#so it looks scuffed but hey it looks cool! maybe!

[slimmestslime]

deebi gets a little posing, as a treat

[robolvrr]

I love love looove the way you write!! I'm 22- and i wanted to ask about your Headcanons for a bi bumblebee.

He's always been proud of looking good, so maaaybe you could give him an opportunity to show off? A car show, or maybe a car wash could be fun.

hot motor oil ☆∘⁠˚⁠˳⁠°

hahaaa fffkxzkdk. bet! you speaking my language, anon.

bumblebee x gn! human headcanons.

warnings: suggestive/nsfw. exhibitionism, praise, voyeurism.

bumblebee when on earth at his prime is cocky, playful and a thrill-seeker.

while the inability to vocalize is a sore subject, he's never been insecure about his appearance. he's considered very attractive wherever he goes, cybertron and otherwise.

much to optimus's disapproval, he takes the time to find the newest speedsters to scan regularly throughout the decades.

while he's particular with what automobiles he claims, there's a clear taste for flashy, fast horsepower.

he adores weaving between traffic, secret drag races, because the racers and humans react. it's either anger, frustration, awe or jealousy. makes his chassis get all warm knowing that just being in his alt-modes gains attention without applying much effort.

the thing is though - he does. constant buffing. avoids mud like the plague and never gets insects stuck in his grills. his bumper never gets scuffed and he might have found a car wash or two with easy on the optic workers who gladly accept fat tips and rub between his panels and exterior with feather light touches.

they don't look too much through his tinted windshield or question the pink fluids collecting near the drain when he zips off.

when he meets you, he's almost shaking when he learns of your hobbies.

a mechanic? and you spend hours in your garage just.. fixing up cars?

his spark stutters one day relaxing in your detached shed, as you mumble under your breath with your ungloved fingers coated in oil with the popped hood of an '99 ferrari, tongue licking sweat off your top lip so slow he has to lock his tires not to accidently skid the concrete.

"mmm, there ya go. shiny and just as gorgeous. bet i could go on a real fast ride with you now, huh?"

"kkkrrtt! my chick do stuff that your chick wish she could — chhhtk — krrrz!"

"oh my god, bee, please — hey! do not leak in my garage baby."

he has never made his attraction for you quiet.

it's difficult to course through radio signals in regular conversation but you always look so charmed when he chirps out song lyrics you know, so chatting you up during repair sessions is frequent.

once his leash has been loosened some and you're teetering ripping back the veil of platonic and more, you let him know the other aspect of your interests.

he stares at the shiny poster in your hands, watching you animatedly explain just what a "muscle car show" was. his brow ridge raises. okaay, you got his attention.

while you didn't expect to win (which he rolled his optics to because really, this is him you're talking about), it'd be fun. it would only last a few hours. all he has to do is sit still and look pretty.

look still and look. pretty. his flaps flutter, proud. damn straight he's pretty.

when you roll him to the flat plain one saturday afternoon, his wheels look brand-new and his hood has signature, thick black accents.

even has that "new smell" to him, rubber flawless and paint with that glittering coat.

fancy little bastard managed to get some butterfly doors. you coo between his engine revving he's being such a little show-off.

what he didn't expect was the constant attention to be so distracting. it's warm and there's an internal message to start blasting his cooling fans because his temperature is starting to up a tick.

there's so, so many cars. yet he's fully in the center, which means at times he feels like he's being surrounded.

bumblebee takes a gander while he plays some old rock softly to cover the fizzle of his motor, eyeing the classics and more modern bodystyle frames.

almost beeps when you bend down to show a man his chrome mufflers. your hands run along his rims and he's starting to feel.. funny.

"damn. how'd you get such a sexy car?"

"ahh... magician never shares their tricks. wanna feel the inside?"

cue the radio shorting out, because suddenly his doors are unfolding and men and women alike start to crowd him, cooing and taking pictures.

the sensory overload from curious palms smoothing over his dash? you lean into him to adjust his mirror and cheekily grab the clutch. his engine roars.

"you know. i never thought i'd say i fuck a sports car but jesus, you've outdone yourself... oh, cmon, how much you selling for?"

"my bumblebee? girl, i ain't ever putting him up for sale. he's my sweet stallion."

his processor is humming. angles his frontal mirrors as you keep teasing him, even going as far to spank his bumper slightly before bragging about the genuine leather interiors and letting his admirers lounge inside, encouraging them to ask questions.

exhaust slips from pipes as he tries not to let the electricity cloak his frame suffocate when you press a silky smooch on his window. the kiss-mark looks like it's been left behind on foggy, shower glass.

is it a shocker you win? nope. easiest $5K of your life.

there's a final round where you get to drive him around a lap so motor-enthusiasts can gander a final time. he's almost thankful the announcements echo because you're leaned over the wheel, chest pressed up near the horn.

"you like that? you did so fucking good."

"tcccthtt -- whoa, baby you're killin' me! "

"aww, don't get shy. there's a warehouse four miles west from here. take us there. i wanna thank you."

his speedometer breaks when he drifts right out and down the highway, wind zipping back your hair as your laugh cackles out ajar windows.

pure nsfw.

the golden-black charger rumbles down the highway. it's minimal interference, though the turn signal never flashes and it's difficult to see any drivers or passengers inside.

pebbles pluck up and ding the exterior, which is such a shame, because it's such a pretty car!

however, that isn't on anyone's mind at the moment.

bumblebee tries not to hydroplane, because it'd be stupid dangerous and it's not even raining. but you're a tsunami, a distraction of disastrous proportions. your hand is shoved down your shorts and you trail down your tummy before the straps of your underwear twist.

it's a wildly salacious position. your right leg is hiked up on his - your - dash. your left hand rubs vigorously while the right squeezes his clutch and rubs the silver button positioned at its knob.

his engine snarls. his radio glitches and you can hear the rhythmic churn of metal buzzing and gurgles that suggests he's trying to speak.

"yeah? yeah? such a pretty speedster, bee. f-fuck. you're so hot. you're the best."

"breeep!"

"awww, haha -- nnf, did you just honk?!"

the opening to a dilapidated hanger lingers on the horizon. he bulldozed through gravel and rolls up his windows fully to avoid any flying in your face. your hair is messy and both of your feelings are floundering, the beat of your heart loud in your ears.

he can't erase any of this. those wet cries have his intake salivating with lubricant.

there's a wet spot on the driver's seat and he's almost mad that he can't lick it off.

transforming mid-kneel, you're gently shoved out and his servos snatch at you like a toddler with a toy. his bright, blue gaze edged needy when he's pawing off your clothes and manhandling you to get up on his lap.

his pedes scratch against the concrete for purchase. he's whipped. he's so fragging on edge. all the compliments, all the comments, all the touching - he's gonna overload.

let's just say you two aren't getting back to base for the night. especially not with that wry grin on your lips, before you rub down his body like melted rubber.

robolvrr 2024.

[ccoconutmall]

DATE AND DASH

⪼ home

you were getting bored waiting for nobara and the boys to get here, it felt like it’s been hours. usually megumi would at least be on time, so it was worrying you. constantly checking your phone was getting annoying so you decided to go on your own.

once you got to the fairgrounds you could see the tall ferris wheel, towering all the other rides in it’s wake. even though you were alone you could surely have just as much fun as you would with your friends, but out of the corner of your eye, you saw a familiar face. 

you quickly paid for admission and went over to him. “hey yuta!” he jumped, quietly gasping at the sound of your voice. all he could do was nervously wave, his palms were a bit sweaty, if his anxiety didn’t kill him you would. “hey..” his voice barely above a mumble, but seeing your smile immediately brightened up his night, way more than the colorful lights around him could. 

“you’re alone too huh?” he nodded quietly, but the second he felt you take his hand into yours, he suddenly gained a little confidence. despite the sweat of his palms, you still held his hand and that’s what made him feel so comfortable in your presence. he had you with him when he was alone. “let’s hang out together! sorry, i would normally ask beforehand but i don’t have your number.. i guess it worked itself out though huh?” 

he looked into your eyes and he could practically see how happy you were, he wanted to hide again, but how could he, you were actually talking to him and he loved every second of it. “yeah, let’s go on rides.” you practically dragged him to your favorite ride, even though his feet were dragging against the dirt, his shoes slightly getting scuffed in the process, he didn’t care. he was happy to see you so excited, he wanted to call this a date; but he knew that wasn’t what this was. he had to remind himself that you more than likely didn’t feel the same. it was all just a dream of his. maybe a hang out at best, but he felt your head rest against his arm in the line where you two stood. “I don't know how you knew i was gonna come… but thank you for being here.” 

oh god. 

he looked down at you, he saw your sad smile as you looked towards the ground “my friends said they’d come but i think they ditched me.. well, they never showed up so more like flaked.” he wrapped his arm around your shoulder. “i wouldn’t say i knew… but i’m glad i agreed to come… my friends also flaked…” he wanted to say more but he watched as the door opened to get on the ride. “wait, so what is this ride again..?” he walked on after you before you gasped excitedly. “basically you’re stuck to the wall and it spins super fast!” you two stood next to each other along the wall. 

you felt as the ride began, a knot growing in your stomach. you held onto yuta’s hand as the ride went on. a smile growing on both of your faces.

the whole night was full of the two of you playing games, riding rides, talking, and eating food. yuta even won you a giant stuffed animal. the last thing left was the ferris wheel. you wanted to wait because it’s best at night. seeing all the other rides with their brightly colored lights, and all the people who look so small once you finally reach the top, you loved it all. you held your stuffed bear in your lap. the fuzz made the goosebumps settle on your body. “you know… you’re such a fun guy… i don’t get why you’re so nervous around me…” 

yuta looked over at you, the bright lights illuminating your face perfectly. he swore he died and touched heaven that night. “well.. you’re really pretty… so, i think i just get nervous around you because i’m not used to it…” you looked back at him and smiled. “yuta, you’ve spent all night with me… you don’t have to be so nervous, i don’t bite.” the cooling breeze whisked past you, the air rang in your ears. if it wasn’t for the two of you being at the top of the fair, yuta would’ve been way more nervous by now. 

he gently grabbed your face, feeling the warmth of your cheek against his palm make his stomach turn. all he could see was you looking at him through your long lashes before you quickly kissed him on the lips, gently pulling away before the ride stopped. “see..” 

his face was bright red. he nodded quietly before he did it for himself. you could tell he was inexperienced, you could feel how tense he was before he quickly pulled away.

© property of ccoconutmall ‘24. please do not repost, copy, modify, or translate.

taglist;

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[brooklynisher]

Hey all, you ever hear of Jaunty?

[x]

Do you WANT to learn more about Jaunty?

Well I dug deep, and found some things I never thought I could find. I'm really excited to share what I've found with y'all. This post is sort of a little journey of how I found Jaunty.

There's a few sections to this.

Skip to But where does Jaunty come from? If you just want answers

Is Jaunty even a real character?

Jaunty, from what I originally found, is SUPPOSEDLY a Steam Powered Giraffe character. But where have we seen this character before? Was it the comic? Was it the timeline? Maybe in a song cover? Does the band ever talk about Jaunty?

And to answer all of your questions, no! At least not that I knew of. The only source of Jaunty’s existence is here.

The Steam Powered Giraffe Wiki

So that makes this whole thing pretty complicated right? The wiki has info, and it’s not too inaccurate most of the time, but some of the lesser known/more nuanced information tends to get scuffed.

It really doesn’t help knowing that David has mentioned before that the information on the wiki wasn't that accurate.

What I’m saying is, the only proof we have for the existence of this character is on what might be one of the more unreliable sources of SPG information.

But despite that, this page is special in the fact that SUPPOSEDLY it was uploaded by Steam Powered Giraffe themselves!

[x]

However, there isn’t really much of any information on this user at all. All we know is that they founded this wiki, added a few characters and a bit of information, and then became inactive. Really our biggest reasoning for believing that this was an actual SPG member is the fact that they are the founder and have been around for a very long time.

Okay, suspicions aside, let’s see what I found about this thing.

What the wiki tells us

One, this image was touched by the founder of this wiki twice, it was uploaded in 2011, and in 2014 they protected the page, which means only the administrators can edit the page.

[x]

Both are pretty major years for SPG being the year Upgrade left the band and the year Rabbit transitioned, but there’s not many connections you can make with that.

This user was first active in 2010 and last seen in 2015 [x]

Cool dates to have, but not a lot to work with. It mainly gives us a clear vision of what SPG was looking like at the time of the creation of this page. I can see this thing being used for a special, slightly themed show.

Of course, the information the wiki alone offers is very limited, but we know two things for sure. One, this character is a robot being under the category of robots, and two, these photos were taken by Cineria.

[x]

So, here's the problem, you'd think that by having the name of the photographer, we could get far with that, but unfortunately, it is such a vague name, that there is just no way we could figure out who Cineria actually is. It really doesn't help that they don't seem to be a professional photographer. The only page I could find that connects both the name Cineria and Steam Powered Giraffe is this one.

Useless information

I started searching for stuff by reverse searching it. It wasn't really successful, as I was expecting, but I did find one thing.

A different source.

This source doesn't go anywhere must you know. The ORIGINAL site, florist.buketbunga.com is still up an active serving as an Indonesian site for selling flowers, but this very specific link is broken, and the Wayback Machine doesn't know a thing about it.

The good news is, the link title alone gives us a ton of stuff to work with! Appropriately, the last part of this link translates to "Flower Bouquet Florist Shop Address Nearest 24 Hours Online", which makes sense.

What DOESN'T make sense is everything else coming before it. Specifically the Team Fortress 2 Wiki. This made me believe that someone used these sites to create a scam link, but it's weird because somehow, it's relevant?

Yandex was able to match these images of Jaunty to this site, and what's crazier, Jaunty is in the title of the link! But it's not just Jaunty, it's the Jaunty Explorer.

I did some searching, and discovered that the Jaunty Explorer originates from a TF2 livestream charity event called Tip of the Hats! Donations can earn you medals known as the Jaunty Explorer ($10 Donations), the Jaunty Ranger ($30 Donations), and the Jaunty Mountaineer ($100 Donations). They can come in many different color variations, but here are the main ones.

[x] [x] [x]

There are TWO connections between this and SPG. One, the shared name of Jaunty, and two, hats. Steam Powered Giraffe is pretty big on hats. But, bad news, these are completely unrelated. Main reasoning? The image of Jaunty was posted to the wiki back in 2011, while Tip of the Hats as an event started back in 2013. Can't even take the "SPG was inspired by TF2" route with that.

Okay, but what even IS it?

Now we get into the visual aspect of this!

I tried to see if there was at least any way to identify what this is, but that solely relies on observational skills. There are two images of this thing, but the image with the blue background is much easier to make out.

[x]

There's a lot that's going on with the design of Jaunty. Unfortunately, I'm not smart enough to identify what half of the doodads are. This machine, whether it's an actual machine or just a prop, is definitely a one of a kind as I couldn't find anything like this.

I talked with @boneinator about this, and he was able to read the text: "STAND CLEAR!" on the top of the doors of this machine which lead him to believe that it might be a time machine of sorts.

What we both managed to agree on when it came to the design of this thing however, was that it looks like a cabinet.

Now, like I said, this thing has a one of a kind design, so it's not going to look exactly like one thing or another, but it has similar features to other things such as to this cabinet

[x]

Two longer doors on the upper half, and two smaller doors/drawers on the bottom. Is that actually what it is? I didn't know, but there is a resemblance.

One thing that's REALLY interesting about this machine is the intense amount of steam it lets out.

[x]

So it's definitely a very active machine.

But where does Jaunty come from?

Something I've been wondering is how much of this is actually connected to SPG.

Is it theirs? Is this a part of a bigger thing? Is it just associated with them?

A bigger thing. There is one example of a big SPG show that comes to mind, and it was not just them.

During their 15 Year Anniversary Livestream, the band was asked about their favorite memories. Bunny mentions that one of her favorite memories was at a show called Clockwork Vaudeville. This was one of the band's first time having a massive audience. According to her, this was a time traveling show, and they performed alongside others.

I looked into it and found that the full name of this performance is called Clockwork Vaudeville Circus Cabaret. And there, I found a little advertisement for it as well!

The Kickstarter for this show started in late 2010

I did some more searching and realized there is a bunch of video from this show out there though all these clips are recorded at random intervals. Assuming that the uploader posted these clips close to the date of the actual show, we can see that this show took place in February of 2011!

About one month after this show, this page was added to the wiki.

I checked the clips, and guess what.

[x]

Right there in the corner, there was Jaunty.

But that's not all

Not only have a found a video that contained Jaunty, I found a video that contained Jaunty in action!

[x]

Unbelievably enough, it was a video of the band performing Honeybee alongside a pole dancer. And thanks to the title, we now know that this show took place February 19, 2011

Which all this confirms 100% that Jaunty IS a time machine.

Now with all things considered, Jaunty is not necessarily an "SPG character" as in they didn't create it. It's hard to say if Jaunty is even a character at all at this point! But it does exist in their world and they actively interact with it!

Who cheered? I cracked the code!

[unknownarmageddon]

Christ Alive

a kross oneshot. in which they go to a party cackles

based on the song skeletone by bones uk rental suits au belongs to me and @psycho-chair

The parking lot was mostly empty, save for two, maybe three, cars. It was dark, the only thing visible in the black murk past the washed out lights of the gas station’s overhang was the passing specks of car headlights. 

    Cross leaned on the elbow he held propped on the counter, tried to tune out the mediocre mainstream music playing distantly over the store’s speakers, and watched the only customer inside idle about the shelves. 

The lights buzzed. two of the fridges against the back wall flickered every so often.

      The door chimed as it was opened, and another stranger entered. They wanted 50 dollars’ worth on pump three. And a pack of cigarettes. The door chimed again, then they were gone. 

The lights buzzed. The fridges flickered. Everything was delved in a cool colored haze. 

     The last remaining person in the store bought two drinks. With the dinging of the door as they left, a father and two kids entered. They piled their spoils, a mound of snacks, onto the counter.

      There were several minutes of vacancy. Nobody in the store but him. It felt like an eternity, always did. Cross fiddled with the shelves behind him to waste time. 

Buzzing lights. Uneven churring from the slushy machine in the back. 

        The door chimed. Footsteps, sneakers scuffing on tile. 

Cross turned, and could practically feel the grin boring into him.

