#this is just Miscommunication The Fic

[strangersteddierthings]

Beg You to Love Me

"I'm surprised you even remembered, Harrington," Eddie shrugs, hoping he comes off as aloof as he wants to, instead of shaky and unsure like he feels. He was sitting atop the picnic table, arms behind him trying to look as unaffected by Steve's presence as he can, but he's been thrown for a loop ever since Steve emerged from the woods instead of Robin Buckley, like he was expecting.

"Of course, I remember. I- I've never forgotten," Steve whispers, head down and fists clenched at his sides. He looks more like a child being wrongfully scolded than a man defending himself.

The words pull a scoff from Eddie, though. Never forgotten? What the fuck ever. "Right. Something to hold over me, then, if I'd stepped too far out of line? Mutually assured destruction?"

Steve's head snaps up and he looks horrified, which Eddie will admit to almost believing. Steve doesn't seem like the type to join the drama club but his acting's pretty fucking good. "What? No! I would have never- I would never have said anything about us to anyone."

"Right. Sure. Of course. Your own reputation to think about there."

Something like hurt flashes across Steve's face before it frosts over. This is the face he's used to see on Steve. Cold and distant. "I- whatever, man. I don't even know why I thought..." but Steve doesn't finish his sentence. He just shakes his head and turns his back on Eddie, heading back the way he came.

He doesn't know why that sparks a rage from deep within him. "Yeah, that's right. Tuck tail and runaway again!"

"I ran away?" Steve shouts back, turning sharply on his heel to glare at Eddie. "You think that I ran away?"

Eddie just spreads his hands to the empty clearing as if to say 'look at all this room around me you've never occupied'. "You weren't here, were you?"

"Because you told me to not be!" Steve stomps back to Eddie but stops a couple yards away.

"Like fuck I did," Eddie argues back, because he didn't tell Steve to go away. He'd told him-

"'If this isn't good enough for you, there's the fucking door.' That's what you told me," Steve quotes, "I thought it was pretty fucking clear what you wanted."

"Yeah, I fucking thought it was clear what I wanted," Eddie snarls, lunging from the picnic table, closing those last few feet to get into Steve's face. "Yet here we are!"

"Don't act like this is my fucking fault. Like you weren't the one who forced it to be my fault. My decision-"

"Yeah, it had to be your damn decision! You were dragging it out-"

"-because you were too much of a coward to do it your-fucking-self-"

"-acting like you were. Acting too good to actually slum it with the trailer trash-"

"-so of course I made the choice that was best for me. Because I deserved more-"

"-like what I had to offer you would never be good enough for the goddman King-"

"-than just being your hookup when I wanted to be-"

"-like I wasn't good enough to be your friend, much less-"

"-your fucking boyfriend!"

"-your fucking boyfriend!"

The contrast of this sudden silence that falls following their screaming match that ends with identical sentiments is jarring. Eddie feels wrong-footed and lost. Confusion and hurt mixing in him that he can see reflected on Steve's face.

"What?" Steve is the first to break the silence, drawing into himself. Arms crossing to hold himself at the elbows as he takes several steps back, as if to be able to see all of Eddie will clear the confusion he's feeling.

Eddie just stares back, slack jawed for a moment. That's. What. No, wait. Really, what? "What what?"

"You- you said 'if this isn't good enough for you, there's the fucking door'. How was I- I thought you- you were breaking up with me!" Steve cries, "you. You said that to make me pick, because you knew I wanted more and you didn't. That's- you were breaking up with me!"

Eddie's in just as much disbelief. "No, you broke up with me! I said if this isn't good enough but, like, I meant if I wasn't good enough. And you left! You walked out because I wasn't good enough to be with you!"

Steve looks stricken and he claws harder at himself, sort of folds into himself like he's going to be sick. "No. No no no, that's- then that means I- it's all been my fault. No no no no."

Eddie stares wide-eyed and frozen as Steve talks to himself. Eddie kind of feels nauseous. There's no way that this is possible. That these last two and a half years of heartbreak have been because of miscommunication. That they both thought the other was breaking up with them and neither actually wanted to.

"Why didn't you- Why didn't you say something?" Eddie asks.

Steve laughs at that, sounding a bit hysteric. "Me!? Why didn't you! I wasn't- I wasn't going to beg you to love me like I had with my parents. You were the one who told me I shouldn't have to do that!"

Yeah. He had. When Steve had broken down and cried on his bed, in his arms, wondering what it was he had done to lose his parents' love. Eddie told him it wasn't his fault, never would be, and that he would never need to beg for love from someone who does love him. It was the same advice Wayne had given him when he'd taken Eddie in.

"I already thought you were wanting to break up. You were being so distant, I thought..."

Steve sucks in a deep breath and nods, "Yeah. Yeah I was. I was scared of scaring you away. Of being too much. Because I- what I felt for you was a lot. I was afraid I'd chase you away if I continued to be so clingy. I pulled back, to reign it in but. Fuck. Fuck!"

Eddie drops to a squat. His legs feel like jelly and he can't keep standing. He squats and looks down so his hair becomes a curtain separating him from the reality of the situation, if only for a moment. Fuck is right.

He's spent his junior and first senior year being pissed at Steve. Hurt by him and what he thought happened. And it's- if Steve's being honest, it's all been for nothing. If they both wanted a deeper relationship, they could have had it. They might still be boyfriends if Eddie hadn't been so wrapped up in his Munson Doctrine. He'd been convincing himself Steve was embarrassed of him, and was working on breaking off their- whatever they were. But he hadn't been.

He's thought such terrible things about Steve over the years. God, what has Steve thought of him over the years? No. He doesn't want to know, actually. That's not what he cares about right now.

He lifts his head to see that Steve's plopped himself onto the ground, sitting cross legged, elbows on his knees and head in his hands.

"Steve. Steve!" He calls Steve's name out until he looks up, looks at him, "why'd you come out here?"

He laughs again, slightly less hysterically, and he's shaking his head like he can't believe what he's about to say. "I. Fuck, I was coming out here to beg you to love me."

"No you fucking weren't!" his tone is filled with disbelief.

"I was," Steve repeats, sounding amused and heartbroken at the same time. "I really, really was. Graduation's coming and I know you want to get out of Hawkins the second that happens and I'm. I was running out of time trying to get you to notice me again, so I was going to beg."

Notice him again? As if Steve doesn't haunt his every waking thought. As if he doesn't dream of Steve every night while his eyes seek him across the halls and in their few shared classes like he's the goddamn night sky and Eddie is a sailor lost at sea needing the north star to guide him home. Eddie's never not noticed him, and he thinks he has to come out here and beg? "When someone loves you, you don't have to beg."

"Yeah, I know," Steve sighs, defeated, which lets Eddie know that Steve does not, in fact, know. He looks away from Eddie, down to his lap.

Fuck, it's like every fantasy Eddie's had of them making up and then making out has been handed to him on a silver platter and he's blowing it. His words are too vague, too easily misinterpreted. Again. He falls forward on to his knees, hands catching him so he's on all fours like an animal. "Steve. I mean it. You don't have to beg."

"I get it, Eddie," Steve huffs, not looking at him. Not actually understanding.

Eddie starts to crawl the distance between them. Steve looks up then, probably to see what the fuck Eddie was doing with the shuffling sounds and the chain on his belt clacking. Eddie watches Steve's eyes go wide, mouth dropping open to a small 'o'. "See, the thing is, Steve," Eddie says, pulling himself up to be just on his knees to shuffle the last few inches closer. Steve leans back to keep his eyes on Eddie's face, which opens his lap up. "You said you know, but I don't think you do." Eddie brings his hands to rest on Steve's shoulders and Steve lets him. "You don't have to beg." He uses his hold on Steve's shoulders to balance himself as he swings a leg wide, to straddle Steve, then shifts his weight to repeat the process with his other leg before settling himself into Steve's lap. Steve's hands land on his hips and Eddie isn't sure if it's intentional or a reaction to Eddie plopping himself in his laps but he's going to believe it's the first one. "You've never had to beg with me."

Steve sucks in a sharp breath and then he collapses into Eddie. Steve's hands on his hips slide up and pull him into a hug, as close to Steve's body as he can get, while Steve shoves his head under Eddie's chin, into the junction of his neck and shoulder and breaths him in like it's the last breath Steve will ever take. "We're so stupid."

"Yeah," Eddie agrees, as he lifts one hand to hold the back of Steve's head while the other drops to rub soothingly at his back. "Yeah, we are."

They sit in the dirt, the closest they've been since that summer between '81 and '82. They should probably talk about. They're going to have to, if they want this to work. Full sentences with no hidden meanings, even though the thought of that kind of vulnerability makes Eddie skittish. It's going to be difficult, but it'll be worth it. Steve has always been worth it.

Eddie wants to say 'I love you', just to get it out, in the open, and not just implied, but there's a different first step to take. One that's actually a little easier. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Me too," Steve whispers, "I'm sorry. I should have-"

"Shut up," Eddie cuts him off, voice quiet and soft as he can be. "This is, and I cannot stress it enough, a we situation."

The huff of laughter on his skin from Steve feels like the start of something. A new beginning, a start over. A re-do.

A goddamn miracle.

Later, they'll drag themselves apart and up. Make it to the back of Eddie's van in the school parking lot to talk. Going to either's house feel too much, too soon. Their big fight happened at Eddie's home, and Steve's house isn't warm enough for the kind of comfort they want to share.

They'll have a talk. Filled with long pauses, stumbling over words and fears and insecurities because this is the hard part of a relationship. Getting it all out in the open so they can learn if they'll even work. The fear that they aren't going to be compatible anymore looms but doesn't deter. They both want a second chance, to give it a real shot, by the end of that first talk. But taking it slow.

They'll discuss what went wrong the first time (diving in without talking about anything certainly played a big part) and how to avoid that.

But that's later. Right now, Eddie just holds Steve, and Steve holds him back, and it certainly feels like the beginning of something good.

-

@i-less-than-three-you @nburkhardt @afewproblems

#steddie #my fic #this is just Miscommunication The Fic #hurt/comfort #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckleys the mvp for setting up the meeting by lying to eddie #shes going to demand a thank you gift for giving them the time to talk #and eddie WILL send her a whole fruit basket

[unclewaynemunson]

Pt2 to this post

'Is something wrong?' Nancy asks, not long after the two of them have taken their familiar spots on the hood of Steve's car. They're basking in what might be the last warm sunlight of the year, looking out over the quarry, at a safe distance from the edge.

