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#all's hell that ends well
hamstermastersamster · 8 months
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I've been on call for 3 nights so far this week at work and I've been called out 3 times, once each night, and I'm just about ready to go feral by which i mean losing my mind and fleeing civilisation to live like a scrungly creature in the woods and become the local cryptid.
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vaguely-concerned · 2 months
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sometimes I think of all the on-the-surface warm, well-meaning but deeply ineffectual advice and attention john gives harrow through harrow the ninth (make some soup and get some sleep! get a hobby! don't be so hard on yourself! self care harrow! as long as I need take no actual responsibility in this relationship whatsoever I would have loved to be your dad!) set up against the stark truth that with his other hand he has been staging her attempted horrific murder again and again and again like a living nightmare on the logic that it will 'put her down or fix her'. and then I find that I wish there is a hell. a special hell where twitch streamers turned necromantic death emperors go
#the locked tomb#harrowhark nonagesimus#john gaius#harrow the ninth#this is why I don't buy john as misunderstood and initially well-meaning AT ALL#this is a pattern you see with him again and again and again -- right down to his interpersonal relationships#(and indeed it's in the more grounded interpersonal relationships you can most clearly see him as he is I think#the fantasy death empire of a thousand years doesn't register quite as viscerally because it's like. heightened; not quite real#but the emotional violence and manipulation that surrounds him? oh boy that is EXTREMELY real and scarily well-observed)#there's a premeditation to so much of what he does (contracts with planets that only end 'in the event of the emperor's death' anyone?#yeah john we get it you're hilarious and I wish you weren't)#the greatest trick john ever pulled was making anyone think he's just a lil guy. what does he know he's only god#when you first read the book the complete callousness of the other adults is so horrible that john seems like an oasis of care#(though you start to get this uneasy feeling when that care never seems to translate to like... relief or soothing or resolution)#and it makes it feel almost obscene when you find out what's actually going on#it's the mercy & augustine enabler hour but at least they're completely honest in their cruelty there#while john is -- well he sure is being john huh#this is just me being angry with him btw philosophically I don't think this is how the story will or should end#(with john slam dunked right into hell that is)#it's just... harrow is so vulnerable. and what he does to her is so insidious and fucked up#john is very deeply human. unfortunately the capacity to quite simply suck so much is deeply human too
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daily-odile · 2 months
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everything is the same except Odile is the one looping
oh. heheheheh. muahahahaha. hold on *digs through my pile of disorganized sketches*
Odile loops au; a sketch compilation!!
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Some old fic drabbles + associated sketches under cut (a6 secret spoilers):
hc: Since equipment carries over, as long as Odile uses her book in a fight, she can write down notes and have it carry over loops
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toxic doomed yuri (for a more fleshed out fic I highly recommend The Sweetest Thing by soreimoon, it's amazing)
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radars-teddy-bear · 4 months
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love that henry blake is genuinely just a normal guy . weirdest thing about him is that he’s obsessed with fishing and that isn’t even remotely as bizarre as anything hawkeye and trapper got going on at any given moment . he’s just some guy from illinois in a camp of people who are bonkers and he’s so fucking funny for it
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grocerystorelist · 4 months
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the body of christ – matty healy
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brash and rogue, you don't know what to do with how you feel about the new priest in town. so, you find yourself in the confessional booth... aka priest!au
minors dni. dom/sub undertones, oral fixation, oral sex, unprotected sex, the man hasn't kissed anyone in a decade let him live!! wc: 3.2k
The church is dark when you approach the confessional booth, the heels of your boots ringing out and echoing throughout the cavernous room. You wonder if he hears you. A single lamp is turned on next to the booth, yellow beams dancing across the shifting fabric. You can hear Matty shuffling around inside, the shiny tips of his shoes barely visible beneath the black hanging.
It’s been a week since he kissed you, all teeth and tongue on the bench outside of his apartment, an insistent hand burning a path around your waist.
“I’ve come to confess, Father.” You smirk to yourself, crossing your ankles and shifting on the wooden seat to sit on your hands. There’s something girlish about the way you’re sitting, and you remember when your parents used to make you frequent this very booth several years ago. Then your confessions were about swiping your best friend’s eyeshadow palette, worried hands picking at your bright blue nail polish as you pleaded for forgiveness from an elderly priest. Now, the darkness of the booth no longer scares you.
