#i might put it on ao3 later

[transvampireboyfriend]

Had this “Steve only hates impersonal nicknames” idea in my notes for a while and then after seeing @cholvoq​ ‘s wonderful art I had to turn it into a real thing for Valentine’s Day. This is 2.4k, i’m SO sorry edit: you can now read this on ao3 :)

Eddie’s a nickname guy. It’s always Dusty this and Gare-Bear that and JeffJeff here and Bobbie there and it’s Mikey and Maxxii and Nance-pants and Johnny and… big boy?

Him being a nickname guy makes it near impossible to hide his crushes. Thankfully, Steve had been really cool about it. Sure, he seemed a little stunned, but Eddie still had all his teeth in place by the end of that interaction, so he had called that a win.

He hadn’t known then that Steve was… different. Or he was starting to see it but what he thought was shocking then had really been just the tip of the iceberg. He hadn’t expected Steve to be nice. Or funny, or caring, or protective, or understanding.

He had learned all of that after everything. During chats on Hellfire nights while the kids cleaned up after themselves, during hangouts at the diner with Robin and Nancy, during Saturday afternoons when he went to pick out a movie only to end up talking with Steve, their conversation flowing until it was cut short by Steve’s shift ending.

After some time, Eddie had gotten to know Steve even more during long weekday nights when one came over to bring the other something they left behind, or to share a record, or to demand the beers the other owes or to show the other a stupid article in a stupid magazine only to end up making dinner together and watching a movie afterwards.

They stopped making excuses about two weeks ago.

Eddie had asked “do youuu… wanna come over?” on Saturday night, while nervously twirling his keys as Steve locked the front doors of the Family Video.

The evening chill had cut right through Eddie’s leather jacket as his keys clanged against his rings. But Steve had nodded with a smile and asked “pizza?” on their way to their cars, and Eddie had forgotten all about the cold.

Point being, Steve had been just fine with ‘big boy’ when it happened. Eddie’s a nickname guy. Him and Steve are hanging out more now, and so, Eddie’s been calling him more nicknames. Some of them are very intentional, others come completely without thinking, and it turns out, Steve takes issue with a few of them.

The first time it happens, Eddie’s underneath his van trying to get the damn thing to cooperate, the recent winter was tough on it, and it keeps dying out on him.

Steve sits nearby perched on a little stool, wearing his Family Video vest since he came by right after finishing his morning shift to see if they could make plans for lunch. Eddie suggested they grab something at the diner if and when he finally gets the van to start back up and Steve had agreed to wait.

He’s been telling Eddie about tonight’s basketball- game? match? super bowl? Is there such a thing as the major leagues of basketball? Eddie’s not sure, but he adores the sound of Steve’s voice and he’s kind of invested in the drama of players switching teams and retiring and whatever else Steve wants to tell him about. So, he’s been listening, not really bothering with asking for clarification for what he doesn’t understand yet. He’ll figure it out as they go.

He's blindly patting the floor around his legs for his rag, when he feels Steve put it right in his hand.

Eddie’s relieved. "Thanks, bud!" he says, the nickname just rolling off his tongue effortlessly, no meaning attached.

It gets kind of quiet all of a sudden. After about five seconds of Steve not talking, Eddie comes out to check on him, and finds him frowning at his legs.

"Don't call me ‘bud’" Steve requests, looking up at his face, his tone just a tad harsh. Eddie would think he ran into King Steve if he didn't know any better.

As it is, Eddie gets Steve probably thinks the nickname is childish or patronizing, so he doesn’t think twice of it, just gets a little sheepish and says "sorry, Stevie".

Steve smiles at that, a little cocky. He does his little mean girl shaking his head thing like he just got exactly what he wanted. Eddie feels his face twist a bit in confusion, but he likes it when Steve gets a little mean so he doesn't say anything about it and just dives back under his van as Steve resumes their conversation.

 The second time it happens, they’re outside the supermarket. The kids shot out of the van as soon as it rolled to a stop, Steve calling out a warning after them while still listening to Eddie explain why Star Wars and Star Trek are actually very different but really good in their own way. Their conversation carries on as they hop out of the van, lock up and walk to meet at the front.

“I’m telling you, Star Trek is great. You would love it,” Eddie says, “you just have to give it a chance”.

Steve rolls his eyes at him, but Eddie can see his smile.

“Ok, alright,” Steve answers, “you can show me tonight then”, it’s almost too nonchalant. Eddie has to hide his grin.

Steve’s been suggesting they hang out more and more lately, and he can’t help but feel a bit hopeful. They clearly enjoy each other’s company, their time together is never dull, Steve seems to be really comfortable around him and maybe, just maybe…

“Should we get beers then?” Eddie asks, excited at the prospect of some more time alone with him.  They haven’t had a weeknight hangout since Eddie fixed his van last week. He kinda misses the very specific color of Steve’s eyes in the Harringtons’ yellow living room lamplight.

“Yeah,” Steve says, his eyes get soft in a way Eddie only started noticing a couple of weeks back, “we can watch it at my place” he adds. Eddie thinks he definitely hasn’t seen him look at anyone else like that.

To shake himself out of the spell of the prettiest boy he’s ever met making the prettiest eyes he’s ever seen at him and ONLY him, Eddie grabs Steve by the wrist and starts marching them towards the supermarket’s front doors.

Without thinking, Eddie says "c'mon man," as they go.

Steve, who started easily following him (like he always does these days), suddenly stops in his tracks. Eddie gets pulled back and almost stumbles on top of Steve. He'd get flustered if Steve wasn't frowning at him like he’d just said the most insulting thing he’d heard this month.

"Don't call me ‘man’" Steve says. Eddie feels his eyebrows raise a bit.

He debates asking why but doesn't question Steve in the end. He’d rather offer understanding than judgement to him any day.

So, Eddie takes advantage of Steve's wrist in his hand, and squeezes there a bit, says "I'm sorry sweetheart" sincerely, looks into Steve's eyes so he can see Eddie means it.

Steve blushes a bit then, not really used to the nickname yet, Eddie just got the balls to start using it last week. Eddie himself is not really used to seeing Steve blush, and at something he says? It’s too much power for one metalhead.

But he gets distracted from Steve’s blush because it happens again, Steve basically preens like a peacock once Eddie switches nicknames. Looks smug, like he has Eddie wrapped around his finger and well, Eddie guesses he does, so, no arguments there either.

He just smiles back at Steve, really, has no other choice, it’s not like he can control how he reacts to the most gorgeous fucking face the universe could ever come up with. But he tugs him along again, Steve happily following this time.

The next time it happens, Steve’s leaning against his kitchen island, with Eddie leaning across from him against the counter.

The party is watching a movie in the Harringtons’ living room and at some point, Eddie got up to get himself another soda, Steve not so subtly followed after him, taking the empty popcorn bowls to the sink. He struck up a conversation and there they stayed.

Eddie’s been turning the small gesture around and around in his head. Clearly Steve’s not shy about seeking him out, and he’s obviously good with the party knowing, which means a hell of a lot because those are Steve’s people, that’s his family.

Eddie’s honestly running out of excuses to not ask him out. Seeing him reaching out to bump his sneaker against Eddie’s boot when he says something funny, laughing just a little too hard at Eddie’s dumb joke; seeing his eyes widen a bit when Eddie compliments him; seeing him notice when Eddie is holding back from talking too much, and not letting it go until he thinks Eddie’s shared all of his opinions on the subject; Eddie thinks maybe he can be brave, when it comes to Steve.

And this week might be the perfect time.

Here they are still, the movie long ended and several easy conversations floating from the living room to the kitchen, where they’re still engrossed on their own.

“I mean I taught the kid how to do his hair for god’s sake!” Steve is saying, Eddie’s laughing easily, and he has a slight suspicion Steve’s acting way more annoyed than he really is because he knows Eddie dies laughing every time Steve roasts the kids.

“Just, if he’s gonna give me hair advice, he should work on that goddamn tone. At the Very Least.” Steve finishes, Eddie giggling all the while at his Annoyed Mom tone.

"Yeah, dude!" Eddie agrees, wanting to egg him on, but Steve's face suddenly falls and whatever remark Eddie had locked and loaded just fades away.

Eddie blinks perplexed; he’s getting déjà vu.

Steve frowns at him, says "Don't call me ‘dude’".

It’s eerie, only he sounds a bit annoyed this time.

Eddie thinks, maybe someone called Steve ‘dude’ before in an unpleasant way, so he doesn't pry.  Instead, he takes the chance to call him a nickname he likes more, and says "Sorry, pretty boy", his heart fluttering in the milliseconds he has to wait for Steve’s reaction.

And it happens one last time: Steve absolutely beams at that one, his smile so bright it makes Eddie want to jump in place.

He leans further back on the counter returning the smile, not noticing the common thread in Steve’s reactions to him switching nicknames.

But then the glint in Steve’s eyes suddenly brightens a dim corner of Eddie’s brain. He gets this feeling that reminds him of a perfectly set up riddle or finding that one perfect note for his latest song. It’s like everything suddenly just makes sense.

Eddie feels realization dawn on his face as he pushes himself off the counter to walk right into Steve’s personal bubble, grabs both of Steve's hands.

"Steve" Eddie says, not even caring that he sounds like the name is dripping in honey when it comes out of his mouth. With how sweet Steve is, it might as well be.

Steve just looks at him a little stunned, but doesn't say anything. Eddie draws circles in the back of his palms to reassure him.

"Why don't you want me to call you ‘dude’?" Eddie asks, trying to find out if this whole thing is what he thinks it is.

Steve looks down at their joined hands,.

"You call Nancy that sometimes..." Steve mumbles.

His answer would sound inconsequential to the unsuspecting, certainly would have to Eddie as late as last week, but Eddie thinks he’s finally getting it, and he hums his understanding.

"How ‘bout ‘man’?" he asks

Steve replies "You call Robin that sometimes..." his eyes still on their hands.

Eddie nods his agreement.

"I call everyone those things" he points out.

Steve agrees. "Exactly" he says, finally looking at him again, sounding annoyed and confirming Eddie’s suspicions.

Eddie feels his face split into a smile. He wants to grab Steve’s beautiful freaking face and just plant one on him.

"Can I still call you sweetheart?" he ventures instead. The nickname brings the hint of a smile to Steve's face but then he seems to realize something not so pleasant.

"Do you call someone else ‘sweetheart’?" Steve asks in return.

"No one" Eddie says, shaking his head, his tone vehement.

"Then yes" Steve finally answers. Eddie's heart wants to beat right out of his chest.

He interlocks their fingers to ground himself, Steve looks down at their hands and smiles at the sight.

"So, you don't want me to call you something I call someone else?" Eddie states, more than asks, calling Steve’s eyes back to his again.

"Anyone else" Steve confirms, holding his gaze.

Eddie lets out a small shuddering exhale and feels his heart fluttering in his throat, he really cannot believe this boy.

"Steve" Eddie drawls, dripping in honey again, his hands coming up to cradle Steve's face because he really can't resist anymore "Sweetheart" he says.

Steve's eyes grow a little wide and he starts blushing so much that Eddie can feel it in his palms.

"Steevieeee" Eddie sinsongs, squeezing Steve's face a bit "Pretty boy" Eddie calls him. Steve just keeps looking at him and a small smile blooms in his pretty, pretty face.

"Would you let me take you out to dinner this Friday?" Eddie finally asks him, his fingers curling to the back of Steve's head to play with his hair there. Steve's eyes get even wider.

" 's Valentine's this Friday" he points out. Eddie knows.

"Mmhm. Want you to be my Valentine." Eddie tells him, tugs his hair gently, "How's that sound?" he asks, bold in a way he never has been before. Steve blushing does things to him.

"Sounds nice" Steve answers. He smiles and nods while his hands hook on Eddie's belt loops.

"Then it's a date?" Eddie asks, trying not to sound too eager. He thinks he fails spectacularly but Steve beams and pulls him in to kiss his cheek.

"It's a date" Steve tells him, his breath ghosting on Eddie's cheek and making him shiver.

Steve pulls back, lets go of Eddie’s belt loops and tugs on a strand of his hair gently, smiling like the cat that got the cream as he walks back out into the living room.

Eddie’s gonna make this the best Valentine’s Day date Steve has ever been on.

#steddie #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steddie headcanon #steddie fic #Steve maybe gets a lil emotional the first time Eddie calls him 'sunshine' #steve harrington #eddie munson #adhd/autism eddie my beloved #fanfic #stranger things #sigh. im not really satisfied with this I wish I could get more of Steve in it #i ESPECIALLY wish it was better so it could live up to that AMAZING ART OMG IM INLOVE WITH IT 😭 #but it's almost not Valentines anymore so here #have it #i just want it to leave me alooooneeeeeee #but anyways #i might put it on ao3 later #i just get so embarrassed about my other fics but i also dont wanna orphan them idk #asdfghjkllkjhgf #whatever. good night #i hope your Valentines was nice <3 #bossy mean girl princess steve supremacy forever #.

[redwinterroses]

There’s a cherry tree in the middle of the redwood forest.

False isn’t sure what to make of that. She shifts her grip on the staff in her hand, its pale glow reflecting faintly off the fresh snow. She’s come out here for resources—the vault altar is demanding logs, and these giant trees are an easy source—but the incongruous sight of an enormous, blossoming cherry tree sending pink petals wafting on the frozen wind…

She wonders if this is what fish feel like, when they see a lure.

“Hello?” she calls, her voice echoing off the trees. The world stands in permanent semi-twilight here, and the deeper shadows hide the mobs that will venture out come nightfall. A sneak of creepers is bedded down in a sweetberry bramble just on the other side of the clearing, and False tenses when the lead boar lifts his head, but he apparently doesn’t deem her worth stalking so early in the day. 

There is no other reaction to her call.

False is of half a mind just to head back home and farm her own dang trees. It’s not like the vaultar is picky about the kinds of logs—she could just as easily grow up a bunch of birch and throw those in there. But that will take so much longer… not to mention she’s not sure if there are even enough saplings in her storage.

