#fic: watcher

[coryndoll]

WATCHER OR PLAYER?

watcher or player?

what are you?

on an app like nerve, you choose. watchers pay to see the chaos unfold. players take the dares, chasing money, fame, or just the rush of it all. the rules are simple. complete the dare, get paid. fail, and you lose everything.

the deeper you go, the higher the stakes. the watchers decide what comes next, pushing, prodding, testing how far you’re willing to go. and above all, you never back down.

now rafe cameron was loud, reckless, daunting, daring—of course he’d be on an app like nerve.

but he didn’t start out willing.

he was the type to throw the first punch, the type to speed down the cut with no headlights, the type to make a bad decision and double down on it. but nerve? that was a different kind of trouble. something calculated, something that dug its claws into you and never let go. he never wanted to play.

until you.

y/n . . . you were a name climbing the ranks. a flash of adrenaline in human form. no one knew where you came from, only that one night, you appeared on the leaderboard, and you never left.

maybe it was the way you played to the watchers, or maybe it was the way you never hesitated, not once. every dare was met with the same unwavering look, the same easy smirk. like you were untouchable. and you knew they were watching.

rafe never saw you coming that night.

the dare was simple. a test run. something to pull him in, just one move, one kiss, nothing more. but the second his name and yours flashed across the screen together, the watchers took notice. two players, both unpredictable, both reckless in their own ways.

the game saw an opportunity.

and now?

it wouldn’t let either of you go.

series coming soon. based on “nerve”.

authors note ; i wanted this to give off “if this was a film, the first movie would be rafe and some other girl maybe, but the second movie is rafes origin story (prequel) with the real person who taught him how to play and rank up (reader) that fans/readers would actually say is his true love obvi” and its like id imagine “they were supposed to be endgame” “BRING Y/N BACK” comments if this was real LOL

i still need to finish “forget me not” tho so ill get back to that!! do let me know if u want to be part of this tag list tho <3

main masterlist | *NEW* taglist request

@nicholaschavezslut69 @iissza @snowtargaryen @yootvi @ariiwritess @spideysimpossiblegirl @skyslowalking @adribarbie @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @0-tatiana-0 @beebeerockknot @rafestar

[myeoomski]

ddvau grian i guess

i like messing w colors

alt/boring one under cut

[1-marigold-1]

When your best friend is a bilblically accurate angel

They are all in the same situation guys (Yes I headcannon Pix as a watcher, since the Empires x Hermitcraft crossover hghgh)

They are three stages of one expierience

Mumbo: confused, shocked, kinda uncomfortable when around Grian in his full form, starts getting used to it

Impulse: Used to it

Sloy: Literally. Doesn't care. "You're a watcher? Cool."

Also this meme

That's the vibes I get from them

Ngl "My best friend is a biblically accurate angel" sounds like a good movie/book title

[that-weird-thing-in-the-woods]

~{ Heyyyy, So not much to say just felt like making this lol }~

•Soul Watcher•

Jason was getting real sick of dealing with cults.

Ok wait let’s back up a bit, So Jason and the bats don’t have to deal with cults in Gotham all to much like only a one or two a year and when they did happened someone else could find them before the cult could really do anything.

But unluckily right now he and the bats were fighting off cultists in a warehouse while trying to get to where some other cultist are in a circle chanting, the reason for them being this late and not stopping the cult earlier is because they somehow got the bat-computer to overlook any suspicious activity from them as well as bribed some cops to get what they want.

And after 14 or so minutes with all the cultists down Jason goes over to the main guy and start to tie him up (As he can’t kill him with Bruce literally 20 steps from him) but before he can finish the guy bangs his head into the concrete floor and as result starts to bleed from his nose and yells something out but what has Jason’s attention and the rest of the bats is the Lazarus green smoke coming out of the summing circle.

Jason of course try’s to jump back, key word try’s. The smoke makes a clawed hand and grabs his ankle and pulls him into the green smoke and than everything goes black..

Jason woke up to the sound of running water and…humming?

So Jason gets up and walks towards the sounds, as he walks he looks at the black marble for the pillars and floor and how there is no sky or land just space with stars and that when he notices that the humming and running water coming from behind a thin-semi transparent fabric going from the ceiling to the floor and somewhat overlapping on itself.

Jason walks up to the fabric as quietly as possible and pushes it back a bit just enough to see what was behind it and that’s when he sees it two streams

One had pure and clean water with white pearls with a blue tint, The other one had gray water with black pearls with a green tint. the two Streams circled around each other but never touching and in the middle was what the closest thing to a nest made out of blankets and pillows.

And that’s when Jason saw the person who was in the nest thing and they saw him…Why was this reminding Jason of a book he read.

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Background•

The G.I.W were so dumb.

They thought that just because ghost were “Non-sentient” and “Dangerous” they decided to fucking NUKE THE GHOST ZONE.

You know which held all of the afterlife’s and made sure everything that was alive….you know exist so if the G.I.W planed actually worked everything would kinda just fall apart and cease to exist.

And it wouldn’t be possible to make a nuke that would actually work but with Government money and the Fentons work, they somehow actually made it and sent it through a portal the Fentons remade in a different location.

But of course you can’t nuke the Ghost Zone so it threw it back to the G.I.W and there world and with how much power they put into that fucker it did what it was supposed to…but with WAY worse consequences for the G.I.W and Fentons, So that world is a lost cause.

Now let’s go over to what Danny was doing.

He was with Clockwork discussing how he’s holding with Dan. After rehabilitating Dan Vlad gave him a clone body so he can walk around without a mass panic over him but after a VERY close call with the G.I.W where they got a lucky shot the clone body started to melt so Danny followed his (Ghost) Instincts and grabbed Dan core and shoved it in his gut.

And like a normal (well as normal you can be as a half-ghost) person Danny starts losing his shit like “Why the Fuck did I just do that?!?” And “Did I just technically eat Dan???” So after a panic attack or two Danny books it to Clockworks tower and tells him what happened and to just…help????

Well Danny is currently starting on panic attack number three Clockwork just grabs his shoulders and make him sit down on some very soft chair and after a minute or two Danny chills out a bit Clockwork explains what this means and that Danny’s essentially pregnant with Dan [“No Danny you did not eat Dan”].

And they now meet every other day just to talk and for Clockwork to explain more about being a ghost so something like this doesn’t happen again while they are talking about things they suddenly feel like the whole Ghost Zone just did something so Clockwork goes to check it out with Danny not far behind him.

And as they try to see what could have gone down and that when Danny sees one of the time string that look like it exploded and points it out to clockwork, And Clockwork looks at the string with surprise and turns to Danny after a moment with knowledge of what’s going to happen and tells Danny that this string was Danny’s home-world. [Now for The Panic Attack: Part four the musical]

After a couple weeks Danny’s mostly okay (He is pregnant he’s emotional and ghost are already extremely emotional beings and he has to deal with everything he’s ever known and lived is dead so leave him alone) and Clockwork gives him the job of Watcher Of Souls with his usual cryptic bullshit.

And now we’re here!

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Little Facts•

•The Pearls in the stream are souls of all living things.

