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ladyoftherefrigerator · 3 months

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So It Begins (4119 words) by Lady_of_the_Refrigerator Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Javert/Jean Valjean Characters: Javert (Les Misérables), Jean Valjean Additional Tags: Toulon Era (Les Misérables), Mildly Dubious Consent, Power Imbalance, First Time Blow Jobs, Top Jean Valjean, Bottom Javert (Les Misérables), Propositions, Dom/sub Undertones, Valjean (Wilkinson), Javert (Quast) - Freeform, POV Jean Valjean, Oral Sex, First Kiss, Valvert Week 2024 Series: Part 1 of The Proposition

Summary: “You are due to be released shortly, is that correct?” Valjean’s stomach sank with dread. No good could come from such a question. “Yes.” “Then I have little time.” “Little time for what?” Valjean questioned; the guard said nothing. “You must seek to entrap me into extending my sentence by bringing me to this place alone.” “I do not.” “You lie. I see no other reason for pulling me away from the others.” “I do not lie,” the guard hissed; he looked furious and miserable both as he continued to pace the small space. Something in his tone and in his carriage made Valjean believe him against his better judgement.

@valvertweek

#valvert #valvert week 2024 #series: the proposition #fic: so it begins #otp: i am reaching but i fall #theatre: les mis #my fics

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lungthief · 10 months

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listen. i know it's not 2014 anymore and i know it's just a throwaway line and that the russo brothers didnt intend for marvel action blockbuster captain america the winter soldier to become the tragic gay love story that never was but man. having steve say "it's kind of hard to find someone with shared life experience" in a conversation about romantic relationships right before the bucky reveal is so cruel. it's not just about steve and bucky obviously having the shared experience of being "out of time," it's the fact that they've both been stripped of their humanity in opposite directions. steve is a legend, he is an american hero and a national icon before he is a human being the same way that bucky is a weapon and a killing machine before he is a human being. steve knows that anyone who falls in love with him in the 21st century fell in love with captain america first, and that's just not him. but then the one person who knew him first and knew him best and loved him (not captain america, that little guy from brooklyn) so much he died for it is alive, impossibly. and it's a miracle because he's back and it's horrific because he's back under the worst possible circumstances. but to steve, the winter soldier is worth tearing the world apart for because he's always been bucky first. they find each other and suddenly they're human again. and maybe, despite it all, being "out of time" becomes a blessing, because in this century they'd finally be allowed to love each other the way they've always wanted to. like real people do.

like. no. the captain america trilogy isn't about two queer men traumatized and alienated by war and modern life rediscovering and reclaiming their humanity through their love for each other. but. i mean. it couldve been

#like you get why all the fics about those two are insane right. the narrative is just so goddamn compelling #and thats not even getting into the whole thing abt the serum curing steve of every ailment except his love for bucky #which makes him realize it was never an ailment to begin with (despite the commonly held beliefs about homosexuality in the 1940s)#and bucky being *electroshocked* again and again into forgetting steve #like howd you make your gay ass movie that gay and not realize it. its kinda impressive #sorry for the ridiculous stucky retrospective its 4am and i rewatched the winter soldier recently #its not that deep. its not its not its not . but if it was anything other than what it is it could have been. and thats the worst part #shut up riley #marvel #stucky

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flowercrowngods · 5 months

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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

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muffinlance · 10 months

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EMERGENCY FANFIC PROTOCOLS: ACTIVATED

Hey while AO3 is down

Here is a GDrive link to all my downloaded fics (it's OVER 9,000 2,000)

Mostly Avatar, also The Magnus Archives, Danny Phantom, Teen Wolf, and a few others

Mostly unsorted, some not even intentionally downloaded because the auto-downloader I use is Like That, so consider this a glorified "give me a random fic" button

MAKE SURE TO KUDOS THE AUTHORS WHEN AO3 IS BACK UP

>>> Linkie link <<<

Edit: Note that when AO3 comes back up that link will go dead again... until it's needed, once more

EMERGENCY FANFIC PROTOCOLS: DEACTIVATED

...Until next they are needed

If you were going through these for fic recs, check out my AO3 Bookmarks for the more curated list.

