#fic: help me hold on to you

[what-am-i-doing-in-this-fandom]

Fic Idea where Fiddleford helps Stan rebuild the portal, but Stan finds out that Fiddleford has a wife and he's like

"You have a WIFE?? That DIDN'T marry you to steal your car and money???? What are you DOING here???"

"Yeah, well.... She's better off thinking I'm dead somewhere....."

"A WIFE. That LOVES you. Get outta here and go explain yourself, Idiot!!"

"She and our son shouldn't have to deal with--"

"YOUR SON???!!?!!??"

Anyways, so Stan helps Fiddleford reach out and explain himself to his wife, but expresses that he wants to keep being in Gravity Falls, so his wife and kid go to live with them in The Shack instead.

Blah blah blah, bonding happens, Stan bags Fiddleford AND his wife and becomes a step dad, God bless 🙏

[clickety-clacker]

Been seeing so many cool Clickies on my dashboard since getting into GGG, I just had to take the time to draw a few of them- plus, it was a bit of a challenge to try new styles. A lot of these guys were also super influential to how I draw and even think about Click Clack on my own time, so you should definitely check them out! Names below the cut cus it got long heehoo

Top left: @malartsorte

Top middle (holding papers): @scribblelimbo

Top right: @wishgraanted

Leftmost middle: @beastwhimsy

Middle (peace sign!): @sootnuki

Rightmost middle: @molabuddy

Bottom left: @pespillo

Bottom middle: @artuurle

Bottom right: @modmad

I know I said it already, but all of yall are super cool and I had a lot of fun challenging myself to make this! Keep on being awesome 👍

[actuallyjustabiscuit]

Not my dumb bisexual ass liking a poly ship purely because I think their height differences are neat

[maaxverstappen]

help me hold onto you | T | 9/13

f1driver!max and streamer!charles

The man—Charles, Max assumes—sounds French. He loves that. He should be used to a French accent, he was forced to converse with Pierre often enough, but it sounds different coming from Charles. More melodic. Almost similar to someone he used to know once. “And that made me think,” Charles says, voice bellowing from Max’s speakers. “That it was stupid that we didn't have carrots before. Like, come on, it's a farming game.” Max has no fucking idea what the hell he is on about.

or: Max is lonely and finds Charles streaming on Twitch.

based on this prompt sent to @f1prompts

[neverpathia]

so, tumblr, here's a little cheated x thorn thing I wrote. (I say 'little' as if I didn't spend three whole days on it. It's pretty long. Take heed.)

i don't exactly know if it's one of my best works? and it feels a little like multiple ficlets condensed into one, but hey, productivity is productivity.

just know that cheated and thorn are wholesome, flawed, adorable, bumbling little guys, who hurt and yet heal.

“Must it be so fucking cold?” The Cheated jerked his hand aside sharply, flinging some snow off the back of his palm—and nearly tossing that hand away with it. He narrowly caught the appendage in mid-air, muttering curses as he haphazardly jammed it back onto the bloody stump. 

The Thorn chuckled, her scarred fingertips playing with a barren tree-branch. “There’s trees and grass around. I could weave a coat for you.”

His face flushed—no, he wasn’t flustered or anything, pah, must’ve been the damned weather—and he quickly turned away. “There’s no need. Really.”

She twirled around to face him, tangled hair drifting with the winter winds. “Come on, then. We’re almost there.”

They crossed a couple of meanders, punctuated by someone’s constant grumbling and the amusement of another. 

The Thorn got bored of the journey at some point, and before he knew it, Cheated’s complaints were cut short by a snowball smack in the face. His grimace turned to a grin as he pelted one back at her. She retaliated in turn. He tried to strike, but she ducked in time. She got him as he was packing snow into another ball. It went on like that. 

Her smile was playful, catlike. He’d stared at that smile for too long, and his heart raced, and something hitched in his throat—until a fresh hefty dose of snowball interrupted his simpering.

And they chased each other about the Endless Woods, until Cheated was breathless and his legs were both on the verge of falling apart again, red flesh sloshing against flesh. 

Thorn propped him against a rock, fixing his limbs back in place. “I’m sorry. That…wasn’t what I took you here to do.”

He leaned back, trying (and failing) to wink at her. “It’s all good. No worries, I swear.”

She giggled. “That wink was nasty. Did Opportunist teach you?”

