#thanks for the tag rae

[runraerun]

Steddie Amnesia Ficlet: 2/3

-> Part 1 | Part 3 | AO3

cw: more head trauma/concussed!Steve discussions.

Steve hears Eddie call after him, but he doesn’t stop—he can’t face it. Not right now, anyway. Not when his eyes are stinging and his heart is pounding in his ears, each pulse more painful than the last. His legs take him to the building he’s supposed to go into, fueled purely by muscle memory. Not brain memory, of course, because nothing up there works properly anymore, apparently.

The Brain Injury Recovery Center.

It’s where Eddie expects him to go. He’ll catch Steve if he goes in, or he’ll wait for Steve by the doors until he comes back out—both options involve facing Eddie after Steve had made a total idiot of himself. Both feel utterly mortifying.

So he ducks into the alleyway beside the familiar brick building instead, just to catch his breath. It takes Steve longer than the average bear to sort out his feelings now, after all. Jesus, who’s he kidding? Everything seems to take him longer.

Steve feels hot tears streak down his cheeks before he angrily scrubs a sleeve over them. Of course Eddie isn’t his boyfriend. Eddie’s funny and cool and he’s in a band and he lights up every damn room he walks into—and Steve… well, maybe Steve was something a few years ago when he was in high school, and maybe he was even something before his accident, but now…

There’s a sharp clapping noise that sounds like thunder. A door slamming, Steve’s brain sluggishly supplies. It’s followed by shouting.

“Steve? Steve!” Eddie calls from somewhere on the street.

Steve’s heart feels like it’s going to fall out of his ass. His face is probably still blotchy and wet, his breathing hasn’t evened out yet and his eyes are still leaking like a goddamn faucet. He’s pathetic.

Can’t let Eddie see him like this…

He ducks behind a metal garbage bin, careful not to let anything but the bottom of his sneakers touch the sticky looking surfaces around him. It stinks, like rot.

“Steve?” Eddie’s voice echoes off of the alleyway walls. Steve claps a hand around his mouth to muffle out any of the pathetic sounds that seem determined to escape from him. So much of his body just does whatever the hell it feels like now. Out of Steve’s control, like everything else.

For a few, tense seconds, there’s silence. Eddie’s listening for him, maybe. Steve shuts his eyes and waits him out.

It feels like an eternity before he hears Eddie’s hurried, retreating footsteps, continuing his shouting for Steve. He sounds almost as panicked as Steve feels. Almost.

Steve gives a noisy, wet sniff and does one final scrub of his face before getting to his feet. He starts walking.

As he goes deeper into the alleyway, he thinks back on all the things he’s been wrong about. The fact that Eddie had some of his band t-shirts mixed in with Steve’s clothes… well, that was because they were both guys who wore about the same size, and Eddie left his shit everywhere. It’s no wonder some of his stuff got mixed into their laundry. And the times Eddie’s driven him places? That’s just… what friends do, Steve supposes. And all those times Eddie made Steve laugh? Made him feel like the center of the universe? Well, that’s just… Eddie. He must make everyone feel that way. It’s like his super power. But it isn’t romantic… It doesn’t mean anything more than Eddie being a magnetic person.

Steve is just so stupid. Painfully so.

He blinks as the sun hits him. He must’ve reached the other side of the alleyway.

Steve cups a hand over his eyes and grimaces. His migraine wasn’t backing down. He sighs. Time to head back.

Steve turns back into the alleyway he’d emerged from, only he’s about halfway through when he realizes the color of the buildings on either side of him are wrong. They’re brown on one side, painted green on the other. That isn’t right…

His heart jackrabbits in his chest, but he keeps walking forward. Maybe he’ll recognize the street once he’s back on the other side.

But when he gets there, it’s as unfamiliar to him as the alleyway. Steve turns, looking up and down the road to see if he could spot Eddie, or his van, or the Center. But there’s nothing.

And when someone shoulder checks him, Steve supposes he was sort of asking for it, standing in the middle of the sidewalk like that. He apologizes, but it’s too late. The person’s already out of range to hear him.

It’s as if everyone else is on fast forward while Steve’s stuck on pause. The world keeps moving along while all he seems to be able to do is watch it go by.

Why would he ever think someone as dynamic and spirited as Eddie would hitch his horse onto Steve’s busted up, barely mobile cart?

Stupid, stupid, stupid…

He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes and wills himself not to start blubbering again like a goddamn baby. His life is already one big, painful lesson in humility as it is, he doesn’t need to wallow in it.