•I headcanon that The Ghost Zone is somewhat sentient but it doesn’t have thoughts, Just Vibes

•The old Watcher just stoped caring about it and that’s how so many people got brought back from the dead and how Danny become a halfa

•Vlad is NOT a halfa, he’s just possessing his own corpse that his core is keeping looking alive but he looks very uncanny valley to humans and is very gruesome and uncomfortable for Ghost, Its half the reason Danny hated him on sight the rest is his “Rich Asshole meter” going off

•Clockwork hates the Flash family so much, He would want the Fuckers dead but he doesn’t want them to cause MORE problems for him and Danny

•Danny hangs out with Lady Gotham a lot so he knows who the bats are

•The Bat-fam are freaking the fuck out

•Danny spends a lot of time by the streams and with Dusk he wants to be comfortable so he made a nest :)

•Danny lets Jason stay in his lair until someone comes to get him

•Jason feels like he’s in one of his romance novels and he LOVES IT

-•—••••••••••••••••—•-

•Appearances•

Danny’s Appearance•

~{ And that’s it! Sorry if this is a bit scatter brained I had to do stuff while making this lol so sorry about that anyway hope you gremlins like it until next time byeeeee }~

[pawubits]

ok guys dont freak out but. grian fanart.

I DID SAY THIS WAS AN MCYT BLOG,,,OKAY,,

(btw this is fanart for a fic called "Healing Is a Four Letter Word" made by Hypno_cat over on ao3!)

[cuteiemonster]

Honestly I don't have much of an explanation outside of I like the irony of a Blind Watcher. And. Well. Grian is right there for things to go awry like that. So,

This was created for the 2024 Reverse Big Bang hosted by @mcytblraufest !! Us artists had to create artwork for the writers to claim this time around! >:)

and speaking of writers.. my art garnered the attention of not one, but two writers, who both created fanfics based off of my art!! It's been such a cool experience seeing how differently they've both taken things and they're both VERY WELL DONE!!!!!!!!

" Glass " by @honeylashofficial

Parts make up a whole, but Mumbo hasn't been a part of anything for a very long time. He was okay with that though. The world was more than welcome to continue outside his window, as long as he had his oven and his cable tv all to himself. But every once in a while, the outside world comes inside, and he has to chase it back out with a broomstick. This time, his technique backfires in a way he never could have imagined. Or... Mumbo could count the number of his friends without even raising a hand. Who knew that a 30,000 year-old creature stealing his bed comforter could change that?

" Lost To The End " by Sary_Sary

Six months ago, Mumbo’s closest friend vanished without a trace, leaving nothing but unanswered questions. 6 months later, a strange creature appears in his bedroom, with no inkling of how or why. With no clue how this creature got there or what it wants, Mumbo is thrown into a whirlwind of confusion as he tries to figure out what is going on. Now, Mumbo has to continue trying to figure out where Grian went, all while learning what this creature even is, and how to help him without harming him in the process. To make matters worse, the only person who can help him unravel this mystery is the one person Mumbo swore he would never work with: Scar.

[sherlockggrian]

- notes on impossible minecraft.

It’s the end of Wild Life, and something is different. 

Joel stands, breathing hard, a victor above his failed trap. He holds a sword in one hand, an ender pearl in the other. He knows that when he turns around he will see them, just like the others had. Except when he turns around, there are ghosts.

They’re supposed to go home, after they die. That’s what had always happened. It was how they got out of the world - but it didn’t seem to matter this time, everyone was still here, around him. 

Joel throws the ender pearl, and takes the ghosts with him to the void. They stand around him as he faces the Watchers, though they are unable to see it themselves. Joel begs the Watchers to let them go. He would let the Watchers have him, if they let the others go. But the Watchers don’t want just Joel. They want Grian. 

There are many different worlds within the universe. Hundreds, thousands, infinite numbers - some of them further away, distorted, uninhabitable. Time moves differently in some of them, you could spend a thousand years in one world and only pass the tick of a clock in another. Worlds are created and destroyed every day. Every hermit has come from somewhere - they are all refugees, in a way, forced out of their home worlds for one reason or another. For some, it’s been so long they can hardly remember the place they came from at all. Every world has its own rules. In these strange, short lived places created by the Watchers, the rules have always been simple - to leave, you die. Play the game, run out of lives, and one lucky winner might have the chance of a lifetime, the chance to speak to the gods. It never happened quite like that.

Joel stands in the void now, surrounded by his friends, sword in one hand, empty fist in another. If the Watchers wanted Grian, they’d have to go through him. There is a whirlwind, as the patchwork of worlds twists and turns around them. He’s spinning, thinks Joel. Creating more time. Giving us a chance. Grian calls to the others, to Etho and Cleo and Bdubs, who stand at the back - to go through the door that has appeared in the void. Joel wonders why, and how. The Watcher’s have created a portal - you can go home, they say, all of you - but Grian belongs to us. So does Joel. He won the game, after all. But the ghosts don’t all go home. To Joel’s surprise, he watches as Gem steps forward into the spinning vortex of space and time that he and Grian are caught in. She raises her fists defiantly toward the enormous, impossible beings bearing down on them. Pearl joins them. Then Impulse, and Skizz, their faces written with hard determination. Joel feels a hand take his, and he almost pushes Lizzie away, begging her to follow the others through the portal. He doesn’t. Worlds spin past them, faster and faster, thousands and thousands of them, each a tiny crystal in the infinite void. Grian’s screaming for Scar and Jimmy to go through the portal, and Cleo is trying to pull them in, but they don’t, and they’re running towards the circle of light. Joel tries to move, but finds his feet locked in place, wincing against the wind that whips his cheeks, faster than any storm, and he reaches for Jimmy and pulls him into him, clawing into his back for dear life. For a moment, he doesn’t think Scar is going to make it, but he hears the Watcher’s panicked voices in the back of his mind - 

And then everything stops. He stands, in a circle, on a rocky outcrop, and distantly he thinks he can hear the sound of the sea. Everything is silent. 

It’s the end of Wild Life, and nine players find themselves somewhere unfamiliar. 

The cold chill of winter hangs in the air. They’ve forgotten that it’s late December, somewhere. The world of Wild Life felt warmer. This one doesn’t - it’s bitter, there’s a freezing wind coming in from the ocean, and an icy layer of snow on the ground. It’s not a place any of them recognize. 

This world instantly proves itself to be different. The first death comes within an hour. Lizzie bolts upright, back on the slab of rock, still reeling from what had killed her. Pearl nurses a wound where the bark of a tree had sliced into her skin. Five hours in, and the group realizes that wherever they are, the rules here are unlike anything they’ve ever seen.

Grian privately wishes the others had gone through the portal home. He tries everything he can think of, but is unable to reach beyond the borders of the world. They’re trapped here, in this place where reality seemed to warp in on itself, and everything wanted to kill them. No matter how many times they died, they always ended up back on the rock by the ocean. 

Grian can’t tell if the Watcher’s had meant to send them here. They’d panicked, caught off guard by Grian’s swarm of chaos and unexpected backup. He can tell…something is here, though he’s not sure what - it’s an overbearing presence, a feeling that somebody is controlling them, watching them, learning from them. He has one goal in his mind. Reach the End, kill the dragon, and he can make a portal home. It’s worked in the past. The End is like a pocket dimension, a border between worlds, a place where the rules didn’t apply. They could get home, if they could only make it to the End. The uneasiness grows on him, and Grian tries to push it away, focusing on staying alive. The others are determined. He’s angry, at first, that they’d followed him, but soon he’s glad to have them. Three days in, and they’ve already grown somewhat numb to the constant onslaught of physical attacks. Grian almost welcomes the familiar feeling of dying. He catches himself cursing the view from his makeshift bed, wishing he might wake up anywhere else. 