“Should’ve known better than to trust that smarmy shit-load.” He shrugged—

—or tried to, but she held his arm in place. “Ah, no. Not yet.”

Cheated rolled his eyes. “How much longer?” 

“When you finally decide to stop complaining and let yourself rest.”

He cracked a smile. “Bloody hell, we’ll be at this rock for ages.”

She laughed. “Hey, at least you won’t have to see that ‘smarmy shit-load’. Trust me on this one.”

But it took a little less time than ‘ages’ before the Thorn took his hand in hers, scratches and scabs brushing past each other, and led him across the snow again. His strides were brash and wide; her silent footfalls never strayed far. 

Eventually, the snow gave way to grass. He toed a close-set cluster of grass-blades, a dent left in the clumps of snow that flanked it. “Huh. What’s this doing here? Are the woods changing again or something?”

“There.” She pointed. 

He squinted into the distance, before he fully registered the sight and gaped in dismay. “No fucking way. A path in the woods.”

Her smile was subtle, but sneaky all the same. “Where it ended, no…where we began, again.”

His gaze followed the path. It snaked uphill, and he could barely make out scattered red blossoms, further at the end…

He nearly choked. “This one? The exact same place?”

She sidled closer to him, giving his hand a squeeze. “I told you, I did have something to show you.”

The Thorn had to yank him back pretty hard before he could recklessly scramble up the hill. 

“No-no-no-no-no—” He nearly fell flat on his face, but Thorn’s grip on him never faltered— “how? This isn’t—the woods are endless, endless, there’s a crap ton of cabins just lying around—how did you find this one?” 

She ascended the path, at times in unsteady stumbles, at times with easy grace. “I’ve been wandering for a while.”

She tripped, but Cheated held her steady—except he teetered and went off-balance himself, and the two of them soon went careening into the dirt. Lesson learned: floundering around does not prevent you or your companion from getting a mouth full of hill. 

She leant over him, a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Peeling his face from off the floor, he spat out a glob of something unidentifiable. “Are you okay?”

She shook some mud off her face, off faded burns and pink-white wounds. “I didn’t expect the climb to be this...tough.”

“Nor did I,” he admitted. “Hell, I didn’t pay much mind to the climb myself the first time.” 

As she got up, her smile was wan. “You weren’t this cut-up the first time, were you?”

“Damn getting cut-up. I survived it better.”

Her tail gave a little flick, curious. “What do you mean?”

“This one was way worse. I was a lot more worried about, I don’t know, the fact that I’d just gotten stabbed—”

As soon as the words left his mouth he knew, he knew that he’d fucked up. 

Of course. 

Of course she’d know that he got stabbed, she’d been the one who stabbed him, they’d built that trust here so precariously, so in spite of all that had happened between them…and he’d remind her of that, here, now?

But Thorn only gave a tinkling little laugh. “Well, I do know, and I can’t blame you. I was a little preoccupied with getting stabbed myself.”

Oh. Well, he did stab her too, sort of…but she didn’t seem too mad about it. Cheated felt himself exhale. “That wasn’t my fault, by the way.”

She shrank back and covered her mouth in mock-surprise. “Oh, I definitely never knew that. It’s totally not like you’ve said that before, perhaps just once—”

He groaned. “Hey, now...” 

“—oh, maybe you said it twice, no, a thousand times already—”

“Come on, it can’t have been—”

She leant forward and placed a single, dainty finger on his lips. “You grouchy little thing. Of course I know. But we’re over that, aren’t we?”

He had forgotten how to breathe. Or move, or speak. Or keep the blood from rushing to his cheeks again, too warm, too fast; or to keep his face from betraying just how much he felt, and could never help but feel—

The Thorn skittered ahead. “Follow me. You do want to see this, don’t you?”

“H— Now, how dare—” He finally remembered words again. “How-dare-you-do-something-like-that-not-fair-what-the-hell-you-little-not-fair—”

She winked at him. 

And he had to admit that it was a lot better than his shoddy attempt from earlier.

They trudged on. 

They fell against the soil and stones, again, again. She got up. He flailed about. She picked him up by the back of his collar and nearly considered carrying him the entire way uphill, but he protested so hard that she mentioned something about tossing him back down instead. Oh, she couldn’t have meant it (surely?), but it shut him up nonetheless.

They reached the top together. Red poppies in full bloom lined the path, in rich clumps and heavy clusters. Thorn bent down, pawing at the flowers. 

