#Slowest of burns

[gutsybitsies]

It started with a Christmas card.

Well, it started with Hazel and Nico's Christmas Card.

It went like this: The first year after Hazel retired as praetor and enrolled in a university, she was in a photography club and created Christmas cards of her and Nico. They sent it out to the rest of their friends, captioning it "From the family of Di Angelo Levesques to yours, Merry Christmas!"

That went on for three years until someone proposed (they proposed simultaneously), and Nico's tears ran down his cheeks with no abandon as he walked Hazel down the aisle and off into the arms of Frank. As Frank's best man, Jason had to fight the urge to gather him up in a hug and hold him until Nico stopped crying.

He did just that later in their hotel room (someone had booked a single room for the both of them, how strange).

Now, two months until Christmas, Hazel was planning a bigger Christmas card. Her, Nico, and Frank.

But maybe. Also Jason?

"So." Frank pulled up a book on how to talk smoothly. "I think you casually go up to Nico."

"Yes?"

"And say. Hey, since we're adding Frank to the Christmas card this year, should we do a thing where Frank and Jason wear matching outfits?" Frank suggested. "Just slide it in, assume that Jason's going to be in the card."

"Would that work?" Hazel asked. "What if he asks me why Jason would be in the card? Frank, they gave us separate wedding presents! Not a joint present!"

"But I don't want to hurt Jason's feelings by having a card with just us and Nico!"

"But they gave us separate presents!"

"Jason's feeling!"

"It's not like I haven't talked to him about this," Hazel said. "He tells me he's not ready for it."

"Which is unfair to Jason," said Frank. He doesn't understand why Nico was dragging his feet. "This is why Jason's being obtuse about it as well."

"Well hold on. Maybe Nico says he's not ready because Jason is oblivious. He wasn't exactly Mr. Romantic with Piper."

The two of them agreed to disagree on their first major argument since the honeymoon, and tabled the discussion for later.

Frank found himself the victor though, as three days later he saw a text (from your Hephaphone to theirs! Ready for the internet? Want to send silly images? The latest Hephaphone is monster proof!) from Hazel to Nico that read <So when are you and Jason going to come over for the Christmas card shoot?>

Nico hasn't sent a response yet.

Unbeknownst to Frank, Nico is off having his third existential crisis in a year.

A few years ago, exactly a year after he and Jason decided to move in together to save on rent, Jason invented the idea of a friend cuddle.

The reason? Heating is expensive, and so why not share a blanket on the couch, and also share body heat in the meantime.

Nico, as the son of the literal god of wealth, said yes of course that makes perfect sense, we can't afford to spend that much on heating! We can friend cuddle while we play wii sports together in the winter. Sometimes Jason would wrap him up in his arms and cuddle against the warm, designer sofa while they watch Milf Manor. Sometimes they switch and Jason is the little spoon and they take a nap listening to the D.C. traffic.

Most of the time, Jason travelled across the country, and Nico travelled across the world. Half the time they're not even in their "bachelor pad", its residents flitting across the world performing feats of heroism (or other more mundane tasks nowadays, thankfully). It functioned as a safehouse for other demigods, the guest bedroom permanently in a state of welcoming for wandering teenagers in need of a break.

That was the only reason why, when the two of them were in D.C together, they share a room. Because of course they can't afford a three bedroom apartment in D.C.! And of course, they have separate beds, because bros room together all the time.

Okay, fuck that. Yes, they were more than bros and maybe Nico and Jason both enjoyed cuddling each other in a more than platonic but less than Romantic way and if Nico could spend the rest of eternity not having to Deal with trying to come to grips with trying to define this relationship and possibly breaking the great balance they have. That would be great, thank you.

His father in the Underworld seemed to want to do just that, like every other time he changed Nico's world.

"So. My dad just bought me a house," There it was, the dream. Nico di Angelo was a homeowner now. "It's near the weed dispensary, the neighborhood that always smell like Amsterdam, we looked at it once, remember?" Back when they had first decided to rent a place together, because adulthood meant stepping out and getting a place on your own, meant stepping outside the box where you never felt like you belonged and finding someplace you did.

It was a choice between a large place in a tough neighborhood (with lots of room, a lot of space!), or a small place in a nice neighborhood (tight quarters, not much space to move around). And well. Of course a nice neighborhood is better, right? Because of....safety issues.

"Oh," Jason absorbed the knowledge, he looked at Nico and could almost see the frenzy of thoughts that were chasing around in his head. He could almost see the sentence You can have your own room again, before he wrapped his arms around Nico from behind. "That would be a good place to bring demigods on the run, or on quests. Teenagers need a lot of space, and it's in a neighborhood with a lot of mortal smell. Much better than this place, we should thank your dad."

"....Right." Nico calmed down. "I mean, we can't deprive the teens of a really great safehouse."

"No, of course not," Jason rested his chin on Nico's shoulders and blew a puff of air into his ears. "Can't do that at all, that would be too selfish."

