#the words hurt me
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you think YOU had a bad day at work?
bonus: sid shrieking "no!!!! NO!!!!!" loud enough to be heard in the stands and on camera
#this is now my FAVOURITE game i've watched in real life knocking the game misconduct one off the number one rank#he was so annoyed the entire game and so annoying about it :')#he kept shrieking away on the bench and i couldn't hear a word from where i was seated#but you could just hear this constant yipping away dhfsgfkjshgfsjf PLEASE it was so funny your 36-year-old babygirl was BARKING#drew kept sitting there like... is mom okay... i don't think mom's okay...#also extremely good for me (since he wasn't really hurt) was the whumpfest of it all oh my god what ancient gods did he anger.........#geno kept Hovering in concern#po kept giving him little shoulder pats the way a sweet brave babyboy would try his best to soothe a rabid little dog#ek of course kept trying to slide right inside him and also kept skating up to him and STARING him in the face in concern/lust/both#also guys this is my first time in canada ever!!!!!!!! i'm excited#anyway. very good game for me sorry for this post but you know i love a#long post#sidney crosby#evgeni malkin#pittsburgh penguins#also!!! to all who celebrate#ramadan kareem/eid mubarak#<333 staying with a friend here through the eid celebration and they've been cooking and everything smells so good
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was watching a playthrough of stp and they said this and it was like poetry to me
#slay the princess#stp#the long quiet#the shifting mound#stp happily ever after#stp the princess#has image id#mspaint#scribbles#it's just so sad to me that HEA is born from his feelings of inadequacy#there's this fear that once she doesn't need him that she will leave him. that somehow he can stop the hurt-#-if he just stalls long enough. if he just does the right things. says the right words. makes her prison more beautiful.#then she'll love him. then he'll be enough. then they will be okay.#what a tragic route
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I cannot wait for this Stan to reconnect with his Ford.


I still haven't figured out HOW exactly they'll meet yet, but I do think that Ford would ATTACH himself to Stanley and talk his ears off forever when they eventually get comfortable :] and Stanley would listen because HOLY SHIT, THAT'S HIS BRO HE HASN'T SEEN FOR 40-ISH YEARS, HE MISSED HIS VOICE. Nonstop certified Yapper & Listener relationship <3
Stanley looks dead faced because of his ingrained poker face, but he's thouroughly enjoying it, even if sometimes he has no idea what the fuck Ford is saying. He never interrupts him though, since he knows people usually ignore or interrupt him mid-talk already. So sometimes Stan gets stuck in awkward situations where he has to leave or do stuff, but also doesn't have it in his heart to stop Ford and extract himself out of a (one-sided) conversation.
#Stanley: that motherfucker just ignored you completely- would you like me to kill him.#Stanford: Who? What are you talking about? Anyways. Have you ever seen gnomes before? Because just yesterday I-#I imagine conversations with Stanford to be very stitled and all over the place.#Since his thoughts are quite literally scattered- he can never really process them fast enough to actually verbalize them.#Or even understand them.#So he often only catch the tail ends of a thought- or cutoff half formed thoughts- or only the beginning half of an idea- memory- or opinio#And when he talks- you can really tell with the amount of tangents he goes off into and how everything he says#are completely disconnected and unrelated from one another.#I think the reason he talks so much is because it's his way of desperately trying to get himself understood by someone- including himself.#He's hoping that maybe- by verbalizing EVERYTHING in his mind all at once into some incomprehensible word vomit- that someday-#those senseless- useless words will one day magically order themselves into the right sentence for him to be finally be able to say what#he actually MEANS.#But because he's ''that crazy Town Kook Ford'' he just never really gets the chance to talk to anyone.#People in town baby him- treat him like a child.#And I mean- it must really hurt. For someone of his former intellect to have lost all ability to express himself eloquently#Not because he's any less smart- but because he just can't talk anymore. At least- not in any way that matters#I think Stanley understands him though. I think Stanley would understand his struggle to not be labeled as just stupid by others#Anyways- that was my ramble <3#my post#asks#sput chatters#stanford pines#ford pines#stanley pines#stan pines#gravity falls#gravity falls au#Town Kook Ford AU#my art
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Shen Yuan hated doctors. When he was a kid, he hated them because they were scary and always wanted to give him shots. Then, he got older, learned a bit more, grew a bit more, and found himself growing more neutral on them. They were a necessary evil.
Then, he fainted for the first time at seventeen, on his way home from exams.
After that, his life became nothing but doctors and tests and new medications. Each appointment made his resentment grow stronger. Every time, it was just a new doctor finding a new way to say he'd be sick for the rest of his life, the only treatment for his condition being lifestyle changes for symptom management and various attempts at medications that had a fifty-fifty chance of working or making him feel worse.
He grew tired as the years passed and his condition steadily grew worse. Symptoms and flare-ups that used to occur a few times a month, turned into a few times a week, turned into nearly every day. Things he used to do with ease turned into distant memories. Sports, dance, martial arts... Even grocery shopping, he found difficult by the time he was 24, the extended period of time on his feet and walking around something he was unable to handle anymore.
The minimization of his pain and suffering and struggling by doctors only made his resentment grow tenfold. "It's not that serious," or "it's not life-threatening," or a plethora of other ways they would minimize his illness, as if he didn't go from the Darling of the Shen's in Higher Society to a rumored recluse who didn't even leave his home to eat. As if he hadn't been forced to.
And sure, that resentment didn't just remain contained to being aimed at the doctors who never took him seriously and told him to just drink more water and exercise better, but Shen Yuan had little else to do anymore. So, he went online, he fell too far, and he became the infamous Peerless Cucumber. So what? Little else brought him joy anymore, gave him reason to live anymore. So what if he was a bitch to some shitty author?
He would forever defend his actions and words against the crime against literature that was Proud Immortal Demon Way.
He knows his logic is flawed. He had anger pent up for so long and he let it out against an un-involved source. In his defense, PIDW really was fucking terrible.
That's not the point here. The point is, Shen Yuan hated doctors. He hated them. And now, living as Shen Qingqiu -- given another chance at life only to fuck it up and get poisoned by Without-a-Cure -- he finds himself trying very, very hard to give Mu Qingfang the grace he never gave his doctors as Shen Yuan, and not fire undeserved vitriol his way despite the way the original owner of his body would have without a second thought.
Even now, as he sits on an overly familiar infirmary bed as Mu Qingfang stares at him with that overly familiar look of exasperation and concern, he reigns in the frustration simmering under his skin.
He bites the inside of his cheek and avoids worrisome eyes.
"Shen-shixiong pushed himself too far, again," Mu Qingfang says lightly, with careful, deliberate intonation.
It takes a painful amount of self-control and restraint not to scream.
He thought he was over this! He thought this was done! He left being sick, being weak, in his past life and still, still it fucking finds him again and haunts him.
Instead of screaming, he huffs through his nose.
Mu Qingfang frowns.
"If Mu-shidi could simply provide this shixiong with his prescription, this one would be most grateful," Shen Qingqiu says, with a tone so sickeningly polite it couldn't even begin to be mistaken for sincere. In his lap, his hands grip his closed fan with whitened knuckles.
"The medicine is not an end-all-be-all for your symptoms, Shixiong," Mu Qingfang sighs. "It can only do so much, you still must take care of yourself alongside it's use..."
Despite his words, he still summons his Head Disciple and passes along the prescription refill order to her, to take off to the greenhouse where it will be formulated and portioned out in the necessary doses.
"You should have come to me sooner if you were out," Mu Qingfang chides.
Shen Qingqiu does not deny this. Still, he argues, more childish than elegant. "Mu-shidi has been busy as of late with the illness spreading in town."
"I didn't know Shixiong was so selfless," Mu Qingfang replies, with the faintest hint of sass in his tone, "to ignore his own declining health in favor of the masses, which this one's disciples are more than capable of taking care of."
Shen Qingqiu purses his lips, but says no more. Mu Qingfang reaches for his wrist, and he wordlessly provides it.
After a moment, a soft sigh falls from the physician's lips.
"How long has it been since Liu-shixiong cleared your meridians?" he asks.
He already knows the answer, he's merely giving Shen Qingqiu a chance at honesty.
Shen Qingqiu does not take it.
"Let me guess, he is too busy, as well?" Mu Qingfang raises a pointed eyebrow. "Perhaps this one should go and find him, ask him if he is truly so busy as to neglect his duties to his Shixiong."
"You've made your point," Shen Qingqiu finally snaps, and his words come out harsher than he means them to. A little bit of that sharp, venomous vitriol spits out, frustration and resentment bubbling over the surface before he quickly tamps it back down and takes a breath. Calmer, he repeats, "you've made your point, Mu-shidi. This one will do better in future."
For what it's worth, Mu Qingfang appears to take no offense from his shixiong's sharp-edged strike.
"I surely do hope you mean that," he says softly. It makes Shen Qingqiu's chest grow heavy with a strange sort of guilt, the gentleness with which Mu Qingfang speaks those words. He can only avert his eyes and let his tense shoulders sag.
It is only then, once his defenses have dropped even minutely, that Mu Qingfang finally sets to work.
Cool qi pours into his meridians, but it is not uncomfortable or invasive like one may think. Instead, with it comes an unusual sense of comfort, relief, and refreshment. Like a drink of cold, crisp water at 3am after a nightmare that startled him awake.