It's become a tradition the two of them share, ever since they reconnected back in March. It calms them both, to just sit here and take in the view, no one around but each other. Nancy is one of the few people Steve can share a comfortable silence with: sometimes they sit here quietly for what feels like hours, side by side, listening to music or to nothing but the birds singing around them. But they also have their best conversations here: it's the place where Nancy entrusted him she wanted to break up with Jonathan; it's the place where they talked about their shared past and decided they would always love each other as friends; it's the place where they finally talked about Barbara in a way they couldn't when they were younger. It's where Nancy talked about the ghosts still haunting her and Steve talked about how lonely he sometimes felt.

Steve huffs. 'How did you guess?'

'When you frown, you always do it with your whole face,' Nancy notes. 'So it's hard to miss, really.'

Steve glances at her side profile. There's a serenity to her features that's still relatively new. It means she's healing, slowly learning how to be happy again. It means she stopped waiting for the end of the world and started believing in a real future again. It makes Steve proud of how far they both have come.

'I had a fight with Eddie,' he confesses. 'And with Dustin, I guess.'

'What happened?'

He sighs. 'It's complicated.'

'Wanna tell me about it?'

The look in her eyes is kind and inviting. Steve hesitates. He wants to, but he doesn't know if he can. It's a risk. It's scary.

But he can't imagine Nancy Wheeler ever being careless with his secrets. He can't imagine her judging him, can't imagine her being as small-minded as most people in this town.

He was planning on telling her anyway, because things had been going so well with Eddie lately and – no, he shouldn't think about that right now. But maybe it would actually be nice to talk about it with Nancy.

'So, um...' His throat feels tight and his hands are sweaty. 'I recently discovered some things about myself. I-' The words get stuck somewhere on the way to his mouth, and he clears his throat.

Nancy doesn't push, but only gives him an encouraging nod, waiting for him to find his voice again.

'I found out I like boys,' he finally manages to confess. 'And I need you to know that – that that doesn't mean that what I felt for you wasn't real. It was. I loved you, and now I fell in love with a boy. And-'

'Steve.' Nancy's hand suddenly covers his, causing him to finally jerk his head away from the view over the quarry, to focus on her face again instead.

Her eyes are wide, and she squeezes his hand.

'You don't have to explain yourself to me,' she tells him. 'We're good. But thank you for telling me. For trusting me with this.'

Steve heaves out a relieved sigh, and Nancy smiles; it's that genuine kind of smile which reveals all kinds of dimples and soft lines across her face.

'We might be more similar than you thought,' she tells him, a faint blush spreading over her cheeks.

'Really?' Her words make his breath catch in his throat. He squints at her, trying to see her in this new light. 'Are you saying what I think you're saying?'

She shrugs. 'I don't know. I'm not sure yet,' she admits. 'Still figuring things out.'

'Take your time, there's no rush,' he tells her. 'But...' He bumps his shoulder against hers. 'When you're done figuring it out, talk to me, okay?'

She nods. 'Okay.'

For a while, it's quiet between the two of them. Some kind of raptor circles high above them in the sky. They both follow it with their eyes until it disappears among the tree tops west of the quarry.

'Is it Eddie?'

Steve blinks dumbly a couple of times.

'Wha- what?'

'The guy you were talking about. The one you fell in love with. It's Eddie, isn't it?'

'Jesus, Wheeler, what kind of sorceress are you?' Steve exclaims.

Nancy laughs again. 'You're not being as subtle as you think,' she tells him. 'The two of you have been hooking up for a while now, haven't you?'

Steve huffs dramatically. 'This is unfair. You know everything; I can't even tell you my own secrets anymore!'

'So what happened?' Nancy asks. 'You said you had a fight with him?'

'It's fucking stupid,' he sighs. 'Dustin was getting way too excited about the fact that I was gonna be hanging out with you, so I told him I was seeing someone. Next thing I knew, he was telling Eddie all about how I was seeing a girl.' He waves his hands around to make annoyed air quotations. 'I wanted to tell Eddie it was a misunderstanding, but Dustin was there, so I couldn't out us just like that, and he looked so betrayed and heartbroken... He didn't wanna listen to me.'

Steve sighs; he still can't manage to forget that look in Eddie's eyes when Dustin delivered the big news. 'I wish I would've talked about what I felt for him earlier. I should've been honest when I had the chance, y'know. But I was afraid he wouldn't wanna label what we had, that he wouldn't feel the same way – and now we're in this whole mess. God, he must hate me right now, Nance.'

To his surprise, Nancy gives him an unexpected slap against his arm.

'Ouch, what the hell was that for?!'

'What are you even doing here with me, Steve? You should've gone after him, tell him how you feel!'

'I tried, obviously, but he didn't wanna listen to me!'

'So make him listen! You're in love with him, he obviously feels the same way about you, and you let him leave to wallow in a broken heart he doesn't even need to have!' She rolls her eyes and slides off the car, adding something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like an exasperated 'Boys!' before she pulls Steve off the car as well. 'C'mon, time to get your ass over to the trailer park. Right. Now,' she says through gritted teeth. And, well, Steve knows better than to argue with a determined - and truthfully quite terrifying - Nancy Wheeler.

Read the last part here Taglist: @withacapitalp @ultimatedreamer104 @irregular-child @jcmadgirl @estrellami-1 @myguiltyartpleasure @hallucinatedjosten @jaybren @thew1ldblueyonder @melodymeddler @alycatavatar @zoeweee @lolawonsstuff @fairy-princette @saramelaniemoon @phirex22 @krazyperson @xxsky-shockxx (I only put people on this list who explicitly asked to be tagged. That's really no problem, I love to do that so dw about asking, but I got a lot of relatively vague reactions to the previous post that i'm not gonna dissect and interpret, bc I don't wanna clog anyone's notes unwanted. So just to be clear: i consider it a huge compliment if anyone asks for a tag but please do it clearly if you do!)

#look i can and i will exploit the miscommunication trope until yall are sick and tired of it #bc steddie is actually the perfect couple for keeping that trope believable #they're idiots with terrible communication skills it's canon #they WOULD #“can't you just talk to him?” “wait what i can????” IT'S SO THEM OKAY #nancy is the only sane person here i don't make the rules #don't mind me rambling about stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #nancy wheeler #platonic stancy #(i love platonic stancy they mean the world to me) #(i truly didn't mean to trick anyone into reading about them this just kinda. happened. idk) #this is making me wanna write more about their friendship actually they deserve their own fic #stranger things #fruity ficlet

[wheatnoodle]

eddie keeps inviting steve to his shows with his band and steve keeps declining every single one even though everyone else he knows and loves is going.

don’t get him wrong, steve would love nothing more than to show his support to his friend by going to his concerts and dancing along to the music. but that’s the problem.

he can’t dance to the music.

because he can’t even hear it.

after the mass amount of head trauma he’s suffered in recent years, steve’s already not so perfect hearing just got worse. first his left ear was ringing, just a pitched whistle in the back of his head. then it got louder. kept getting louder until all he heard from his left ear was this stupid. fucking. whistle. steve could no longer hear someone speaking to him if he wasn’t directly facing them, preferably angled a little bit to the right.

and of course, because he has just the best luck in the world, it’s around this time that his right ear started quietly whistling in the background. it too got so loud until another solid knock in the head, in just the right spot, left everything muffled. no more ringing at least, but now it just sounds like he’s underwater with ear plugs at all times. did he ever take it to a doctor? of course not, doctors have needles and needles give you drugs and drugs make you pass out and passing out lets guards drag you down a hallway and-

and of course he didn’t mention it to the party. except robin, who is an extension of steve himself. they have enough going on and quite frankly, he doesn’t want them to look at him like that. like they pity him. like he’s different now. or worse, like he’s lying. because king steve the hair harrington? deaf? as if. it even sounded ridiculous to himself.

so he keeps picking up late shifts at family video every tuesday, friday, and saturday night. a ready excuse why he can’t go. something he can prove. an alibi. and eddie keeps asking him. keeps looking at him with these big, hopeful eyes and this stupid smile, and steve keeps saying no. eddie’s shoulders will sag and he’ll deflate, pouting and whining out a “you said that last time”. and steve will fluster and look down at whatever his hands decided to keep busy with, seem like he didn’t have the time for the conversation.

“i have to work, eddie. you know that.” he feels a puff of air on his face and looks up.

“-but i guess it’s whatever, yeah?” eddie was talking to him. he’s got his hands stuffed in the pockets of his leather jacket, leaning back on foot and looking at steve like he’s bored, like steve is hurting him and he keeps hurting him and he’s tired of it. and steve realizes it’s not just the look, he is hurting eddie. and eddie is tired of it.

steve has no clue what eddie was saying. he’s standing there with wide eyes, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. he’s panicked, he’s lost. it must show on his face. eddie huffs out a breath and shakes his head, the leather on the bottom of his combat boots squeaking as he spins on the floor. he walks out the door, throwing up a peace sign without looking back. and then he’s off.

robin is next to him in an instant, knocking over the tapes on the “Employee Recommendations” table. she’s leaning in front of him, staring at him like he’s insane.

“what the hell was that?!”

“i don’t- i don’t know.” steve’s hands are shaking. Robin takes a hold of them, squeezing them tightly in her own to provide some grounding pressure.

“okay, okay. just…just breathe. just give him some time to cool off. i’ll talk to eddie at the show. just breathe, babe. it’s gonna be okay.”

#do i…keep writing? #fic wip? maybe? #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #platonic stobin #steddie #hoh steve harrington #deaf steve harrington #deaf!steve #steve harrington has head trauma #miscommunication #kinda #he’s just deaf man

[idk-bruh-20]

Irondad fic ideas #144

Peter Parker sounds just like Spider-Man. This is something that the students of Midtown find hilarious

Soon, Peter's getting comments in the halls like, "Hey are you that kid who sounds like Spider-Man?" "Uhhh I mean -" "Holy shit it's truuue" and, "Hey Parker, say, 'Hiya Mister Criminal'' "(sigh) Hiya Mister criminal-"

It becomes a daily bit on the school news: they put Peter in the cheapest, most ridiculous Spider-Man mask imaginable and get him to say wild stuff, whatever Midtown students can think of. Like that bit at the end of Honest Trailers.

(Peter may or may not go slightly viral saying some Stuff about the Rogue Avengers in his "Spider-Man voice." Tony may or may not nearly piss himself laughing about it when he finds out.

Spider-Man himself has yet to comment.)