To make your own fanfic backups, I recommend AO3 Downloader or FanFicFare. (I'm not tech support for either; please don't message me for help.)

Happy reading!

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rainbow-nerdss · 20 days

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Buck goes over to Tommy's place late one morning, coffees in hand. They agreed to go out today, maybe go for a walk in a nearby park or something, no solid plans for the day other than spending it together.

When Buck gets there, though, he feels something is wrong. The curtains are closed, for one thing. And when Buck knocks, he doesn't hear any immediate movement towards the door. Usually, Tommy opens the door before Buck even makes it up the drive.

But today, Buck knocks, and he waits.

Had Tommy gotten held late at work? Buck knows he had a shift that was supposed to end a few hours before, but maybe he got stuck with overtime and didn't have a chance to call or text. But his car is there, in the same place it always is, and there hasn't been anything on the news about any major disasters.

Buck knocks again and considers calling or texting when he finally hears shuffling on the other side of the door, then the jingle of keys before the door opens.

Tommy is... A mess, honestly.

His hair is sticking up in every direction, old sweatpants with a hole at the knee, and a worn out old hoodie which Tommy shoves his hands back into the pockets of when he sees Buck.

"Hey, Evan." He swallows, voice think with some heavy emotion. "I'm so sorry, I... I forgot we had plans today, I—" he's hunched into himself, and he looks smaller than Buck's ever seen him.

"Tommy," Buck reaches for him with the hand that isn't holding the coffee cups. "What happened? Are you okay?"

Tommy shrugs, hesitating before stepping aside to let Buck in. "Rough shift," he says after an extended silence. "Everyone... The team all made it out, but... We lost someone. I lost someone."

Buck sets the coffee cups down on the entrance table and pulls Tommy into a hug, tucking his head into his shoulder and holding him tight. Slowly, Tommy's hands raise enough to wrap around Buck's waist.

"I don't think I'm gonna be much company today," Tommy sniffs after a while. Buck can feel a wet patch on his shoulder, but doesn't mention it.

The fact that Tommy trusts him enough to be this vulnerable with feels like something sacred, something he's been searching desperately for. Up to now, Tommy has been the one adjusting to make space for what Buck needs, but it's time for Buck to step up, to be there for Tommy.

"I get it, but I'm here." Buck kisses Tommy's cheekbone, just below his eye and he tastes the salty tang of tears there. "If you'd rather be alone, I-I get it. I can go home, and we can reschedule this. But, Tommy, I don't care if all we do is sit on your couch in the dark, okay? Whatever you need, I'm here."

Tommy holds Buck tighter for a moment.

"Evan," he says, in the same way he always says it. Like it's a something precious and delicate and wonderful. Buck's not sure where it came from, but he adores it.

"What do you usually do after a bad shift?' Buck asks.

Tommy sniffs, and it takes a while to answer. "Usually..." He clears his throat. "Usually I curl up in bed or on the couch and watch a rom-com. I know, it's a little—"

"Don't you dare say it's embarrassing," Buck warns, cupping Tommy's jaw and running his thumb over the stubble there. "Go make yourself comfortable, drink your coffee, pick a movie. I'll make us some snacks and join you in a minute, okay?"

Half an hour later, Buck settles on the couch—the coffee table full of popcorn, chopped vegetables and dips to snack on.

Buck reclines against the arm, and pulls Tommy on top of him, head on his chest. It's a tight fit, but from the way Tommy settles into him, Buck knows it's what he needs.

Tommy hits play, and Buck smiles at the opening monologue. "Love Actually?" He asks.

Tommy makes a sound, a soft sort of hum. "It's... kind of my favourite," he admits.

Buck smiles and kisses the top of Tommy's head, then replaces his lips with his fingers, running them over Tommy's scalp.

"That's really cute."

Tommy nestles in closer to Buck's chest, and neither of them say anything else for a while.