"I love-" Nico stopped, "how great, this situation turned out to be. For the kids."

It was the third time this year Nico almost said I love you, and Jason counted that as a win.

"I love that, too."

Nico looked at Jason, so comfortable in the moment. So soft, sometimes he was so sure that Jason would kiss back. Most of the time he was scared of what would happen if Jason didn't. Either way, there was no way the two of them are moving into a new, more spacious place.

No changes needed.

His Hephaphone beeped again, with Hazel's message.

.....Some changes were apparently can't be stopped.

Nico and Hazel were family, and they appear on Christmas cards together. Well, now Frank was family, with Hazel. And by all rules of convention he and Hazel should send their own Christmas card. Except Hazel wants Nico in there.

Which would leave Jason out of the picture, officially. That didn't sit right with Nico.

Frank, Hazel's husband, matching together on a Christmas card with his brother in law's......best friend. Roommate.

nico.di.angelo.exe stopped working for the fourth time that year, then started working up again. It's a very normal thing. Jason is just like family, so of course he'd fit in the Christmas card. In fact, he should've been in Nico and Hazel's Christmas card from the beginning. Technically they were cousins! Immediately Nico recoiled from the cousin thought and gagged inside. No, not cousins. Just found family, best friends, something more something less. And that works perfectly fine.

That was how Jason and Frank found themselves cosplaying as Santa's reindeer with a grumpy Nico and ecstatic Hazel dressed up as two different Santas.

First, a photo of Frank of Jason sitting in front of a sleigh, with Hazel and Nico holding the reins of the sleigh. Then, the photographer wanted "the two couples" to have one person piggyback the other. The last time Jason carried Nico on his back was a couple of months ago that year, when Nico twisted his ankle and just had to be carried everywhere for an entire week. Jason couldn't let his best friend just limp around like a sad sack!

Nico nestled against Jason's neck and ghastly smiled at the camera, just like all of his cute ghoulish smiles in the other pictures. Jason couldn't wait to see the pictures. Is it normal to be dazzled by the cuteness of something that looked creepy? Because he felt that everyday. His roommate looks creepy and it is incredibly cute.

After the photoshoot, as Hazel and Jason poured over the photographs, Jason picked out his personal favorites as Hazel picked hers.

"I'd like that one printed and framed," He said, pointing to one where he and Frank were holding Hazel and Nico in their arms in princess carries. "This one is nice, too." It was a piggyback carry, and he'd adjusted Nico without warning, surprising him into grabbing onto the antlers he was wearing on his head. "Actually, how much would cost for you to send me the rest of the photos digitally?"

"Nico!" Jason called out, "We should hang this next to the T.V."

Nico came by to look at the photos that Jason picked out. He looked really happy, he was used to looking and being happy recently, for the past few years. There he was, and there Jason was, next to his sister and her husband. A family.

"Yeah," he said softly. "It'd look great."

"We should pick some out for the new house, too," Jason said. "I'd ask Leo and the other Hephaestus kids for some defense mechanisms to put there. We can finally call in our favors, have a housewarming registry."

Frank not so subtly pulled Hazel away from the warm and bubbling atmosphere forming around Jason and Nico.

He mouthed to her Just like our wedding gift registry!!!!!!

Hazel screamed silently and mouthed back It's finally happening!!!!!!!

"It'd be a great thing," Jason said, "For them kids and teens, of course."

Nico jolted. "Yeah, for the kids, and the teens."

But even more than usual, he felt the urge to lean up against Jason, so he did.

[poetic-justicesong]

Chapters: 1/20 Fandom: The Mandalorian (TV), Star Wars - All Media Types Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Din Djarin & Reader, Din Djarin/You, Din Djarin & You, Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda, Grogu | Baby Yoda & Reader Characters: Din Djarin, Reader, Cara Dune, Greef Karga, Paz Vizsla, The Armorer (The Mandalorian TV), Bo-Katan Kryze, Ahsoka Tano, Axe Woves, Luke Skywalker, Original Mandalorian Characters (Star Wars), Original Rebel Alliance Characters (Star Wars), Original Female Character(s), Original Child Character(s) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Domestic Fluff, Whump, Din Djarin Whump, BAMF Din Djarin, Protective Din Djarin, Din Djarin Needs a Hug, Good Parent Din Djarin, Canon Compliant, for now, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Touch-Starved Din Djarin, what if, Grogu as a human child, But his name's not Grogu, Jedi Younglings (Star Wars), Foundling, Mandalorian Covert on Nevarro (Star Wars), Religion, spirituality, The Light Side of the Force (Star Wars), The Dark Side of the Force (Star Wars), Reimagining, Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Panic Attacks, Childhood Trauma, Love, Found Family, Chosen One, Force-Sensitive Reader, Force Sensitive Child - Freeform, Jedi Lore (Star Wars), Mandalorian Lore (Star Wars), Star Wars References, falling in love realistically, Reader Has A Name, eventual reader name reveal, eventual child name reveal Series: Part 1 of The Mandalorian, the Jhedan & the Child Summary:

With the remnants of the Empire still lurking in the shadows, an abnormally high-paying Imperial bounty is placed on a mysterious Quarry.