Steve keeps walking. Figures he’ll spot something, or someone familiar to him eventually. The pounding in his head’s eased off to a dull ache, at least. Maybe there was something to this exercise and fresh air thing the doctors were always going on about, after all…

The thing is though, Steve doesn’t spot anything familiar. Not even vaguely so, and it’s not until the streetlights turn on that he realizes he’d spent the majority of the day wandering around the streets like some lost dog that managed to slip his leash.

It’s cold too, and all he’s got on is jeans and a polo. It’s October, isn’t it? No wonder he’s got goosebumps all up and down his arms.

Then, he finally spots something familiar; a phone booth. Steve breathes a sigh of relief. He’d just call his parents. They’d come pick him up.

He gets the booth and lifts the receiver before he blanks. A quarter. He’d need that. Duh, Harrington. So he hangs up the phone and pats his pockets until he finds a wallet, but all that’s inside of it are a couple of crisp bills. He’d need to break one.

Steve turns, scans the street until he spots a well lit, invitingly warm looking diner. The joint looks so damn cozy that he forgets to make sure the street is clear before he steps out into the middle of it.

Tires screech, harmonizing with the horn that’s blasting at him—Steve flinches, reaching up to cover his head and braces for impact.

To his great relief, the hit never comes. Which, thank fuck. He can’t afford anymore accidents. As it is Robin’s threatened to make him wear a helmet full-time.

Steve doesn’t listen to whatever the person yells at him, he just hurries to get the hell out of his way of the other moving vehicles.

“Smooth, Harrington. Real smooth.” He mutters to himself as he catches his breath.

He pushes the door to the diner open with shaking hands, but it’s blissfully peaceful inside, and he can actually feel his insides unclench as he stands inside of it.

“Sit anywhere, hun, I’ll be right with you.” A woman’s voice tells him. Steve nods and slips into the nearest booth overlooking the street. Watches the cars go by. There’s even a couple of cop cars, sirens blaring, lights flashing. Steve wonders briefly what sort of emergency they’re rushing off to when the waitress comes to his table.

“What can I get you, handsome?” She asks, cheery and warm like the rest of the diner.

“Uh…” Steve frowns, taking a few seconds to process the question, “nothing. I’m just waiting for my parents to come pick me up.”

The waitress taps the side of the notepad. “Well you gotta order something, hun, or you can’t stay here.”

Steve wants to stay here. It’s warm and smells fucking amazing, like “pancakes?”

She waitress smirks. “Yeah, we got those. You want a stack?”

“Yeah, please.” Steve smiles back, laughing along with the waitress like he’s in whatever joke that’s currently so amusing to her. “I’m starving.”

“You want some coffee too, to help you sober up, maybe?”

“Oh, I’m not drunk.” He huffs out a little self deprecating laugh, “I wish. No, I—uh, my meds, they’re the kind that you can’t mix with alcohol. Coffee too. Bummer, right? Yeah… But, uh, it is what it is, I guess—so…”

He can feel it. The way his mind so often wanders. He’s lost his train. His track. He frowns, eyes drifting towards the street again, watching the headlights zip by.

“…so just the pancakes then?” The waitress asks, jolting his train back onto its rails. His attention snaps back onto her.

“Yeah, pancakes. Sure.” Steve flashes her what he hopes is a charming smile.

She returns his smile and leaves him be, and he lets himself relax. Props his head up on a fist and watches life go on for everyone else but him.

He gets his pancakes, and some juice too that he doesn’t remember ordering, but hey, that’s nothing new. And damn, the pancakes taste even better than they smell. He needs to remember the name of this place so he can come back with everyone. What did the doctors say? Repeat something in your head over and over until it sticks. Repetition. Repetition, repetition, repetition…

It’s around the time his fork hits an empty plate that one of the police cars stops in front of the diner window, lights on, but the sirens are off now.

Hopper steps out.

Huh. That’s weird. Steve wonders what sort of emergency he’s here for.

When Hopper enters through the glass doors, the bell hung over the entry way rings out pleasantly. An angel getting their wings.

His eyes land on Steve and the older man sighs, shoulders falling. Relief, Steve recognizes. Hopper pulls the radio from his belt and says something into it before stomping over.

Then it clicks.

Oh. Steve’s the emergency.

He feels his face heat up. The handful of other patrons scattered across the diner are all looking at him.

“There you are.” Hopper sighs, gruff and exasperated.

Steve sinks into his seat, just a little. “Shit. I fucked up, didn’t I?”

“Just a little.” Hopper chuckles dryly. He takes off his hat and slips into the booth across from Steve, apparently not in any sort of hurry now that he’s found the runaway dog.