She unhooks her enchantment-glittered axe from her belt and pauses to mentally poke at her mana reserves. Plenty high. Whatever’s lingering near this tree, it can hardly be worse than what she deals with on the daily in the vaults. Overworld dangers are barely a challenge anymore.

The logic of that doesn’t change the uneasy feeling that buzzes over her skin though. 

Venturing further into the clearing. False’s gaze traces up the trunk of the cherry tree, following its branches to where they terminate in lush bursts of pink and white blooms. A sweet smell drifts on the wind. She wrinkles her nose, reminded of compost piles and fermented spiders’ eyes. 

The tree’s branches stretch long and low—a canopy of their own, heavy with flowers and dark, glossy leaves. The space underneath is filled with falling flowers and a fog of pollen, the air moisture-thick like a lush cave.

Lifting one hand, False catches a falling petal on her fingertip.

It sizzles as it touches her skin, stinging and buzzing like live redstone.

She hisses through her teeth, shaking her hand and letting the petal fall to the forest floor. “What the heck?”

Another petal tumbles past her face, and she watches it with narrowed eyes—right until it fizzles out of existence a few pixels above the forest floor.

“Glitch,” she mutters. “That’s… not good.”

Iskall needs to know about this—it could be a bug from one of the new updates, or it could be something deeper in the code, but either way: this glitched tree is a problem. She’s probably lucky it just stung her.

She reaches for her communicator, raising it to take a pic of the cherry tree.

“Oh, hi there, False!”

False yelps, spinning around with her axe ready to swing.

Gem is standing behind her, a wreath of cherry blossoms tangled in her hair and antlers, leaning casually on a tall staff of blooming cherry wood. Her smile is wide, and sap flows over her fingers, pale golden, dripping down her arms to leave dark spots on the faded denim of her overalls.

“Gem!” False lowers her axe. “Oh my gosh, you scared me. I didn’t know you were doing Vault Hunters.”

“Hm?” Gem raises one eyebrow, and for a moment her eyes flicker to red and then purple before settling back on green. “Oh—I’m not doing Vault Hunters, False.” Her voice is amused, almost chiding.

“Oh.” False feels unexpectedly small—which is impressive, considering she’s nearly half a block taller than Gem. 

More of the glitched petals fall, resting on Gem’s hair and slowly melting into it like snowflakes. The brief moment of relief when False had seen Gem’s familiar grin is fading into something like the sensation of freefall. 

“What’cha up to?” Gem asks, and her face blinks from one expression to the next like a bad video message. Her clothes are blue—no, green—no, bloodstained and grey—no, blue. They’ve always been blue.

False takes a step back.

“Uh, not much…” she glances up at the redwoods. “Just doing some… resource gathering. You know.”

“Cool!” Gem giggles, and stands up straight. False tenses, but Gem only spins around her staff and waves a hand at the glitched tree. “I didn’t realize this was an occupied server—are there many people here?���

There’s a buzzing in False’s skull, and she blinks rapidly. A muscle twitches under her eye. 

“Um…”

“I guess it doesn’t really matter.” Gem lifts one hand and grabs one of the lowest branches of the cherry tree. She really should not have been able to reach that.

Swinging herself up with the lithe, effortless strength of a cat, she perches on the limb and stares down at False. The grin is gone from her face now, and she looks down at False with bright eyes.

“Etho’s not here, is he?”

False opens her mouth to answer, the words yes, of course he is, I can take you to him heavy on her lips… And with effort, she swallows them back. 

They taste of sweet rot.

“Why... why doesn’t what matter?” she asks instead.

Gem stares at her for a long moment, expressionless. The flowers woven through her antlers are growing of their own accord, twining up to caress their brethren in the branches overhead. 

Then she smiles broadly, flashing teeth that nearly glow white in the dappled shadows. “Oh!” she exclaims. “No reason! I’m only passing through, is all.”

“You’re not… you’re not sticking around?” False tries—and mostly fails—to sound disappointed.

“Naaaaah…” Gem stands and walks along the branch, as secure and balanced as if it were a stone floor. The flowers in her hair flow along behind her, sliding from the branches and falling like a cape down her back. “Worldhopping is easy. Staying in one spot is way harder.” 

False watches the flowers move and swirl, their smooth, strange motion ensnaring her attention. The buzzing is back, too. Like bees, drunk on honey and sleepy in their hive.

“World hopping…?” she manages. “With admin commands?”

Gem’s laugh is as brilliant as a knife and as sharp as a spark. “False!” she crows. “You say the funniest things.”

False laughs. It seems appropriate. She isn’t sure why.

“Anyway,” Gem continues, fading into one patch of blossoms and reappearing on the other side of it. Her eyes are sprays of cherry flowers now. Her antlers are branches. “Anyway, cherry trees are all the same. They make it easy to get around.”

“That…” doesn’t make sense, False wants to say. But her lips are heavy, and coated in sticky sap. Maybe it doesn’t really matter.

“Oops! Behind you, False!” 

Gem’s chirped warning is flaked in glee, and False turns around, as slow as if her feet are buried in soul sand.

The creepers she had seen—the entire sneak—are standing behind her, pink flowers blooming from their eyes. 

“Oh no.”

The boar’s blinded head snaps toward her voice, hissing. He starts to aggro, bioluminescent streaks flashing from his snout to flanks in increasingly-swift pulses of light.

“See ya in season ten, False!” Gem cries out cheerfully.

The axe drops from False’s nerveless fingers, trailing strings of sap. She smells the inescapable stench of burning gunpowder, overlaid with rot.

“...Dangit.”

[FalseSymmetry was blown up by a creeper]

~*~

Jerking upright in her own bed, False swipes wildly at her face, trying to smear away tree sap that isn’t there. 

“What the heck, Gem?” she exclaims at her empty base. Her voice falls flat, swallowed up by the sky that surrounds her builds. The clock above her head ticks impatiently, and she huffs in frustration, pushing up out of her bed. All her tools, gone—her levels, gone... and after all that she still needs those logs for the vault. 

Grumbling, she starts pulling backup gear from various chests, trying to cobble together something that can get her back to the redwood grove before her items despawn—assuming they hadn’t all been obliterated by a second or third creeper explosion. She glances at the vaulter, and freezes.

It’s been completed. The crystal floats gently atop the stone pedestal, gleaming with an inner light. 

And, tumbled at the base of the vaulter—abandoned, more than was needed to fill the crystal’s requirements:

Half a stack of cherry logs.

#falsesymmetry #geminitay #red said eldritch gem rights #let her be cheerful and scary too she deserves it #also there needs to be more Vault Hunter fic in the world. and more False content. #this was inspired by a post of some enormous redwood trees I saw the other day with teeny tiny people at the base of them #along with Gem's tree building -- the cherry trees in her hardcore and s9 builds #and the headcanon from hc8 and empires that she's a worldhopper #anyway this is the first thing I've really written in (over?) a year so... I'm quite happy about it. #might polish and put it on AO3 later but for now it's just for the hellsite <3 #redwinterwrites #oh also excuse for creeper/minecraft worldbuilding yaaay XD

[mamawasatesttube]

number 81 for the writing prompts: "It's cold, you should take my jacket."

(mostly cause I wanna see Tim wear Kon's leather jacket and Neither of them being normal about it but do what you want with it it's your fic <3)

“Here.”

Tim looks up as Kon waltzes back into the living room, two enticingly-steaming mugs in his hands. Hot spiced apple cider sounds absolutely divine right now—the blustery Kansas day outside is reaching its icy fingers into the farmhouse despite the fire blazing merrily in the hearth, and Tim has to admit, he maybe should’ve packed warmer for this trip.

Kon presses one of the mugs into his hands—the nicer one, Tim notes, without the chip in the rim—and Tim accepts it with a grateful hum. The warmth seeps into his palms immediately. “Thanks.”

“No problemo, Rob-lemo.” Kon plops down next to him on the couch, his TTK keeping his cider perfectly still in his mug as he makes himself comfortable. “It’s pretty chilly out today. Gonna be a good night to go skating—the pond down by the McAllister’s place is frozen over, and this time of year, they string up lights ‘n’ invite all the neighbors to come by in the evenings. Wanna go?”

Tim hums in consideration. “Could be fun, but just warning you, it’s been a hot minute since I did any skating, so I’m kinda rusty. And I didn’t bring any skates.” Mmm, the steam rising up from his cider smells amazing. “Did you make this?”

Kon’s eyebrows shoot towards the ceiling. Then he puffs out his cheeks in mock offense, folding his arms across his chest. “You don’t have to sound so surprised! I’m good in the kitchen.”

Yeah, Bart keeps calling him malewife material about it. Tim grins into his mug; it’s not his fault it’s so easy to ruffle Kon’s feathers, or that it’s so funny to do so. “I guess it is Ma’s recipe, so it’d be hard to make it bad.”

Kon politely waits for him to lower the mug from his mouth and then swats him on the back of the head. Tim does appreciate the pause, even as he ducks away, laughing. The cider tastes like apples and cinnamon and honey; warmth spreads through Tim’s chest.

“You’re rude,” Kon tells him. “Just for that, if you fall on your face when we go skating, I’m not helping you up. I’m just gonna laugh.”

“Oh, it’s a when we go skating now?” Tim quirks an eyebrow at him in turn. “I just said I didn’t bring any skates.”

“We can get you some, that’s no trouble,” Kon says, flapping a dismissive hand. Tim opens his mouth to ask where, exactly, in Smallville, can they get a pair of new ice skates in a matter of a couple of hours, but then closes it again when it hits him that even if there isn’t a big sporting goods shop in Smallville, geography isn’t really a concern to someone who can crisscross the entire globe in a matter of minutes.

“Yeah, okay, sure.” Tim lightly elbows him. “Don’t tell me you’re actually good at skating. I bet you just TTK your way through it.”

Kon elbows him back. “Yeah, right! I’m pretty decent, no powers required, actually. Been going plenty with Jon. He particularly loves this one roller dome in Metropolis that always has Super merch in the arcade claw games.”

Okay, Tim has to admit, he’s melting a little about that. Kon loves his little brother. The image of him taking Jon skating is really cute—he can just picture Jon wobbling along, holding Kon’s hand, and rambling about his day like he loves to do. He bites back a truly sappy smile; his toes curl instead, where they’re tucked under a cushion to stay warm.

“Lemme guess. The claw games are where you TTK it up.”

Kon snickers. “They’re rigged as hell, but the kid wants his misshapen Superman plushies, so obviously I gotta win ‘em for him.”

“Obviously,” Tim agrees. He curls his fingers around his mug a little tighter, soaking up its warmth; he’s got an actual winter coat for when they go out, but he really wishes he’d brought some thicker sweaters or hoodies for hanging around in the house itself. He’s used to the damp, creeping cold of Gotham; the blustery Kansas winters might be about the same temperature, but the wind out here blows right through him.

Kon shifts next to him, setting his cider down on a coaster on the coffee table. Tim glances up just in time to see him unzip and shrug out of his hoodie—it’s fleece-lined and light pink with a strawberry cow printed on the front breast pocket, very cute.

And then Kon leans over and wraps it around Tim’s shoulders. Tim’s face heats.

“It’s cold,” Kon explains. “Take my jacket. I don’t really need it that bad, anyway, so you may as well get some use out of it.”

It’s still warm from his body, and Tim lifts one hand from his mug to pull it more tightly around himself like a blanket. His nose brushes the collar when he turns his head a little. The jacket smells like Kon’s cologne.

…It’s the citrus-and-spice one Tim bought him last Christmas. He’s wearing the cologne Tim picked out for him last year, the one Tim definitely didn’t spend almost an hour agonizing over as he imagined tucking his face into Kon’s shoulder and inhaling this specific scent from his collarbone. He’s…

Tim’s face gets even hotter. Abruptly, he takes a gulp of hot cider, hiding in his mug. Kon’s jacket smells like him, and it’s warm, and it’s big and cozy and soft, and…

Kon is staring at him, Tim realizes belatedly. He didn’t notice because he was busy, uh, processing, but Kon’s looking at him like he’s…

Like he’s the last morsel of dessert on the table, and Kon has a ravenous craving for some sugar?

Tim swallows hard. Deliberately counts to eight on his next inhale and exhale. If he lets his heart rate pick up, Kon will definitely notice.

“Thanks,” he manages, finally. “That’s, uh. Yeah. That’s nice.”

“I’ll say,” Kon mutters. He drops his gaze, his cheeks a little pink, and then reaches over to ruffle Tim’s hair. “Bring warmer lounge clothes next time, dumbass. The farmhouse is kinda old. Gets drafty in here.”

“Yeah,” Tim says wryly. He shifts his weight, rearranging his legs so that instead of leaning on the armrest, he flops himself against Kon’s side, dropping his head to his shoulder for a moment. “I noticed.”

Kon leans his cheek against Tim’s hair. “At least you got me to keep you warm,” he sighs, slipping his arm around Tim’s shoulders. “What would you do without me, huh?”

Tim bites back the first response on the tip of his tongue (“Go into a huge depressive spiral?”) and goes for something a little less insane. “Freeze to death before you even get to laugh about me falling on my face at the McAllisters’ pond?”

Kon snorts. He’s comfortably warm against Tim’s side, and Tim snuggles a little closer, relishing his warmth. “Yeah, that sounds about right,” Kon agrees. “I hope I can get it on video.”

Tim just smiles to himself and raises his mug for another sip of cider. The honey and spices are heavenly on his tongue, but if he’s being entirely honest, he can think of something sweeter.