#this may be crack but it's 100% realistic #don't tell me if you had a classmate whose voice sounded EXACTLY like a celebrity you wouldn't get them to say wild shit #'marcus sounds just like obama' 'omg marcus say: can we cancel homework for ever yes we can' #irondad fic ideas #irondad and spiderson #iron dad and spider son #also how long does this miscommunication last #I mean the longer the funnier obviously #does mj ensure that she is strategically placed to witness her peers when the identity reveal happens & inevitable meltdown occurs #if your answer isn't yes actually yes it is #peter parker #tony stark #spider-man #midtown students #academic decathlon #queueueueue #weekly reminder that I love you all but am too busy to be human :) #fic ideas still postponed but you can send asks if you want I just won't see them for a while #see announcements

[makeadealwithdean]

read a fic one time years ago (from a different fandom) that was a teacher!au, and holy shit, i need to write this with harringrove.

go with me on this— billy needs someone to substitute teach for him while he’s out of town for a bit. (billy is a high/middle school teacher). so steve gets walked into the classroom by the principal to meet with billy before he leaves to get the basic rundown.

billy’s in the middle of a lesson, so steve just takes a seat near the back of the room to wait for him to be done. the principal leaves, steve can introduce himself, no problem.

billy finishes the lesson and hands out a practice worksheet, and the kids get into groups to work on it.

he sits down with steve and says, "so are you the sub?"

and steve flushes bright red for some reason, "uh, y-yeah, i guess so."

billy cocks his eyebrow, cause why is this guy acting like he just asked him something scandalous, "okay, so how long have you been subbing?"

steve averts eye-contact, "not long, but why...does that matter here?"

billy laughs, confused, "because you're subbing here?"

steve looks a mixture between horrified and confused.

oh.

billy clears his throat, "um, sub-stitute teaching," he clarifies.

steve inhales quickly and tries to mask the look on his face, but he still looks as if he's been splashed with cold water, "yeah," he laughs nervously, "of course. i know. what else would it be?" laughing it off obviously isn't going as well as he'd hoped.

billy just raises a single eyebrow and tries half-heartedly to dissolve the smirk creeping onto his face.

#harringrove #harringrove fics #billy x steve #harringrove au #i obviously don't wanna plagiarize but like it's fanfiction- tropes and ideas get repeated soooo often #i haven't even looked at that fic in 7 years so this really is me just running with the miscommunication concept #i feel like that's okay right? i mean who knows if i'll even continue writing it #i just had to write harringrove in this situation

[zelraiya]

Not very overlord of lust of you, Valentino.

And don’t be like Al, Vox.

Part 1|2|3|4

#A lil head canon that I’ll explore more in my fic #just that I’m slow as hell #miscommunication my bff #shell shading my beloved #hazbin hotel #hazbin vox #hazbin valentino

[singsweetmelodies]

AKA: angst, miscommunication and a/b/o, feat. brief/mentioned maxierre with piarles endgame (+ implied maxiel.) happy birthday @boxboxbrioche my love

"Hello, Charles," Max smiles when Charles runs into him (literally) in the Budapest paddock on Thursday. He's wearing the same Red Bull team shirt and jeans as ever, naturally, but something about him looks unusually relaxed and content. Sated, even.

Probably because he's been winning practically every race this season, Charles thinks. That's enough reason for anyone to be looking relaxed and content.

Still, when he steps in a little closer to fist-bump Max's proffered hand, he can't help but notice it. Max's scent is... more than just content. He smells like he's only just come out of heat, and whoever was taking care of him did a very good job of it. He doesn't smell like sex, precisely, but he smells like what Charles would imagine afterglow would, if it had a scent. Golden and lazy and sated.

Oh, he's got blockers on, of course, but Charles has always been blessed (or cursed, depending how you look at it) with a very good nose. So. He knows immediately.

Some too-perceptive instinct is telling him that the timing of this heat has something to do with Daniel's return to racing this weekend. Almost like Max... wanted to get his heat over with before he saw Daniel again?

...That's a big stretch, of course, and Charles would never dare say it out loud. (Except to Pierre, maybe, because Pierre loves theorising about the latest paddock gossip just as much as Charles does.)

So he just smiles politely at Max, and says "Hello" back, and wishes for Pierre to appear out of some corner of the paddock somewhere. It isn't that Charles hates Max, or whatever the media likes to spin, but it's also true that Max isn't Charles' most favourite person in the paddock. (Obviously, that honour goes to Pierre.)

No, Charles' and Max's relationship is simply that of colleagues - good enough, if a little bland.

Which is why Charles is not expecting it at all when Max leans a little closer with something that looks almost like a conspiratorial grin. Charles has no idea what Max might want to be conspiratorial about with him - it's not as though he's leaving Ferrari anytime soon, despite what everyone likes to speculate.

Surprisingly, what Max says to him is not racing or incident-related at all. "Do you know where Pierre is?" he asks, as though Charles is the most reliable source of the Alpine driver's whereabouts. (Charles shouldn't be, but he's very flattered.) "I still need to thank him."

"Thank him?" Charles echoes, a little puzzled. "For what?"

And then Max says the one thing that blows apart Charles' world and turns his day upside-down immediately. "For agreeing to spend my heat with me so last-minute."

He says it so casually, too, and Charles...

Well. Charles knows that many of the other unbonded omegas on the grid like to spend their heats with other drivers. This might seem contradictory at first, but the thing is - while they might not necessarily trust each other on track, you can always rely on the fact that another driver, at least, won't reveal details of that hook-up to the press anymore than you will. Most of the alpha drivers on the current grid are decent enough people off-track that you can trust you'd be taken good care of, too.

It's something that Charles has done himself, too, once or twice - mostly with Alex, who is always incredibly kind about it, and makes sure Charles is comfortable and well-hydrated afterwards.

But mostly, Charles spends his heats alone. He schedules them carefully so they won't interfere with races, and then he bears them on his own, teeth gritted as he works himself open over and over again and clings to whatever article of Pierre's clothing he can find nearby.

It's never good enough, never, but Charles has never really wanted another alpha. He only goes to Alex if his body genuinely cannot go without it anymore, and then it's purely a case of friend helping out a friend.

So, really, Charles has no reason to be this shocked that Max apparently spent his most recent heat with Pierre. The two of them are friends, aren't they? Much better than Charles and Max have ever pretended to be. There's no reason why they wouldn't spend a heat together, really.

Except...

Charles grits his teeth, and it's only years of media training that enables him to still pass it off as a smile. "He did?" he asks, tightly.

Max laughs, still happily unaware that he's taken Charles' day and shattered it like a glass breaking into unrecognisable shards. "Yes," he confirms, and then he bumps Charles' shoulder, almost unbearably conspiratorial again. "You, of course, would know why I now need to thank him."

No amount of media training in the world could have helped Charles keep up his smile in response to that. Max notices - how could he not - and his own smile falls. "You two have not...?" His voice rises up in the end, like he almost can't believe he even has to ask the question.

Charles tastes something sour in his mouth, and by the way Max flinches back, he's sure it must be all over his scent as well, blockers be damned. "No," is all Charles says, brusquely.

Max opens and closes his mouth for a moment, and then he reaches for Charles' shoulder. He hesitates, though, hand hovering awkwardly in the space between them. "I'm sorry," he says, and it sounds sincere. "For assuming. The two of you are so..." He makes a face. "You are good friends, so I thought if he would do it for me, he would of course do it for you too."

"No," Charles says again, and the word tastes acrid in his mouth. "We have never."

Not for lack of trying, Charles thinks bitterly, and then he forces himself to think of something else. Some excuse that Max will accept.

Fortunately, a little gaggle of people in bright Ferrari red are passing by, and Charles latches onto them with almost too much relief. "Ah, my team," he says, pointing. "I need to go."

It's stupidly obvious, as excuses go, but Max has the grace not to mention it. He just watches Charles go, biting his lip.

Charles wants to hate him. He wants to hate him more than anything else - for having a race-winning car, and a team that supports him properly, and championships, but more importantly than any of that, Charles wants to hate him for having Pierre.

It's not that Charles thinks Max is actually in love with Pierre, or even that they're courting. No, it was clearly just a case of friend-helping-out-friend. But even that is...

Unbearable. It is unbearable, because Charles hasn't had even that much.

Charles had only asked once, and only because he'd been stupid with pre-heat already and not thinking straight. Pierre's long, long silence before he'd said, very gently, "Charles... I don't think that's a good idea" had told him all he'd needed to know, anyway.

After that heat, though, Pierre had called Charles and made sure he was okay, and that he knew it wasn't personal, Pierre just didn't think it was a good idea to get that involved with another driver. Especially one who's also a friend.

Charles had accepted it at the time, and he's never had any reason to think that Pierre has changed his mind in any way.

Except now here Pierre is, apparently spending heats with Max fucking Verstappen, of all people. And, really. Out of everyone on the grid - every goddamn omega - it had to be Max, didn't it?

A part of Charles wants to fall to the floor in devastation, wants to tear at his hair and shake and cry to anyone who will listen, why doesn't he want me, why doesn't he want me?

But Charles remains standing, because even more than he's heartbroken, he's furious.

Pierre did not help Max through his heat because they're in love, or because they're courting. So, he must have done it as a favour to a friend.

Then why the hell would he not do the same for Charles?

Charles also asked him as a favour to a friend (and yes, maybe Charles wanted more, but he wasn't stupid enough to ask for that. He'd just asked for a favour, the way every unbonded omega on the goddamned grid asks their alpha friends for favours every once in a while.)

Pierre had said no, and that he doesn't do that. But he'd forgotten to mention the part where he apparently does do that.

If he were here, Charles might slap him clean through the face. It's not an urge he's often had when it comes to Pierre (or ever, really) but today...

Today. It's just. What the hell does Max have that he doesn't? Max and Pierre are friends? Charles and Pierre are better friends. Max is an omega? So is Charles, and he's better at that, too.

It's obviously not even about looks! Because Charles doesn't want to be rude, but he is definitely better-looking than Max. It's just a fact, as true as "the grass is green" or "Charles is Monégasque" or "Charles is in love with Pierre."

No. Fuck that. None of this makes sense.

If Pierre is willing to spend a heat with Max, then there's no reason why he can't help Charles through one, too. It's not like Charles is asking Pierre to love him back - no, he's long since made his peace with the fact that that, at least, is impossible.

Charles has always wanted too much, though, and if he sees even the faintest chance of getting what he wants, even if it is just in the form of a favour to a friend -- well. He will never not go for the gap.

So Charles waits, increasingly impatient, for his media and team obligations to be done for the day. As soon as they are, he heads for Alpine, because there is no way Pierre will have left already - he is far too dedicated to them, staying behind extra hours to learn as many names as he can and give as much feedback as possible and help with everything that needs helping.