Two faceless, battle-worn strangers make their separate ways across a dangerous Galaxy in an uncertain age. When an infamous Mandalorian Bounty Hunter and a cunning cloaked mercenary catch whiff of this new Imperial bounty, they finds themselves pulled together in an incredible twist of fate. 

A long time ago in a Galaxy far, far away, love may just conquer all.

...at least, we hope.

[starlene]

Here's a nice story I learned in the Norwegian ski museum:

In 1895, polar explorers Fridtjof Nansen and Hjalmar Johansen were having a bad time. Their expedition had faced some hardships and they were forced to stay on Franz Josef Land in a little hut they built out of mud and stones. In their hut, they slept for circa 20 hours a day, and spent the remaining four hours watching the northern lights or reminiscing about the comforts of home and the books they had read.

After several months of this, and nine months of sleeping in the same sleeping bag to stay warm, on New Year's Eve, Nansen finally gathered his courage and asked Johansen if they should start adressing each other with the informal you.

This is where the story ended in the museum, so unfortunately, I can't tell you whether Johansen answered yes or no.

[troutberryspoon]

Unhallowed Heart

Dark Urge/Enver Gortash

First chapter, first meeting - first thing I've written in years

Word count: 1835

Link here for AO3

It was early evening in the city, the day’s trading almost done. 

A new apothecary had opened a few days ago on Barrowlee Street, just south of the market district. Villi had decided that it was time for a visit. He glanced at the freshly painted sign hanging above the door before making his way inside:

Victorious Secrets - The Adventurer’s Emporium!

The air was thick with the aroma of dried herbs, dried flowers, ground spices and incense. Bottles of all shapes and sizes were neatly placed in rows upon the shelves; all with hand written labels, some with warnings, too.

This wasn’t a shop for the poor, down-at-the-heel fledgling adventurer. There should be plenty of gold under the counter.

Villi picked up a small bottle filled with viscous, dark purple liquid. It shimmered with pink iridescence when he held it up to the light.

The man behind the counter looked up from a ledger where he was recording the day’s takings. ‘Can I help you, ser?’

‘Are you the owner of this place?’ Villi asked, putting the bottle of poison back where it came from, nudging it slightly so it was perfectly in line with the others.

‘Yes, that’s me. Is there something you need? I’ll be closing soon.’

‘I won’t take up much of your time. I’m just here to spread the word of my church–’

‘Let me stop you right there. I’m not interested, I’m not the religious sort,’ the shop owner said, cutting Villi’s words short.

Villi smiled with strained patience, and walked closer to the counter. He watched the shop owner stiffen as he recognised the pendant around Villi’s neck - a ruby skull surrounded by a ring of glittering red teardrops.

‘I’m not asking for your devotion. Bhaal only welcomes a particular type of worshipper into His congregation. But donations are gratefully received from all,’ Villi said. ‘It’s also one of the best ways to ensure a long and happy life. Let the Lord of Murder bless your generosity by turning His gaze on your neighbour when His blades thirst for blood.’

The shop owner chewed on his lip, appearing to weigh up his options. ‘I’ve… I’ve already paid the Guild for, ah, protection,’ he said after a moment. His pulse ticked in a gallop at the base of his throat. 

‘Are they here now? Will they protect you, right now?’ Villi could smell the man’s sweat. It made the hairs on the back of his neck tingle. He leaned on the counter, his finely-wrought leather armour giving a luxurious creak. ‘Death is everywhere, always. Your charity or your life. Either way, my Lord is sated.’

‘I-I, yes, yes, okay. How much? Wait, just take– just take it all,’ the shop owner said. Trembling hands placed a lockbox on the counter.

‘Thank you, that’s very generous of you. And the key?’

‘Oh! Of course, one moment. There, now please–’

Villi took the key and the heavy box, and bid the man a pleasant evening. Back out on the cobbled streets he headed towards an alleyway. There, with nothing more than a thought, he was able to summon his Butler, Sceleritas Fel; a small, wicked creature that existed to serve Villi’s bidding.

‘Mi’lord, there you are. How I have ached in the absence of your vile presence,’ Sceleritas said, sighing happily. 

‘Take this back to the temple for me,’ Villi said. He pushed the lockbox into the fiend’s waiting claws.

Sceleritas shook the box back and forth, listening to the jingle within. ‘You’ve been collecting donations again?’ The disappointment was clear in his voice and the slump in his crooked shoulders. ‘And again I’ll say it; this is unworthy work for a Prince. All the riches you need can be found in the veins and arteries of your next screaming victim, why must you insist–’

Villi rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘As poetic as it sounds, we can’t repair the walls with blood, can we. We need coin, and it’s not like I can trust one of the acolytes like ‘Dread Cleaver Lewis’ to collect alms without also collecting, you know, arms. And skulls. And ribs.’