“I’ve been having all of these thoughts… fantasies, if you will.” You strain your ears to your left, hoping to hear a gasp, a reaction from Matty. “I think about him all the time, and I don’t know what to do because he just won’t let himself.” A low ache settles itself between your legs, and you know that he can hear your legs cross and uncross themselves as you try to relieve yourself. As you smooth your black skirt down your thighs, you finally hear a shaky breath through the tiny window.
“I wanted him right there on a bench a few nights ago but he stopped himself after kissing me.” Your mind flashes back to the witty back and forths of that night, dangerously toeing the line of inappropriate.
“It was dark and quiet and the only thing I could hear was his heart pounding against mine.” Your cunt throbs, filled with the image of you climbing on top of him on the bench. “I tried to get off when I got home, but nothing worked.” A beat.
“What did you do?” He breathes out. In disbelief, you manage to say through the haze, “I touched myself. I touched– I was so desperate for anything. “ The wood of the confessional booth creaks as you continue.
“I couldn’t stop thinking of him bending me over, the way his fingers looked wrapped around the bottle that night.” A thunk emanates from beside you, a groan resonating throughout the booth as you squirm. “I wanted his head between my thighs, I wanted to get down on my knees in front of that bench as he fucking ran his mouth.”
“Have you-” Matty starts, hesitating. You interject before he can continue. 
“I’ve never had anyone before.” You run your tongue over your bottom lip. “But I want him.”
“Stop.”
“What? Father-”
“Kneel.” You wait until he repeats himself, sliding off the bench and settling yourself on the floor. “Kneel.” Hands clasped, you close your eyes, waiting for his next directive. In the few moments of silence, your mind wanders before you ground yourself, feeling the grain of the wood through the knees of your tights.
Suddenly, the curtain is ripped open, velvet whipping inches away from your face. You blink through the spots in your eyes to adjust to the light filtering through the stained glass. Dust motes float in a haze around Matty’s head, and you swear you see a halo for a moment. Lips barely parted, his chin is tilted up, considering you as he looks down his nose.
His eyes bore through you, brown irises giving way to widening black pupils. You rise on your knees, breathing shallowly and staring up at him, waiting for him to cut through the thick soup of tension between you two. Matty’s hand rises and his eyes flick to it, as if he can’t believe he’s reaching out to brush a strand of hair out of your face.
The heat of his palm reaches you first, and you instinctively stretch to reach his hand, brushing your reddened cheek to his cool fingers. Matty’s fingers twitch away, only to return to your bottom lip, thumb collecting your sticky red lipgloss. He pushes in further and you take the chance to suck on his finger, gently tonguing at the intrusion. The rest of his fingers come to rest on your jaw, curling around the back of your neck.
He drops to the floor of the confessional and mirrors you on your knees, eyes scanning over your flushed face. Matty slowly pulls his thumb out of your now open mouth, where it joins the rest of his fingers on the side of your face, the glistening digit smearing spit over your cheekbone.
You don’t know who leans in first, but suddenly his lips are on your lips, and you’re gasping wetly as his hand travels down to rest on your hip, pressing you into him. He kisses and kisses and kisses you, a decade of desire being unleashed in the span of a few seconds. You grip onto Matty’s black shirt, running one hand through the gel that holds his curls in place. Delight blooms in your mind, and you grin as you kiss him. A sharp tug has Matty moaning into your mouth, tongue running over your bottom lip before you let him in.
You let out a giggle, realizing you’re the first person he’s kissed in ten years if you don’t count all the hands he kisses in blessing. Matty pulls back, a questioning look on his face, and you take in the string of spit that stretches between your mouths, the rise and fall of his chest, the shadow of the veins on his forearms. Now that you have him, you want to devour him.
He asks first, though. Matty’s hands slide down the back of your skirt, toying with the hem and tracing circles on your sheer black tights.
“Let me taste you,” he tips your head up, pressing a firm kiss to your lips as your head spins. You nod emphatically as you pull away, getting to your feet to sit back on the bench of the confessional. Matty rises too, and you look up at him as he undoes the top button of his black shirt, yanking his white collar out of the lapel and discarding it behind him. It hits the wood of a faraway pew, echoing through the silence. 
All you hear is the blood in your ears as Matty gets back on the floor and hooks one hand underneath each knee to drag you to the edge of the bench. You feel your cunt throb with anticipation. He flips your skirt up, sucking in a breath at the visible lace of your underwear. Matty’s hands slide beneath the waistband of your skirt, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps as he fumbles for the elastic of your tights. He hasn’t looked up at you in a minute, transfixed by how the pale skin of his hands looks against the black of your tights.