Right, because isn't Pierre just so incredibly helpful. Normally, this would make Charles smile, fond - but today, it makes him want to snarl.

Helpful, yes. Except to him, apparently.

No. Charles will not accept that.

Various team members glance up when Charles storms into the Alpine hospitality, freezing with coffees half-way to their lips and tracking him like the spectators to a tennis match as he storms across their building and towards the driver's rooms. One particularly brave soul ventures an "Er..." but Charles is already across the room before he's even finished saying it.

Charles knows the way to Pierre's driver's room as easily as he knows the way to his own (incidentally, it's on the same side of the building) and it's mere seconds later that he's bursting through the door of Pierre's driver's room.

Pierre freezes when the door slams open, mouth caught in a comically surprised expression, but it relaxes quickly into a fond (if still somewhat surprised) smile. "Charlito!" he says, standing up and reaching a hand in Charles' general direction. "This is a nice surprise."

But Charles is not in any mood for pleasantries. "Did you spend a heat with Max," he asks, but it's not really a question as much as it is an accusation, pointed and sharp.

Pierre freezes again, the smile slowly dropping off his face. His scent goes bitter with unpleasant surprise. "I -"

"If you lie to me, I am going to slap you," Charles says, injecting the words with just enough of a snarl that Pierre will know he's not messing around.

Pierre's expression goes from shocked to hurt to angry almost faster than Charles can process. "I wasn't going to lie to you, Charlo. I would never. Not with you."

He sounds sincere enough about it that Charles almost feels guilty, but then Pierre adds, "He's just a friend who needed a favour" and Charles is right back to furious.

"I was a friend, and I needed a favour," Charles says bitingly. He doesn't have to say anything more, because he knows Pierre will understand exactly what he means.

Pierre's face shutters, closing off completely. Even his scent goes blank, like Pierre is deliberately shutting off every part of himself. "That's different."

"How?" Charles hisses at him, and Pierre obviously wasn't expecting the vehemence of it, because he stumbles a step back. "How the hell is it different, huh?"

Pierre's expression does something complicated, and he makes a rough noise, low in the back of his throat. "It just is," he says, and refuses to elaborate.

Charles is livid. "It just is?!" he explodes. "Tell me how it just is, Pierrot, because I sure as fuck don't get it. I am your friend - non, I am your best friend - but when I ask for this favour, you say no. Then when it is Max, you say yes?"

"It's different," Pierre says again, sharply, as though sharpness alone will make Charles drop the subject.

He really doesn't know Charles if he thinks that will work. "It is not different. Not at all. What, unless you are trying to say that you don't want me?"

"Of course I-" Pierre starts, then cuts himself off with a groan, dragging a hand down his face. "I don't want to do this with you, Charles."

"Well, I want to do this with you," Charles retorts, unfazed and as fuming as ever. "What is it, huh, Pierre? You prefer Max over me?"

"Of course not," Pierre says, and he has the audacity to sound almost offended.

"But you must, if you fucked him and not me," Charles snaps. He's not entirely sure what he's trying to accomplish here, but he knows - he knows that he's furious, and Pierre is being a fucking asshole, and he needs Pierre to admit that much. At least.

Pierre, however, seems determined to continue being a stubborn asshole. "It wasn't like that," he insists, and Charles sees red.

"It's exactly like that! I asked you to fuck me, to help me through my heat, and you said no because you do not want me."

And that, somehow, is the last straw.

"Shut up, Charles," Pierre growls - actually growls - at him. "Just, shut up. You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, I don't?" Charles snaps right back, goading. "Why don't you tell me, then?"

Pierre snarls again, guttural and furious, and Charles knows that he should be terrified. But right now, he's far too furious to care.

"Tell me," Charles goads again, because he knows that nothing will ever compel Pierre as much as a challenge will.

Pierre is breathing hard, his fists clenched, his shoulders rising and falling rapidly. "You think you know what happened with Max, huh?" he asks, and Charles has never heard him sound like that. Despite himself, it sends a thrill through Charles' whole body. "You think you know what I want and don't want?"

Charles lets his belligerent silence do the talking for him, and Pierre's eyes flash. "Well, do you know that none of it is true? Do you know that none of the rumours of me with all those omegas are true?"

"What do you--" Charles begins, but Pierre cuts him off with a single hand held up, raised as sharply as a slap.

"Do you know, Charlito," he says, almost viciously, "that I've never been able to date any other omega for longer than a few months because I was always comparing them to you?"

Charles jolts where he stands, all the breath wrenched from him. "What--"

But Pierre doesn't give him a moment to process that. "Do you know that I only agreed to spend this heat with Max because he was desperate and out of options?"

"Do you know," Pierre continues, dangerously soft, "that I had to think of you just to be able to come at all?" He stalks a single step closer to Charles. "Do you know that I had to pretend it was you all the time just so that my knot wouldn't go down?" Another step, and Charles is shaking all over, but he can't move. Pierre has him pinned down, completely rooted to the spot with his scorching gaze and world-ending words.

"Do you know," Pierre concludes, softest of all, "why I really said I wouldn't spend a heat with you?"

Charles isn't sure how he even manages to form the word. "Why?"

Pierre's eyes are so, so dark as he stops just in front of Charles, raising one hand to ghost just millimetres above Charles' collarbone. "Because," he says, and his voice is rough. "I knew that if I did, Charles, if I fucked you even just once, I wouldn't be able to hold back. I would bite you, then and there, and I would make you mine."

All the while that he's been speaking, Pierre has been tracing his fingers upwards, a slow, slow torturous slide mere centimetres above Charles' skin. Charles can almost feel the heat of his touch, almost but not quite, and when Pierre stops just below Charles' mating gland - Charles whines and shudders forward, the combination of Pierre's hand there and that word mine too much for him to resist.

Pierre's fingers touch the overheated skin of Charles' mating gland, and the world explodes.

Charles' knees buckle, and his head spins, and he has to press his thighs together in a desperate effort to ease the sudden and burning need there. He's wet, he can feel it, leaking slick all over the place just from that one touch.

Pierre jerks his hand back, of course, but even that split-second of contact was enough to destroy Charles perfectly.

Pierre is panting, and he looks about as wrecked as Charles feels. "So do not stand there and tell me that I don't want you, Charles," he says, and his voice shakes - anger or desperation, Charles can't tell. "Not when I have done nothing but want you for as long as I have known how to want."

Charles shudders, the full weight of Pierre's words sinking in on him all at once. As Charles stands there, processing, he watches as the world rearranges itself entirely.

Charles breathes in, and then he breathes out. "Fuck you, Pear," he says, only a little shakily. "No, seriously, fuck you. How obvious do you need me to be? I literally asked you to spend my heat with me!"

For a moment, Pierre looks so indignant that he forgets to be angry. "You asked it as a favour to a friend!" he protests. "I just said, I can't do that! Not if it's you."

"Yeah, well," Charles says waspishly, "I only asked it like that because I thought you would say no otherwise."

And all at once, Pierre's expression transforms as he comes to the same sudden and brilliant realisation Charles just had.

"Charles," he says, shell-shocked. "If you're saying what I think you're saying..."

He glances down at his hands, clenches them tightly into fists again, then looks back up at Charles, his gaze burning. "You have to know, you can't take it back. I'm not going to let you take it back. Not if you mean it."

"God, Pierre, you are so fucking stupid," Charles says, and alright, maybe he is still a little angry about the whole situation, after all. (He thinks he has the right to be, though.) "Why do you think I was so angry that you went for Max?"

When Pierre doesn't say anything immediately, Charles snaps off a sharp step into Pierre's space, flicking his fingers against Pierre's forehead. "Yeah, it's because I wanted you to choose me. Only me."

Pierre's hand comes up, grabbing Charles' wrist in a bruise-tight hold. He draws Charles' hand away from his face, but then he doesn't let go, just keeps holding on, fingers circling Charles' wrist like they're meant to fit there. "Only you?" he echoes, and it sounds like a question.

Charles nods, because there was never any other answer, and he's about to say it, too, but then Pierre kisses the words right off his mouth.

If Charles' world hadn't already exploded so thoroughly earlier, then it would now.

It's a good kiss. No, it's better than a good kiss - it's a fucking incredible kiss; Pierre's one hand still wrapped around Charles' wrist while the other finds its way to his waist, like it belongs there. Pierre kisses him like he's still a little angry, but also like he's never meant anything more, pouring every part of his soul into it. Pierre kisses him like he's already imagining the night they're going to spend together after this, and he kisses Charles like how he's planning to fuck him later.

Charles has no objections to that. None at all.

Well. Except the one.

He pulls away from the kiss, pressing his palm hard to the side of Pierre's face. "You're going to spend my next heat with me," he says, orders more like, and it's far too possessive, but he can't bring himself to care. Not one goddamned bit.

Pierre growls, low in his throat, and pulls Charles even closer to him. "No, chéri," he says, too-softly. "I'm going to spend every single heat with you from now on. Forever."

"Forever," Charles breathes, and then he kisses Pierre again, hard, making it a promise. "Forever."

#posted this at 01:16 which is not QUITE 1016 but as close as i could get on this fine evening #HAPPY BIRTHDAY BRIONYYYY #myfic #piarles fic #10 x 16 #maxierre #(technically) #(they're really only there as a plot device to get us to piarles endgame) #in other news WHOA MY GOD THIS GOT LONG #(who's surprised....) #but i SWEAR the intention was just to write you something short and sweet for your birthday today since #since we'll only be releasing the main fic later #(well; i say short and sweet; but i don't think SWEETNESS was ever the intention. i wanted to write possessiveness) #(and also miscommunication and misunderstanding and all them GLORIOUS angsty tropes) #and since i have absolutely no self-control to speak of... here we are #BRIONY. my love. i love you so much #please accept this humble offering of my first ever publicly posted a/b/o on the occasion of your birthday #sorry for making the boys angry at each other but i unfortunately think it's very hot to make them scream confessions at each other #hot angry confessions... CHEF'S KISS #and i really hope you like this too!! and go as insane as i did over certain lines #because by God... i fear that you have created a monster #now that i have discovered a/b/o i am NEVER LOOKING BACK #this was so fucking fun to write oh my god. JEEZ #but anyways!! getting distracted here #HAPPY BIRTHDAY AGAIN MY LOVE #and before you say this is too much.... NO. we can never celebrate your birthday too much #this is just more proof to that end #LOVE YOU ENDLESSLY ❤️❤️❤️ #briony's birthday bonanza 😘

[lunar-nebulari]

Alright I get it,

I get that everyone wants the angst, I get that sometimes you just wanna read a sad fic that doesn't end well, and that is going to exist in every fandom.