Steve runs a hand through his hair, a nervous tic he’s developed. “Sorry.”

“Nah, don’t be sorry. Just strangle Munson for me when you see him next, will ya?” Hopper drops his hat onto the table and waves the waitress down. He orders a coke.

Munson. Eddie.

The memory of how he made a total and utter fool of himself comes rushing back, slamming down onto him like one of those cartoon anvils. Jesus, how did he forget that..?

Suddenly the pancakes aren’t sitting so good in his gut. Feels like he’s gonna ralph.

“Was he freaked out? Eddie, I mean.” Steve asks, cautiously approaching the question. Did Eddie say anything about why…?

“Yeah, him and Robin both. Then the kids found out too—don’t ask me how. I suspect the curly-haired one has an illegal transmitter.” Hopper leans back in the booth as the waitress drops off his coke. He takes the straw out and drinks it right from the glass. Steve waits for him to finish, doesn’t say a word.

When Hopper puts the glass down, Steve just sits and watches the way the drops of condensation run down the cup, distorting around the fingerprints Hopper’s left. “Anyway, they’re all out on their bikes looking for you too.”

Hopper smiles fondly, like it’s something charming and not… pathetic. “You got a lot of people that care about you, kid.

Steve swallows around the lump in his throat, and nods. Tries for a grin, but it’s weak. Probably wouldn’t fool anyone, much less a cop. “Yeah, I’m a real lucky guy.”

Hopper looks like he wants to say something else, but he just takes a breath and nods. Steve’s grateful he doesn’t argue. Doesn’t think he has the energy in him right now to fend off the ‘but look how far you’ve come!’ ‘Your speaking’s gotten so much better!’ ‘It could be a whole heck of a lot worse!’ comments.

“What do you say we get you home? Unless you want dessert? My treat.” Hopper offers with a grin.

“No, I just want to go to sleep,” he says, before remembering his manners, “thanks, though.”

“Alright then.” Hopper glances down at the cleared plate of pancakes and the half finished coke before sliding out of the booth, followed by Steve. He takes out wallet, but Steve beats him to it. He tosses down a few bills, hoping it’s enough. Hopper doesn’t comment, so it must be.

The drive back to his and Robin’s apartment is a solemn one, but it’s strangely peaceful. Hopper’s got the heat on full blast due to Steve’s lack of coat, and the motion of the vehicle along with the darkened sky leaves Steve feeling wrung out in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time.

In fact, when they finally arrive, Hopper’s gotta shake his shoulder to wake him up.

“We’re here.” He rumbles out in his gruff baritone.

Steve lifts his head from his folded arm and looks up at the modest building. He wonders how far they live from the pancake diner. If they could walk there, sometime, him and Robin and Eddie.

But then Steve realizes he never got the name of it. He feels his insides sink. Another thing lost to him.

“Thanks, Hop,” Steve gives Hopper a nod and what he’s sure is a tired smile. “I’ll, uh—I’ll try not to run off again.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it.” Hopper says, diplomatically. “Let me walk you in.”

Steve cringes at the idea. He’s grateful for Hop and all he’s done—especially the part about not making him feel like a complete dummy—but he just wants this all to be over and for things to revert back to how they were. And at this point he’s so close he can taste it.

Steve busies his hands by undoing his seat belt. “No, it’s okay, really—“

Hopper looks like he’s about to argue but Robin damn near crashes out through the building’s illuminated front doors. She makes a b-line for Steve, who’s just barely gotten out of the cruiser.

She wraps her arms around him and doesn’t let go. “Steve! Holy shit, you scared me so bad. I’ve been out of my mind!”

Steve’s arms are trapped at an awkward angle, but he reaches around her as best he can, arms like flippers. “I’m okay. Seriously. Look, not even a scratch.”

She doesn’t laugh. Just squeezes him harder. Truthfully, Steve doesn’t know if he’s okay, but it’s what everyone always seems to want to hear from him, so he says it often.

“I’ve already killed Eddie like three times.” Robin murmurs into Steve’s chest, before finally pulling away. Her eyes are bloodshot, her nose stuffy, like she’s been crying.

“It’s not his fault, Rob.” Steve’s brows pinch together as he frowns, “is he…”

But when Steve looks up towards their building, he can see Eddie standing in the doorframe, his dark silhouette illuminated by the entry way lights. He’s still as a statue, holding open the door for them, arm extended out into the cold autumn night. Steve’s insides squirm.

“You got him from here, Buckley?” Hopper calls from his cruiser and Robin ducks to meet his eye before giving him a thumbs up. She loops her arm around his waist and they start towards their place—towards Eddie.

