beneath it, his dry sense of humour comes out to play. There's the occasional tease, almost as if just to see if he could make you flustered. (He could, easily).

With a Male as beautiful as him, suited to your very being in every way, it's nearly unbearable how much you ache for him. How much his very attention creeps down your neck and makes every nerve along your spine tingle.

You know it will take some time to get used to his unwavering and devoted attention.

There’s… just one small, itty-bitty, tiny problem.

He doesn’t touch you.

Throughout that whole first evening, you had noticed it somewhat— a flex in his gloved hands, a moment where his wing strayed too close only to be pulled back in a flash, even his shadows, darting out to be near you but never quite touching you as they had on that first meeting.

His hands reach out but they do not find you.

At first, you believed it was a first date thing. Azriel was, first and foremost, a gentleman, and you thought perhaps, his skirting touch, like his hand lingering over the small of your back but not touching it, was to be polite. Courteous and gracious.

Then, you had seen him just two days after that date, all bundled up in your giddiness that it had managed to slip your mind.

The two of you had spent the day together, traversing through the market — before you quickly found a quieter space for your mate as it became clear that large bustling areas, such as the Palace of Threads and Jewels, were not so suited to his tastes.

As you had tugged him out of the crowd, laughing over your shoulder at how he fought to keep his broad wings from knocking into anyone else, the thought suddenly snapped back into you.

Though you yearned to link his arm with your own, to interlace your fingers with his, you remembered his hesitance. Remembered the hover of his gloved hand.

And so, you dropped his arm the moment you cleared the crowd.

A hurt warbled deep within you to so do and knowing you were not the deftest at schooling your expressions, you hid your face so you could contain your childish reactions. You huffed at your own upset. What matter is it if your mate has no affinity to touch?

Truly, it was a miracle to have found a mate at all, you tried to scold yourself. You would not take him for granted for a moment, not even if it was not quite the picture of perfection you had envisioned.

Rooted deep in you was a truth; you could abide by this, abstain to his level of comfort for years, for millennia, if it made him happier.

The fabric of the mating bond, connecting the two of you intrinsically, made it so you would not want it any other way.

It's a decidedly Azriel thing.

He always wears the gloves, he never touches you more than he has to, and he's got... this really specific look when you're doing a terrible job of hiding your emotions.

As he had vowed, Azriel had set about teaching you how to build the mental walls up within your mind, brick by brick by brick. While it would help you hold against daemati if that loathsome situation should ever arise, it would also shield you from your mate.

It would protect you from having your emotions ripped out for him to see, no matter how much you held back — if it was in your mind, it would travel down the bond.

So, the wall had to be built. It had been tedious, tricky, and tiring work. Yet every time you would feel yourself ready to throw in the towel, Azriel would lean in closer, his hazel eyes softened, and his hand resting upon your arm, thumb swatching up and down, to encourage you.

"I know it is tiresome," He had mused, that faint smile twitching at his lips as you scowled at the ground. His thumb was still moving, still drawing light circles on your bicep. The skin beneath it blazed with warmth. "But it is worth it, that I can promise. You deserve this privacy, my dear. I would never wish to take it from you."

My dear, my dear, my dear— the words had sunk into your sternum and bloomed, bright and golden.

It's enough to hold onto, his kind affections. The sweet shape of his mouth when it says your name. The way his lashes kiss in the corner when he can't hold back his smile.

It's enough to soothe yourself over. To take the lack of touch on the chin and swallow down your desire for more.

It's why— why you can't help yourself— why you couldn't tear your eyes away from Azriel's hand where it touches Cassian's arm.

You're meeting his family today, which you've quickly realised doesn't mean his mother or father but instead means... the literal Highlord of the Night Court.

There are several warriors crowded around the cramped entrance room to the River House. Each of them is taller than you, and two of them with the very same huge wingspans that you've come to revere on your own mate.

Your usual talkativeness has been dimmed in your shock, though, really, it shouldn't be such a surprise. Azriel is a force to be reckoned with, honed over decades, and the Spymaster of the Night Court. You know these things. The company he keeps makes sense.

