Quick Sketch Of Disaster Twins (from Textual RP Where I And @alabyte Make Some Chaos). Some Modern Au

I don't want this to get lost in the abyss that is my likes folder, so here you go.

Since this is apparently getting more traction than I had anticipated…

Hi! I’m Day, I’m here for writing because that what I’m mostly good at? Thus far punkflower seems to be my most well-liked thing that I’ve been writing so far so that’s what I’ll focus on with this blog for now. This is technically a sideblog, but I want you guys to know that even if I can’t reply to comments you leave me, I love and cherish them regardless!

I don’t have much written yet for this blog, but you guys all are so encouraging it’s likely I’ll end up writing more. Please bear with me as I add more!

(Also, if people are interested, I was thinking of doing a tag list for fics, like maybe a permanent one of like 20-25 or so? Let me know, I guess!)

Written thus far!!

Punkflower:

Awkward First Impressions (Hobie’s Introduction from Hobie’s POV)

A/B/O Spiderverse with No Current Name (oh god it’s getting so long now…):

Part 1/Part 2/Part 3/Part 4/Part 5/Part 6/Part 7/Part 8/Part 9/Part 10/Part 11

A Whole New World AU (Aladdin-Style):

Part 1/Part 2/Part 3/Part 4/Part 5/Part 6/Part 7/Part 8

Steve Harrington was a child actor. 

During the mid to late aughts when the Capitalistic Mouse was pumping out teen stars like it was nothing,  the Harrington family hopped on that train and rode it until Harrington was written across the t-shirts of every pre-teen girl across america. His face was EVERYWHERE. And yeah, he was the teenage heartthrob pretty boy that was lead singer of his band. 

Eddie Munson couldn't escape this mother fucker. Not at school, on the radio in his uncle's car, at every social setting he was forced into.

On the TV in his room with the volume turned so low only he could hear him. 

Eddie Munson was a very secret super-fan of Steve Harrington. He owned all his plastic albums and a handful of powder pink t-shirts. He had a poster he kept rolled up, stuffed in the back of his closet right next to his sexuality. Because no one could know that Eddie Munson, the trailer park kid with Metallica always blaring from his smashed phone, liked a fucking boy band.

But trends changed, and Harrington faded off, cutting his contract with The Mouse to live his own life- He’d disappeared for a while- He’d stopped craving the spotlight a long time ago, and Eddie had admitted he was a little more than heartbroken. So Eddie Munson, shoebox full of Steve Harrington paraphernalia shoved under his bed, moved on.

That was, until he heard a very familiar voice on his radio on his way home from work. His aux cord had busted so he was stuck on the greatest hits of the current time, rather than Metallica or Judas Priest.

"Back from his long hiatus, with his new hit single that's topping charts across the globe, here's Steve Harrington!" 

Eddie almost swerved off the road. 

Of course, when he got home, he was googling shit for hours before finding out that Steve had decided to step back into the spotlight on his own terms, and the public had received him because they loved him. That debut song was the kickoff point. He didn't make a full album or announce his tour until after the tell-all Netflix docu-series that was number one trending every Thursday night for a month. Eddie took off work to watch them the second they released. 

He wasn't shocked that the company that made him treated him like a puppet- it'd been seen before with other child stars. It was his family that had Eddie floored. They’d forced him to work, took all the money he'd made up until he was eighteen, and he never saw a dime of it. He didn't even talk to his parents anymore, and they hadn’t contacted him. So, between diner jobs and writing his own music on the side, he reconnected with his old bandmates and decided it was worth trying again, because it had never been about the money for Steve. 

So there he was, center stage of a sold out arena, glittering with fresh confidence and a new sound- but the same voice that had snatched Eddie's heart when he was twelve years old. The voice that forced him to have the terrifying realization that he liked boys. It was even more terrifying now that Eddie was just feet away from him in the pit, singing along with every other twenty-something that had snagged floor seats for Steve's return tour. 