Mu Qingfang's spiritual energy rarely feels like the foreign presence it is in his veins.
Never would Shen Qingqiu admit that out loud, though. Not even Liu Qingge's qi could bring him this level of comfort during their usual cleansing sessions. It is familiar and warm, but utterly different from Mu Qingfang's.
Not to mention, the precision with which Mu Qingfang navigates his spiritual veins, untangling and unblocking each point with little trouble. He struggles here and there, at the more aggravated spots, of course. Still, never once does Shen Qingqiu find himself in a place of discomfort.
It's hard, when Mu Qingfang finally finishes his treatment and retracts his qi and hand, to not slump down from the sheer relief Shen Qingqiu feels. His body is lighter, his breath comes easier -- hell, even his vision feels clearer. Mu Qingfang takes a step back and Shen Qingqiu allows himself the inelegance of stretching out his no longer aching limbs.
Mu Qingfang has seen him in worse states, a little relieved stretching is nothing to blink at. Once he's satisfied, Shen Qingqiu sits up straight on the infirmary bed and looks across the room, away from Mu Qingfang.
"Thanking Mu-shidi for his aid," he murmurs.
Mu Qingfang hums. Just then, his Head Disciple returns with his medication. Mu Qingfang accepts it from her with a few quiet words, before sending her back off to attend to the patients in her wing.
"This should last you longer than the last batch," Mu Qingfang tells him as he passes over the medicinal tea. "So you don't find yourself in another difficult position, should you be off the mountain when you typically begin to run low."
Shen Qingqiu accepts the prescription silently, his brows furrowed.
"Likewise this shidi will begin preparations for Shixiong's next batch early, so it will already be ready for delivery by the time you need it." Mu Qingfang pauses, hesitates. "Unless, Shixiong feels that this shidi is being too over-bearing?"
Ah, does his throat feel a little tight? Shen Qingqiu swallows thickly and exhales, staring at the small box of tea. He shakes his head once, almost imperceptibly.
"That is...acceptable," he mutters.
He does not need to look at Mu Qingfang to know he is smiling.
Shen Yuan hated doctors. Shen Qingqiu still hates doctors.
Mu Qingfang, however...
Yes, he can be infuriating at times, and a little patronizing even if he doesn't mean to be -- but that's just it. He doesn't mean it. He cares.
That's it. That's the difference. He wants to help not because it is his job, but because he cares about Shen Qingqiu. And yes, it was a long time before he was able to, but Shen Qingqiu can admit that now. Just like...just like he can admit the existence of the warmth that spreads over his chest when he sees Mu Qingfang's eyes crinkle with a smile just because Shen Qingqiu has finally let him take care of him.
He hates doctors, but Mu Qingfang is not just a doctor. He never has, and never will be, just a doctor.
Shen Qingqiu thanks him once more and takes his leave from the infirmary room, heart pounding against his ribs in a way he wishes deeply he could still ignore. Too many gentle, tender touches and quiet murmurs of concern have beat the ignorance out of him.
Ah, maybe one day, when he learns how to stop being a coward, he won't be just a shidi, either...
#svsss#svsss fanfic#airplane makes words#shen yuan#shen qingqiu#mu qingfang#chronically ill shen yuan#cw chronic illness#angst#hurt/comfort#long post#Wordcount: 1.000+#pre-relationship#pre relationship#muyuan#mushen#pre-mu qingfang/shen qingqiu#pre-muyuan#sqq has feelings and RECOGNIZES THEM (sounds fake)#scum villain self saving system#fanfic#scum villain#scum villain fanfic#mu qingfang/shen yuan#pre- mu qingfang/shen yuan#first thing i've finished since like june of last year and its muyuan pre relationship .... love that for me#i just love them so much ok
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"If it helps, one of the many scenarios my brain likes to twist around is imagining Sonic's perspective of No Cracks In A Closed Loop (and I adore Tails getting to be a badass and pulling off the impossible, too- my brain just likes to spin on the angst sometimes)" - @manynerdthings
A/N: So I was inspired...
I think it's safe to say this helped a lot xD Thank you, manynerdthings!
This is a continuation of my fic "No Cracks in a Closed Loop"
No Cracks in a Closed Loop â Sonic's Side
"Sonic."
That single wordâno, just the voice aloneâwas enough to cut through the adrenaline rush as pure chaos energy sang through his veins and ignited every nerve with its spark. In a flash of light and sound, Super Sonic punched a hole through the Starfall-titan-wanna-be by using his own body as a projectile. A cocky grin cut across his muzzle as it wobbled in place, setting its sights on him instead of the city it had been about to level; its laser cannons aimed directly at the fault line.
This fight wouldn't last twenty seconds. They'd already won.
"What's up, partner?" Sonic said into the comm as he shot skyward.
The streak of gold drew the mech's cannon higher, until it cleared the tips of skyscrapers and nearby mountaintops by the time it shot at him. The laser's heat didn't even singe his fur, firing at full power into the stratosphere instead of drilling deep into the crust of the planet. It zinged past the satellite Tails was communicating from, but Super Sonic's gaze didn't linger on it for more than half a secondâalready more than certain it was out of the laser's range. Speeding through the air, he whirled around towards the mech for his next move. He was going to cyloop Eggman's newest addition to his junk pile right off its feet.Â
Swerving down in a sharp arc, Super Sonic avoided the next blast while he swung around to try and circle it. It's clawed hand swiped at him before he could complete his first circuit. He shot straight up before it could catch him, homing attacking it in the face instead.
The comm was still quiet. Tails must've swapped to their own channel. Super Sonic flew backwards, putting both the titan and the distant satellite in his line of sight. Whatever he had to say, he didn't want anyone else to hear it.
Super Sonic's brow furrowed as a barrage of bullets opened up on him. He weaved between the hundreds of projectiles glinting dangerously in the sunlight, but his chaos energy and speed worked in tandem, as fluidly as a dance, while he searched for another opening to try the cyloop again.
He could beat this thing without it, sure, but it was the fastest way to take it down.
"Tails? Still with me, bud?" Super or not, Sonic still spared a second to check in, static ringing in his ears as he burst through the center of the mech's chest plate for a shortcut.
"I'm here," Tails answered, but his voice sounded faint, like the feedback was drowning him out. "Sorry, IâŚ" Super Sonic started his cyloop. "I just wanted toâ" He was halfway around. "I'm sorryâ"
Sonic closed the loop. A burst of chaos energy swelled up with a deafening boom. The air rippled with the force of it in great gusts of wind that rocked the trees and the grass of the nearby hills. Waves rose up in the bay, their white caps scraping the bottom of the golden bridge that marked the edge of the sea. The fake titan lifted into the air, sparks crackling off its metal casing as its system overloaded. Super Sonic didn't give it a second to recalibrate itself.
Faster than anyone could see, he smashed into it on all sides. A tiny mote of golden light against the towering behemoth, but it struck every weak point, fried every circuit, as the chaos energy pressed in on it from the outside. Metal crunched and caved it on itself, contorting into a twisted configuration until it no longer resembled a machine.
A cheap imitation of the ancients' attempts to defend themselves, designed only to destroy instead of protect.
Super Sonic grabbed onto mech's armâor maybe its leg, it was hard to tell at this pointâas the cyloop's effect faded, catching it before it crushed Westopolis. He swung it around and around, gritting his teeth as he built up momentum and set his sights on the ocean out ahead of them. Whoosh, whoosh, whooshâ
Super Sonic let go.
The mech's remains were flung through the air, over the coastline and beyond the bridge that cut off the bay from the sea. It crashed into the water, the ocean spray shooting up into the air in a tower of mist once it hit the surface. The waves rolled aggressively towards the coastline, but ultimately broke apart in the bay before they could do too much damage. Some millionaires might have to replace a yacht or two, but that wasn't Sonic's problem.
As he dusted his hands off, he could finally acknowledge the warning bells Tails's last words to him had set off. "Hey, what was that, bud? I didn't catchâ"
Super Sonic turned towards the satellite, addressing it like he would Tails, but it was gone. Instead a cloud of smoke filled the space where the satellite had been not ten seconds ago. Metal shards and fire rained upon the bay. Everything in pieces. Everything gone.
His comm was in chaos. Unintelligible voices shouted over one another in a cacophony of white noise that was already fighting a losing battle to the ringing in his ears. But he still noticed one voice was missing. He couldn't hear it.
He hadn't heard any of it.
Over the sonic boom of his cyloop and the screeching of metal as he demolished the titan, Sonic hadn't heard the satellite explode.
The satellite his little brother was on.
He'd been trying to tell him something.
He'd been trying to tell him something before a satellite exploded with him on it.
"I'm sorry."
Tails.Â
Super Sonic shot off like a bullet, speeding towards the black cloud of smoke and smoldering debris like there was even a chanceâ
No. There had to be a chanceâ
"I just wanted toâI'm sorryâ"
Why? What happened? What did you do, Tails?
He hadn't even properly seen him off before he left. Tails had been trying to hack into Eggman's satellite remotely while Sonic was out chasing after the faux titans. He told them all about his plan to board the satellite and everyone agreed it sounded like the right call, so long as he could do it quickly. They needed to disrupt the signal, after all, and Tails was their best shot.
That was what he'd said, wasn't it? "You're our best shot, Tails. I believe in you, partner."