"Thanks," Tommy says, when they're about halfway through the movie. "For staying."

Buck kisses his head again, and Tommy lifts himself up a little so he can turn and kiss Buck on the lips, instead before settling back against his chest.

"Thank you, for letting me stay. For letting me look after you."

The words are on the tip of his tongue as he looks down and watches Tommy turn his attention back to the movie, watches him mouth along to a handful of lines.

I love him, he thinks. He doesn't say it out loud, not yet, but the realisation is soft, and warming, and perfect. And he will say it, soon. When the time is right. And he hopes Tommy will say it back.

For now though, Tommy is like a weighted blanket on his chest, comforting and warm, and Buck's content to just stay here for as long as he can.

They'll put on another movie, finish the snacks, maybe order takeout for dinner later, and Tommy will smile again, will laugh again, will kiss Buck the same way he says his name.

#my fic #evan buckley #tommy kinard #tevan #bucktommy #might just end up writing bucktommy ficlets about every tiny sliver of information we have about tommy from begins episodes ngl #the fact that his fave movie is canonically love actually is so cute im obsessed with him

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marimbles · 8 months

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“Paths like this one are sometimes called ‘desire paths.’ … They mark a journey of wishes … of tireless yearning.”

— @bahbahhh, “desire path”

this fic has not left my mind since I read it!! it’s absolutely gorgeous! Thank you for the delicious zelink 💜

#zelink #botw #zelda #loz #legend of zelda #breath of the wild #begin again is also FANTASTIC I am still reeling from that one too #bahbahh is one of the most beautiful fic writers I’ve encountered so I highly recommend her stuff!#my art #mine

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fynori · 4 months

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i need a skk-centered spinoff thats just their dumb mafia hijinks so bad you guys dont get it. like imagine them figuring out the gun trick for the first time in the middle of a mission where dazai just hands chuuya a gun like "you know what to do." and chuuya just??? no?? the fuck i dont?????? and so, best guess he's got, he shoots dazai. there arrival back at hq goes something like this:

dazai: why the FUCK DID YOU SHOOT ME??

chuuya: YOU TOLD ME TO??

dazai: NO?? I DID NOT??? I TOLD YOU TO USE YOUR ABILITY TO SLOW DOWN THE BULLET JUST ENOUGH IT PIERCES MY SKIN WITHOUT REACHING MY SKULL OR BRAIN AND THEREFORE FAKE MY DEATH WITHOUT CAUSING ANY REAL HARM. AND THEN I WOULDNT BE AT ALL INCAPACITATED AND COULD JUMP THE GUARDS WHEN THEY GO TO CONFIRM MY BODY. OBVIOUSLY

chuuya:

#fynori rambles #soukoku #skk #and yes i stole this from myself. if usaw this on twt then congrats #u get a cookie. or whatever #im planning a fic though of just teenskk shenanigans bcs they truly are the stupidest ever #and utbt is beginning to get sad so a break is needed

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stevebabey · 1 year

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question on my lips

kia ora my loves, i'm stuck with writers block on another piece and this is hopefully the cure <3 its all sweetness as usual [established relationship + fluff + 2k words] mucho mwahs as ALWAYS <3!

Steve’s in a bad mood.

Which might be very fair considering the state of the weather outside. Flurries of snow batter against the windows and a hair-raising chill leaks into the panes, painting them in condensation. It’s cold. You don’t want to be caught outside on a night like tonight.

But, somewhere across town, there’s a reservation under Steve’s name that is being wasted. At a pretty restaurant, with 2 too many forks for your taste — but Steve had insisted. Even put on a suit.

And even though Steve has told you he prefers the quieter nights in with just the two of you, he seems quite… miffed that you can’t go anymore.

Maybe not quite a bad mood but… well, it’s a hell of a pout he’s wearing.

Amber drenches the wall of the room, lit by your bedside table lamps — a cozy cocoon that feels worlds away from the blizzard coming down outside. You’re actually quite excited; there’s seldom a comfort like being in Steve’s arms when it’s cold like this. Tangled together in your bed, letting his perpetually blazing heart heat the both of you.