Him again. 

    He was leaning forward over the counter with his arms crossed in front of him. His jacket had obtained a few new stains, both red and black. The faint, electric sound of music played from the chunky maroon headphones around his neck. 

Cross felt himself grin for a moment. He couldn’t help it.

“Hey pretty boy.” He looked at Cross with deep dark sockets. 

“Killer.” 

“Fancy seeing you here.” Killer quipped. 

    He pulled himself up to sit on the back edge of the counter, still facing Cross. Cross furrowed his brows. 

“I told you to stop sitting on the counter.”

Killer hardly considered moving. His soul hummed like even it was laughing. “You’re gonna have to make me, sweetheart.” 

Cross knew that wouldn’t have worked. And he didn’t really care, not enough to force him. 

“You miss me?” Killer quipped.

“I haven’t decided yet.” Cross replied. 

Killer laughed. “I’m wounded.” 

     Cross turned back to the shelf, and Killer slid off the counter to stand next to him. 

    “Ya got any plans tonight? Other than the blast you’re clearly havin’ already.” Killer murmured, hands shoved the pockets of his jacket. The fabric of he and Cross’s clothes brushed as they just almost touched, they were that close.

When did Cross ever have plans? He shook his head. 

Killer’s grin got wider. Cross narrowed his eyes at him. What was he planning.

     Killer hopped back over the counter and headed for one of the fridges in the back. Cross leaned over the counter on his elbows to watch him. 

“Y’know, there’s gonna be a party tonight. At ten.” Killer jerked open the door and crouched, now partially obscured by the shelf behind him. His voice came to Cross echoed by the distance.

“Where?”

“Some guy’s place in town, I dunno, all I’ve got is the address. He was really talkin’ a big talk, I wanna see if he’s full of shit or not.” Cross could tell he was grinning. He had that kinda voice. 

“And you want me to go with you.” Cross responded after a pause. 

From the fridge Killer retrieved two energy drinks. He stood and the door was closed with a shove from his foot. 

“Exactly.” 

He hesitated, apparently for dramatic effect knowing him, and waited for an answer.

“…I’m not going.” 

“C’monnn, you gotta get outta this boring ass gas station sometime. Have an actual good time.” Killer pressed.  

“I don’t do parties.”

“How bad could it possibly be?” 

“I doubt I would miss out on much.” Cross responded.

“You’d never know. Unless you go.” Killer persisted.

       Cross didn’t respond after that. He stared at the tile in front of Killer’s feet, turning the notion over in his mind. He knew damn well that if Killer wanted something he’d find a way to get it, so he doubted how much good resisting would do. 

      Killer weaved through the aisles to the middle of the store, then went for the far back. He cracked one of the energy drinks. 

“When are you gonna start paying for those?” Cross called to him. 

“You think about that party, ‘kay, pretty boy? Think about it.” Killer called back instead and pulled the headphones on. He vanished among the shelves. Cross saw the top of the storage room door as it opened, then closed.

      Cross was left alone in the store again. The trickle of costumers came and went, and he worked on autopilot. His mind was occupied by the party and the loiterer in the storage room.

     His first reaction was to not go. And he trusted that reaction. All he knew about it was that it would be loud and crammed with people he likely didn’t want to be around. And that he wouldn’t know anyone but Killer. He didn’t think— no he knew it wouldn’t be worth it. 

     But who knew how well Killer would take that news. And he kind of had a point about getting out of the gas station. 

      Cross worked for three more hours. Occasionally he would watch Killer slink from the back to steal another energy drink or two, or a bag of chips. Cross pretended not to notice. Every time Killer passed the counter he would toss a smug grin at Cross. Meant only for Cross. The kind that loosely hid all the kinds of things he would say out loud if they were alone. Cross pretended not to notice those, too. 

        He would’ve stopped him, confronted him again for never paying for what he took. But Cross didn’t exactly want to be on the receiving end of that knife he flashed the night they met. And when Killer was around he had company, and the extra shitty customers never came back. It was a fair trade. So what if a few cans went missing here and there. 

        When Cross’s shift came to an end he left the counter in favor of the storage room. The smell of smoke flooded his nose the minute he pushed open the door. It wasn’t invasive, but it was noticeable enough whenever you walked in. It’d always smelled like smoke in here, after Killer showed up.

           The culprit sat on the floor in the corner beside the door. He had fully tucked himself into that corner, in the gap between boxes and freezers that lined a few of the walls. He had one leg propped on the other, and the magazine he held obscured his face. Cross could still hear Killer’s music blasting through his headphones even from where he stood. 

“My shift’s over. You gotta leave.” Cross greeted him.

Killer pulled the headphones down and looked up over the edge of the magazine. He hadn’t heard him.

“Shift’s over.” Cross repeated. 

The music cut off; the magazine was shoved under a shelf. “You got it, boss.”

He pulled himself to his feet and left his corner to push past Cross, who tailed him in return. 

     The gas station’s front door chimed for the last time as they exited out onto the pavement in front of it. It was cold, Cross zipped up his jacket. His breath clouded in front of him as he watched insects buzz around the precious glow of the station’s lights. 

     After a moment of standing he stuck his hands in his pockets and looked around at the vacant parking lot, awkwardly awaiting for whatever Killer was going to do. He didn’t trust him enough to leave first. 

His eyes landed on him. 

“What time’s it?” Killer asked.

Cross checked his phone. “Nine forty.” 

      Killer hopped off the slight incline of the pavement and moved through the darkness. To Cross he became a raccoon you’d see outside your garage. So blanketed in darkness it doesn’t look much like anything at all. Except, his soul provided a red halo around his silhouette. 

“You comin’?” Killer called over his shoulder and stopped. It was more of a request than a question. 

Hesitation. Cross glanced to his left, then back at Killer. “No?”

“You scared, sweetheart?” Killer replied. He could barely see him, but again Cross could tell he was grinning.

“No.” 

“C’mon, just this once. It’s just a party. One time’s not gonna hurt anything.” He said. More firmly, sharply. 

Killer gestured with his head, nodding, beckoning Cross to come with him.

“You always say that.”

“Am I wrong? Let’s live a little. Nothin’s gonna happen.” He spread out his arms, turning on his heel to look back at Cross. 

Cross scowled doubtfully. He’s known Killer for long enough to at least know going anywhere with him didn’t have any guarantees of anything. 

    Killer slunk back toward Cross and grabbed him firmly by the zipper of his jacket, pulling him down so their faces were level. His face was warmed by Killer’s breath. Killer looked him over, then dead on. 

Killer huffed a laugh. “You’re scared.”

     Cross paused for a long time. A car alarm started from somewhere distant in the dark. Then it was quiet again. 

“We’ll take the truck.” He decided eventually, flatly.

      Killer’s eyes widened. He released Cross and ran for said truck, which was parked back in front of the gas station. It was small, old, and white; one of those trucks that didn’t have back seats, and the front was one long singular bench with seatbelts that just went across the lap. 

      Killer was grinning, exclaiming to himself, in his triumph. He had gotten Cross to cave, and they were taking the truck. 

      Killer rapped on the truck’s side with his palm as he stepped along it toward the door. He tried the door prematurely, eagerly. It was still locked. Then there was a click as Cross pressed a button on the interior of the driver side door and the rest of the doors unlocked. Killer jerked his open to slide into the passenger side; Cross got in after him, with less enthusiasm. 

The key met ignition and the vehicle grumbled to life like an aged animal. 

     Its beige leather seats were long worn, its paint was chipped in spots, it was overdo for a wash, and its windows were dusty and still functioned on a crank, but it served its purpose. 

     They left the parking lot. Cross heard Killer fighting with the window beside him, but he eventually got it open. Cold air streamed into the cab. Killer leaned against the door with his shoulder out the window. His feet were kicked up onto the dash. 

    In front of the windshield, dangling from the rear view mirror, hung a silver pendant on a chain and a long-expired air freshener. 

With each imperfection in the pavement they hit the cab bumped. 

“What’s the address?” Cross asked.

     A slip of paper was dug out of Killer’s pocket and examined. He put his legs down. 

“Left, up here.” He pointed, the turn signal clicked in time.

“Go for a bit,” He said now. “Here,” 

“Right, past here and down that road,”

     They drove for a while, mostly in silence save for Killer’s directions and occasional quips or broken humming.   Sometimes the headlights of a passing car or a lone streetlight would illuminate the cab; otherwise it was dark. 

Killer pointed at the windshield again. 

They were here. 

      What Cross saw was the front of an apartment building, one a few notches nicer than his own. That building immediately set the tone for the whole party in stone in Cross’s mind. It was fucking intimidating. He shouldn’t be here. 

   He glanced over at Killer, who was already slipping out of the truck. Cross inhaled and followed. 

———

       Upbeat music he’s heard everywhere a million times blasted through the apartment. Talking, laughing, shouting, all joined it. Lights everywhere, sounds everywhere. So many people were crammed in this single space.

     Cross was made hyper-aware of the presence of the other guests. The way they were dressed, the way they held themselves. They belonged here, he didn’t.

      He became Killer’s shadow. He kept his arms tight to his side, his eyes trained on his feet and Killer’s stride. He followed directly behind him as his companion sauntered through the apartment.

       They collected a few stares. What a sight they must be, two stupid boys wading through somewhere they shouldn’t be, one with stains on his clothes and one in a plain black jacket he’s had since high school. One with oil flowing from his eye sockets, one with an old rusted pickup. 

          Cross liked to imagine the things they whispered to themselves as the skeletons passed. Exclamations of surprise, of judgement. Eyes glued. 

     But, in reality, no one said anything. No one heckled them. He even doubted that many people were paying attention to them. Even still he was all too aware. 

      Finally, he and Killer breached the thick of the waves. Killer was saying something to another guest as he handed Cross a plastic cup of red liquid, which he accepted without much thought. 

“Whad’ya think?” Killer asked Cross and leaned against the table. He gestured with his free hand at everything around them like he was showing it all off. He held his own beverage in the other hand, Cross clutched his with both. 

    Cross didn’t respond. He didn’t know what to think. It was loud. There were way too many people. He’d decide eventually, he thought. 

     Killer lifted his cup to his mouth, then paused and lowered it. He deadpanned at it. 

“This tastes like shit.” 

Cross half-laughed, Killer grinned. 

      They stayed at that table for the duration of three, maybe four, songs. Killer did most of the talking. Cross only listened, offering the occasional hum in agreement or comment. Killer would point out people in the crowd he found notable for whatever reason to him. Made jokes, teased, rambled about menial things. He complained about the music, but he still tapped his finger against his cup in time. 

       Cross kept searching Killer, trying to figure him out. He wondered if he noticed how out of place they were. Or if he cared. But then he thought about it more, and he doubted he did.

     The song changed; Cross didn’t recognize this one. It was slower, but not melancholy. Carried by a steady rhythm and smooth electric guitar. Like the pounding of rain on concrete at night. 

Killer glanced up. “Fuckin’ finally, something good.”

     He set his cup down and pulled away from the table. “Alright I’m tired of standin’.” 

He stood with his back turned a moment, surveying the crowd, thumbs jammed in his shorts pockets, before he swiveled to offer his hand to Cross. “C’mon, you gonna do me the honor?” 

    Cross retracted, set his cup down and put his hands in the pockets of his jacket like he was hiding them. 

“I don’t dance.”

Maybe he would, in any other circumstance. When there weren’t so many people.

“Fuck babe, what do you do?” Killer replied. The corner of his mouth ticked up. 

    He pulled back toward Cross to nudge him with his elbow like he was trying to push him forward. 

“Dude,” Cross laughed. 

“We’re at a party, you gotta dance at least once.” He argued. “It’ll just be me, don’t worry about them.”

Cross conceded. “Just for this song, alright?”

    Cross quickly learned that Killer didn’t know how to dance either. They devolved into a mess of movements, a tangle of limbs. Killer held a hand to Cross’s hip, Cross held one to Killer’s shoulder. Occasionally their hands would intertwine. 

      They exchanged steps off-rhythm. Killer was quick, Cross took strides to catch him. 

      Cross continued to be aware of the other dancers, even here. He couldn’t shake them from his mind. He wasn’t nearly as coordinated, and he had a habit of staying too stiff and rigid. But Killer had enough confidence for both of them.

       All Cross saw was the carpet, his eyes glued to their feet. Making his best effort not to trip. Or get stepped on. He risked a glance up at Killer’s face. He was grinning with the most actual enthusiasm Cross had seen from him tonight, and it became infectious. 

“You keepin’ up, pretty boy?” Killer asked, catching Cross and keeping him from looking back down. 

“You’re horrible at this.” Cross replied.

“And you dance like you’ve taken ballet since kindergarten.” Killer scowled, but his eyes were still grinning. 

     In the last remaining minute of the song they slowed, swayed, leaning into each other. They let the wave of other dancers surge around them. Killer hooked an arm around Cross’s neck, Cross laid his over his shoulders. Cross watched him, awaiting his next move silently. 

Killer took Cross’s left hand and pressed a slow kiss to his knuckles.

Cross decided this party wasn’t that bad, at least.

          Killer’s song ended. They untangled. Cross followed Killer as he slunk over to the apartment’s kitchen, where refreshments were strewn over the counters. The nearby balcony’s door was propped open, and Cross lingered there in the opening. Cool outside air hit his back. 

       Now Killer was chatting up another guy at the table. Like he always did when they went out anywhere. As if out of habit. Cross disregarded them; all he heard was Killer say “is that a challenge?”.  He would’ve dwelled on it more, been more bothered, but he put his attention on everyone else. He scanned the crowd like he expected to be jumped. 

   Beside him, Killer returned. He felt him press up against him. He knew he was grinning. His hand wandered Cross’s arm, then his back. He smelled like smoke. What was he after. 

Cross’s face grew warm. His shoulders tensed. But he averted his eyes, kept his focus on the crowd. 

     His gaze landed on one woman in particular, not far from the table. She was surrounded by her own group of people, but for some reason she was staring directly at him, both of them. With this look in her eye.

      Her lips, which were covered in a red smothering of lipstick, ticked down in a grimace. 

What a sight they must be. 

      A wildfire of anger burst up through Cross. His bones grew hot, like he was being burned by it. She made him so fucking mad. He couldn’t process why.

      She hadn’t even said anything. Not yet. But he knew she would. It was a matter of time, with the way she was  looking at them. 

     Cross searched her, trying to gauge her. He knew these kinds of people all too well. 

   He returned her look in a blank stare. In it, he silently poured out every bit of desire he had to wipe that look off on the wall behind her. He doubted he’d actually do something, though. It wasn’t worth whatever hell would come of it. 

Still, it leaked into his voice.

“Someone’s staring.” He said, quietly, and Killer retracted slightly.

      He followed Cross’s gaze. His grin fell. The soul in front of his chest flickered, becoming an unstable ever-shifting shape far from a circle. To Cross it resembled a star nearing on a supernova. 

      He wasn’t being nearly as discrete as Cross; he glared back at her with just as much anger. If not more. Like a dog with teeth bared. 

 His voice dripped venom. “I’ll deal with ‘er.”

     Cross’s companion pulled away from the table and over to the woman. Each step carried a buried intention, buried fury, with it.

Cross felt like someone’s gonna die. 

     Cross blinked and Killer was already in front of her. She said something to him, and he heard Killer shout back at her. He blinked again and Killer’s fist was flying. The woman’s head skewed to the side unnaturally, awkwardly. Then she fell to a heap on the carpet; A painted lady sprawled across the floor like a body bag. 

       She struggled to her elbows, coughed blood onto the carpet. The tease of a grimace became a full-fledged snarl. Her pretty prim lipstick was smeared. 

Cross didn’t hear anything. Hardly even saw anything but Killer and the woman. Only the pounding of blood in his ears and flashing lights in the corner of his vision. 

A needle of sudden anxiety, anticipation, stabbed Cross. Nothing good was gonna come from this.

If they hadn’t been before, everyone was certainly staring now. 

     The few nearest were on Killer like a pack of wolves to a carcass.

Someone was gonna die. 

       The surge consumed Killer. Shouting roared over the music. Cross barely saw him as he clawed, fought, screamed. Grinned. The suddenness of it all startled Cross out of his anger. 

     Two attackers were thrown back, blood streaming from their noses. Two more took their place. 

       At some point Killer’s jacket slipped,  leaving shoulders exposed. And one of his sleeves was torn now. Bits of bleach-white bone were visible like Cross was peaking through a break in the blinds. 

         For a moment, he just stood and watched. Watched Killer fight like an animal. Admired the fluidity of his movements. Stared into the flames. 

God,

He couldn’t help it. 

Maybe this is what he came to this dumb party for. 

       Killer got tackled by two guys much larger than him and Cross, simultaneously, was thrown into the mess by someone behind him he didn’t see. It was like he was in a hornet’s nest. It was confusing, loud, violent. He didn’t know what to do, how to do it.

        Somehow, he gathered himself and he and Killer managed to push back the swarm. Everything broke like oil and water, if only for a moment. 

        Killer now stood on Cross’s right, clutching his wrist tight in his hand. On the other, his left, was a smear of red lipstick. He held it curled in a fist. 

Cross’s magic pounded in his ears.

    There was a single heartbeat of still, then they were on them again, just as quick. They tore at them, stampeded over them. Except now Cross was in the middle of it. And at that moment he wanted to be anywhere else. But he didn’t really, either. This was where Killer was. 

It became war.

     Like with dancing, Cross wasn’t as confident a fighter as Killer. And he doubted his skills. But he wasn’t harmless, he hoped. 

      He tried to stay close to Killer, to not lose him to it all. That became his only goal. To not lose Killer, and to survive. 

      Cross grabbed another guy by the shirt and pulled him off of Killer, then had to spin to push someone different back with a strike from the elbow. It was overwhelming, smothering. Everyone on every side at all times. 

        Occasionally he got glances of Killer as he would stumble backward, only to run back in, laughing. He never stayed in range of who he fought, always jumping in and back out. Circling, a wolf nipping at the ankles of an elk. But he hit hard, knew what he was doing. 

          Warm blood ran into Cross’s eye, obscuring his vision. He must’ve busted an eyebrow. 

         Even before that, his vision became blurred. All he saw were movements. He focused everything on not drowning. Where was Killer? He had lost sight of him at some point. But the thought was ripped from his mind as he sustained a kick to the back and staggered. He gritted his teeth and returned the hit, pushed someone he didn’t see long enough to identify away. He rammed someone else with his shoulder. 