And in a rush of glittery adrenaline and sweaty bodies, the show was over and Eddie was wandering by himself down busy city streets. He wandered into a shitty hole-in-the-wall gay bar that he was certain only he knew about, because it was always dead when he came around. He slid into his usual seat at the bar and ordered his favorite drink, over the moon that he'd been so close to Steve. It was like all his childhood dreams had all come true. He was lost in his own thoughts when a fresh drink he hadn't ordered was slid in front of him. 

"Can I buy you a drink?" 

Eddie hadn't been facing him, so he could hide his expression when he recognized the voice. It was a voice he knew like the back of his hand, one that had been blasting his eardrums out not an hour ago. He collected himself as quickly as he could, trying to convince himself he was hearing things. He took the cup in his ring-adorned hand and brought it to his lips. 

"I dunno, can you?"

Eddie somehow played it cool for the first time in his life. He pretended he didn't know him, when he saw his face. He did let himself get lost in his eyes, though, and Steve probably noticed. He treated him just like he would have treated any other guy that hit on him, except he actually liked this one. And Steve seemed pleased, to not be recognized. 

So he took Eddie back to his hotel room, took his number, showed him a good time, and called him the next day. And the day after that, and the day after that. 

Steve kept calling him, and Eddie kept answering, twirling his hair and kicking his feet like a schoolgirl because Steve was actually really nice. Down to earth and kind, and he never talked about his work, even when he admitted to Eddie what it was, and Eddie acted shocked. ‘Oh, you have like, a little band? Cool, cool.’ After weeks of back and forth and eventual ‘I wanna see you again’s, Steve asked Eddie to travel with him while he toured, and what was Eddie going to say? No, I'd rather sit alone in my tiny apartment and work my life away in a dull record store? Like hell. 

And at the end of the tour, once Steve formally asked him to be his boyfriend and Eddie almost passed out, they bought a cute little house and settled down. Well, as much as a pop star could. He still made music, still played shows, did the usual TV appearances and played in Times Square on new years eve. 

Steve Harrington kissed his boyfriend Eddie Munson on national live television, in front of millions of people and the undying internet, and they made headlines. 

But, after all that. All the glamor, and the tabloids, Steve went on a break again. Eddie learned that Steve was genuine, and Steve learned that Eddie was hopelessly devoted, and he married him. Eddie took Steve’s last name, of course. It did take some convincing for his uncle, though. To accept the name change- Not that his nephew was gay and in love with a world class pop star.

So, with matching gold bands and wide smiles, they visited Wayne Munson for their first holiday season where Steve wasn't busy working. Eddie showed Steve his childhood bedroom, which had long been turned into Wayne's TV room. They'd spent their holiday bundled up on his tiny old couch, watching age-old holiday specials and napping through the afternoon.

Eddie woke up to Steve on the floor beside him, sifting through an old, weathered shoe box, its contents strewn about the floor, and he wondered if he was in a nightmare. 

He dove for the box but the jig was up, he was found out, his goose was cooked, he was a goner, he was fucked. Steve was going to hate him for life. He apologized over and over as he scrambled to tear his Steve Harrington collection away from Steve fucking Harrington himself, but Steve just laughed and held up a sticky note, faded and crumpled, and Eddie wanted to fall through the floor, through all nine circles of hell, and die. 

"Eddie Harrington, huh?" 

Eddie snatched the dumb note from his school days and apologized again, but Steve was grinning from ear to ear. 

"I thought you'd admit it one day, but I'm impressed, babe."

"You knew? How- How long have you known-"

"How many men do you think I see jamming out at my shows? That know every word off my first album from when I was a kid? That aren’t there because their girlfriends dragged them? I had Robin follow you to that shitty bar I found you in because- I had to meet you. I wanted to know who you were. And then you just… Treated me like a human. You pretended you had no fucking clue who I was, man. That was the hottest shit ever."

Eddie didn't know how to react to that. The whole time he pretended not to know who Steve was, Steve was waiting for him to crack. And now, it's five years later and they're married. He supposed they both had a bit of a secret, then. What, with Steve sending his best friend to seek out a fan so he could hit on him? Oh, for shame, Stevie.

"This has gotta be my favorite, though. I'm keeping it." 