‘But the ribs are your favourite, Master.’

‘Just shut yer ‘ole fer a minute an’ listen–’ Villi stopped and took a breath. 

These days the guttural goblin drawl he’d developed during the years spent in their camps only tended to slip into his speech when he was speaking to his Butler, but he was still trying very hard to eradicate it completely. ‘Listen to me. We need consistent income. Repeat donations. Our followers come to us with nothing but the gore-soaked clothes on their backs and maybe a dagger in their twitching hands and I love them for it, but our gold reserves are depleted with every soul that we welcome. I have to do this myself because, by some twisted divine joke, I’m the only one with enough self-control not to gut every worthless sack of skin who donates to our cause!’

‘Ah! Alas! It’s all my fault, my failure, my deepest, eternal shame that you have been burdened with such menial concerns… Let me come up with a solution, ten solutions, a thousand. Sully your hands no more with this demeaning business,’ Sceleritas said, his beaked nose almost touching the ground in supplication.

Villi watched him grovel for a moment. ‘I hope you can think of something. In the meantime, take that box back to the temple like I told you to.’

‘As you command. By the way, it would appear that you are being watched, my Liege.’ Sceleritas slid his evil little eyes to the side, to the entrance of the alleyway. The dirt-smudged face of a young child ducked out of view when Villi turned around. ‘You should pluck out her liver.’

‘Perhaps I will,’ Villi said. ‘Now, bugger off.’

The creature vanished from sight in a swirl of stinking smoke.

Villi had no intention of following the urchin. There was a feeling at the back of his mind, like an itch he couldn’t scratch. It was telling him to walk through the city while the evening drew in. Curious about what it might mean, he followed the feeling, walking towards The Wide and its nest of now empty market stalls.

He didn’t have to follow the urchin, as it happened. Before long the urchin brought a man directly to him.

‘You, there. A moment of your time, if you please,’ called a voice from his left.

The man who had spoken passed the child a gold piece. The child quickly scampered away.

‘What do you want with me?’ Villi asked, looking the man up and down. He was about the same height as Villi, but he was wearing a dark hooded cloak that made his build difficult to gauge. Villi could make out a pair of broad shoulders, that was all. 

‘I merely wish to talk. You’re a follower of Bhaal, are you not? You wear his symbol.’

‘That’s correct.’

‘Then please, tell your leader that I seek an audience. My name is Enver Gortash.’ Gortash pulled down his hood, revealing dark tousled hair and strong features. ‘I have a proposal for a partnership that I think he will find most agreeable.’

‘I don’t do partnerships,’ Villi said. 

‘You? Forgive me, but you are Villiame Redvalok, Scion of Bhaal?’

‘In the wicked flesh.’ 

‘Ah. I thought you would be taller.’ Gortash held up a hand when he saw Villi’s expression change. ‘More monstrous, I mean. The tales I’ve heard make you fifteen feet tall, resplendent with horns, claws, fangs, glowing eyes…’

‘I save that outfit for special occasions,’ Villi said.

‘I feel like I’ve offended you. That was not my intention in the slightest. I much prefer your real appearance to the one I had conjured in my mind. You’re handsome, for a start. I imagine that opens a lot of doors that would otherwise be locked, barred, and barricaded if you truly looked like an arcane horror. Your Father was very astute, to give you those beautiful eyes,’ Gortash said smoothly.

And Villi didn’t quite know how to respond. The only compliments he ever heard came from his Butler, and even then they were about how clever he was, how deadly. His looks never came into it. He was human-shaped, and wore human features. His eyes were blue like the sky. He would have preferred red eyes, or the black voids of a shadow fey, but Gortash called them beautiful, and that made him feel somewhat uneasy.

‘I suppose,’ he muttered.

Like a wolf scenting blood, Gortash took a step closer. ‘Let us start over. Please, allow me to make amends for not recognising your unholy bearing at once. Villiame Redvalok, it is an honour.’ 

The man bowed properly, too, Villi noticed, which was becoming something of a dying art. It helped him to remember himself. The true Son of Bhaal squared his shoulders as Gortash straightened up.

‘I’m still not interested in a partnership with you. How dare you even suggest it. I ought to flay you where you stand.’

‘But you haven’t even heard what I’m offering,’ Gortash said.

‘Unless it’s your wrists or your throat for my knife then I don’t care,’ Villi said. His patience gave way suddenly, snapping like an overwrought sinew. He drew a dagger from his belt and moved towards Gortash, intent on making a spectacle out of his innards. 

There was a soft sound, like a razor slicing through silk. Three arrows cut across the path in front of Villi, coming from high up on his left. They thudded into the nearest market stall as he stopped in his tracks. Gortash didn’t move an inch.

Villi stared at the arrows. Their oily black feathers quivered in the breeze. 