#answers #barbitchian #this ended up being less about the jacket than i intended but i AM thinking abt other reasons tim might end up wearing kon's jackets. #i just also think kon in a cute pastel pink strawberry cow hoodie is cute :) #timkon #rimi writes #its such an awkward length skdjhsdjk like this feels too short to bother putting on ao3 but so long for a tumblr ficlet. man #maybe i will expand timkon wintertime fluff (inspired vaguely by hallmark vibes) later into a real fic. idk! #tim #kon

[beskarfrog]

Din leaned against the door to the school house, his boots muddy from having walked through the streets of Sundari. The door was left open as usual to let cool air and the occasional frog in. It was officially monsoon season on their part of Mandalore and not for the first time, Din wondered why the Jedi couldn’t have built his school on ground that was a little further out of the floodplain.

Inside the little school, the Jedi was sitting on one of his weird little pillow mats with all the children crowded up around him. Grogu was sitting in Ragnar’s lap, Rey and Finn on each of his sides. Paz had been infuriated when Ragnar had first asked to go with the jett’ike for lessons after regular training. He had been won over eventually when the Armorer suggested it would be a good opportunity for Ragnar to learn how to fight against a Force-user.  

“Alright, how about a story for our history lesson today?” the Jedi asked and got a positive reaction from the kids. Din let the soft drone of his voice wash over him as he considered the scene before him.

He hadn’t expected to see the Jedi again after Grogu had come back to him. Much less had he expected the Jedi to show up two months after they’d retaken Mandalore and Din was trying to figure out how to run a planet. He’d arrived in a beat-up pre-Empire ship with a handful of children. They had all been brought before Din and his newly formed council.

“The school was attacked. The New Republic isn’t safe for us anymore. They have…expectations for how the Jedi should benefit them,” the Jedi had explained, his face impassive and cold. The children lingering in the shadow of his dark robes looked both nervous and defiant. Din wondered if that was how the Jedi felt too.

“Why come to us?” Bo-Katan asked, a few chairs down from Din.

“What is that saying you have? A Mandalorian is both hunter and prey. Your people understand what it is like to be hunted for what you are,” the Jedi said, gaining a thoughtful nod from the Armorer. He had looked at Din as he said it and Din knew that there were layers to that statement. Yes, all Mandalorians knew what it was like to be persecuted for their allegiance to a nearly dead Creed, but Din specifically understood what it was to be hunted for having a child with strange powers.

Paz and Bo-Katan had gotten into a rather vicious argument about the situation, but the Armorer had been of the same mind as Din. Children in need were children in need, even if they came with an ominous wizard attached to them. Paz had wanted to kill the Jedi and keep the children, but eventually he had been convinced that the kids would need training for their magic. Din was relieved because he was becoming concerned that, be it Bo-Katan or Paz, his council was about to become one person smaller if the argument dragged on any longer.

In the end, Din had told the Jedi, “We will let you build a school here, but you’ll live as we do. The children will be raised with the other Mandalorian ade. No one will be required to swear the Creed. That is not the Way, but we are trying to rebuild our culture.”

“I understand,” the Jedi had grimaced, “The Jedi used to live in community too. We had a similar sense of culture once from what I am told, but that was before I was born.”

“I…I will do what I can to make sure your children are safe here,” Din had said and that was the end of the matter.

The only person who was completely satisfied with the arrangement was Grogu. Din was shocked to find out how much the kid liked the Jedi - Luke, as he’d introduced himself. He had expected some animosity since Grogu had left, but Luke had been surprisingly happy to see the womp rat again. At first, Din had been reluctant to let the kid join the other little sorcerers in training, but they all seemed to like him. 

That was the real problem. The Jedi and his jett’ike liked everyone, even Paz. Luke was always willing to accept ade or even adults into his weapons training sessions at his little school. He brought homemade uj’alayi  to all the community meetings, complete with little paper wrappers the kids had decorated. His sister and her smuggler husband visited often enough that it was obvious that the Jedi cared about his family. Luke was a better Mandalorian than half the people Din had met on Mandalore and he hadn’t even sworn the Creed.

It made it incredibly hard for other Mandalorians not to like the strange little sorcerers back and there had been a lot of talk about adopting the Jedi and his children into a clan. He was a proficient warrior, good with children, and after the first month, it was clear that he cared about the community they were trying to build. He was the perfect riduur, but it made Din want to grind his teeth any time anyone talked about challenging him for his hand.

It hadn’t taken him long to figure out why. It was made all the worse when the Jedi had started to befriend him in earnest. At first, it was just mutually commiserating about the problems of raising Force-sensitive children, but it slowly became something more. Luke opened up, shedding the persona he seemed to wear like his billowing black cloak. Din caught glimpses of the darkness that lurked within him, the turmoil he went through to fight back against those impulses. Din knew how painful it was to peel off your armor in front of another, even if you wanted them to see you as you really were. 

And Luke let him see. 

So, now Din leaned against the door to the nursery as the children ran out past him to play in the yard. Grogu was too enthralled with the game Ragnar and Rey had started to even notice him in the doorway.

“Here to pick up Grogu?” Luke asked as he rose up from his mat. Din nodded but waved his hand in dismissal as Luke went to call for him.

“He can play. I don’t have anywhere to be for a while,” Din said as Luke walked over to join him in the doorway. “The story you told. It wasn’t very happy.”

“The story of the Jedi has never been a happy one,” Luke said, his smile soft and touched with sadness. His hair had a little extra wave in it due to the humidity. Din wanted to reach out and run his gloved hand through those waves, “But it is full of hope. Foundlings are the future, right?”

“This is the Way,” Din inclined his head, which pulled a more genuine smile out of Luke. Something sharp twisted in Din’s chest and he swallowed, thankful for the millionth time that his helmet obscured his face.

He needed to get this over with, to do what he actually came here to do.

“Do you…Would you want to spar? Not right now, but some time. Maybe tonight?” Din asked, tamping down the impulse to twist his hands together. He was a Mandalorain. He should be bold with his feelings, not the awkward nervous thing that Luke seemed to turn him into.

“Mand’alor,” Luke's smile turned blinding as he pressed his gloved hand to his chest, mockingly scandalized. His blue eyes were sparkling, even in the grey overcast light of the rainy day, “If I didn’t know better that sounds like a date.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Din mumbled, his heart sinking. He knew it was unlikely for Luke to reciprocate his feelings, but the Jedi’s sister had made some comments last time she visited that had given him the courage to at least find out.

“I’d like it to be, Din, if that's alright,” Luke said and gently reached out to catch Din’s hand. He threaded his fingers between Din’s, giving his hand a firm squeeze. Din returned it, a flash of hope rising back up in him. If this went well, he was going to send Senator Organa a whole case of tihaar.

“We’ll have to find someone to babysit, though,” Luke continued, tugging on Din’s hand to pull him a little closer, “You’re my go-to person for watching the kids, but you’ll be busy, obviously.”

“Paz said he would. Ragnar’s been wanting to have everyone sleep over at their house,” Din said, grateful that he’d planned ahead for that problem. 

In the yard, the kids had gotten into a mud fight next to the frog pond. Grogu was practically a brown blob while Finn was doing his best to avoid the mud that Rey and Ragnar were slinging at each other. Din knew he really ought to intervene, but if Paz was watching the kids for the night…

“The Force bless that man,” Luke shook his head, squeezing Din’s hand again.

#dinluke #ficlet #text post #the mandalorian #clan of three #I haven't really been writing much lately but i wanted to do something quick and cute #might put this up on ao3 later who knows

[riacte]

All the routes Renchanting could go in Life Series 5:

(Self sabotage along the lines of Ren burning his tower in Last Life, swearing, angst with a happy ending, 2k)

1.

Ren moves on, and Martyn pretends he moved on too, but he really never left. Ren forms a partnership with different people, he declares himself as best friends with someone, but when Martyn strays into his path, Ren can't help but take notice of him. Can't help but trust him once more, can't help but to offer him a deal, can't help himself.

Ren's a seasoned veteran now; he understands that war is inevitable and he has to keep his friends safe in an impenetrable fortress. He's not as naive as he was the first time, when he freely let people into his enchanting emporium. If Martyn offered to be his marketing manager this time round, Ren might not have let him (but deep down, he knows he'll always let him in). Maybe Martyn's the chink in Ren's armour. If that's the case, then so be it.

Martyn's not jealous. He's really not. Of course he's glad Ren's found new partnerships and new allies this time round. Of course he knows you can't repeat the past. He's just relieved that Ren is here this time, and he finds a little guidance in him. Something is better than nothing. Even though he has his allies, Martyn's still a wanderer, but he makes his rounds back to Ren periodically, in search for something that he's too scared to ask.

It's not his place anyway. Ren belongs somewhere. Martyn's not in the equation.

So Martyn patches up the fragments of his soul, tucks away his puns and oneliners, packs up his monologues and vows, carefully puts the memories of Third Life back in that little part of his heart, and continues to roam across the world. Walls, corners, edges. Nothing has changed.

(Still, when an unexpected mob strikes, Martyn grabs Ren in a panic, their hands find each other instinctively, they run and they run, and for a single precious moment, it's them against the world again.)

(And when Ren inevitably dies, Martyn stands and blankly stares at what's left of his not-ally, not-partner, not-king. He wonders if it would've been different if he was Ren's Hand again. Probably not. They're all doomed anyway.)

2.

Ren and Martyn ally, hands shook in a new agreement. It's not Dogwarts, but it's something.

They have new allies and new enemies. They're close, but not too close. They have a learned sense of self preservation. They crack their jokes, tend to their crops, enchant their gear, but it's not serious, right? Treating it seriously only results in more pain later. No one wants that.

Ren understands nothing good comes out of declaring himself as king. He always gets overthrown, his beloved defenders always get killed by the masses, his kingdoms always go up in flames. It's best to keep a distance from everyone. It's for the greater good.

This is a temporary alliance. They are all temporary alliances. It's just for fun. Once the end is near, it's time for them to drift away. Ren can't bear getting people getting hurt for his sake.

"We used to be something, don't you think so?" Martyn once asks Ren.

They're both thinking about Dogwarts. About a life a long, long time ago. A doomed life. A beautiful, wonderful, yet catastrophically painful life.

Is it better to have loved and lost, or better to not have loved at all?

They seem to have came to the conclusion organically. It's out of self-preservation, after all. Don't get too close. The story of the King and his loyal Hand is over. Let the dust settle on their storybook. Let the pages turn yellow. Let it wither. Let it die.

It's awful, isn't it? How they've finally found each other, after trials and tribulations, but they're too scared to try again. Where's that defiance against fate? Where's "give me a shield and I'll follow you to the ends of the world"? Where's "this is us now, this is us"? Where's the passion, the reverence, the reckless devotion? What beat it out of them?

"... We could be something, don't you think so?" is Ren's reply.

But they don't. They don't try anymore. Too tired, too drained, too timid now.

Somehow this feels worse than being separated. Not trying at all.

3.

Ren's not here.

Martyn builds his own walls, builds his own tower, wraps the tattered scarf around him once more, the Hand frozen in time, sits and stays right where he's been left. Third Life never ended for him.

Ren showed him life, didn't he? Where is he now? Where's the life he promised him?

Martyn dimly remembers Ren sitting himself on fire when he was lonely in Last Life. Back then, Martyn had dropped everything to rush to Ren's aid. Ren's the one inflicting damage on himself, the prince locking himself in his burning tower, and Martyn, ever the firefighter, puts out his flames with a bucket of water.

In that life, Martyn leaped to Ren's defence. How could he not? Logically, Martyn should've left Ren. Stopped his damage from damaging Martyn himself. But Martyn's never been logical about Ren, has he?

Is Ren watching him, this time? Is his king out there, somewhere? Does he care? Does he care at all?

... Martyn reaches for the flint and steel.

3.5

(Someone— it does not matter who— knocks it out of his hand. It kicks Martyn out of his stupor. He blinks. His head hurts. What the heck is he doing there, mooning about a lost king? Why the fuck does he even care, when everyone moved on?

This has gone on for too long. If he can't pull himself up from the abyss, he'll have to go cold turkey. There's no other way. It's for his own good, Martyn convinces himself.

In a violent, swift move, Martyn rips off his scarf. He watches it burn.

... He swears he's only crying from the smoke.)

4.

Martyn moves on. Ren thinks he moved on from Dogwarts and everything, but once he's back on the server, everything comes rushing back to him, as easy as running water.

He misses having a faction to protect. He misses being loyal to his people. He deeply misses his friends. He misses having Martyn by his side. He misses Martyn.

But Martyn's back to being a wanderer, cheerfully involving himself in everyone's business yet not staying with anyone, because he's permanently more selfish now, and nothing's going to stop Martyn once he's fallen off that edge. He's a cannonball, a tornado, a wild card. He's everywhere, but he's nowhere.

Martyn is cunning, devious, sharp as ever, still funny as fuck, but there's a wild look in his eyes now. He's untamed. He doesn't give a shit about anything. He lies. He backstabs. He's a nuisance. Thief. Plunderer. Shit-stirrer. And it's all for the heck of it.

Whatever happened to the loyal knight Ren once knew? Was Martyn always this way? Was Ren the only exception? Or has Limited Life broken him?

Ren still tries, with his kind smiles and elaborate gifts and offers of working with him, but Martyn seems to be avoiding him on purpose. What worked in Third Life doesn't work anymore.

Ren knows he should distance himself considering Martyn doesn't give a shit anymore, but a part of him can't help but look back. Maybe he can change Martyn. Show him life again. Maybe, maybe, just maybe.

("We can be allies again," he offers hopefully. Martyn laughs, and it's such a familiar sound that Ren can't help but perk up, but it's a harsh laugh. Twisted. Warped.

"No thank you," Martyn replies. Ren thinks Martyn's holding back calling him "boss" sarcastically. At least there's a line that he's not crossing.)

Ren knows he should let it go. It hurts, but dragging it only hurts more. Martyn doesn't want him, not even a little bit. His friends convince him. So Ren loyally sticks to his own circle of allies. He tries to forget about the permanent chink in his armour.

But when Ren carelessly steps into a trap, he thinks he hears an achingly familiar voice scream, "Ren! No!"