A week in, and the determination starts to wear down. 

The cold makes it difficult. Gem shivers as she tries to heat her cabin, attempting to find a way to light a fire without burning to death. Despite their constant battle with the lava flow, the world is freezing everywhere else, hung deep within the darkness of winter. Pearl tries to make amends, but Gem is still tense, guarded, cautious - though she says they are on the same team now, the heat of the recent game is still clearly in her mind. Jimmy attempts to grow food, battling the icy wind and little daylight. Joel tries his best to gather Iron, though the caves are worse than above ground. Impulse and Skizz’s successful iron farm is a win. That night, the group huddles all together on the top floor of Joel’s cabin, repeating the only glimmer of hope they have, that they just have to kill the dragon. Joel starts to think it might be impossible. 

Two weeks in, and it’s like the world is learning from them, like it can see the small victories and successes, and preys on them like a hawk. Lizzie curses as the smoker burns her eyes, leaving what little food she had charred and barren. The sharks encroach further and further from the water. The Nether is a literal hellscape - and Grian almost gets used to the feeling of burning to death. Almost. 

And Scar, Scar is…wrong. He drifts along, as though he isn’t quite there all the time. He disappears, then reappears, once in front of Gem’s eyes - and she blinks, trying to make sense of what she’s seeing. He falls asleep, or stands still, and seems to sit on the edges of the world itself, growing stranger and stranger. Grian can feel it. He’s not really there, not all of him. 

When they’d been in the void, Grian had screamed for Scar, feeling the tug of the vortex already pulling him away. He’d grabbed out and touched his hand, reality bending and warping around them. He’d barely seen Scar’s wide, terrified eyes, before they’d been whisked from the black hole into the broken world they found themselves in. Scar had just made it. Or maybe he hadn’t. It was like he was half there, one foot inside the portal and one out - and as time went on and the world’s borders stretched and warped, so did Scar, drifting in and out of consciousness. Sometimes Scar found himself back home, except it wasn’t the right home, it was one he’d left years ago - and he’d wander aimlessly, utterly alone, before realizing it wasn’t right. He hopped between dreams and worlds, living and unliving, shadows and reality. Back in the strange place, the group grew increasingly anxious. Grian felt the hope he’d held for the End dwindling. He was powerless here. All of them were. 

Then, finally, they have the Eyes of Ender. They knew how to do this part. Lizzie stayed with Scar while the others went out, trying to shove thoughts out of her mind of what might happen if they were to fall into the void. They make it to the stronghold, the place they need to be, and all they have to do is defeat the dragon - freeing the borders of the End, and letting them go. Only the dragon doesn’t look how it normally does. It wasn’t like Grian expected it to, anyways. 

Six weeks in, and the compass is their last hope. If they can just get the echo shards, they’ll have a chance at killing the dragon. Gem has never liked the Deep Dark. It twists around her, whispering things in her ear and making her head hurt. Be careful, says Joel, as she leaves the camp with Grian and Jimmy. We need you. We need all of you to come back alive. 

It’s near the very end, when Grian remembers. He feels the twinge of longing in his back muscles, the phantom pain of something that should be there that isn’t. He could fight the dragon, if he was truly himself, if he had access to it - and he wonders if it’s possible. He’s never done it without killing the dragon first. There’s a first time for everything, he supposes. He’s not sure why he takes Jimmy. Maybe it’s because they’ve been together now for longer than they’ve been in a long time, and Grian is holding on to the hope that maybe he can keep Jimmy safe, if he takes him home. Maybe it’s because he feels guilty, still, for Wild Life - he’d only been trying to keep him from getting to the end, but still, the anger had been real. The blood had been real. There was no changing that. Maybe it’s because Jimmy is his brother, and despite it all, Grian still trusts him. Jimmy has always been complicated like that. 

When they get the wings, the feeling is magical. Grian feels the familiar magic course through his veins, and the feathers unfold from his back. It feels like taking a breath of fresh air again, arising from a deep and stagnant cave. Against all odds, here, in this broken, far away world where reality bent in on itself like a broken spring - Grian has wings, and Grian could fly. 

How many weeks has it been? Grian doesn’t know anymore. He forces Scar to come with him, one last time. They would make one last journey to the stronghold. They were ready for it, this time. For once it felt good to fight together, and not against one another. Pearl’s shouts echo through the black landscape, and Joel and Lizzie take swings side by side, no longer feeling the sting of death as they roll between hits. Gem fires arrow after arrow, and Grian and Jimmy weave through the great obsidian pillars, throwing themselves at the crystals, wincing to bear the explosion. The dragon has three lives. Grian is reminded, then, of a world far away - and he thinks, in a way, the answer is still to die. The universe works in a web of death and life. The Watchers aren’t the only power that exists out there. There are other forces at work, stranger than he can imagine, and as Grian lands the final blow, he feels the world around him shift, the borders change, and the End stretch out infinitely beyond him in a mass of dark void. As much as he hates it, it does feel like home. The Watcher’s voices echo in the darkness somewhere. Grian deliberately sounds them out.

Then they’re holding hands, standing in a circle, watching the dark, starless sky. Grian stares at the portal in the ground, a swirling mass of blue and black and endlessness, and knows that it will always lead the player back home. He feels that background presence start to lift, and he grips Jimmy’s hand tightly in his right hand, Scar’s in his left. Scar holds Gem, who holds Impulse, to Skizz, to Pearl, to Lizzie - and to Joel, whose grip on Lizzie and Jimmy is a little harder. In the back of his mind, he knows they have no home world. He wonders if they’ll make it back with them - or if they would once again be torn from him, transported somewhere else in the fabric of the universe. They couldn’t, he thinks, because right now, Joel’s grip is enough to hold the entire universe itself. 

Gem looks to Pearl, just before they jump. Her eyes are shut, her face lined with quiet determination and concentration, her hair pulled back and tangled from the fight. Gem thinks she might forgive her. 

Then they jump, the nine of them, all holding each other, just like they did in the void, just like they did when Wild Life ended. Worlds spin past them like grains of sand in a vast ocean. A thousand sunrises pass by in the blink of an eye, and Joel feels Jimmy and Lizzie start to drift away from him - but he pulls them in, holding on for dear life, clenching his eyes as the colours swirl around him. Grian knows the Watchers are out there somewhere, no doubt trying to steal him away. They can try, he thinks, surrounded by his friends. In reality, no Watcher can even come close to them now. Love disgusts the Watchers. It repels them. Scar had always said that is what made Grian human still, despite it all. Scar looks at Grian, a single constant in the spinning mass, and feels himself fall back together, like pieces of a puzzle. 

It is sometime in late winter, maybe early Spring. The snow is starting to melt here, and new shoots of grass are just barely emerging from beneath the dry bed of last year’s growth. Stars blink down over the lawn, where nine people lay, hand in hand, breathing hard. A light flickers on from a window a few feet away, where Hypno sits up in bed, wondering what the sound outside is that has woken him. The gentle glow of a Lighthouse hums in the distance. Mumbo rolls over, waking from the strangest dream he’s had in his life. Etho meets the eyes of Tango, still awake and drinking over a game on the table, and he feels something shift, like a slight pull at the back of his chest. Xisuma pulls the curtains back from his window and looks out toward the group of people in the distance, and smiles. He’d known it before they’d even landed. 