      Then he took another, harder, blow. This time to the side of the head. He felt like his whole skull was jarred and he staggered again, almost falling this time. 

Someone grabbed his wrist. 

It was Killer.

     He ripped Cross from it all, fingers dug into his arm. Then they were running. He knew they were being followed. Killer shouted something. At some point they were in a stairwell, descending. Pounding in his skull was all he heard. 

Suddenly, cold night air.

They were outside. There was Cross’s truck.

       They ran to it and pulled the door’s open so hard he was surprised they weren’t thrown off their hinges. They were slammed closed just as hard.

       Cross stuck the keys in the ignition and turned as fast as he could manage. 

       Six remaining pursuers flooded from the apartment. They tried to follow, yelled curses and profanities. 

“Go, go, go!” Killer shouted.

“I’m trying!”

     They pulled out and ended back on the road. 

      Finally, things started to slow back down. But Cross still felt like he wasn’t there. He felt like he was still at that party, busting his knuckles on strangers out for his blood. He didn’t even feel relief yet, that they were in the safety of Cross’s truck now. He didn’t feel much of anything.

    The first thing Cross fully registered was Killer slamming his arm on the side of the door four times. “Holy shit!” 

He put his hand to his head. “Holy shit.” 

    He was making an expression Cross couldn’t read, or place. Was it excitement? Surprise? Detest? Fear? Maybe just adrenaline. He was grinning. But he always was. His eyes were wide. Like he had just gotten off a rollercoaster. 

Cross glanced at him again after checking the road. “You’re bleeding.”

He was, from the nose. 

“So’re you.” 

     Cross put a finger to his eyebrow and felt warm liquid. The wound stung, he just now noticed. He wouldn’t notice the rest of his pain until much later, when the adrenaline was out of his system. 

“Dude that was fucking insane.” Killer breathed. He almost laughed as he said it. 

“It was worth it, though.” He added. “God, getting to wipe that look off her face,” 

“Mm,” Cross hummed absently. Was it worth it? Part of him agreed silently. 

“Showed her. Fucking showed her.” Killer continued, mostly to himself.

      “You’re alright?” Cross asked, eyes pinned to the road. He still felt jittery. He hated having to sit here this long. 

“Oh, what, me? Yeah I’m fine, I’m fine. Nothin’ I can’t handle.” Killer replied. He wiped at his nose, then cleaned the remaining lipstick from his hand on his jacket. 

He was so… unaffected. Like this was an everyday occurrence for him. Maybe it was. 

      Cross rubbed the blood from his brow again. It hadn’t stopped bleeding yet. He wondered how bad it was. But he didn’t check the rearview mirror for his reflection. 

He felt Killer’s eyes on him.

“It’s a look, y’know.” Killer quipped. 

Cross laughed quietly. “What, having dried blood on my face?”

      They drove in silence for a while. Cross’s soul was still pounding. At some point he collected himself enough to remember to put on his seatbelt. He listened to the occasional clicking of the turn signal and Killer’s mindless tapping. It grounded him, pulled him away from the party. 

“I didn’t know you could fight like that.” Killer said eventually. “Didn’t think you had it in ya.” 

“I was just trying not to get killed.” Cross responded dryly, like it was a fact. He hadn’t thought it was that impressive. 

Killer laughed. Even though it was the truth.

“Wasn’t too bad, either. I could teach ya a thing or two, though. If you wanted.” 

Killer offered with a grin.

Cross considered it just for a moment. “I think I’m fine.”

“Your loss. You think about it, ‘kay?” Killer replied. “I’d love t’see what you could do if you knew what you were doin’” 

Cross just hoped he wouldn’t find himself in a situation where he needed to know what he was doing.

      Killer leaned forward to start messing with the truck’s radio. He flicked through stations and static. 

“I didn’t expect that many people to come after us.” Cross said. 

“Yeah, god, it was like everyone at that party was pissed.”

“What’d she say? I saw her say something to you.” Cross asked.

“What d’you think? Some stupid shit about us. I dunno, I don’t remember.” Killer said, scowling at the radio. Cross knew he remembered, but he didn’t press. 

Killer eventually found a station he was satisfied with and leaned back. Now a loud, quick, shouty rock song Cross hadn’t heard quietly filled the background of the cab. 

Killer stretched out his arms. “Well, I’d consider tonight a success.” 

Cross stared at him.

Killer laughed. “Eyes on the road, sweetheart,”

———

        After what felt like an eternity they ended up at Cross’s apartment. Cross fumbled with keys to unlock the door and they stumbled inside. Everything was dark, lit only by the lights of the street and a standing lamp near the door Cross bothered to flick on as they entered. 

        The first thing Cross did was go for the fridge in the conjoined kitchen. It was mostly empty, but he found a cold canned drink and tossed it to Killer. He pressed it to limbs, to his face, soothing the bruises he had acquired. 

         He had a faint, dark ring around one of his eye sockets in the start of a black eye. Cross took his wrist and slowly, firmly, guided his hand to the socket. 

“You caused a lot of trouble.” Cross murmured, sighing, as he held his hand there. 

“You saw the way she was looking at us.” Killer replied sharply.

Cross retracted his hand, stood there to look at him. “Still,” 

“She was basically just askin’ for it, anyway. No one else was gonna do it.” Killer argued.

“I think I’m gonna have a headache for a week. Thanks to you.” Cross said, though he was just barely smiling.

“You’re welcome.” Killer grinned.

“Mm.”

          After, the can was handed back to Cross. It was just barely warmer, just barely flecked with blood. He pressed it to his own bruises, and to his eyebrow. The start of a headache stabbed at him. 

            Cross watched Killer as he fixed his jacket from where it had fallen off his shoulders. Just as closely as when he had watched him fight.

He felt both of them linger there, unsure. Awkward. Mutually asking “what now?”

“Well, it’s been a hell of a night, but I better be gettin’ outta here. I’m a busy man, y’know.” Killer said finally, flicking up his hood over his head. 

“Already?” Cross asked. 

Of course.

“Don’t worry, you’re not gettin’ rid of me that easy. I’ll be back.” Killer said, brushed up against Cross as he headed for the door, grinning up at him. He caught Cross’s hand and held it in his for just a moment. 

      ‘I’ll be back’ could’ve meant a myriad of things. Cross could see him tomorrow. Maybe in a few hours, even. Or he could see him next in however many days.

      Cross’s mouth teased a smile and he shook his head. He followed him to the doorway, where Killer lingered, holding the door open with one hand. 

It sounded like it was raining outside. 

     For some reason, in that moment Cross remembered what Killer had said at the gas station, before they left. 

His eyes widened, then narrowed at him. “You’re such a liar. You said nothing would happen.” 

“Your favorite liar.” Killer grinned.

    He leaned farther through the doorway toward him and pressed a kiss to Cross’s teeth, as if it was some kind of weird apology. It tasted like smoke. And blood. Cross let it happen, didn’t want it to end as quick as it did. 

“We should do this again sometime.” 

Then it was over, Killer was gone, and all Cross saw was the door as it clicked closed.

[silentium-symphony]

It Can Wait (Link x Reader)

(a/n) sorry it took awhile! college is starting to pick up and senioritis is hitting like a truck. while i drown in various marine labs (not the fun ones with seals and dolphins, the scary ones that feature Excel and R), please enjoy this completely self-indulgent fic LOL

cw: how can i call myself a fanfic writer if i don't do the One Bed™ trope ;), some swearing, ya'll are just a pair of awkward lovestruck goobers, honestly just pure fluff :)

wc: 5.3k

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

You watched the edge of the sun rake the tip of some far-off mountain, dipping lower and lower past the horizon; your heart followed the celestial body in its descent to darkness. Concern loomed over your head like a thick thundercloud and your bleary eyes focused on your companion's sun-washed back.

"Hey... Link?"

The tips of his oranged ears twitched and he cast an indifferent glance past his shoulder.

"Do you see anything up ahead? A town or a stable, maybe?"

Link threw his gaze forward and 'hmph-ed,' jabbing his pointer finger to a bundle of dots precariously painted on the horizon. Your feet fluttered at the sight of civilization, momentarily forgetting the pins and needles that have been poking your legs and lower back for the past three hours.

"Oh thank Hylia--a town!"

Link had never seen you move so fast--he had to catch up with you! He lightly jogged to cover the distance.

"Slow down," he called out, voice barely louder than the winds, "you're not gonna make it at that pace."

"But Liiiink..." You whined. "A town! Civilization! Possibly with an inn! And beds!"

Not a moment later you felt your hand snatched in his as he practically dragged the two of you through the plains, exhaustion and aches be damned.

���L-Link! By the gods, slow down! You’re scuffing my boots!”

“Bed.”

“Link!!!”

You dove and ducked your head under whizzing branches, fumbled over a small brook, and ran what felt like an eternity before the rusted iron gates came into view. You were heaving at this point, each raggedy breath caught in the edges of your swollen lungs. Your stamina-for-days friend also seemed a bit spent, but he pushed onward and paid little mind to the blood rushing through his temples.

You practically collapsed at the gate, tumbling onto all fours and dry-heaving your next breath. Link, noticeably shaking, placed a trembling hand on the wall as he, too, fought to breathe. Hylia, he hadn’t run like that in years—even if he were the Hero of Hyrule™.

“Don’t,” you spat out in between heaves. “Ever do that again.”

“But we… made it… before they locked the gates.” Link was in much better shape than you (which wasn’t saying much) as he pointed to the town guards lowering the metal gates with a resounding clang.

A groan, a shuffle, followed by relief as you felt the wall’s cool stone ease the sweat and heat off your back. You threw your head up and took as deep of a breath as you could, dizzy from the bursts and sparks of colors behind your eyelids. You felt something hard slip into your laps and you winced your eyes open. A canteen?

“Drink some water.” Link’s lips were already moistened with the aqua panacea. You looked up at him gratefully and happily lapped up the rest of its contents, noting to fill his bottle later. The crisp spring water brought much-needed relief to the desert your throat had become; Link slipped the empty canteen into his pouch and looked around for the—

“What… Is that?”

You followed Link’s finger up and up and up to some… Structure? Spire? Shooting into the windows of an equally tall building. Your eyes bounced between the rickety invention and the bewildered blues of your companion, totally lost.

Only one way to find out.

After you got your bearings, you and Link slowly made your way over to the building, which happened to be… the inn? The structure grew clearer in your vision, but you still couldn’t make heads or tails of it. The main piece looked like a bunch of bamboo glued together by the ends, with some tubes sticking off to the side and into several rooms. The tail disappeared into the murky depths of a hot spring—HOT SPRING????

Link must have realized the godly pools the same time you did, his head whipping around to meet your excited gaze. You both slipped through the door and were immediately encased in a scent of steam and aromatics. It was as if the very essence of the hot spring was embedded in the inn's walls.

“Welcome, welcome! How can I— L-Link?!”

Link shot at the sound of his own name, looking over to the innkeeper who seemed… starstruck?

“I-It’s really you, sir! Wow, I… Wow!”

“I’m sorry but… Do we know you?” You chimed from the back.

“Oh! Um, I’m so terribly sorry. You may not remember me Link, but I remember you! This young man here has saved my life!”

“He did?”

“I have?”

“Yes! Do you not remember the weary traveler with the twisted ankle at the bottom of a ditch?" Link, in fact, did not remember. "That was me, sir! You took the time to tend my injuries and dropped me off right here in this very town!”

He bowed deeply, the little patch of hair on his head dipping with him.

“I’ve always wanted to thank you for your kindness, sir. Without you, I wouldn’t have realized my dreams of running a world-renowned inn!”

‘World-renowned?’

“It is by the grace of Hylia we meet again. For you only, I am offering you our premium room for the price of a regular one!”

Link’s ears twitched, no doubt in celebration of this seemingly once-in-a-lifetime deal. He turned to you, eager eyes bulging out of his head, and your laugh was all the okay he needed. He pulled out his wallet and paid for the night.

“What makes this room so special?” You interrupted before the innkeeper could grub the last rupee.

“I’m so glad you asked! Surely you have seen that tower outside our fine establishment, yes?”

You nodded slowly.

“With a lil’ bit of magic and Hylian ingenuity, we have devised a way to jet water from the hot springs straight to your room! Our premium rooms showcase the magic firsthand in the form of, what we call, a shower!”

“A… Shower?”

“Yes! You’ll see very soon, it is a wonderful addition to any room. We’ve really struck gold with this one…” He mumbled towards the end, not fully realizing he said it aloud. “Please, allow me to show you to your rooms!”

You two followed the short, stocky innkeeper up a few flights of stairs and down winding hallways. He stopped at the door to your room and plopped a golden key into Link’s hand.

“This is your room! Have fun with the shower, lovebirds!”

The innkeeper winked; a pair of mouths gaped open in heated protest, but he had already rounded the corner and returned to his innkeeper duties. A frazzled look sparked between two wide eyes and Link gulped, looking away to turn the key.

With a click, twist, and push, you were greeted by a grand bed spread across the middle of the room, dwarfing the moderately sized bookshelf packed with books and knickknacks. To your right was a gorgeous mahogany round table with matching chairs, a scene of woodland festivity carved about the curve of the surface. A wicket basket full of all kinds of goodies sat neatly atop the bed’s luscious sheets, vying for attention.

Like children in a candy store, you both fumbled right in and immediately made yourselves at home, kicking off your dirty and scuffed boots at the door ⁽ᵃ ˢᵐᵃˡˡ ᵍˡᵃʳᵉ⁾ and slugging your bag onto the round table. The silky sheets were practically calling your name, but the layer of sweat and grime accumulated on your skin made you hesitate to tarnish the clean bed.

The singular clean bed.

Your heart lurched to your throat and you immediately threw a hesitant look at Link, who was going through the gift basket and humming happily. He must not have noticed. He finally turned to you with a bright smile, spoils of the room in hand, and his features immediately fell at your concerned look.

“Is everything all right?”

“There’s only one bed.”

“What? No there isn’t, there’s…” He glanced around the room, his lazed looks turning into frenzied glimpses. Link’s cheeks darkened to a hue similar to the deep red bedsheet.

“Oh.”

"W-Well, it's not that big of a deal..." You two have clawed your way out of the deepest pits of suffering together, surely you could handle one measly lil' night in a spacious bed. In a bid to calm your racing thoughts, your head lolled to the side and frantically searched the rest of the room; an inconspicuous door caught your attention. Two weary bodies crept towards the door, giddy with anticipation.

A room adorned with all the regular happenings of a bathroom filled your vision, but off to the corner was a... long, rectangular, glass box? With a spout carved into the wall? As you neared the contraption, still unsure of what to think of it, a golden gear caught your eye, as well as various sprigs and bunches of mint and lavender. The gear turned with a squeak, and steamed water poured forth in a steady stream. A holler left you and Link as you watched the technological marvel steam up the room. You squeaked the faucet close and turned to the man behind you.

"So who's gonna go first?"

"You can," he stepped out, "I need to stop by the market before it closes."

“What? Are you sure?”

He nodded; you waved goodbye to the blonde as he slipped on his boots, tucked his wallet in his pocket, and left. While his footsteps disappeared down the hall, you slipped out of your grimy clothes, fetched fresh ones from your sack, and waltzed into the shower.

With a quick turn of your wrist, bullets of warm water pelleted all the sore aches knotting your back and shoulders. You let out an audible groan, slinking against the heavenly sensation. The steam coddled the mint and lavender, drawing out the former’s nippy spice before dulling it with the latter’s soothing fragrance. Nature’s finest aromas settled onto your skin and snuggled into your hair. All the cool streams and frigid lakes you’ve been forced to skinny dip in for the past several weeks melted into a distant memory as the heavy fog clouded your thoughts.

But not your sense of awareness.

You poked your head out of the shower, straining your ears for some type of sign that Link had returned. There was stillness on the other side of the door; a relieved sigh slipped out of you.

You felt your throat strain a tad, disuse rusting your vocal cords, as a melody you had since forgotten until this moment clawed its way out of you. A long inhale filled your lungs with scented steam and growing bravado as your quiet, cautious mumbles turned into full-on melodies. You checked every now and then, gear turning slightly to slow and quiet the flow, but the unclicking door assured you were still alone.

And hey, so long as you were quieter than the jetting water, it should be all good… right?

And so you sang your heart out, your rationale loosening your tongue and diaphragm to fill the bathroom with your beautiful voice. You sang a bunch of tunes, from hype music to mournful, soulful ballads. You were performer and audience all bundled in a steamy, mint-kissed, lavender-lapped, package.

If the vapor plumes tickling your ankles were any testament to how long you’d been there, you’d have to admit that your simple shower had turned into a luxurious escape from the cold confines of reality. The last note you sang rolled into a sigh as you turned the gear, the barrage of water turning into a mere trickle. Your reddened body longed to feel the water's hot caresses, but alas, you had to leave your watery sanctuary at some point. Pruny fingers grasped the soft cotton hanging off a hook and you scrunched your hair of excess water before patting yourself down.

You had never felt so clean in your life.

Your warmed pajamas did wonders for your already relaxed muscles and a yawn lapsed out of you. You drowsily clicked the door open, a cloud of steam rolling at your feet, and smiled dreamily at...

Link.

Who was looking rather... flustered.

And amused.

Your heart dropped to the soles of your feet as a cold sweat beaded your brow, a dark realization settling in. Feigning innocence as best you could, you tilted your head.

“… What?”

He stood up from his chair, tossing his locks from side-to-side, and sauntered over to you with his pajamas bundled in the crook of his elbow. As he passed you by, the ghost of a whisper tickled the shell of your ear.

“Nice voice.”

Dear Hylia if you’ve ever loved me strike me down right fucking now

You turned to him, mouth agape and heart reeling, only for his outline to disappear behind a wall of hot mist and wood. The silence on your side of the room was suffocating; Link’s happy little hums funneled the tension out of the situation through the thinnest straw that ever strawed.

Maybe you misheard him? It wasn't like he was much of the teasing type... How long had he been here anyway? Maybe he just walked in as you finished and and and and happened to hear the faucet turn and maybe just maybe it sounded a bit like a squeak that could maybe pass off as a person's voice?