Their best shot, but not the only one. Not if it meant this.
Nothing was worth this.
Sonic didn't need to breathe while super, but his lungs still burned twin holes in his chest as his own nervous system caught fire. Golden sparks flicked off his quills as he raced through the air. Fiery eyes frantically scanned each scrap of metal that fell, but they must've already been irritated from the smoke because they burned and blurred with the rest of the world around himâ
"âonic, wait! Come back! Sonic!"
One voice.
Super Sonic stopped. He stopped so fast and so suddenly, it felt like his own soul completely missed the memo. Like everything inside him continued to hightails it towards where Tails had been without him, leaving him empty. Hollow. Cold.
A vacuous space in the center of himself where there'd once been something.Â
The chaos energy inside him didn't know what to do with that.
With so much⌠nothing.
Stunned, he could only float in place for a stupid second until he remembered he'd stopped for a reason. With a sharp turn, his stare locked onto a splash of orange amidst the blotchy colors of the rest of the world bleeding into one another. Like he was still moving too fast to see clearly. Like he couldn't catch up to himself.
"SonicâŚ" Tails's voice broke like it had on the comm, but it wasn't with pain guilt fear regret static.
Vision clearing, Sonic could see him now. At the edge of one of the hills overlooking Westopolis and the bay. Tails just rubbed at his nose with a sheepish sort of grin, like the explosion was a minor miscalculation. A hiccup. My bad, he could hear him saying, like he was standing in the middle of his workshop, covered in soot and singed fur, one hand on his hip and a fire extinguisher at his feet.
Like he was fine.
Like he hadn't been incinerated in the fiery inferno smoldering above them.
Tails lowered his hand, eyes shining as they looked up at him, reflecting the very sky Super Sonic was caught in as the satellite's remains fell all around him. He'd been on that satellite. Just seconds ago, Sonic had been so sure of it.
He'd been so sure he'd lost himâŚ
Then Tails opened his arms to him and laughed.
All at once Sonic crashed back into himself, chest heaving with a sharp inhale as his heart lurched forward.Â
Faster than a blink, Super Sonic barrelled into Tails and sent them toppling down the hillside. They smacked hard against the ground, but Sonic took the brunt of the fall even with the world spinning around them. His arms encircled Tails tightly, one hand protecting the back of his head while the other braced the small of his back as they tumbled and whooped like a pair of idiots. Pure joy radiated through him, burning brighter than the chaos energy coursing through his quills. It knocked the emeralds right out of him. The seven gems fell into the grass around them as the two mobians eventually rolled to a stop.
Sonic clutched Tails to him, shaking with breathless laughter as he felt his little brother hug him back just as tightly. "I'm here," Tails was saying, and it took a minute to realize he'd been repeating the words while Sonic's hands were trembling. "I'm here. It's okay, big bro. I'm here. Iâm here."
"And you say I'm the one that's gonna give you a heart attack," Sonic wheezed, not bothering to give himself room to breathe if it meant letting go for even a second.
"Can't let you have all the fun." Tails smoothed his hands over Sonic's spines to try and settle him, his touch purposeful and grounding. "Deep breaths, big bro. You're gonna pass out."
"Nuh-uh," he argued, but filled his lungs with his next inhale anyway, then let all the air ease out of him.
"That's it. There ya go," Tails encouraged, but Sonic couldn't help his snort of indignation at being coddled and pushed away from him.Â
Except Tails just tightened his grip; fingers curling in his fur like they'd be forced apart if he didn't. He hid his face in the crook of Sonic's neck, his breaths coming only a little too fast. But his hands were shaking, too, and his twin tails wound around them both as if they were enough to protect them from the next threat.Â
Sonic didn't pull away. He just sat back, the eleven-year-old practically in his lap, and rested his hand atop Tails's head.
"Gave me a real scare there, pal," he said, voice low and gentle as he smoothed out his fur, picking at the grass and brambles they were both covered in.
"âŚScared me, too."
Sonic's heart clenched, the open admission like a bludgeon to his protective instincts, even if his pride assured him Tails could handle it. After all, the proof had all but climbed into his lap. But now that he was looking at himâreally looking at himâhe could see his fur was mussed up from more than just a tumble at supersonic speed. A streak of blood stained his fur on his shoulder and there was a lump near the center of his back that filled Sonic with an angry fire hot enough to burn through the atmosphere when he so much as brushed against it with his fingers.Â
Tails didn't flinch when he grazed it, but his muscles gave an involuntary spasm that rippled beneath his fur and his hold on Sonic tightened. It was enough to quell the roiling rage to a simmer. Something he could stick a lid on without worrying it would boil over if left unchecked. It wasn't what Tails needed from him right now.
But Sonic still wanted some answers.
"What happened up there?" he asked.Â
Tails shook his head. "Just a bit of a closer call than I thought it'd be. But I'll be okay. I am okay."
Sonic instinctively bristled, prepared to be shut out of whatever it was he'd gone through. "Tailsâ"
"I'll tell you someday," he promised, pressing his paw over Sonic's heart. "I mean it. But right now we've got a lot of Eggman's mess to clean up. There's still six other titans out there and I'm sure everyone else is worried."
Sonic sighed, as exasperated as he could manage when he was still just glad this kid was alive. "Gonna hold you to that," he threatened, ruffling his fur to muss it up on purpose. "You owe me. Nearly shocked the Chaos Emeralds right outta my system."
"Says Mr. Guy-Who-Loves-Adventure," Tails teased as he pushed himself up to stand. "You should be used to it by now."
Sonic snorted when he was offered a hand up, but he took it nonetheless. "When I go gray early, I'll know exactly who to blame."
"Don't worry. I'll help you dye your quills, old man," Tails snickered, but it broke off with a wince as a sharp twinge ran through his back.
Sonic was quick to lay a supportive hand at his hip to steady him. "Look who's talking. At this rate, you're gonna be right there with me setting the record for the world's youngest old timers."
Tails sent him a look, but accepted the help nonetheless as he leaned his weight against him. "Did you really have to knock us all the way down the hill like that?"
"Heh. Well, in my defense, wasn't exactly thinking straight." Sonic scratched at his nose, giving him a not-so-subtle onceover. "Didn't bang ya up too bad, did I?"
"Nah. I'll bounce back," Tails assured him, giving him a pat on the back.
"You always do," Sonic agreed warmly as they took a few steps in tandem so they could start collecting the Chaos Emeralds on their way back up the hill while Tails alerted everyone to their status on his comm and checked in on everyone else as well.
Sonic just listened, taking in the rise and fall of his voice, his steady assurances and sighs of relief to hear that the world hadn't fallen apart in his absence. Even if it very nearly did. As far as Sonic was concerned, anyway.
But he was okay now. That was what mattered. And whatever it was that happened on that satelliteâwhatever reason Tails had for calling him seconds before disasterâhe would trust that his little brother would come to him when he was ready. Because he'd be there for him. No matter what.
Keeping his arm looped around Tailsâs waist even after they made it back up the hill, Sonic looked up at the smoke still fading from the sky. He tightened his hold on him. It felt like another lifetime, like another him had first seen the explosion and feared the worst. Tails followed his gaze, quiet again with all the calls taken care of and winded from the uphill climb. Through his labored breaths, there was the slightest tremor that traveled from his chest to where he stood pressed against his brother.
"âŚScared me, too."
 "Hey, whatever happened up there," Sonic broke the silence, his voice drawing Tails back down beside him. "Whatever you did, I'll bet it was seriously way past cool." He glanced over at him, waiting to catch his eye before giving him a wink.
All too easily, Tails grinned up at him, the shape of his smile the spitting image of his brother's. "Way past is definitely one way to put it."
âââ
Five years laterâŚ
âââ
"You've been quiet all day, partner. Something going on in that big brain of yours?"
Everyone else had split off for the night. Team Dark vanished sometime after lunch, after Rouge once again tricked Shadow into accompanying her, and Team Chaotix had an appointment for their next case. Amy took Cream back home to Vanilla while Tangle and Whisper left to help Jewel out with some Restoration business.
Which left just Sonic and Tails lounging on the couch; the former picking up where Vector had left off in the game he'd been playing, tapping away at the controller while the latter watched.
Tails hummed in acknowledgement, so Sonic let him have a minute of quiet to collect his thoughts. He picked at one of Whisper's cinnamon muffins, crumbs scattering across the coffee table, but he didn't eat any of it. He hadn't had much of an appetite since slinking out of his lab earlier that afternoon.
It probably had something to do with the quiet and the way he'd been kinda clingy. Sonic had planned on going for a run as soon as Tails retreated back to his lab to tinker with whatever gadgets he had tucked away back there, but he seemed pretty content to stay curled up on the couch beside him. Still, Sonic could adapt. He kicked his feet up onto the coffee table and slumped back into the cushions as he wandered aimlessly around in a game he couldn't remember owning.
"Do you remember that time you went up against Eggman's seven fake titans?"
Sonic let out a low whistle. "Boy, is that a blast from the past. What about it?"Â
When Tails didn't immediately continue, Sonic pressed the pause button, then shifted against the cushion to sit up and face his not-so-little-anymore bro. The sixteen-year-old fox tore his gaze from the screen to watch him instead, eyes bright from television's glow. Looking at him like that, for a split second, Sonic could still see the insecure, little fox kit he used to be in the way his shoulders hunched up as if to make himself smaller. To take up less space in the world.