You lift your hips to help Matty pull your tights off, his hands running reverently down you. They stop at your knees, grasping the meat of your thighs, digging in and pushing your legs apart to bare the damp red lace of your underwear.
“Did you wear this just for me?” Matty rasps out, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. You whimper your confession, hands falling behind you as you struggle to keep yourself upright, his kisses nearing the lace covering you. He licks at the fabric, contributing to the growing dark spot on the fabric between your legs. Your hips jump, and he presses down with a hand on your hip, silently telling you to stay in place.
“Fuck, you’re so pretty. All wet for me.” His breath ghosts over you as he hooks his fingers on your underwear, slowly tugging down. “Is this what you looked like after I kissed you the other night?”
“Yes,” you manage to gasp out before he pulls them off, balling them up and stuffing them in his pocket. Matty finds your clit with an assured finger, rubbing circles. He bites down into the flesh of your left thigh, tongue soon following to soothe over the spot. Through the daze of the headrush, you see purple blooming as he traces his tongue toward where his finger is focused.
He attaches his lips to your clit, sucking and lapping at it with the same fervor as he had kissed you earlier. Matty eats you like a man starved, like it’s water in a desert, like you’re the sweetest fruit and all he wants is to consume you.
“Matty-” you moan. He slips his tongue into you, nose bumping your clit as he traces your walls. You grind into his face as he brings one of your legs over his shoulder, pulling you closer to him. 
“So sweet making those sounds for me, love,” he says, withdrawing from your cunt to grin devilishly up at you. Matty’s hair is unruly and all over the place, chin glistening with you. He looks like he’s found heaven on his knees, and he brings a hand up to swipe your juices off his face. With a smirk, he brings the hand up to your lips, pushing two fingers in. You take them down to the knuckle, laving around them, and you see Matty reach for the front of his trousers, palming himself.
“Such a good girl for me,” Matty groans, pulling his fingers out of your mouth. “Going to make you come so hard you forget your name, your prayers” He reattaches his lips to your clit and brings his soaked fingers to your fluttering hole, slowly thrusting one in. 
The fire in your lower belly is rapidly building, the waves of pleasure reaching new heights as he carefully stretches you around another finger. “Matty, shit, fuck,” you whine, rolling your hips. He diligently laps at you, and the euphoria hits you, trembling on the bench. You feel yourself spasming around Matty’s tongue as he continues to lick you through the ecstasy, legs splayed out for him. 
Eventually, you push him away, bringing your thighs together and grinning dopily down to him. Matty is disheveled, his face covered in your juices. The hard line of his pants practically reaches out to you. I did that to him, you think, sticky and sweaty on the bench. Matty comes up to kiss you on the lips, peppering your face with soft devotion as he tugs your skirt down over the evidence of his worship.
The two of you sit together in silence for several minutes, the rise and fall of your chests perfectly synchronized.
“Good first?” Matty mumbles into your hair, playing and twisting your locks. You twist to look at him, an incredulous look on your face.
“You’re one to talk!” Your mouth drops open, laughing at the incredulity of his question. “You haven’t had sex in ten years.” Matty’s face drops momentarily before he runs his hand sheepishly through his hair.
“You’d probably never believe it, but back in the day I used to be quite a catch.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “That’s why they sent me to seminary. The girls couldn’t get enough of me.” You hide your face in his neck so he doesn’t see your reaction, eyes crinkling and mouth widening at the thought of a Matty your age being the talk of the town parties. 
Shaking your head, you stand up and push through the curtain, waiting for him to follow you. He emerges from the darkness of the booth like an angel, pushing back the sleeves of his shirt where they’ve started to fall down his forearms.
Matty presses a chaste kiss to your nose as his arms bracket you against the confessional. You tilt your head up to capture his lips, pulling him closer as he trails kisses down your neck. You let him for a moment before you slip out around him, spinning on your heel and smoothing your skirt down. Matty looks dangerous now, not understanding why you’re pulling him away from the booth — his eyes tell you he would take you right over a pew if you let him.
“The rectory,” you say, taking his hand in yours. Matty walks with purpose, his strides long, and you struggle to keep up with him.
“Can my poor girl walk after what I just gave her?” You roll your eyes at the endearment, focusing on putting one leg in front of the other. One wobble and you would answer his question, which you aren’t allowing tonight.