But I firmly believe that Jack and Bitty are in love in every way, in every universe. There is not a reasonable explanation for them to not be together/break up.

And I stand by that

#this is mostly a joke #omgcp #omgcheckplease #zimbits #peach speaks #I'm not tryna yuck somebody's yum I'm just stating my own opinions #also??? miscommunication in zimbits fics??? hate. #like I hate to be stickler for character accuracy but c'mon they're both too emotionally mature for that #and!!! they're too sensitive to just soldier through it without breaking before it gets too bad!!! #yes yes I know Hi Honey was a chapter that happened but Bitty admitted that he was breaking and he went!!! to!!! Jack!!!

[fountainpenguin]

"Picture of your face in an invisible locket... I had a bad feeling. But we were dancin'... swaying as the room burned down." (x)

---

New Dog's Life chapter today! ~ 3rd Life series fan-season

Chapter 32 - “Starve (Etho, Scott)”

❤️ Read on AO3

💛 Start from Chapter 1

💚 More Pixels Imperfect fics

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I am once again bringing you scenes of Etho cuddling up to SnifferMyFeet while Sniff growls reminders that even though he has Joel's memories and misses being Boat Boys, he wants Etho to treat him as a separate person.

If I had a nickel for every chapter Etho's touched this man and thought of Joel, I would have 8 nickels. I'd have 40 cents. That's as much as 1/4 of our story. And that's terrible.

#smalletho - Etho once again working through his touch starvation and Boat Boys Issues™ Many references to Joel, but he doesn't appear. Large flashbacks of him and Etho in next week's chapter, though! <3

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

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This preview section jumps into shippy vibes- Proceed at own discretion.

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Etho - Fox

Status: Holding out a hand

Self-taught programmer, full-time hero

💙  🧡  💚

So, uh. That string tidying, huh? You're setting yourself up for disappointment if you want to do that with an endermite hybrid. They're the best in the business and they'll mock you the whole time you set up. Sniff's smug and giggly about it, too, as Etho pushes him down on the bed and hangs back to study him. He's really tattered the code on the bottoms of his bare feet. I mean, shoe code gets tattered too, but usually those soft parts of a skin design hurt more.

"You gonna use your mouth?" Sniff asks, eyeing him up.

"In a shocking turn of events, the programmer has tools for fixing loose code. They're in the other room." Etho takes Sniff's wrists and pins them above his head for a second, then takes his ankles and stretches them out. Classic textbook pose for the work, even though they'll probably move to the carpet for obvious reasons before they start; he doesn't need weak pixels dropped all over his bed. "Stay," he commands, and Sniff sticks out his tongue and double flips him off without moving his arms. So Etho can't be mad.

But he does lean over, sliding one hand beneath Sniff's cheek, easing it behind his head. He curls it back around and lifts it just enough to scrape his palm across Sniff's brow, beneath his floppy dark brown hair. It's thick and feels like swamp plants in his hands. He still smells like well-treated water. Chlorine. Like one of Gluon's hotel builds with the fancy pools. Or the waterpark server. Never did find out why. Etho breathes against him without pulling back. Despite the wet scents, Sniff's warm soul's like fresh-baked bread against his hand.

"Oh my goodness… You're so pretty. You are so pretty…"

The metaphorical light fades from Sniff's mismatched eyes. Etho pulls back, waiting for a pinch or slap. Sniff turns his face away. Only his Joel side's visible at this angle as he squirms. "Get your eyes checked, Eefo… I saw my reflection when I got my water. I'm stitched together with hand-me-down parts. You don't mean that."

"What if I do, though?" He crouches lower by the bed, bringing a hovering thumb to Sniff's scalp. Sniff glances at him, then away. So Etho breaks that barrier. Slowly, the thick part of his hand eases down to touch Sniff's head. Sniff scrunches up his eyes again, giving the faintest little nod. Etho holds very still a few seconds (Sniff's pixels are so loose on his skin, which was the whole point of this cleaning project anyway) before he speaks again. "I'm sorry you can't see that yet. Body issues are tough; I've got issues too. Sometimes my fox traits get away from me… Been thinking about modding out, but it takes centuries of paperwork." His next stroke of hand (a circle on his head) is firmer, sharper, and Sniff mutters something under his breath as his cheeks freckle up with blue again. Cute. "If it were legal, I'd probably just unthread. I'd miss the bullet paths, but you make vex life look so easy. So good." He draws his hand around in one last loop, then eases it down Sniff's cheek (on his Grian side) to his neck. "Hey, take a closer look next time you're out. There's a lot of interesting people out there. Some wear faces that aren't even humanoid. Have you met MumboDrone or iCam? … And you know, it's just a skin."

Sniff putters his lips, staring towards the ceiling. His fingers lift, dancing across the backs of Etho's knuckles. "You just want me to stay late again. Gods, you're so lonely… Listen, fella- I know my strings are a wreck. I was an endermite before a vex; be pretty messed up if I couldn't tell. I'll let you clean me up, but I'm not playing sleepover. You can't make me."

"Mmhm." Oh man, I want to press my head on yours. He really wants to, noses brushing, hair tufts scraping, but he refrains, you know. He's kneeling, balanced on his heels, and Sniff's saying 'Yes' to the hand but looking unsure. So he won't. "Stay as long as you want to. Just let me clean your code and then you can leave. I promise I won't be mad."

"You smell like bread dough…"

"Yeah? My code wouldn't taste too good right now. Squeaky clean."

"Oh, that's too bad." Absentminded. Distracted. Etho eases back his fingers.

"Are you okay?"

Sniff clicks into focus again and then swishes up, sitting on the bed instead of lying down. "Yeah, thanks. I'm good, actually. The water helped."

"All right. I'll be right back with the cleaning stuff." He leaves without another touch, pausing only to switch off the portal still glowing in the corner. He leaves the desk lantern glowing like it is. It's fun, in the dark. The light's so low, it's like a fox's den in here.

The nice thing about being a programmer? He has no end of scrapers and combs to choose from. He pays the living room a visit to get the tray from the coding desk's drawer and some rolled-up pieces of carpet (ignoring the less than subtle smirks Beef and Pause give him as he strolls by). Etho brings the whole tray to his room and sits on the bed with Sniff, just talking to him and explaining how effective these tools are for different things. Sniff seems to recognize a lot of them, which is no surprise, honestly. Since Joel doesn't do logouts, he has a whole cleaning routine. It takes him forever.

"You know," Sniff says, digging through the tray, "using combs is cheating, actually. I can do the cleaning with my teeth still attached. I bet foxes can too. I mean, it's code work; all the code-eating species can do it." He flicks his gaze to Etho, who kneels across from him, tail waving in the air. Etho doesn't answer, so Sniff goes on. "You know what's fun? 'mite bundles."

"'mite bundles,'" Etho repeats. "Like… Endermites inside a bundle? Is that fun? That's a new one to me." Where is he going with this?

"Yeah, it's when you put endermites in with some of your supplies and go out on adventures. When you want your supplies, you have to dump everything on the ground and try to use your stuff without getting bit. If you get bit, you have to send your coords to server chat. Easy way to get killed, so you'd better not. You can play it in Between, too. Pig has an endermite living in his studio. For every time it bites him, he has to keep his weapons in a chest for an hour when he gets home. It means I can do whatever I want to him, really. Usually he just runs. Sometimes we duke it out bare-fisted. Have you ever seen him with a black eye and a tooth knocked out? Just me, I guess- It probably doesn't carry when he leaves the server. He looks so goofy when he smiles; I'm chuffed to bits with that. Gods, you wouldn't believe the bruise he left on me this one time he pushed me off an end ship. He smirked about it for days, no joke. No, actually. Can't believe his head even fit outside the server."

Etho smirks back, hidden in the mask and hidden by his fingertips. His chin rests against his hand. "What'd you do to him? You didn't let him get away with that, did you?"

"Hell no! I picked up a shulker and I slammed him on the head with it. I bet you didn't even know you can peel 'em off the wall- they're so clingy. What'd he do then? I think he put down a bed and blew himself up trying to get me with it. Oh, he's so lame. I like him so much."

[Full chapter on AO3 - Link at top]

#smalletho #trafficfic #traffic soulmates #... It's complicated #If you're here for smalletho and slammed into my ''Would you still love me if I was SnifferMyFeet?'' drama. lmao sorry #For better or worse this is what I bring to the fandom table #Recap: Sniff has all Joel's memories (maybe) but wobbly self-restraint and it is weird for both of them so. let's get weird #I cannot emphasize enough how Peculiar this is if you are entering without context so good luck- lmk how it goes :) #It's about Miscommunication (TM). I'm tagging stuff so people can filter out but just to be clear this is Oh No with fluff sprinkles #Y'know. When all else fails and I've listened to many songs and did not find the right one... I know Taylor Swift has got me #This chapter brought to you by whomever gave Etho several dozen combs made of people's teeth (It was Lizzie) #Also the intimacy of bonking foreheads #Dog's Life #Dog's Life art #ridwriting #fic announcement #apparently art #trafficshipping #hermitshipping #Sniff and Pig #mcyt #Pixels Imperfect #ridspoilers #Dog's Life spoilers

[thisiswhereikeepdcthings]

Jason reluctantly attends a gala that no on else bothered showing up at. Problems are caused. Problems are had.

@batfamilyweek

#batfamilyweek2023 #day 4 #miscommunication #I just crashed the batmobile #jason todd #who does not in fact crash the batmobile #batfam #batkids #batmobile #galas #my fics #ao3 fics

[strangersteddierthings]

In the 19 years Steve's lived in this house, never once has he slammed his front door like that. Too scared of his parents' wrath should it have caused any damage.

It feels good.

He almost turns around to do it again, a fuck you to his parents and every decision they ever forced on him, but then he remembers. They're all in there. Nancy, Jonathan, Argyle, Eddie, Robin. In his living room, making declarations and decisions about Steve's life for him. Or, well, one of them is.

Like his parents do. Did?

He didn't grab his keys, wallet, or even his coat, but he's not going back for them. It's cold, sure, but Steve's sure his anger will keep him warm until he reaches a destination. Any destination.

He just doesn't understand why- Why they keep doing this to him.

Why he keeps letting them.

No. No, that's a lie. He keeps letting them because he knows, deep down, he's not a fighter. Not for himself.

He'll put himself between the ones he loves and danger in a heartbeat; he's done that since the first time he watched a petal-faced monster peel its way out of the Byers' wall in '83.