Sonic draped one arm along the back of the couch, leaving space for him to lean into if he wanted it. No matter how big he got, there'd always be space for him.
Tails scooted closer and rested his head against Sonic's arm. "I needed to disrupt the satellite signal powering the Chaos Emerald vaults, but Eggman locked me out of the remote connection so I had to access it directlyâ"
"On the actual satellite," Sonic interjected, fingers drumming against the back of the couch. "I remember."
Tails released a long exhale. "Well, he set a trap. A way to slow me down so I wouldn't be able to unlock the emeralds for you in time. The same code that would disrupt the satellite's signal would also cause it to self-destruct. Eggman banked on me having enough self-preservation that I wouldn't engage it without trying to disable that function first."
"But you set it off anyway."
"I set it off anyway," Tails confirmed with a decisive nod. "It was the outcome with the highest percentage of saving people. The fastest way to help you guys. I thought I could get out in time. I should've gotten out in time," his voice lowered, eyes distant as if he was reliving the moment right there on their couch. "But I couldn't. Not on my own. I needed⌠help."
Sonic tried to follow him there, even if he didn't much like to relive that day in his waking hours. "So you called me."
"Not⌠exactly." Tails sat up straighter so he could look him in the eye. "I knew you'd come get me if I asked, but then countless lives would've been lost if the titans had gone on unchecked, even if just for a couple of seconds. Sometimes that's all it takesâŚ" Tails's fist clenched as he dropped his hardened gaze to his lap. "I made the call to initiate the self-destruct in order to save people. I couldn't take that back. I couldn't take you away from them. Not again."
A younger Sonic would've snapped at himâwould've argued over the value of his life with him until he wasn't the only one blue in the face. But at twenty-three, Sonic had fought more of these battles than he cared to count and never once walked away a winner. So he sat back, held his tongue, and let Tails explain himself.
"I called you to say goodbye," his voice lowered to a whisper, "I wanted to give you that, at least.â
He'd had a feeling. It wasn't one he dwelled on freely, but sometimes the thought wandered in uninvited. Moreso during the first couple of months after the incident, when everything was still fresh and closer to their present.
Before Sonic could respond, Tails pressed forward. "But then an older version of myself traveled through time with two Chaos Emeralds to save me. He said it was the only way. Because at the time, only the two of us knew what transpired on the satellite. We created a temporal paradox, a loop without a proper origin, but as long as it was contained between the two versions of me, nothing could disrupt it. That's why I couldn't tell you before. I wasn't sure⌠I didn't know if the future version of myself had told you what happened and if that would open up possibilities in the time stream that would botch the encounter entirely." Tails lifted his gaze to seek out Sonic's again, and he could see the eleven-year-old sitting in front of him like it was that very same day. "I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you."
"Nothing to apologize for, bud. I get it. I wouldn't want to mess up the time stream for that particular moment either." Sonic shifted the arm draped along the couch so he could cup the back of Tails's head, idly ruffling the fur there. "But if you're telling me all this nowâŚ" he drawled, moving to scritch behind Tails's ear. "Charmy wasn't the one who swiped Shadow's Chaos Emerald earlier, was he?"
Tails shrugged, muzzle quirking up on one side. "When he showed up with it today, I just had this feeling that it was time to make my moveâŚ" Tails explained. "I've been feeling it for a couple weeks now, to be honest. I had all the equipment I'd had on me that day and I looked close enough to how I remembered. I knew I probably had to go back soon. Just needed everything to align so no one would interfere. Today seemed goodâŚ"
Sonic tilted his head as Tails trailed off, his eyes still a little distant. "Well, you made it back in one piece, didn't you? Mission accomplished."
"Yeah. Mission accomplished," he echoed, but whatever was on his mind continued to fester. "I thought I made a mistake."
"Hm?"
"There were only three seconds left," Tails whispered. "I thought I messed it all up. I thought I killed us bothâ"
"Youâ"
"I was so sure it would work because it already had, but there was still the possibility I could've gotten it wrong. I could've caused a split in our realities. Created two timelines where I ceased to exist, except in this one no one would've known what happened to me and two of the Chaos Emeralds would be lost to time. How would any of you have known where to look?" Tails rambled, pressing his hands over his face. "I estimated the time of day with a standard deviation of a couple of seconds, but those seconds could've been what killed usâ"
"Hey, hey, hey," Sonic hushed, shifting to wrap both arms around his little brother as he slumped against him. "You didn't. You're here. You're right here with me, see?" He gave him a firm squeeze, smile tugging at his muzzle as Tails hugged him back tightly. "Atta boy."
"StupidâŚ" he mumbled into Sonic's shoulder. "Why does this still work so well?"
"Heh. What're big brothers for?" Sonic huffed out a chuckle. "Listen, you can't live a life of what-ifs, bud. It'll drive you outta your mind. I should know. And I know you know that, too." He felt Tails's nod against his cheek. "You did exactly what you set out to do. And heck, you used the Chaos Emeralds to travel through time! When did you learn how to do that, huh? Holding out on your big bro?"
Tails snorted, but it got him to relax enough to pull back. "Figured if I could use Chaos Control, time travel was just an added boost. Like adding a supercharger to the Tornado's engine."
"Tch. You figured." Sonic rolled his eyes, but the warmth in them was nothing but fond. "Give yourself a little more credit. You did something incredible today, Tails. You defied time and space to save yourself. And not only that, you gave yourself a future to look forward to. Because who wouldn't want to turn out to be like you?"
It was Tails's turn to roll his eyes, though it was his own chuckle that betrayed him. "That's what I told me."
"And wiser words were never spoken," Sonic assured him as he gave his knee a firm pat.
"I dunno. Could make a case for the consequences of rewriting timelines and creating unsustainable permutations of past and future events." Tails grinned.
"Now youâre just being smart," Sonic snorted.
"Well, I am a genius." Tails bumped his shoulder to Sonics. "But I also learned from the best. Even eleven-year-old me picked up on that."
"Well, he's a genius, too. He knows what's up." Sonic slung his arm around Tailsâs shoulder, this time his turn to watch as his brother picked up the video game controller to continue where Sonic left off.Â
He let him, taking his turn to be content as he watched Tails figure out the game faster than he did and go farther than Sonic could. They said nothing for a few minutes, Tails working out the rest of his pent up feelings through the game while Sonic quietly processed what he'd just been told. He wasn't a stranger to time travel, not by a long shot, but even so, it wasn't what he thought the answer to that day had been. As much faith he had in his best friend, his self-sacrificial tendencies were something he couldn't help but take notice of. After all, he'd learned from the best, hadn't he?
But it wasn't with bitterness or disdain when he set his gaze on the teen beside him. That wasn't possible; not when he saw every age at once. Not when he was in absolute awe of how far his kid had come.Â
"Tails."
"Sonic," Tails answered instinctively, matching his tone with the hint of a crooked smile.
"Thanks for saving him."
Tails blinked and paused the game so he could look at Sonic. In the light from the television screen, green eyes glimmered with a depth that took him back to a younger version of his big bro, who was trying to do everything in his power to be there for him. Because he wanted to be. Because he needed to be.
One tail curled around Sonic's back and draped over his lap, giving back the same reassurance he always gave so freely.
"Anytime, big bro."
#manynerdthings#don't know if this is anything like how you envision - but the idea possessed me and I wanted to try and see how it'd go!#love an excuse to make sonic suffer~#sorry not sorry sonic#sonic the hedgehog#miles tails prower#sonic and tails#they're brothers your honor#unbreakable bond#sonic fanfiction#the picket fence timeline#skimmilk stories#super sonic#hurt/comfort#light angst#brothers bonding#brotherly love#found family#time travel#long post#wholesome sonic and tails wednesday#because it's wednesday and I'm feeling wholesome in this chili's tonight#~4500 words#this thing's almost as long as the original wtf happened
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something happening on a mission, something personal that has soap spiralling; panic and rage making him reckless, thoughtless, and ghost has to draw the line
âyouâre compromised johnny; you know what that means?â
âyouâre not pulling me out,â soap immediately snarls. he turns on him and ghost barely recognises him; venomous fear turning his eyes to unyielding ice. "you're not sidelining me; i need to be in this-!"
but ghost has never been afraid of venom; spat or dripped straight from bared fangs.
he snakes out a hand grip the back of his neck, jerking him in a rough shake. "if you can't think, you can't be a soldier," he growls and he flinches like he's been struck.
his lips quiver as they twist in a sneer and he wrenches, trying to free himself of his hold.
ghost doesn't let him.
"it means you give your body to me because your head ain't fucking attached to it anymore."
soap stills, body trembling beneath his hand as he sucks in shaking breaths.
he tightens his grip, pulling him closer and digs his forehead hard into his. âit means you give yourself to me so i can have the weapon that you are and use you the way you're meant to be used."
the ice in soap's eyes fractures.
ghostâs voice drops to a whisper, spoken only to johnny, not this facade of vengeance and pain, and wills it to reach him through the glaciers.