Steve held a photo up, discolored and worn. It was of Eddie, head shaven, young and free of any of the tattoos and piercings he had now. His arm was slung around a very young Steve, who was about a head taller than Eddie at the time- But they were laughing, because Eddie had just said something that made Steve's eyes light up. Wayne had paid for Eddie to go to one of Steve’s meet and greets before a concert- He was up in the nosebleeds but the meet and greet was all that mattered to him. It had been his christmas and birthday present all wrapped into one, and he’d been so happy. 

“You can’t just steal that, it’s my favorite photo of us.” 

“Even more than our wedding photo, huh?”

“Oh, it’s not even close, babe.”

Likes and reblogs appreciated ❣️

I absolutely hate doing this, but I don't know what to do. Every resource I know of is tapped out or just gives me the run around on trying to get through to them.

I lost my job last week & my light bill came due & it was higher than my last check could hope to handle. If anyone can help, even if it's just boosting this post, I'd greatly appreciate it.

gofundme.com

We need help paying our light bill, organized by Charity Porter

Hi, my name is Charity. I'm fundraising because I lost my job last week & our light… Charity Porter needs your support for We need help pay

Hey, can someone help me find a long fic of Anakin and Padme being a power couple? Because I just know they had so much potential to be one, and George Lucas ROBBED us of that. So... Help a girl out please? I will send virtual hugs in return for longfic recommendations 🙏

Wake up besties the dinluke faves collaborated !!!!

To which @swedenis-h​ had this super sweet comic idea and I wanted to do it justice :D 

Comic sketches (courtesy of the lovely @swedenis-h​) 

Oneshot (courtesy of me lol) 

Dusk on Tatooine had always been filled with heady purple and the last licks of sweat the day tried to cling to, the day like an overenthusiastic mastiff trying to be led away.

Two dots of red on the horizon, a flickering fire- Tatooine shed its warmth like washing slobber from skin. The day’s heat lingered, and lingered… and vapourised without warning.

A flicker of silver, a spark of gold.

The smell of hot circuitry, huddling closer to the fire. Luke tried to stay still as Din removed the wiring tool from the open wiring panel of his robot hand.

“It’s beautiful work.” Din complimented gently, lowly, his gloved fingertips tracing the palm lines of Luke’s prosthetic hand. Almost as if he was tracing the lines of a map, learning the routes by heart. Luke imagined it would feel really nice, if there hadn’t been a dull edge of metallicism to every sensation from that hand.

“It doesn’t…” Luke fights a frustrated noise, feelings stuck in his throat like backed up Tatooine traffic. His throat tightened.

A breath.

“It’s not.” Luke admits finally, gaze shifting to meet Din’s. A warriors fire sparking in his eyes for the tiniest moment as he resigned himself to unravelling this particular insecurity for Din the way he had cracked the circuitry of his robotic hand wide open.

Young, immature. The harbingers that were supposed to breed wisdom and maturity… may have only just hurt the people he loved.

How could it not have? With Han’s sight affected for the rest of his life and Leia having nightmares about watching the empire take Han away…

Forces, he’d been so stupid. Too wrapped up in the thrill of getting to finally use Force for good to realize the time had been wrong.

Would the situation had resolved itself without his intervention? Had Luke lost his hand for nothing?

“This is going to sound weird…” Luke trailed with a reluctant smile, struggling with the words- embarrassment reigning them in until they crowded in his mouth. Hesitancy to lay bare; a fog he couldn’t shake. “But…”

He grimaced.

“It’s not your hand?” Din asked, ripping the words right out of his mouth. Luke blinked back at him, surprised.

Luke gulped thickly, but the tight knot of emotion wouldn’t unravel.

“Yeah.” Luke murmured reflexively, casting his gaze down- back to his hands. They were both held aloft in front of him, palms up. In theory there wasn’t much visible difference between them, but…

“Mine had calluses,” Luke began, his voice cracking at the admission as his eyes darted to where the calluses used to be. “from my work at the farm.”

An image of his hand before the injury conjured itself in his vision, like an overlay, as he studied the robotic one. Sticky blackness climbed his insides, his skin crawled.