A few minutes later you lie on his soft white sheets, legs parted as you lazily slip your fingers through your folds. Matty stands at the corner of the bed as he pulls his dress shirt out of its tuck, nimble hands unbuttoning and sliding the garment from his shoulders. 
“Didn’t know priests could be so fit,” you giggle. “Is there a priest gym?” Matty throws his head back in a laugh.
“The dress code is cassocks, and it’s just rows and rows of priests on weight machines.” He jokes. “It’s practice for lifting babies out of water.” You pull a serious face, nodding solemnly. 
“I hope I’m not intruding on your priest gym time tonight.” Instead of riffing off you, Matty decides to lift you up, spinning to land you on his lap. The rough fabric of his pants zaps the nerves in your clit, and you unwittingly grind down, making contact with his length. The air in the room is charged once again, ions waiting to be aligned to carry the spark between you both.
In one move, Matty kisses you square on the mouth and rolls you over. He towers over you, eyes zeroing in on your dripping cunt. You grasp for his belt buckle, yanking it out of the loops and throwing it into a far corner. His hands replace your own as he tugs his pants down first, revealing his tight black boxers.
Your mouth waters at the sight, but your reaching hands are gently stopped as Matty breathes a question. “Condom?” He raises an eyebrow, and you frantically shake your head no. “On the pill,” you briefly explain. Matty’s eyes darken as he slides his boxers down. His cock slaps against his stomach, red and weeping.
He circles his hand around it, stroking and tugging. “You look like a wet dream,” Matty says reverently, sliding down the bed to position himself over you.
Your hand joins him on his cock, and together you guide him to your soaked entrance. He swipes through the mess, coating himself in your cum. Torturously slowly, he finally presses into you.
“So tight love, you feel so good.” You grasp at his forearms, fixating on the curl dangling from his forehead. Matty’s abs flex under your fingers as he slowly pushes into your cunt, burying his face in the crook of your neck. His pants throw a hot spear of need through you, and he stills as he bottoms out. He’s bigger than anything you could’ve imagined. Matty stills between your legs, the two of you suspended in a tableau of sacrilege. 
“Move, please,” you whisper, hugging him close as the pressure subsides into pleasure. Matty draws out slowly, and you feel every ridge dragging within you. Pleasure runs up your spine, and you whimper as words leave you, hoping he can tell you want, you need more. 
He slowly rocks back into you, hips setting an agonizing pace. You feel so hazy, and you have no idea how to make your mouth work and tell him to give it to you faster, harder. Your head lolls backward, eyes blurry with desire.
“Ask me,” he says, and you shake your head, not understanding. He reaches up to his own forehead, down where the two of you are connected, then to his left and right shoulders. 
“Oh-” you gasp, reaching up with both hands to take hold of Matty’s fist. You press a kiss to his knuckles.
“Bless me father, for I have sinned.” Matty moans, his thrusts finding a new vigor. He drills into your cunt, kissing spots in you that have stars exploding behind your eyes.
Bending down, Matty laves over your tits, sucking your left nipple into his mouth as he rubs at your clit. He rolls your nipple between his teeth, spit pooling on your chest. His mouth leaves your breast only to be replaced by a hand expertly tugging and twisting at your nipple. 
You spread the spit from your tits, pressing down on your lower belly at the hard bulge of him inside you. And shit – you feel him, tightening your body’s grip on his cock.
“Do you like that, love, me filling you up so well?” Matty groans, dragging his hand down, interlacing your fingers and covering your hand with his. He pushes down to feel his dick in you, watching himself thrust in and out as the head pokes at your belly.
You mewl, digging your heels into his lower back, letting him roll further into you, cock hitting places so deep in you you didn’t realize they existed. 
“Where do you want me?” Matty asks with a hoarse voice. You lock eyes with him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “In me.” He swallows the rest of your sentence with a kiss, tongue fucking into your mouth in time with the buck of his hips.
“Taking me so well,” his hips set a frantic pace. Your eyes roll back in your head, spots dancing across your vision. “Come for me, love.” You fight the sensation off, wanting to come with him. Matty’s hand burns circles around your clit as he thrusts mercilessly, filling you over and over. 
With the first clench of your walls around his cock he twitches, a low grunt slipping out of his mouth as he hoists your hip up with one hand and somehow hits deeper. You think you might die if you don’t come soon. Hurtling towards the edge, you light up on the inside as you convulse underneath Matty. Eventually, you topple over, arching up into his chest as his cock begins to pulse inside you.