The bracing breeze of the night nipped your sensitive skin and calmed your overstimulated brain. You didn’t remember your journey to the window, but you were thankful your feet had guided you to a refreshing anchor for your frenzied thoughts. You took a deep breath in… and out. Innnn… and out…

This wasn’t so bad. Okay granted, you completely embarrassed yourself in front of your crush whom you’ll be traveling with for the foreseeable future but it’s not all that bad. At least you got this gorgeous view! And wow, birds! Nature! That’s cool!

After several minutes of trying to keep your dooming thoughts at bay, the faucet squeaked a dying note and the last deluge of water dripped into soft drops. Link—still humming and noticeably more at ease—shuffled a fair bit before he made his entrance into the bedroom, hair damp and skin blushed a faint pink and wow he looks so good right now—

You damn near slapped yourself and flashed him a warm (albeit awkward) smile, noting his very shirtless form and the pajamas still scrunched in his arms. He motioned to the parts of the fabric that were darker than usual.

“It fell in a puddle, so I’m letting it air out a bit.” With a whip of his wrists, a worn shirt and matching shorts snapped in front of him and settled on top of a chair. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

Knowing that the towel tied around his slutty lil waist was the only thing separating you from a great night got you feeling weak. You hastily turned your gaze to the outside before your blatant staring could turn into gawking.

A silence eclipsed the room as your eyes wandered over the town’s nightlife. Specks of Hylians dotted the dimly lit square; further below, a decently-sized crowd congregated the hot springs, traces of idle chatter floating to your ears. The stars poked an indifferent glow past the cloudy streaks in the sky and although the lunar body had yet to grace you with its presence, its soft light was still felt and appreciated by all.

You felt the air beside you stir and a loud gasp escaped you, jolting at the sudden appearance of the still-shirtless man. He rested his frame against folded arms as he peered off into the night, aestheticizing like you were only moments before. His skin had paled into its familiar alabaster, and the whitish glow of the moon circled a halo about his figure. The familiar sprigs of aromatics tickled your nose, tinging his cypress and amber scent with a fragrance of cleanliness.

“Lovely night.”

“Y-Yes.” You coughed out, still unused to the proximity. Gods, if he already got you acting up like this, how much more during bedtime?

“Did you find everything we needed?” You continued, hoping to make some light conversation about nothing.

“Yes. We’re all stocked up.” A flit of blue met your (E/C)s. “We leave at dawn, so we should head to bed soon.”

"Ah... Are your clothes dry now?"

"Hopefully my shorts are."

Link went to collect his clothes and 'tsk-ed' at the still-damp shirt. His scarred hands ghosted the knot tied right above his pelvis. He eyed your back as he discarded the plush white towel for his shorts, the fabric thinning and pilling from overuse.

"Are you decent?" Your tone lilted mirthfully. You heard fabric creasing and shifting from the bed, and you turned in response to his quiet ‘mm.’ Your core warmed at the sight of a toned, combat-kissed back and you mentally flogged yourself for your ridiculous bashfulness. With your heart pounding a quickening pace in your ears, you sallied over to your edge of the bed and sunk down.

The air was honeyed with sexual tension and you pawed and balled the silky sheets. Link’s heavy gaze rested on the same spot on the wall, fully expecting two holes to drill themselves into existence under his scrutinizing watch.

Why were you so panicked? This wasn’t the first time you found yourselves in rather... intimate situations.

A sudden movement made you flinch and you craned your neck to see behind you. With a long sigh, Link ruffled his hair and blew out a candle, muffling a ‘goodnight’ under his breath. The same silence blanketed you again, suffocating coherency out of your racing thoughts.

You pulled your knees over the edge and adjusted yourself under the covers, relieved at the plush mattress coddling the sore gaps in your body. Your head fell to the side and was once again met with Link's back (that was scooted to the very edge of the bed). You didn’t know if you should feel offended or grateful.

You followed suit, turning your body to meet the window. The moonlight was brighter now, casting a gentle spotlight on the floating dust particulates and water specks that traipsed through the window.

Your ears strained to hear and hope for the familiar deep breaths Link drew in the throes of slumber. The deathly quiet was all the sign you needed to know that he was still very much awake (and listening for your soft snores as well).

The soft sheets and the heat radiating off your partner beckoned you further into bed and away from the cold night air that had begun to blow drizzles of rain. Get your rupees’ worth, you told yourself. A tiny voice unfamiliar to you peeped out a,

“Hey… Link?”

He twitched.

“Um… I’m scooting closer, just so you know.”

He doesn’t respond. Or move. Or breathe. While you debated whether he was fast asleep or crossing a boundary, you heard a quiet sigh and a,

“Me too.”

A pair of bodies shuffled closer. His heat spilled past his body and bled into your vicinity; you held back a pleased groan. You shared many a night shivering under the cold misery of wilderness and rain, pressing into each other to preserve what little heat was left between yourselves. Your eyes fluttered shut as the rain outside tapped the roof harder and harder.

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

“Link…” You looked up at him, teeth chattering as he beheld you with a warm gaze. He tugged the corners of the cloak closer together while your shaking hands combed matted gold off his forehead.

“Are you warm?”

“As warm as I can be.” Eyes studied your makeshift shelter—a tree’s grove—helplessly. Your wet back was pressed into mossed and ivied bark while your companion’s was bulleted and blown by the storm’s raging tempest. You pulled his shaking body closer, closer, closer, until he was practically on top of you. Still, the winds whipped something nasty against his soaked back, his drenched shirt adding to the frigidity like some sort of reverse blanket.

“I-I don’t know how, but we can try switching…” You hissed through clammy lips. He shook his head, a stray droplet landing and sliding down your cheek.

“Nonsense. You are much colder than I am.”

“Link, you’re literally shaking.”

“And your lips have turned blue.” He pulled the hood further down your face, obscuring your vision, as he took your hands in his and futilely huffed warm air. His leather gloves rubbed and chafed your pruned, muddy digits and he blew again with greater gusto.

“You’ll be okay. We’ll be okay. This rain has got to let up at some point.” He murmured, his hot breath tickling your neck. You shivered from the sensation, which he mistook as the cold seeping into your bones. Muscled arms wrapped around your frame and he rubbed your sides, head burying into the crook of your neck.

“We’ll be okay… Just think of something warm, all right?

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

The warmth of his skin seeped through your thin pajamas and you let out a yelp.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t realize I was rolling into you!”

“It’s okay,” a pause, “you can… Stay there if you’d like. I don’t mind.”

“Oh… Are you sure?”

He hums. “…warm…”

“Sorry? Did you say something?”

“You’re warm, so it… feels nice.”

“Oh...” Your heart thundered against your ribcage. “T-Thanks.”

Quietness cloaked the room once again; neither of you were going to sleep any time soon.

“So uh,” you started, “what are you gonna do when you get back?”

He was silent for awhile, and for a second you thought he had fallen asleep (wouldn’t be the first time he fell asleep mid conversation).

“Report our findings to the princess.”

“Ah… makes sense. How ‘bout after that?”

The male pondered your question and answered with a huff.

“Wait for my next mission.”

That’s… kinda sad..

“Well, is there anyone waiting for you? Y’know, like a…” You gulped, unsure if you wanted to know the answer. “Like a lover or something?”

You felt Link’s breath hitch and your heart sank. Of course he would have someone waiting for him, just look at him. Handsome, chivalrous, kind, strong—you wouldn’t be surprised if he had a thing going on with the princess herself.

“No.” He said at last. “I don’t have anyone in that regard.”

He said it so placidly; you couldn’t detect a hint of emotion behind that matter-of-fact statement. An inconspicuous sigh left your frame.

"Oooh, has anyone caught your eye?" You shimmied up to him before laughing at his flinch. Again, you were unsure if you were ready to hear the answer, but anything felt better than the silence you would otherwise be subjected to.

"Mm..." Was his only response.

"Aww, c'mon! Aren't we travel buddies? We've faced dozens of unimaginable horrors together. Your secret's safe with me."

"Do you have someone waiting for you?" He countered.

"Hey now, don't avoid the question!"

"I'll tell you if you tell me."

Well... It's not like you had anything to hide...

"No, I'm very much single." You laughed, a glimmer of despondence streaking your voice.

. . .

"Has anyone caught your eye?"

"Mm... Pass." You giggled, turning to face him fully now. He felt your shuffle and cast a glance over his shoulder. "Do you like anyone? Or at least find mildly attractive?"

His eyes fluttered shut and he exhaled slowly, the gears in his head turning even slower.

"Yes."

Your sinking heart juxtaposed the overly-hyped "Ooooh!" that left your lips.

"IS IT THE PRINCESS?!"

"Definitely not."

You practically got whiplash at the suddenness of his response; that could mean one of two things: he either really liked the princess, or he wanted nothing to do with her past their 'protector-protectee' relationship.

"Damn, that was fast. Seems mighty suspicious to me..." You nudged the space between his ribcage, plucking a light chuckle out of him.

"I really don't," he laughed dryly, "she's lovely but... Not really my type."

"So what is your type, O Hero of Hyrule?"

He hummed lowly before snapping his body to face you.

"My turn." He chirped through a boyish grin. His hot breath trickled across your cheeks and you swore you could drown in the oceans of his eyes.

"Has anyone caught your eye?"

You didn't think the question could be taken so literally. You blinked multiple times and looked away.

"Uh... Y-Yeah, I'd say so."

An iota of emotion brewed in his eyes, imperceptible to everyone but himself.

"Okay, my turn." You chortled, looking back up at him. "Can you describe your ideal partner?"

Eyes closing and head tilting upwards, Link dissected and analyzed the simple question with care.

"Smart, kind..." A small smile tugged his lips. "Curious, compassionate, brave, selfless..."

He angled his face into the pillow, the softness muffling his lips.

"ᵍᵒᵒᵈᵃᵗˢᶦⁿᵍᶦⁿᵍ"

"Sorry, what?"

"Nothing. So wha--"

"Nonono, you said something! What did you say?"

"Um... Good at..." A pause. "Mingling."

"... Mingling?"

. . .

"Yup."

Maybe facing Ganon with only a cheese grater wasn't such a bad idea after all

You supposed... That made sense. You could only imagine how awkward he must feel at royal banquets and dinner parties. You laughed and lightly flicked his forehead.

"You're such a dork." If you squinted hard enough, you could trick yourself into believing he was blushing. His eyes brightened at the realization it was his turn.

"So who's your ideal partner?"

"Well..." You looked down, fumbling with the hem of your shirt.

"Well...?" His chest rumbled with baited anticipation.

"Loyal, caring, respectful, courageous..." You nudged the lower half of your face into your pillow, hoping to hide the blush creeping onto your cheeks. "Something like that."

He nodded slowly, the gears in his head slaving away--at what, you had no idea.

"You seem to have a pretty clear idea of what you're looking for."

"So do you!"

"Yes..." He sighed dreamily, lips warming into a rare and genuine smile. "I do."

;)

"Heheheh... Whatcha thinkin' about? Or should I say... Who?"

Panic swirled behind his eyes. "N-No one."

"I heard that stutter!" You exclaimed. "C'mon, we've practically spilled everything to each other--now all I need is a name!"

"You... may not approve."

Your heart crunched in your chest, mind spinning from all the possibilities.

"I mean... Whether I like them or not shouldn't matter. Your feelings for that person, whoever they may be, are valid."

The way your eyes crinkled so... lovingly at him made him want to curl into a ball and melt into a lovestruck puddle. How could you be this cute? This sweet? And single? Maybe... Just maybe...

"You really think so?"

"Of course! Well, if you had a crush on Ganon then we might have a problem." Your lips relaxed into a small smile. "But so long as they aren't him, I don't think there's anyone out there who I would hate."

Link balanced his chin between his pointer and thumb. Your lips curled thoughtfully, forming your next question in a bid to loosen his tongue.

"When you think of them, do you think of what could be? Where life could take the two of you?"

"Of course." He answered instantly, then reddened at how quick he responded. "I've thought about it for... awhile."

His bashfulness was met with one of your angelic chortles and you looked at him head-on.

"You deserve to be happy, Link. You deserve to live the life you want with the person you love."

His breath caught in his throat as he drank in the sincerity in your eyes. Eyes that beheld him with grace and acceptance for all his failures and shortcomings. Eyes that saw him past his title of Hero. Eyes that could lift an entire kingdom's burden off his shoulders with a simple crinkle and twinkle.

"It's you."

You laughed, not quite processing what he said until--

"Wait, huh?"

"It's..." He gulped, reminding himself which piece of the Triforce he carried. "You."

"M-... Me?"

"Yes. You are who I love. You are who I want to spend the rest of my life with. It's... you."

"Oh, Link..." His heart cracked at the quietness in your tone. For once, it hurt hearing his name leave your lips.

"If you don't feel the same way, I understand. I promise I won't let this interfere with our mi--"

"No, Link! I love you too!"

Life filled his eyes, piercing a ray of light through his darkened visage.

"You... You do...?"

"Yes!" You cried out, wrapping him closer to you. "Gods, I've loved you for so long...!"

"R-Really? Me too!”

:O

“Since when?!” You both exclaimed, new love jolting a shock of energy that mismatched the time of day.

“You go first.” Link spurred, giddiness rocking him to and fro.

“Ever since that night in the tree… Do you remember? It was pouring and you were shielding me from the storm.”

He pulled away from you slightly to stroke your hair, relishing how your soft, newly washed strands laced around his fingers.

“We had just embarked on our journey.”

“I knowww.” You drew out, giggling and nuzzling into his bare chest. “What about you? When did you fall for me?”

“It was… Before our trip.”

“What?! Really?!”

He nodded.

“I saw you feeding some strays while I was patrolling the castle one time and, well…” He rubbed his neck embarrassed. “I knew you had a heart of gold the moment I laid eyes on you.”

“That was so long ago…" You reminisced about the glowing gaze your animal friends reveled you in. "Boy, I had you whipped for that long, huh?”

“You could say that.” An airy breath stuttered out of him. “You looked so beautiful… I couldn’t get enough of that look in your eyes. Pure, selfless joy. It was… mesmerizing.”

His eyes caught yours, almost as if they were searching for the same joy he spoke of. The glimmer in his seafoam pools must have meant he found it and more.

“So how’d you feel when we were assigned to this mission together?” You laughed, clearly picturing a flustered Link pacing around his room as he just about melted through the floor.

“I felt many things—panic, for one.”

“Aww, lil' ol' me got your heart racing?”

“Yes.”

Now it was your heart’s turn to race, so touched by his candor.

"You were as beautiful as you were kind; as clever as you were tough. How could I have not fallen deeper in love?" He coughed out, a hand masking the blush that promenaded his cheeks. "You always took such good care of me after our battles... Patching me up before you even wiped the dirt off your face."

"Well, you'd do it for me, no?" You jibed, fingers raking through his hair. He chuckled fondly at the form of aftercare foreign to most couples.

"And to top it all off..." He leaned down, the surface of his lips tickling your earlobe. "You have the loveliest voice in the world."

A light slap stung his chest and he roared in laughter.

"Gods, you really heard that...?!" Your hands cupped your heated cheeks and you rocked backward, jaw clenching and legs squirming from mortification.

"It's okay! More than okay! You sounded gorgeous, (F/N)."

Your heart fluttered at the sound of your own name, unused to the way it purred so perfectly out of him. Your sheepish side glance happened upon his heartfelt visage, which did wonders to ease any discomforts you had.

"Your voice was beautiful. Like a-- Like a--"

A chorus of chirps announced the arrival of morning; you both shared a horror-struck look before shortly bursting into laughter. You talked the whole night away!

He kissed your eyelids and draped the blanket over your shoulders, wrapping his arm about your waist.

"We can stay another night if you'd like. Spend a day in town." His suggestion was met with fervent nodding. "Our duties to the throne... Our mission... All of it. It can wait."

[xiaq]

Steddie outsider POV fic Pt. 4

AO3 Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3

Eddie watches Steve leave the hospital room and Will watches Eddie watch Steve leave. 

The longing is familiar. Will thinks—he hopes—that he hides his inadvisable crush a little better. Then again, Will is not currently high as a kite on painkillers recovering from a near-fatal injury. Eddie probably can’t help the way he looks at Steve right now. 

“Are you in love with him?” Will asks. It’s maybe unfair to ask, all things considered. They barely know each other. But if Eddie is like him; if Eddie knows, he’d give anything to find someone to talk to. To see himself in. Especially someone like Eddie.

Eddie closes his eyes.

He doesn’t answer for several seconds. When he does, it's resigned. “Maybe.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Will says, because he’d want to hear it.

Eddie opens his eyes to roll them. “I know, kid. You ain’t too subtle either.” He makes a moue of distaste. “And you have shit taste in men. You could absolutely do better. At least I chose a suitably gorgeous out-of-my-league object of worship. If you’re going to pine after someone unattainable, have the self-respect to pick a really,” he sighs, the roll of words slowing to a crawl, “really impressive specimen.”

“Hey. I do not have—I think you’re hot.”

“You’re just confirming my point,” he says, gesturing to his admittedly pretty battered face. “Shit taste in men.”

Will feels like he should probably tell Eddie not to talk about himself like that, but he’s never been good at stuff like this.

“Steve has been here every day,” Will points out. 

“Because we bonded through trauma and he thinks he owes me for valiantly saving Henderson’s life at the near expense of my own. We all know Dustin is his favorite.”

“I’m just saying. My situation is hopeless. I know that. Yours might not be.”

“Please stop talking, Byers.”

“Sorry. Can I ask about something else?”

“Sure kid.” Eddie sounds exhausted.

“When did you know? That you were—uh.”

“When didn’t I know,” he mutters. “I don’t think I ever had the luxury of not knowing.”

“But you’re so…”

Will gestures at him: the bandana holding back his curls, the rings and the nail polish and the oversized Metallica shirt Steve had cut down the back and added a safety pin fastening to at the top so the nurses still had easy access for bandage changes.

“You’re so cool. Different. Loud. And the guys said you aren’t afraid of anything. That you’ll get in jocks’ faces and make speeches standing on cafeteria tables. How do you do that without being afraid?”

“Being afraid of what?” Eddie asks, “Afraid if I’m noticeable people might notice? That I’m gay?”

He says it so easily. Will has never even said the word out loud. “Yeah.”