Somehow... still, seeing them all together leaves you strikingly speechless. The legion that protects your home — a family.

Rhysand greets you first, dapper in his dark attire, his violet eyes equal parts calculating and welcoming as he steps forward and offers his hand.

Despite the fact you have never bowed to him before, you still have to repress the urge. His power is overwhelming, the very night lapping at his edges and you're suddenly very grateful to be meeting him as a friend and not as a foe.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Rhysand's voice purrs out, soft as silk. When you place your hand in his, he brings it to his lips and presses a polite kiss to the back of your hand.

"Any friend of Azriel's is a friend of mine."

You can feel your own heart thundering in your chest. Azriel hovers behind you, his presence soothing in itself. You can't see it but his wings are outstretched towards you, cocooning around you ever so slightly. A shadow hovers behind your shoulder, just out of sight.

"I— the pleasure is mine, my Highlord." You manage to make yourself speak.

You almost wish you hadn't when your words inspire a burst of laughter from one of the others behind Rhysand, the other Illyrian. He's tall, his hair dark but longer than your mate's own.

As your hand is dropped, Rhysand turns to scowl at the Male laughing, and you only grow further perplexed when he gives a whack against the other's shoulder. They begin to squabble for a moment — and you don't even hear Azriel move until he's speaking, his lips right by your ear.

"You'll have to forgive Cassian." His voice is low, raspy in a way that sends a zing down your spine. You shiver lightly. "He can be well-mannered at the best of times. But I promise he isn't laughing at you."

The two Males seem to tune back into Azriel's words, even though they had been whispered for you specifically.

"It's true!" The Illyrian, Cassian you now know, pipes up. He brandishes a devilishly handsome grin at you, with his hands held up in defense. "I apologise. It just still makes me laugh to see someone address this one so formally."

You blink. "But... he is the Highlord."

Azriel speaks again, bent over still to talk in your ear, but much less of a whisper this time. "Rhys is our Highlord but he does not bother with such formalities."

"And," Cassian interjects, lugging a punch into Rhy's shoulder, much like the other had done to him not a moment before. "Before he was the o'mighty Highlord, he was our friend."

Cassian says the word o'mighty with such an air of sarcasm that you can't help but glance at Rhys, sure he wouldn't take such disrespect. But around you, there are only easy grins.

"Might we move to somewhere more comfortable than the doorway," Azriel speaks up from behind you, his voice dry. "Unless that is, you're all hoping to do one-on-one greetings with her?"

There it is, the dry sense of humour you've come to adore. The group before you seems to grumble, as if they were quite keen on the one-on-one meetings but begin to move through the house.

One of the group dips back to walk beside you and you do your best not to repeat your past mistakes, even as your eyes widen almost comically. Azriel chuckles silently to himself, feeling your polite astonishment down the bond.

"It's so great to finally meet you.” Feyre, your Highlady greets you, her pretty face rife with glee. She seems genuinely very happy to make your acquaintance. "Azriel has told me all about you."

You stumble in surprise, your eyes casting back to Azriel behind the pair of you. His eyes are fixed on Feyre, narrowed at her blatant betrayal, his shadows swirling around him. She sticks her tongue out at him playfully and you smother a laugh.

When his eyes shift over to you, you're positively delighted at how his cheeks have turned the lightest shade of ruby.

"Feyre is very persuasive when she wants to be." He murmurs, almost grumbling. You turn back to the Highlady and she grins at you, devious and captivating all at once.

It’s a whirlwind once you reach one of the many living rooms, each member of Azriel’s family all very eager to shake your hand.

Cassian grips it firm, his grin still on the side of wicked as he tells you he’s been waiting years to find the woman who could contain Azriel. Nesta, his mate as you find out, is a fierce kind of pretty with a grip as strong as Cassian’s. She tells you welcome to the family with the smile of a shark.

Morrigon is next, breathtakingly gorgeous, and every bit as charismatic as Azriel had described. You don't catch the glimpse between Mor and Cassian, not the beat of relief they both feel at your arrival in their lives— in Azriel's life.