Sticky warmth fills you, and he fucks you through the last waves of his own orgasm. “You’re fucking perfect,” he moans, one hand next to your head as his hips still. His cock softens in you, but neither of you makes any move to shift.
You smile blearily up at him, and he dips his head to press a sweaty kiss to your forehead. His bed suddenly seems all the more inviting, and you both nearly drift off before you start to feel your cum dripping out around him.
Matty shakes some sense in himself to get the both of you cleaned up, and you wince when he slips out of you. The sudden emptiness colors your vision as you clench around nothing. He pads back to the bed with a washcloth, gingerly wiping your folds of cum and throwing the square into his laundry. He slips on a pair of boxers before handing you a matching pair, tugging a faded navy shirt over your head and gathering your hair to pull through the neck.
You feel as if you’re about to burst from the tenderness as you gaze at Matty curled towards you, perfect mirrors of each other. 
“Stay,” he whispers, kissing you.
“I will.” You close your eyes, hands reaching out to intertwine with his.
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fidgetspringer-art · 1 month
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✦ Linger ✦
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hitlikehammers · 2 months
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nowhere without you
rating: t ♥️ cw: post-final battle, hurt/comfort ♥️ tags: established relationship, hurt/comfort, BIG emotions, even BIGGER love, as in: soul-deep love, softness; happy endings always ♥️
for @steddielovemonth day eight: Love is the heartbeat I can feel when I hug him
(also probably the humble love-soaked endlessly-devoted beginnings of the rockstar!husbands in je ne regrette rien)
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The weirdest part is how, in the aftermath, Eddie doesn’t speak. Like, at all.
Scratch that: it’s the weirdest and the most concerning part. Eddie makes noise, mostly pained kinda moans that make Steve’s chest clench, ache more the admittedly-decently-deep wounds slowly—but reliably, like, consistently—stitching themselves together, and Steve begs him to get looked at again, because something has to be wrong to cause those kinds of sounds but Eddie doesn’t even shake his head, doesn’t really move at all save that sometimes he trembles, and it’s…
It fucking breaks Steve’s heart.
He’s almost gotten used to stroking Eddie’s hair in silence—so wrong; worthy Eddie that’s just so wrong—and working any tangles out so, much as it’s getting a limp and greasy with days of neglect, at least it’s smooth; but he’s almost resigned to this for the long haul because he’ll weather anything he has to for Eddie and they’ll work through this, whatever this is, they’ll worth through it together and—
“How did you stand you it?”
The sound is more a scratch than anything, glass on sandpaper, and it’s down to Eddie lying where he hasn’t left for the last four, going on five days—as in, not once while Steve’s been awake has he existed without Eddie’s weight situated just so against his chest, sinuous and deliberate in where he presses against, careful as a rule of Steve’s worst injuries and delicate about how he rests against Steve’s body, but not…hesitant.
More, kinda…kinda desperate.
So it’s down to him being pressed so close and sure and unwavering that Steve feels him speak more than anything, matches the motion of his lips against Steve’s gown to words rather than the wind, or something outside his door to the halls of the hospital beyond; it’s down to the tension in the whole of him, the all-too-present shaking that Steve matches the scrape of the question to a hurt that’s…that maybe Steve doesn’t wholly understand just yet, but that really and truly does cut him deeper and closer and more critical at the core of him than the Upside Down ever could have clawed in: Eddie lives in him, nothing else can really…ever hope to be deeper.
“How are you,” Eddie rolls gravel across more words, and Steve’s missed his voice so fucking much, he didn’t realize how much until it’s here again for him to hear and hold but, Jesus fuck, it’s like…it’s like it’s drowning; like Eddie is drowning and then his breath is hitching, and oh, god, that voice is cracking around the edge of a sob, watery and wavering as he damn-near close to begs:
“How did you survive it?”
Steve feels it clench in his ribs, because he thinks he…he thinks he’s putting it together. The strain, the agony in that voice, that voice he loves so fucking much, from this man he loves with everything, but then—the way Eddie presses into him. The force, and the position, and the pattern. The way he’s been quiet, unfailing, but never…never seems distant, seems the opposite: seems focused; intent. The way Dustin had come in and caught him upon the things he’d missed in one of the almost-nonexistent windows where Eddie sleeps, hand lines alongside his sternum and head curled in the most uncomfortable pretzel Steve can imagine, forehead all scrunched and eyes squeezed shut so goddamn hard, looking like any sleep he manages is nothing close to rest by any measure: but Dustin had came in and told him Eddie was the first to him; Eddie ran faster than he’d seen a person run; Eddie’d looked devastated, broken when they’d caught up, and they’d been so afraid, feared the worst, and—
Steve’s starting to fit the pieces together. Maybe.