âso i can keep you safe âtil itâs done and i can bring you back.â
#in my head its bc graves abducts his sister and is using her as hostage to draw him out knowing ghost will always follow him#but the intensity and intimacy of saying âyou cant trust your mind not to betray you so let me be in charge of your body until you canâ#after what happened to tommy he could never deny johnny his right to save his sister#but its bc of what happened to tommy that he knows he cant let him do it alone with only his rage to guide him#hes more likely to get himself killed and ghost wont live through that#so he has to balance it#and the only way he knows how is to completely shut down soapâs mind until hes no more than instinct and muscle memory#if he cant think practically then dont let him think at all#reduce him to a place where he can only follow orders#and when its finally over and his sister is safe and graves is dead#only then will he drag johnny back up to the surface#heâll do it even if it means dragging him kicking and screaming back to humanity#instead of letting him sink in the depths where nothing hurts. theres no fear down there. no pain. only order#and thats the risk ghost took sending johnny to that place but he only did it bc he would stop at nothing to bring him back#and help him through the after#the breakdown. the rush of panic and rage and relief and anguish johnnys been supressing on his order#it was his word that turned johnny into a ghost#and its his touch that brings him back to the man#coming out of my cage and ive been doing just fine.txt#weâre a team. ghost team#cod#soapghost#ghostsoap#ghost x soap#ghoap#simon ghost riley#ghost cod#john soap mactavish#soap cod#save post
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unforeseen complications 𩸠steve/kas!eddie
âWhatâs wrong?â Steve doesnât try to sit up again, knowing Eddie wants, more like needs to press against Steve like this becauseâŚtheyâd pushed the boundaries. Eddie had needed more blood than normal, because theyâd skipped out on more than one quick snack-time. And Steve does feel the hit harder for it. Itâs not a foreign feeling, though: the aftermath, beyond what his own body needs to recoverâ âWe canât keep doing this, Steve.â
rating: t âĽď¸ tags: post-s4, kas!eddie, established relationship, angst with a happy ending, as in: eddie angsts about his new vampiric tendencies while steve has none of it, true love, blood drinking (just a little), terrified eddie (that he did steve any possible damage), long-suffering steve (who knows itâs all completely fucking FINE and also theyâre dumb in love forever)âĽď¸
for @steddielovemonth day eight: "I'll take care of you." "It's rotten work." "Not to me. Not if it's you." âEuripides
Steve is groggy, his headâs a little fuzzy and unevenly weighted in that way he can already tell will make him dizzy when he opens his eyes and tries to lift itâso he doesnât, not just yetâbut normally he sleeps this part off. Normally the side effects arenât as sharp as this is already shaping up to be, because his body keeps him blissful conked out long enough where itâs all a little more of a dull roar that he can ignore while he gets through the day and slides slow back to normal.
And itâs not like it gets this intense that often; itâs in extenuating circumstances. Sometimes oneâs they create for themselves, sure, but usually itâs some world-threatening shitfuckery that pushes the limits this bad. LikeâŚat least eight times out of ten.
At least.
So itâs weird that heâs waking up before heâs due to shake off the worst of it, when said worst-of-it is still clinging to his skin, his eyeballs, the linings of his veins.
He tries to make sense of what he can feel through the fog: weight, mostly. Something heavy thatâs not just his own body rebelling against regaining consciousness too soon. ThereâsâŚsomething on top of him.
Heavy.
Shaking.
Thereâs a sound, maybe, likeâŚbreathing but thatâs shaky too andâ
Oh.
Oh no, itâs not just shaky.
The weight on top of himâs fucking crying, and trying real hard not to be found out for it.
Steve would goddamn know what that sounds like, specifically. From a whole-ass lifetime of experience in his godforsaken family.
And Steve knows what his own fucking boyfriendsounds like in distress, soâ
âEds,â Steve doesnât even have to push to open his eyes and sit up too fast because there no dizziness, no nausea he canât work through when Eddie in need is on the other side of it; âwhatâs wrong, what happened, Iââ
The hand on his chest is firm but awkward, because Eddie is still splayed over his chest, doesnât seem to have any intention of moving at all.
âLay back down,â Eddieâs voice is muffled in Steveâs skin; âsave your strength, youâre still,â and yeahâŚmuffled, but too rough, cracked down the middle; âyouâreâŚâ
More than cracked, fuck. Shattering.
âWhatâs wrong?â Steve doesnât try to sit up again, knowing Eddie wants, more like needs to press against Steve like this becauseâŚtheyâd pushed the boundaries. Eddie had needed more blood than normal, because theyâd skipped out on more than one quick snack-time. And Steve does feel the hit harder for it. Itâs not a foreign feeling.
And the aftermath, beyond what his own body needs to recoverâ
âWe canât keep doing this, Steve.â
âis also not unexpected. Pretty fucking routine now. Steveâs even practiced enough to swallow down the urge to sigh.
Because, considering that Eddie is skin-to-skin, blanketed on top of Steve under about seven blankets, more than Steve even knew they owned as he shudders through something suspiciously close to sobbing while the tone of the words screamheartbreak: Steve would have every right to be concerned when it sounded a whole hell of a lot like his boyfriend was trying to break up with him.
The first time was a fucking doozy, sure. Second time even, that sucked too.
Now though, with it being fairly fucking routine forâŚclose to a year, now, especially after rough runs like last night?
Steveâs kinda learned to take it as the sign of affection heâs come to understand it stems from, deep in Eddieâs too-soft, too-tender chest, always having been ready to feel so fucking muchâSteve wishes heâd known it sooner. Maybe they could have felt less alone, together.
Whatever. Theyâre here now.
Though itâd been a pretty free-and-clear couple of monthsâEddie had only crumbled so far as to have shaken in a corner in Steveâs arms for close to probably five hours one of the three or so times theyâd had to stretch too much time between regular feedingsâbecause when Eddie came back, when he appeared in Steveâs living room dripping the black sludge the Upside Down seemed to specialize in bestâtrembling and stammering andâŚbe-fanged.
And Steve had just looked at him, gaped a couple minutesâwhich he stands by being wholly fair and justifiedâand then did the only genuinely sane thing he could have done, given the givens.
Heâd pushed Eddie toward the nearest fucking bathroom, under some hot water, and cleaned him the fuck up.
And didnât thinkâyetâabout how warm it made Steve: the sight of Eddieâs naked frame under the spray as it slowly siphoned off the goo.
Nope. Not the time.
He was sick, though, that was clear, but SteveâŚhe canât explain even now how he knew to be cautious in letting anyone in the Party know that theyâre friend, this singular lost member of their family had somehow crawled back to the land of the living. Because yeah, it could have been the fact that Eddie was cool to the touch. Paler than heâd been before. Barely had a heartbeat but was definitely alive enough to insist he was pressed into Steveâs heat every night, in Steveâs bed; to keep shaking, to wretch more of the black slime up until it was just dry heaving, andâŚ
There were plenty of reason to have caused the hesitance. But it wasnât any of that.
It wasnât even how, after Steve slit himself on an envelope, Eddie had scurried to his side, made to lunge then cowered back, cried like he was in pain before saying the first words Steve had gotten out of him yet:
Please. Iâm sorry, Iâm sorry Stevie, pleaseâ
And Steve wasnât immune to what spending every fucking night wrapped up in another body. A definitely not unattractive body. A body belonging to a personality that Steve was getting pretty interested in getting to know betterâliterally andâŚintimately, yâknow, Steve crossed the bridge of being totally shocked by that after heâd less-than-half-mourned Billy fucking Hargrove for the sake of his and and literally no other reasonâbut. Yeah.
Heâd have given Eddie anything, at that points while he was hoarding and harboring him, safe as much as selfish in this house. Heâd haveâ
What Eddie wanted was the blood from his papercut. AndâŚwell.
The fangs makeâŚwel, they made a lot more sense all of a sudden.
Eddie fought it when Steve dragged him to the couch and offered his wrist because the guy was sucking kinda pitifully, like, way too desperate on Steveâs fingertip and not in a sexy wayâand Steve would actually really like to reach the point of it being a sexy way someday, specifically with Eddie, heâd already stopped trying to deny that to himselfâso he pulled his hand away, cupped Eddieâs cheek (warmer, more color in it), brushed by accident against his jugular (a real pulse, and racing, but overtaxed, like it neededâŚmore to work with and yeah, if Steve hadnât made up his mind already that wouldâve done the job, flat out)âand when Eddie whimpered, Steve pushed his advantage of having a full blood supply, dragged Eddie into his lap, tore his own bloody strips from above the veins he could see under the heel of his palm straight down and Eddie gasped, cried out, tried to scramble awayâ
But Steve shoved his wrist to Eddieâs lipsâknew it was maybe dirty pool butâŚhe wasnât stupid. If Eddie needed blood, heâŚhe needed blood.
And Eddie was reluctant, at first, didnât try to pull away once he realized that Steve had got him in a pretty solid hold from the waist down, and he just was not strong enough right now, not yet but he could be, if heâd justâ
Steve hadnât been worried, but if thereâd been reservations, like, if Robin had had any idea he was doing this and voiced her innumerable concerns: if Steve have been worried, Eddieâs presence of mind to even think to resist, to look at Steve like he was in pain to avoid the blood waiting on offer, specifically for him, itâs all he would need.
But seeing that Steve hadnât even thought to be worried, he ultimately caught Eddieâs frantic eyes, leaned in and brushed his lips to Eddieâs, tasted his own blood as he whispered:
Itâs for you, I want you to have it so that youâre okay, and his hand had braced on Eddieâs chest where that heartbeat was struggling, but wild, and he didnât even dare to blink until Eddieâs tongue lapped accidental at the blood steaming down.