“Huh. I knew there were poppies.” Cheated paused. “But I never really asked why.”

She gingerly reached for a single blossom, handling it by the stem. “I don’t know either.”

“No?” He lowered himself to the ground, sitting cross-legged beside her. “I guess I always thought you were behind them somehow.”

“Maybe I was.” She gently tilted the poppy, angling it, red petals tinting light in the diffusing dusk. “Subconsciously, perhaps. I never actually saw them, not until I…until we left.”

The Cheated shifted in his seat, closer to her. “I saw them when I came, I think.”

He paused.

“I just didn’t know what they meant.” Cheated gazed at the flower she was handling. The petals were the same colour as her wounds, and his own. “If they really did mean jack-shit.”

Wordlessly, Thorn snapped the poppy from its stem. “Maybe they didn’t.”

“Ah.” He had no idea how to respond. “Well, fuck that then—”

“Shh.” She lifted the flower between her thumb and forefinger, tender as a lover’s embrace. With her other hand, she probed the side of his head; his choppy matted locks, the slashed wings he had in place of ears. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, but he never drew away.

She raised the poppy-flower to his temples. “I trust you now,” she said simply.

 The Thorn slipped it into the Cheated’s hair, placed it snug above a wing, and fixed it with a few deft motions; an eternity softer than the hues of sunset before them…before, at long last, she pulled away. 

“Maybe the flowers don’t mean anything.” Their eyes met, her green against his gold. “Not by themselves. But they can be so much more, to us.”

“What…” He felt the side of his forehead, where the flower was. The petals were soft beneath his coarse, calloused fingers. “You…You—That was…”

He let it linger for a few beats. 

She retreated a few steps, eyeing him. “It does suit you.”

“I—” He shot to his feet. Air hitched in his throat, and if he hadn’t blushed enough earlier, he certainly did now. A lot. “That was—you devious little—! That—the flower—you—it…”

“That flower.” Thorn rose with both hands clasped behind her back, smirking just subtly. “Me.”

“Bah.” He let his hand fall from the flower. “You know, Thorn?”

“What is it?” Her scars, her burns, those delicate features, those eyes crafty and cautious; they caught the fading sunlight and played with it, danced with it and bathed in it. Just like the flower she had picked, soothing soft, better somehow.

His eyes fell away from hers. “I don’t know why I find you so damn pretty. But I do. And you are.”

She stepped closer to him, came before him, next to him. “It’s a little hard.” Her hand slipped into his, fingers intertwining. 

“What is?”

She turned, and her stare fixed steely. “To say ‘I love you.’”

The ruins were still there. 

“Um…” Cheated followed her gaze. He shot her a quick glance before looking back, hesitant. “Fuck, I don’t know if it feels right here. Should we enter?”

The wood was just as charred and broken as he remembered, the brambles and thistles that overran it just as wild. But it never deteriorated: there were no new splinters, no unfamiliar growths. Only the same encroaching vines, creeping in place, ever-threatening to devour something that once was whole. Something that had given up. Something surrendered to nature.

And yet it remained frozen in this little enclosure of flowers and grass.

She reached out, eyes closed. She took a deep breath, and another, until her arm flinched back and uncertainty flickered over her face. 

His grip on her hand tightened. “Something’s wrong, right?”

“Not really…” She took a wary step forward. “No, we should go.”

Cheated raised an eyebrow. “Sorry, but all the signals I’m getting right now are telling me that we should, in fact, not go. Look, I know a good wager when I see it—”

“Do you?” Thorn was already walking, leading him along. 

He scowled. “Maybe not, but this is…Thorn, this is where you were bound. I remember it, and I remember it well, but just now—I’m sorry. This isn’t just where we met again for the last time. This is…this is a fucking place of pain.”

Her face fell. “I know.”

“Then we don’t have to go.” Gently, he tugged her hand back.

She shook her head. “The wilds speak to me. They were more welcoming last time—they bent to my will.”

“And now they don’t?”

She didn’t meet his eyes. Fuck. 

“Thorn.” He swivelled around to face her and gripped her shoulders. “I know you probably brought me here to show me this place, but I’m not trusting this place, you know how it tried to hurt us—”

“We go.” A resolute growl lay beneath her tone. 

“You can’t be serious.”

She was silent for a long while, and then she sighed. “I really am sorry. I don’t want to hurt you. But maybe it’s wrong because it’s supposed to be. Maybe we need it, the closure it brings us, whatever it is.”