“No,” Eddie whines, pitchy and fervent and almost ear-splitting, like a wail of sheer gut-wrenching pain that Steve can’t find the reason for in the here and now because it’s just them in a hospital room, they’re okay, and his hand presses heavy, gentle around his wounds still, always gentle and so, so careful and Steve doesn’t know what’s caused the reaction, but then—
Then he can feel his fucking heartbeat for how hard Eddie’s pressing. It’s weird, how it makes him feel…strangely alive, the sensation of it kept and held like that, specifically in Eddie’s hand. And he’s not paying attention to the monitors really, tuned them out as quick as he could but when he listens, okay. Okay, maybe faster than normal, but Steve’s fucking worried, okay, he’s—
“Fuck, no,” Eddie moans and twists his head, no, not just his head, his ear and leans harder into Steve’s chest, his breathing shallow and Steve hates it but he doesn’t know what to do, how to help, what to fix because he’ll fix it if he knows, he’ll climb out of this bed and crawl on the goddamn floors of he has to, but he doesn’t know where to go, what to find, what demon’s left to slay—
“I’m just, I’m grateful you did,” survive, Steve survived…
He survived, like, now?
“But grateful’s such a weak word, it doesn’t,” and Steve takes a breath, and reaches, rests his hand on Eddie’s wrist just to see: his heartbeat’s somuch faster, it’s like a flutter of a flutter felt strong enough to break through skin, it catches in Steve’s heart just to touch—
“You’re so much stronger than I could ever, like,” Eddie’s going on, still breathless and fuck, Steve can see why; “fucking hope to be.”
Shit, but that’s…he wasn’t stronger, fuck, Steve wasn’t stronger than Eddie, Eddie nearly got eaten alive, Steve nearly couldn’t staunch enough of the bleeding, he almost lost—
Eddie keens, horrible and hurting and Steve stills: the monitor. The thundering of his own pulse at the memory.
How did you survive it?
Losing. Almost losing. That’s…that’s what it is.
That’s why Eddie’s pressed against his chest, his his head and his hand have been a fucking frame, goddamn, like, parentheses surrounding Steve’s beating heart, proof of life, Jesus—
“But I need to be,” Eddie’s voice is quiet, but steadier, and his chin dips like a nod to himself; “I need to learn how,” he’s firm with it; “for you.”
Oh, god. Oh…oh Eddie.
“I can’t ever lose you, Steve,” Eddie presses trembling lips to Steve’s chest and then presses close again, so close and oh: he wasn’t just intent where he’s been silent so long.
He was listening.
“Never ever,” he breathes against Steve, hot and damp; almost kinda breathless again, or still: “never ever.”
“Eds,” Steve begins, not even entirely sure where he plans to go, just knows he needs to do something, say something, but Eddie’s turning Steve’s hand in his, where he’d circled Eddie’s wrist; he’s turning it and mirroring the hold, gripping Steve’s wrist in kind.
“I couldn’t find it,” he gasps, and the sound makes the sob clear before Steve feels the wetness soak through to his skin; “I couldn’t feel it at all, you were, it,” he presses his fingers in hard, squeezes so goddamn tight, and Steve can’t…he doesn’t want to imagine what Eddie had to do, what Eddie found and felt, he doesn’t but he can, because he remembers the mirror image so stark, it took him so long because he couldn’t find a pulse either, he’d had to press on Eddie’s heart at the source and even then—
“I couldn’t feel you.”
Oh. Fuck. He—
“Oh, baby,” Steve’s elevated enough at an angle that he can at least kiss Eddie’s hair, barely brush his scalp but it’s enough, for the breath that punches from Eddie against his chest it’s at least something; “that’s…”
“I won’t survive that again, Steve,” Eddie sucks in, unsteady and drenched with tears, with sorrow, but also…also more than anything else, they’re filled up with so much love.
A love big enough to hurt that hard.
“And I can’t…” Eddie gasps, breath catching; “I can’t handle not feeling it,” and his fingers tighten; his hand on Steve’s chest and his cheek across from it press down that extra little bit so Steve knows his own heartbeat in those moments full and deep.