The world explodes in red and yellow. Fire. Dynamite. It's just like his first death, the one that turned him yellow the first time, the death that eventually led to his beheading, the one that started it all.

Now it ends. Now it all ends.

Ren's bleeding. He's on the ground. He thinks he hears Martyn's voice. That's nice. It's nice even if it's a hallucination. As his consciousness fades, he hears Martyn's voice,

"... If only you were there last time. If only I care about you as much as I did then. But the universe never lets it align, does it? You got over me when I didn't. Now I'm over you when you're not. I’m too early, you’re too late.”

Ren smiles. Oh, he sees through Martyn's facade. He sees it now. His lips part weakly.

"... Liar."

(Martyn's untamed. He doesn't give a shit about anything. He lies. He backstabs. He's a nuisance. Thief. Plunderer. Shit-stirrer. Liar. Liar.)

In response, Ren feels a squeeze on his hand. Comforting. Regretful. Apologizing.

"I don't deserve you. Don't forgive me, Ren."

I always do, Ren thinks. But by that time, he's already gone.

5.

There is a simple rule to the Life series— everyone is doomed from the beginning. No matter who wins.

Ren is doomed. A kind, gentle man can't survive till the end. That's why Ren had to kill himself and let the Red King take over. Is that why Martyn won the season without Ren? Is that how Martyn won, without Ren holding him back, without Ren to guide him?

You either die a hero, or live long enough to be the villain.

Yet, none of it is pointless. The seasons are filled with joy, laughter, genuine connections are formed, and while it can be tragic, it can also be soul-shatteringly beautiful.

It's worth it. It's always worth it.

Once, Ren showed Martyn life. Because all Martyn knew back then was how to survive, not how to live.

But now, Martyn doesn't just want to survive. He wants to thrive. What good is surviving if everyone dies at the end, including his king? What good it is anyway, when Martyn ends up falling and falling again? What good is conquering the world when every tiny bit of it reminds him of Ren?

So when the new season dawns, Martyn decides to throw all of it away. His angst, his inhibitions, his self-pity. Sure, everything goes up in flames anyway, and this fragile world is temporary, but is that any way to live? To live without living, to live without trying at all?

They're all at spawn. Everyone's enthusiastically greeting each other and Martyn does the same, but he's frantically searching for someone, eyes wide. He's waited months and months for this. He can't take it anymore.

And then—

(A familiar chuckle, a flash of brown hair, eyes turning to meet his—)

Martyn remembers the precious vow they made in a parallel universe, under the moonlit sky, blood splattered on the altar, those bygone years and bygone lives, and he runs—

"REN!" Martyn screams like he's never screamed before.

Martyn's hands reach out. He doesn't care if Ren has moved on, doesn't care if Ren doesn't want him anymore. He only cares that Ren is here. Alive. In front of him.

And so he embraces Ren tightly, so very tightly.

"Martyn!" Ren sounds surprised by the intensity. "Dude! I missed you!"

And with those simple words, the shattered pieces of his world start falling into place again. Martyn laughs, a pure, genuine laugh from his heart. Everything's alright now. They can begin again.

"Welcome back, my liege."

#renchanting #rendog #inthelittlewood #treebark #trafficblr #ria.fic #this was meant to be short. like a tumblr post. it's 2k now soo 👍 #if you recognise song lyrics. yes. it's probably intentional. i want to live not just survive (not just survive) #might put this on ao3 later #this is originally meant to have a sad ending but i couldn't bear it. renchanting forever and ever [explodes] 🔥🔥🔥🔥

[itsclydebitches]

This interaction popped into my head fully-formed today and I knew no peace until I wrote it out. They're friends, your honor 😭

“Getting long, huh?”

Trent froze in the act of putting up his hair, a few tendrils slipping to fall in his eyes, obscuring Roy. It was still instinctual to flinch back, his father’s acidic voice ringing in his ears as he said again and again and again how it was past time for Trent to see a barber, each reminder casual like his judgment was a given. Well, it always had been. Trent never found the courage to admit that he was a regular of salons and that each product they sold there cost more than his father’s first rent. His lip had curled, barb-like, when Trent had last visited, the shoulder-length cut exacerbating the news of his firing. He could only imagine what his father would say if he saw it now, curls licking at the small of his back.

Trent’s mind processed all of this in a matter of seconds, journalistic instincts finally overriding the fear to focus on reality: the neutral tone of Roy’s voice. His appreciative glance. Their normal coffee hand-off that Trent had to resurrect numb fingers to complete.

Roy was not his father. No one at Richmond was.

“Yeah,” Trent agreed, voice scratchy. He took a hasty gulp of his drink. “It’s never been this long before.”

Non-committal grunt from the other side of the office. That was the Roy equivalent of dragging his chair over, propping his chin on his hands, and begging for all the juicy details.

“I’m... thinking of cutting it again?”

That got a reaction. Roy’s head whipped around in a gesture that screamed ‘ABSOLUTELY NOT’ but his response, when it came, was just another measured hum. No pressure; plenty of space to accept a statement, or engage with the question. Trent had to bite his lip to keep from laughing outright. But god, Roy was trying so hard and that felt so good.

Though he was likewise trying to be kinder to his past self, Trent hated that he’d caved and cut his hair a day before approaching Richmond, that snide voice in his head insisting that he’d be lucky to make it into the building -- they certainly wouldn’t hire a slovenly poof, as his father might say. Ah, but then that voice did have a hint of his Scouse accent, didn't it? Really, Trent hadn’t given it much thought until Ted mentioned having a bag full of hair-ties and suddenly he was desperate for the length back, if only to make use of something that Ted had held.

Embolden by caffeine and the mellow mood, Trent decided to gift Roy some truth.

“I grew it this long for him,” he said, head nodding towards the closed door. Behind the glass Ted was pecking at his keyboard in a manner that was not adorable, not at all, because describing a middle-aged American as ‘adorable’ was too much, even for Trent’s purple prose. So Ted was merely whatever word instilled the desire to kick one’s feet and doodle connecting hearts around the edges of a journal.

Trent’s crush was no secret -- to no one but Ted, anyway -- but speaking about it now, openly, mere feet from the man himself... that was thrilling. Ridiculously so for a Tuesday morning spent with Roy Kent.

“I missed a couple of appointments back when the book was going through proofs and then we had that week-long storm, remember?" Trent mimed the sheets of rain that had flooded their streets and turned flower beds into dirt soup. "I came in drenched one day, just sopping, with my shoes squelching and my blazer ruined. I’m pretty sure I scarred one of the security guards when I threatened to get him fired if he didn’t find me a towel in the next thirty seconds. I was a bitch, no two ways about it. Meanwhile, Ted took one look at me, gasped, and said I was a mermaid.” Trent grinned at the memory, fingers fluttering. “Then he lent me a shirt and I spent the rest of the day wondering if the purple made me look like Ariel.”

“...Did you keep the shirt?”

“Of course not. It was lost--” air quotes, “--at the cleaners.”

Roy snorted in amusement. Trent was surprised though when his expression grew tight and when he spoke, so quiet Trent almost didn’t catch it, there was an undertone of hesitance; like Roy feared overstepping some line.

“Grew it long for him,” he said, “but are you keeping it long for him? I mean, what the fuck do you want?”

Trent blinked, considering. Oh. Well. If you’d asked him point blank he would have said categorically that he wasn’t someone who changed himself to appease others... but then, forty years pretending to be straight didn’t really support that, now did it? The truth was that he wanted strangers to stop staring on the street whenever he went out with his curls and a skirt. He wanted to teach Amelia how to braid his hair, just like he braided hers each weekend. He wanted a fucking buzz-cut to combat the summer heat. He wanted to make the flower crowns he’d never even dared to imagine in his youth. He wanted to spend less of his salary on products -- or at least feel less guilty about the indulgence. He wanted to borrow Keeley’s scrunchies. He wanted to donate it all to Locks of Love. He wanted hair long enough to impulsively dye it red, just to see Ted laugh.

Trent wanted to go back in time and find the courage to change his own body without riding the coattails of a crush’s compliment. He wanted to accept that there was no version of himself he liked without the influence of Ted Lasso and kiss him, kiss him, kiss him in gratitude.

“I don’t know,” Trent admitted, “but for now I want this.”

Roy gave a short nod, his shoulders relaxing. He glanced towards the window where Ted still sat, huffing in a manner that a brave man might have called fond, and returned to his work.

Once they’d settled into their daily silence, Trent couldn’t resist:

“I do want it long enough for him to pull.”

“Fuck off!”

Across the way Ted jumped, wondering what had Trent laughing like that and Roy slamming through the door, yelling something about "TM-fucking-I."

Watching Trent tip his head back so his hair flew, danced, caressed his cheek as it passed, Ted decided he’d just have to ask him about it over dinner.

#Ted Lasso #Trent Crimm #Roy Kent #Tedependent #Ted Lasso fic #might put up on AO3 later #how many fics will I write about Trent's hair? #not enough #that hair deserves it

[rachiecrown]

Rachie Crown back at it again writing something she thought would only be about a hundred words but it turned out to be much longer than she expected uh

Anyways 3L Desert Duo!! But I swapped them! So now Scar is the winner of 3L!

TWs; major character death, graphic depictions of violence, blood, it's the life series what do you want from me

3,884 words

------=+=------

"SCAR NO-!!"

[Grian was blown up by Creeper]

Gasps and shouts sounded out around the group and Scar turned, staring at the crater the creeper explosion had left. Brown feathers floated down and touched dirt, items spilled everywhere. Scar's eyes followed how a particularly round stick rolled to a stop at the bottom of the crater, where Grian was just a second ago.

"Did he really just-!?" Tango started, which Martyn continued with, "He blew himself up!!" Seven different communicators pinged rapidly with messages from the other players, who all saw the death message in the chat.

The realization of what had just happened hit Scar. A creeper had been behind him, and he hadn't even heard the hiss. Grian, who looked so smug in the corner of his eye just a moment ago, had sacrificed one of his precious lives just to tackle a creeper away from Scar. He felt a shaky breath exit his lungs.

The shocked conversation from the other six left Scar's ears as he walked towards the crater, sliding down into it cautiously and gathering Grian's items in his arms. From what he knew, Grian only had two lives left, and since he assumedly didn't have a respawn point, he would be back where everyone else started, surrounded by poppies and lilacs and all other kinds of flowers.

"I need to go see Grian." Scar said, looking up as BDubs and Etho looked into the crater. Scar climbed out onto the grass and took off towards the center of the arena, as fast as his braced legs would let him. To think Grian of all people would be the first yellow on the server.. Scar wasn't sure if anyone was betting on that.

By the time spawn was in sight, Grian was visible sitting heavily against an oak tree, hugging his half-decimated sweater to his chest with his tattered wings wrapped around himself. There were markings on him, which Scar quickly realized were healed over scars left by the explosion, which covered from the top of Grian's head all the way down to his lower stomach on his right side.

Scar slowed his approach and walked the rest of the few dozen blocks to Grian, kneeling next to him. He placed Grian's items down, pushing Grian's wings back and taking his sweater from his hands, shifting it and moving it over his left side. Scar tied the sleeves together in a makeshift poncho.

Grian breathed shakily. Scar could see the shock still present in the avian's now dark yellow and pale blue eyes. Scar didn't know that eye color changed according to the amount of lives someone had. Grian's eyes flicked up to meet Scar's, lowering his hands. Scar noticed how his right eye seemed out of focus, the pupil faded to a dark and cloudy grey.

"Scar, I- I'm so sorry, Scar-" Grian breathed as his senses came back into focus. Scar furrowed his eyebrows. "What are you apologizing for? It's you who got blown up, Gri-" "No, no!" Grian interrupted, frustration leaking into his tone. "It's my own fault for getting blown up, I led the creeper to everyone trying to play a prank like Martyn with his soundboard and-"

It was Grian's turn to be interrupted as Scar held up his hand. "Grian, it's okay- well, no, it's not okay because you just lost a life, but you sacrificed yourself for me, and-" Scar put his hand down and glanced to the side. "You saved my life."

Grian stared blankly, his mouth opened ever so slightly. The avian brought his hands up in front of him almost defensively, his own expression hardening. "Well I-" Scar grabbed Grian's right hand in both of his, squeezing it reassuringly. "And that's why I'm dedicating my first life to you!" He declared. Grian's eyes widened.

"No, no, Scar, I didn't-"

"Let's team together! Come on, let's go to the desert and get a monopoly on cactuses and sand!" Scar pulled Grian to his feet.

"It's cacti, Scar,"

"We'll be so rich, Grian! People want sand and cactus, right?"

And so, Grian found himself on the back of a llama, as insisted by Scar for Grian to not walk, heading towards the desert where sand would surely become a problem for his already damaged wings. Grian couldn't bring himself to protest much against Scar's enthusiasm in his dizzy and revived state. In fact, he knew deep down that by the time he would come to his senses, it would be far too late to leave the desert.

------=+=------

"I'm all for science and discovery! We are the science bros!" Scar sang as he walked behind Grian. The two looked at each other, and Scar saw some sort of strained happiness in Grian's eyes, as the avian didn't pay attention to what was in front of him.

"Science and discov-" Scar cut himself off right as Grian slipped, a scream escaping the blonde's lips.

"GRIAN!!"

Scar covered his mouth as the death message flooded his vision.

[Grian fell from a high place]

Scar had to sit down for a moment, his legs giving out beneath him as his communicator pinged rapidly. Neither of the two had seen the ravine in front of them, the ravine that they both knew was there. Scar should have been able to grab him, pull him back up onto the sand, and tell him it was okay, because Scar had him, but Grian slipped a bit too quickly, too far out of Scar's reach.

Shakily, Scar moved himself far enough to look over the edge, adrenaline on the deadly drop beneath him fueling his veins. Items were spilled on the ground. Items and feathers and a lot of blood. Scar felt sick.