Cheated winced. “Well, I sure as heck don’t like the feel of this place. But, alright, if you insist.”

Thorn didn’t smile.

They slipped past the empty door-frame and descended in near-silence. The only sounds Cheated could hear were their breathing—hers slow and measured, his erratic as ever—their footsteps, and the faint rustling of the prickly roots that now writhed and shifted. 

“Is this your doing?” he asked about the wilds’ movements, after nearly tripping over an unwelcome bramble. 

She never looked up. “I can’t tell anymore.”

One step. Another step. Hand in hand. Wordless. Another step, another step. Cheated really didn’t like how grim it all felt, how dreadful. Like a bad hand played before you send your deck to shit.

They reached a narrow clearing. Flanked by vines, tangled and knotted into shape, leaving behind some hollow mimicry of a basement. More thorns crept over the ground, blanketed it fully. A few lay limp and lifeless, some thick and some thinner, all severed and scabbed over where the Cheated had cut through and set the Thorn free.

Thorn knelt and pressed both palms over her former prison. She shut her eyes.

“Careful,” warned Cheated. “The thorns are, well, thorny.”

Despite everything, she gave him the slightest smile. “Of course I’d know.”

He wanted to kick himself. Of course she would, these very thorns bled her. 

She frowned, opening her eyes, and jerked a hand back as if it had been stung.

“Woah, hey.” He leant down, though he wasn’t sure how he could help at all. “Are you sure you’re okay? Really—”

“Yes,” she snapped. “Wait, no. No. Something’s wrong.”

“Tell me,” he urged. “We can leave, we can always leave, you don’t have to deal with this, not now and not ever—”

“This is where you cut me free.” She stood. “This is where we embraced. You released me. We healed.”

“And it’s also where you were hurt!” Cheated couldn’t understand. What was this? What was going on at all, what was he supposed to do, what the fuck would the right move be in this situation? “It’s also where…I hurt you. You hurt me. Let’s just get all of this over with.”

“I hurt you,” she echoed. “The roots are lonely, yearning. They retain where we forget. I read them, and they show me pain…” 

She sighed.

“But you trust me. You do trust me.”

“Yes!” Could anything be truer? “No shit, now, if you told me to jump off a cliff, you bet your life I’d jump off that fucking cliff—”

“Would you?” Her tone was wary. “Is it still the same?”

He didn’t know. What could she mean? “I don’t know, nothing’s changed, I just—it’s gotta be the same, dammit, what else—” It couldn’t be like this, everything they built couldn’t be this fragile, it couldn’t be like this, so sudden…He slumped. “Do you trust me? Have you ever?”

She didn’t speak. 

He didn't know how to read that expression, and it—it troubled him. 

And why did he fucking ask that? Why, just why? Why didn't he just let it slide, why didn’t he just grumble a little and move on, why didn’t he ever think before he fucking spoke, god-damned loser, why…

The Thorn's voice came out in a single whispered breath. “I want to.”

Why was it like every sentence he spoke was the wrong choice? “Good. Now let’s just—”

Cheated was abruptly cut off when something knocked him back into the ground, his mangled body tumbling down, hands closing around his throat, claws digging into rough skin, of scars closed and re-bled. Her eyes were wide, suspicious, faltering, keen—

“You trust me!” She yelled, straddling him, her maimed chest rising and falling with every rapid breath. “Don’t you—you don’t and you never have, but you do, you do—”

“I—” he gasped, even as he could feel every rough scar on her hands digging deeper into the skin of his neck. “—what are you—Thorn, it’s me—don’t…”

“And how long will it take before I return to my nature?” Her voice trembled even in...no, this wasn’t anger, this couldn’t be anger, it couldn’t. “How long before I need to save you from myself?”

He couldn’t speak. But this couldn’t be it. This couldn’t…no…not again, they couldn’t return to the hurt, the lying and hatred and schemes…

“I’ll make you trust me for as long as you live.” She whispered, leaning down, her lips almost brushing his. “I’ll make sure you never think about betraying me ever, ever, ever again, never in your life. And…and I won’t do it again. I can’t hurt you, not if I never get the chance. This is kind.” 

She strangled him, harder, tighter. 

“I’m being kind. I have to be.”

Gold eyes searching, pleading, beseeching into green. 