It's swallowed up in her words, going a mile a minute. She jumps about, like popcorn in a pan, overly keen to finally speak to the one whom the Mother deemed worthy of Azriel’s heart. Where are you from? What do you do? How did you meet?

“Mor,” Azriel warns, after her twelfth consecutive question about your life. He hasn’t moved from his protective position behind you, close enough you can feel the heat of his body. His wings had brushed your shoulder just once.

“Yeah, Mor,” Rhys jeers. He nudges his cousin in the side playfully and Cassian snickers behind the group. “Give the girl some time to breathe.”

Even with all of Azriel's masterclass on who you would be meeting, it's still terribly overwhelming just trying to keep track of them all. They're each such strong spirits, each with seemingly a thousand battles in their past and far more years with Azriel.

On top of this is the fact you met both your Highlord and Highlady so casually in one single afternoon. It's difficult to not be daunted by the group that is so clearly intertwined with each other on a deeper level altogether— bonded by devastation and choosing each other through love.

Try as you might, you can feel the seed of doubt, of insecurity, make a home between your ribs.

You clamp down the shields you've spent the last few weeks learning, building the wall up and holding it tight. It's silly to feel dismayed because these Fae, these friends, know your mate better than you do.

Azriel had told you he had been waiting for you for five hundred years. For the first time since you've met him, you wonder if he was ever disappointed.

And then— then, you see it.

Azriel's hand on Cassian's arm. Then the half embrace they share, a hand on each other's neck as Cassian grins, wild and fierce, and presses his forehead against Azriel's own; brothers, sharing a moment of euphoria at the other finding his long-deserved happiness.

You should be soaking in the smile Azriel hides from you too often, showing his teeth and crinkling his eyes. But instead, you can't see past it, can't stop the loop in your own mind as it prints a fact over and over and over.

It isn't an Azriel thing; it's a you thing.

He doesn't touch you.

The mental walls in your mind feel paper-thin as a fresh kind of agony ripples through your chest. The soft rejection of a mate stings, a papercut on your very heart. You can feel it warble through you and know, terribly, the exact moment that Azriel feels it too.

His head whips around, his dark shadows that surround him suddenly spinning and flitting faster than before— a couple dive across the room to you.

You stand up and the chair scrapes noisily beneath you.

"I—" You say before you realise you haven't planned an exit or an excuse in the slightest. Azriel's gaze burns into you. You turn to Feyre instead, who had been talking across from you when you rudely stood up.

"I'm so sorry, I just—" Some excuse, any excuse! "I think I— left the stove on."

It's a lie. A complete utter lie that fools no one in the room as you retreat from it hastily. None of them try to stop you though, which you're thankful for. Each of them watches, every expression slightly concerned as you hurry out of the room, your feet walking backward rapidly until you bump into the door frame.

You pass through it with your eyes on the floor, knowing that all of the eyes are on you. You know the ones you can feel searing into your soul are Azriel's.

You leave the River House. You walk along the Sidra, your steps hurried and your chin tucked low. It hurts. It hurts the feeling inside you. A tear streaks down your cheek, unbidden, and collects on your jaw. You wipe it away meanly.

The sight of your apartment door is an overwhelming comfort, one that has you sighing aloud as you rush up to it, your fingers already digging around in your pockets for your key.

And like always, you never hear him coming.

"What happened?" Azriel asks, his voice almost pained.

You give a little yelp of surprise and whip around, remembering half a second later that there's still evidence on your face of your tears. Azriel grows characteristically still, his hazel eyes fixed on yours as you sniffle for a moment, aggravation beginning to creep in.

He could feel everything from you and you got... what? Whatever he deemed fit to offer? How is that fair?

His usually wispy shadows are inkier than usual, almost tornado-ing around his shoulders. They keep leaping out towards you before being caught in an invisible net, a barrier between you and them.

Even as Azriel remains motionless, his eyes are the opposite—they jump around, searching, hunting, begging to find the cause of your pain. Had it been one of his friends?

"Please," He tries his words again.