Grian was the first red life in the arena, and Grian was allied with Scar. From what he understood, red lives were supposed to be hostile, nervous things, with a lot of pent up frustration that made them willing to do nearly anything to make sure they weren't taken out. All ties and relationships were broken the instant someone reached their last life.

Scar regained the ability to move, carefully making his way down into the ravine. He reached down and gathered Grian's items for the second time, then brought himself back up to the sandy surface. Scar wondered if Grian would be coming back to him, back to their home in the desert, or if he'd stay away.

A hint of red caught Scar's eye, and he turned as Grian emerged from the tree line just a biome over, a large bouquet of lilacs and poppies in his arms. Scar ran to greet Grian, dropping items out of his arms as the damaged avian walked slowly, painfully, into the sand.

The two met and Scar nearly hugged Grian, only to realize how that might not be the best thing to do to someone who just respawned on their last life. Instead, he took in how Grian's appearance had changed.

His yellow eye had turned a deep red, and his blue eye was nearly grey. The pupil seemed fully clouded over, which indicated Grian's sight was fully taken out of that eye. Scar swore those white streaks weren't in Grian's hair a few minutes ago, and not to mention how pale the avian looked. Scar settled his hand on Grian's upper arm.

"Scar, can.." Grian spoke, avoiding eye contact. Grian knew the rules of the arena better than Scar did, and he also knew, better than Scar did, that he had nowhere else to go. Grian pushed the flowers forward against Scar's chest. Scar took them. "Can we still be friends?"

Scar felt his heart sink into his stomach because he knew he couldn't refuse Grian, standing there on his last life with desperation in his lowered eyes. Scar wrapped both arms around the bouquet. "I still owe my first life to you, Grian, as much as you try to deny that. You can't change my mind." Scar settled on saying.

Can't, or won't?

Grian's wings refolded behind him, still horribly singed from his first death. Scar would never know the relief that flooded through Grian, the heavy weight of anxiety lifting slightly off his heart. Grian stepped forward and around Scar, finding that it was still hard to meet his emerald green eyes. He gathered his items and put them back in their proper places.

"Stop staring." Grian almost spat. "Please." He then added in a softer tone. He felt Scar's gaze tear away from his back. Embarrassment hung over Grian's shoulders, since both times, losing his lives were his own fault and not someone else's. It was Grian who knocked the creeper away from Scar, he knew it was there, he led it there. It was Grian who slipped into the ravine, not someone who pushed him.

The avian gave a heavy sigh and just decided to be grateful that it wasn't his last life he lost.

The thought of when that last life would expire, though, weighed heavily on both their minds.

------=+=------

[GoodTimeWithScar was shot by InTheLittleWood]

Scar wasn't sure how Grian dealt with the pain. The avian always seemed so stone faced regarding physical feelings, and his two deaths were very obviously painful ones, so as Scar sat up in his bed with a horrible pain from an arrow that struck between his shoulder blades just seconds ago, effectively taking his first life, he wondered how Grian's own body felt.

He swung his legs onto the floor and grabbed a large stick - the closest thing to a cane he could get his hands on - and forced himself to stand. Turns out leg braces didn't stick around for respawn, unfortunately enough.

Scar checked his communicator, worried about Grian. He thought, what if Grian was shot instead of Scar? Scar would still be on all three of his lives and Grian would've been gone, just like that.

After scrolling through his communicator for a few minutes while slowly walking out of the small respawn box Grian made for him, he found no death messages regarding his partner in crime.. But they had lost Jimmy, who was just previously on his red life. He pulled himself up a ladder and trudged slowly across the sand, kneeling down and dropping lightly into the trench dug around a base of operations Grian had made.

He gathered his items from the water, grateful to find his leg braces did in fact not get terribly damaged. Scar sat in the water and pulled the braces on, strapping the velcro shut over his boots and pants. He pulled his armor back on and put his items away, finding it more bearable to stand now.

Scar pulled himself out of the ditch and was greeted with Scott, who kneeled and helped Scar up. "What happened, it all went horribly, horribly wrong!" Scott exclaimed. Scar paced to the edge of the explosion radius. "The explosion worked.." Scar mumbled, Scott agreeing with, "The explosion went off, but it didn't kill anyone."

Scar walked down into the trench. "And Jimmy.." He looked back to the base for a moment as Scott followed him. "He's dead!" Scott crossed his arms with an upset shrug. Scar could see the tears in his eyes, and knew that he'd be in a worse state if it were Grian who had been killed instead.

"I know that Grian's somehow still alive, no messages said he died." Scar stated, climbing out of the crater. Distantly, it reminded him of Grian's first death. "Did they take him prisoner?" Scott wondered. Scar shook his head. "Dunno, but I want to know what happened to him."

It was when Scott and Scar were in the forest that Grian ran up to greet them, his wings spread behind him and bouncing with each step. Scar put his hands out and placed them on Grian's upper arms at they met.

"Where were you? I've been across the arena at least a hundred times by now!" Grian exaggerated, one of his own hands grabbing Scar's wrist. Scar noticed Martyn not too far behind Grian, shouting something about his banner that Scar had stolen. Grian's feathers ruffled in discomfort as he turned and glared at Martyn.

A few minutes later Scar finally handed over the banner, which Martyn promptly snatched up and ran with, however, Grian, shouting something about revenge, dashed after the green life with murderous intent and his sword raised. Scar only followed after.

It was after Martyn lost his first life to a skeleton that Grian finally decided to calm down. His angered expression turned to a manic joy and back to a still neutrality. Scar took Grian's arm as they discussed their next move with Scott, then the three ran as some members of Dogwarts followed behind.

Grian glanced up at Scar for just a second as they went to BigB's base, noticing how his eyes had turned from their emerald green to a golden yellow.

------=+=------

"Whoever gets the no kill pass, I don't kill." Scar said, balling up and throwing a piece of paper. Immediately, manic bloodlust took over both BDubs and Grian's eyes, the two scrambling for the crumpled white sheet. Scar watched apathetically as they clambered over each other in desperation, throwing punches and pushing and kicking with feathers flying every which way.

BDubs was first to grab the paper, screaming, "I'VE GOT IT!" and slowly, Scar turned towards Grian, who suddenly looked a lot more pale than he was a minute ago. BDubs whipped out his bow and fired as Scar raised his sword. Grian dodged and dashed.

The sword in Scar's hands was ripped out violently, and a searing pain erupted in his side. He was jerked left and an arrow went flying right into his chest, everything going black instantly.

[GoodTimeWithScar was shot by BDoubleO100]

Scar sat up in bed instantly and grabbed for the spare leg braces he brought into the respawn box. He pulled them on and scrambled for armor with adrenaline fueling his veins.

[BDoubleO100 was slain by Grian]

Scar dashed down the hall and climbed the ladder. His boots were already filling with sand as he sheathed a sword and ran across the desert as fast as his braced legs would let him. He dashed around the cacti wall and into the forest, pausing and crouching down when he reached Grian's location.

Heavy breaths shook their way out of Scar's mouth. Grian stood with Scar's bloodstained sword over a pile of items and clocks and so much blood, his wings spread wide and enchantments smoking off his armor. Scar pulled his sword out, stepping forward, and Grian was on him in an instant. Swords clashed and Grian screamed.

"BETRAYER, TRAITOR SCAR!! HOW COULD YOU!? AFTER EVERYTHING!?"

Scar tripped over Grian's foot and landed in the small pond next to them. Grian leaped in as Scar swam back. Both splashed around wildly with Grian's red eye locked onto Scar's own now ruby red ones with hatred and fury. Grian swung and Scar's sword was knocked out of his hands. Grian dropped the sword and grabbed Scar around the neck, submerging him in water.

In the sudden silence of water filling his ears and the sensation of Grian's talons tight around his neck, Scar's thoughts became clear. Bubbles escaped his lips and his hand found his discarded sword.

Scar had really just left Grian's life up to a piece of paper. He had just shown Grian that he meant absolutely nothing, which wasn't true. Grian meant everything, and in a moment of pure stupidity and thoughtlessness that Scar wasn't sure was his own, that was thrown out the window.

Scar jerked Grian's right hand away from his neck, shoving the hilt of the sword into violent muscle. Scar shoved himself up as soon as Grian faltered and gasped for air, coughing his lungs out and struggling to find his breath.

Grian raised the sword, pausing when Scar bowed his head. "You can kill me." Scar told him.

No hit followed the spoken words. Scar lifted his head at the sound of eating, seeing Grian stare down at the water with folded wings as he basically shoved some food from his bag down his throat. Scar tried to make eye contact as the sword dropped from Grian's hands.

"No." Grian said after he swallowed.

"For staying with me all this time, being so loyal after you were the first red on the server, you may slay me and take the enchanter." Scar offered. Grian moved back. "I can't, I literally can't. I don't want to." The avian's voice was small.

Whispers came from the wind. "Fight, no armor, no weapons, fight, kill, blood." Hushed voices from ghosts of other contestants circled around the two, invading their ears and minds. Scar watched Grian's angry eyes soften with tears spilling down his cheeks. It was then that he realized he's never seen Grian cry before.

"Can't we win together? Scar- Can we win together?" He choked out. Scar glanced around, pulling planks from BDubs' spilled inventory into the water. He took Grian's arm and pulled him up to the makeshift raft, and a confused laugh escaped Grian's lips. "Scar, Scar why- what-"

Scar sat on the planks and started scooping water with his hands, rowing them clumsily around he pond. "Why are we in a boat in a pond!?" Grian shouted. Scar felt the raft rock, and they both fell off into the water again.

He grabbed his avian friend and pulled him up by the arm, both taking heavy breaths from the sudden cut of oxygen the water so generously supplied. Scar rested his hand on Grian's upper arm, which Grian covered with his hand.

The whispers were so loud, like heavy winds from a terrible storm that began to fog Grian and Scar's minds. "Scar, we have to. We have to." Grian said, and the angry whispers quieted. Scar felt his heart in his stomach because he knew from the beginning that there would only be one winner, but he had no idea he would be going against Grian.

------=+=------

"Scar, no matter what happens, I think we can claim this as a double victory, right?"

"Yes, yes." Scar quickly agreed as he threw items into the fire and cacti behind him. Grian raised his fists, laughing each time Scar showed off something from Dogwarts before letting it burn away in the orange flames, much to some of the ghosts dismay.

"Okay, I'm ready. That's it." Scar turned back to Grian, raising his own fists. Grian gave a weak smile that Scar didn't think looked very good on him. "Let's let the ghosts count us in then."

Chants filled the wind, their ears, their minds. Scar tried to remind himself that they were contestants in an arena. "Three," Scar felt a chill go down his spine. "Two," Grian's voice joined the chant. "One."

The two ran at each other, fists colliding with flesh. Scar turned and fell back into a cactus. "Oh, Grian, it hurts! It hurts so much!" Scar gasped. A fake laugh spilled from Grian's lips, which Scar copied, grimacing as he felt Grian's nose crack under his knuckles.

"Scar, Scar!" Grian shouted in a high tone. Scar copied the tone, and if he closed his eyes for a second, and ignored the pain, he could almost imagine him and Grian in a domestic setting, laughing about their day or something the other had done. "It's not even funny, Scar!" Grian laughed out, as if Scar was the one who was laughing instead.

"Grian, it hurts!" "I'm so sorry Scar!" "I'm sorry too-"

Scar cut himself short after he delivered an especially hard blow to Grian. The avian crumpled into the sand beneath him with dying laughter on his lips. Scar knew he could never pull his heart out of his stomach as he fell to his knees, the death message flashing in his eyes.

[Grian was slain by GoodTimeWithScar]

Scar fell on Grian's body and wept.

"Grian, no, no.." he whispered. The ghosts' chants were even louder now, screaming "one final life! Take it! One final life!" Scar shook his head and gathered Grian's body in his arms, shaking and sobbing and holding him to his chest and-

"SHUT UP!! SHUT UP YOU STUPID GHOSTS!" Scar screamed. His own voice shocked him, the anger fueling it so different from his usual yells and shouts. The wind went quiet with impatience, but Scar couldn't bring himself to care. He lowered his head into dirty blond hair, watching with one eye open as the color faded away into white.

"I'm so sorry, Grian, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.." He brushed Grian's hair out of his face solemnly, resuming his mourning. He knew Grian wanted to win. He thought Grian was going to win, because Grian was so strong and smart and better than Scar. Grian should've won.

"It's time to go home, Scar." The wind whispered gently. Scar sat upright. Grian laid still. With stifled sobs, Scar stood and carried Grian to the edge of their mountain, where a grave to Scar's llama laid. Scar knelt and laid Grian stomach down. He knew from their time in the desert that the avian never liked to sleep on his back.

With ghosts watching, Scar's hand lingered on Grian's upper arm for just a moment longer before he walked to the edge of the mountain, a cliff dropoff just centimeters beyond his foot. Adrenaline spiked in his bloodstream, and he almost backed off, but he raised his head and spread his arms, knowing that this was the only way out of the arena.

"I don't.. I don't feel good." Scar smiled to the sky. His foot slipped forward, and he fell down, down, down.

[GoodTimeWithScar fell from a fight place]

------=+=------

Grian and Scar stood face to face in the white void between worlds. Scar couldn't see Grian's face, but he knew all too well that Grian's dark eyes were boring holes through him.

It was too bright to see any color, only Grian's silhouette visible to Scar's eyes, yet Scar could tell Grian's body had healed from the horrors of the arena.

Grian spread his wings and walked forward. Scar met him in the middle. He reached and placed his hand on the avian's upper arm.

"No one else will remember this, the arena." Grian's voice echoed. "No one but us."

"Is it because we were the last two?" Scar asked. Grian hummed. "You could say that." Then Grian did something Scar wasn't expecting, as he moved Scar's hand off his arm.

Grian embraced Scar.

Warmth blossomed between the two as Scar wrapped his own arms around Grian with closing eyes, and distantly, he realized he had never felt a hug from Grian before. Grian pressed further. "I'm so sorry you had to win, Scar." He whispered, and honestly, Scar believed he could live with the memories, as long as he went where Grian did.