“I can’t…hurt you again. Don’t struggle…don’t hurt—”

And suddenly, everything let go all at once. He gasped, he could gasp. Something horrible, weighted, heavy had cleared away. Her hands fell back. The claws retracted with a soft click. She stood and knelt again, bending listless over him, like a poppy-flower close to withering away. 

He rolled over and retched and coughed, chest roiling and heaving as the air rushed in, deep and all too welcome. 

Only tension remained. A breath. Then the Thorn shifted, veering aside, wrapping her tail around herself. 

“I can’t be sorry enough,” she said. She gazed at him, something between loving and remorseful, so remorseful. “Cheated…”

It trailed off into the quiet. 

He sighed and pulled himself up. He dusted himself off. Sure, his limbs were still falling off every which way, but at least he didn’t get decapitated. But everything felt loose, about to rip apart. 

That wasn’t the point. 

He walked over to the Thorn and offered her a hand. “You coming?”

She only looked up at him with those mournful, cautious eyes. “You don’t understand. I—”

“Oh, I do know that getting strangled fucking sucks!” He snapped. “I hated it, what the fuck? I’m done with this damn load of bullshit, I’m fucking done, who the hell—Fuck this, fuck all, and fuck you, and why would you even think of going here, and what the fuck told you that strangling someone was a fucking good idea, and—and…”

She only looked down at her hands, still as stone. 

He cursed himself. Whatever the right move was, this certainly wasn’t it.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I guess—you didn’t mean to do that. I…yeah, I think I understand. I didn’t mean to lose my shit with you either. Really. I didn’t mean that.”

There was no response. 

“Sorry,” he tried again—

“No,” said Thorn. “I’m the one who should be sorry.”

This wasn’t going anywhere.

“How long will it take before I return to my nature?” Cheated slid onto the unfurling vines, coming to a seat beside Thorn. “It’s not like I’m all sunshine and rainbows myself, you know.”

She buried her face inside her palms, littered with pink scratches. “It’s…you’re different.”

“How? It’s just as you said. You hurt me, I hurt you.”

“Yes.” She brought her knees close to her chest, huddling into herself. “But you stopped it. You gave me a chance.”

He scoffed. “We started it, and you were only protecting yourself. It wasn’t fair, not for you.”

“Such a righteous heart.” Her smile was wry, but it flickered false. “I guess we really are the same.”

There was another quiet moment, one of careful hesitation; a tentative dance over a bed of thorns.

“Do you think I wouldn’t forgive you?” Cheated finally said.

Thorn looked away. 

“Okay. I forgive you.” Blunt, stupid, but there. It was out. “Not that it felt very nice, but I—you said it yourself, you were trying to save me in some twisted way. I’ve got to respect that.”

“But you were hurt—”

“So? We all play a bad hand from time to time. Does that mean you straight-up lose the whole game?”

She pursed her cracked lips. “I might. And when I lose…what I stand to lose now, it terrifies me.”

“Alright.” He drew himself closer. “Look at me, Thorn.”

She didn’t budge, not at first. 

“Look. At. Me. You have eyes.” 

It was slow, but at last she turned. Shameful, tense, wavering in her uncertainty. 

She saw him, drank in the sight of him: all sliced-up flesh, grisly scars, a tattered suit smeared with grime. He wasn’t a pretty thing.

And still the poppy bloomed snug in his hair. Red as roses, red as blood, red as a love borne and bathed in pain.

“Damn you,” he spat, “if you think I need saving from you. I know bloody well what it means to trust and lose, thank you very much. And damn you if you think I’d stop caring about you, damn you if I’m not sitting through it and waiting, waiting, even if you cut me and bled me and slashed me up and skewered me a billion times—well, damn the pain, I’ll still be here…but you never would. ‘Cause you’re too good for that.”

She fidgeted with a single tendril from her hair. “I wouldn’t be so confident about that. Especially not…”

She paused. 

“I don’t ever want to go back,” said the Thorn. “Not to the lying and the hatred and the schemes.”

“You’ve changed.” His gaze hardened. “The old you would never take anyone out because she was scared of what she’d do to him. She’d lure him off and leave him to rot.”

“Mm.” A genuine smile, finally, played across her gaunt face. “I would. But dead is dead.”

“And gone is gone. Like the Witch, who’s now the Thorn, and if she’s the same little monster, I’m wrapping myself up and heading straight to Razor’s door.”

That made her chuckle. “So you really think I’ve changed.”

“No shit. I…” And there, there were the words that were never easy for him to say. “I love that. And I love you.”