But… he’s still pouting. You’re both unwinding a bit, taking off what you’d managed to put on before the weather took a turn for the worse — but Steve’s stuck, hands in his pockets. He seems to be fumbling with something.

His silence worries you more. Maybe you hadn’t realised how actually upset he was that your plans were cancelled.

He had been mentioning it all week, all month actually- since he’d first made the booking. Some claim that you’d love the food and he loved any occasion to see you all dressed up and drool-worthy— (“Not that that’s not all the time, babe.”)

“Steve?” You say. His head jumps up, hands in his pockets going still. “C’mon, come to bed.”

He softens at your coaxing words. Like the very sound of them, the sweet nature of your words, melts his hardened edges. He nods, tugging off his tie and beginning to work on his belt.

In the meantime, you creep into the bed. It smells like a smattering of something sweet that you know to be Steve’s hairspray, fabric softener, and maybe what you think love might smell like if it had a scent. You sink into it lovingly. Warm. Safe.

Your eyes find him instinctively. Watching, observing, drinking in the sight of your lover soothes you like nothing else. Love spools messily in your chest, like a knotted ball of yarn strewn through your ribs. It aches sweetly. Steve catches you as he’s pulling a pair of sweatpants up his calf.

“You’re staring,” He states plainly, but he’s smiling a bit, lips turned up in the corners. He jumps, hiking his pants up over his hips, and wanders closer.

You nod, hair scrunching against the pillow. Your voice comes out a bit muffled when you speak. “That a crime?”

Steve grins this time. He pushes the covers back, kneeling on the mattress beside you — pausing to push back the hair covering your eyes. He smiles down at you, eyes fond. “If it is, lock me up, baby.”

He pauses, thumb drifting over cheekbone lightly. “I could look at ya all day.”

Something delightful purrs behind your ribs, warm and all-encompassing. Where you would’ve once hidden your face away, this time you just let your glee wash over your face — and let Steve see every second of it. You’re happy. Steve makes you happy.

Steve gives an awed exhale and flops, bouncing down on the mattress beside you. He works the duvet around, bundling up as best he can before his hands begin to search for you. Traversing across the sheets, seeking, til they meet skin. He hums happily. Pulls you into his chest and lets you figure out how you want to wrap around him, like unkempt ivy. He’s warm, as always.

You’re not even trying to sleep yet, either of you, just having a moment huddled up in each other's embrace. The wind whirls loudly outside. You wonder what you’d be doing if your plans had gone through.

“M’sorry,” you say into his chest. It rises and falls with his breath, soothing and constant. “That we couldn’t do dinner. Y’seemed really excited.”

Steve makes a little noise, saying that he agrees. For a moment, your words hang in the air and then he clears his throat, pulling you closer.

“S’okay, not like you can control the weather.” He murmurs his reply. He pulls back to peer down at you with suspicious eyes, a tease on his tongue. “Can you? Because as your boyfriend, I should totally know that, and considering what we’ve seen—“

“Shut up,” you giggle. You poke him in the ribs because you can’t think of a good jibe back.

“Shutting up,” Steve says, before snuggling back closer. There’s another moment of quiet. The window rattles in the absence of words. Steve sighs.

“Just…” He starts. You can already tell he’s got his thinking face on, a little furrow between his brows. “Had some good plans for tonight, is all. Not a big deal.”

“A plan within a plan,” you muse thoughtfully. Steve chuckles. “How layered this night could of been!”

“And instead, you just have to have this, huh?” Steve murmurs, dejection creeping into his voice. Your heart twists. He must’ve planned a lot just to watch it go down the drain.

You pull back from his embrace and catch his eyes, searching his face. Disappointment lingers in his expression and it pushes a pout onto your lips.

“Well, is there anything we can do? That was like your plans?” You ask.