Eddie shifts, wincing, as he reaches to scratch his chin. “I was never good at being subtle, is the thing. So I didn't have much of a choice. But in middle school I started getting into fights. Because people suspected. By high school I figured if people were going to stare I’d give them a reason before they could make their own. It was—”

He drops his hand, flexing his fingers, considering the rings on them.

“It was sort of like designing a character. Except the character was myself. The summer before freshman year, my uncle took me to Indy and we hit all the thrift stores. Found me a whole new wardrobe, and he taught me to sew to customize some vests. I figured it’d be easier to BS my way through acting brave if I looked the part.”

“And that worked?”

“It worked,” Eddie agrees quietly, attention still on his hands. “Maybe a little too well.”

“Huh.”

Will touches the slightly jagged line of his hair. He tugs the collar of his shirt and studies the scuffed toes of his sneakers. “If I wanted to do something like that, would you help me?”

“Of course,” Eddie says. “Yeah, of course. Just say when.” 

***

Three months later, Will drives to Eddie’s trailer in his shiny new bribe-from-the-government car and knocks on the door.

There’s a crash, a muffled thump, and then Eddie hissing, “Ow, fuck—no don’t, I’m fine, just stay––I know, but hold on. I think it’s one of the kids.”

“Uh…Eddie?” Will calls. “Are you ok?”

“Fine! Totally fine. One second.”

And then Eddie is wrenching open the door just wide enough that he can poke his head out. His mouth is red. His face is flushed. He’s wearing jeans that are neither buttoned or zipped and it is readily apparent that there’s no underwear underneath them. Will drags his attention back up to Eddie’s face, probably slower than he should, but Eddie is hot, even with––maybe especially with––all his scars. Sue him.

“Hi,” Eddie says, more a panted exhalation than an actual word. “What’s up?”

“Hi.”

Will may have woefully nonexistent sexual experience, but he knows what a hickey looks like. And Eddie has…a lot of them. He has like, an entire necklace of hickies.

Eddie frowns at him, follows the direction of his attention, and then brings up a hand to cover his throat. “Oh, you motherfucker,” he mutters.

“Sorry?”

“No no, not you.”

“I can…come back later,” Will says. “If you’re doing something else.”

He thinks he hears muffled laughter from inside.

Eddie sighs. “It’s fine.” he glances behind him, running a harried hand through his even-wilder-than-normal hair. “My boyfriend is here, but he can wait.”

“Oh. Oh.” Will is sort of dumbfounded that Eddie found someone in Hawkins. Maybe he’s not from Hawkins. Maybe he’s visiting from somewhere else? “That’s great. That’s really great, Eddie. But what about––”

“SO,” Eddie says loudly, before Will can say Steve’s name, “why is it that you’ve graced my humble abode with your presence, Will the Wise?”

“Um,” Will says. “You know that thing we talked about, in the hospital?”

“We talked about numerous and sundry things in the the hospital.”

“About not being afraid anymore. About giving people something to look at.”

Eddie’s expression softens. “I do.”

“I think I’m ready to not be afraid anymore. But I need help.”

“I see. How wild are we getting here, kid?”

“Hair and clothes. And maybe…I was thinking maybe get my ear pierced.”

Eddie whistles. “I’m honored you’ve selected me to accompany you on this journey. Is there anyone else you want to join the party?”

“I was thinking maybe Steve. Except he wasn’t home when I went by earlier. I thought I saw his car parked a few houses down from here, though. He might be at Max’s.”

Eddie presses his palms together like he’s praying, and touches pursed lips to his index fingers. “Give me a minute,” he says. And abruptly disappears behind a slammed door.

There’s frantic whispering, a choked off laugh, and then the door is being pulled open again by—

Steve.

“Holy shit,” Will says.

Steve is also shirtless; his pants are at least buttoned. His chest looks like it’s been clawed by an Eddie-sized cat, though.

Will tries to tell his dick that the situation is mortifying, not sexy. His dick does not agree. 

“So,” Steve clears his throat. “Impromptu trip to Indy?”

“We’ve both got work tomorrow,” Eddie says, “but Saturday?”

“Yeah,” Will agrees.

He can’t stop staring at Steve’s arm, curled proprietarily around Eddie’s waist; at Eddie’s hand resting on Steve’s wrist, like he’s not even conscious of its placement. Will wants that. He wants it so bad it winds him.

“Hey. Don’t make that face,” Eddie says, like he knows exactly what Will is thinking. He probably does. “You’re sixteen. You’ve got time. Hardly anyone ends up with their highschool crush. I’m an outlier.”

“And no offense dude, but Mike?” Steve says, “You could totally do better.”

“That’s what I said!”

“Hold on,” Steve backtracks, turning to look at Eddie. “I was your teenage crush?”

Eddie’s eyes go wide. “What? No.”

“That’s literally what you just said.”

“We really need to get you back to that concussion doctor,” Eddie says, “because clearly you’re hearing things, and auditory hallucinations are very concerning.”

“Hey,” Will interrupts. 

Those both turn back to look at him.

“I’m driving,” he says, trying to sound firm. “I’ll pick you both up here at 9am on Saturday.”

“You’re assuming I’ll already be here?” Steve asks.

“Won’t you?” Will argues.

“I like this assertiveness, Byers,” Eddie says approvingly. “A+ start. But maybe you pick us up at ten.”

“Nine,” he repeats. “See you then.”

He nods decisively and turns to walk back through the yard.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve mutters behind him. “These kids are going to kill me.”

“Shut up, you love them,” Eddie says, and then, louder, “Hey Byers, keep this to yourself, will you? At least for now.”

Will holds out his hand, thumb up.

When he gets back in the car, Will puts in a Dio tape and cranks up the volume. He grins all the way home.

***

Will arrives at the final Hellfire club meeting of the summer wearing a cropped Black Sabbath shirt, ripped jeans that rival Eddie’s, and shitkicker boots that were well worth the eye-watering amount of money he paid for them. His hair is fresh-shaved on the sides and slicked back on top. The guys are mostly used to his new look by now but Max and El both give him appreciative once-overs that are gratifying. 

“Bitchin,” El says approvingly.

Will’s attention doesn’t linger on Mike. Doesn’t look for his specific reaction. It hurts less to look at him, now; gets easier every day to see him and El and not feel like their affection is engineered to hurt him. It helps that he’s gone back to Indy twice since he went with Steve and Eddie. He’s still too baby-faced to get into the bars, but he can wander through the record stores and thrift shops in the neighborhood. Sit in a cafe where no one knows him or his name. Flirt, carefully, while bumming a cigarette from a cute guy with a bandana in his pocket. The world is so much bigger than Hawkins. And he’s going to see it one day.

However, he’s still stuck there for two more years, and he plans to make the best of his time. Exhibit A:   Today is both the end of Eddie’s final campaign, and the day in which Eddie selects his successor as dungeon master.

Will thinks, maybe, it might be him. He wants it to be him.

Except when he gets to the basement, there’s no sign of Eddie. And Eddie is never late.

“Has anyone talked to him today?” Dustin asks. He’s pacing.

No one has.

“Have you tried calling him?” Will asks.

“Yeah.”

“Have you tried calling Steve?”

“Why would I call Steve?”

“Maybe just try? They’ve been hanging out a lot recently.”

Max meets his eyes and Will gets the distinct feeling she knows.

Dustin stomps up the stairs, then back down again a minute later.

“No one picked up at Steve’s house either.”

“Robin?” El suggests.

Dustin groans and heads back upstairs.

“No,” he yells down. “Any other suggestions?”

“Family Video,” Lucas shouts. 

“Or the garage!” Mike says.

Dustin has a muffled conversation first with someone who is clearly neither Steve nor Robin at Family Video, and then a longer conversation with someone else at the garage. It’s full of stops and starts and anxious-sounding questions.

“Guys,” Dustin says, coming back down the stairs. “I think Eddie and Steve might be in trouble.”

“I’ll drive,” Will says. 

They’re piled in the car and tearing off toward the garage in a matter of minutes.

“Tell me again what he said,” Max demands.

“Jason Carver and some of the guys came in to drop off a car and they were harassing Eddie last week. Since then, they’d been waiting in the parking lot across the street sometimes when Eddie got off work. So Steve has been picking him up.”

“Okay but what about today?”

“He didn’t know!” Dustin’s voice cracks in Will’s ear where he’s leaned forward over the center console from the back seat. “He said that Eddie came in to work a few hours in the morning and Steve picked him up. That Jason and his friends may have followed them but he wasn’t certain.”

“What time?”

“Over an hour ago.”

“Shit.”

“Where would they go? If they’re not at their houses?”

“The quarry,” Will says. “Or skull rock.”

“Why would they go there?” Dustin shrieks.

Will meets Max’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

He abruptly changes course.

Quarry first.

His stomach goes sour when they round the corner. Because there are two vehicles at the quarry. One is Steve’s BMW.  There’s a rucked quilt on the hood and one glass coke bottle tangled in it, tipped on its side, staining the floral fabric. A second bottle is on the ground, shattered by the front tire. Steve’s keys are laying in the gravel next to the broken glass.

 The second vehicle, parked at a haphazard angle beside it, is Jason Carver’s truck. All four doors are open. The engine is still running. The radio is still on. But there are no people to be seen.

“Oh no,” Dustin says. “Oh no, no, no. This is not good.”

“Shit,” Lucas says, “shit, ok. So they probably ran for the woods, right? Do we have any weapons?”

“Lucas,” El says.

“Ok, obviously you. But we’re going to have to split up to search for them and the rest of us can’t exactly defend ourselves with our minds.”

Will pops the trunk.

And gets out the bat.

He’d felt kind of ridiculous when he’d made it, carefully hammering nails into the wood until it looked like Steve’s. He hadn’t even practiced with it or anything before he’d put it in the trunk with the first aid kit and the jumper cables and the tire iron: all things he’d hoped he’d never have occasion to use. He’s grateful for it now as he swings it experimentally.

“Dude,” Lucas says.

“Nice,” Max says. She takes the tire iron.

“Let’s go,” Will says.

***

It probably shouldn’t come as a surprise that Will is the one who finds them.

It feels right, all things considered. Less Deus Ex Machina and more destiny. 

Eddie is on the ground and Steve is standing over him, arms out, like he can protect him from Jason––Jason who is pointing a gun at Steve's chest, while his three goons are circled around them, watching. 

A gun. God, it’s almost insulting. The very idea that a gun might be the thing to end one of their lives.

Steve’s voice is low and frantic.

And Will is angry.

He knows he should be scared. Maybe he is. But he’s faced far worse that Jason fucking Carver. And when he looks at Jason he sees Lucas’ battered face and Max’s casts. He sees every bully with straight teeth and a letterman jacket that ever shoved him in a hallway.

The hand not holding the bat curls into a fist.

“Hey,” he shouts, and stalks forward.

“Stop right there,” Carver says, swinging around wildly to take aim at him.

“Or what?” 

“Do you not see the gun in my hands?”

“Yeah, you see the bat in mine?”

He keeps walking.

“You think I’m joking?” Carver’s arm is shaking.

“You think shooting me will work?” Will shouts back, heart loud in his ears, but voice shockingly cavalier, “I came back from the dead once, maybe I’ll do it again.”

He keeps walking.

“What the fuck,” one of the guys says, “is that Beyers?”

“Jason,” another one says, “Jason, come on, this isn’t what we talked about. Harrington and now the Beyers kid? You can’t––”

“Shut up,” Carver yells.

Will keeps walking.

He brings his free hand to his mouth and whistles. Loud. Piercing. Something the party had practiced until they all could do it three summers before.

He immediately gets three whistles back.

“Over here!” he shouts. He stops walking just within range of Carver. 

He plants his feet. He taps the bat against the side of one boot.

“You’re about to be outnumbered,” he says.

“Fuck man,” one of the guys says. “I’m out.” And with the sudden departure of one, the rest follow. Including, after a moment, Jason himself. He starts with a few steps backward, then his arm drops to his side and he scrambles into a run.

Steve watches them until they’re out of sight, and then he’s collapsing like a puppet whose strings have been cut, reaching for Eddie as Eddie reaches for him, colliding in a tangle of desperate hands.

“Are you okay?” they demand of each other, and then, after a moment of frantic reassurances, they turn to face Will.

“Jesus Christ, kid,” Steve says, eyes on the bat. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

“Gee, can’t imagine where he learned it from,” Eddie mutters, spitting blood as they struggle to their feet. Steve doesn’t look to be in much better shape than Eddie but at least his face is mostly unscathed.

“Oh, don’t even try to pin this on me.” Steve wraps one arm around Eddie’s waist to keep him upright and throws out the other to gesture half-heartedly at Will. “Look at him.”

“Well sure, but I don’t go around with a fucking nail-bat in my trunk and I sure as hell don’t provoke people when I’m up against stupid odds unlike some dipshits who have no appreciation for their own mortality.”

“The safety was on,” Will points out. He whistles again. Three whistles back again, this time accompanied by shouting. 

“What?” Eddie says.

“Jason,” Will says. “The gun he was holding. The safety was on. I definitely could have hit him before he could have shot me.”

Eddie lets out a hysterical little laugh. 

He trips on something and nearly takes Steve down with him.

“Whoa, hey.” Steve hoists him back up as Max and Lucas come stumbling through the undergrowth. 

“Oh shit,” Lucas says, “guys, are you ok?”

“Peachy keen,” Eddie warbles.

Steve uses his shirt to wipe blood off Eddie’s upper lip. Will thinks his nose might be broken. 

“Hey, look at me,” Steve says. “How’s your head?”

“Fucked,” Eddie groans. “Probably still better than yours, though, sweetheart. Should change your name to King of Brain Damage.” He blinks blearily at Steve, smiling through pink-stained teeth. “ Or maybe King of pretty eyes.”

“Stop trying to flirt when you’re concussed.”

Dustin crashes into the clearing next, throwing himself at Steve and Eddie and nearly dumping them back onto the ground with his exuberance. 

And then El and Mike are there and Will is handing his bat to Lucas and pulling Eddie’s other arm over his shoulder, nodding to Steve as they move forward.

“Hospital?” He asks.

“No,” Eddie whines between them.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “And we gotta call Hopper to come get pictures and take our statements.”

“Hopper is gonna kill us,” Mike sighs.

“Nah,” Steve says. “But Joyce might kill Jason for pointing a gun at Will.”

“...do we have to tell them that part?” Will asks. 

“Play stupid games, win stupid prizes,” Steve says.

Will sighs. 

It’s going to be a long night.

Ten minutes later, they stumble out of the trees and make their way down the quarry rim to the cars. Carver’s truck is gone.

“Will,” Steve says, “you mind driving us?”

Will glances across Eddie’s ducked head to meet Steve’s eyes. “Sure.”

“You’re going to let someone else drive the BMW?” Dustin says incredulously. “You never let anyone else drive the BMW.”

“Special circumstances,” Steve says. “Hey, Sinclair. You got your permit, right?”

Lucas looks like this might be the best day of his life.

“Yeah,” he says breathlessly. “Passed with flying colors.”

“Be still my heart,” Eddie croons, “for King Steve cannot bear to be separated from his humble bard.”

“Bard, sure,” Steve mutters, “humble, not so much.”

“You wound me, sire. And on my deathbed too?”

“You’re not dying,” Steve argues, aggrieved. “Hold on.” He opens the back car door and Will helps Steve slide Eddie inside.

“I can sit with him,” Dustin says. “If you still want to drive, I mean.”

“No,” Steve says. “It’s fine.”

“We cannot be parted!” Eddie shouts from inside, “For Lo! Young we are and yet have stood like planted hearts in the great Sun of Love so long (as two fair trees in woodland or in open dale stand utterly entwined and breathe the airs and suck the very light together) that we have become as one, deep rooted in the soil of Life and tangled in the sweet growth!”

“Is that…” Dustin bends, hands on his knees, to frown at Eddie. “Why are you quoting Tolkien’s wedding vows?”

“Boys are so stupid,” Max says. “No offense, Will.”

“None taken,” Will murmurs.

“No offense Will?”” Lucas repeats.

Steve exhales loudly, eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose, but he’s smiling. He crawls into the back seat, pulling Eddie’s head into his lap. He runs his fingers, gentle, through the mess of Eddie’s hair. He smooths his thumb against the quickly swelling curve of his cheekbone.

“Wait,” Lucas says. “Wait, wait, wait. Are they––”

“Uh,” Mike says.

“So stupid,” Max repeats, stooping to pick up Steve’s key’s from the ground. She tosses them to Lucas. “Come on, let’s go. We can deal with your complete inability to see what’s right in front of your faces at the hospital.”

Will agrees. Dustin slides into the passenger seat of Will’s car, still spluttering, as Will is buckling his seatbelt. He starts the engine.

He glances in the rearview mirror just in time to see Steve duck to press his lips to the mangled bridge of Eddie’s nose; to see Eddie’s grin in response.

“Wedding vows, huh,” Steve murmurs.

“I’m concussed,” Eddie says primly, “I’m out of my mind.”

“On that we’re agreed,” Steve says, but he’s looking down at him with such fondness it makes Will feel like a voyeur.

He suppresses a smile of his own and puts the car in drive, turning up the radio over Dustin’s demands for details. 

If he wasn’t before, Will is definitely going to be Eddie’s choice for dungeon master, now. Did Dustin save Eddie’s life by threatening Jason Carver with a nail bat while Jason Carver was pointing a gun at his face? No. No he did not. 

Will did.

Pt. 5 (Tommy Hagan)

[simplepotatofarmer]

sharing is caring

a short rivals duo fic for my 'hey loyal write this' challenge based off this art by @youreanidiom

“Why do you always wear that stupid crown?”

The question caught Techno by surprise. Not the subject matter – it was exceedingly like Dream to ask a question that was a mix of genuine curiosity designed to get a rise out of him – but the fact he had asked it at all. Often, Dream fell worryingly quiet, for hours at a time, staring into space. This quiet was sometimes broken up angry, loud outbursts that bordered on mania.

Techno preferred the vaguely insulting question, if he was honest.

“For your information, Dream, I don’t always wear it,” he said.

Dream rolled his eyes.

“You know what I mean,” said Dream, tacking on a muttered ‘god’ that was barely audible and which Techno decided to ignore.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, man.” Giving a snort, Techno sat down on the couch, an arm’s length away from Dream. “I dunno, I always thought it was kinda cool lookin’. What, are you jealous?”