“Oh?” It was gradual, almost imperceptible, but something lightened within her poise. “Then I must say…I do. Love you too, I mean.”

“Let’s go.” Cheated couldn’t help himself from grinning like a total idiot as he stood. Thorn laughed, and he swatted at her in jest. What ensued was a disgruntled Cheated and a smirking Thorn both scrambling to reattach his elbow.   

Hands clasped, the two of them left the thorns behind and stepped out into the ebbing day.

[benevolenterrancy]

@hereticcryptid I appear to be slowly but surely developing an entire series about how Hensheng and Baxia apparently get fed up with their owners' inability to express their feelings and take matters into their own hands...

[mrmeepsmadmind]

rewatching this over and over again.. mainly bcs tarn makes soundwave into a manlet but also bcs it's hilarious

[maxwelljacobfriedman]

[max-nicoxfandom]

One thing that I'm sad that a lot of fics get wrong about touch aversion/touch starvation (as someone who is both) is the fact that every single touch hurts. Maybe not hurts, but feels bad. Like having characters figure out that they like something, needs to jump through like 20 hoops of "this feels terrible. Please leave me alone but don't stop touching me ever, but also I think I'm gonna throw up, this is the worst. I love you. I'm dying."

Plus the only way to cure it is to feel like shit while doing it until you don't feel like shit anymore. Whether that means light pressure for long periods of time (I hate that but not everyone is me), heavy pressure for short periods of time (my beloved), or any other combination, you just have to suck it up and it's TERRIBLE !! TERRIBLE !!!

[clonerightsenthusiast]

Kiss The Homie Straight On The Mouth

[Life Series, Skizz/Tango, 1.6kt words]

Tango doesn't even have time to get an entire lungful of new air before Skizz's voice is booming his name.

He's standing across the circle, hands on his hips, easy smile on his lips and eyes laser focused on Tango. "Walk with me, buddy."

Snickers and eye rolls from the others, but Tango ignores them. He gladly follows the tugging in his chest like an invisible string towards Skizz - he'd done it, he'd already had a game to prove to everyone (and himself, more like) that he doesn't need to follow Skizz, that he can strike out on his own and succeed doing it, even, but it's a new game now. He doesn't need Skizz, but he wants him.

Skizz turns on his heel and marches into the woods without checking that he's following. Tango loyally dogs his steps, excitement building in his belly the way it always does when Skizz is up to something. It means that soon enough, they'll be up to something. And he's missed being up to something with Skizz.

[read on ao3]

Skizz leads them far enough away that the sounds of their friends fades into the distance, and then rounds on him. "Tango Top," he says meaningfully.

"Skizzleface," Tango shoots back cheerfully, posting up against a tree. He has a stupid grin on his face and he knows it, but he doesn't care - especially when Skizz has the same one valiantly fighting its way through his serious business facade.

Skizz steps into his space like he belongs there and Tango's stomach flutters because he does. Skizz has a good foot of height on Tango, and he uses it to loom over him, caging him in against the tree with the warm line of his body. Tango slouches harder against the rough bark, tilting his head up to meet those bright blue eyes, sparkling with mirth and affection. He basks in Skizz's full attention. There's a warm buzzing under his skin and he squirms in place, unable to stand still.

Skizz schools his face into a stern expression that doesn't fool Tango for a second. "Are you gonna murder me again this season, Top?" he asks.

Tango's grin cracks even wider. "Maaaaybe," he drawls, just to see Skizz scowl. "I guess we'll have to see."

"No," Skizz reprimands him. "You love me this season, I can tell."

"Well that's a different question," Tango laughs, because it's true. He'd loved Skizz the entire time they were enemies, loved him like a wildfire loves the trees.

"Nuh uh, homie," Skizz shoots back, sticking his tongue out like a child. Tango laughs harder. Skizz leans in closer, nose to nose with him. "We're friends again now."

Tango resists the urge to bite him just to hear him squawk, and instead says, pointedly ignoring him inches from his face to study his nails, "I don't know, I might get a better offer. I did pretty good without you, you know."

Skizz's eyes fly open in outrage. "Whu - buh - " His bushy eyebrows draw together in consternation. "You haven't even heard my offer yet!"

"So what're you waiting for?" Tango teases him, meeting his eyes again and tilting his chin up. "Lay it on me, Skippy!"