Steve breaks into a grin, giving a chuckle — but a glint in his eyes says he’s grinning for another reason. He stares at you lovingly, eyes dragging up and down your face as he seemingly thinks of his answer. He shakes his head.

“Nuh uh. Nothing we can do tonight.” He says, a tad forlorn. His hand on your back sketches a soft stroke up your spine. You shiver in a good way and Steve speaks again, eyes searching somewhere behind you, imagining something. “Well, not— not the way I want to do this.”

There’s a long pause. At the same moment a soft realisation blooms in your chest and on your face, Steve seems to realise he’s said too much. His eyes widen, the apples of his cheeks turning scarlet.

“Were you gonna—?”

You push back from him, suddenly sitting up in the bed. Your heart thuds loudly in your chest, risking bruising the inside of your ribs with each resounding thud. You don’t even mind because… because…

Steve sits up too, wide-eyed expression still on his face. He looks flushed, taken off guard — he clearly hadn’t meant to tell you today. Well, he had meant to tell you today but he wanted to ask you at dinner, on one knee, and then the storm—

“You were gonna ask?” You squeak. A smile wobbles on your face as you try to rein in your reaction, even as joy floods every nerve. “Tonight?”

Steve seems unsure of the right way to answer. “Yes,” He stammers. Then crushes his eyes closed, dropping his eyes closed to curse. “Shit, I wasn’t supposed— I had it all planned! This isn’t—“

Steve pushes his palms into his eyes for a moment, dragging his hands down his face. You feel a pang of remorse for ruining your own surprise but it’s completely overshadowed by the rampant happiness. You can’t help yourself for what you say next.

“Yes.”

Steve blinks. “What?” A grin grows on his face, like your own is contagious even as he shakes his head. “I haven’t even asked you yet!”

He’s laughing, a glorious sound, and so are you. You're so full of love you feel stuffed like you’ve just eaten, it fills every crevice of your body. You nod. You think your teeth might be aching with how sweet the boy before you is— pouting and giving away his own surprises.

“I know,” you breathe. “But if- when you do, it’s a yes.”

And you’ve known it before. You have known it long before tonight that yours and Steve’s futures are knitted together so intricately that where one goes, the other follows. Still, knowing it and saying it— the difference steals your breath. You feel like a teenage fool again, back to the first time Steve ever asked you, ‘Be mine?’

Steve sinks into the pillows, deflating into them with a blinding grin. Like he hadn’t been sure up until right then. He giggles. Another awed sound, like he can’t quite believe what’s happening.

“Okay,” he breathes. You sink down too, curling up into him. His warmth feels burning hot now as he pulls you back into his arms, the same as he had a minute ago; this time, you swear your hearts are an inch closer.

“I gotta come up with a whole new plan now, don’t I?” Steve asks, eyes shining as he peers down at you.

You laugh a little bit, delirious, and shake your head. Gathering courage, even as your stomach twists up in the best way.

“Nope. You can… you can ask now, if you really want.”

You hope your voice betrays everything you mean; that he could ask anywhere and you would say still say yes. That it didn’t need to be somewhere fancy, didn’t need to be a big spectacle, he didn’t even need to get on one knee and you would still say yes.

Steve stares down at you, drinking in the sincerity of your expression and he softens impossibly more. Smile lines you adore get scrunched up as he gives a shuddering breathy laugh, punched out of him by his own enormous affection. Christ, he loves you.

His hand raises, cupping your jaw sweetly and he tugs you closer to meet him in the middle. You come home to him, lips meeting lips as he kisses you deeply and maddeningly. There are a thousand sentiments in his kiss, I want to marry you and I love you among them.

He pulls back and rests his forehead against your own. His hand on your jaw rubs soothing, fingers tucking some stray hair behind your ear.

“Got a plan.” He murmurs, a wickedly handsome smile on his face as he taps his temple.

You’ll have to wait, it seems. You think you can stretch your patience a little longer, especially for this. Your cheeks are beginning to ache from your smile.