Joel, still holding the hands of Lizzie and Jimmy, still feeling the sting of the sword and the rush of blood and the hope and loss and finality of Wild Life, starts to laugh. 

hey if you read this far I love you!!! just wanted to get my thoughts out on the impossible lore, without doing a tumblr textpost word vomit lol. you can read this on ao3 if you'd like, I love the comments!

[eldestnightwingsyndrome]

what if we kissed on goatman’s shane madej’s bridge. and we were both girls.

w/ @izzymrdb

[onelonelyghost0]

DIPPER WILL BE TRANS. AND UNHINGED. HES GONNA HAVE A SIMILAR JOURNEY WITH GENDER AS I DID BUT HES GONNA LAND ON MOSTLY MASC INSTEAD OF FEM. IDK BUT EVERY FIC I WRITE HAS HIM BEING TRANS IDK BUT THE BEAM HIT HIM. YES THIS WILL END UP BEING IMPORTANT. IF YOU DONT LIKE IT why the fuck are you on my blog reading my shit like wtf? Bffr and go to another blog, or follow me.

[lifegrowsfromashes]

Scar stares up at the moon, from where he lays down in his bed. Grian’s across from him, muttering into the darkness, laying on top of the covers and tucking his head into his wings.

The air smells like dirt.

He thinks of the past day. Of the shouting. He wonders whether Grian will talk to him tomorrow.

He didn’t mean to lose a life. he never does, but something always happens. Grian knows he’s not as strong as the other hermits, but he still refuses to recognise it, and always expects more from Scar than he’s able to give. It was once they’d gotten to the desert that his face became harder, that something began to set behind his eyes.

He sighs. The perfectly arranged checkerboard of stars stare back at him, silent. Grian’s snoring, but just a little. He wonders if avians usually snore.

Scar breathes in the smell of their dirt house, and wonders whether he’ll be able to make it up to him.

He was joking around, when it happened. The sand was getting into his armour and he felt creaky all over. He’d known it was getting to Grian, but hadn’t realised the extent of his annoyance. Communication was… never a strong point.

They had started getting snappy with each other, at about midday. Scar’s limbs were aching, and he needed to rest, but Grian kept talking about how there were no torches around here and if they stopped now, they’d get eaten alive. And Scar didn’t want to think about that, so he tried to tell a joke, and Grian went all tense and funny, and said, through gritted teeth, ‘you’re seriously making a joke right now?’ and he didn’t have time to see the creeper coming up from behind him.

Something had hardened in Grian’s eyes. The urgency when he told him to run. The enchanted shine of his diamond sword coming out of its hilt.

Scar hadn’t realised. The sand had slowed down his reflexes. Once he turned around to fight, he only heard a hiss, and then- white.

The funny thing about dying here was that you didn’t feel the pain, specifically. It’s more, like, God, this should hurt. But nothing comes. Just a choice, to keep going, or to leave. 

Scar hated the artificiality of it. Death always felt so- unreal. For some players, it was the end of everything, but to him, it was more of a reminder. A taunt. He knew he'd never last long enough to escape its clutches.

When he came back, he felt lighter. Emptier. Something, some intangible thing, had withered his soul, a little. He looked up at where his nametag resided to see it was a sickly yellow. And then, coming over the dune of sand- Grian. Sat there, in the crevice the creeper had made, sorting his belongings into a chest.

Grian’s fists were curled tightly over the lump of gold in his hands. The totem. The totem Grian had told him, over and over, to use in an emergency, to keep by him at all times. The totem Scar had stored in a shulker.

Scar did his best to pick everything up off the floor, and to sort it all out into his inventory, But Grian had such a tight hold on that totem of undying, and when Scar asked for it back, Grian’s eyes began to shine with tears. And then he started shouting. 

It was all the usual things. Scar didn’t react fast enough, Scar couldn’t pull his weight, Grian was always picking up the slack, and why couldn’t he last longer than five minutes? And didn’t he know he’s only got three chances, and he’s already down to two? 

Scar got pretty good at taking it. The thing was, he knew the reason why. the real reason. 

Grian hated watching him die.

But he’d never say that. Instead they were trapped in this loop of Scar messing up, and Grian exploding, and him doing everything, everything he could, to fix it.

Usually, Mumbo would be the one to sort out their differences. Mumbo would tell them somthing to calm him down, something easy, about their explosive personalities. 

Scar wonders where he is, now. After the Warden had appeared, anyone who was able to survive that first attack had ran as far as they could. They hadn’t heard anything for the other Hermits for- well, it had been too long to tell.

Scar turns over to face Grian again. He looks so peaceful when he slept. There's still that fire, though, behind his eyes, the memory of his voice scorching Scar’s ears. But, as Mumbo said, that was how you knew he cared. Scar knew he cared. He just wishes he could show it in a way that was less… aggressive. He feels like the only way he could find out how Grian really felt about something was through fighting. And, God, he's so tired of fighting.

[definitelynotshouting]

lost in the dark (he's got a heavy heart) | Chapter 11

Summary:

Grian, when it comes down to it, is many things— a patchwork quilt of stolen code, copied memories, disparate ashes lifted from the last dregs of fire and pressed back into a mold; the facsimile of a Player. Of his own borrowed faults, he cradles many: stubborn persistence, reckless impulsivity, a cruelty born of his own capricious fractals. All gnash their teeth against the speckled woodgrain of Grian’s self-control, a gnawing beast at the distal roots of rotting trees. With the sun’s tempered ascent limning every raddled board in the wall, what wells up between his gums and teeth now is impatience. Last night’s fall had been snake eyes in a roll of the dice, paid for in the hot, tender pulses at the back of his skull, collected tenfold in the blossom of bruises swallowing his skin beneath the jumper. The warm, giddy buzz thrilling in his chest has begun to cool somewhat, making deferential way for a wash of numb static; blinding, a little stupid— lutulent where he stares blankly at the wall. Blink; the world falls prey to a hazy fog, twin cotton veils tumbling over his eyes. Blink again; it peels back at the corners, a wince in the early march of morn. Caught between two maligned realities, Grian traces the muzzy halftones where they curve and melt into the floor, and follows each crevice in the wood until his eyes begin to burn.

I LIVE!! I DIE!! I LIVE AGAIN!!!!

As promised, here's the official pretty post™ to put on your blogs announcing HUNGER AU IS BACK ON THE MENU BABEYYYY!!!!! Thank you to everyone who was so incredibly patient waiting for me to return-- im back now, and hopefully i wont be falling off the map again like that any time soon.

But thats not all im bringing you with this update!! My very dear friend @corvidaearts made an official Hunger AU Carrd for my birthday in october, which im finally now able to properly promote. Thank you Crow, for being an absolutely incredible friend and a madlad at making carrds-- seriously, if you want a gorgeous web design, go hit them up for a commission :D

As always, likes are appreciated, reblogs are treasured, and comments in the tags or on the fic itself will net you a place of honor on my fridge. Thanks for being so patient, and hope you all enjoy the chapter! Cheers, and here's to the upcoming New Year!!!!❤️🥂

[hitlikehammers]

so maybe steve strikes a bargain with unknown eldritch upside down gods in exchange for eddie’s life, what of it? ♥️ the hell else was he supposed to do, don’t even judge him ✨what’s a hades/persephone kinda deal among soon-to-be-more-than-friends, anyway?✨

✨future fic (because somehow steve signed them up to be 💫star-crossed-adjacent guardians of the seasons ❄️☀️ or some shit)

but they’re canny motherfuckers; they can make the arrangement bearable their own

(kind of.)