Before they reach him, Steve keeps his voice down as he asks, “Can I just go to bed? I don’t—I can’t talk about it right now.”

“Okay.” She nods, “I get it.”

But she doesn’t, not really.

Steve avoids eye contact with Eddie when they finally reach the building, and before he can say anything, Robin interrupts. “He’s going straight to bed. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” Eddie says in a small voice. He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t even follow them back up to their apartment. Maybe Eddie’s even relieved he doesn’t need to confront it tonight. Maybe they won’t ever confront it… maybe he’s hoping Steve’s brain will take care of everything and make him forget. Make it like it never happened. Part of Steve wishes—

No. He doesn’t wish that. His brain’s already functioning at half capacity, he doesn’t want to thank it for fucking up, even if it might make Steve’s life easier.

Whatever Eddie’s expression is, Steve doesn’t look back to find out. He keeps his eyes on his feet, focusing on putting one step ahead of the other.

When they finally arrive at Steve’s matchbox sized bedroom, he doesn’t even bother changing into pajamas, or even out of his jeans for that matter. He just falls into his bed, pulls a pillow over his head and wills himself to let go of the day and surrender to the sweet pull of blissful unconsciousness.

🫣 Oops, I made it worse. But I promise the Eddie and Steve confrontation is in the next part! 🙏 This is tagged angst with a happy ending for a reason.

Tag List: (message me to add or remove yourself.)

@morallyundefined @estrellami-1 @ollieolive @mugloversonly @wheneverfeasible @steddiefication @what-if-a-dragon @wrenisfangirling @yesdangerpls @flustratedcas @scarletyeager @snowstar2368 @starxlark @sofadofax @lawrencebshoggoth @stevesworldxx @jizzing-bastard-600and69 @bambibiest @queenie-ofthe-void @lilpomelito @bananahoneycomb @kaspurrcat @deadwhiterosesstuff @dame-zoom-a-lot @3vilpurpl3d0t @loudmariachibands @steddieislife

[theballadoflucygraybaird]

What if I told you I'm a matsermind?

[solargrove]

hey friends :) not really sure how to go about a post like this because i've never done it before lol but i'm publicly deciding to change my name here from ren to raegan. i have been going by ren for as long as i've been on simblr but it has always been an alias and i never had a real reason to use an alias other than just feeling kind of anxious to share my name? but i'm at the point where i feel really disconnected from the name ren and i would much rather see my actual name being used so from now on please call me either raegan or rae!

thank you ❣️❣️

[moeblob]

Look, I just think it's VERY funny and on brand that I thought of an entire premise of colorful characters for half the cast and immediately drew the only one void of color.

[stinkrascal]

here is my dragon age worldstate remade in picrew, thank you for the tag @druidgroves 🌞

morwen tabris, rogue + assassin + ♡ alistair / eden hawke, sword and shield warrior + berserker + ♡ isabela / elisen lavellan, mage + knight enchanter + ♡ solas / vanna mercar, two-handed warrior + slayer + ♡ emmrich

picrew here!!

[miss-couch-potato]

Found footage of the Blackpool Pleasure Beach Hardluck Bears show!!!

Here's all the footage of the hlbs

And here's the full video. Insane how that video is 8 years old and no one had found it.

[a-canceled-stamp]

20 Questions for Writers

Thank you @motleyfam, @crows-murder and @selkienight60 for the tags! ^.^

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

22

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

157,488

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Mostly DC, but Star Wars, Marvel, Malevolent (Podcast), Good Omens, and MHA make appearances too.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Long Way Down (To The Bottom Of The River)

Then Came the Morning

A Leap of Faith

Talk To Me

There Are Softer Oak Trees

5. Do you respond to comments?

I used to respond to every comment fairly quickly but recently I just haven't had the time :(( I appreciate every single comment though, they bring me such joy 🥹

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

That would be cardboard box - the first (sort of) hurt no comfort I've written >:D

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Probably There Are Softer Oak Trees :)))

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not yet

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I do!!!! Or...I'm giving it a shot at least. Not for DC, but for Malevolent. Might post something real soon :3

10. Do you write crossovers?

Nope!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I didn't even know this was a thing before today. That being said, I don't think so??

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, but I would love to collab sometime :3

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

I cannot pick one because I don't really have A favorite. But Stucky (Marvel), DinLuke (Star Wars), Merthur (Merlin), SuperBat (DC), TimKon (DC) and Science Girlfriends (Orphan Black) are all ships I enjoy.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will?