His heart throbs painfully when you finally find your key and turn your back on him without a word, unlocking your door and pressing your way inside. He follows quickly, wings tucked in tight, unable to keep his shadows at his side this time. They whiz to you, circling your ankles protectively.

"Please," Azriel says, an anguished growl to his words. "What hurt you? I will— my friends, if they said something— if it was someone, I hunt them down and make it right for you."

You inhale sharply and when you speak, your tone is cold in a way you have never used before with Azriel. You say the words without thinking.

"It would be impossible to hunt yourself, Azriel."

Regret howls through you like a hurricane the moment you say the words. You don't mean to be mean, jealous, or whatever unseemly emotion you can't stop from sprouting in your chest, growing in size, tangling into your heartstrings like twisted gnarled vines. It hurts.

You turn back to him, mouth open. No words come out.

Hurt is slashed across his face, his eyebrows furrowed tightly, his shadows tucked in tight. It's as though he's blended into the very air, the wispy edge of him threatening to retreat into his own shadows.

All his emotions on display just for a moment, before they're schooled away. Tucked away, hidden, not for you to see.

Inside, your hurricane howls again, this time in pain.

You can tell he feels it, even as you mentally gather your bricks. It isn't fair. How can he have every bit of you and you get what he pleases to return?

You want to know him completely, want to see every part of his rugged, weathered soul, and love him anyway. It's an untold type of agony to have him deny you.

"My love," His feet finally move, his wings almost dragging on the floor as he steps forward, slowly, as though he was afraid he might spook you.

"Tell me how to fix this pain." He pleads. His gloved hands are held out, palms up and suddenly, he looks nothing like a warrior. Just a Male, afraid of losing what is most dear to him. You shake your head, like a child, and keep building your brick wall.

"Please don’t keep this from me," He takes another step forward, his shadows sent awry as they dart across to you. You can feel them on your calves, on your arms, feel the tiny kisses they leave. Azriel speaks again, voice low. "My love, I can feel your pain.”

You can't help how you screw your eyes closed, the ache in your chest unbearable— made worse when you know he can feel it too.

"That is my problem." You utter the words quietly, eyes still clenched shut, knowing he can hear you. He takes another step, close enough now that you can feel the heat of his enormous frame, his wings bracketing around you. "I cannot hide anything from you."

Azriel makes a noise, a punched-out wounded sound that reverberates down the bond.

"My love," He murmurs for the third time. Down the bond, you can feel his sweet love, his golden gentle feelings travelling along to assure you. "I would not wish for you to hide anything from me."

“But you hide everything from me." You whine, eyes finally crinkling open. Azriel stares down at you, his eyes softer than they've ever been. You can see the hurt swimming in them, the hurt you've caused. Still, you speak.

"You hide your emotions. You hide your touch, yet you give it willingly to your friends." You share each ugly thought with him, whispered as you gaze into his face to search for your answers.

Lifting your hands, you curl your fingers around his wrists tentatively. Azriel swallows heavily, his eyes dancing down to where you're touching him. You slide your hands forward, dragging the pads of your fingers over his pulse, along his palm, til your hands are holding his gloved ones.

"Is there some test I don't know about?" You ask, your focus on your intertwined hands. "Is there— do I have to earn this?"

"No," Azriel chokes out the word suddenly. You look up at him. He clears his throat and you feel his hands grip yours back, surer and stronger than you had. "No, I'm sorry. There is no test, nothing to prove you deserving of this. I just..."

His words trail off and you watch as he closes his eyes, inhaling deeply, as if gathering his courage. His hands slide from yours, pulled backward and you nearly feel the urge to cry once more— before you realise he's removing his gloves.

The skin of them is warped, you realise acutely with horror. The skin of his hands is swirled and mottled, an injury long healed but scarred for eternity. Azriel is watching your face closely, holding his hands close to his chest as though he was prepared to hide them away at the first flicker of fear.

You're grateful for the link between and all your shoddy attempts at blocking him out. Your love and your unwavering devotion drifts along the bond.