A ghost he was haunted by day and night.

Din paused in his ministrations, and the silence yawned and waned in the space between them.

Luke was drawn back in.

“It had scars from working on ships,” Luke explained, his left, real, hand reaching out to point to the vulnerable stretch of skin around his wrist and the skin on the other side of his hand. It was pale in a way that was uncharacteristic of Luke’s tanned skin tone. The skin looked less durable than the rest of him on the robot hand, a constant chink in his armour.

A breath. Luke could see the ghost clear as day, like a sort of glitchy holo projection.

“It also matched my left hand.” Luke’s voice was small as he stared at the robot hand, the gaping hole where the circuitry he had been showing Din spilled out. The visible circuitry when he fixed it made it both more and less easy to see the hand as his, paradoxically.

Luke had almost lost more than his hand.

The price of his hand was nothing compared to the company of his friends. His loved ones.

He knew that.

He knew that.

But why was there such a bitterness there? A guilt and shame- the robot hand meant more than just a second chance at mobility; it meant an unspoken forgiveness from his loved ones.

And Forces, that was hard to digest.

Leia, Han and Chewie had almost died that day. It would have been his fault that their stars had blinked out, and Luke would probably never forgive himself for it.

He’d just dove in unthinkingly, all of his mind on the need to save them that he hadn’t thought it through-

The robot hand was just one big scar he’d never be rid of. One big forgiveness he wasn’t sure he deserved.

Why was blind, reckless, heroism worth any forgiveness?

Luke would always be haunted by his old hand- the one that had just always been a part of him- it followed him when tinkering and sparring, the loss a thing of endlessness.

A gloved hand grabbed out for the wrist of Luke’s real hand, cutting Luke’s absent movement short. He’d been unknowingly tracing the places his right hand used to have character and definition. Startled, Luke’s thoughts fell away.

“I-I… I sound insane.” Luke back-pedalled, feeling self-conscious and awash with a hot and sticky shame at the vulnerable oddity about it. Fuck, he’d opened up too much there-

A tug.

“These are my real hands,” Din’s warm voice followed, and Luke looked up at him with a moment of flustered confusion.

Din looked down at his own gloved hands, studying them anew. “The ones you see now.”

“I know their weight. Their durability.” Din flexed his hands like he was about to pick up a rifle.

“The ones underneath the gloves, I haven’t seen as mine for a long time now.” Din admitted softly, looking at his hands now like they were foreign to him. “They were soft, and reaching for something that doesn’t exist anymore.”

Oh.

And then-

Oh.

Din had lost his parents, but he was talking about the new relationship with his hands that his gloves gave him after the loss of his home. The gloves being used both to bring about vulnerability for others while protecting the vulnerability of Din’s open and wanting palms from his youth.

The side of himself that never had the opportunity to mature slowly. The side that grew up too fast but there would always be a sliver of, crying out for home.

Luke blinked, looking back up at Din.

“They were hidden away with a pain I never want to feel again.” Din’s voice wavered, and Luke unconsciously reached out, cradling one between his cupped palms, resting it on his knee.

“Yes, these hands have seen my mistakes, but they’ve seen my successes, too.” Din reached out with his other hand, trailing it along the territory of the faux skin of Luke’s robot hand with a reverence that made Luke’s face hot with something. Something between tears, appreciation and gratefulness.

Perhaps all three.

“The hands I know now were a gift.” Din concluded, looking Luke right in the eye. Luke could puzzle out his message now.

“A second chance.” Luke finished for Din, and he nodded affirmatively.

Not a mark of forgiveness. A possibility to start again.

“They may not have the scars to prove it, but they are mine. Just as much as the hands under the gloves.” Din softened, gloved fingertips lingering around the fleshy part of Luke’s robot wrist, near the open wire access panel.

Luke felt himself flush, flattered by the way Din so deftly applied such a simple yet all-encompassing type of logic to find a solution.

There was earnestness to it, fresh and raw. A hopefulness.