Dying Is Easy, Living Is Harder. I have many ideas for it but unfortunately, I'm not obsessed enough about the characters to fulfill them lmao. Also An Unexpected Visit bc similar to the previous one I have a lot of ideas, but I just don't think I am talented enough to actually write those ideas.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I've rewritten this answer 10 times, but no version felt right. At one point, I decided I was just gonna skip it. BUT NO. I'm gonna stop worrying about other peepz opinions and just say what I actually believe. And here it is.

I know how to make my writing more immersive with various details like sounds, smells, sensations etc. (and I LOVE doing this. The only issue is I sometimes do it either too much or too little ahdjkhsd)

I am VERY nitpicky. This can seem more like a flaw (and it is), but it has also helped me grow and understand what I like and dislike about my writing. It also means I spend a lot of time editing which makes posting SO much more satisfying (tho sometimes I gotta get those shorter fics out there for the instant serotonin boost lol)

I'm not a huge fan of characters who say/do things that don't make sense considering the genre/plot. Spending more time on this is challenging since I both dislike and SUCK at writing dialogue (why is English so HARD??), but it is also a lot of fun bc I think I am getting better at it.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Well, that part about being nitpicky is obviously a lie bc I didn't realize question 17 was gone ahdjshdkj. But I was the one who noticed it first among my friends so...maybe? Nope lol

English grammar. I have to double check every time I write a message to online friends to make sure what I've written is actually a sentence that makes sense.The thing is - I think I'm pretty good, but I actually suck. One time, I wrote mold wine instead of mulled wine in a fic. Never living that down. This is I think why it takes me so long to edit lmao.

Being too harsh on myself and not allowing myself to feel proud about my accomplishments/comparing my writing to other people. Yes, compared to other fantastic writers I suck, and it will always be like that. It's something I'm still struggling to accept, but I'm getting there!

Writing quickly. Like shutting off my brain and just writing doesn't work for me. I have to be there and edit every single sentence that I don't like, and I think this is why it takes so long for me to finish the first draft. Def gotta work on this!

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Hmm. Instinctively, I think it makes more sense to write something like, "Person A said something in a language I didn't understand" than to write in that language. It's more fun that way. And if both the pov character and I don't understand what Person A saying it makes me sympathize with the pov character more.

That being said, if I ever see someone writing in Swedish in a fic, I will be immensely happy (and horrified)

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Rise of the Guardians on ffn. The fic is still there and is still hot garbage, but I did have a lot of fun writing it.

20. Favourite fic you've written?

I know what my LEAST favorite one is hjkahdsjk. Nah but for real, I love all my fics for very specific reasons. Like I have a sort of emotional connection with all of them depending on where I was in life, how I was feeling emotionally at the time, etc.

My top 3 would probably be Long Way Down (To The Bottom Of The River) bc it was the first fic I put a lot of thought and effort into, There Are Softer Oak Trees bc it makes me soft and fuzzy when I think about it, and cardboard box bc the comments made me fkn cackle.

It feels impossible to tag people who haven't been tagged yet but imma go with @miles2g0, @lurkinglurkerwholurks, @they-reap-what-we-sow, @liverobinreaction, and @bonesbuckleup. No pressure ofc!

[missmisdemeanor]

[constellraetion]

“It was when I woke up in that pond, your hands gently washing the blood from my matted fur, that I realized something..”

“And what was that?”

“...”

“Heh. Alright, let’s just pretend I don’t already know what’s on your mind.”

---

This scene from a yet-unfinished fic of mine has been burning a hole in my brain. Needed to illustrate it Posthaste.

[honeylemonbutte]

Rules: Make a poll of your favourite female characters (no limits - as many or as little as you want) and see which your followers like the most!

tagged by @grapecaseschoices Thank you! I started thinking of my favorite female characters and then I couldn't stop. I tried not to put too many obscure women, but some of these ladies I just can't leave out (I did actually weed out most of the more niche ladies and put them in the tags)

tagging: @littlemissbumblebee, @alexeizzo, @agentark, @thisghosts-obsessions-again, @beatrizamante, @renru

please tell me your favorite girls in poll format

[eskawrites]

listen. @sweepy-stringbean said 'we need the recovery scene after the vecna'd moss back stab' in the tags of a post and i was helpless to do anything but drop everything and write it. so here you go. tenlark sequel to this.

-

If Tenar ever wakes up, Lark is going to kill her.

When Tenar wakes up. Because she is going to wake up. She has to, because she trusted Lark to do a job, and Lark doesn’t think she can do it if Tenar is gone. Because Lark is shit at this, was never meant for it, will never be anything close to half the leader Tenar can so effortlessly be.