Azriel shudders, his wings giving the tiniest shiver. Slowly, gently, he reaches out towards you. You feel his hands, the unruly scarred feel of his skin sliding along your jaw to hold it tenderly. He has never held you like this before.

He cradles your face gently — like his hands have never held weapons of war, like they aren't twisted and marred with a memory he can't forget, like they're worthy of holding something so precious.

Azriel holds you as if you're holy — and he's come to kneel at your altar.

"I was afraid of what you would think." He admits. His voice is hoarse, gravelly as he fights off the lump in his throat. "I— on the first day we met, I felt your fear along the bond and—"

"It was not of you." You interrupt him, your hands jumping up to cover his own where they hold you. Azriel inhales sharply, eyes darting to watch.

But you pay him no heed, the palm of your hand covering his like a lover would. You let your thumb soothe up at down the ridges of his skin. You let your love ripple along the bond.

"It was not fear of you, Azriel." You repeat, your voice soft. His eyes are still fixed on your joined hands. His wings have begun to pick up, no longer drooping behind his back— you're not sure if he even notices.

"It was fear for how strongly I already felt for you." You lean into his hand and Azriel lets you, lets the length of your nose nuzzle into the touch of his hands — something no one in all his years of living had ever done before.

"It was fear that you already could ruin me," The words are murmured. "And that I would let you."

You whisper his name to pull his wide-eyed gaze from where his hands touch you and his hazel eyes burn into yours. Every whitened scar on his skin, every eyelash, the adorable pinch between his eyebrows; you drink it all in and smile at him. Azriel, your mate.

"Azriel, I chose this despite that fear. I choose you.”

Azriel quivers at the words, at your unflinching tone and suddenly the world seems such a perfect place, time moving around you, untouching, with such a perfect grace.

“I choose you too,” He murmurs, an emotion so strong a fire of possessiveness streaks down the bond. This time, you can feel his wall melt away, allowing you access to all he feels — his mountain of fear and his melting relief.

“Forgive me—” He begins and you laugh without meaning to, cutting him off.

“Stop,” you say, the word light and as pretty as your grin. “We keep doing this to ourselves, tying ourselves in knots over and over.”

Azriel laughs, his lips twitching into a smile as he allows himself to stroke his thumb lovingly over your cheek. The way you melt beneath it, your lashes fluttering and heart burning so brightly he can feel it in his own chest too— Azriel knows this longing will long outlive his body.

“We do,” He agrees. He dips his head a little lower, probably the only apology you’ll let him have, and inhales shakily. His hands shift across your face, down to hold your chin, his fingers pressed together tightly to hide the way they quiver.

“Then let me apologise in another way,” He murmurs, his voice closer to playful. “In a way I’ve been selfishly depriving you of.”

And when he kisses you, it’s with a reverence that softens all your corners.

His lips are plush and sweet, and with the way he dedicates himself to your bottom lip, you can’t help how you sigh into his mouth. He finds home in the curve of your mouth.

It’s delirious the way he kisses once, twice, three times like he’s hungry for something found only in your lips.

Your hands stagger forward, leaving his own to wind over around his neck. Your fingers curl up, raking through the hair on the nape of his neck — feeling the shiver that travels up his spine, his wings giving a little flare out.

He kisses you breathless, one hand abandoning your jaw to wrap snugly around your waist, bringing you closer to him.

When he pulls back, something within you glows molten gold at the panting that leaves his lips. He’s gazing at you, his hazel eyes alight in a way you haven’t quite seen before. His wings shift behind his shoulders, curling forward to wrap the two of you together, not quite touching.

Your heart thrills. You grin, your lips still just an inch apart as Azriel nudges forward, his own twitching in that way when he fights his smile. His lips brush yours, his smile barely held back.

“Have you forgiven me yet?” He says, sweet and low, allowing the smile to finally pull his pretty mouth up at the corners.

“Or should I make it up to you a little more?”

He kisses the corner of your mouth, chaste and gentle.

“Mmm,” your eyes are bright as they peer up at him, full of playful mirth and adoring affection. “You're forgiven but... I think you should make it up to me, just a little more.”