Another quiet moment. Then, your eyes light up with the recollection of an earlier memory. They skirt across the room and land on their target, Steve’s crumpled pair of slacks on the ground. You recall his fumbling with his hand deep in his pocket.

Steve follows your eye-line and the moment he spots what you’re looking his head whips back.

Steve fixes you with a stern look, a warning that says don’t. You move an inch, more to tease than anything — you don’t want to see anything til he’s the one giving it to you — but you don’t get very far anyway.

“Oh no, you don’t—” Steve’s arms around your middle tighten, pulling you closer as you pretend to reach off into the distance.

He shifts you easily, setting you down into the pillows and then squishing himself atop you. You let out a strange noise, a surprised yelp as Steve lightly crushes you beneath him, a slightly maniacal grin on his pretty mouth. His hair is a mess, cheeks still glowing, and he looks utterly in love.

You wiggle a bit, seeing if you can free a limb. Maybe to pretend to escape, maybe to dig your fingers in and hold him closer. Either way, it’s fruitless.

Somehow, you’re not all the mad with the situation; squished lovingly beneath your hunk of a boyfriend so you don’t go scampering around searching for a- for your engagement ring.

“Can I at least get a kiss?” You ask, knowing he’ll say yes. If there’s one thing, it’s that Steve never denies you a kiss if you ask. His eyes look a tad misty as he looks down at you so so fondly, eyes drawing down to your lips.

He doesn’t disappoint.

#written and edited in the space of today #wapow!#if there’s mistakes! no there’s not!#i’m worried u can’t tell he’s proposing in the beginning so fingers crossed #steve harrington #steve x reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #girl what tf do i tag it’s been so long so i’ve posted for the x reader girlies #ruby writes steve #steve #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x gn!reader #steve harrington x gender neutral reader #steve x you #stranger things #stranger things imagine #ok i can’t be bothered

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thesoftestmess · 6 months

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The beauty of Furina and Neuvillette to me is this:

It's about two people who spent 500 years by each other's side, watched generations of citizens they governed together live and die, watched art and fashion trends and historical eras come and go, worked together and lived in close proximity the entire time and without knowing it, grew into a package deal out of circumstance.

Furina, in all of her isolation, could always count on Neuvillette to have her back, be her guidance when dealing with politics and complex archon duties. And Neuvillette, in all his struggle to fit into human society, found meaning in being her right hand and maybe found comfort in Furina's weirdness. In how people wouldn't rarely say "she's overly dramatic and a bit strange, but she's our goddess no less". At some point he stopped noticing he brings her up in every conversation he's having. It's just part of his job, of his life.

For 500 years it's just that. Coexistence and a mutual comfort out of circumstance.

Then the world comes crashing down.

Literally, but even more so figuratively. Everything changes over night, everything Neuvillette thought he knew about his Lady Furina, about the people he swore to protect, gets drowned out by a new reality.

He gets his full powers back and loses the ground beneath his feet all the same. Loses Furina to her freedom. Because it dawns on him that he spent 500 years by her side, not realizing she wasn't free. And how does one apologise for that? For so much more?

Over night, Furina can finally be what she's always longed for: human again. No longer forced to smile through her suffering, no longer forced to repeat the same painful routines, keep up whatever mannerisms it takes to play her role. No longer a puppet for the greater good.

And she finds that freedom tastes like cheap instant macaroni and a new sauce once a week, and looks like staring at the looming front door of her small apartment, which she hasn't stepped out of in a week or two.

What if someone on the street asks her to explain everything? Neuvillette used to shield her from troublesome encounters like that.

The beauty of neuvifuri to me is two people taking 500 years by each other's side for granted, and being so completely entirely lost when they're thrust into a new reality. Without each other.

#and so the mutual yearning may begin 😈😈😈#they're so silly but also SO angsty your honor #they'd find a million stupid ways to break each other's hearts #neuvifuri #focallette #genshin 4.2 #genshin impact #genshin spoilers #neuvillette #furina #fari talks fic

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sacchiri · 27 days

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Satis (the lovely, ongoing time travel drama fic by @lesmismignon) updated, so some sketches to commemorate.