“Pfft. No.”

“Sounds like somethin’ a jealous person would say.”

A strangled, offended sound escaped Dream that could have been a laugh if you knew Dream well enough.

“I’m not—I’m not jealous, Techno! You’re such an idiot.”

“Mm hm. Suuure. Sure, you’re not, I believe you, Dream,” Techno said. Now that attention had been brought to the crown, he could feel it sitting on his head, lighter than most would’ve expected but maybe he was used to it. Reaching up, he took it off. The metal was warm and scuffed in places.

“Fuck off.”

“I’ll tell you what.” With a groan, Techno stretched, watching Dream out of the corner of his eye. “Since I’m such a nice and generous friend, I’ll let you borrow it.”

“What? I don’t want your stupid—”

Techno placed the crown on Dream’s head and he fell silent immediately. The expression on his face was one of utter confusion, mouth partly open, no trace of the annoyance that had been there a moment before. Dream leaned back against the couch.

“I hate to say it, but it doesn’t look half bad on you,” Techno said.

A grin tugged at the corners of Dream’s mouth.

“Yeah, whatever.”

*******************************************

Dream hadn’t looked at the mask since leaving the prison.

It was tucked under the orange jumpsuit, put away in a chest that Techno had gently told him that he could access whenever he wanted. Dream hadn’t wanted to – he was tired and they all had seen his face – but he had considered it when everything was a little too overwhelming. There was something comforting about being able to retreat behind the mask.

A shudder ran through Dream when he opened the chest and saw the torn and stained jumpsuit, a hot metallic taste in his throat. Quickly, he pushed it aside and grabbed the mask, practically slamming the chest closed.

The mask was cold and heavier than he remembered.

“You better not be stealin’ from me.”

Techno’s voice was light, teasing, and still Dream jumped, fumbling with the mask and whirling around to look at Techno. His grin had faded, expression softening, and Techno held his hands up.

“Sorry, man.”  

Dream ignored the apology as he moved to sit on the couch.

“I wasn’t—I wasn’t stealing, it’s mine.”

“I know, Dream, it was a joke,” Techno said, sitting as well, giving Dream enough space without sitting on opposite ends. “I was just teasin’ you.”

“Yeah, well, your jokes suck.” Dream fidgeted with the mask. “You’re—”

Techno cut him off.

“Alright, someone needs a timeout.”

He placed the crown on Dream’s head.

“Ugh,” said Dream but his shoulders sagged.

It took Techno all his self control not to burst into laughter.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. So, are you gonna tell me what’s up with the mask?”

“No.” When Techno raised an eyebrow, Dream clarified, “I was just—God, here. You keep giving me your stupid crown, you can have this.”

Dream held the mask out in Techno’s direction without looking at him, eyes glued to a beam on the ceiling as if it was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen. Techno took the mask.

“Aw, that’s so sweet, Dream, you givin’ me your creepy mask,” he said and despite the teasing words, his voice was soft, expression bemused. Without prompting, Techno put it on. The straps were too small and his snout too big to wear properly and it sat crooked on his head. “How do I look?”

Dream finally turned to him.

“Like an idiot.”

If it hadn’t been for the smile on Dream’s face, Techno might have been offended. Instead, he laughed and gave Dream a pat on the shoulder.

“Takes one to know one, man.”

[hopepetal]

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four pog | Part Five

I do not like this one as much but! I put too much effort into it to not post it so here ya go

Once again thank you to the lovely @applestruda and @stiffyck!

Alright, so maybe flying while injured was a bad idea. So what? A lot of things Grian did were bad ideas, but that never stopped him. Didn't mean he didn't regret it, though. 

Another flap of his wings made him wince, and he pressed a hand against his side. Judging by the slight dampness of the bandages, the wound had begun bleeding again, though it wasn't a concerning level just yet. Hopefully it would remain that way until he found Scar. 

Squinting, Grian searched the forest he was flying over. The canopy was thick, but not so much that he'd have to land to see. Not that it would've helped– he was completely lost, with no sign of Scar to help him out. Cub had pointed him in the direction Scar had gone, but as time dragged on Grian began to feel more and more hopeless. 

So with a sigh, he opened his other eyes to search the area. The surge of new information nearly overpowered him, and he fought to stay steady in the air. Using the other eyes was always a bit of a challenge, especially while flying, but he had to. For Scar.

A group of men, mercenaries judging by their getup, making their way through the forest.

A stream flowing through the woods, waters clear and cool.

Animals foraging for food, plucking nuts and berries off trees and bushes. 

A man with a cat, sadly poking the remains of a fire with a stick.

Grian shook his head before locking in on that last image. “There you are,” he muttered, veering slightly to change his direction. Carefully, he closed his other eyes, blinking away the beginnings of a headache that always came with using them. 

He flew for another few minutes before descending, ignoring the warning pain from his side. It made him wish he had brought extra bandages, or even a cloak, but in his haste to find Scar he had left without so much as a shirt. 

“At least I have pants,” he reasoned, “I'm not quite like Scar yet.”

Grian landed with a pained hiss, stumbling as pain shot up his side. His arms shot out and he braced himself against a tree, panting slightly. The startled shriek did not escape his notice, nor did the muffled thud as Scar fell off the log he had been sitting on. Heaving a sigh, Grian turned around as his friend scrambled up. “Hi, Scar.”

Scar brushed himself off, eyes wide. “G! Uh, hey there! What's up?”

Grian blinked. “What's up? What's up? Scar, what were you thinking, running off like that?”

Scar chuckled, scuffing the ground with his foot nervously. “Well, funny thing about that, y'see–”

Grian groaned, rubbing his forehead. “You weren't. Of course. Come on, we gotta get back before nightfall.” He took a step forward before stumbling, the pain in his side too much to ignore now. 

Scar lunged forward, grabbing Grian's arm to help steady him before slowly lowering them both to the ground. “Grian, you're hurt.” His voice filled with grief. “Because of me, might I add. What are you doing, G?”

Grian braced himself against Scar, face scrunched up in pain. “I was trying to find you! Do you know how worried I was? God, Scar, why?” He looked up at Scar, dark eyes full of concern. “Why did you run?”

Scar looked away, his face falling. “You know why, G. I lost control. I hurt you–”

“You didn't mean to–”

“But I did!” Scar snapped, anger in his tone now. “I hurt you, and I'm still hurting you! Look at you!” He gestured to Grian's bloodied bandages. “Look at what I did to you!”

“Scar!” Grian grabbed the other man's shoulders, looking right into his eyes. “Stop. Do you even hear yourself right now?” He sighed, looking away. “Scar, I don't blame you for what happened. It was an accident, okay? Stop beating yourself up over something that wasn't even your fault.” He smiled gently, looking back at Scar. “Does that sound good?”

Scar made a pained noise, shaking his head. “Grian, you don't understand. I messed up. I thought I was in control but I wasn't, and I just– I was so powerless, G. What if it happens again? What if I hurt someone else? What if–” And his hands were shaking now, his chest heaving as he gasped for air– “what if I kill someone?”

“I told you, I told you all that I had it under control. That I could protect you. That I could be strong. And I failed, I failed you all and I failed myself! Gods, Grian– the way they looked at me. They were scared. And I couldn't... I couldn't handle it. So I ran.”

Scar covered his face with his hands, shoulders shaking as he began to sob. “I know I'm a coward. I know I'm not deserving of the knight title. I know that I never deserved–”

“Scar.”

Scar paused, looking up at Grian. His face was tear-stained, eyes red from crying. Grian smiled sadly, leaning forward and wiping Scar's tears away with his thumb. “Scar, take a deep breath with me, okay? In... and out. And again. In... out. I'm so proud of you. Can I hug you?”

Scar nodded, sniffling softly. He leaned forward into Grian's arms, resting his chin on the avian's shoulder. There was a soft rustling of feathers, and Grian's wings wrapped around him, enveloping them in a warm hug. 

They stayed like that for a while, the sound of nature the background ambience for their thoughts. Scar found that he was able to take deeper breaths, that his heart had stopped racing and his thoughts had begun to pull out of the spiral. With a soft sigh, he pulled back, gazing down at Grian. 

Grian smiled up at him. “Feeling better?” When Scar nodded, his smile grew. “Good. We'll have a proper chitchat when we get back home, but for now let's just focus on getting back. You wouldn't happen to have any healing pots on you?” he added after a moment, his smile becoming sheepish. 

Scar laughed softly, shaking his head. “Unfortunately not.” He glanced over at Jellie, who had been curled up in the sunlight asleep the entire time. Of course. Glancing back, he noticed with growing concern that Grian's bandages were becoming more stained with blood. “Maybe we should rest for a bit, put some pressure on that wound of yours and wait for it to stop bleeding.”

Grian waved him off. “Eh, it'll be fine, just as long as I don't strain it any more.” He pushed himself to his feet with a groan, Scar following and helping steady him. “Thank you, Scar.”

Scar shook his head. “No. Thank you. For going out of your way to find me, even when you were injured.”

Grian shrugged. “You'd do the same for me.”

“Dang right I would!” Scar grinned, whistling to wake Jellie. “C'mere, girl!” 

The blue cat stretched, yawning as she woke. Blinking wearily, she padded over to Scar and jumped onto his shoulders, curling around his neck before disappearing into mist. 

“Right then,” Scar began, “am I carrying you, or am I carrying you?”

Grian frowned. “I'm sorry?”

“Well, I can't just allow you to walk like that. You're injured! Wounded! You said it yourself, you can't strain yourself or your injury will get worse!”

“Oh no. Absolutely not.” Grian stepped back, laughing. “You are not carrying me, Scar! For heaven's sake–!” He suddenly cut off his lighthearted protests, feathered ears twitching slightly. “...shush, Scar. Did you hear that?”

Scar's smile fell as he concentrated. “...no, I don't think so–”

An arrow shot past the two and embedded itself with a thud in a tree. Immediately Scar moved in front of Grian, his hand going to his waist where–

His sheath lay empty, his sword discarded in the field when he had run, and Scar internally cursed himself for his stupidity. “You good, G?” he called back, not wanting to take his eyes off of where the arrow had come from. 

“Yeah, I'm alright.” Grian raised his voice. “Who's out there? Show yourself!”

No response. Scar turned to look at Grian fully. “Maybe they just shot an arrow and left,” he suggested, just as a second arrow was fired. 

“Scar! Look out!” Grian lunged forward, snapping his wings open around Scar just in time for the arrow to hit, letting out a loud yelp of pain as the bolt sank into his feathers. But that wasn't all- the patch of red on his bandages was spreading again, fast. Wincing, Grian stumbled back as he pressed both hands against his side. “Shoot.”

Scar placed his hands on Grian's shoulders, pushing him down and standing over him to better protect his injured friend. “Show yourself!” he challenged, his voice cold and sharp. “Come out now and I might spare you.”

Laughter rang out from all around them as Scar stood over Grian, glaring at the trees. Slowly, a group of five men stepped out from the cover of the trees, surrounding the two. Scar's eyes darted over each one, analyzing them all quickly to see just how screwed they were. Sword, sword, bow, ax, crossbow. Common mercenaries, he decided, and confident ones at that. 

But is their confidence false, or has it been earned?

Scar glared at the one with the bow, watching Grian examine the arrow in his wing out of the corner of his eye. He was a little more worried about the blood that continued to seep through the bandages that wrapped around Grian's torso, staining them a bright red. His gaze was drawn over to another mercenary who stepped forward with a proud sort of sneer on his face. 

“Scar, I presume? Former member of convex? Thief, swindler, criminal?” The man examined his blade, turning it so it would catch the light just right. “We've been on your trail for a while. What a lucky day this is for us, huh?”

The other mercenaries let out a cheer as Scar groaned and rolled his eyes. “Come on, guys, can't we just let it go? Jeez, don't you have anything better to do with your lives? Besides, I'm a changed man now. No more swindling for me!”

“That’s so not true,” Grian muttered, and Scar took a moment to glare at him and mutter ‘not helping’ before turning back to the mercenaries.

“Besides, I’m kinda busy right now? So like, could you come back later or something?” Scar gestured to Grian. “I gotta get my friend back home. He’s injured, y’see, because you kinda shot him.”

The mercenary with the sword laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, no. No, no, no, I don’t think so. We have spent far too long hunting you down to give you up now. You’re coming with us.” He waved his men forward. “And take that avian, too. I’m sure we’ll find a use for him.”

Scar’s smile instantly sharpened, his gaze becoming cold. “Oh no. Absolutely not. You do not get to threaten my friends.”

“And who’s going to stop me?” The sword-wielding mercenary stepped forward. “You’re all alone out here. No friends, no one to save you… just give up before you get hurt.”

Grian struggled to push himself to his feet, staggering as he stood, forcing himself to not lean on Scar. “Sounds like fun!” he chirped, forcing a smile. “Right, then. Shall we get on with it?”

Despite their injuries and lack of weapons, Scar and Grian fought well. They were a team, trained to fight against impossible odds and make it out alive. Well placed kicks and punches could do quite a bit of damage, especially when their opponents weren’t wearing armor. Still, Grian was injured and Scar was weaponless. Perhaps they could’ve held their own if they were less tired, or in better shape. 

Grian was the first to fall, the wound on his side struck by the hilt of an ax. Scar shouted, lunging for the one who had struck Grian down but was knocked to the ground by the swordsman, the wind knocked out of him as he hit the ground. Struggling for air, Scar tried to push himself up but was pinned when the mercenary put his foot on his chest. “Get off me!” Scar spat, grabbing the man’s leg and trying to push him off.

The mercenary leaned down, chuckling. “That’s it? You were so full of yourself earlier, I thought you would’ve put up a better fight. I’m disappointed, honestly. This was pitifully easy.” Straightening up, he snapped his fingers. “Alright boys, round ‘em up.”

Grian let out a pained yelp as he was yanked to his feet, fighting back tears as his arms were pinned behind his back. Scar struggled harder now, fighting against the mercenary while shouting Grian’s name. Alongside the rage, he could feel the magic rising up within him, turning his eyes an icy blue as the color from his hair faded.

And yet- and yet-

With a panicked gasp, Scar shoved the rising magic back down, forcing it into dormancy. He couldn’t. Not while the memory of his friend on the ground covered in blood was still fresh in his mind. Not while the image of his friends’ horrified faces was still fresh in his mind. Not while he still blamed himself for everything.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped out as he was yanked up, arms roughly tugged behind his back and tied together. His frantic gaze met Grian’s eyes, clouded by pain and widened in fear. “Grian, I’m sorry, I-”

The hilt of an ax struck Scar’s head, and darkness descended on him.

[secondaxispoint]

can u do joel x male reader where the reader gifts joel a new guitar maybe after his broke maybe during his bday like how his daughter gave him the watch :)

Pairing: Joel Miller x Male!Reader

Warnings: None!

Content: Fluff

I know this one is a bit short but I hope you enjoy it. Thank you for the request!!💙

His Gift

Joel was pissed. He had told you almost immediately. The head of his guitar had snapped completely off. You watched as he moped around town for a solid week before you had found it. There was an almost completely untouched abandoned house about a mile off the beaten path. Not only did you find a box of medical supplies, you also found a Taylor 600-SPEC acoustic guitar in pristine condition. Although it was missing a few strings and was horribly out of tune, it was intact. 

Now all you had to do was make it back to Jackson without scuffing it and put it back together without Joel noticing. The ride back was easy as you had already cleared the path on the way there. Now you had to get back to your place, find Joel’s old broken guitar, restring the new one, and tune it all without Joel noticing. Piece of cake. Right?

You had found his old guitar, sitting sadly in the corner of Joel’s bedroom. You knew he really loved that guitar so you handled it gingerly despite it already being broken. You slowly and carefully take the strings from the instrument. You left the guitar where you found it and moved on to the new one. The strings put up a bit of a fight but you finally got the guitar restrung. Now all that was left to do was tune it.

You started with the 6th string and put it in standard tuning. Once you were satisfied with the sound you heard someone, probably Joel, walk in. You set the guitar down quietly and walked out of the bedroom to greet him. He had sat himself down on the couch. He looked up at you and you noticed how tired he truly looked. You sat down next to him and scooted close. He leaned his head on your shoulder and closed his eyes.

“Hey Joel.”

He hums in response.

“I found something pretty cool on patrol.”

He lifts his head and looks at you, confused.

“What’d you find?”

He asked.

“You remember your old guitar?”

You saw Joel’s eyes light up as he jumps to his feet.

“You're not sayin what I think you're sayin, are you?”

You got up and walked to the closed bedroom. You retrieved the new guitar and walked back out to Joel. As soon as the instrument comes into his line of sight he starts running towards you, the guitar gets plucked from your hands. You watch as Joel inspects the guitar with joy. He plucks a few strings and moves to sit down on the couch again but stops. He puts the guitar down and walks back over to you. He has a big goofy smile on his face.

“Thank you darlin”

Joel grabs your hands and leans in closer. He gently presses his lips against yours. You can feel his beard against your face, a welcome bristle against your chin. He pulls back and peppers your face in small kisses. You laugh while he pulls you back to the sofa. He picks the guitar back up and starts playing softly. The tune he plays is familiar but the name only comes to you once he starts singing. His baritone voice reverberates in the small space.

Talkin’ away

I don’t know what 

I’m to say I’ll say it anyway

Today’s another day to find you

Shyin’ away

I’ll be comin’ for your love, okay

Joel looks up at you, adoration clear on his face. He stopped playing and let the last chord ring out. He leaned closer once again, a hand on your jaw. His eyes filled with love, he kissed you once again. It was slow and affectionate. Your cheeks flush and the hair on the back of your neck stands up. You felt Joel pour himself into the kiss. Devotion and tenderness wrapped itself around your heart. The man in front of you had completely taken over your mind. And you couldn’t be happier.

[zmediaoutlet]

this land is your land

for @wincestwednesdays - americana

"Relax," Sam says, and Dean says back immediately "You relax," but that doesn't work because Sam, damn him, is so relaxed Dean's surprised he's still walking upright and not a puddle of dissolved bones, somewhere a few miles back on the sun-baked road. Where the car's sitting, steaming, the engine ticking as it cools, alone--

"You know what's wrong?" Sam says, and Dean gives him a look, and Sam says, "You know how to fix it?" and Dean rolls his eyes, and Sam says, "So what are you gonna do about it between here and that co-op in town?" and Dean says, "You know, this is how you talked when you didn't have a soul," and Sam laughs kinda soft, hitching his backpack higher.