Azriel willingly obliges, his smile as sweet as the moonlight.

—

some people i thought might want to be tagged :)

@strangerstilinski @astoriaviviane @lana08 @florence-end @lportes-22 @torrick17 @florencemtrash @sidthedollface2 @seafrost-fangirl @goldenmagnolias @jeweline16 @meshellexplosionmurder @michellexgriffey @susiekern @toobsessedsstuff @fxckmiup @littlebookbengal @elenapril0502 @glitterypirateduck @hnyclover @technoelfie @itsapunklife @coffeecares

#it got very long... i'm sorry! #we can't talk about bad miscommunication and then me not set up valid reasons for miscommunication tho #i can't DO IT #azriel a big softie in this one... #i mean he always is :) #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel hurt/comfort #miscommunication #idiots in luv <3 #i need a writing tag.....

[emmerrr]

Just saw you watched kinnporsche, i NEED your thoughts on vegaspete

oh man, where do i even start???

i mean, i think this reddit AITA response sums them up quite nicely:

[text id: “You’re both just enabling each other’s mental illnesses. You’re both perfect for each other. Never change. Just never involve anybody else in what you’ve got going on.”]

no but seriously, like, on the surface, this is a dynamic that usually wouldn’t really be my kinda thing given that vegas literally kidnaps and tortures and degrades pete. it’s, y’know, not the most healthy basis for a relationship of any kind.

...and yet.

up until the point where they’re thrown into the mix together, the only frame of reference we have for vegas’s relationships (for want of a better word) outside of his own family are porsche and tawan. in porsche’s case, vegas really only views him as a shiny new toy of kinn’s that he wants to steal and/or break just because -- it’s not about porsche at all, it’s about his hatred of kinn. and as for tawan -- him being the fucking worst aside -- vegas does just completely manipulate him, telling him exactly what he wants to hear in order to get him to do whatever vegas needs him to do for the minor family. potentially this is up for debate (i haven’t done a deep-dive into the fandom so i wouldn’t really know) but as far as i can tell, vegas never had any real feelings for him, it was all about personal gain. but my point here is that both porsche and tawan are a means to an end for vegas; any time he ever appeared let either of them in at all was nothing but a calculated move.

and it’s interesting when pete gets caught and ends up in vegas’s hands, because up until then, pete’s been someone of little consequence for vegas. i think that vegas would find it a bonus that pete is one of kinn’s favoured bodyguards, but on a personal level, i really don’t think he’s spent all that much time thinking about pete until now at all.

but almost immediately, and obviously through no fault of his own, pete happens to see vegas in some of his most vulnerable moments, directly witnessing vegas being humiliated and abused at the hands of his dad, and then later on just being the only one there to see vegas in the aftermath of subsequent incidents at the safe house. and i think that pete really sees vegas in a way he’s never been seen before; he recognises that deep-seeded isolation and loneliness, the desperation for approval and recognition from a father who’s just never going to give it. obviously none of this excuses any of vegas’s actions, but it informs so much of his behaviour, and pete realises that vegas is still trapped in this cycle of abuse. he can’t help but see vegas in a different light, empathetic almost to a fault.

i like that there’s a lot about vegas and pete’s feelings for each other that are revealed in actions before either of them have had time to think about it. the first big one for me being when vegas finds pete unconscious from his wounds (that vegas inflicted!!!!) becoming inflamed. his panic in that moment is so potent and immediate, that pete’s not waking up, that pete is obviously unwell. and he takes so much care to clean and bandage the wounds, and makes sure pete takes the antibiotics. it’s all so unexpectedly intimate, and pete doesn’t understand it, because what does it matter, why won’t vegas just let him die, what’s the endgame here? and this is the time for me, i think, when you realise that the point where vegas ever could actually kill pete (at least with any kind of intention) has long since passed. (i’m skipping to the end for a second here, but my other favourite of these sort of moments is vegas getting shot in the season finale -- the look of sheer horror on pete’s face, and then he doesn’t even hesitate before killing the shooter. like, that must’ve been someone he knew, but it didn’t matter. just blind rage, a gut reaction.)