They’d been lucky. They’d been lucky that Steve had come back on his own to the boathouse that first night. Had talked Eddie down, made sure he wasn’t alone—held him, a stranger at best, a pariah at worst, and never once shamed him, fucking soothed him when he couldn’t fight tears. They’re lucky that the walk through the woods somehow short circuited any remaining shred of sense in him, or maybe shocked it into overdrive as he’d grabbed Steve behind a tree thick enough to hide from either of their compatriots turning around and catching it, catching them when he carefully—those bats hadn’t been kind—but a little bit crazedly pressed Steve against the fragile-rotting bark, where Steve stilled, stared, and then closed the distance between them.  Eddie’d had his taste on his lips right up ‘til the end. Not even his own blood had taken it from him at the last.  He’d felt death, though, like a limbo, a haze rather than a darkness, a liminal fog and he’d screamed, he hadn’t felt quite alone, even before a voice echoed: “We are freed from him now.” Eddie’d shouted questions long after his throat started stinging for it, before realizing the echoing voice hadn’t been talking to him; most especially when he’d felt warmth in inexplicable places in the form he’d been walking around in that he wasn’t wholly sure was even really and truly a body, but then— “You can’t take him.” Eddie turned, knew it fruitless to try to find the source but it hurt so bad because that voice was absolutely tortured, and it was— It was Steve. Or: of course Steve bargains with the ancient eldritch deity beings of the Upside Down for Eddie’s life. And maybe they end up some ill-defined guardians of the seasons in weird Persephone-style twist as a result. What the hell else was he supposed to do?

rating: m ♥️ tags: post-S4, everyone loves, getting together, magical realism✨, established relationship, future fic, of course steve makes a bargain with the eldritch ancient god being things in the upside down to save eddie’s life, what ELSE what he going to do?, don’t even pretend to judge him, eddie and steve become ✨guardians of the seasons✨, it’s a task they definitely make their own, very Persephone coded, fluff, romance, softness, let me repeat that last one: SOFTNESSSSSS ♥️

for @steddielovemonth day twenty-one: “If you remember me, then I don't care if everyone else forgets.” ― Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

“How can you even stand it?” Dustin whines, his leg bouncing frantically as he tries to hide how he’s scanning the edges of the park for any hint; and sign: “If Suze and I—

“You’re missing him hard, aren’t you?”

Eddie asks it from behind his sunglasses—how bright the glare sparkles off the ice is the outward sign that it could be today, that it could possibly happen today; but for Eddie, there’s no need for the kinds of hints that drove Dustin to his door, bouncy and frantic, anything but the impressive computa-chemical-whatever-nerdy-as-fuck-genius-level professional he’s grown into, with his own mini-brood of Hendersons, no: he’s immediately fifteen years old again asking Maybe today, could he maybe come today, is it close enough, like, not on the calendar but sometimes he shows up unexpected, right, so maybe today—

It would be unexpected; it’s late January. Far too early, by rights. But again: Eddie doesn’t need any outward signs.

Ever since it started, ever since the deal was struck with powers beyond their ken, with sense beyond their grasp or even want of it: they’d neither of them wanted sense if it could have cost them the chance at this, it’s just—

It’s hard, still. Easier every year but: hard. Eddie thinks it’ll always be hard. He loves too deep, like this, for even a breath without to be less than a tiny agony.

But fuck if he’d trade it for anything.

They’d been lucky. They’d been lucky that Steve had come back on his own to the boathouse that first night. Had talked Eddie down, made sure he wasn’t alone—held him, a stranger at best, a pariah at worst, and never once shamed him, fucking soothed him when he couldn’t fight tears. They’re lucky that the walk through the woods somehow short circuited any remaining shred of sense in him, or maybe shocked it into overdrive as he’d grabbed Steve behind a tree thick enough to hide from either of their compatriots turning around and catching it, catching them when he carefully—those bats hadn’t been kind—but a little bit crazedly pressed Steve against the fragile-rotting bark, where Steve stilled, stared, and then closed the distance between them.

Eddie’d had his taste on his lips right up ‘til the end. Not even his own blood had taken it from him at the last.

He’d felt death, though, like a limbo, a haze rather than a darkness, a liminal fog and he’d screamed, he hadn’t felt quite alone, even before a voice echoed:

“We are freed from him now.”

Eddie’d shouted questions long after his throat started stinging for it, before realizing the echoing voice hadn’t been talking to him; most especially when he’d felt warmth in inexplicable places in the form he’d been walking around in that he wasn’t wholly sure was even really and truly a body, but then—

“You can’t take him.”

Eddie turned, knew it fruitless to try to find the source but it hurt so bad because that voice was absolutely tortured, and it was—

It was Steve.

It was Steve and Eddie recognized the warmth, then: his body on the ground being cradled close so his still-cold chest touched a living one, arms around him, and he’d reached with his own version of a hand to trace the feeling.

“We killed Vecna, we set you free. You cannot take him.”

Oh, Steve.

Eddie was right, in all that he’d wondered if he was being fucking insane even by his measure, to think he could love this man, maybe even already was a little by the time they’d parted ways. But after what he hears?

And then piecing it all together, Steve fighting something that trembled otherworldly in the air for the sake of keeping Eddie like Eddie was worth it. Like Steve cared that much.

Time passed, and then the voice had come through clearer; something shook in Eddie’s chest like an echo, and the sick taunt of a pulse to a corpse:

“This nature has been perverted. Abused. It has been tied for purposes indefensible and profane to another realm. You will take guardianship of the tempers of your dimension, in exchange.”

Eddie’d been pretty fucking sure that the words had meant as little to Steve as they had to Eddie himself, but Steve hadn’t let more than a second pass before he was all in:

“Done.”

And Eddie had gasped in a breath more painful than he’d recalled death being in the first place, save that this time it’s soothed by the way he blinks to waking with Steve’s hands on his face, fingers trailing to his neck to check his pulse thrown back to racing—mostly?

Just…Eddie’s coming to find that most things are soothed, made bearable by the fact of Steve Harrington.

Back to the point though: since the very beginning, opening his eyes when he thought he’d never do something so mundane, so human, so alive even again, and to the sight of an angel’s face at that, tear-streaked and staring at him and him alone: Eddie didn’t need tangible proof to know, coiled and warm behind his sternum, that change was on the air.

And they’d both absorbed the terms spoken only to them—a fact they later discovered, annoyingly, in trying to explain to everyone else—that they were in charge of keeping watch of the seasons, and naturally, then, they’d be apart for the work of it most of the year. Steve watching summer, Eddie manning winter—save for the middle-grounds; the overlaps inside the ends of autumn and the beginnings of spring—windows they’d know innately, though how?

Fuck if they understood the mechanics of it all.

It was heartbreak. It was a miracle.

They would have until that year’s autumn equinox to prepare for…for maybe always.

“Like Hades and Persephone,” Robin had said, horrified and marveling in equal measure, gripping hard to Steve’s hand.

“Seems worse, though,” Dustin had chimed in—typical. “Like it’d be less time, depending on what counts as overlap.”

Eddie and Steve had…not disagreed. And had made the most of the embers of what they’d started to feel in the boathouse, in the Upside Down: they leapt without looking, and fell fast—the way Steve did too often, but never like this before; the way Eddie had quietly daydreamed about every so often, all the while knowing it could never be for him.