And the rest isâŚhistory.
Eddie had tried to set his own limits, but Steveâs old hat at being the victim of the Upside Downâs bullshit, or Russian spy craft at that; he knows when the blood loss is actually a concern. He keeps his hand to eddie chest, makes his own call when that pulse is strong enough to ease his wrist away.
Steve hadnât been a fucking lifeguard, after all. He does know some things.
And so that had beenâŚthat.
Theyâd told the others, eventually, but just that Eddie was back. It was enough to prove Steveâs fears in and of itselfâthey already suspected Vecna, Eddie as a sleeper agent or some shit, two guns trained on him in an instant: and thatâs without the bloodâŚthing.
So they keep that to themselves. Itâs definitely a contributing factor to how they end up in dire enough straits that Steveâs laid up a little after just some casual bloodsucking until eddies heartbeat finds its strength of rhythm again.
Itâs not a big deal. Steveâs had so many migraines worse than this ever is.
Except for when it gets to how Eddie reacts. How he falls apart for fear, for Steve.
Thatâs the worst pain Steveâs ever known, every goddamn time.
âYou were cold,â Eddieâs voice shivers as he raps into Steveâs chest hair; âto me, you were cold to me.â
âYouâd just fed, and you were hurting for it,â Steve reasons; it takes Eddie time to warm back up when they spread the feeding out too long. âYouâre still not evened-out,â he reasons; Dustin would have a good science-y name for it, but theyâŚthey canât risk it.
Steve wonât fucking risk it. Risk Eddie.
He cranes his neck, keeps his eyes closed to make sure he doesnât aggravate the feeling of being off-balance, but he needs to press his lips to Eddieâs temple, test the heat.
âClose though,â Steve smiles into the skin, then kisses with intent. HeâŚhe loves that he can give this to Eddie. He doesnât think Eddie gets that part, thinks Eddie only sees it as taking, rather than a gift for Steve in return just as strong.
âSteve,â Eddie moans, shakes his head as more a messy swirl of matted curls; âwe canât.â
Again: it stopped being convincing months ago; but Eddie does sound particularly distressed.
Steve brings a hand to run through that unruly hair, careful. Gentle.
âYou werenât moving,â Eddie finally whispers; âI couldnât see, I couldnât hear,â and Steve knows his limits, knows that Eddie didnât hear or see even with his enhanced senses now because heâd been frantic, and his own heartbeat and shot quick to pounding after being so weakâit always sets him off kilter for a second or two.
Steve cradles Eddie to his chest rig he re, so he can hear clear the heartbeat Steve knows is steady now, strong.
Theyâve both evened out. Theyâre both okay.
âI canât risk you,â Eddie breathes into the space where the beat hits hardest; âI canât lose you.â
âSo,â Steve nods, tucks Eddie under his chin a little tighter; âlosing me by design instead is your solution,â he sucks his teeth, hums as if heâs actually consider such fucking nonsense:
âYeah, cool, makes sense.â
He thinks the sarcasm drips just the right amount.
âStevie,â Eddie whines, like it hurts, and Steve never wants that. But he mightâŚneed for it to, a little at least, to get the point across.
âWeâve been through this, Eds,â Steve breathes low; âIâm not actually looking to kick the fucking bucket here,â he knows Eddie wonât appreciate the levity but he canât help it, pressed the curve of his lips to eddies scalp. âIâm much more interested in making sure youâre not ell enough and strong enough and safe enough,â and he reaches, then, to lift Eddie chin, to turn him, to look, to see:
âTo stay with me.â
And like clockwork, Eddieâs eyes widen, darken, narrow and Eddie scrambles up, takes Steveâs face in both his open palms:
âAlways,â he hisses; ânothing could make me want to be anywhere else, not ever.â
And Steve knows it. Knows he means it
âBut Steveââ
And because Steve knows? Heâs happy to cut this the fuck off at the stem, nip it in the bud, press a the same fingertip eddies sucked the blood from so many nights ago, that first time that started the rest of Steveâs whole goddamn lifeâ
Steveâs more than happy to press that fingertip to Eddieâs lips, to shut him the fuck yo when he needs it.
âI grew up not knowing what love was,â Steve says simply, and eddies eyes flash redâonly when heâs incensed do they do that, and Steve not-so-secretly finds it hot as fuck. âExcept for knowing that what I got wasnât it,â he shrugs; âor else, not the kind it was supposed to be. Benign neglect,â he flinches a little as other, harsher memories buck their heads and he knows he has to say something because Eddie sees him, Eddie will draw it out himself otherwise andâŚ
âUntil the times it wasnât,â Steve murmurs and, well.
At least he gets another sexy-as-fuck flash of crimson in those eyes he adores.
âBut I knew what I did have wasnât right,â Steveâs quick to press on; âso even though I kinda started from zero on the learning curve, it wasnât,â he bites his lip and itâs not even weird anymore, to revisit the journey even if it started less-than-happily.
Because Steve knows the ending. And how itâs not even an ending at all.
âI knew I was looking for something that sat at the opposite end of the spectrum from what I did know. What I had been taught,â and he grabs for eddies hands and gathers them under his chin to rest on, to justâŚlook his fill of this impossible man heâs fallen for, that heâs more than happily given his life to all the ways he knows how.
âAnd once I unlearned the bad shit, and started finding the real deal?â
He waits for Eddieâs eyes to glitter just so, waits for his head to tilts just the tiniest bit before he leans up:
âLove is this,â Steve breathes against Eddieâs lips with real fucking meaning:
âLove is exactly this.â
âNearly fucking dying because your freak-ass boyfriend has to drink your goddamn blood andââ Eddie tries to deflect but is pretty fucking shirt with it. Not least because there are tears running down his cheek. Not least because Steve knows now. What love is.
Heâd just spoken on the truth.
âNot even close to fucking dying at all,â Steve reminds him with a playful eye roll and a squeeze of his hand; âsave maybe how much it killed me when I thought Iâd lost you before we had a chance,â and honestly: Steve hates thinking about how all of this was almost never know, never had, never felt.
Yeah: that fucking kills him, just to think.
âSo add that into the love-column,â Steve grins a little, imagining the upgraded version of a âYOU RULEâ board; âthis is love because youâre breathing,â and Steve kisses the little divot above Eddieâs top lip; âyouâre safe,â and then he kisses, nibble Eddieâs neck;âyour heart beats when thereâs enough blood for it to move around,â and Steveâs not strong enough to resist nipping at the heady pulse between Eddieâs collarbones.
âYouâre as alive as anything or anyone in every way that could ever count,â Steve breathes; âyouâre here. With me.â
Then he leans back again, looks Eddie in the eyes:
âYou care enoughââ
âLove.â
Eddieâs tone is this sharp, unquestionable thing. Itâs thrilling every time it comes out.
All the more, said around that one word.
âI love,â Eddieâs hands hold closer, more dear at the sides of Steveâs face again; âwhether itâs enough or not, whether it ever could be, I fucking love youââ
âThen you love,â Steve picks back up, pecks Eddieâs lips because he can; âenough to check that Iâm okay, when we do this, and itâs just a little more of a challenge than normal.â
Eddie looks like heâs about to choke on something.
âChallenge?â
Ah. About to choke on that word specifically; that tracks.
âI like a good challenge,â Steve reminds him, reaches to pinch his cheek, delights in how bloodâSteveâs bloodârushes to the surface; âfills the gap from all the sports-playing.â
Eddieâs mouth moves around silent words for a few seconds and then:
âNormal?â
Steve doesnât even try not to laugh. With glee, even. With wonder.
âWild, ainât it,â he asks, kinda fucking joyful; âwhoâd have ever thought Steve Harrington would find a love this big,â and he runs his hand over Eddieâs arm, shoulder to wrist; âthis perfect, for everything he is, not what heâs gotta twist himself in knots to try and become,â and Steveâs voice gets lower, more earnest, more genuinely fucking grateful forâŚall of it.
For his Eddie.
âWho would have thought Steve Harrington would fall into a love that held his whole fucking heart in its hands,â he brings those hands to his chest, where they clutch automatic; âto do with what you would, to take as far as you liked,â and his voice goes lowâthey donât know whatâs been done to Eddie beyond the obvious, what life and death mean for him;
âTo keep as long as you decided to want.â
Basically, Steve isnât too concerned about the whats. Heâs more concerned about Eddie having no shred of doubt, that Steve wants whatever it means, to be something they share. He wants whatever it means to mean the same for both of them, if it can. However it can.
Whatever it takes.
âSteve,â Eddie shakes his head, face ruddy, tear-strewn and mouth agape.
âI donât deserve you,â he exhales, then breathes in, sharp and shaking; âand you deserve so much more than this.â
âLet me make the decision,â Steve says, sure in it. Maybe for the first time in his life, he has no doubts for anything involving what he feels for Eddie, and the truth of what Eddie feels for him.
âAnd since I made that decision fucking months ago already, Iâll save you the suspense,â he turns Eddieâs chin on the tip of a finger, one more time.
âThere is no more than this.â
And Eddie blinks; blinks.
And then his strings are cut, and he collapses full into Steve again, this time gathering him in by every limb he can tangle, gasping and grasping and needing and desperate and kissing every inch of Steve he can reach.