"Are you ready to go home?" The avian asked. Scar nodded and pressed his face into Grian's hair. "I'm ready." He said.

Scar knew deep down that it was far too late to leave the desert.

[Grian left the game]

[GoodTimeWithScar left the game]

------=+=------

---

GGRGGRHRRGGAGGSHHSGDHGRAAAAA <-sound of Desert Duo fans going insane (it's me I'm Desert Duo fans)

Genuinely I did not think I would spawn 3k words out of nowhere I thought this was gonna be a short ten or so paragraphs of explanation but I just wrote instead and now I'm in so much emotional pain

Heeheehoo :3 (<- thousands dead, millions more injured)

#creative writing #desert duo #goodtimeswithscar #grian #swap au #major character death #major character injury #graphic depictions of violence #tw blood #third life #traffic smp #fanfic #im going insane #might put this on ao3 #auuugh #just a drabble I said #3884 words later

[flowercrowngods]

now that ao3 is back, feel free to send me your favourite fics of your own. be loud, be proud, brag a little, tell me what you love about it, what you’re most proud of if you want.

#ADVOCATE FOR YOURSELF!!! #steddie #steddie fic #send them to my ask box children!!! 🤍🫶 #very hesitantly putting a limit at 30k? words? if theyre longer still send them but i cant promise to read them!!! #i cant promise anything at all acryally bc usuallt i expect to get like one or two asks BUR THEN!!! THREE AND MORE!!! and I'm like oh #and also I'm drunk so i might regret this later but for now??? GO HAM!!! #i'll read steddie stobin ronance anything gen and platonic. buckingham. uhhh surprise me?? as long as it's not billy related :p #if your fav thing is not on ao3 just send me the tumblr post or mention me there idk. also wips are encouraged!!

[transvampireboyfriend]

@steddie-week day 3: discover + first kiss

"There you are!" Eddie says, like he's been looking for him everywhere, his face even lighting up as he enters the kitchen.

"Here I am." Steve shoots back.

Steve's sure that he's wearing a similar expression. He missed him.

After Eddie and Robin graduated, Eddie took a job at a local auto shop while Robin and Steve took jobs at the library and filled out college applications.

During that time the three of them had gotten really close, talking each other through tough times and celebrating what they achieved together.

Steve moved with Robin to start school at the beginning of this year and Eddie stayed with his uncle, still figuring out what he wanted to do with his future.

So, this is the first time they've been apart for months since they met, and Steve did not anticipate how much he would need to see him, to hear him.

The phone doesn't do his voice justice.

Steve puts the dough down to wipe the flour off his hands, but his eyes never leave Eddie as he drops his tote bag on a stool across from Steve.

"Can't believe they left you here with all the work, man" Eddie laments, shaking his head and walking around the kitchen island to where Steve is.

Steve's heart beats oddly fast in his chest as he huffs a small laugh and tries to figure out if a hug is okay in the split second before Eddie pulls him into his arms.

Steve wraps his arms around him and rests his chin on Eddie's shoulder, relieved.

"I don't mind" Steve murmurs, about making the pizza while the kids catch up with Robin and Nancy in the living room.

Eddie chuckles, softly claps his back and pulls away to grab Steve's shoulders instead

"Of course you don't" he says, with mirth in his eyes "How are you, Stevie?" he asks, his head tilting to the side and his dimples showing.

"Hi" Steve says to those dimples he hadn't seen in so long "I mean- good. I'm good" Steve smiles, genuinely delighted. "How are you? How was the drive?" Steve asks

"Ugh, it was hell!" Eddie slumps a little when he says it, his exhaustion evident "but I'm good!" he assures, "you know what I need?"

Steve shakes his head no "What?"

"To help you make like seven pizzas right now," Eddie answers, squeezing Steve's shoulders before letting go. "Where do you need me?"

That's a question.

It's not like Steve hadn't notice his crush on Eddie before he moved away, but he was kind of ignoring it, or at least trying to for the sake of their friendship.

Clicking with someone the way he did with Eddie was rare for him, he didn't wanna risk losing that, especially after so many failed dates; Steve was just kinda over the whole thing.

And Eddie never showed anything more than friendly affection so, really, it was the right thing to do to just, pretend like Eddie's eyes weren't the only thing he could think of when the sun first filtered through his windows.

And he'd thought it would go away in time, and then with so many miles between them.

But here he is again, asking how he can help Steve cook pizza for their friends and Steve kinda wants to cry a bit, because no, of course it wouldn't go away.

If anything it seems distance has made it worse, Steve feels intoxicated by the smell of cigarettes and pine trees.

"Um, there's two in the oven" Steve points out, "and everything's already chopped up, I guess you can help me put the toppings on these next two?" Steve suggests, going back to knead two more bases out of the dough he left on the island countertop.

"Yessir!" Eddie salutes, walking back to rummage in his tote. "I brought brownies for dessert," Eddie offers, bringing out the container "totally safe." he assures.

"I have ice cream too, which I assume im putting there?" Eddie asks, pointing to the refrigerator behind Steve, Steve nods.

Eddie brings out the tub of ice cream and spots something else in his bag "oh and I had olives!" he places an olives jar on the table before walking towards the fridge.

"I thought you didn't like olives" Steve comments

Eddie sticks his head in their freezer and answers "oh, I don't mind them"

Steve fully turns to him with a confused frown "no, i remember you specifically requesting no olives in our pizza for the past, like, year"

Eddie's making space in their freezer, moving things around. He casually says "that's because you don't like them, Stevie" and continues his task like what he just said has no significance at all.

Steve blinks, feels stuck to where he's standing.

Steve had mentioned he doesn't like olives maybe a week after the whole upside down business, when the kids had been at Dustin's and Claudia had offered him salad during dinner, which he politely refused, because it had olives.

Eddie was there, they had all been working on characters for their next campaign and stayed for dinner. Steve had only dropped by to deliver a book Dustin left in his car, and Claudia invited him to stay.

Come to think of it, Eddie had enjoyed that salad just fine.

Steve never mentioned olives again.

And it wouldn't be until a month later that Eddie would first order pizza for them making that specific request.

For Steve.

And it's so silly, it's such a small thing, but all of a sudden a myriad of small things are thrust in Steve's face.

Eddie watching Grease with him, Eddie always knowing how he takes his coffee, Eddie singing along to ABBA in Steve's car, Eddie complimenting the jacket everyone said made him look dorky, Eddie keeping a Tears For Fears tape in his car, Eddie using one of his sick days to help him pack the stuff in his room, Eddie memorizing his schedule and calling him multiple times a week for the past few months exactly when he knew Steve would be home and bored without Robin.

It's like someone lifts a veil off his eyes.

Steve's watched Friday the 13th five times and would watch it again if it was with Eddie, he knows Eddie takes his coffee with a frankly concerning amount of sugar, there's a Black Sabbath record in his room right now!

He's never put in this type of effort with friends before! They either have similar tastes already or Steve doesn't feel the need to match them anyways.

It's different with Eddie, it's like he wants to be connected to him somehow, make sure they're close.

He didn't know Robin liked tea until they moved in together! He knows Eddie categorically refuses to try tea in any form. And actually, his uncle got him thinking about it and he's considering to change that, Eddie told him about it last Thursday while Robin was at band practice.

He's never tried somebody else's music without them asking for it, he's never volunteered to watch a horror movie, he's never worn clothes he thought wouldn't fit his style, he's only ever done that with

"Eddie" he says out loud, it comes out a little breathless but Eddie doesn't seem to notice.

"Hmm?" he acknowledges, finally placing the ice cream in the freezer and Steve catches a glimpse of it as Eddie shuts the freezer door.

He turns to Steve and raises his eyebrows.

"Was that cookies and cream?" Steve asks

"Mhm. Yep" Eddie confirms

"Why'd you buy that one?" Steve wants to know.

Eddie shrugs " 'Cause it's your favorite" he answers, easy.

So easy. Like he didn't even consider any other flavor.

"Why did you buy my favorite ice cream, Eddie?" Steve insists,

Eddie splutters "I- I um, I mean do you not-?" he trails off and looks at Steve's posture, the way he hasn't moved a hair in the last couple of moments must click then. His eyes trail up to meet Steve's again and realization dawns on his face.

"Holy shit, Steve. You didn't know?"

"What?! What do you mean I didn't know? Who knew?!"

"I-! um, everyone? I'm not exactly subt-"

"oh my god!"

Steve can feel the blood warming his face and ears and it seems to spring Eddie back into action.

"I mean! Clearly not everyone knew! You didn't know!" he says walking over to him and running his hands up and down Steve's arms "pfft, practically no one knew!"

"Eddie" Steve wants to laugh but he's afraid he might burst into tears.

"I thought you knew" Eddie says in the smallest voice he's used so far, his hands stilling.

"I'm sorry" Steve says,

"No!" Eddie protests, his hands coming up to grab Steve's face "No, sweetheart, you have nothing to be sorry about"

Steve scoffs,

"Of course you didn't know!" Eddie continues "I never told you!" his hands caress Steve's cheeks and Steve thinks his knees might give out.

"So, I'm telling you now" Eddie says, determined. He takes a deep breath.

He looks into Steve's eyes and says "Steve, I am crazy about you. Not a day has gone by since the eighth fucking grade where I haven't thought about you. And since last year, it has been nothing but good things. I promise"

Steve snorts a laugh at that, his hands coming up to hold on to Eddie's wrists as they both shake with soft laughter.

"You have the most beautiful smile i have ever seen in my life" Eddie goes on. "You are the bravest, kindest, most badass person I know, your hair is a fucking miracle and your eyes. god, your eyes. i have tried to find something that even remotely gets close to the color of your eyes and I can't, and I've resigned myself to never finding it because even an exact match would not make me feel the way your eyes do. Because they're very pretty, but it's not about the color. It's just the fact that you're looking at me"

"God, Eddie" Steve sniffles, not sure what to even do with all the happiness inside of him.

Eddie scoffs a soft laugh "Seeing you happy makes me very happy." he explains "So i try to do little things that'll help that happen. That's why I bought your favorite ice cream, Stevie"

Steve smiles at him and rubs circles against his wrists.

Eddie, seemingly unable to stop talking says "it's selfish really, if you think abo-"

"I'm gonna kiss you now" Steve tells him

"Oh, oka-mmph"

Eddie's lips are soft and gentle and Steve has to coax him into being less tentative but once he does, Eddie kisses him insistently, never letting Steve get too far away, like he can't get enough of Steve. It makes Steve's heart flutter in his chest.

When they finally come up for breath Steve tells him "I can't believe you like olives" trailing his hands down his sides.

Eddie laughs, Steve loves that sound.

"I can stop" Eddie reminds him, placing a peck against Steve's smile.

"And I don't like them" he continues "i just don't mind 'em"

Steve hums a disapproving tone but still leans in for another small kiss.

"I only brought them in case anyone wanted them! they were left over I swear" Eddie excuses against his lips. Steve giggles, his hands now on Eddie's waist, toying with his chains.

"You look good today" Steve tells him

"Oh?"

"Smell good too." Steve says, nosing his cheek. Eddie shivers.

"Always do" Steve clarifies, his mouth coming back to kiss Eddie softly as his hands trail up to play with strands of his hair.

"Your hair's so soft" Steve continues "and pretty. You're pretty"

It makes Eddie blush and Steve grins, delighted by what he achieved.

"And you're brave too Eds, and badass, and cool and fun" Steve smiles when Eddie scoffs but once he sobers up he continues "And I think your eyes are prettier than rays of sunshine." Steve tells him "And I think I'd do anything for you" he adds.

Before he can register the way Eddie's looking at him, Steve's being kissed again with an assuredness that makes him sigh.

The only thing that parts them is the oven timer dinging and even then, Steve has to threaten Eddie with no pizza if he doesn't let Steve go.

Steve doesn't think he's ever been happier.

#steddieweek2023 #steddie headcanon #steddie #steve x eddie #steveddie #stranger things #apologies for anything that doesn't makes sense im very sleeby #i might clean this up later and put it on ao3 #but for now have it! i actually liked how the idea turned out #.

[threegodkings]

alhaitham/cyno [2.5k]

quick lil warm up for the other fics i gotta finish this weekend (ok this spiralled out of control a little but it's fine it's cruisy LMAO) --- as a general rule, things i write for tumblr on any of my blogs stay here and don't get transferred elsewhere but this is long enough that i will Possibly put it on ao3 later... possibly

edit: ao3 link

/

The Liyue night sky isn’t the overwhelming expanse found in the desert, where the stars are so distinct that they’ve been used for navigation for as long as stories have been told, but the moonlight plays over Cyno’s skin all the same, so Alhaitham will take it.

He watches as Cyno looks over the land. The General Mahamatra is always a pleasure to watch in action, moving with lethal grace and pulling his punches with precision every time.

Once, a week or two after Dehya returned from Fontaine with a samurai who had recited poetry that made Lumine smile and handed her a bag of gifts for mutual friends that was roughly the size of Paimon, the three of them had ended up in the desert. Lumine had offered to join them, but Cyno had sent her on her way with gentle hands and a request to stop by Gandharva Ville to let Collei know he might be a little late for their TCG training session, but he wouldn’t miss it.

He had said it with such steady conviction that Alhaitham felt it, bone-deep. But he hadn’t been able to look away from Cyno’s hands.

That particular trip had ended in Dehya cussing out a group of Eremite-breakaways while she used the hilt of her claymore to knock one out before flinging it to the side to sock someone else in the stomach, Alhaitham translating the runic carvings as fast as he could while flicking dendro shards towards the stray attack that got past Cyno, and Cyno whirling his staff around with such deft precision that Alhaitham wished he could turn around and study him instead.

Everyone survived the ordeal, of course; Dehya said she doesn’t believe in punishing thickheadedness with death, or else the two of them would have ended up at the other end of her weapon that first fateful day in Aaru Village, and Alhaitham had done his part in unlocking the key to spit all of them from the tomb.