He sees the glint in Skizz's eyes the split second before he moves so he's already pushing up to meet him as Skizz crushes their lips together. One broad hand snakes around his waist to lay flat against Tango's lower back, pulling him up and into Skizz's warm bulk. The other takes a firm grip on the back of his head, thumb pressed into the hollow behind his ear, easily angling Tango's head right where he wants him.

Skizz kisses with laser-focused intensity. He kisses like he's on one of his ridiculous missions: reduce Tango to a quivering mess in five minutes or less. Tango throws his arms around Skizz's neck and digs his nails into his broad shoulders and kisses back to make it as difficult for him as possible, because he knows Skizz doesn't want to do anything that's easy.

When they finally separate, Tango is pleasantly lightheaded and warm all over. Skizz's hand has worked its way under his shirt, a brand of heat against his spine that's impossible to ignore. His thumb sweeps in tight arcs in the hollow under his ear and Tango makes a noise that would be embarrassing if there was anybody else around to hear it.

"It's a compelling offer, to be sure," he teases Skizz, drawing a short huff of laughter out of him. His breath fans out hot over Tango's cheek and resummons his broad grin.

"Let's see Bdubs top that, dude," Skizz says, playfully biting at Tango's jaw. Tango helpfully tilts his head to give him more room to work while he hums thoughtfully.

"You don't know what we got up to in those towers," he says, and cackles when Skizz bites him harder in retribution. "All right, all right, already," he says, rolling his eyes and tweaking one of Skizz's ears between his fingers. "Twist my arm. We can team up again."

"Yeah, that's what I'm talking about, homie!" Skizz cheers, beaming a triumphant grin. Tango laughs and runs his fingers through the short hairs on the back of Skizz's neck. Everyone's going to make fun of them - if not everyone, then at least Cleo, and probably Etho and Bdubs, too. Maybe Impulse. Scar, even… But it's so nice having Skizz close enough to touch again. His whole body is buzzing with it. Skizz's fingers, unable to keep still, drum a happy beat against his lower back, and every touch sends a frisson of electricity up his spine. Who cares what everyone else thinks? He knows what he wants, and it's his for the taking.

Skizz's face softens into a dopey, affectionate smile. He leans in until their foreheads are pressed together, noses digging into cheeks and breath mingling in the scant inches between their lips. "I missed you, buddy," he confesses warmly.

Tango sighs, a soft, happy sound, then giggles, because it's impossible to keep the laughter from bubbling up around Skizz. "I maybe missed you, too, and stuff," he says, tightening his grip on Skizz's shoulders. "You know, a little."

"From you, Top, that's a love poem," Skizz drawls. Tango throws his head back and laughs, because yeah, maybe it is, a little. Skizz chases him and kisses him again while he's laughing, messy and off-center. He keeps trying, and Tango keeps laughing, until Skizz finally huffs in frustration, grabs his face in both hands, and holds him still long enough to land one. And then Tango forgets about laughing in favor of opening up to the warm press of Skizz's mouth on his. It's slower this time, softer, as Skizz pours his love and affection into every movement and Tango soaks it up like parched earth after rain.

When he finally pulls away, it's slowly, reluctantly, and he presses a last lingering kiss to the corner of Tango's mouth. "We should probably, you know, start getting tools and stuff."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Skippy," Tango says, refusing to relinquish his hold on him. "I got a tool right here."

"Terrible," Skizz deadpans. "You should be ashamed."

"Never," Tango declares. "No shame." He knows Skizz is right, and they need to get about the business of surviving, now that they've - ahem - sealed their alliance. But he can't even imagine taking his hands off of Skizz right now. "C'mon, we have at least until the creepers come out before we have to get underground."

"You're a bad influence," Skizz says in despair, but he also ducks his head to press a kiss under Tango's jaw, so Tango wins the argument. "I'm trying to keep us alive, here," he grumbles against Tango's neck, and makes no move to disengage.

"Oh, we're definitely dying first," Tango says cheerfully, letting his eyes slide closed. "It'll be just like old times."

Skizz rebukes him with a sharp nip, drawing out a squeak of protest. "It's your relentless optimism that really does it for me," he says dryly. "C'mon, we could do it. We could go the distance, dude."

Tango snorts. "Sure, the distance," he says. "All six feet of it."

Skizz huffs in frustration, and Tango rolls his eyes and then takes his face in both hands and reluctantly pulls him away from his neck to look him in the eyes. "Skizz," he says, with straightforward honesty. "I don't care if we die first. Let the sweats fight it out amongst themselves. I'm just here for a good time with my buddy. That work for you?"