#hellsing #integra hellsing #alucard #my art #i really need to reread this from the beginning #it's been so long i forgot how old everyone is supposed to be #hellsing fics #vladcard: 👁️👄👁️

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eggcats · 2 months

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I'm thinking about radiodust again, but imagine. Alastor and Angel going on an outing for the hotel together.

(Forced bonding activity, maybe. Alastor tries to get out of it by claiming he had things he needed to do and pick up, and Charlie just said Angel can go WITH him instead for it to count.)

Angel is anxious because he KNOWS how it looks to go anywhere with someone. And despite his face he knows Smiles isn't one to take insults lightly.

Alastor, however, THRIVES off attention and people wanting to know what's going on with him. He loves this, it's fueling him. He might ask Angel to accompany him on ALL his outings from now on because the immediate reaction of everyone who sees them is Very Entertaining.

Once Angel realizes that Alastor isn't going to freak on him for all the attention they're getting just by virtue of being there, he starts to enjoy it. It's nice to do something as mundane as going out with someone (even if it ain't a date), without the expectation for how that will end.

PLUS while they're getting a lot of attention, this is one of the first times he's gone anywhere without someone catcalling him or yelling some version of "Slut!" from across the street. (Someone did happen to yell "The RADIO DEMON is fucking ANGEL DUST?!?!" but they didn't remain in the afterlife long, and since then no one has yelled a single thing at him. S'nice.)

It also until that very moment didn't occur to Angel just how much RESPECT he could garner just by being next to Alastor. He goes into a store to pick something up and is just dealing with his normal level of disrespect and harassment before Alastor pops up behind him to see what's taking so long.

It only takes one instance of a tilted head and focused eyes on the sales associate, with a casual "Is there something keeping you, Angel, dear?" for everyone on this side of the pentagram to immediately assume that messing with Angel Dust means messing with none other than the RADIO DEMON. (If it has the added benefit of pissing off the Vox, AND makes Val a bit more wary about messing with Angel, then that's just a bonus.)

You can take this as platonic or romantic, but Angel swoons a bit anyway at the Southern Gentleman treatment, in either case.

And this is the catalyst for them to begin getting along, without Angel feeling the need to put up his over-sexualized porn star persona as his safest way to interact with Alastor.

(IMO, both huskerdust and radiodust work so well because Angel deserves someone who treats him well and respects him for who he is, and not what he can do for them. He deserves a good ol' fashioned lover boy to take care of him, both romantically and platonically, and that's why I love both ships.)

#hazbin hotel #radiodust #alastor #angel dust #hazbin alastor #hazbin angel dust #sometimes the brain rot gets the better of me #i just think they'd have such an interesting dynamic if it ever got explored in the show #fic #mine #long post #?#sorry i just get so many fics and headcanons and the like the SECOND i begin to ship literally anything and im incapable of not making #everyone else see it too

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munsonkitten · 9 months

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Eddie locks his ankles behind Steve’s back, thighs squeezing his sides, and holds him there.

“Stay inside,” Eddie whispers.

“Okay,” Steve breathes, shaking but easy. So soft and so sweet.

He’s still shaking, just resting against Eddie as they try to breathe together.

“You okay, Harrington?” Eddie whispers. He runs his hands up and down Steve’s sides, over the scars that match Eddie’s.

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” Steve whispers, muffled into Eddie’s collar bone.

Eddie’s hands still, he freezes. Still blanketed under Steve’s trembling body, Eddie takes a deep, shaking breath.

“Pussy was that good, huh?” he jokes. Because there’s no way Steve meant that. There’s no way he even said it, nah, Eddie’s just hearing things.

Hearing things he wants to hear.

“No,” Steve says. He lifts his head. “I mean, yeah. Your pussy’s great, man, but no, that’s not — I just had to tell you, okay? It’s fine if you don’t feel the same, but you know, I have to be honest because we just… did all that, and it would be wrong for me to not tell you.”