‘I see you brought protection.’

‘Quite. I thought it only prudent. I was hoping to find a Bhaalist, after all,’ Gortash said.

‘So… how many archers?’

‘Four.’

‘Four?’ Villi said, indignantly.

And Gortash smiled. Faced with an irate Bhaalspawn he actually smiled. ‘Even in my most optimistic plans I didn’t anticipate meeting you in person today. Obviously there isn’t enough gold in all the city to hire the number of archers I’d need to be truly safe. But four should still slow you down, if only a little.’

‘A little,’ Villi conceded, stowing the dagger. ‘Alright. You may live. Be thankful that having to pay to repair the holes in my armour is something I could do without right now.’

Gortash laughed as if Villi had told him a joke instead of the truth. ‘My friend, you are such a pleasure.’

‘No. No. I am not your friend, I am not your anything. Walk away now.’

‘It has truly been an honour,’ Gortash said, seeming to realise that Villi was a hair’s breadth away from showing him his insides anyway, archers and tanner’s fees be damned. He gave Villi another respectful bow before reluctantly turning away.

All Villi wanted now was a long bath.

[retellingthehobbit]

Retelling The Hobbit Chapter 16: The Song of the Lonely Mountain First chapter / Previous / Next

To view full comic: Webtoon/A03 / Tumblr post with links to all chapters

Other blogs: TikTok/Instagram/Tumblr Sideblog

*crumbles into dust after finishing this* Thank you for reading! This The Hobbit webcomic adaptation thing takes a lot of effort to put together and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate every comment. I also really appreciate the people who’ve spread the word of this comic to their friends! <3

And finally, we’re at the Song of the Lonely Mountain! Within Tolkien’s canon, The Hobbit is an in-universe book that was “written” by Bilbo Baggins, who occasionally lies/embellishes/exaggerates things. The tonal differences between The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings are explained by Bilbo and Frodo/Sam being different kinds of storytellers, with different relationships to “the truth.” This idea is the core of how I’m adapting the novel!  Bilbo is an unreliable narrator who is literally ‘drawing’ from his own limited experiences;  the different art styles reflect the different perspectives of other characters.   The “dwarf art style” in this chapter is inspired by stonework/metalwork in general— but especially by a mix of art deco, Celtic art, and European folk art. 

The central tension of the comic is between Bilbo and Thorin, who each have wildly different ideas about what kind of  story they’re in. Thorin is in a grand fantasy epic, while Bilbo is in a lighthearted children’s book adventure.  The tragedy is, obviously, that only one side of the story ever gets to be fully told.

On a sillier note, a few years ago I had my first gay crush on a lesbian who sang while playing the piano. This chapter is dedicated to the piano lesbian. I hope they’re doing well, wherever they are. XD

I think I might need a bit of a break but I’m hoping for the next chapter, titled “Dawn,” to arrive on January 13th. And your comments/support really do help motivate me to get more done! ^_^

[andi-o-geyser]

despite how you feel about the changes from the stream to the show, if you like or dislike them, i love how inherently hilarious the narrative path tlovm is taking regarding perc’ahlia is because a situationship would literally kill campaign percy and vex like how the internet would kill a small victorian child. they are NOT built for that

[theside-b]

Nakazawa Motoki and Kobayashi Toranosuke in

I HEAR THE SUNSPOT (2024) episode 08

[larkoneironaut]

"Vhenan, I've missed you terribly."

[hwasfeatherduster]

I now understand why people enjoy the Slow Burn trope.

SEONGHWA STAND UP! THE TIME HAS COME!!!!

[mirensiart]

Chain and Key's ship or duo name being Keychain :)

there a keychain your honor :)

OHMYGOD YES LMAO THAT’S SUCH A FUNNY SHIP/DUO NAME THEY TRULY ARE A KEYCHAIN

ok so this is official, their ship name is keychain from now on lol

They’re not fans of it now, but give them time ;)

More info about these guys (my zelda&link OCS) ———-> HERE

Also here's a small comic of their first meeting

[sic-vita]

GOOD OMENS + 6000 years meetcute

[eddiediaaz]

everyday i remember that merlin is STILL waiting by avalon for arthur to return. after like. almost a fucking millennia!!!! and everyday i go

WHO ELSE can match these freaks?????

[itsdefinitely]

could you pretty please perhaps draw Richie x Jason 🙏🙏💗

kyle put him up to this

[an-established-butt-dent]

Meet my current Inquisitor: Yrja Lavellan.

This is my Second solavellan playthrough, and because I tried to postpone the crestwood scene as much as possible i’m literally a level 28 during ‘what pride has wrought’ Lollll. Coryphasswhatshisname is getting ended in one punch once I finish the final quests before Trespasser .

I’m making (some) opposite choices compared to my first playthough. Aka I used the American voice, sided with the Templars, didn’t drink from the well of Sorrows, Solas removed her vallaslin and she’s going to hunt her ex husband down. Solas ya bettter be prepared. This girl is gonna age like a fine wine, with notes of bitterness, heartbreak and revenge.