Skizz's eyes once again soften and he turns his head, stubble scratching pleasantly against Tango's skin, to press a kiss to his palm. "Works for me, dude," he says warmly. "I'd rather die with you than live with somebody else."

"Sap," Tango accuses, to cover for the way his face flushes and his chest flutters.

Skizz winks at him. "But," he says, taking hold of Tango's hands and gently prying them off of his face, stepping back out of Tango's space and leaving him bereft and suddenly chilly. "That doesn't mean I'm not trying! And in the interest of both of us living a little longer, we're gonna go find somewhere to build a house."

"Ugh," Tango complains dramatically, allowing himself to be dragged after Skizz by one hand. "I'm not building it!"

Skizz gives his hand a yank and reels him in so he can wrap one burly arm around his neck, hauling him in sideways so Tango's shoulder is wedged into his ribs. "We'll see about that," he says, pressing his smile into Tango's wild yellow hair.

Tango grumbles loudly and at the same time leans into him further, snaking an arm beneath Skizz's suit jacket to curl around his waist. They stagger into the woods, tangled up together, squabbling affectionately, once again exactly where they're supposed to be.

[theautisticjedi]

"Game Michael and Movie Mike would hate each other-" Yes yes I know that but what I wanna see is Game Michael comforting young Movie Vanessa.

I wanna see Michael making sure the things that happened to him never happen to her.

[stlilies]

Sumerus best 24/7 babysitting/daycare service on the go - Bestowed by Alice herself

look man if you're gonna be associated with the hexenzirkel even SLIGHTLY you're gonna babysit klee at some point.

[luna-the-cretar]

I will never not love Sarnax taking phrases too literally. Especially since it usually involves him trying to be helpful, and not understanding that it’s just a phrase

Like Victoria mentioning the phrase “catch more flies with honey than vinegar”, and this man was SO ready to give Victoria tips on how to actually catch flies. I just. I can’t. I love him so much.

It’s like Shepherd keeps saying, Sarnax is a little rough around the edges but he means well.

[maaxverstappen]

perhaps a little streamer fic update in celebration of final race?

[loosingmoreletters]

so about that regressing saintess trope—

Cedric was sure he was making a fool out of himself in front of all of his Knights, but he couldn’t give up after coming so far.

“Your Grace,” his Knight Commander finally addressed him. “Is there a particular reason we are in this city?”

The Knight Commander had already served Cedric’s father. When his parents had died, the Knight Commander had cared for him as though Cedric were his own child. The Ashvain duchy’s reputation hit rock bottom when Cedric inherited it, and many of the servants could’ve left, but instead they stayed to support the child they now had to call their lord.

The least Cedric could do was insure they’d survive this time.

When he’d woken from his seizure, nearly ripped apart by his magic, he’d been granted the memories of a future undone, the continent ripped apart by monsters, their only saving Grace too weak to stand up against them as she was caught up in intrigues of the palace and her training stifled.

“There’s a woman here,” Cedric said. “Brown hair, brown eyes, plain looking. She sells cabbages.”

For half the price if my customer looked really poor, Your Grace! Ah, don’t tell His Highness I said that…

“A woman,” the Knight Commander repeated. “Your Grace, have you—“

“I do not have a lover,” Cedric cut him off. “I wish for you to make her your apprentice.”

The Knight Commander stared at him in disbelief. “Why?”

Because a year from now, they will proclaim her Saintess and the Temple and the Crown Prince will dress her in silk instead of armor.

But Cedric couldn’t say that without raising suspicion or seeming like mad man.

“Just trust me on this,” Cedric asked and took a look around the marketplace. All eyes were focused on them, and there, right in front of the temple, stood an unassuming woman with a stall full of vegetables, wearing a farmer’s garb and an apron.

If she would refuse to come with them, Cedric would damn well strip her himself and put her in armor. God’s most beloved daughter belonged in the battlefield and he’d drag her there himself if he had to.

[silenttoast]

Quinn Hughes | Skate to Me Slowly

30: a sacred offering

—> Ao3 🩰

—> Wattpad 🌸

UHM warning. I hope this one doesn't get removed off wattpad. I had to make a fair bit of changes to adhere to guidelines! So if that's any indication... 🦩🖤enjoy your offering. xxo —cheekytoast🎀