But his parents trained the fight right out of him when it came to himself. It was easier to not argue, to just do what they wanted. They'd smile at him when he was good. They'd take him with on shorter business trips when he behaved. His mom would even allow a quick hug if he impressed a shareholder with how well-mannered and quiet he was.

He won their affections with obedience.

He's never- Nancy and he love each other now, but in the same way they all love each other after having survived the horrors the Upside Down. But Nancy never loved him the way he'd once loved her. That was bullshit.

Even Robin and Dustin. He knows they love him now. Will love him forever, going forward, but both had admitted to having a predetermined idea of who Steve was and what he was like and they weren't wrong but they also weren't right because Steve's never been Steve a goddamn day in his life.

Steve hadn't even known Steve until monsters came into his life.

The way everyone used to refer to him as the Steve Harrington was a judgement all its own. A thing that he was, and had no say to be otherwise.

Even Eddie, in the Upside Down, and now, in his own house.

Steve finally feels like he might be becoming who he really is and he's surrounded by friends and it just made him stupid. He'd thought it was confidence, when he pulled Eddie aside to talk, to confess, but then-

Eddie telling him he's confused. Like Steve is a child learning new concepts and not an adult who has been questioning how he feels about men since he first noticed other boys in middle school.

Eddie telling him, 'you don't want this, man. Not really.'

It's not fair.

Robin came out to him, and he'd just wanted to make her laugh so she would quit looking so scared. Eddie came out to him, and Steve had thanked him for trusting him. Jonathan, Nancy, and Argyle confess to all dating each other and Steve congratulated them. But Steve comes out and gets told he's confused?

And Steve didn't even refute it. Just got so hurt he couldn't be there anymore. Left his own house because he'd told Eddie he had a crush on him, and asked if he'd like to go on a date sometime and Eddie said no and told him he was confused.

Eddie doesn't get to decide that for Steve! No one but himself can decide if he like guys or not. No one gets to tell him he's confused about what he's feeling.

It's- that's bullshit, is what it is!

Steve turns on his heel and marches back to his house. His hurt has fully morphed to anger now.

Steve hasn't run away from a fight since '83, and he's not going to start now.

He rips his front door open and is greeted to everyone just inside the door, in various states of putting their winter clothes back on. All the faces look concerned, but he scans for Eddie's.

Eddie who looks relieved for all of two seconds, when it seems to dawn on him that Steve is angry, and it's directed at him.

"The appropriate response," Steve growls as he steps through his door and punctuates those words by slamming it shut again. (It's not as satisfying this time, because he sees how it makes his friends jump.) He barrels on with his words, eyes never leaving Eddie, "when someone comes out to you, is to say 'thanks for telling me' or perhaps even 'thanks for trusting me' or, if one is so inclined, to just say 'cool, dude' but you don't get- you don't get to tell me I'm confused!"

Eddie takes a step back, knocking directly in Argyle, who steadies him, but he doesn't say anything.

Maybe Steve should be more calm about this, given the audience, but he's not able to stop the words now that they've started. "I'm not confused, and I know exactly what I'd be getting into. You don't get to- to try and make your rejection my fault. If you don't wanna date me, just say so. But you don't get to try and tell me how I feel about you!"

From the corner of his eye, he can see Nancy trying to subtly shift herself and Jonathan away from the door, probably to get out of what really should be a private conversation, but Jonathan's a bit preoccupied by catching Robin around the waist as she lunges towards Eddie.

"What the fuck did you say, Munson!" Robin growls, arms swinging out like she's going to claw Eddie to death.

Argyle has inched back a bit, putting distance between him and Eddie in case Robin breaks free. "You dudes should probably talk this out in private."

"Byers, if you don't let me go right now-"

"Robbie, I got this," Steve says, because Robin shouldn't be turning on Jonathan when he's done nothing wrong. Robin continues to glare at Eddie for a few seconds before she makes eyes contact with Steve. He raises his brows slight -I got this- and she furrows hers -are you sure?-, so he tilts his head -yes, really- and she deflates in Jonathan's arms and allows him to drag her away.

"We'll just be in the rec room," Nancy says, looping her arm through Argyles and following after Jonathan.

Eddie doesn't bolt, which is a bit more than Steve expected. They both just stare at each other until they hear the click of the rec room door.

"Steve-"

"That was fucked up, Eddie," Steve interrupts.

"Yeah. It was," Eddie says, but doesn't offer up more, even though Steve is waiting for an apology.

"That kind of reaction is exactly why I didn't come out sooner. What would be the fucking point if no one even believed me? Or worse, if you'd given me that kind of reaction like, six months ago, I probably never admit to liking guys out loud ever again. You can't just- you can't decide this kind of shit for other people!"

"I know! I- I freaked out, and panicked, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Steve," Eddie says, and he sounds sincere and looks almost fragile while saying it that Steve loses a bit of his steam. He doesn't want to just keep yelling at Eddie.

"Yeah. Well. Thanks for apologizing," Steve mutters, crossing his arms with a huff.

Eddie worries his bottom lip before he seems to gather all his courage and says, "have I fucked everything up between us?"

"No. Not- I'm going to, like, need some time to get over my crush, but no. It's- it'll just be take time-"

"No! I mean, I can't- if you don't, uh, like me like that anymore I get it, but I- what I meant was. Well. No, I guess that answered my question."

Steve is confused, now. For real, and not about his sexuality. "What?"

"What?"

"You did it again. Deciding for me if I liked you or not."

"Shit. Fuck! Sorry," Eddie drops his head into his hands and groans. "I'm fucking this up so bad."

"Than use, like, real, whole sentences and speak to me!"

"I like you!" Eddie blurts. "I have a crush on you, too, but I- I fucked it up!"

"Yeah. Kinda."

Eddie makes a really pathetic noise at that.

"Not so much we can't, like, figure it out, though," Steve offers. "Not, like, right now, because I'm hurt and angry, but like, I'm not going to stop liking you because of one fight. Not. Uh, not now that I know you like me, too."

"Oh," Eddie whispers, then frowns. "For real?"

Steve rolls his eyes. "I said it, didn't I?"

"Sorry, it's just, just good things don't happen to me. It's- I'm processing, okay."

Steve lets out a long-suffering sigh and heads towards the rec room. "If you want to leave to 'process' alone, I get it, but you're welcome to stay. We can get this party re-started and hang out."

Eddie's silent a moment, and Steve thinks he's going to ask if Steve's sure, but instead he gets a quiet, "yeah. I'd like to stay." and the sound of Eddie's footsteps following him to the rec room.

-

@i-less-than-three-you @nburkhardt @afewproblems @skepsiss

#steddie #pre-steddie more accurately #my fic #we have a lot of fic where it feels like the miscommunication is just one character deciding how the other feels #and i LOVE that trope. The angst of it all it just *chefs kiss* #but I dont think steve would let people get away with telling him how he feels #i think hed get hurt and then angry #so i wrote it #thats a lie. this STARTED as that trope (i even warned the discord babes) but while I wanted steve to stay sad instead he got mad \: #so its not actually the story i wanted to tell but it's the one i got

[wheatnoodle]

welcome to part 4 besties of deaf!steve/steddie

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

—

she lets him play his show. she doesn’t want to ruin it for the other guys, though with the way eddie’s playing, he seems to be doing that himself.

robin cannot look away from him.

her jaw is clenched, thin arms crossed over her chest. while the rest of the bar vibes along to the music, she is stock still. the party tries to pretend they’re enjoying themselves but the awkward glances and forced smiles tell otherwise.

she sees red. and she doesn’t even have a ride to go to her best friend. her other half. she can feel him. her heart is in her stomach, her chest is empty. an aching cavity. she can barely focus.

eddie’s fumbling on stage. he keeps his head down, hair curtaining his face. he wont look at any of them, he can’t look at them. his fingers shake as he stares at his fretboard, fucking up what should be easy progressions. his face is on fire. he knows he needs to get his head in it, but he can’t stop thinking about steve. the way he crumbled right in front of him and, like he seemed to do quite often, scooped up his broken pieces to bring home by himself. every time eddie blinks, there’s teary doe eyes clouding his vision.

so, robin lets him play his show. it doesn’t last long, gareth being the one to shake his head and cut their set short. they pack their gear and step off the stage and robin has her fingers around eddie’s wrist. he has no time to protest as she drags him away. down a back hallway with one light hanging from the ceiling and graffiti on the walls.

“rob-“

she shoves him against the wall, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and tugging him down to her eye level.

“what the fuck is your problem, eddie? what the fuck is your problem?” she hisses into his face, her brows drawn. eddie’s eyes are wide as he stares at her, mouth gaping like a fish. robin wants to smack the look off his features. seconds pass before he’s glaring at her in return.

“my problem? what, so me not wanting to be friends with someone who doesn’t give a shit about me is a problem?” he scoffs, knocking her hands off his shirt.

“what are you talking about?!” robin feels hysterical. she doesn’t know whether she should laugh or scream or cry or all of the above at the same time. “since when does steve not give a shit about you?!”

“since always! since high school!” he throws his arms out. he might be reaching robin’s hysteria, he thinks. “im the freak to him.”

“i cant believe you would say something like that. after everything? really? what happened to you being so totally lovesick you just had to go and start writing your music about it?”

eddie barks out a laugh, tilting his head back to the ceiling, to the one flickering light. “as if it even fucking matters. you know he’s said no every single time ive invited him here? or to a band practice? every time! i don’t even care if he likes it, i just want him to fucking show up!” he’s raising his voice. he knows he is.

“he’s deaf! you shithead!” robin tops his volume. her voice cracks as she puts her hands on eddie’s chest, shoving him again. her cheeks are ruddy, her own eyes glossing over at the intensity of her emotions.

“what?” eddie whispers and he stops. right there. he stops moving, stops blinking, stops breathing. his jaw is dropped. he has that stupid fish look on his face again. every thought leaves his brain, only robin’s words bouncing around in his head. he’s deaf. he’s deaf. he’s deaf.

“he’s deaf. from all of his stupid head injuries. he can’t hear your music at a show, eddie! there’s too much going on!” she’s crying now. angry tears rolling down her cheeks. she wipes them away furiously.

“what do you mean…”

“i mean he doesn’t want you to look at him different or like he’s weird. because he can’t hear. because king steve being deaf just doesn’t make sense and there go proving it,” she shakes her head, her fingers going into her hair to tug at the strands.