And Cyno, well --

It doesn’t need clarification, Alhaitham thinks. The oath of the General Mahamatra is writ in stone and hasn’t changed since its genesis, but Alhaitham doubts anyone has held to it as intently as Cyno. It’s not a slight against his predecessors; it’s just that Cyno’s dedication to justice and his oath is second to none.

The Akademiya looks at the General Mahamatra and sees a punisher, but in truth, he’s always been a protector.

None shall come to harm under his watch.

So -- the General Mahamatra is always a privilege to observe, with his unparalleled tenacity and exacting movements.

But here, tonight, beneath the full force of the Liyue night sky, Alhaitham does not observe the General Mahamatra, but Cyno.

With a swallow, Alhaitham takes a step forward.

“Finally,” Cyno says. Alhaitham raises an eyebrow, but does not speak. It’s not really a surprise. It’s a rare beast indeed that manages to get the drop on the General Mahamatra (or Cyno, or the Wolf of Spantamad, or the Judicator of Secrets, or any of the thousands of things he’s been called over the years, as if to name a thing is to define it), and Alhaitham is nothing so unique. He is but a feeble scholar, after all.

“Your thoughts are so loud,” Cyno adds. Alhaitham looks down at him as he steps closer, closer, all the way until they stand side-by-side. There is a space between them that Alhaitham only knows how to define as the absence of touch; he’s so aware of Cyno’s presence, his skin prickling with Cyno’s errant warmth, that if he could not see the small distance between them, he wouldn’t believe it there at all.

“They only seem loud relative to the dearth found in others,” Alhaitham retorts. There’s a smile glimmering at the edges of Cyno’s lips before he rearranges it into a frown. Alhaitham maps the path of it in his brain.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Cyno says, and it feels like something else. Alhaitham doesn’t think about that, doesn’t think about anything at all except for the way Cyno’s hands look right now, resting on the railing of Wangshu Inn’s balcony, moonlight spilling over each ridge and groove.

“You weren’t surprised to see me,” Alhaitham points out, and Cyno shrugs.

“That’s not the same thing,” he says.

After a moment, Alhaitham nods, a slow thing. Like honey, or the way Lumine smiles when her eyes are sad, or Cyno’s breathing when it’s late at night and there’s nothing in the world except all the stars to guide them.

“What brings you to Liyue?” Alhaitham asks. He looks at Cyno, drinks him in unabashedly. It’s a recently-discovered benefit to interrogation: a free pass to look directly. Recently-discovered isn’t quite correct. Recently-valued, maybe. It’s not a new thing, after all; it’s just that Alhaitham has never cared about it before.

(Cyno’s gaze is always unflinching. Sometimes Alhaitham thinks about the way Cyno always looks at him, no matter the circumstances. Cyno does not hide behind excuses. Nor does Alhaitham, usually, but there are some honesties easier to swallow when clothed in rationale.

This feeling really is a vexing thing, Alhaitham thinks, to compel him to explain his behaviour, even just to himself. The lack of explanation provided for anything he does unless demanded has always been one of his most charming qualities, in his opinion.

(Okay, so Dehya had laughed in his face when he said as much to her in Lambad’s Tavern once, but he’s decided to ignore it. Peer review is an important part of scholarship, but unfortunately for him, he can count his options (read: people he respects) on one hand, and given that one is a god and another makes his chest ache unintentionally, he ends up with Dehya laughing at him a lot.))

“The pursuit of treasure,” Cyno says, tone completely serious, which --

Alhaitham blinks. What a completely unexp—

Oh. Scratch that. He does know what this is, courtesy of Dehya dragging him and Lumine out to drinks after the Traveller’s return from Mondstadt. Cyno had joined them later, having been in Gandharva Ville with Collei and Tighnari, but he’d been a popular topic of conversation prior to his arrival.

(Alhaitham is not above soaking up all information he can, and certainly not about subjects of interest—if Cyno was such a thing back when all he learned of him was through distant observation and the sages’ record of him, he is something all the more important now. Still, for the record, it wasn’t him who pressed for further details—that was all Dehya. Of course, Paimon was all too happy to oblige, immediately launching into an indignant recounting of a joke about ground nuts. Alhaitham was entirely innocent in the matter, thank you very much.)

He recalibrates. “Makes sense,” he says casually, nodding slowly. Cyno’s eyes flick up, scanning his face, and Alhaitham continues, “Just as I would expect from such a renowned adventurer.”

There’s a smile glimmering on Cyno’s lips, and that makes this whole thing worth it.

“And you?” Cyno the Adventurer asks, looking at Alhaitham like -- like he’s a memory in the process of being made, maybe. Something worth tracking the motion of, worth learning by heart. It makes Alhaitham’s cheeks heat up, just a little. “Are you an adventurer too, to have heard of others?”

“Me?” Alhaitham asks, tilting his head. “Oh, no, nothing so exciting. I am just a feeble scholar.”

Cyno’s expression does something complicated, goes somewhere between wry and -- something just shy of disappointment. It makes Alhaitham’s bones ache.

“I see,” Cyno says.

It’s not born out of rationality, what Alhaitham does next. One might even be forgiven for thinking it uncharacteristic, although they would be incorrect. That’s not their fault, though; Alhaitham suspects that most people in Teyvat would come to the same conclusion.

Increasingly, however, he thinks some of the citizens of Sumeru—mostly those who float around the Akademiya, like a handful of the matra and maybe two or three of the scholars who regularly haunt the (Acting) Grand Sage’s office with their endless paperwork, but also the various people who burrowed their way into his life (despite his best efforts) through camaraderie and a successful coup against the autocratic geniocracy that tried to make a new god—have started to notice these shifts in his behaviour. It’s not that he eschews rationality, exactly; it’s just --

Alhaitham looks at Cyno’s hands again. Recurring theme.

There’s something about Cyno that recalibrates Alhaitham’s worldview. That sounds more dramatic than it is, he thinks. It’s not like he’s changing, or that logic falls wayside; it’s just that if Cyno is in the room, Alhaitham is always aware of it, in a way that feels so much more present than his normal (already stellar) observational skills. It’s not just information he registers to sort and sift through. He wants to know. If Cyno is there, Alhaitham wants to know.

If Cyno is there, Alhaitham wants.

That’s the only reason he can think to provide for why he reaches out and captures Cyno’s hand, sweeping his thumb gently over the back of it. One, two, three.

Cyno sucks in a breath, but he doesn’t pull back, just trains that endless gaze on Alhaitham.

“Yes,” Alhaitham says. “I’ve been contemplating two areas of study in particular for my newest paper.”

“Oh?” Cyno asks. He sounds -- in all honesty, he sounds almost exactly the same as ever, but Alhaitham knows him well enough now to detect the glint of amusement in his voice, the way it wars with a touch of wariness. He thinks there’s affection too, or fondness, at the least, but he’s sent back enough documents for review to overzealous scholars to acknowledge that he’s not an objective enough observer to make draw such a conclusion.

Still, he hopes.

“Mm,” Alhaitham hums. “The usage of the Liyue nightscape for both guiding and illuminative purposes,” he says, eyes dropping back to Cyno’s hands. Years ago, Alhaitham read a book suggesting that the triangulation of stars in Liyue does not obey the same rules of equations as the night sky in Sumeru. The implications of such an argument were fascinating and thorny, the exact sort of thing he likes to muse upon, but right now, in this moment, Alhaitham finds his attention much more occupied with the way the moonlight plays over Cyno’s knuckles, spilling over each ridge and faded scar.

“That’s one,” Cyno says. His eyebrow is arched, but not as dramatically as Dehya’s would be, not like an accusation. It’s something softer. Alhaitham has the stray thought that playacting aside, he could quite easily spend his time studying the rhythms of Cyno, all his minute motions and barest tendencies. It’s perhaps the only similarity Alhaitham can find between himself and the former sages, although their motivations differ drastically.

“So it is,” Alhaitham says. He looks up from Cyno’s hands, lips tugging into something crooked. “Hands, then.”

“Hands,” Cyno repeats, and Alhaitham nods. The look Cyno gives him in response is incredulous. “Well,” Cyno says slowly, like that ajilenakh nut syrup Dunyarzad likes to drizzle on her breakfast, “as it would happen, I possess hands.”

He says it with such a straight face that Alhaitham almost snorts. Coughing lightly into his hand to disguise it, Alhaitham says, “So you do.” A moment later, he adds, “Ones currently illuminated by said nightscape.”

Cyno’s lips turn up at the edges, in that rare kind of smile that used to catch Alhaitham off guard. These days, he chases it.

“That’s two out of three,” Cyno says.

Alhaitham dips his head in agreement. “I’ve heard that a handful of the most experienced adventurers know how to navigate through the stars,” he says, looking directly at Cyno.

He’s looking back.

“Perhaps a renowned adventurer such as yourself…”

Cyno lets out a light huff of laughter. If Alhaitham wasn’t so attuned to his presence, he’d have missed it.

“And if I could?” Cyno asks, too casually.

Alhaitham tilts his head. He commits the sight to memory: Cyno, looking out over Bishui Plain, the night breeze rustling his hair, and moonlight spilling over his skin. He flicks his gaze away from Liyue’s landscape, back to Alhaitham’s face, and leaves it there. There’s a slight smile at his lips. Alhaitham’s heart aches, the way it does when you read something revelatory for the first time, and are immediately aware of the fact that it will never be new again. It’s not a bad thing; it’s just a pressing ache in your chest, the type that was always rare for Alhaitham, dotted only a few times throughout the timeline of his life.

These days, though, it is a recurring theme. Like being around Cyno, sometimes, is too big to hold.

“If you could…” Alhaitham says, drawing it out. He huffs a breath, a little wry. “I may be a mere scholar, but when my interest is piqued, I am quite resourceful, if I do say so myself.” A beat, then, “Once I start something, I always see it through.”

Sometimes that means exploring it to its limits, and then discovering it is not as intriguing as initially thought. In those cases, Alhaitham has no qualms about dropping it and moving on. That’s still seeing it through, in his opinion; he’s taken it to the extent to which it has value to him, and once that has been exhausted, he leaves it be.

There is not a single bone in his body that thinks Cyno will ever be that to him, not even for a moment.

Cyno’s breath hitches. He looks over Alhaitham intently, like he’s decoding all the things he did not say from the knot of his arms, the line of his wrist, the curve of his cheek. Who knows? Maybe he is. If anyone could, it would be him.

“You’re in luck, scholar,” Cyno says finally. He flashes a smile -- small and quick, but so warm and unexpected that Alhaitham’s neck feels hot. “I know how to follow the stars.” He turns his head back towards Bishui Plain, but Alhaitham can still see a glimpse of his profile. There’s something warm and easy in the set of his lips, almost teasing. “Does that pique your interest?”

Yes, Alhaitham wants to say, you always do.

In the back of his head, Dehya scoffs. You academic types have the worst foreplay, she grumbles. Can’t you just be in love like a normal person? ‘I am quite resourceful’ -- Kusanali save us, just ask him to dinner next time, I’m fucking begging.

Ignoring his unfortunately canny projection of her, Alhaitham dips his head again, resting his hand on the railing. They do not touch, but his fingers are close enough to Cyno’s that he can feel the warmth emanating.

“Yes,” he says simply. He exhales, a little teasing. “I do believe I will be seeing this through.”

In the back of his head, Dehya is groaning, banging her head against his skull, but Alhaitham can’t bring himself to care, not with how Cyno looks right now: eyes shining, smile glimmering at his lips, with the full force of the Liyue night sky shining behind him.

#haino #cytham #cyno #alhaitham #i started counting kazuha and lumine's mutual friends through various events and gave up after seven lmao #the pacing in this is probably as wild as most things i end up writing quickly for tumblr (or twt for that matter) tend to be #but i might put it on ao3 later Maybe i will figure it out later #i wrote this on tumblr so putting it in my wordcounter app made me like 😵‍💫 #this was actually just a warm up to get me in the zone for this OTHER hainotham fic i'm writing lmao but... it spiralled... #it is 6am tho so i will decide abt putting it on ao3 later lol #mine

[bluberrie-hedgehog]

Since your ask things says send fic ideas:

Maybe something where Sonic ends up losing his powers (his speed and whatever the electricity stuff he does is called) somehow and he and his parents have to figure out how to live with that? Maybe while also figuring out how to get his powers back?

I've never seen the idea of how losing his powers would affect Sonic and those around him explored before, so I just think it's interesting to wonder about.

Okay, here we go. Enjoy the angst.

Sonic Loses his Powers

----------------------------

Maniacal laughter filled the room as his senses started coming to reality. His ears were ringing and the first thing that hit his nose was the stench of chemicals and machinery.

He blearily opened his eyes everything was fuzzy and he felt a headache forming. Where was he? What happened?

He drew in a long breath, and his lungs ached, squeezing his eyes shut. He realized he was laying on something cold. He was sitting in an upright position, that much was obvious. He tried to move his arm but it was stuck there. All of his limbs were tied down by something he didn't know. He couldn't open his eyes.

He tried to recall the last thing he had seen. There was an explosion... And then...

Mom and dad...

His brothers.

Where are they?

Somehow he managed to blink open his eyes again and his vision was more clear. And he wished it wasn’t. He was in a room, the brick walls were rusty and old with several cracks and what looked to be burn marks. However, the wall in front of him was glass, and on the other side he could vaguely make out someone standing there, looking like they were typing on a computer. Until that vague figure became more clear and it looked at him with a grin of pure evil.

There was a noise from the corner that crackled like a speaker “Good morning hedgehog,” Robotnik spoke not at all sounding polite.

Sonic scowled back at him through the glass.

“I'm glad you're awake so soon! That means we should go ahead and get started shall we?” His eyes were cold and heartless and they burned a hole into his soul.

His breathing hastened and he tried to move his legs move his arms anything! He needed to get away.

