'Stay.'
Hysteria by Def Leppard playing in the background.
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
almost home
KIROKAZE
trying on a metaphor

blake kathryn

祝日 / Permanent Vacation

JBB: An Artblog!
we're not kids anymore.
AnasAbdin
Cosmic Funnies
One Nice Bug Per Day
h
dirt enthusiast
Jules of Nature
TVSTRANGERTHINGS

No title available

Janaina Medeiros
NASA

⁂

Discoholic 🪩

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@tyshalae
'Stay.'
Hysteria by Def Leppard playing in the background.
Literally 👁️👄👁️
Part 5 of the comic based on this fantastic fic by @the-inspector-jones
The whole comic so far
Part 4 here
You are in part 5
Part 6 here
My favourite little lamb to the slaughter to put in situations
And as promised, the print I did for the Freaks and Fables Zine. This is one of my favorite pieces that I’ve done in a while! If you want a print, it is still available in the print pack!
Same
Steve is ripped from sleep, heart hammering and chest heaving. He doesn't know what woke him, doesn't remember any bad dreams, doesn't think he heard any loud noises, but there is a feeling deep within him that is screaming that something's wrong.
He sits up, scanning the room for whatever has him feeling this way. The moon isn't full, but it's nearly there, and the bright light makes the room less dark than it normally is. There's nothing off in his room; no awkward or out-of-place shadows, no wayward noises, everything looking exactly as it had when he went to sleep, to the best of his memory.
The feeling that something is wrong doesn't ease, though.
He throws the blankets off and crawls from his bed. The summer night isn't too cool but the temperature change makes goosebumps raise on Steve's arms. The rug beneath his feet is rough from years of ware but allows him the kindness of putting on his boots without having to step on the cold stone of the barracks' flooring.
He dresses as quickly as he can, to not be indecent as he skulks about the castle searching for out-of-place things.
The door opens up to a much darker hall than his bedroom, and while that's not unusual, it spikes his unease. Stepping out the door, the floor falls out from under him.
something something them in a coming of age movie
Eddie Munson, who looks feral enough some days that you’d believe he chomps down on rare beef without chewing, is actually only still alive because of sweet potatoes.
When he'd first arrived on his doorstep, three foster families in and nearly silent, Wayne had been pretty focused on just keeping him alive. There wasn’t a lot of extra cash floating around most weeks, but what he had, he spent on random treats he assumed kids liked. Colourful packages of cookies, cereal boxes with insanely dressed cartoons on them, and pastries that somehow tasted decent from the toaster.
Eddie wouldn’t eat any of them.
Wayne was at a loss. He’d thought, at 40, that he was never gonna be a father. Hadn’t prepared his life for the care and feeding of another living being. He didn’t even have a cat. There were things that people…like him. Well, they just weren’t meant to have families of their own. It was fine. He’d filled his life differently. But it meant that when his idiot kid brother fucked up once again, and his son had started floating around the universe, well. It didn't matter that he wasn't really ready. Wayne was hardly going to let that stand.
And Eddie wasn’t weak. He was hilarious and caring, a little firecracker of a kid who knew what he liked and wasn’t afraid to tell you. Wayne was enamoured; every day with an eight-year-old was an adventure he’d never anticipated having.
But he could not get the kid to eat.
He’d pick at anything Wayne handed him, politely taking bites every now and again. He was obviously eating enough to stay alive, but there was no excitement about food. None of the kid staples seemed to work.
Finally, in desperation, he just sets Eddie loose in the grocery store and tells him to pick whatever he wants. He anticipates regretting this choice. But Eddie, who is never shy, comes back with a single produce bag of lumpy, small sweet potatoes.
“These are my favourites,” he says quietly, placing them in Wayne’s basket. “Orange taters. Don’t know how to make ‘em, though.”
“No problem, kid,” Wayne says, baffled. “I’ll show you. We can make them together. Want anything else?”
“Nah, you cook good. Just missed orange taters.”
This is how Wayne discovers that his sister-in-law had never cooked anything that wasn’t frozen or from a box. A tiny detail, but it explained so much about Eddie’s relationship with food.
“Orange taters it is,” Wayne said, grabbing a few more.
That night, Wayne sliced up the sweet potatoes, tossed them with a little oil and salt, and roasted them until the edges caramelized. Eddie’s eyes lit up when Wayne set the plate in front of him. The kid devoured them, asking for seconds before Wayne had even sat down with his own portion.
After that, sweet potatoes became a staple. Wayne learned every possible way to prepare them; mashed with a little cinnamon, cut into fries, baked whole with butter melting into their centers. Eddie would eat anything if sweet potatoes were involved. Wayne started sneaking other vegetables alongside them, watching as Eddie’s hollow cheeks filled. Watching as Eddie opened up, taught Wayne how to freely be exactly who you were. Watching as Eddie took over cooking, preparing more vegetables than Wayne had ever known were available, like a five-star chef, dragging home library books of new information.
Seventeen years later, he can’t help but remember that little boy in the grocery store as he watches Eddie nervously fly around the kitchen of their little townhouse. It’s home now; now that his son had come back to him, now that he knew life was even more complicated than he’d thought. It was nice. Big enough for a family of two.
“You know he already likes you, right?” he teases, grabbing a second mug of coffee as Eddie flourishes a towel.
“Unc. Please. Not now. This is the most important meal I have ever cooked.”
“Sure,” he snorts. “Cuz that kid ain’t gonna say yes if he doesn’t like the pot roast. He already lives here.”
“Wayne,” Eddie says seriously, freezing.
Wayne raises his hands. “Sweet potatoes are burning.”
He dips out of the kitchen before the tea towel hits him in the back. He knows that everything will be fine. He’s excited, actually, to have both his kids in the same place. Cuz Steve Harrington, who’d never had much of a family of his own either? Yeah.
Sweet potatoes are his favourite too.
Peak dynamic ❤️ idiot4idiot
He’s so done with them 🥀
this may be the best typo I've made in this whole damn thing.
Literally gasped when I saw Karan Johar's outfit. Absolutely stunning. THIS is how you turn fashion into ART!
Sabrina Carpenter's look is just perfect. I love the historical reference. I adore every single thing about this!
She won. I'm calling it, Beyoncé is this year's winner, making it her second Met Gala win. Congratulations.
It's giving jeweled bones of saints. It's giving Schiaparelli skeleton dress. It's giving sunrise. I'm seeing shapes from Tibetan art. Amaterasu emerging from her cave. It's everything.
Ooooh, I love Grace Ling's windswept roses look!
Angela Basset's dress was inspired by Laura Wheeler Waring’s "Girl in Pink Dress" (1927)