Sidenote, I’m seriously loving the lighting in the Decent DLC. The screenshot I used as a reference is [shefs’ kiss].

[stil-lindigo]

seeing clearer

(sequel to another comic of mine, the calamity.)

--

all my other comics

store

[starkidmunson]

glitter & crimson

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

Steve comes home from his first post-injury workout drenched in sweat and throws himself onto the sofa on his back. Robin winces as she watches him go, raising an eyebrow. 

“That bad?” She asks, to which Steve groans in response.

“They want me to wear a bubble.” Steve responds, digs his hand around inside the gym bag still attached to his side and lifts out the full face mask.

“Wouldn’t be the worst idea, protect your face at least.” Robin observes, only to be met by a glare from Steve. His facial expressions are making a triumphant return as he regains more control over his face as the wound heals, and he’s taking full advantage of his bitchy looks whenever he can.

“Says the one not blowing hot air back into their own face as they work out.” He grumbles, flopping back and dropping the mask onto his stomach. “Everything hurts. You’d think I’ve been out for months, not just a few weeks.”

“How’s the headache?” Robin predicts, and Steve gives her another look before he sighs. 

“It’s not bad, don’t overreact. It’s not the concussion.” He insists, ignores the way her eyebrow rises again and instead pushes himself up again. “I’m going to shower,” Steve announces, making a quick escape from Robin.

It’s not exactly that he’s lying, because he’s not. He doesn’t think anything he’s feeling is concussion-related. The soreness in his muscles is from suddenly being weighed down with his hockey gear again, after weeks without. It’s a similar feeling to the first workout of the pre-season. The headache is a little trickier to convince everyone around, so he’d avoided mentioning it and done his best to hide it at the rink. It’s no surprise Robin can just tell he has one, though.

He lets steam fill the bathroom before he steps under water so hot his skin turns pink. He lets the shower spray target the middle of his back, shifts so it settles between his shoulder blades, and rests his forehead against the cool tiles in front of him.

Eventually, he emerges back into the apartment in sweatpants, his hair air drying. Robin is setting a cup of hot tea down on the coffee table, her own tucked onto an end table beside her on the sofa. Steve smiles softly and mumbles his appreciation as he sits and takes a sip.

As he drains the cup, the headache eases a bit and he feels a bit more human than he had after returning home from his workout. 

“You got mail from your parents today,” Robin eventually offers over the New Girl re-run neither of them are particularly paying attention to but have on for familiar background noise. Steve just grunts, uninterested, and instead busies himself checking any messages he may have missed from people he actually cares to give the time of day. 

Dustin had demanded a “family dinner,” which Steve agrees to and warns Robin when to expect a full house. Max, traveling with the Blackhawks for a game tomorrow night, had sent him a detailed threat to not push himself too hard while working out. He responds with a video clip the trainer had taken of Steve nailing a series of wrist shots.

Steve tries hard not to be too disappointed that he hadn’t heard from Eddie. They’d texted about their plans for the day, Steve knew Eddie had said he’d be spending the day in his studio working on a few new tracks he was putting together. Still, though, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t hoping he’d have found a text or two from the other in the time he hadn’t been looking at his phone, something that was quickly becoming a standard for the pair.

Biting back his pride, he decides to send the first text, figuring the other will answer whenever they’re wrapping up in the studio.

Steve: Hope you’re having a good studio session.

After a long few moments, Steve can’t help the little sigh he lets out as he buries himself into the throw pillows filling out the sofa beside him. Robin nudges him with a foot, eyebrow raised, and he shrugs back at her, turning his attention to the television. It isn’t long before he zones out, though, thinking and overthinking.

His injury has given him a lot of time to think about a lot of things; primarily what landed him off the ice. He’s only mentioned it to Robin, but he has been considering coming out to his coaching staff and league officials to give background on what seems like an otherwise unprovoked violent streak from Billy Hargrove. Steve learned, in the days he spent in LA after the attack on the ice, Billy had taken to calling him names and slurs with press and on social media. The trash talking had landed him another fine from the league, but it wasn’t slowing him down. It was more than enough to prove the attack was premeditated, if everyone who needed to know the background was read in on their history.

And while Billy was staying on the attack, his teammates were apparently squared up and ready to defend Steve in a way he probably should have expected but hadn’t seen coming. Each of the players who had gotten physically involved in fighting Billy after Steve had taken a stick to the face had made comments with press about how Hargrove plays dirty and mean. Several had also spoken out about Steve’s leadership and sportsmanship on and off the ice, throwing their support behind him through his recovery. 

Coming out to the league and his coaches also had the potential to alleviate some of the anxiety he was feeling around his personal life. There had always been concern about coming out, getting kicked off the ice and ending up without the one thing he knew best. Long before he’d joined the league, his father had impressed upon him that he would have to settle and make sacrifices if he wanted to stay with the sport, but Steve wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to keep his sexuality bottled up and hidden away from the public.