Eddie—then to now—doesn’t think anyone ever expected the thing they make for themselves, for each other, in those scant months, when they imbued so much, trusted hearts and souls to a word as small as love.

And when the time came, and they parted—they were neither of them ever unoccupied, they realized quick, Steve feeling physically pulled across the fucking equator all the stronger by the day: but when the time came?

Dying hurt worse. Eddie swears it without a fucking ounce of doubt in him, no hesitation.

It’d been a bleak fucking season.

But they’d both known their share adversities, if dressed up different across time. They weren’t…they mourned, for a little while.

But then Eddie, in the dead of his own winter, found a bright bouquet of fresh wildflowers he’d never seen before his doorstep, from fields he’d never set foot upon.

He can remember, just in closing his eyes and breathing in, how his heart had leapt; had hoped, and he’d—

“Why can’t we take a day?”

Eddie can hold his breath and relive it right now, just how that voice had stolen the air from his lungs as he’d stood just past the solstice, so much time left before he could even hope to see the other half of his fucking heart—how he’d spun toward the sound of it but was dizzy already before he moved a single inch, how he’d slowed the distance and crashed into Steve’s waiting arms, the steady strength of his welcoming chest with enough force to shake his own heart into beating with real gusto, with an intent he hadn’t realized so so dimmed, maybe wholly snuffed out in these months without.

He hadn’t questioned the how—plane, just a plane on the credit card he still had from his dad’s account, probably a one-time opportunity but worth it, more than, and proof that they could split the difference of the time, they could find ways, make money, spend all of it on how they needed each other now just to be able to breathe right.

“We have to keep the bargain,” Steve had always held, the steel in his gaze something Eddie knew in his bones not to question even at the start, especially not when it was followed by the kinds of kisses that convinced Eddie that a human soul was a real thing, for how it got teased from his throat, tongue to tongue.

“That can’t possibly mean there isn’t any,” Steve had gasped, just as sure and unwavering, but the steel giving way to a neediness, a softer resolve, if still just as unshakable: “any flexibility.”

Eddie couldn’t have agreed more.

And it hadn’t been easy, especially not out the gate; but they’d learned. They’d both left tokens, Steve leaving flowers, Eddie bringing holly and pine, surprising Steve on hot days with icy hands on his shoulders when he packed snow in a cooler just for the sake of the bit; Dustin had found out further into their working through a balance and had declared that—

“That’s like,” he’d frowned, less from distaste and more from actually to puzzle out something unexplainable: “long-distance flirting but, metaphysical? Meteorological?”

Eddie had been the one to hear that dedication with his own ears and had felt distaste, forbade Dustin on the spot from speculating before he got to—

“Primal-magic phone-sex on steroids,” Dustin had muttered himself and yep. That.

Before he got to that.

He’d shared it with Steve, who was as entertained and appalled as Eddie in fairly equal measures, but had made a point come his own time in Indiana again to impress, in no uncertain terms, that Dustin needed to shut his fucking trap about his and Eddie’s love life, lest Steve cause the temperature of his petri dishes to unfortunately shift by half a degree and spoil his weird ass mold experiment.

That’d been a pretty effective threat, even if Steve wasn’t actually capable of delivering on it without the aid of fire.

Which he wasn’t above employing.

Regardless—

They’d worked hard, built slow, and as they learned that the only cost that time seemed to extract from either of them was missing one another worse than a limb, they had the time to invest in something lasting.

They never let another season pass where they saw nothing of each other, ever again.

Now, though.

Now, they have it down to an art. Eddie makes music—has had all the time in the world to wait until the right someone hears and understands what he’s saying in the notes, and he does. Steve teaches at a community college, flexible enough for his real job, and funnily enough—gorgeouslyenough—sells flowers. Invests, here and there, because it was one thing his father had drilled him into knowing enough about before giving up on him as a lost cause. He picks underdogs, mostly because they’re cheap and the very idea of not spites everything his father stood for. Expected of him that was all so far from everything Steve is.

A couple of those underdogs make them a pretty fucking penny. It makes their ongoing trial-and-error of how to do their jobs—to maintain their end of the agreement, to the minimum viable product, and love on each other to the maximum possible extent in every interim possible—it makes the experimenting of it all easier; quicker.

It has to cut the hurting time in half, at the very least.

They never do hear directly from those voices again, the ones who struck their bargain—but they can feel direction, displeasure, satisfaction. They know they’re kept watch of, in the same way they both somehow know how, and what to keep watch of in doing the work for themselves: they don’t change things, can’t change thing; they’re not…powerful, not that way, just some degree of timeless, ageless—which is a whole other hill to climb, and cross to bear, especially when Steve sees Robin, is part of why they made the exception that is Robin; but then increasingly when either of them see the kids, and now the kids with their own kids—but.

They learn that the winds, the magnetic poles, fucking nature magic: it pushes them when their traveling aligns with the seasonal shifts, rather than their own desires—those have racked them up significant benefits from frequent flyer miles—but if they’re pulled by their callings, the callings they can fucking feel—they could fight it. But if they’re give in to it, assent to it, they can blink and end up where they’re meant to be.

Trippy. But kinda cool.

(Would be way cooler if it’s was just straight-up teleportation but: still neat.)

They’ll feel off a day or two, queasy before they overstay their hemisphere, their season outside the natural overlaps. They both of them push it by design, by their own nature—they come to suspect the powers that entrusted them with this, gifted and cursed with this task while blessing them with each other: they think those entities appreciate their commitment to the task alongside, second only to their commitment to each other. They both assume those eldritch gods are responsible for the minor barometric oddities that crop up if they push the limits too far, not-so-subtle nudges back to what they promised; what they’re bound to.

And Steve never lets them push too far, too afraid even after all this time to risk the bargain being taken back, rendered void, quite literally; Eddie, who never shared that sense of preservation regarding his own self, sure as shit shares it tenfold when applied to what he shares with Steve so: he never argues.

He cuddles Steve harder those last days, always, because while he knows they could have languished an eternity literally split from one another for half a year at least, for always, the way he’s grown to feel differently, to gauge time both as shorter and longer and inconsequential depending on the context: it all fades away against the backdrop of how much bigger his love is, and how an hour is a day and the fortnights are a century in his chest, nonetheless.

But as time passes, as the world changes and technology shifts and he can call Steve easier, he can hear his voice, then when webcams came around—it got better. It gets better all the time.

But still: he always feels less whole, whenever either of them has to leave, no matter for how long.

“Shut up,” Dustin shakes him back to the present with the snippy tone he shoots Eddie’s way—some things truly never change—but Eddie honestly doesn’t remember what the fuck either of them had said, but then he glances over and—

Ah. Still staring at the trees. Waiting.

“Think about how Robin feels,” and it’s a little disingenuous, seeing as Robin sees more of Steve than any of them, but Eddie means it as a sympathy. A commiseration.

Dustin scoffs.

“Maybe Robin flaunts that whole capital ‘P’ platonic soulmate thing left and goddamn right,” he bites out with narrowed eyes; “but that’s my fucking brother—“

“You’ll get to see him all the time, all summer long, shithead,” Eddie flicks his ear fondly—Dustin squawks and again, it’s refreshing. No matter how old they might look in comparison now, they’re still who they’ve always been to each other.