“Have to feel it always,” Eddie whispers like he’s telling himself, and Steve, and Steve’s heart through flesh and bone, some cosmic secret no one else can know: too sacred. Too precious.
“You can feel it any time,” Steve lets his hand fall from Eddie’s to cover the hand Eddie’s got splayed ln his chest, counting time; holds him there almost protectively: “all the time,” and he slips his fingers between Eddie’s and shifts his palm close to the beating, so he can still feel what he needs as he murmurs with his heart literally in Eddie’s hands, with his entire goddamn soul:
“All of me. It’s yours.”
Unshakable fucking fact. He doesn’t even have to will it, or hope for it; his heartbeat knocks that heavier against their hands for those words like it knows.
It knows.
“Don’t leave me,” Eddie bursts out, begging; almost something primal, and Steve can feel the tremoring of his lips where they drag against him; “please. I’ll do anything, I swear it, just don’t—“
“Be you,” Steve braves the whimper that comes from untangling his hand from Eddie so that he can reach for Eddies cheek and cradle him in closer, and oh, fuck, thank god: something in him sighs out and loosens, ever so slightly—finally.
“Everything you are,” Steve presses on, runs his thumb back and forth through Eddie’s drooping curls; “let me love you, past living and dying,” and Eddie’s breath catches, for that, but Steve holds him tighter for it, drowns him as best he’s able in the proof he needs so bad; “don’t leave me,” and Eddie huffs a little for that, like it’s beyond believing, impossible, and Steve smiles to himself for it, tries to lean enough to press the grin to Eddie’s head, hopes he manages as he murmurs there close:
“That’s it, Eddie,” and he lets his fingers spread wider, cradle Eddie all the more: “that’s all I need.”
“That and more baby,” Eddie answers him between the double-beat of his pulse, immediate; “you’re the music and the rhythm,” he nuzzles a little against him, and Steve smiles a little wider for it; “you’re the reason my heart beats,” and Steve finds that heartbeat for himself at Eddie’s jaw, now; a little calmer. Not much. But: something.
It’s a start.
”I don’t have a reason without you,” Eddie exhales, vehement; “I don’t want a reason, without you.”
And Steve should maybe push on it, or be scared by it: but neither seem right, not for this.
Not for them.
Steve just holds Eddie’s pulse under the pressure of his touch, and holds Eddie’s cheek closer still into his chest as he breathes:
“You’re my whole heart, Eds,” and he lets a second pass, and then another, for that heart of Eddie’s to pump evidence unshakable against him, to play the song and rhythm straight into his waiting ear:
“Was never going anywhere without you.”
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♥️ ao3 link here
tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch
♥️
divider credit here
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rockturbot · 7 months
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The good old days when evidence law was still longer than three (3) pages😌
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essektheylyss · 1 year
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It took me like two hours to process that Caleb's description of dunamis actually was somewhat new information and then go back to grab the transcription because, uh, both "form of magic that exists between the fabric of all of forces of power" and "one of the oldest and most fundamental forces" are far more confidently firm descriptions than we ever got in campaign 2.
Was I actually roughly correct about what dunamis was??? HELLO???
VINDICATION?!?!
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danwhobrowses · 5 months
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It shouldn't need to be said but I'm seeing a lot of vitriol towards Ashton about their actions and I have to say I don't agree with them.
At the clock tower Fearne brought up the shard, stated that in her opinion Ashton should take the shard because she didn't want it. Ashton decided then as a result they'd take it, but because it was an extreme risk made very aware to them all they knew the other Hells wouldn't allow them to go through with it. Ashton asked Fearne if she was okay with both of them going together alone with the plan, reiterating that they didn't want to put this on Fearne, that if they died Fearne would not be to blame, and that they have no intention of dying, and Fearne said yes.
Fearne having second thoughts at the Ziggurat was just worry, because she cares deeply for Ashton, Ashton kissing her was not manipulation either; it was letting go of fear, having no regret with the person they also care deeply for and taking the risk. And yeah, it was frightening, 10 rounds of perpetual fiery near-death situations and one actual death situation; Laura is fuming, Ashley cannot look, Liam is playing Mad World on loop in his mind, even Matt is completely on edge, but they survived. Accusations that Ashton manipulated Fearne to selfishly take the shard seem to misinterpret the shard saga as well as Fearne and Ashton's characters, they will get a very intense amount of chastising for sure, but it will be out of love, out of the fear that they were going to lose them, not because they thought Ash was manipulative.