âFuck, I love you baby,â Eddie moans deep from the center in his chest: âforever.â
Itâs a true thing. Itâs a promise.
Itâs an acknowledgement of what they donât yet know, but can agree with all they are to share, together, equal.
For always.
âI know,â Steve tells him simply, pulse pumping only joy; âand I am always gonna know. Iâm always gonna be here, to make sure you never forget.â
And Eddieâs face falls for half-a-second, before it steels with resolve, before his hands lace with Steveâs and smack them flat to Eddieâs heaving chest.
To Eddieâs pounding heart.
âNever forget here,â he vow sir; âitâs never a matter of not loving.â
And Eddieâs scared, still, in his eyes; Steve knows.
It almost means more, that heâs promising it all, nonetheless. With his whole goddamn heart.
âIÂ know,â Steve reminds him the best way he knows; pressing closer, tighter to that beat.
âAnd Iâm always gonna be right here.â
Eddie nods, closes his eyes and holds Steve one breath closer to that pumping blood:
âRight here.â
And that?
And that suits Steve more than fucking fine.
â¨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here
divider credit here
#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#angst with a happy ending#post s4#kas eddie munson#vampire eddie munson#(or else: vampire adjacent)#creature eddie munson#this does nothing to deter steve harrington#emotional hurt/comfort#true love#romance#terrified eddie munson#established relationship#cool-headed steve harrington#eddieâs predictable vampiric dilemma#steve harrington giving no shits for eddie thinking keeping any distance between them is for the best#hints at immortality#(as one does when vampires come to play)#blood drinking#head-over-heels steve harrington#soul-deep-commitment-levels-of-in-love eddie munson#stranger things#steddielovemonth#prompt: I'll take care of you. // It's rotten work. // Not to me. Not if it's you.#hitlikehammers writes#hitlikehammers v words
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đđ¨ đ đ¨ đ¨đ§ đđ§đ đđđĽđĽ đŚđ,
đĄđ¨đ° đŚđŽđđĄ đđ¨đđŹ đ˛đ¨đŽđŤ đđĄđŤđ¨đđ đĄđŽđŤđ đđŤđ¨đŚ đŹđđŤđđđŚđ˘đ§đ đđ§đ đđđ đ đ˘đ§đ đđ¨ đ đđ¨đ đ°đĄđ¨ đ°đ˘đĽđĽ đ§đ¨đ đĽđ˘đŹđđđ§?
excerpts from a book Iâll never write
#aesthetic#poetry#poets corner#writing#poets on tumblr#quotes#art#life#poem#poetscommunity#spilled writing#spilled poetry#spilled words#spilled thoughts#spilled ink#religion#religious trauma#dark academia#heaven and hell#a god who is not listening#faith#hope is a radical act#hopelessness#character prompt#screaming at the top of my lungs#where is your god now#lost faith#hurt/comfort#the sky is empty#the devil and god are raging inside me
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i was talking not long ago to @djarinova about how if i were to write a mando series what would it be about and then i rewatched tangled (2010) and then i braindumped and said it would go a little like....
youâre a quarry. not even a particularly unique quarry â youâre the wife of some lord, maybe heâs empire, maybe heâs not, but one thing is for sure; heâs got credits.
enough to lure in even the mandalorian who usually despises a hunt so pitiful as tracking down some spoiled wife whoâs grown bored of her rich husband and decided to escape away with her affair.
heâs done this song and dance a thousand times, each wife dramatic in the way they complain of how their rich lord husband doesnât love them, but din knows life is about choices & living with them â stars forbid the worst choice these women make are marrying a heartless man for his coin. he has little sympathy.
you are different from the get-go, first being that youâre alone. in the days he tails you, itâs clear you have no one watching your back, no other partner in the picture that youâre running off to elope with.
heâs been given strict instructions to bring you in alive, as usual when retrieving pesky wives, but you fight like youâve truly got nothing to lose, managing to make your fingernails bleed with how you fight him.
he wins easily. and then youâre silent as youâre lugged back to the ship, not complaining, not moaning and groaning but just quiet, your eyes taking in everything around you as if itâs the last time youâll see it.
itâs only as youâre settled down in the ship, bound hands between your knees that you speak â âi can get you three times your reward.â
and just as heâs beginning to think youâre different, like clockwork the bargaining begins.
âyouâre not in any position to negotiate.â
you shake your head as though he misunderstands, âno, i donâtâ you can still complete your bounty. but if you-â you inhale catches, as you choose your words carefully, âif you delay it, pretend i was harder to find than in actuality, i can make sure he pays you handsomely."
and that gets dinâs attention, his body language betraying nothing, his helmet tilting to the side just an inch. âwhatâs in it for you?â
you laugh mirthlessly as you stare at your bound hands, aware of how ironic what youâre about to say is. âa few more weeks of freedom.â
this, din doesnât buy. you married this man by your own choiceâ he knows because he did his research. heâs not in the business of tracking down slave brides or anything of the like. your marriage is completely legitimate.
he says as much, not sure why heâs even giving this conversation time of dayâ he should be taking off right now, setting course for your home planet, back into the arms of your waiting husband.
yet, he says, âyou had your freedom. you chose this marriage.â
you deflate at his words and somehow din doesnât feel like heâs won the conversation at all. he turns, prepared to head for the cockpit when you speak once more, âi didnât know.â din stops. he doesnât turn, doesnât even tilt his head but thatâs enough for you to keep talking, âiâ he knew my father, they were friends. i knew him as a child and he used to teach me writing when he came to the house.â something heavy sinks into the bottom of dinâs stomach at your words, somehow knowing where this is heading. surely, your father wouldnât have allowed it.
but dinâs seen the galaxyâs worst and knows very well that he wouldâve. âi didnât know what i was signing, i didnât even know i was signing anything,â you say, voice tight. âjust two weeks, please, itâs all i ask.â
it had already taken a week to find you. three weeks to track a bounty with no ability to fight would tarnish his reputation no doubt. but⌠he believed you.
âi can give you a week,â he says and doesnât wait to hear your thank you, trudging up to the cockpit, wondering what the fuck he was going to do with an extra passenger for a week.
then you have a classic star wars montage â din decides his best course is to keep visiting new planets as if heâs hunting and youâre more than happy about that.
it takes a bit of back and forth before you convince him you do need your hands free to feed yourself â unless he wants to?â and he snaps the cuffs off you with a curt reminder that thereâs nowhere you can hide from him. the threat doesnât land because youâre too struck by the new planet, a landscape youâve never seen before.
you tag along to the market and despite coming from a wealthy family, itâs as though youâve never been outside before. you touch everything, fingers feeling every fabric and texture, and din has to step in when a vendor gets too angry at your lingering, pleasantly surprised when you snip back in the local language.
as you wander, din canât keep his curiosity tamped down, asking how you learnt the language when you clearly havenât travelled muchâ and you respond that, despite its glamorous appearance, thereâs little to do as a lords wife and youâve spent your years in the library, practising different dialects.
âsu cuyâgar,â (hello) you say, turning back to him with a smile and din literally stumbles in surprise, hearing the mandoâa roll off your tongue. he canât think of a response so he just strolls past you silently, heading back for the ship.
you think youâve upset him, maybe offended his culture, but as you walk half a step behind him, he holds out an offering of food, clearly only for you, given the helmet situation. he doesnât put the cuffs back on you when you get back to the crest.
itâs only a week but it feels like a lifetime â for the both of you. you get to drink in every type of planet, frozen ones, scorched ones, ones bursting with plants and ones crawling with lava.
after the third one, maybe you imagine it but you canât help but feel like dinâs adjusting his choices, sticking to the leafy planets with hot springs to swim in and fruits galore to gorge on. his initial condition of only giving you strict rations is broken quickly and you wonder if heâs letting himself be selfish, indulging in things he normally wouldnât just for your sake.
when you travel, you stick close for the sake of safety and the two of you murmur in mandaâo when you need to be discrete and only once do you save his ass, stepping in front of a flung blade that buries into your thigh. he scolds you vehemently as he patches it up and you let him, too shocked that heâs insisting on doing it despite your two free hands.
he saves your ass ten times over, always managing to pull you back from heated discussions and bar brawls, din having an instinct that youâre barely beginning to form on your own and maker, you had no idea people killed each other this much out in the world.
you insist on cleaning a nasty gash on his arm, almost tucked beneath his pauldron and you never, never even ask about seeing his face.
even though you wish it never would, the week still ends.
âhome time,â you say, trying to keep the glumness out of your tone. you have no intention of stalling or guilting the mandalorian who kept his side of the deal. your month on the run was only ever going to be a brief reprieve from the reality of your life.
the mandalorian gets quiet in your last day and as he sets the coordinates to your home planet, he doesnât say a word. heâs suddenly the same mandalorian who hunted you down a week ago again, steely and cold as his armour.
the flight is short and in a manner of hours, youâre walking down the ramp back into the mouth of your home that begs to swallow you whole.
you keep your end of the deal, conjuring up some story of how the reason it took so long was you were hours away from being sold off into some of the human markets and mando is the reason you werenât.