And yes, Steve’s still his brother. Steve didn’t forgetthat, never had for a second. And Eddie’s spent all winter with Dustin and Suzie and their munchkins—Steve’s gonna lose it to see how much they’ve grown in just a few months. Eddie’s excited for it, will go straight there with them if that’s what Dustin wants, will understand if Dustin would rather some one-on-one first, this surprised out-of-season visit quite possibly a fleeting one. Eddie gets it, he’ll—

“But these are the only times I get both of you,” Dustin trains his eyes on the trees more intently, now—less to avoid looking elsewhere than to seek out what might comes out from them; “together.”

Eddie’s throat tightens a little. He won’t pretend it doesn’t swell his heart the way it does to hear it.

He swallows, clears his throat, and tries his damnedest to not trample prominent but also not actually fall into the amount of feeling that’s behind the admission, all the history inside it. He’s never been good at that shit.

Except with Steve.

“It is earlier than usual,” Eddie comments, tries to make it encouraging; “that global warming thing, think we’re both gonna start to linger longer in the overlay as a rule,” Dustin frowns and yeah, okay, maybe that part’s less encouraging.

“Might end up sucking hardcore for you guys, though,” he adds, a little sheepish. “Sorry, man.”

Because seriously: he and Steve, they don’t make the seasons. Just watch over them, as best they can. Conduits for whatever the Upside Down really is—they still haven’t ever understood the powers that had receded under Vecna and returned to make them as them are, and frankly, they don’t mind overmuch, so long as whatever that power isallows for the life they lead that, they’d never had had a chance at otherwise—but they’re mostly messengers. They can’t…fix, what’s looking like it’s happening. And the buzz they both feel from the power that made them this way is concerned, but in a distant way. Like hearing sad story about another life, a century removed from yours.

“We’re working on that,” Dustin says and, yeah. Eddie’s pretty sure somewhere in Dustin’s massive government lab of geniuses, they are. Fuck? But he’s so proud of his little sheepie, all grown up.

And then there’s how Steve feels—

“Hmm,” Eddie hums as he nods; “plus the overlap will work down south, too, so,” he muses, pulls his with his hair across his mouth the way apparent immortality never knocked out of him.

“Down south?”

Oh. Right. Oops.

They don’t flaunt how they’ve made the most of the flexibility—or those long shot investments—and perfected a schedule to live more like businessmen with long company trips every few weeks than quasi-magical beings who traded death for this, and made out so much more the richer. It’s not that they don’t love everyone, the kids, their families, the Party at large. As he made a point to notdivulge before: Robin is the only one who knows, because of course she does, but they keep houses in both halves of the world, not sprawling but not modest, comfortable and welcoming to the two of them plus one occasional platonic soulmate. They can each of them stretch their time away from their own season to near two weeks—it’s too disruptive to switch straight back with whoever is leaving their current home-turf just just returning with a stowaway, they have to rebalance for another two weeks but then, if they switch, of Eddie visits first, they wait, and then Steve makes the journey next? It holds.

And so they do exactly that.

They’re just…Steve committed them to a fantasy life, the bargains of a Labyrinth crossed with the whimsy of the fae, he’d done it without question just to save Eddie’s fucking life, okay, so it can’t be a fucking surprise that when they fell whole-heart in love, it got a little co-dependent.

Eddie actually fucking adores that about them, and Steve does, too—it’s everything they missed out on in the first part of their lives, and ached for worse than they’d realized until the space was filled, then overflowed; now they get to have it in spades, and forever.

“Oh, just musing about the state of the mortal coil,” Eddie rolls his head over to Dustin to give him an answer, even if it’s not a whole one—if he told him the full story of just how often they see each other, he’d absolutely push his way into what Eddie needs as just for him. Maybe it’s selfish.

But Eddie’s not wholly human anymore, so far as he can tell, so he’s gonna just lean into that’s a limitation no longer relevant to my being argument.

He’s honestly grown pretty fond of that argument.

“Fuck off, man,” Dustin shoves him, more than used to giving him shit when he plays high-and-mighty for serving as co-chief chronicler of the weather and still looking 20.

“Let me see him,” Eddie’s voice slips serious, because his heartburn thumping, his nerves are shivering, it doesn’t fucking matter that the two weeks apart has only been two weeks—the same senses heightened to feel his other half approaching on the breeze more than on a round trip ticket: it heightens everything.

And there is something special, unique, in the first natural shift where Steve gets to step into Eddie’s space and be held tight in Eddie’s arms because the seasons will it, because their bargain holds and keeps them.

“Just let me see him for a bit on my own,” Eddie turns to Dustin, pleading him to stay put on the bench where they’ve been waiting, Eddie knowing that this park, along these woods, is where Steve will come if he comes at all—but he has not qualms begging for just a minute alone as feels himself start to rise to his feet because the cells of his body know that Steve’s near, now, and call him to move, to run to his partner, his only.

He sees the unspoken protest in Dustin’s eyes

But you’ll have him forever.

Eddie gets it, sighs; tries to explain.

“When we,” he pauses, tries to find a better word but really there’s only one: “changed, we became something,” and Eddie, see, they were never told the details, the how’s and whys never explained. They just know how it feels.

And how much it feels is more than enough to serve as an explanation, as is.

“My heart’s got this bigger capacity to feel, now,” Eddie tries just being blunt, and not trying to logic out what transcends the concept as a rule; “my soul’s, just,” he shakes his head a bites on a grin in a battle that he’s ecstatic to lose:

“It’s just his in a way I never could have dreamed of before. It was already basically true before but that truth was a,” Eddie sighs, and doesn’t bother fighting the grin this time because it’d be a lost cause before he even starts, the very same heart he’s talking about is stretched to bursting and he, he wants, he needs him to understand that because Dustin’s become his brother, too, in a different but still profound way and Eddie loves him, so he wants him to understand it’s not about shutting him out, or denying him a single thing, but what Eddie knows a normal person can feel, like, not by choice but by design is, is—

“A fuckin’ pittance, man, in comparison.”

Dustin eyes him, and—thank fuck—reads not only what Eddie says but what he means; that Eddie also feels bigger for what they have, for Dustin’s family, for the whole Party and the sun and snow and the trees and then—

Then there’s his whole heart and soul, that he can feel is about to be waiting in those trees—another level. A wholeness he couldn’t put to words if he tried, which is how he knows it’s both real, and other; not what he was or could have been before they were given their duties; gifted their whole fucking lives.

In each each other.

Dustin finally sighs, theatrically in a way that makes Eddie chuckle as he’s shooed away with a sage “Public indecency is still a crime!” —to which Eddie offers his middle finger as he bounds through the tree line and only stops when he finds the clearing that feels right.

Then he waits.

And waits.

He lets his eyes close, reaches inward where his heartbeat’s ramping up; reaches outward to the trees, still barren but never quiet, never dead.

He feels.

Feels something slip behind his ear: a stem, petals tickling his cheekbone when nothing here is blooming yet; when everything is blooming nowunder Eddie’s ribs, blossoming in the smile that stretches across his lips as a warm breath tickles his neck and weight presses behind him, familiar arms wrapping around his waist:

“Gorgeous weather you’re a having, hmm?” Steve teases and the shell of his ear, nips the lobe and turns Eddie around at the hips and fuck yeah.

Fuck yeah

It’s gorgeous.

