Taken from Twitter, a steddie SFW drabble:
𝑾𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑺𝒕𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔
It’s a soft summer evening. The kind that pulls the sun down slowly, kissing the ground with lingering shades of shimmering gold. Eddie’s hand is warm where Steve’s fingers twine around it, their palms pressed flush together like two turtle doves nesting down for winter, sharing heat back and forth.
It’s easier to walk slowly on the rocky shore of the lake, the pebbles and stones shifting constantly under their feet, demanding a sluggish gate. But Steve thinks they’d be walking slowly wherever they were, basking in the whisper-soft night air and the good, clean warmth of each other’s company. This lake is no different than the one back home, whose waters held all manner of heartbreak. It’s wide, and oblong, and the cool waters lap against the rocky shores in a steady, stuttering pulse.
And yet, it 𝘪𝘴 different. Because they are alive, and they are safe, and the things of the past that used to gnaw and chafe at the strained bonds between them are tucked deep below the heavy silt of Lover’s Lake — only to be wrapped up and swaddled by fierce, unflinching love when they come clawing to the surface.
Because they do, and they will, like all things that alter the fabric of a person’s soul. But there is nothing so big that the cradle of the love Steve has forged with Eddie can’t hold. Nothing so monumental that they can’t shoulder it together. Patiently, always patiently. There’s no need to rush after the end of the world, after all. Not when they have time. To love. To grow. To heal that which has been harmed.
Eddie stops them after a few moments of quiet pondering, stooping down with his hand still clasped firmly in Steve’s. When he stands, he offers Steve a rock, lying smooth and round in the center of his palm. It’s grey all over with a thin band of white circling the middle.
Just an ordinary rock, by Steve’s estimation. “It’s a wishing rock,” Eddie explains when Steve levels him a befuddled look, pushing his palm and the stone towards Steve, who takes it and eyes it curiously.
“Good for one wish,” he says, tracing the tip of his finger lightly along the white band. As he does so, he smiles — something sad and old, swimming with time-softened love and a memory that ached.
“My mom and I used to look for them, back when we’d go to the lake during the summer.” Steve knows which lake he means — the 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 one. The one shaped like a heart that tried to drown him. 𝘚𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 tries to drown him some nights, when the wind howls outside the little two bedroom apartment that they share, casting nightmares behind his eyelids in technicolor. “What do you do with it?” Steve asks, turning the stone around in his hand, brushing the smooth surface with the pad of his thumb.
Eddie jerks his chin towards the water beside them. “You make a wish, and toss it in.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
Steve considers the task, weighing the rock in his palm. A simple things, to throw a stone. To disturb the surface of the lake with a violent splash. He used to do it all the time, back when he was small and the placid waters meant so little — just another element of calm to carelessly shatter.
But calm is precious, these days. Quiet is 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘥, because it means they’d made it out. It means they’d won, and the dark things that lie beneath Lover’s Lake could no longer harm them. Rest was within their reach, and the aching strain of treading on tip-toe around things that no longer went bump in the night could be soothed, here on the shores of a different lake. With a different heart, beating next to another that Steve would know blind.
A steeling intake of breath, and a pull of muscle. Steve throws the stone.
It soars through the air in a near-perfect arc, and lands with a distant plunk into the water, sinking below the waterline where it will remain.
Eddie reaches for him, pulls him gently against his chest. Steve goes easily, like this comfortable cage of flesh and bone is the one place he’s always meant to return. And maybe it is. Maybe it always has been.
He can feel Eddie’s warmth against his skin, Eddie’s lips on his hair. Eddie’s fingers on his arm, tracing aimlessly along seams of scar tissue. He can feel love — ordinary, life-changing love — nestled perfectly behind his ribs, healing each wound that seeks to split.
“What’d you wish for?” Eddie asks softly, the words whispered against Steve’s scalp. Steve squeezes his hand, still clasped in his own between them, and rests his head in the dip of Eddie’s collarbone.
“Just this,” he says, watching the golden evening light dance off the water. Brilliant, impermanent, and ever-shifting. “Always, this.”
20 notes
·
View notes
Rick: Hey you gotta help Y/N
Daryl: Did somethin’ happen? Did they get hurt?
Rick: Not…exactly
——
Y/N: *staring intensely at an ant trail*
Daryl: I don’t see what the problem is
Rick: They got into some mushrooms.
Y/N: Have y’all heard of…zombies?
Daryl: Now they’re talkin’ nonsense
Rick: The fuck are zombies
678 notes
·
View notes