But mostly because Lark thinks her own heart will stop beating alongside Tenar’s, and then they’ll all be ruined.

She imagines it, late at night, sitting at Tenar’s bedside after she’s slipped back into the ward once the healers have closed the doors for the night. She thinks about what it would feel like, walking around with a still, dead heart. It would be heavy, she thinks. Perhaps it would sink further into her chest, weighing her shoulders down, pressing against her lungs and making it hard to breathe. She wonders if it would start to rot. If her stagnant blood would turn black, if her skin would grow ashy to match. She would be forever in mourning, her veins thick and black like a widow’s garment.

-

“Queen Regent,” Arren greets her when he walks into her room one morning. She glares at him, and he grins and waves the tray in his hands. “I brought you food. The servants say you aren’t eating.”

“I can get my own food.”

“A queen should never have to serve herself.”

“Will you shut up, Arren?”

He sighs, smile fading, and she would apologize if she wasn’t so busy fighting back sudden tears.

“I mean it all with love,” he says, as if she doesn’t know that. She reaches up and rubs her eyes. “And you really do need to eat.”

“What I need is to find Moss.” She curls her hand into a fist and lets it fall to the table. “What I need is to figure out what he’s planning. What I need is for the council to make themselves useful and aid Ged’s research.”

“Lark—”

“What I need is to get a hold of myself so I can do the job she left for me. No, fuck that, what I need is her.” She looks up at Arren, not bothering to fight the tears anymore. “I can’t do it, Arren. Why did she do this? Why did she choose me?”

“I think you know the answer to that.”

“It should’ve been you.”

“Oh no,” he says, laughing weakly. “I’d be screwing it all up, and you’d be telling me everything I’m doing wrong in precise detail.”

“But I can’t do this,” she says, a sob breaking through her words.

Arren walks over, sets the tray down, and places his hands on her shoulders. “She wouldn’t have chosen you if you couldn’t do it.”

-

“There are people claiming to have seen Moss in the eastern outskirts,” Ged says, every word heavy with exhaustion. “But the guards say it’s only rumors.”

“What do you think?” Lark asks.

“I think that, if the guards thought there was any chance she was there, they would have already tried to arrest her.”

She nods. “We never should have told the people it was Moss.”

“We couldn’t lie to them.”

“I know,” she breathes. It’s why she had given the order to spread the word.

“At least now she can’t hurt anyone else. If someone spots her, we’ll know about it.”

Lark shakes her head. “If only we had that kind of luck.”

-

“And Lady Fina has offered her best scouts to comb the outer villages,” Lark says, rolling up the parchment that contained Ged’s notes from that afternoon’s council meeting. “That’s tripled our patrols while maintaining a strong guard presence to protect the people. As soon as he makes a move, we’ll know it.”

She pauses and looks down at Tenar. Her face is frighteningly pale. Her hair is wild against the pillows, more unruly than she ever lets it get. Lark reaches out as if to brush it into place, but she stops herself and pulls her hand back.

“Of course, he hasn’t made a move,” she whispers. “We know he’s planning something, we just have no idea what. My best guess is that he—he’s waiting for the news of your death.”

She watches Tenar’s face, praying to every god she knows for some small movement. Some recognition of her voice. Nothing comes. Lark closes her eyes, then opens them and looks at her again.

“I’m doing my best, Tenar. I will do everything I can, for as long as I can. But I really, really don’t want to do it without you.”

Tenar remains still, silent, so far away and so close to the end that Lark can’t even see the rise and fall of her chest with her breathing. She does reach out this time, just to press her fingers to Tenar’s wrist and feel her heart beating. It’s quiet and frantic, but it hasn’t given out yet.

“Please,” she whispers, letting her touch linger just this once. “Please, Tenar. Please don’t leave me. Not now. Not ever.”

-

Many people in the palace would say that Queen Tenar has no temper. They say her patience is limitless, her demeanor unshakably calm.

Lark knows better. Tenar has a temper—an impressive one, too. She just has a much longer fuse, and a much stronger ability to hide her anger when it finally ignites.

Lark…doesn’t.

“Lord Vayne, would you quit blowing hot air out of that useless head of yours and listen to what I am telling you. Moss is not an enemy of the palace, and even if she was, sending bounty hunters after her would only serve to get them killed.”

“The men I am speaking of are the best in the land. They—”

“And Moss has helped save this kingdom when every other force at your disposal proved utterly useless. However talented your hired brutes are, they will not best her. Now sit down and hold your tongue while the rest of us discuss actual ideas.”