“i didn’t…i didn’t know,” eddie gulps thickly. his heart is pounding in his chest. steve is deaf. steve the hair harrington is deaf. steve the babysitter is deaf. steve the monster hunter is deaf. his stevie can’t hear.

“no shit. he doesn’t want any of you to.” eddie’s hands find her wrists and ease her fingers from her hair, pulling her against him. she slumps into his chest, crying in his shirt (if she makes sure to make it extra gross, that’s between her and the lord).

they stand there till she calms down. until she pulls back and tucks her hair behind her ears, wiping her eyes again for good measure.

“i…i need to go see him,” eddie says, nodding along like he’s trying to convince himself it’s what he should be doing. he pats his jeans pockets, finishing out the keys to his van.

“you need to fix this. i’ll get the others to start trying to get in contact with him,” robin sighs, resting the back of her head against the wall. eddie nods again, turning on his heel and sprinting down the hall.

he makes it to the door, gets his hand on the push bar. “eddie?” he turns back around when robin calls his name.

she hesitates a second before closing her eyes and sighing yet again. “don’t break his heart.”

his brow furrows briefly. “i won’t.”

—

tags:

@madcapromantic @youarenotgonnafindme @samcoxramblings @depressed-gays-of-marvel @zombiefang

#part 5? #stranger things #stranger things season 4 #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #stranger things fic #fic wip #deaf!steve #deaf steve harrington #hoh steve #hoh steve harrington #he’s just deaf man #angst no comfort (yet?) #kinda miscommunication #robin buckley #platonic stobin

[idk-bruh-20]

Irondad fic ideas #139

NWH AU where Tony's been in a coma this whole time. He still is. But the world thinks he's dead.

One day, Rhodey is in some science place (maybe SI, maybe a community college where he was giving a speech?) and he sees this kid tinkering who looks exactly like Tony Stark. The teen Tony Stark from when he first met him at MIT. Even down to the mannerisms. He goes up and has a brief conversation with this stranger, just curious. Then he leaves.

Unbeknownst to the kid, Peter, Rhodey managed to grab something for a DNA test. The kid just looked too much like his best friend. Like seeing a ghost

When they analyze the DNA, they learn that this kid is in fact Tony's biological son

Rhodey goes back to find the kid, this time bringing Happy. Peter gets to have the super fun conversation where two people who should know him but don't tell him that the person he saw as a father was his actual father, only it's too late

They convince Peter to come with them eventually. And Peter gets the shock of his entire life

Over the next little while, at Tony's bedside, Peter gets to know Morgan (who he would've seen as a sister anyway but this is insane). He also gets reacquainted with Rhodey, Happy, and Pepper, who all admittedly find him a bit sus with how much he seems to know.

But...this is Tony's kid. His son. So they let him be there, let him talk to Tony and hold his hand. 

Finally, finally, Tony wakes up.

And it turns out, being in a coma and thought dead by the entire world, including wizards, makes one exempt from certain magic

Bonus:

As he sits by Tony's bedside, Peter has to grapple with a lot of emotions. One of them is the realization that he was never actually related to Uncle Ben, which makes him feel like his uncle and aunt died for nothing

Pepper helps him through it. Even not knowing him the way she once did, she knows plenty about guilt complexes and chosen family. She assures Peter that he's still a Parker, no matter what, and that his aunt and uncle wouldn't have given him up for the world

Another thing Peter deals with is the fear of Tony waking up and not knowing him. It breaks his heart just thinking about it.

Cue THE most relieving hurt/comfort reunion ever imagined

#peter (crying): you remember me? #tony (also crying): obviously?? I did all this to bring you back #ironfam: the hell tony?? why didn't you ever tell us you had a son?!?! #tony: what? you guys know peter.. #irondad fic ideas #irondad and spiderson #miscommunication and confusion continue until they finally get through to tony that peter is not just his emotional son #he is also his biological son #tony: ...HOW has this not come up before??? kid we did all those tests on your freaky spider dna- #entire room: YOUR SON IS SPIDER-MAN?!?! #iron dad and spider son #tony stark #peter parker #nwh fix-it #endgame who? #ironfam #tony once he somehow restores FRIDAY'S files and discovers she literally did run a paternity test: why didn't you tell me this hon? #FRIDAY: all data indicated that you already knew and were acting as peter's father #queueueueue #weekly reminder that i love you all but am too busy to be human :) #fic ideas still postponed but you can send asks if you want i just won't see them for a while #see announcements

[velnica]

Apology (Sanson/Guydelot)

"Forgive me... What you needed was support yet all I did was offer you misplaced praises and requests."

"Nag, Sanson. What you did was nag."

Sanson couldn't even deny the jest. Once more he'd taken Guydelot for granted, a blunder that he was seemingly cursed to repeat until the heavens themselves crumble. No, something had to change; he had to change. Gently he ran his fingers through Guydelot's hair, trying his best to convey his apology.

"Aye, I'm sorry, I take full responsibility."

Guydelot tightened his arms, "Then stay."

#post-Ghimlyt #level 80 Bard quest #fic: breathe in and get a bit higher #Had to make this soft shot #Miscommunication is just so on brand for them #sanson smyth #guydelot thildonnet #guydesan #bard boys #ffxiv #my gposes

[sometipsygnostalgic]

Tumblr! Let me edit my own fucking reblog! I need to add more tags on that post!!!

#if youre wondering i hate slow burn with miscommunication most #wtf is hanahaki??? #also why can i freely edit every post but that one #slow burn is... fine? i dont care for any ships that employ slow burn apart from bubbline and id NEVER read bubbline fic #miscommunication is never ever written well in fanfic #'but my story--' no fuck you your miscommunication plot is bad #it works well in stories where there are fundamental incompatibilities with what characters NEED #it works well in shera proper because catra needs the exact opposite of what adora needs #catra wants devotion but also agency and adora cannot be devoted because she has to protect EVERYONE #and that means stripping catra of her agency too #and catra sees that as adora thinking shes bettervthan her #it doesnt matter how much they talk about it - their core feelings about the world and lack of psychological skills further push the clash #same for glimmer who wants agency and friendship when adora and bow are pushing her in a protective little shell #she sees it as being stripped of her agency!!! #she sees it as proof people think shes useless... her greatest fear #but adora sees it as protecting her #and the more glimmer lashes out the more adora just becomes Shera because adorq herself feels no use to anyone

[decarabiandivorce]

According to the genshin wiki, amos’s name translates to “burden” (or at least the hebrew version of the name). Any thoughts on the implications of this?

:)

oh i have thought about that a normal amount. Usually, I love tying it into my backstory of her c: An archer needs to be strong and I imagine her taking care of her community a lot. It was her burden to carry, now that she was an archer without prey. It didn't feel right to not do anything. It could never feel right. In her heart, she was an archer waiting to strike- but stagnation for too long was something she could never fully accept. She has carried many things in her lifetime, from secrets to fears.

A burden is a responsibility that one can not abandon; a pressure from external and/ or internal matters. Physical and metaphorical I do think that Amos acts from the heart. She is so full of love that it's the only thing that could really damage her. She will take on the world for the people she cares about. (And the realization of who she really should be taking care of happens much too late)

It's one of the reasons she fell for Deca. A person that could carry her burdens for her. But life without improvement was a different sort of stagnation. To eternally dream causes muscles to weaken and minds to soften. Surrounded by a sea of grey, were her eyes as sharp as they were before?

Ough this is giving me inspiration to write more of Amos's thought process when it comes to her relationships with people :p I wonder what I should nickname this one, either Violetgrass (Bluebells by another name) or Endymionis somnum dormire

.

Amos was a strong person. She hunted in the woods beyond the city, brining back meat to share with her friends and family. She did not ask for much. She did not have much. Amos the hunter was her name. Her last name? She never cared for it. Being a hunter was nice. Staying still for the perfect shot. Just for her patience to be rewarded in one quick swish.

Her parents taught her the way of the bow. They urged her to put it down as well. To settle with someone that could take care of her. One day her bones will tire and her wrists wouldn't be able to withstand the arduous tasks.

Amos was strong. She cared for her parents til their final breaths. She cleaned the now empty house by herself. She had many friends she loved to help. Any burder they had, she could take on.

She taught the children of her friends how to be an archer. She did her deliveries and as the rumors of war broke out she didn't worry. It was a matter between gods.

Then the winds began to storm and her dreams of green were no more. Her tasks were no more. Still those she helped so long ago took care of her.

She felt like a burden. A hunter without her prey. All she could do was sit by the armourys of old and keep up the upkeep. The other hunters and soilders have already gone home. No one to inspect at the city gates nor a chance to take their own somewhere else. The greenhouses at least gained new members.

Despite her many years of waiting, she felt restless. There must be something she could do! Much like a maid knight in the future, at a simple call she would be there in a second. "Amos, could you please help with this?" "Amos could you please help with that?" She loved to help. The belt on her side was no longer filled with arrows, only lists and letters.

Like the mint plants that weave through the concrete cracks, she survives. She always had.

Day and night held no meaning to her. Task after task. She could do it all. She could do anything.

Her face grimaces as she notes the bottom of her shoes needing to be glued back in. Her boots were getting old and she would need the support of a clan to purchase a new pair. Tailor Skyle still owed her that favor, she could ask her later.

Walking past the kids playing in the streets, she smiled. They waved at her before going back to play their game. They had made a show out of the information coming from the few outsiders. Words about the Wolf King's newest strategy or rumors of how bad this war across the world has been. The stone gate's leylines protected them from the wrath of geo, but the anemo in the air had to have a victor.

The tower in the center of the town was the only place safe from the storm. Its sturdy walls stayed quiet. Season by season the number of guards lessened as the few who found themselves of use to their king wished to conserve their coin.

The tailor greets her, holding the hand of her wife Riza. The baker had made her beloved a container of soup for lunch and had dropped by to see her. Amos smiled as the trio talked and Skyle did calculations.

"Red looks good on you," She could hear her friend mutter to her wife.

"Everything looks good on me." Riza smiled back. Her hand playing with the edges of a napkin. She was wearing a crimson bracelet on her hand. "Hey Amos, you like it? It's our anniversary present to each other."

The tailor sighed, "I can't believe Mr. Whisker would betray me like that. How dare a fluffy face like his tear my bracelet to shreds the moment I place mine down. Our perfect anniversary ruined by that adorable bastard. It's going to take so long to remake the pattern."

As she looked closely, she could see the slightest pattern of flowers. Roses if she remembered correctly.

Riza bent her arm to give Amos a closer look, "It's based on a tale from my side of the family. My father was eager to share the tale of the red string with his future daughter-in-law." She kissed her wife and Amos looked away.