Hot, humid, but not horrible. The fields growing up with something green. Maybe future wheat. Dean's not a farmer. The kind of summer day where you want to lay in thick grass and drink about twelve ice-cold beers and eat watermelon, or burgers off the grill, or a rainbow snowcone just dripping with every color, like remember, that time --

"Fairfield County Fair," Sam says, grinning. He drags his hair back from his forehead. Their jackets tied around their waists and Sam's sleeves rolled up to his elbows; if it gets much hotter out here he might strip that layer too and then, hey, free show. "Yeah. That was good. Other than the ghost."

"Ghost was easy," Dean says, "as was Miss Mindy the concessions girl. You remember, right? All that funnel cake?"

"I think I puked it all over the tilt-a-whirl," Sam says, dry, and Dean grins back at him so Sam rolls his eyes, but -- he remembers, and that's what matters to Dean now. When he's got this brother, stitched back together, remembering the snowcone and the tilt-a-whirl and also what it means, that they're walking side by side through this yellow afternoon, sweating their balls off.

A barn, past the next field of maybe-wheat. White-painted metal that's peeling bad as they get closer, but it's got a heavy fall of shadow in the driven-over silty dust and abandoned crates that don't collapse when Dean plants his ass on one, so it's good enough for now. "Could go for a snowcone," he says, and Sam snorts somewhere past his closed eyes and there's a thunk of his bag hitting the dirt and then scuffing away, through the silt, and Dean watches the world golden through closed lids and imagines. Sam sweating, long, his body moving sure through the shadow and then -- through the barn door, sliding on squeaky rollers -- and then into somewhere Dean can barely hear him except whatever he imagines might echo through the wall, but it's okay because he'll come back. He's promised that, now. Dean turns his head against the side of the barn anyway, his ear against the warm metal, in case there's some echo. Long night and a long day and a long night ahead and maybe it's lame but he's old now, or feels it, and he's tired. He'll take even an echo.

In the barn: dusty John Deeres, and tools Sam doesn't bother to describe, and a case of too-warm water of dubious age in cheap plastic bottles. "Thief," Dean says, but just to say it, and Sam shrugs and says, "Trespassing, too," but he cracks a bottle and hands it to Dean and Dean dumps it over his head, just to get off some of the sweat and dust. Long walk. Sam says dude and Dean says, "Bite me," but when he slicks his hand back over his head Sam ends up smiling at him, after all, and hands him another bottle to actually drink, and then -- bends at the waist and dumps water over the back of his own head, slicking his hair to black in the shade, dripping down and turning the dust to mud. Stripped down to his t-shirt after all and the water sopping the grey to dark. "See, I'm a genius," Dean says, and Sam scratches through his hair and groans like he does on other midnights and says, "Don't get ahead of yourself," but when he sits down next to Dean his hair's curling wet against his neck and he looks as relaxed as Dean's seen him in -- god, how long? Years anyway. Like Dean would see him sometimes in dreams, during that year that's pressed too close up against his back teeth, and he'd wake up on those mornings with his heart full in his chest and with a good mood, almost, that lasted until he opened his eyes and remembered what bed he was in and the mood pierced like a water balloon that hadn't popped right. Draining out slow until he was left pointless and limp.

Sun finally heading toward setting. Over the fields the air's golden, thick in that way of summer. Sky exactly the shade of a cherry '67 Mustang. Acapulco Blue. Sam's bootheels stretch out to full-length in the silt, past the mud-mess he made, and there's his legs long in denim. Dust on the hems. Dean leans forward, elbows on his knees, taking in one of those long deep breaths that when he blows it out feels like he's expelling air from decades ago. Lungs one hundred percent empty.

Big hand on the back of his neck. He closes his eyes. Sam strokes up over his head where the hair's gone spiky-wet and then smooths it back down, his thumb braced up behind Dean's ear. Heavy and hot.

"Gonna make it back to town tonight?" Sam asks. Like he doesn't know the distance just the same as Dean. Dean shrugs. Sam hums and squeezes Dean's neck, and then Dean opens his eyes and looks from where his head's held down like this to see Sam's heel draw up through the dust, and for his knee to press against Dean's, and then his hand dragging down Dean's back and then back up under his shirt, hot on damp skin, a big square heavy thing. Landing somewhere up between his shoulderblades. Dean wants it on his dick and on the side of his face thumbing his mouth and also just exactly where it is. Sam touching him. Over that last year, what he missed more than anything else. For Sam to touch him and for it to mean what it was supposed to, when Sam touched him.

"We've probably got the worst case of swamp ass this side of the Mississippi," Dean says.

"You remember that time in Tupelo?" Sam says, and of course Dean does. Of course, every single time, like some dorky glittery journal in his heart, he remembers -- Sam's face over his in Tupelo spattered with mud-and-blood and laughing at how disgusting it was, and doing it anyway; Sam's breath desperate at the back of his neck in Portland, both Maine and Oregon; Sam's fingers lacing with his in Colorado Springs, and Sam pressed chest-to-chest with him in Pittsburgh, and Sam's mouth blurring strange in the drunken dark in too many places to name. Dean remembers.

Sam lifts his hand, stretching Dean's shirt, and Dean feels the air gust up against his sweaty back before he follows it, unbending slowly, and then Sam's whole arm's shoved awkward up against his spine, his fingers and thumb bracketing Dean's neck, and when Dean tips his head back Sam's there to catch him.

"Gonna miss the show tonight," Dean says, slit-eyed. Salt in his eyelashes.

The county such-and-such. Volunteer firefighters put on the show, one of the witnesses told them. Not a big display but big enough to please the kids and the folk who hadn't got too cynical for it. He was kind of looking forward to catching it, just because. When was the last time they'd had a July 4th that wasn't some kind of miserable?

"Maybe," Sam says. His eyes on Dean's mouth. Which is so like the soulless version Dean's heels dig into the ground, some weird no instinct making him want to stand -- but then Sam's eyes flick up to meet Dean's, and he grins lopsided and dorky like Sam always used to, when he was okay enough to grin, and relief washes through Dean like stepping under a waterfall. "Could celebrate right here, though. Right?"

"You think that line actually works on anyone?" Dean says, chest blooming hot, and Sam says, "Guess we'll see," in a way that's frankly smug, and Dean rolls his eyes but he also swivels on his stolen crate-seat and presses his mouth against Sam's and gets salt-sweat and stale bottled water and also the good spit-flavor of his tongue, and so maybe Sam deserves the smug.

Birds calling in the trees by the barn, squawky-loud like they're making commentary. Sam's thigh hard and hot alongside his. At first Sam presses against him too hard and Dean grunts, and then Sam lays his other hand soft against Dean's cheek and kisses him sweet, instead, and then grips Dean's neck and kisses him just -- right, Goldilocks finding the right level of comfort. Dean lays his hand on Sam's chest and feels his heart go right out of himself, like a roman candle.

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

as long as you're with me (you'll be just fine) Chapter 3

Ao3 | 1.7k words | Sweetheart's POV

TW: General D.U.M.P. bullshit, unhealthy work environment, anxiety

--

By the time that you remembered that it was Friday, and that Friday was quadruple date night, and that you and Milo were hosting in your shiny new house with a three course meal Milo was cooking himself, and needed your help with, it was already four thirty. Your body ached from the foot chase you had been dragged into earlier today. Your right shoulder was acting up again, most likely because of the full body tackle you’d thrown into a suspect a few hours ago. The migraine building behind your eyes was making it difficult to concentrate. You knew that you’d had about five cups of coffee today, but you couldn’t remember how much water you’d had. You sighed as you grabbed your phone and the reusable water bottle you kept on your desk and made for the water fountain while shooting off a text.

Probably won’t be home in time to help with dinner tonight, baby.

Three dots popped up as Milo started typing his reply. You counted the seconds, holding your breath. The ellipsis disappeared, a pause, then reappeared.

Is everything okay

Case went sideways. I arrested a suspect, but I need to have my evidence locked in tonight so I can charge him. It’s just… messy.

I hear you, Sweetheart. Do you have an ETA?

A few hours at least. Jet is breathing down my neck on this one.

You sent that message, and then felt that familiar anxiety building in your chest.

Are you mad at me?

It felt childish to even ask, but it was a common question for you. You watched Milo’s text bubble pop up and held your breath. You knew the answer. It was the same answer he always gave you.

I’m upset, but I’m not mad AT you. I know that your job means you have some late nights. Yeah, tonight is inconvenient timing, but you didn’t plan this. It would be unfair if I held you accountable for something that isn’t exactly your fault.

Yeah…

Call me when you start heading home?

Of course

I love you, Sweetheart

Love you too

You locked your phone and sighed, scrubbing at the exhaustion behind your eyes. You felt that familiar knot in your throat that appeared when you let him down, when you had to disappoint him.

Milo hated his father. Maybe hate was a strong word. Maybe it wasn’t strong enough. Every time Colm came up in conversation, Milo’s face darkened and twisted. You were terrified, somewhere deep inside of you, that eventually, his face would twist the same way when he looked at you.

It was dark by the time you had everything straightened out, and a stack of papers that you shoved, less than gently, into the inbox that was attached to Jet’s office door. He was long gone, home with his family and enjoying his weekend. You glanced out across the bullpen, and noted the three other forms bent over their desks, toiling away at whatever life-and-death paperwork they were sacrificing their Friday night for. You scuffed the toe of your boot against the floor and sighed. Heat built up in your chest and your cheeks. You slung your bag over your shoulder and didn’t bother to put your jacket on before rushing out of the building. You passed the front desk, waving halfheartedly to the night guard before stepping out in the cold. You let it burn as you sucked in a breath, let it cool the warmth in your face.

You plucked your phone from your pocket. Milo was your last call, and the one before that, and before that. You pressed on his contact and listened to it ring as you walked towards your sedan.

“Hey,” it wasn’t Milo’s voice that greeted you, but David’s, deep and quiet. You could hear crickets in the background. He was probably on your front porch, out of earshot of your guests.

“Hey…” you replied, caught off guard, “where’s Milo?”

“Asleep on the couch,” you could hear the smile in David’s voice. “He passed out as soon as we put the movie on.” You smiled despite yourself.

“That sounds about right.” You huffed. “How was dinner?”

“It was good.” David was always so polite when talking about other people’s cooking, but his acting skills weren’t always up to snuff. Milo wasn’t a bad cook by any means, but he also wasn’t David. “When will you be home?”

“Twenty minutes?” You replied. “I have to pass through college town, and all the D.A.M.N. kids go out on Fridays.”

“Be careful.” David said, with the same depth and concern he said it with every time. David asked that of you, of everyone, like a ritual, like a prayer. You remembered how different he was after Gabe died. You remembered how panicked he looked every time you and Milo and Ash got into a car.

“Always am, Big Guy.”

You passed the drive in silence, the twisting guilt in your gut spiking and easing as you went. The heater in your shitty, twenty-year-old car was acting up, so you were shivering by the time you got home. The cars were lined up in your drive way, and knowing that everybody besides Sam would most likely crash somewhere between your couch and your two guest rooms, you parked on the street. You’d have to go back into the office tomorrow morning anyway to review your report with Jet.

David was sitting on the porch waiting for you, the lights on and a steaming plate of food waiting for you. Milo had grilled pork chops, made roasted potatoes, fresh cut green beans and a bright winter salad. David patted the seat on the stairs next to him, took your bag from your shoulder, and placed the plate in your lap as soon as you were settled. You tore into the food, not even realizing how hungry you were until it was right in front of you.

“When was your lunch break?” David asked, eyeing you with those intense, dark eyes. You met his gaze steadily and stayed silent, shoveling potatoes into your mouth. He sighed and tapped his knee with his fingers. “Do I need to have a word with Commissioner Jet about the way he overworks his employees?”

“Don’t you dare,” you pointed your fork at him threateningly. “I don’t need you mothering me at work.”

“I’ve known you for seven years.” David said, shaking his head. “I know that you’re hardworking to a fault. And I know that that respect for authority that’s built into you is going to be your undoing.”

“You are worse than my therapist.” You grumbled.

“Cam is a very smart man.”

“Cam isn’t a man,” you countered, “he’s an inter-dimensional being beyond our understanding.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

You huffed and cleared your plate, sopping up the remaining vinaigrette with the last of your salad. You sighed and set it down on the stairs next to you, leaning back on your hands. You closed your eyes and listened to David shuffle. After a moment, his jacket landed on your shoulders, encasing you in that unnatural shifter warmth.

“You know,” he said after a while, “I’ve got plenty of room on the payroll for another hand.” You stayed quiet, bit your tongue. “And our benefits are better than the Department’s.”

“David…” you slipped into the arms of his jacket, rubbed your fingers against the soft leather of the cuffs. “I’ve got… I need to…”

“You’ve still got some things to finish.” David nodded. “I understand.”

“CloseKnit is an issue that I don’t think I can handle outside of the Department.” You said. “I think, if I’m going to effectively deal with them, I’ll need the authority the Department gives me.”

“I don’t disagree.” David replied after a moment. “There are some doors that I can’t open for you. And I do acknowledge that you’ve opened a lot of doors for us because of your place in the Department. I don’t want to seem ungrateful.” You ducked your head, and closed your eyes against the pounding in your head. “But I’ve seen what a few decades as an Investigator can do to someone. I don’t like what it does to you. What it does to him.”

That knot in your throat reappeared. You swallowed hard and squeezed your eyes tighter, fighting tears. David’s hand, big and warm, landed on the back of your neck and squeezed. Gently, he bent to press your temples together, awkward and uncomfortable from this position. You two stayed that way for a while anyway. Your core was quiet. Most people couldn’t even identify you as empowered on first meeting. But David’s was strong and steady, and it coaxed your threads to sing along with it.

Pack, it sang. Alpha.

“All I’m saying,” David broke the silence eventually, “is that, after all of that shit is dealt with,” his fingers squeezed your nape, “I’ve got you.”

You sighed into him, a relief you didn’t know you needed filling up your chest, clearing out the doubt and fear in your core.

Eventually, you made it inside. Sam was the only one still awake, Asher half on his lap snoring loudly. David extracted him, lifting Asher into an unflattering fireman carry and dragging him towards a guest room, his mate sleepily following behind. The snoring never stopped. Sam took you into a respectful side-hug before rousing his sleeping mate. Half-asleep, they pressed their forehead to yours as they passed towards the front door.

David lifted his own mate into his arms. You watched them bend towards his warmth, even in their sleep. They looked so small against him. He smiled down at them like he was holding the world in his arms, before turning that smile on you. He mouthed ‘goodnight,’ before carrying his mate towards the second spare room.

Milo was nearly awake on the couch, roused by all of the movement. You took his face into your hands, pressed a kiss to his forehead. A smile crept onto his lips before he even opened his eyes.

“Hey, Sweetheart,” he said, sitting up and wrapping his arms around your waist. He blinked at you, and smiled like he was holding the world in his arms.

“Hey, baby.” You replied. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

[exorcist-ava]

Dumpster Fire Gets Real

Backpack full of bottled water and tennis supplies in tow, Sadie walks to the tennis courts for a few matches with Ava. As she gets closer she’s surprised to see that he’s already there waiting on her, picking up pebbles and trying to throw them through the holes in the net.

“Hey, bud! How’s it going? Cool sweatband!”

Stopping his throwing, he looks up and greets Sadie. Confinements be damned, he was going to play tennis with his friend!

“Yoooo, wassup? And gracias! I got it from the basket of clothes deemed “unusable” by the thrift store.”

He adjusted the headband, which is held together in the back by a rubber band and a paper clip.

“So, ya ready to lose? I’m hella good at tennis. My Wii score says so.”

Having had Ava over for Wii bowling a few weeks ago, Sadie does have to admit that he’s good at virtual sports. The real thing though? Yet to be determined. She chuckles confidently.

“I ain’t ever ready to lose. You best believe I’ll be putting up a fight!”

She takes the racquets out of her backpack and hands him the one with her name written on it. No way she’s letting him fuck around with Lute’s and risk scuffing it.

“So what was Timp gonna get into today?”

“Me-”

He shut up, took a cigarette, and began to smoke as he readied himself on the court.

“Ah, we were gonna go out, but she’s feelin’ a bit overwhelmed, so she’s just gettin’ in bed. …But also me later.”

Holding his racket, he realizes that it’s much heavier than a Wii remote. Was he out of his element? He couldn’t let Sadie see that.

Sadie chuckles at his comment but then nods in understanding.

“Felt. I long for a day when I can just crawl back into bed and stay there.”

Just as a warm-up, she gently hits the ball over to the other side of the net to him.

“Did y’all have fun at the beach day? Can’t believe I didn’t manage to run into you there! But guess who I did manage to run into, all strung out and face planted in the sand? I’ll give you two guesses, but you won’t need that many.”

Ava begins swinging wildly with the racket. And misses. Maybe real life tennis wasn’t like Wii Tennis.

“Ya didn’t see that.”

He tosses the ball up in the air and hits it towards Sadie.

“Face-planted in the sand? Hmm…strung out too? Imma guess…Milan?”

“Yep, you’ve got it.”

She returns the shot and shakes her head.

“Homegirl was looking pretty rough. I mean, I know she never really helps herself out when she’s in… situations, but, I don’t know. I couldn’t help but feel a little bad for her.”

She drops into a stance, waiting for Ava’s return shot.

“Have you talked to her at all lately?”

Ava groans as he returns the shot.

“Yeah, she had the fuckin' nerve to come up to me. She said she was tryna to apologize, but I saw right through her shit. So I told her off. Nah man, no way is she pullin' one over me again.”

It seems as though Ava has caught on to the game, and they’ve settled into a comfortable rhythm of hitting the ball back and forth.

“What do you mean you saw through it? Did she say something about milk again?”

Sadie grows a bit concerned thinking back to the state Milan had been in.

“What if she was being serious?”

“Ohhh, she couldn’t go one minute without bringing up my tits again!”

He hits the ball back, kind of forcefully.

“She thinks she’s all that…Even if she was being’ serious, what makes ya think I’d believe anything she says? She was going all on about how she knows she hurt me, but I know better than to trust that! And god, the nerve to say she cared about me? Nah, I’m callin’ cap.”