“After we—” Eddie starts, but then all the words catch right up to his brain and he pulls Steve in for another kiss, so heated and full of all the words Eddie wants to say back.

Steve’s still inside him, still covering him with his body. It’s so hot in the room, and Eddie feels gross, but none of that matters because Eddie may feel gross, but he’s loved. Loved in a way he never has been, and that’s—

“Fuck, Steve,” Eddie laughs. He thinks he might start to cry, thinks he might be already. “I mean, hell, I think I’ve been in love with you since, like, middle school, so there’s that.”

“You didn’t even know me,” Steve points out.

“Didn’t need to. Knew you were pretty,” Eddie whispers, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth. “What about you? When did this revelation hit you?”

“At Reefer Rick’s,” Steve answers immediately.

“Oh yeah? Which time?”

“The first time, man. When you had that bottle pressed to my throat. Fuck, all I could think was that you were wild. Wild, but scared, man. Like an animal that shouldn’t be caged, I don’t know.”

“What the fuck, Steve? You’re telling me we could’ve been doing this the whole time?” Eddie jokes.

Steve shrugs. “Didn’t wanna scare you off. You, uh, you’re doing better now, than you were then, and even just, a few weeks ago, you know? And if I would’ve—”

“I would’ve ran,” Eddie realizes.

Steve shrugs. “I would’ve waited longer, you know. Just, you were lying there in nothing but a pair of fucking cut off shorts, squirming, man. You were squirming and whining, and fuck, you would’ve seen how hard I was if I didn’t say something first to beat you to the punch.”

Eddie laughs. “Can’t believe I got you that worked up.”

“You’re a fucking dream, Eddie Munson,” Steve says. “And I don’t wanna wake up from this one.”

And it’s fucking cheesy, it’s so fucking cheesy, but Eddie finds himself smiling, his grin overtaking his whole face. He can’t stop it, can’t contain it, doesn’t fucking want to.

“You sure know how to sweep a guy off his feet,” Eddie teases.

“Did that actually work?” Steve asks, his grin matching Eddie’s.

“Consider me swept, Harrington,” Eddie says with a wink. “My feet are thoroughly off the ground.”

Steve kisses him again, and he moves them, slipping out of Eddie’s messy cunt, but not letting him go, not going far. He grabs the joint and the lighter off Eddie’s nightstand and lights it up again, taking a hit before passing it over to Eddie. They lay on their sides facing each other, Steve’s arm slung over Eddie’s waist.

“Hoping to get me horny again?” Eddie asks as he brings the joint to his lips.

Steve laughs, ducking his head to hide himself in Eddie’s neck. “I’m hoping I’d get a second round without it, but hey, if it works, it works.”

“Don’t worry, baby, you can have as many rounds as you want,” Eddie promises.

Something has definitely changed between them, but strangely, as Eddie lays in his bed beside Steve, smoking the rest of the joint they were working through earlier, it feels like nothing’s changed at all. They’ve been in love with each other this whole time, been living in each other’s pockets for the entire summer. Steve’s seen Eddie naked before, he’s helped him bathe, helped him change his bandages, helped him brush his hair, and makes sure he’s eating.

All these acts of kindness have never been because they’re just friends, and Eddie knows that now, and he thinks he knew that before, too. He kisses the top of Steve’s head, noses against his sweat damp hair, and holds him closer.

Soon they’ll have to get up and clean up, to wash away the evidence of what they just did, and they’ll get in the shower together, not for the first time, but for the first time when they both know what it means, and Eddie will hold Steve close, and he’ll ask Steve to call him angel and sweet boy, and—

They’ll clean up later.

Now, though, he whispers a quiet, “Yeah, I love you,” and holds him tight, and hears the same three words whispered back.

excerpt from strange as angels on ao3

#this is at the end so click onto ao3 and read from the beginning thx #steddie snippet #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fic #steve/eddie #stranger things #my fics #ftm eddie munson #steddie fluff #trans eddie munson

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