In large part, it was easy to place blame on Eddie. The rockstar blew into his life and changed his perspective on what it was like to be a public figure, out and proud. Steve knew their status didn’t translate equally. Sports fans were different from fans of a band; Steve had joined a team with supporters who would cheer him on so long as he wore their colors and made them proud. Eddie’s fans had sought him out, decided to listen to his music and support him on their own. But for Steve to see Eddie carrying on with his life, not having to hide any part of himself or worry about not posting certain photos from their days in LA on social media (because what if they looked too suspicious and got people talking and asking questions?) was what Steve longed for. 

Chicago was a pretty open-minded town; it’s why he and Robin had first moved to the city to begin with. But it still wasn’t a guarantee that everyone would continue to support the team if he did publicly come out. And Steve was working to reconcile that in his mind; to gauge how much he should even care about it. A part of him knew the greater majority wouldn’t give a shit as long as he still scored goals and played a clean, fair and exciting game whenever he hit the ice. But the thought of those few who might push back too hard and how it could impact his teammates - his friends - in the long term is still what ate away at him.

“I can hear how loud you’re thinking over there.” Robin eventually says while he’s deep in thought, and he shoots her a small smile in response. “Look, Steve, you have to do what you think is best for you. Who gives a shit about anyone else.” She says.

He wishes it was that easy. He knows it could be, but he cares too much about the fallout to stop overthinking. They fall back into silence again, until Robin eventually closes her laptop and leans close to press a gentle kiss to Steve’s hair.

“You’re the best at what you do and if people can’t see that around the fact that you like guys, then that’s their loss.” She says, gently, before excusing herself off to bed.

Steve lounges around in the living room for a while longer, before he turns off the tv, grabs a blanket and makes his way out onto the terrace. He wraps the sherpa around his shoulders and drops into one of the loungers out there, looking out toward the skyline. It’s cold, but not as cold as it’s been, and he’s always found comfort in the winter weather, anyway.

His phone buzzes, catching his attention, and he smiles softly at Eddie’s name. When he answers FaceTime, he’s immediately met by chaos. It sounds like three voices are talking over each other, Eddie’s closest to the phone, making a loud ‘shhh’ sound until everyone around him is silenced.

“Did you mean to call me?” Steve asks around a smile, and watches as Eddie’s face lights up as he draws his attention.

“I did!” He insists, though Steve isn’t entirely convinced. “Want to hear what the track I’m mixing right now?”

Steve raised his eyebrow, only half sure he knows what Eddie’s talking about, before he nods. “Let’s hear it.” He agrees.

“Told you,” Eddie hisses at someone just out of the camera’s frame; probably one of the Corroded Coffin boys. Eddie taps a few buttons below the phone, then a soft guitar tune starts playing. It’s not like anything Steve has ever heard from the band before, gentler and softer. Other instruments crash in, in a more typical Corroded Coffin sound, for what Steve assumes will be a chorus once there’s a vocal track, but it slows back to just a guitar for the next verse. Eddie pauses the song and lifts the phone up again. “Thoughts and opinions are encouraged.”

“It’s different.” Steve says, still a little in awe.

“But not in a bad way!” He hears Gareth’s voice from somewhere in Eddie’s studio, and Steve nods in agreement.

“I don’t think it’s in a bad way, either. Just different. It still sounds like you guys in that middle part, when all the instruments join in. But the guitar, that’s… it’s soft and sweet and gentle. It works nicely, not that I know anything about music,” Steve laughs, and Eddie gives him a little smile.

“I appreciate your opinion,” he says, seeming to inspect the screen. “Your face looks a little less colorful. How was practice?”

“Fine, I’m sore now, though.” Steve admits, shifts and cracks his back.

“Gross!” Jeff cries from somewhere around Eddie, and Steve can’t help but laugh again.

“You should get back to working, I’m gonna head to bed soon anyway. We can talk tomorrow?” Steve asks, and Eddie nods. 