“She and Sarai can go fuck each other for all I care!”

“Ah…”

Things are quiet for a moment as they settle into the game. Most of Sadie doesn’t exactly blame Ava for being so stubborn, but the part of her that saw and heard first hand how Milan, and Sarai for that matter, really feel, is bothered.

“Speaking of Sarai… how about them? Have you heard from them? I… ran into her at the library one day and she said she wanted a word with you.”

“God, her…”

Settling into the game, he returns any balls thrown his way.

“Yah, she talked to me, pullin’ that same apologetic crap Milan was. The princesa really thought she could string me along again, saying’ how she’d change. Nah, nope, nada. Not gonna happen.”

Sadie frowns a bit as she hits the ball back.

“What makes you think it’s crap? It’s not that hard to believe that they wanna fix things with you. You’re pretty great, after all.”

He returns the serve.

“Please, they got other things on their minds. No way am I gonna let them close again. I don’t need ‘em! I got you, yeah? So who gives a damn about them? Not me!”

He tries to convince himself of his own words as he focuses his energy into the game. Just don’t think about it.

“Of course you have me, Ava, but…”

Sadie has to scramble to reach the ball in time, but she does get a piece of it, weakly sending it back over the net.

Ava is upping the intensity of the match with each swing of the racquet, so Sadie huffs some smoke out of her nose and shifts into athlete mode.

“Look, I know you’re mad at the both of them. You may even hate them right now. But doesn’t at least a tiny part of you care about them? I mean, that’s your former best friend and sister…”

“NO I DON’T!!”

Ava hits the ball back angrily, his breathing becoming heavy.

“Now quit askin’ me about ‘em!”

Sadie watches as the ball whizzes right by her and rockets into the chain link fence that boxes the tennis courts in.

“Alright, sorry…”

Ava calms himself, realizing he’s overstepped.

“Sadie…fuck…”

He takes a deep breath.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lose my cool like that.”

“It’s not you. Really. I’ve just…been kinda off. And Sarai and Milan comin’ to me didn’t really help, na’ mean?”

Sadie unsticks the tennis ball from one of the gaps in the fence and bounces it to herself.

“It’s alright. I reckon I shouldn’t be prying, anyway.”

She thinks for a moment, recalling how upset both Milan and Sarai were about their respective situations with Ava.

“Actually, maybe I should be. I’m a little worried about you, man. It’s not like you to be this closed off. They miss you, Ava. They’re trying. What’s keeping you from believing that? What’s keeping you from trying back?”

“They don’t mean it…’course they don’t.”

He was struggling to say what he wanted to.

“I’ve been through enough shit with people to finally understand that now. They say ya mean everything to them, make ya stay with promises, and then…they just cast you out like you’re nothing.”

He recalled so many of his past relationships that ended like this. Vaggie came to mind. And so did…no, don’t think about that one. It was a wonder how he hadn’t been losing more people nowadays.

“I just…I’m sick of gettin’ hurt all the time by the people I lo-…people I thought I loved anyway.”

“…and besides, even if they do mean it - that they’re sorry ‘n all…how do I know they won’t just hurt me again?”

Sadie listens intently, periodically nodding in understanding. Between all of the ups and downs in her relationships with Peyton and Lute, she can certainly relate. She crosses the court.

“Look, I get it, okay? I’ve had my heart stepped on before, too. It sucks. It hurts. I ain’t over here pretending it doesn’t.”

She places a hand on Ava’s shoulder as she quickly reflects on her entire relationship with Peyton. Lies, all of it. It had been devastating.

“But…”

Now, she thinks of Lute, and finding the will to try again. Even after hearing those infamous three words.

Walk. Away. Sadie.

She shakes her head, trying to drive those words, that whole scene, that whole week apart, out of her mind.

“Alright, so maybe there’s no way of knowing for sure. It’s a risk. A gamble. But when you really, truly, love someone… it’s a risk worth taking.”

“A risk, huh?”

Ava thought about that for a moment. Maybe, just maybe, he could try again with the both of them.

“I mean...yeah, I care about 'em. Both of 'em. That's why it hurt when it all went down.”

He looks away.

“And...and I guess I didn't handle things the best. Like I said, I'm just sick of bein' hurt so much. But that's not an excuse, no?”

He reaches into his pocket for another cigarette to cool himself, and pulls out the roach Milan had thrown him on the day of the Seraphim Showcase.

“I think...I dunno what I think. Think I oughta go back to 'em and talk? For real this time?”

Sadie shrugs.

“It’s entirely up to you. It depends on if you actually want to salvage those relationships. My sister was the most important person in the world to me, and if things had ever broken between us I for sure would’ve done anything to fix them.”

“But, thing is, it always takes both parties trying. I can only hope that Josie would’ve tried too, but you have the luxury of knowing that Milan and Sarai both tried. They want to fix things with you. Sure, maybe they swung and missed the first time, but what’s important is that they stepped up to the plate again.”

She now places both of her hands on both of Ava’s shoulders, commanding his attention.

“You might not want to hear this, but it’s your turn now. It ain’t serving anyone for you to just keep being stubborn and expect them to keep groveling at your feet. They’ve done their parts, they put in the effort. Now, you have to do the same.”

She smiles almost apologetically.

“Not trying to be mean, bud. I’m just sayin’.”

He nods, taking in what Sadie just said.

“I hear you. You’re right. I gotta make the effort.”

Looking away sheepishly, he then asks his friend.

“So, ya think they really were serious? What did they say? Both of ‘em?”

“Yeah, I do. They both seemed really torn up about this. I mean, it was kinda hard to tell with Milan since she was hard tweaking at the time, but, you know what they say, drunk words are sober thoughts. Or high words. Whatever.”

“They both think you’re better off without them. Which, I’ll be real with you, is… hard to hear someone say about themselves.”

Sadie scratches her head.

“Oh, and it might be worth noting that they split up. Not sure what that means for you, necessarily, but Milan was def talking about getting dicked down by someone named Adina.”

The blood drained from Ava’s face as soon as he heard that name.

“A…Adina?”

He hadn’t wanted to think about her for a long time.

“Sage, you can’t be serious…Adina? As in…S-Seraph Adina?”

He felt sick, like the world was spinning around him. How could Milan leave Sarai, and go to her? It couldn’t be real. It had to be a joke!

“A su madre…”

Sadie looks confused.

“Seraphim Adina? Couldn’t be. She’s with Lee.”

She shrugs.

“Whoever Milan was talking about, they’ve got two dicks but are somehow still bad in bed and have got something else other than bomb sex that keeps her wanting more.”

She grows concerned at the change in Ava’s demeanor.

“Hey, Ava, are… you alright? Do you need to sit down? You look like you could pass out.”

That confirmed it. Adina had Milan. And Lee, somehow. This wasn’t good at all.

“I-I…I need to go, Sadie. Right now. I’ll explain everything later. I just…I need to go.”

Without another word, he handed her the racket and rushed off to find Milan. He hoped he wasn’t too late, but there was a sinking feeling in his gut.

He had to find Milan. No matter what.

“Av—”

Sadie takes a step after him, but ultimately lets him go. This part of it all didn’t really seem like her business, anyway.

She sighs heavily as she watches Ava jog away, then collects her things and heads for home. She’s worried about him, but trusts that wherever he’s going and whatever he’s going to do, it will be the right thing.

[lukeevangelista]

Josh finally gets the courage to invite his (not yet official) girl to watch him play pick up with the boys. Josh blushing hard to defend himself when his attempts to look cool on the court only make him look ridiculous. But josh can take a joke and it’s all in good fun.

Rooftop Game - J. Giddey

“Hey- Y/N.” Josh grinned as you two magically walked out of your doors at the same time. 

Magically. Definitely not Josh waiting to hear you walk out to bump into you. 

“Hey.” You softly smiled as you took in his appearance, “What are you up to?” You asked, “You look happy.”

His hair was curlier and fluffier than normal, his eyes looking brighter, and an adorable smile on his face. 

“Just in a good mood,” He quickly said, thoughts running through his head, “I’m actually heading up stairs to the roof, Some of the boys live in the building and we’re going to play a quick game of pick up before the game tonight,” He said as the two of them started walking down the hallway towards the stairs that were next to the elevator, “Hey, do you actually have plans?” He asked.

“Uh- no.” You blushed, “Well depends if you count a smoothie from the place around the corner, a book, and people watching plans then I have the best plans this afternoon.”

“Honestly, it sounds great.” He quickly said, showing he didn’t mean it if he has offended you, “but I was going to see if you wanted to ditch those plans and come up and watch us play? If you don't want to that’s-”

“I would love to Giddey.” You grinned as you followed him to the stairs, “Lead the way.”

**

“Well well well, its about time we meet the girl that Joshua won’t shut up about.” Jalen grinned as he shook Josh jokingly. 

“So he talks about me?” You grinned towards Josh as you watch his cheeks flush.

“Sure does.” Aaron said, “Like he said,” he started as he pointed towards Jalen, “Never shuts up about you.” 

“Hmm good to know.” You chuckled, hearing the door open behind you as you turned around, seeing another male and girl walk in.

“Another girl? Thank god.” the girl softly spoke as she walked over, introducing herself, “I'm Hailey and you must be Y/N,” she smiled, “and I'm assuming these idiots didn’t introduce themselves, did they?” 

“Actually-”

“I wasn't asking you.” Hailey rolled her eyes at the younger men, before slowly introducing them as Jalen, Aaron, and Shai. 

“Y/N.” 

You were ushered over to a seat beside Hailey as they got the game started. 

Josh was missing easy passes, not rebounding, and sometimes not even hitting the backboard. 

Once or twice was okay, but after a few of each one and more, the boys started heckling him over it. 

“What the hell Giddey?” Aaron shoved the youngest boy, “We can’t have you playing like that tonight, got it?” 

“Stop embarrassing me.” He whispered, “I’m trying to impress her.”

“Impress her by sucking? Got it.” Jalen grinned, “Hope it works for you buddy.”

“Hey Giddey!” You shouted at him, “How about actually putting the ball in the net?” You joked as his friends let out laughs as you joining in. 

“Looks its not as easy as it looks!”

“Should be pretty easy when you’re that close to the net.” You shrugged, “Just a thought.” 

Josh shot the ball again, completely missing.

He looked back towards you, a grin already on your face, “Okay give it to me.” He said, his accent coming out thicker than usual.

“Man, you really suck at basketball, huh?” You laughed, “Maybe I shouldn't come tonight.”

“I didn’t invite you up here for you to bully me the whole time.” He chuckled, “and what do you mean? You’re coming to the game?”

“Yeah- my boss got us tickets for tonight as a thank you.” You nonchalantly shrugged. 

Josh nodded, “Good.” he muttered as he turned around, his eyes widening at his friends as he walked towards them. His foot scuffed the ground causing him to slightly stumble, you letting out a laugh at him.

“Josh, keep it up and you’re going to need a helmet. That isn't the first time you’ve tripped today.”

“It’s just him falling for you!” Jalen barked out, a laugh escaping right after.

Josh’s face flushed for what felt like the millionth time that day.

“Look I gotta run now,” You said as you walked over to Josh, him giving you a small hug before you walked towards the stairs, “The smoothie is calling my name now and frankly, I’m starting to feel bad watching you eat shit every few minutes.” You grinned, “Like a baby deer or something,” You added, “But I will catch you tonight.” 

“See you later,” he replied, “and definitely not a baby deer! Just finding my footing.” He rolled his eyes.

“Yeah like a baby deer.” You remarked, “I’ll see you later.” You chuckled as you opened the door, quickly leaving the rooftop,. 

“Oh you’ve got it bad Giddey,” Shai clapped his back, “Playfully insulting you and you just took it? You might as well sign the marriage certificate tomorrow.”

[creativecuteness]

Just a little Fic I'm working on

This is a sneak peek for a fanfiction that I'm posting this Friday. Inspired by Island of the slaughter AU by @Evaee-ry on both Tumblr and Tiktok.

The fresh ocean breeze left a salty taste in her mouth and nostrils as the bow rocked to and fro. She stared at her reflection in the clear blue water with purpose, with the cloudless sky, orbiting sea gals, and cool breeze it was a perfect summer day. Perfect for swimming, fishing, and cold creamy treats but it wasn’t perfect to her in fact; the last thirty days couldn’t have been more stressful.

She glanced at her associate out of the corner of her eye. The sun always had a way of hitting his handsome features just right his short black hair, subtle beard, and brown eyes. He was wearing a white T-shirt with a teal green one over it, dark shoes, and brown khakis. his sorry excuse for a signature outfit.

To many Christopher McLean was the Canadian equivalent of a Hollywood icon, he has appeared in countless movies, was a host for serval radio shows, podcasts, and reality tv shows (Put a pin in for that last one) And he was handsome to boot especially when the light hits him just right. But to her it wasn’t endearing as much as it was annoying.

Dakota Natalie (Age 16) knew full well that Chris’s nice guy act was nothing more than that. His quote-on-quote acts of selflessness was just a way to paint himself as a humble chivalrous not your average celebrity kind of guy. But below the surface the countless fangirls and mutual respect were the many ways he stroked his own ego. In actuality Chris was an egomaniac, narcissistic, and overall insufferable and any brave fool who tried to call him out on it would be fired on the spot and taken to court for ludicrous charges. Only a fool would work for Chirs and sadly Dakota, their captain manning the boat, and two junior high schoolers were those fools.

She turned herself fully to get a better look at Chris as he smoked his cigarette, he truly had no care in the world and that just added to the young girl’s disgust. How could he be so nonchalant about this? Were his staff and actors just that disposable to him? Or maybe he was starting to feel an ounce of regret and couldn’t risk showing that vulnerability. Dakota liked to think it was the second option but the logical side of her knew what was going on in his twisted brain.

Chris lowed his cigarette and puffed out smoke all of which hitting the brunette square in the face making her start hacking as she fanned the air as the smoke stung her eyes and lungs.

“Ugh, yet another reason why I shouldn’t start smoking.”  She prayed; the repulsive stench wouldn’t linger on her clothes. A brown skinned girl with purple hair in a braid handed her some water which she gladly drank. Once her coughing fit ended, she gave Chis the best death glare she could muster.

“Watch were you’re blowing that stuff are you trying to kill me too.” She spat, a small part of her wanting to throw the tv host overboard.

“Hey, I gave you a warning, but you were so lost in my beauty I guess you didn’t hear me.” He remarked teasingly, even in her observation she didn’t see his lips moving once he hadn’t said anything to her, and he knew she knew that. Barely anything gets past her.

“Pfft as if.” She scuffed crossing her arms and leaning back on the railing, “I’m just seeing if you regret leaving twenty-two teenagers on a deserted island while you left to save your own hide.”

Chris’s featured softened for once letting his ego deflate as he gave his assistant an affectionate pat on the head. She had the urge to push it away but moments like this were rare and far between, so she let it slide (Just this once.)

“Look, as much as I hate admitting my wrong doings you have a point.” He sighed, taking another drag from his cigarette this time blowing in the direction of the wind (And out of her face.) “I shouldn’t have left those kids on the island with a crazy killer.” He spoke, “It’s just seeing Ezekiel’s head and severed body parts I panicked. I didn’t know what to do, what was I supposed to do?”

“Uh, bring them with you!” She snapped banging her fist on the metal railing, startling their other two helpers who were playing Go Fish using a barrel as a makeshift table, “Call authorities and let them handle the rest! But no, you had to selfishly leave giving those kids no way out and all of which could be dead thanks to you. How do we tell their parents they’ll sue you from here to Timbuktu, your reputation will be ruined, and you have yourself to blame for this McLean!” She yelled, giving him another hateful glare.

Chris had to hand it to her, just like Hearther her looks could kill, and it left him regretting waiting this long to rescue them.

A Hispanic teenager with short brown hair watched the scene unfold, he thanked his lucky stars he wasn’t chosen for the show. As Chris and Dakota argued back and forth on the morality of their situation; he eyed the purple haired girl and motioned her to invite Dakota to play with them.

She nodded in understanding not wanting this short-term alliance to be the end of them before their search even began. “Hey Dakota!” She spoke waving to her, “Why don’t you play with us? We need a third player to even the playing ground.”

Dakota thought for a moment, giving a small glance at Chris wondering if he had any final words on their conversation, but figured it’d be better to just end it now. “Fine deal me in.” She agreed, not giving the former host a second glance as she joined the two acquaintances, her expression still stormy and didn’t even make small talk. The only time she did was to ask for a card.

When you realize there's another Dakota in Total Drama and need to specify this is a completely different character and by that, I mean this is my main OC. Fully chapter will be out on ao3, fanfiction.net, and Tumblr Friday February 2nd.

[generaltrashshecox]

Just a thought I don't know where it's going so 🤷

Damien was working on his furniture mask, goggles, and gloves on as he sanded the wood. Working with his hands calmed his mind and this was his version of "relaxation." Afterward he would have an awesome gothic couch that would fit with his living room perfectly. What he didn't hear over the sound of the grinder was his boyfriend coming in.

"Hey!" Anthony yelled over the heavy machinery and Damien jumped scuffing it against the old upholstery sending fluff flying. He turned off the tool and turned to him.

"Babe, please go grab a mask if you're gonna be in here any longer. God knows what they used to put on these things in the olden days. Especially since you smoke the devil's lettuce," he said seriously and Anthony couldn't help but smile at his concern. He grabbed one of the masks from the box and put it on getting close.

"Wow, Dames. It already looks so cool!" Damien beamed.

"I know right? It just needs a nice light stain and fixing the upholstery and it'll be golden," he finished before turning to his boyfriend now confused. "Wait what are you doing here? We didn't have any plans today... Right?" Anthony shook his head sheepishly.

"A bit spontaneous but I thought since you had off we could hang out. Maybe go to dinner? Or maybe I could help you? You can teach me your ways," he said wiggling his eyebrows and Damien waved him off.

"Dinner sounds great, babe. Let me just finish up and get cleaned up." He paused for a minute. "Shit what am I gonna wear?"

"Whatever you want. It's pretty casual but I am a bit partial to your Astarion shirt," Anthony said with a smirk. "And those pants too with the buttons down the back and hug your ass just right..."

"I feel like you just like easier access," Damien said chuckling and shaking his head. "I'll wear normal clothes so you behave yourself."

"When do I ever do that?"

"Shut up."