🌷🌺🌷🌺

✨also on ao3

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[that-weird-thing-in-the-woods]

~{ I come with gifts of this stuff! }~

The Watcher In Red

Jason has been seeing a figure who he has dubbed “Red” as the figure is always wearing red and the fact when they fight they leave quite the mess

Red has been around since Jason got back to Gotham and started his work as a crime lord in crime alley and ever since he first noticed Red they have been a very helpful ally with his work such as leading Jason to trouble and helping him stay hidden with going for a surprise attack or when he gets injured or knocked out Red takes care of the enemy’s then and gets Jason to safety

And it’s not a secret either Red has shown themselves in front of other or when fighting if your dealing with Red Hood you deal with Rose as most people have started to call them not that Jason is complaining it’s something new he can tease them with and get them flustered as he so loves doing and when they cover their red face with their black and red fan to hide their blush anyway but Jason can still remember the first time they met…

When Jason saw them he was half convinced that he was having blood loss hallucinations

Jason heard that some asshole wasn’t listening to his rules of not selling drugs to kids and leaving the schools alone so Jason was about to deal with that fucker but turns out he got friends close by and they shot at him but not before Jason got them but they still got a few good shots and now Jason is laying in a alley in his own blood

And he was sure he was going to bleed out or he’d have to get his ass moving to a safe house but the closest one was a few miles away and he doubted he could walk that far with a couple bullets in him and bleeding until he saw them 

They were wearing a black and red dress and black and red boots with a heel but the most obvious thing of this figure was their hat it was black and red like the rest of them but it hide their face so much it looks like they have none and with Jason luck they might not but they look like they just stepped straight out of a old gothic painting and….were they walking towards him?

As Jason noises this the figure they lean down and start to treat his injuries and Jason is to out of it to ask questions and passes out as they just about finished with his injuries

And when Jason wakes up in the safe house he just thinks it was a hallucination but how wrong he was…

Lady Gotham took in Danny after he was forced to leave his home dimension after the G.I.W got him and turned him into a full ghost, the injures the G.I.W that ultimately killed him gave him made it a bit hard to talk sometimes so when he was given to Lady Gotham who barely ever actually talked instead of broadcasting her feelings like Danny does now he was relieved.

Lady Gotham took Danny in around the same time Bruce took in Jason and very quickly did Jason because Danny’s favorite robin and Lady Gotham was just happy her Little Red Rose was happy.

Lady Gotham ships the hell out of Danny and Jason.

Lady Gotham and Danny have tea regularly and just enjoy the others company.

Lady Gotham gave Danny full control over crime alley and that part of Gotham.

Danny looks more human than what his old half ghost form looked like.

~{Here are what I’m thinking for Danny’s outfit! And for the hats either one is fine, I can’t really pick one so I just added both}~

••••••••••••••••••••••••

~{and that’s all for this! I hope you gremlins like it and you know the rules you use my stuff tag me! Anyway byeeeee!}~

[t00-many-eyes]

When Jon rests his weary head on Martin's lap, it feels like the clearest of revelations. The greatest of miracles. The ravaged world stands still – asleep or dead, doesn't matter, nothing matters except for the warmth of the cheek pressed to Martin's knee and the tingling of his stubble through the fabric of his jeans. Jon tosses and turns for a bit, looking for a comfortable position, and finally closes his eyes with a content sigh. The eye bags are growing darker with every passing day, just as the lines on his forehead are growing deeper. The world is at its closest to the end, and still Martin has never felt so in love before.

It seems that everything has been leading them to this moment – Jon in Martin's arms, tired but trusting and dear to him, so dear that his heart aches longingly. Martin reproaches himself for such thoughts and still can't help but thinks that he would let the apocalypse happen again, and again, and again, only to see Jon like this, to hold his hand, their fingers intertwined, to kiss the corner of his lips, to cradle him in his arms at night, hiding from the nightmares.

(They're both broken and crushed by fate, wrong and full of mistakes. Martin doesn't know whether they're going against what is destined, or right where they are supposed to be, whether they're going towards their death or a new life. He has no idea. Or better put it this way: he just follows Jon, no matter where he is heading, the way apostles followed Jesus. He believes him and in him without any doubt and is ready to die for him or with him, if it's necessary. This is how sick and twisted they are. At least, in this universe.

Maybe in another universe they weren't such idiots and found each other earlier. Maybe there Martin can kiss Jon every day and not fear lest this kiss should be their last. Maybe there they can just live – happily ever after, like in those fairytales. Maybe. Martin doesn't know. What he knows is that in this universe, in their universe, the sky is constantly watching them, the earth is soaked with sticky fear and blood, and they are the ones to fix all of this.

In this universe they are a tragedy, but Martin wouldn't change a thing in them for the world.)

“Your thoughts are too loud,” Jon grumbles, a quick green flash in his narrowed eyes. Martin bites his lip. He still forgets that his boyfriend knows and hears absolutely everything, and it is both exciting and unnerving.

“Sorry,” he says. That I think so much, that it seems to me that we have no future, that I believe in you like in God.

Jon finds his hand and presses his cheek against the palm. Martin chokes on his breath, as this act is so simple and yet so gentle that he suddenly wants to cry. (He never considered tears to be a sign of weakness, but he needs to be strong for Jon, so he just sniffles and squeezes his eyes, choking a sob rising in his throat.)

“Martin,” Jon calls out quietly, stretching the vowels in an oh-so-familliar way, and kisses the centre of Martin's palm as if kissing holy relics. No one has ever touched Martin like this. “It's alright, love.”

And just as saints on the icons cry with blood and myrrh, Martin is crying as well, soundlessly and ugly. Jon sits beside him and hugs his shoulders worriedly, kissing him on his temple.

“Martin,” he whispers softly, “my sweet, my dear, I'm here. It's alright, for now it's alright.”

Martin knows that nothing is alright actually, and that they can die tomorrow and no one will remember them. But right now Jon is right beside him, warm, soft and loved, and only this truly matters.

“Oh, Jon,” Martin exhales, his voice trembling, and it sounds more like a prayer.

Maybe, he is praying.

At least, his god will stay with him till the very end and will not leave him to die alone.

[aquinnix]

For a split second after the angered words had left his lips, Grian eyes shone purple. It was an outburst, the stress of it all, annoyance.

Lizzie had heard him say it.

Lizzie had heard him claim his creation.

Grian giggled awkwardly, thinking, trying to save the situation. Maybe she hadn’t been close enough to hear, maybe she would just think he had lost his mind like so many others.

Maybe.

“What do you mean you made it?”

May be.

Void why had he been so stupid? Why couldn’t he have controlled himself just a moment longer? No one could know. They would hate him. They would break him. They would break this.

Don’t they know there are things so much worse?

Grian ran.

[novaspirit132]

The Weakest Link |Secret Life [Mind Games AU]

{A Retelling of Secret Life, but Hermitcraft Gem World Jumps and ends up in Secret Life instead. While she gains the help of former champions to find a way to escape the games, Grian struggles against both his Watcher side and the Watchers themselves as they try to gain another champion.}

This was the first ever sketch I made for this AU, so as I started forming more of the story, I had to add more and more to ensure it still fit. It took an INSANELY long time to color, and I'm still not happy with the results cause I messed up in several places. (I had to basically paint over Scar's skin cause I used the wrong tone, so now he's grey like in 3rd Life 😅) But, I put too much effort into this drawing to not share it, so here.

If you want to check out my AU, then here's a link to it on Ao3. I currently just published the first part of episode 3, so check it out if you're interested 😎👍