âhe deserves handsome rewardâ, you whisper, almost embarrassed by the role you play with your husband now that itâs being observed by the ever silent mandalorian, his visor unmoving. âdonât punish him for my foolish decisions, my lord.â
your husband, thankfully, falls into your words easily and agrees to the high payment, triple what had been promised. you ask only to thank the mandalorian who saved you life as you leave, stepping closer and murmuring
âvor entye, mando,â (thank you) your eyes on his dark visor, for once, wishing you could see beneath it. he doesnât say anything and you think thatâll will be all, the final words of the best week of your life forgotten from hours ago.
thenâŚ
âdin.â
you halt, unsure of what it is heâs said.
âmy name is din.â
you take the last gift from the world, the name of your hunter who showed you mercy, and watch the crest rise and leave the skies â certain youâll be content with the memories of the week.
itâs not contentness that finds you though; itâs torture, knowing whatâs outside, right out of your reach.
you donât slide back into your old life at all, youâve outgrown your mould and discomfort prickles at every severance of your autonomy.
your husband increases the guards around you ten-fold, til you donât have a single moment alone. you reside in the library and leaf through the books on mandalore, finding more comfort in them than you ever had before.
itâs a quiet evening and youâre absentmindedly drawing circles on the page before you, dreading the upcoming banquet with your husband when you hear a fizzle outside, quickly following by a rapid succession of hits.
a thud hits the ground and you scramble to your feet, knowing with a sinking feeling that itâs your guards, not the intruder, whoâs taken the fall.
you hit one of the bookcases as you back up and turn, hiding behind it as the door opensâ and you recognise the glint of armour in a moment. itâs second nature to step forward, towards him.
his visor catches the motion and he goes rigid. for a moment, you both just stare at each other, barely processing that heâs come back.
he came back, for you.
âdo you want to stay here?â he asks, modulator not hiding the strain in his voice. its not from lack of breath though.
âno,â you answer truthfully, taking another step forward.
âdo you want to leave?â he says. âwith me?â
youâre nodding before heâs finished his sentence. âyes.â
and then youâre following him through the halls, sticking close like you learnt to do, your heart thumping din, din, din, because never in your life has someone done thisâcome back and made it your choice.
you manage to make it out the boundaries of the property, your heart rising in your chest at the sight of the razor chest over the ridge when something catches around dinâs knee and he crumples with a grunt.
you stop in an instant, dropping to your knees and hands fluttering as you try to tug him to his feet, horror twisting in your stomach at the sight of the arrow through the back of his knee, between his shields of armourâ
âdinâ din, you have to get up,â you say, voice wobbling.
you donât even get a chance to hear his reply, arms circling you and tugging you back, the guards of your husband having caught back up. and then youâre fighting, twisting in the ridiculous gown youâre in, yowling and scratching in that way that din has only heard once before, the day he found you himself.
as din himself is hauled sluggishly to his feet, itâs with the realisation that something coats the arrow still in his flesh, some poison thatâs weaving into his blood.
heâs hauled to his feet and dragged back with you, forced to endure the torture of your cries, the endless noâs that leave your lips. itâs only as he drags his helmeted head up, eyes begging to see you, does he realise your cries are not for yourselfâ youâre still fighting, not tugging away from your captors, youâre tugging towards him.
youâre both brought before your husband, forced to your knees as he glares down at you, fury engraved upon his face.
âthe very man i pay to return my wife is the next to steal her from me?â
the lie surges up within you easily. âno! no, it was a plan of my design. i⌠i tempted him with credits to help me escape.â
and if din wasnât already captivated by you before, the very notions of your words that shield him, even when he brought you back to this monsterâ his heart stirs in his chest.
and whatâs worse is that it works.
your husband turns his wicked anger and focuses it on you, stalking forward with a promise of vengeanceâ âescape? you cannot escape from what you have chosen. what you signed, what you promised to me.â
din seethes beneath his helmet, watching how you shudder and bow beneath the words, til youâre only a shadow of the self he saw in that one week. âyes. youâre right. i should have known better.â
din surges forward with a new wave of strength, blatantly ignoring the awful singing of the wound in his legâ the poison is weighing him down but itâs not enough to dull his senses.
he headbutts the guard behind him, holding his shoulders and takes out the three surrounding him in quick successionâ but a sharp ping against his shoulder, a blaster shot, sends him to the ground again with a loud groan. you know instantly what poison coats the arrow in his leg, what youâve watched killed a hundred trespassers over the years.
âstop it!â you plead, stepping forward to try to reach him, your movements futile as your husbandâs hand snares in your hair, ripping you backward.
âstop,â he snarls. âtrying to get away from me,â
âno!â you cry, twisting and clawing at his arm, gleeful when he shouts and releases his tight hold. you drop square on your ass and scramble back, putting yourself between the barrel of your husbands blaster and your mandalorian.
âi wonât stop. i will never stop trying to get away from you for every minute of every day, for the rest of my life,â you pant. your husbands face grows more gnarled with every word but all you can hear is the faint breath of din behind you, growing weaker with every breath.
âbut,â you begin.
âno,â dinâs voice comes from behind you, reedy and weaker than youâve ever heard it.
âif you let me give him the antidote,â you voice trembles. youâre running out of time. âi will stay with you. i will never try to leave, never try to escapeââ
âno,â din says again, barely a pained murmur. you continue on, chest heaving as you stare down your husband. âi will be your wife, just like you want, i promise. just let me heal him.â
the blaster wavers before your face and you hold your breath, waiting judgement before finally itâs lowered an inchâ your husbands hand sneaking into his pocket to steal a vial of the antidote. he tosses it into the sand before you with a sneer and turns his attention to his remaining guards. âcuff him.â
youâre snatching up the vial before heâs even finishing speaking, turning with a speed that makes your hands blurry. you scramble to dinâs weakening form, hands fussing as you realise you need to find some bare skin to puncture.
apologies garble out your mouth as you yank up the flight suit on his arm, putting the vial between your teeth to pop off the end, revealing the needle. you can hear how laboured dinâs breathing is even though his modulator and you hurriedly line the needle up, preparing to pushâ when his arm sways back, away from the needle.
âno,â he says once more, breathless. ânot⌠for your freedom.â
you make a noise that might be a sob, grabbing his arm and pulling it forward, shaking your head.
âiâm not worth dying for.â you counter, voice trembling, and you jab it into his arm before he can argue, a pained groan threaded through his modulator as the antidote spreads rapidly.
your chest heaves, the finality of what youâve done sinking in, especially as the guards step forward, cuffs out and ready. your husband drawls your name, casual and snide, as though he hasnât just terrorised you and nearly killed your closest attempt to a saviour.
âgoodbye, din,â you whisper softly, you lean back, drawing a deep breath, prepared to relent, to submitâ when dinâs gloved hand reaches out, catching your arm with an alarmingly strong grip.
you barely get a moment of confusion before heâs murmuring, âget down,â and cocking his wrist, something blue lighting up.
you fold in an instant, trusting him completely, and dinâs hand tugs you forward so youâre upon him, his hand shifting up to cup back of your neck. something whistling dangerously close to your ear and you screw your eyes closed, hearing several yells and thuds.
dinâs body rolls, tucking you beneath him as the loud shot of a blaster goes off, burying in the dirt beside your head. another follows it and thereâs another thud, a crumpled body hitting the ground.
the silence rings out, deafening in the rush of your emotions and the ebbing sounds of the fight. your eyes spring open and you stare up at the dark visor in disbelief, unable to grasp the hope rising in your chest. is he alive? are you alive? is⌠this real? are you free?
âbreathe, meshâla,â din commands softly.
you realise youâre holding your breath and you deflate as it rushes out of you â then dinâs shifting back, groaning as he lowers himself to the ground. you realise thereâs blood beneath you and you follow it in a panic to his leg, still leaking blood around the arrow wound.
âyour legââ
din waves you off, already pushing to his knees with a woozy balance. âiâll deal with it at the ship. câmon.â
he stands like itâs no big deal to have an arrowhead still stored in his flesh and you rush to your feet, only just then looking around at the bodies littered at your feet. a dozen guards or so and⌠your husband.
he isnât moving but something sudden seizes at your throat and you reach out to grab dinâs blaster, unloading several shots into your husbands body for good.
dinâs gaze is on you when you stop pulling the trigger and for a moment, you wonder what heâll think, then he nods, a minuscule motion, and holds out his hand for the blaster.
you hand it over and he holsters it, hand hovering for a moment as he assesses the distance between here and the ship. you take the pause and gently reach for his arm, slipping beneath it to take some of his weight, hearing the surprised inhale from under his helmet. together,
the two of your straggle back to the crest, trailing blood but lighter with the knowledge you never have to return â that your mandalorian trusts you enough to patch his leg up and then asks you, gruff and low, where it is you want to go next.
your choice.
#i never normally post things like this... like its a fic but its not a fic yanno? a drabble? an idea?#sloane writes#din djarin#din x reader#din djarin x reader#din djarin fic#din djarin x you#din djarin fanfiction#this takes some dialogue directly from tangled as i mentioned in the beginning!#also (whispering) like i was sayin i would never normally post smth like this#but its freaking 3k so i figure thats worth smth#and im stuck between a rock and a hard place with my other wips#and we're whispering bcos my hope is that without attaching a word count to this ppl will just start reading and get sucked in <3#also if this storyline seems reminiscent of my latest arthur piece u would be correct <3#this is my exact brand of angst & hurt/comfort. utter devotion and fighting to save each other#ok i done now :D#if we're friends u can unlock this style of fic! this is just copy & pasted from me and em's messages lol
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