“Hm.” Luke hummed back, letting Din’s truth wash over him and settle, clinking, next to the old one.

Perhaps Luke had been thinking about the robot hand all wrong.

He took in Din with their hands still intertwined in the space between their knees, a pang of warmth filling him.

Look not to the past, but to the future.

Luke smiled. How Jedi of him.

Din’s helmet looked back down at their joined hands, and then back up at Luke.

All of a sudden, Luke was very aware they were still holding hands.

Luke blinked, blushing a deep red, letting go at the same time Din did and pulling his hands in to his chest like they had been burned.

“Thanks for the hand-” “Yeah! Uh-”

Who is your Stranger Things best friend? Drop your answer in the comments, and feel free to reblog! Just for kicks, my phone is at 86%, so my best friend is Billy.

Alrighty, buckle up y'all, because after a year and a half of being fixated on Star wars, the hyperfixation has shifted to Hazbin Hotel! If any of you know of any cool art or amazing fanfics, feel free to reblog with the recommendations!

I couldn't help but reblog this, it was just too cute!

Them in another universe

No explanation needed.

The best damn thing I’ve ever made.

I have a migraine coming on so I present to you:

How the clones react when they have a headache:

Rex: takes so many pain pills. Refuses to let this stop him. Drinks water constantly. And yet. This man refuses to try a snack to fix his headache. Cody has had Fives and Echo hold him down so he can make Rex eat a granola bar. (The granola bar helps Rex refuses to admit it.)

Cody: refuses to admit anything is wrong. Total hypocrite. Will bully everyone else into pain relievers, snacks, and water but will never take his own advice. Quite like his above mentioned brother he will never admit to something working and has to be tricked into doing something to relieve the pain.

Fox: chews on espresso beans to make his headache a caffeinated headache. Also is just in a constant state of discomfort from not sleeping enough. His headache would go away should he drink water or nap but the man would rather down another energy drink and move on.

Wolffe: will be grumpy about it until he can nap. Is really good about finding some sort of relief and is quiet about his pain. (Likes when someone will rub his head though that helps he won’t ask for it though.)

Fives: biiiiiiig mad. Super baby about it. Immediately wants an aleve and a snack but somehow thinks drinking something with sugar will help??? Instead of water??? And he’s somehow correct every time??? Lays his head in Echo’s lap and requests a head massage and promptly falls asleep.

Echo: I think he’s good about managing pain because he doesn’t want it to impact his ability to do things. He carries snacks and water and will take a reliever if pushed (although he says he doesn’t want to take it because he doesn’t want to ‘waste’ supplies on himself. Take the damn pill Echo you’ll feel better.) Refuses to be alone when he’s in pain and would always prefer someone to just sit nearby if he’s going to nap. As long as it’s dark and calm he’s pretty quiet about it. Tries to hide it 9 times out of 10 but he’s got nosey friends and they somehow always know and bully him into taking care of himself.

Hunter: oof. Poor guy gets migraines. Can never hide it. His eyes hurt so bad. His brain feels like it’s banging against his skull. Has to take some sort of medication immediately otherwise he gets sick. He’d prefer some solitude to be in pain alone but sometimes someone will take his bandana off and play with his hair to help.

Wrecker: Hates headaches but gets them concentrated right behind his eyes. Is not quiet about the pain and will request literally anything to make it go away. Tech is excellent at playing doctor here and knows exactly the combination of things to make it go away and keep Wrecker comfortable.

Tech: if it’s bad enough he will take a sedative and pass out for twelve hours and wake up fine. Does not fuck around and will not remain uncomfortable. He gets the slightest inclination of a headache and he’s eating a mini candy bar and a piece of cheese and also drinking eight ounces of water in five minutes before trying a pill that he knows will target the root cause of the problem. Scary efficient and competent.

Crosshair: oh boy. Will make it everyone else’s problem. He hates headaches. He’ll curl into a ball in whatever dark corner he can find and snap at anyone who tries to talk to him. Best bet is to silently bring offerings of food and water and leave him be until he feels more comfortable. He will never admit it but sometimes really quiet talking or even singing can help him at least feel better.