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oreolesbian · 8 months
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the absolute lack of media literacy from people who haven’t even seen oppenheimer is making my head spin but whatever
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an-au-blog · 1 month
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Oh, your love is sunlight
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Happy (late) Valentine's Day (version without text ↓ +description in tags)
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#east blue asylum wing au#zosan#zoro x sanji#zs#first off if its bad quality - it's a huge canvas and it's more pixelated if i try to export the picture than if I screenshot so... :/#I sometimes like assigning songs to different dynamics and or characters I play around with and I've been recently listening to#a lot of Hozier again and I'd like to think that Sunlight is how Zoro sees Sanji - he is Icarus flying to the sun and he is willing to get#burned if only to reach the sunlight - it's a deathtrap... because of course it is... all attachments are but Sanji's love is the death tra#that he welcomes like a moth to a flame because even Icarus felt the bliss and freedom before his wax melted#I haven't depicted it here but Sanji's Hozier song for Zoro would probably be NFWMB because in his eyes Zoro is this untouchable force#that would watch the world go up in flames and when the time Sanji wouldn't mind being a tree just to fuel his fire (im well aware how#cheesy that sounds just bare with me... or better yet listen to the song its really good trust me ok?)#the world starts and ends with him and where they lay#and their shared Hozier song is Francesca because if anything in this au zosan are two lovers stuck in Dante's inferno and sprinting back i#only for the chance to get back to their lover and if that meant going back into hell to look for each other then so be it#there's a part of the song that goes “My life was a storm / Since I was born / How could I fear any hurricane?” which is pretty fitting imo#op#fan art#my art
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chirpsythismorning · 6 months
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bylers when over 350k people don’t have the exact same thoughts and opinions as them
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#byler#stranger things#byler tumblr#i know some of us have been singled out or humiliated by others on here insisting we’re delusional for our theories#and so you compensate by doubling down and telling everyone else their theories are actually headcanons and yours aren’t#or maybe you are someone on the other end who is fed up with bylers reaching and are sick of group think having a place here#some advice: just let the show be whatever YOU want it to be#if you think everything you analyzed is right and everyone else is wrong#congrats#you are as pathetic as the rest of the fans who think the exact opposite and also think they're right and you're wrong#we are one of over 350k ppl with differing opinions and thoughts and experiences guiding us to coming to the conclusions we do#i don't mind ppl giving different perspectives to things even if it goes against my analysis (just don't be an asshole about it)#i have changed my mind about certain aspects of the show bc of this and i have changed other peoples' minds as well#without all of us being able to say what we think we would not have near the evidence we do now#but what comes with over 350k people in one space also comes with some semblance majority that feels a certain way about certain things#it's never going to be perfectly even across the board#what is believed and what is agreed upon will always be shifting as different people say their peace and as the show itself progresses#and hell even if you're the 3% that feels a certain way about something and think the other 97% are setting themselves up for disappointmen#bask in your perceived glory WHEN that time comes#but in the mean time... me personally?#i think it would be quite embarrassing if i devoted my time on here to telling everyone else their theories are wrong and mine are right#only to end up being the one that was wrong#let ppl set themselves up for disappointment#save the celebration for when you actually secure that win#for now#id rather be on here discussing my theories/reading others' theories that aren't rooted in tearing everyone else's down to feel superior#all of this is to say it is never worth making ppl feel like shit over a fucking tv show… I’ll never get that#and this is coming from someone who has no (current) plans to say i told you so (not even to that redditor that has a 2 year timer)#bc until s5 comes out...#crazy together
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steelthroat · 3 months
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*me putting my Transformers figures on a shelf after tidying up* "Optimus and Megatron go together obviously"
My dad jokingly: "Heh, are they friends?"
Me: "In the Ancient-Greek sense of the word yes"
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reineydraws · 1 year
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i have wanted to read a grimmichi fic about grimmjow reluctantly babysitting (and eventually bonding with) kazui for so long, i drew about it 🥲💕 posting to celebrate the nanosecond of grimmjow crumbs we got last week 🙏
they really immediately recognized each others' voices in the background of a cross-dimensional zoom call huh. right away they were like "that voice!" like yes we get it u hear that voice in ur dreams lol cant wait for more grimmjow crumbs!!! (img insp)
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oh-three · 8 months
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Disaster Linage
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