and then pete’s given this golden opportunity to escape that he doesn’t take all because he sees the despondent figure of vegas sitting on the grass with his now dead hedgehog (rip king). and you can even see how mad at himself pete is for making this decision, but make it he does as he just can’t bring himself to leave vegas alone like that -- because who else does he have? (i’ll literally never get over this, i think about it all the time. pete was home free but he just couldn’t go. losing my mind over it forever and ever actually.)

beyond all the physical stuff and their obvious attraction to each other (pete being drawn to vegas against his better judgement, vegas being aware of this and using it to get close, to tease, to see if pete will call -- or raise -- his bluff), it’s all the emotional shit that just kills me over and over again. they just get under each other’s skin in both the best and worst ways. there’s the turmoil they both go through when pete gets himself out, that scene intercut between the two of them both in tears over a meal, pete trying to reconcile everything that has happened and how he feels about it, vegas there in the comfy clothes he’d got accustomed to wearing around pete, with a meal he’d made for pete in the hope he’d come back, just...fUCK. and pete begging porsche to just believe him that he really did go home, i can’t cope!!!!

i mean, i could go on and on but when it comes down to it, the effect they have on one another is just so profound, especially considering they have opposing allegiances (at least initially), and it’s just so incredibly compelling. i love that when they first see each other again after pete escapes, he immediately pulls a gun on vegas. i love that he can’t -- won’t -- shoot. i love that vegas knows he won’t. i love that the next time they meet they both pull guns on each other. i love that vegas lowers his first. i love that pete shoots vegas to save him, then beats the shit out of him. i love that vegas tells pete if he dies today, can it be pete who kills him. i love that pete resigns to follow vegas because he just can’t betray his feelings anymore.

i think they’re both complete trainwrecks, they run the risk of becoming dangerously codependent, and the lengths that i imagine they’ll be prepared to go to for each other would make a season 2 (if we get one) very very interesting.

in conclusion, they gave me brainrot, thanks for asking.

#emma answers #anon #vegaspete #this got long i'm sorry #kinnporsche the series

[airesgay]

PLEASE WRITE MORE MOLLY/MARGO. I NEED IT

Hello! I'm so very happy that there's a handful of wonderful people out there that love these characters just as much to read a couple of silly fics I wrote. Thank you so much for reading!

At the time being, my focus is on finishing my criminal minds fic (yes I am still working on it I promise, next chapter SOON). After that I really want to start working on original stuff again (yes it's been ten years, but better late than never!)

Fic writing is something that I was able to do when inspiration struck, I really haven't written that much in general. Feelings 101 itself is a special project for me that's essentially harnessing all my Fic Energy into one now novel-length piece of writing (honestly still WILD). I never intended to write other fics besides it, but I loved Molly and Margo so much, (and Ryan and Sophie) and just wanted to see a fic in the tag (and their characters' names fjeieohwg).

I'm sorry if this is a let down, I just don't want to get your hopes up! My life is starting to get rather busy and I want to spend my free time working on ideas I've wanted to for literally a decade.

I really appreciate you reading what I wrote, and if you feel that inspiration and love for these characters you should totally try out writing something yourself! That's how I started, and I'm sure it would bring a lot of people joy too <3

#this got long I'm sorry #I'm just stressed and should be studying but here I am #thank you so much for anyone who has read my writing it really does mean so much and gives me hope #ask

[ruporas]

feast (ID in alt)