Robotnik smiled through the hatred in his voice. “Don’t fight it. Save your breath, you’ll need it.”

He needed to run he needed to get away but he couldn't he was stuck, the restraints were too tight.

He fought the restraints so much that he could hardly breathe and he was gaping for air. So now he sat still as a statue, paralyzed with fear.

“Where are they?!” he managed to choke out through the fear, his voice cracking on the end.

The man walked closer to the glass as he enjoyed the view of the terrified hedgehog, his face changing to amusement. “Oh who? Those two other rodents and your mommy and daddy?” Eggman said his voice getting higher toward the end. Teasing him.

The teen growled at them. “Where. Are. They?”

Robotnik was smiling with each word that drove knives into the little hedgehog's heart. “They’re dead.”

Sonic’s shrilled scream was enough to wake the dead. “HOW COULD YOU?!” he sobbed out through the tears, he felt electricity disperse through his quills as blue lightning bolts spread across the ground like electric snakes.

The man just watched with amazement and excitement not feeling any empathy whatsoever. Yes. Exactly what Robotnik needed. Keep sparking you stupid little rodent.

He felt like he couldn't breathe. The whole world was crushing in on him and he couldn't do anything but thrash uselessly against the restraints tieing him down.

Somehow through his tears and screaming he was able to pick up the sound of a machine whirring to life.

“Don’t worry.” Eggman smiled. “It will only sting just a bit.”

The hedgehog’s screams became louder and more blood-curdling as four light blue colored beams latched onto him like claws from the corners of the small room. There was pain everywhere, he couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything.

His frame hunched over, baling his hands up into fists, his face in complete agony as he gritted his teeth together. The only sound he could hear above the machinery was hysterical laughter.

It felt like that one time he got tased, but this was a thousand times worse. The evil laughter stopped and then he heard a loud boom that could only be an explosion. The claw-like beams suddenly disappeared only to be replaced by the whirring of sirens. He swayed on his knees before he fell over and everything went black.

...

..

.

“....-onic!”

“-Mother he has awoken!”

He heard hurried footsteps from... somewhere. And then the sound of hushed voices.

Something touched his arm, he wanted to open his eyes but he couldn't. “Baby? Oh my God. Sonic, please wake up.” the voice sounded suspiciously like Maddie but that didn't make sense... They’re gone.

Oh my gosh they're dead. ...-is he dead?

A higher-pitched voice popped up. “I saw him move! He must be regaining consciousness any time now.” the voice was suddenly laced with worry as it trembled. “H-he will right?”

“Do not worry fox.” A boulder and deeper voice. “The hedgehog is a very strong and noble warrior it would take more than that to take him out.”

Okay, he definitely wasn't dead.

Somehow he was able to blink open his eyes squinting them against the light. And there was no mistaking his parents and his brothers standing there.

Maddie was practically right up against his face, she had tears welling in her eyes.

He saw he was laying on the couch, covered in two blankets and a pillow underneath his head.

But it didn't make sense. His family was gone right?

He reached out weakly with one arm to touch her, to really see if she was there. “M-mom,” he said but it came out more as a wheeze followed by a coughing fit.

She shakily grabbed his hand, ushering him to try and sit up because he was coughing so much. “Sweetie, you're okay, can you sit up for me?” Maddie tried to sound calm but he could hear the tension and worry in her voice.

She guided his back with her hand until he was finally sitting upright. He saw Tom out of the corner of his eyes holding a glass of water. “Here bud, drink some water okay.” his voice shared the same emotion as Maddie’s.

The glass was held up to his lips and he drank from it, not realizing how thirsty he had been.

He wanted to complain or come up with some sarcastic joke that he wasn't a baby, and that he could hold the cup himself. But he couldn't do anything besides let out a whine before clamping his jaw back shut.

His dad was instantly stroking his face with his thumb while his mom grabbed his wrist. He watched her eyes widen with fear or worry, he couldn't really tell. “Your pulse is so much slower.”

“S’cuase ‘m tired.” he said sluggishly, his ears drooping and he he lowered his head.

“No, no this is different.” There was a lot of things different about him and it was shown as clear as day. One, his fur looked paler, it has lost that bright blue tint and was more of a very light blue. Almost white. And two, his eyes once full of energy and life seemed solemn and had lost their brightness and energy.

There was a clicking sound as they all turned to see Tails holding a device in his hands as he fiddled with it. He moved past his worried parents holding it up to hedgehog for at least ten seconds, the concern growing in his face the longer time ticked on. He swallowed then spoke “When I would face this at Sonic before it would always beep. I built this to find him a long time ago and used it to track his chaos energy, but now it's showing that there's... Nothing.” The fox twidled with his namesakes looking uneasy.

“What does that mean?” Tom asked fear lacing his voice.

“It means that there is no chaos energy in his body anymore, that energy is what allowed him to run that fast and generate electricity.” He didn't like what he had to say next, ”Robotnik must’ve taken it somehow. I'm honestly surprised that he made it out alive.”

Sonic’s shocked terrified cry cut the family’s hearts clean in half. All four of them rushed over to give the hedgehog a hug.

Even Knuckles, the bravest and most stubborn of the family felt a few tears well up in his eyes seeing his brother like this. “Do not fear brother. We will avenge you and give the robot man what he deserves.”

Not even their hugs or comforting words could ease the hedgehog's cries.

----------------------------

(I'm not sure if I'll ever finish this or not but for now your stuck with the angst.)

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic wachowski #maddie wachowski #sonic movie 2 #sonic movie #tails wachowski #sonic movie au #knuckles wachowski #sonicmoviefanfiction #my fic #tom wachowski #thanks for the suggestion #I've never written Tails or Knuckles before #but I felt the need to put them in there #I hope I wrote them okay #i wrote this in like an hour so it's not perfect #I might go back and make some edits later #I might even post it on Ao3 idk

[sophiethewitch1]

oh wow i forgot the absolute hit comments are. my drug of choice honestly

#sophie speaks #i have activated skill 'check phone every ten seconds' #i might later go on ao3/wattpad/quotev to show the fanart they haven't seen but i just. I'm tired lads #what was i thinking #there was a thought here i dont remember where i put it #anyways damian wayne has a comforting warm spicy smell and its not just because i favour cinnamon scents not at all

[flamingredanon]

Just a small fic featuring Reginald and Right having a talk before having to dethrone a Terrence who has lost himself to his powers.

#ao3 #fanfic #this was an old wip based off the thought of what could be going through regs head before having to dethrone terrence #particularly the him and terrence used to be good friends but shit happened and now here they are #maybe i might write one more fic later on that features the dethronement and shows terrence as a shadow of himself #lost to his powers and lost to his friends #*rolls back into the void before i can keep rambling about this idea and putting terry through anymore horrors at the moment*

[tobias-hankel]

I've got a prompt if that's okay? One where Spencer and Gideon were together (can be dark!Gideon with grooming him or just a healthy age gap relationship) and when he left he relapsed into dilaudid/self harm and the team eventually find out about it and the relationship? I'd love to see their different reactions

TW SH, drug use, and grooming mentioned, nothing detailed ~1.2k

They all noticed a difference with Spencer when Gideon left. Spencer was already not doing well before he left because of Hankel but afterward, it was as if Spencer fell apart all over again. It was to be expected. They all saw how close Gideon and Spencer were but this, it wasn’t healthy.

The team watched as Spencer came to work late, dressed in dirty clothes, not bothering to brush his hair and on top of everything, he was snapping at everyone. He was still managing to get his work done so Hotch didn’t mention it. He knew what this was – they all did – but they assumed that if Spencer could get clean the first time, he could get clean a second time. So they all stayed quiet.

Rossi was the one to speak up.

One afternoon Rossi went to the restroom to wash his hands and found Spencer already at the sink. He was washing his hands and Rossi just happened to look over and see a glimpse of gauze under Spencer’s sleeve on his wrist. Rossi harmlessly asked what it was and was surprised to see Spencer start to panic. He gave him some lie about cutting his arm on a loose screw on the metro and left without another word.

Rossi wasn’t dumb, he knew what a drug addiction and what self-harm looked like, so he headed to Hotch’s office.

“Hey, Aaron,” Rossi said, knocking on the open door once before walking in.

Hotch looked up from the file in his hand but placed it down when he noticed Rossi shutting the door behind him. “What’s wrong, Dave?”

Rossi sat down across from Hotch, “The kid, when are you going to do something about his self-harming and addiction?”

“Self-harming?” Hotch asked. He had seen the drug addiction, but nothing pointed to Spencer hurting himself. Then again, those signs could be easily hidden under a drug addiction.

“I just caught him in the restroom. He had gauze over his wrist and lied about what actually happened. I know I’m new here, so I have stayed quiet about Reid's clear addiction but what the hell, Aaron. We can’t just do nothing.”

Hotch sighed, “I know. Gideon leaving seemed to hit Spencer a lot harder than I expected. I have been hoping he could pull himself up. I can’t say anything to him myself without acknowledging his addiction and having to report it.”

Rossi rolled his eyes, “That is bullshit, and you know it. You can’t officially say that you know about it but that doesn’t mean you have to leave him to help himself. Besides, he knew Gideon since he was fourteen, they even lived together for a while, I—"

Hotch cut Rossi off, “Fourteen? Are you sure?”

Rossi nodded, “Yeah. 1995, Gideon and I were still on the team together and he told me all about the young genius prodigy he had met. From what I heard in my phone calls with Gideon after I left the BAU, when Spencer moved to Virginia to join the FBI, he moved in with Gideon.”

Hotch thought for a moment. He was told that they met while Spencer was doing his last doctorate at 20, not 14. Why would they lie about that unless they were hiding something? Hotch looked out toward the bullpen from his seat and his eyes landed on Spencer.

“What is it?” Rossi asked after Hotch didn’t say anything.

Hotch looked back at Rossi, “They both lied to me about when they met, and I was never told they were living together.”

Rossi caught on to what Hotch meant, “You think Gideon had an inappropriate relationship with Spencer?”

Hotch stood up, “I don’t know but I know we need to ask. That might be why he is taking this so hard.” Hotch opened his office door, “Reid, my office now please.” He said, making sure Spencer heard him before he sat back down.

Spencer stepped into Hotch’s office a minute later, shutting the door behind him when he noticed Rossi. He knew what this was probably about – Rossi told Hotch about the injury on his wrist. “Hotch, I don’t know what Rossi said but—” Spencer started but Hotch held up his hand to stop him.

“Please sit down, I wanted to ask you about something else,” Hotch said, waiting for Spencer to sit in the chair next to Rossi before he started again, “Reid, when did you first meet Gideon?”

Spencer bit his lip for a moment, his tell, before saying, “When I was 20, why?”

“Kid, Gideon told me when you first met him. I know you were 14, why would you lie about that?” Rossi asked.

Spencer opened and shut his mouth a few times but didn’t say anything, so Hotch spoke up, “Did Gideon ask you to lie about when you two first met?” Hotch asked and Spencer nodded. “Why would he do that?” Hotch asked and Spencer wrapped his arms around himself, pressing his nails into his arm before shrugging.

“When did the relationship start?” Rossi asked suddenly and Spencer’s eyes went wide, telling both Rossi and Hotch that there was a relationship between Gideon and him.

“I—I don’t know what you mean…” Spencer said, looking as if he was about to cry.

“Spencer, we aren’t mad with you or anything, okay? We just want to help you.” Hotch said and a few tears made their way to Spencer’s cheeks.

Spencer reached up and wiped them roughly, “Fifteen…” He said after a moment. “He helped me get into college… Helped me with a few bills… So when he asked…”

“You felt like you had to say yes,” Rossi filled in, trying not to let the anger for his former best friend show. He had no idea that Gideon was taking advantage of the young genius he would go on about. He assumed it was a mentor/mentee relationship, as most people probably did.

Spencer nodded, “It doesn’t matter now though… I wasn’t good enough, so he left.”

Hotch took a deep breath, trying to control his anger as well. “That is not true. Gideon worked this job longer than anyone. He was burnt out and clearly not well. He should have never proposition you – really when you were underage, and then asked you to lie about it.”

“None of this is your fault, and you don’t need to punish yourself for it,” Rossi said, glancing at Spencer’s arms for a moment so that Spencer really understood what he meant.

Spencer looked away. He knew that the team probably knew about his addiction, but now Hotch and Rossi knew about his self-harm as well, and his relationship with Gideon. He suddenly felt too seen but also cared for. He didn’t think anyone cared, anyone other than Gideon… But somewhere in his mind, he knew that was wrong too.

Spencer played with the hem of his long sleeve dress shirt, “Gideon helped me stop cutting when I was a teenager and helped me get clean after Hankel… now – now I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to lose my job…”

“You aren’t going to lose your job, I’ll make sure of that,” Hotch said, causing Spencer to look up at him. “I’m sorry I didn’t speak up when I first saw you struggling. I hid behind proper procedure instead of what was in your best interest.”

“We are going to make sure you get the help you need, okay?” Rossi added.

Spencer smiled at Rossi, then at Hotch, “Thank you both.”

#maze's drabbles #more than 5 sentences #criminal minds #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #david rossi #i love rossi and reid's father and son relationship #dark jason gideon #I might put this on ao3 later if I fix it up #or not #spencer reid whump #thank you! #I love all the prompts I have been getting

[bloodstained-white-jacket]

fuck it i figure i should post my WIP snippets for this AU JKHJGHFG

bit from the opening scene where jigen n lupin fuckin lose it on drugs

(spoiler for the aftermath below cut)

bit from when lupin finds him dead the next morning WHOOPSIES!!

#theres another one with zeni but i ended up writing the entire scene for that one so #might polish that one up and post it on AO3 #if not ill put it here later #anyway #lupin iii #lupin iii au #tw drugs #tw hallucinations #tw death #tw murder #i think thats all the tws? #lupin #jigen #ill make a pinned post explaining the premise tomorrow #LIII:(B)WJ