“Night, Stevie.”

~~~~

He hangs up the FaceTime, steals a pizza roll off Jeff’s plate, and re-opens the notes app on his phone. Scanning over the rambling notes he’d made himself about how he imagined the song would work out, he starts a new paragraph.

And he stares at the blank line before him.

“You’ve composed, like, 4 tracks and you can’t come up with a single lyric for any of them?” Freak asks, takes a pull from a joint burning in an ashtray near the sofa, and blows the smoke out away from the group.

“Very helpful insight,” Eddie grumbles, and Jeff leans forward. 

“Do you want us to help? Like, do you have a theme for the songs, or is this just going to be your own little pet project?” He asks.

“Well, I guess it depends. If you want to drop a surprise EP or double album after the one we’re putting out, I’m probably going to need help. But if you’re cool with letting me sit on it, I can probably figure it out on my own.” Eddie offers.

Gareth twirls a drumstick between his fingers. “I think we let Eddie handle the love songs about Steve Harrington, and if he comes up with enough to make into something to drop, we drop them whenever he’s ready, and if not, we throw them onto the next album or whatever when he’s ready to release them.” 

Eddie sighs and drops his head back against the rest of his swivel chair. “Can we stop calling them love songs about Steve?”

“Guess you have extra incentive to write lyrics to them, then,” Freak teases, and Eddie groans back, making the other boys laugh.

It isn’t much longer before they all excuse themselves to the rooms they claimed around the house. Eddie spends a few extra hours in the studio, working on as many lyrics as his brain allows and even sorts out bridge for the song he’d played for Steve before he heads off to bed.

He isn’t surprised to wake up the next morning to a text from Steve, who routinely gets up hours before Eddie and is always the first to send a text wishing him a good day ahead.

Eddie: Go easy on yourself on the ice today, you were up too late listening to headbanger music.

It’s a while before he gets a response, which isn’t uncommon. They both have their own lives which responsibilities to get up to. But Eddie would be lying if he said he wasn’t waiting not-so-patiently for Steve’s next response. Freak flew out this afternoon, heading back to visit family in Ohio, leaving Gareth and Jeff at Eddie’s. They’re playing video games in the living room when Eddie’s phone rings with Steve’s name and ID photo.

“Hey, how was today?” Eddie asks immediately, launching himself off the sofa and away from the boys and the noise from the television.

“Well, that’s part of why I’m calling,” Steve says, sounding a little out of breath and hair damp with sweat, glancing off camera before he flashes a charming smile down at Eddie. “What are you doing Tuesday?”

His brain short-wires for a second, thrown off course by the response. Is this Steve, asking him out on a date? That can’t be it, right? There’s no way, not with the back-and-forth they have going on. There would be more to it than that, and Steve seems like the kind of guy to give more than 4 days notice for a date that requires at least one party to travel several states. So Eddie does his best to quickly calm and compose himself, hoping he hasn’t taken an alarmingly long time to answer, before he responds. “I don’t know, what am I doing Tuesday?”

“I think you’re coming to watch the Blackhawks play the Predators in Nashville. I’m allowed to travel and suit up, but I probably won’t play just yet.” Steve is grinning, and Eddie can’t help but smile back.

“Hell yeah, I’ll be there!” He agrees, already pulling up the link to buy tickets for the game. “If I get shamed for wearing my Harrington jersey to a Preds game, you get to take the blame for me rooting against my home away from home.” Eddie teases, and Steve lets out a breathy laugh.

“Bring it on,” he challenges, finally seems to Eddie like he’s caught up and gotten back the quick wit and sharp humor which had been on a slight delay since the injury. A sign of recovery, Eddie’s sure and it helps to see him returning to normal.

They catch one another up on their days, and Eddie lets Steve listen to a few more of the tracks they’ve been working on over the last few days, but stops before the lyrics start in the only one he and Jeff have crafted words to so far, not ready for Steve to hear it yet.

As they’re talking, Eddie gets a notification he almost swipes away without reading, but Steve’s name catches his attention, so he drags it down and reads over the words.

“You okay?” Steve asks, and Eddie realizes the face he must be making is ridiculous. 

“Oh, uh. I just got a notification about you?” he mumbles back, and texts the link to Steve.

Now it’s Steve’s turn to look confused as Eddie reads over the headline again.

Hockey Legacy Harringtons to Host Joint Fundraiser

Steve reads the words and seems to immediately understand them in a way Eddie can’t, and he closes his eyes in a heavy sigh. “I promise you, my life is not usually this dramatic.” 

Eddie hates how miserable Steve seems all of a sudden; regrets passing the link on but knows he would have found out eventually and gotten upset anyway. “Dude, really, I don’t even know what that means, so it’s not a big deal.”

“It is, though. This is my parents, deciding that I’m worthy of being their son again because I’m getting a bunch of positive press after the injury. So my name gets to be included in the gala invitation, which I have been excluded from since juniors, by the way.” It’s still piecemeal, the information Eddie is able to take away from Steve’s explanation, but it’s enough to get the general gist of the issue.

“Ah. So, the dad who convinced you to self-sabotage is now trying to take credit for your sportsmanship?”

“Something like that,” Steve grumbles, and Eddie can see how he’s holding the phone differently, typing out a text. “I think I have to get Robin and we need to figure this out, sorry to jump off like this. But, I’ll see you at the Preds game? We can grab dinner after?”

“It’s a date.”

Eddie physically can’t stop the words before they’re out of his mouth, and immediately waits for a hole in the ground to open up and suck him in and put him out of his misery. But Steve just raises an eyebrow, smiles and shrugs. “Not yet, but. Sure.”

Then, Eddie stares at himself in the reflection of his phone after Steve ends the FaceTime call and he has no idea what he’s supposed to do with Steve Harrington, who keeps finding new ways to catch him off guard.