#vashwood #vash the stampede #nicholas d wolfwood #trigun #trigun maximum #tw blood #im posting this so late because october escaped me Suddenly.. hello.... #i wanted to make it a photoset with this other vampire vw wip but i don't think i'm finishing it any time soon and the mood of it is #completely different anyway. also i don't think i ever shared anything about my vampire au on here !!! it's all old art by now so im shy lo #but maybe i'll do a photodump of it. long story short vash is a vampire since birth and ww is a human vampire hunter that turns during thei #travels together due to EoM experiments + getting vash to drink from him at some point. #humans turn once they get bitten but bc ww has been experimented on #& got bitten by a bunch of human turned vampires thruout his hunts he thought it wouldn't be a problem for vash to drink from him but alas. #theyre both ok though theyre traveling together definitely not hating themselves for what theyve become and feeling guilty for what theyve #done to each other. theyre completely normal about it. the biting part is really appealing to me in vampire aus so i draw it a lot but #in reality vash only drank from ww once and ww mightve done it twice under the realization he might actually die otherwise #since he wont drink from humans after being turned.... he's combatting the 5 stages of grief at all times #if this is all nonsense im sorry DMGKSDF I'M NOT good at explaining and this au came from nowhere in the depths of my mind its a mess #ruporas art

[demaparbat-hp]

Almost

#zutara #atla #zuko #avatar the last airbender #katara #zutara fanart #Wip #First page of three is done!!! #Won't be sharing until I have the whole thing but I'm. So. Close!!!!!!! #It's been ages since I started this project omg #But it's worth it #Hopefully I'll get the chance to finish it tomorrow... Won't be making any promises tho #I've missed you guys and I can't wait to share this with you #Anyways I know it's ZK month (and all the content has been WONDERFUL so far) but I won't be participating. Sorry about that. #Working with prompts is such an amazing creative exercise but I know myself good enough to be certain that I'll never get past the first... #... prompt without coming up with seven different AUs and I can't deal with more of those right now lol #Like I've got this Blue Spirit! Katara and Painted Lady! Zuko AU on the works since last week or so. And more lore for the og BS/PL spirits #And also this S3 canon divergence AU... And another one... And another one... #And I need to work on them at my own rhythm otherwise I'll go nuts #So uh #Yeah #Love u all and I hope I'll get to share this one soon (if only to start on yet another comic. I've got ideas for two of them. Yay) #Dema out #(Sorry for the rambling I'm just anxious) #(Don't know why but I stopped caring a long time ago)

[wispscribbles]

why are you and your drawings so cool 😭🙏

afdsasdfasg thank you !! irl ppl would laugh at me being called cool lol - Have a ghoap as thanks <33

#ask #chloe-is-slightly-epic #ghostsoap #doodle #i'm trying to get better at letting myself be a bit more open online #a bit more uncool if you will #im an anxious perfectionist so a lot of art and posts end up in drafts forever #like this sketch i drew..... 4 months ago #hope you all wont mind if I start posting a bit more #unfinished work like sketches or fic snippets #Im constantly making stuff and writing but I just dont post #womp womp anxiety #so yeah decidedly uncool but im happy you like my art :') #btw if youve ever sent an ask or asked a question that i've never answered... yeah its probably in my drafts because i got stuck on somethi #and then forgor #and now its been so long that it feels weird to reply #sorry!! I super appreciate everyone who take the time to write

[cosmicwhoreo]

due to the requests of a very SPECIFIC and might I add, MANIPULATIVE Grim Reaper I loathe to call a friend that I will not name- I was asked to doodle my own version of Herobrine for their B day. And I couldn't stop after that-

Tl;Dr- damn you @grimmixxart

#Herobrine #minecraft #whoops I guess I did name her #I'm not sorry #Like I said #I got carried away #long post #others ocs #Virusbrine

[fyncherly]

I had to put everything down and make this

Imagine Shilo (who is actually Emizel) wearing this to the tournament?? Imagine it covered it blood??? Do you see my vision??

Here's a version with a more ~Emizel~ expression idk how this guy is gonna fool anyone

Should I make a bloodied version should i

#jrwi the suckening #the suckening fanart #jrwi #jrwi shilo #emizel tucker #shilo bathroy #the suckening #my art #I was in the middle of making a lil comic and then the comic sparked this idea and I had to put it down to draw this first #Not to mention all my other ideas and projects that got put on hold to do the mini comic #I wish I could draw faster I'm going insane #Also the bird pendant is supposed to be a pheasant but I spent way too long on this as is #Now it literally looks like the hunger games bird oh my god #And I made lighting up here I'm sorry