He glares at her, but he sits. Lark glares back, feeling completely hollow even in her triumph. She looks around the table. Everyone else is looking back at her, faces carefully blank. Arren catches her eye and winks.

The door bursts open. Arren jumps to his feet and draws his sword. Lark grabs her bow from her chair, but she recognizes the guard before she can aim.

“Queen Regent,” he says, ignoring everyone else in the room. “I’m sorry to interrupt—I just came from the ward. They’re asking for you. They say it’s urgent.”

Lark dashes across the room. Someone shouts after her, protesting her behavior or reminding her of some stupid formality she should follow before leaving the meeting, but she doesn’t really hear it. She doesn’t hear anything but her steps pounding down the hall, and her blood rushing in her ears, and the guard’s voice, apologizing again for interrupting, telling her he isn’t sure, they just sent him to collect her.

They reach the ward. The guard stops, but Lark doesn’t. She shoves through the doors. She races past the guards posted in the front room. She slams her way into the room with Tenar’s bed, and then she freezes, because all she can see is healers gathered around the bedside, and white sheets piled at the foot of the bed, and she realize that she doesn’t know why they called for her, and maybe she doesn’t want to know.

But then she hears a small voice, beloved and familiar even if it’s never sounded so frail.

“Lark?”

One of the healers turns, shuffling to the side, and Lark can see her at last. Tenar is still lying down, still terrifyingly pale, but her eyes are open. Her lips are pulling into a weak smile. She breathes in, and Lark can see it in the rise of her chest. She’s alive.

She’s alive.

And Lark remembers, suddenly, how furious she is with her.

Tenar’s mouth quirks up, like she can read Lark’s mind. Maybe she can. Lark wouldn’t be surprised, actually. Tenar glances up at the healers around her bed.

“Leave us for a moment.”

They all nod their assent and walk away, leaving the room empty save for Lark and Tenar and the heavy silence stretching between them.

“Lark,” Tenar breathes, but Lark shakes her head. Tenar lifts a hand toward her. Her fingers shake with the effort. “You can say whatever you want, and I’m sure I’ll deserve it. But come here first, please.”

“You almost died.” Her own words hit her like a blow, but the almost is what lingers, warming her chest slowly but surely. She closes her eyes. She steps closer. “I—I thought—”

“I am here,” Tenar breathes. Her fingers brush against Lark’s, and Lark blindly intertwines them. “I have not left you.”

“But you did.”

The warmth turns to anger, to rage, and she clings to it, holds it close until it is blinding and painful, preventing her from thinking too much about I have not left you and how good it threatens to make her feel. She opens her eyes, and Tenar’s gaze is understanding. Sympathetic. It’s easy, suddenly, to only see the rage.

“You did leave me,” she says. “No, not just that, you named me Queen. Me! Are you out of your mind?”

“No.”

“You are a fool, Your Highness!”

“I disagree, Queen Regent.”

“Shut up!” Her voice cracks, and she almost laughs. She breathes out, and it sounds more like a cry. “I’m so mad at you, Tenar.”

“I know,” Tenar says softly. “And I’m sorry. I truly am. But it was the right choice to make, Lark. I know it was, and I think you do, too.”

Lark does, but that doesn’t stop her from shaking her head. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

Tenar takes her hand and pulls it up to her face. Lark moves with her, pliant, obedient, willing to be anything Tenar needs her to be, always.

“You’ve done beautifully,” Tenar whispers.

“You don’t even know what’s happened in your absence.”

“But I know you.” Tenar closes her eyes.

She’s sweating, Lark realizes. Exhausted. In pain, probably. Lark leans closer and brushes her hair back. Tenar smiles softly, and Lark feels relief crash so brutally through her that she thinks she might be sick.

“You would have done better,” Lark says, softer now. “Lord Vayne hates me, you know.”

“Lord Vayne hates everyone. Whatever you said to him, he probably deserved it.” Tenar opens her eyes. “I really am sorry. I will—they’ve already told me I must stay overnight, but I can call the council here, I will catch up on everything, I will—”

“You will rest,” says Lark. She runs her fingers through Tenar’s hair again. “I will do everything you need me to do, for however long you need me to do it. And you will rest for as long as your healers tell you to.”

Tenar’s smile turns sly. “Want to bet?”

“Against you? Never.” Lark swallows. “But my point stands. I’ve sworn my oath to you, and to this kingdom. I will be your regent for as long as you need me.”

“Even if you hate it?”

“Well. I do get to tell your council what to do, which is fun.”

“You can tell them what to do anyway.”

“Yes, but now they have to actually listen.” She grins as Tenar laughs softly. But then they both sober, their eyes meeting again. Lark swallows. “I’m glad you’re back, Tenar.”

“I’m not done yet.” Tenar squeezes her fingers. “And I wouldn’t leave you.”

“You keep saying that,” Lark breathes.

“I do not say things I do not mean.”

“Believe me, I know.”

“I know you do. Allow me to prove it to you anyway.”

Lark realizes how close they are, foreheads nearly touching. Tenar pulls at her hand, eyes wide, searching—begging for something in lieu of a command she doesn’t dare give.

As if Lark has ever wanted anything but to obey. She closes the distance, feeling Tenar’s smile when their lips meet, hearing her quiet sigh as Lark cradles her head and kisses her. They part after only a moment, and the light in Tenar’s eyes brings tears to Lark’s.

“What is it?” Tenar breathes. Her thumb strokes over Lark’s palm, pressing gently, grounding her. “My dear Lark, what’s wrong?”

Lark lets out a short, wet laugh. There are so many terrible things waiting for them both just outside the door, but Lark finds that the only answer she can give is to shake her head and lean in again. Tenar kisses her gently, happily. This time when they part, she brings her hand up to cup Lark’s cheek and keep her close.

“Stay here a while,” Tenar says. “Lie with me, and tell me all I’ve missed, and we’ll figure out what comes next together.”

What can Lark do but obey? She follows Tenar’s gentle pull on her hand until she’s lying beside her, arms wrapped carefully around her, and she lets Tenar ask question after question about what has happened, and she feels that—finally, for just a moment—the world is right again.

[sunminshine]

This picrew was so cute I had to join in @we-survive-endlessly

I'm tagging @puppychacco @leedonghunnies if you haven't already done it and you wanna 🥰 and of course anyone in general who sees this!

[roachsideblog]

BEGGING to hear about aleroach

OH JOY I LOVE THIS ONE!!

Here's the snippet:

~~

Roach watched him clean the scope, then gazed up and found the Colonel already looking back. He said, “You don’t need to help if you’re busy. I’m sure you’ve more important duties to tend.”

“More important…? It’s break time. I’m striking up conversation. You intrigue me.” A gleam in Vargas’ eye betrayed the true extent of his interest: Roach was a mystery to solve. A broken man still piecing himself together in the line of action, ‘freshly recruited,’ although it was clear the Colonel knew better.

Roach offered a weak smile. “There’s not much to know.”

“Ah. I see. Hate small talk?”

“Always have, Sir.”

Vargas replaced the scope and began polishing a hand guard. “There’s beauty in the little things, you know. Much to be learned from interactions you wouldn’t think twice over. Puzzles made from smaller pieces are more intricate by design.”

“They take longer to assemble. Not much time to spare in our line of work, is there?”

“I’ll spare my time for you.”

~~

This one is actually an AU of Outside Looking In where Alejandro and Roach get bonding time that leans a little more on the romantic side :3c If you (or anyone else) have questions I am happy to answer!

And here is a link to my original WIP game post!

[emblazons]

"what if you want to join another party?" "not possible."

Stranger Things S03E08 - The Battle of Starcourt timestamp roulette - 25 of 34 (for @ice-sculptures)

[moeblob]

Liv (blue, not mine) and Elnae (red, mine) being cuties together!!!

Liv is telling El about some contraption she's working on and El is like "I don't fully understand but the enthusiasm is way cuter than listening to my boss so I'm happy to listen".

[shitouttabuck]

hiiii nina i would love to know more about 'i can love you better' :)

RAE HELLO omg can u just. consider yourself tagged in this game too please i wasnt sure who'd be awake

OKAY i can love you better is from the song by the chicks (banger) about how the buckley parents suck and let buck down time after time and eddie hates seeing him go through the hope and grief over and over. here is a snip i might have already shared?

“They’re my family,” Buck says, mouth a sad, resigned twist. You are a real family. Eddie said that to him about these very same people not so long ago. He wishes he hadn’t, offhand and flippant and like it was the most obvious thing in the world, because it’s not. Eddie and his own parents may have been patching things up and making it work, but Buck’s parents are not Eddie’s. If he hadn’t been so quick to extend the same courtesy of second, third, hundredth chance to the Buckleys, if he’d been the one person telling Buck hey, it’s okay to want out of this cycle of hurt and disappointment, maybe he wouldn’t be stood here, brokenhearted and so terribly small. Eddie feels his jaw tick as he clenches it. “Not in any way that counts.”

i wrote a bunch for this but my laptop crashed and i lost so much of it and then kind of miserably abandoned it but! one day maybe!