Her eyes wandered as the two began to talk. She knew the guy they were telling her about, how he would gift her parchments and books from the lands south for the holidays. He was a nice guy, but she blanked on his name at the moment. Her eyes rested on the harp in the corner of the shop. She had one of those big ones back at home, but it was way dustier than this one. The feeling of string in her hands that needed to be plucked at the right moment... Yet before she could say anything, her friend was finished.

She thanked them and embraced the storm outside. The kids were gone, perhaps off to their homes for lessons or mealtime. Besides the regular rumble that surrounded the city, it was quiet. Trees and flags rustled like instruments and she made her way back to where she was staying.

Tomorrow was the same. So was the day after that. And the day after that.

Of course, there were new developments. The person that used to take care of horses fell in love with the butcher's son. One of the head clan's harpists was arrested for murdering her rival. She was invited to the wedding of one of the kids she used to carry on her shoulders. Still, she was.

She was.

Content.

Her eyes and body tired as she put on her best clothes. It was a humble affair, a family friend of the groom was one of the Lawrence and allowed them to use their home as the venue. Everyone was in pairs. Some people even more.

She wore a violetgrass in her hair, one of the rarer plants in the greenhouses' glebes. It costed her a pretty coin, but she couldn't help but splurge.

The event was nice. The couple spoke their vows and their kin held a toast to their happiness. Til death will they part.

She smiled. She laughed. She was so proud of her friend.

Someone tossed something into the air, and on instinct she caught it.

Roses so red and Celcilias so white. They smelled fresh, but the bouquet felt heavy in their hands. Crimson splashed against the bone-white and faded grass. Yet there are cheers around her. Smiles and jokes. "Oh, when is the wedding for Ms. Amos?" "It's a sign for you to settle down Amos dear!" "Want me to make a dress for you like I did them?"

She smiles. She laughs. She steps aside. "Come on you guys! It's their wedding! We should tease them more instead!". The violetgrass feels heavy on her head.

The beginning of the end starts with such good intentions.

"Ms. Amos!" one of the children squeaks. She had just finished fixing a post one of the animals knocked over before she felt the small hands of her neighbor's daughter on her dress. "Don't tell Lance but I wanna marry him when I grow up!"

"Is that so?" Amos pats her on the head. "What about that Charles boy that likes you? Or Amelia?"

Her face scrunches, "They are so borrring. And Amelia hasn't returned my ribbon yet! Lance is so cool! He can use a catalyst!" she pulls on the hem as the kid jumps up and down. "When are you getting married?"

"I don't plan on it." is her usual answer.

"That sounds lonely." was the usual reply.

Amos smiled, "I won't be lonely. I have you guys!"

Her neighbor's child frowned at her. At least this one was honest about their thoughts. "You sure? Cause I think that would be sucky."

The pale-haired lady lowered her eyes, "It's time for dinner. I think I saw your father get fowl today at the market. You should get going."

"Okay, Ms. Amos! Can I be flower-girl at your wedding?"

"Bye!" Amos says back.

She closes her eyes. The party a couple weeks ago was nice. Everyone was enjoying themselves and reminiscing on old times was lovely. There was another invite in her mail. An engagement announcement right next to it. The Bakers down the street were having their 2nd child. The Smiths were having triplets.

She grits her teeth as she makes her way back into her empty house. The dust was getting worse. She would need all day tomorrow to tidy the place up.

Yet instead, she chooses to fall face-first onto her bed. The blankets were in the same position they were when she woke up. The wood underneath her creaked as she squirmed. It would be nice to have someone in her arms. Have someone hold her. Have someone greet her when she comes home. It would be nice to have someone to share her burdens with. To greet with a hug. To whisper the vows to.

Yet the only one in her bed was herself. She was never an imaginative person, only able to build upon memories. What would it even be like? How would it even work? How do you even meet someone like that? How do you know this is the person you would devote yourself to? How would you know you were attracted to them? Was it like that Red String her friend told her about, a moth drawn to a flame?

She knew what a pretty person was! She had eyes! Yet. It was always surface-level. She could never imagine sharing a life with that pretty boy at the southern gate. Nor the scribe who doodles hearts on her receipts. She didn't know them. She felt no connection to them. That's what attraction was... right? A connection?

She gripped her pillow tightly.

She needed rest for tomorrow. She could think about this another time.

.

The storm was quiet today. It ebbed with her lord's mood, but today seemed different. Perhaps she had been imagining things. Sap from dying flowers needed to be crafted into glue. The arrows she'll never use again deserve their tail feathers.

Washing her hands, she tidied the armory's workspace. Clearing away the stuff on the desks was her first task- she wouldn't want the violetgrass's poison to stain.

The soft chime from the door was barely audible. Turning around, Amos noted the person a couple steps away from her had green eyes. No pigment could describe the hue, only barely comparable to the crystalflies or perhaps seelies. A cape on his right shoulder and an even longer cape on his back. Stormy grey hair and skin sickly pale.

Who the heck was this guy? He didn't have the features of any of the townspeople. Was he one of the wealthier people that lived in the tower? Even then she would have heard rumors of such a person. There were only a handful of people with silver hair and she was acquainted with all of them.

A foreigner would make sense, but only if he had arrived before the storm. The gold accents on his pauldrons and clothing seemed flawless- and he did not look like the man who knew about metal upkeep. Wait. Then why was he here in an armory?

"Good day." She greeted as calm as she could be. She was not worried. Surrounded by her old companions, she had spent hours wielding and testing each one of them. Sure she may not be the best at a claymore or a simple short sword, but any one of them would do in a battle.

"Hello," His voice was calm.

"Looking for something?" She asked. He placed his gloved hand on his side, his movements almost like that of a marionette.

"No."

"...Well okay then?" Amos tilted her head. His voice had an accent? That odd way of speaking the Mason family had, with some breathiness to the vowels. Time flowed once more as she tried to concentrate on her work, but this guy was still there. She kept looking back, like they were playing a game of Ochs am Berg.

"So stranger what's your name?" she asked, but got no reply. "... I see. A quiet one, are ya?" The arrows were done, time to clean up and then move to the shields.

"Yes. I am a quiet person." came the short response.

Socially it would be a good move to laugh it off, perhaps add some lip service, but this guy was giving her nothing to go off on. Maybe he did want to just sit and watch, a cat laying on a windowsill. Perhaps she was standing in his way. Or worse: it meant nothing at all.

"Cool." She muttered.

Somehow this became a habit. The two of them, never really introducing themselves to the other, would spend a portion of the afternoon in the armory together. Occasionally, the green-eyed man would comment on the abandoned armors and weapons. The unsaid question of why she continued to do this task on his lips. There was no need for anyone to fight. There were no fights. Everything was at peace. So why was she standing in a room ment for battle.

She never answered him. How could she put into words that this was her choice. Her old friends. Relics from the times she would have hunting partners side by side. Artifacts of campsites and friendships. It was illogical.

Yet, the silence was nice. The silence could make one pretend the other understood the other.

One day, he handed her a cloak that matched the one he wore. "It's cold." He spoke, his voice soft and gentle. As she placed it around her shoulders, she could not help but smile at its warmth. So light yet so strong. Not a single stitch was loose and her only complaint would be how the accents shimmered in the light. Still, she had hung up her bow- so stealth need not be an option.

Her mistake.

"Oh, is this a courting gift?" Came the questions. "Are you finally settling down?" they asked. "Who's the lucky person?"

She takes the cloak off.

But he looks at her with such concern. She does enjoy his company, whatever his name is. She likes talking to him. Sometimes she finds things throughout her day that makes her want to show him it.

She wonders what it would be like to meet outside the armory. She feels like she wants to impress him, to take him out of the city and show off her sick moves in action. She dreams of them patrolling the area together, maybe even becoming neighbors.

The cloak is in her hands now. It's so soft. Would his hand be this soft? Would his chest? She never thought of it before, but she wants to run her fingers through his hair. She wants to hold him and laugh with him. To see that sunny smile peak through his clouds.

Yet, she tells herself. They are barely friends. She barely knows his name. His story is his to tell, and while she had confessed the circumstances of her life... he has always been her green-eyed mystery.

It's so heavy, all of it. The mutterings. The attention. This dance was tiring. She wants to rest. To ignore the questions and stop acting happy. Amos just wants to be Amos. It's not like she can be Amos the archer. She.

She.

She hates this. Can't they all just get off her back! Go away! What she is up to is none of their business!

They are just concerned about you, her mind whispers. Her heart aches. She knows they just want what they think is best for her. That they belive that she will be lonely for the rest of her life. That's absurd! She has them! Do... do they not consider themselves as valuable to her as they are?

The rustle of the storm hums around her. Like a lullaby, she can feel it drowning out her thoughts. Her friend had been giving her more violetgrass once he learned they were of her favorite color. Purple. Such a lovely hue. Imports of those dyes cost a pretty coin, but these flowers lived near the stone gate. Useful towards pests and can even be made into some medicines. "Should you ever turn one inside out, you would win your true love!" A common saying among the hunters.

Win your true love. What a joke. If love was a game, she did not want to play. Was she supposed to bring an inverted flower wherever she went? Or was the game set by the time the contested meets their prize.

It was bad luck to bring this bouquet into her house. The neighbors will talk. And so will the neighbor's neighbors. But that's all they ever do. Talk talk nag nag. It's just some flowers! It's just a gift!

"Decarabian give me strength," She muttered. Not one to be a nun, she only knew the basics for events. "I do like the guy. But. I don't even know him. It would be so much simpler to learn about him. I could tell the Masons or the Peggs that his family doesn't like me! I would be free from their questions."

But what if she does like him. That this yearning to watch stars with him was what they would call love. That the urge to sit around and do nothing- to be by his side and vice versa... what if that was love.

Why did she feel so lonely after making this connection? Why does she want this? Why does she want to give into the pressure and sink into his arms? Have that heavy weight upon her heart to go away once and for all.

Despite her many years of being alone, she felt restless. Was this fear, love? Was the desperation to have someone to talk to when she came home, love? Was the yearning for him to wipe away the tears rolling down her cheeks, love?

She felt like a burden. An archer without her bow.

Amos closed her eyes and pulled the cloak close. It still smelled of him. If there was anyone she would be safe sharing space with... she guessed he was okay.

#what do you get when you take a touch starved person who longs to be needed and add in a touch starved being who longs to have her be safe? #miscommunication and tragic a-spec ness #MWAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAA #this was probs wasn't what you thought my response was going to be but eheheheee i love thinking about Amos #Decmos #steel text #Amos genshin #genshin #amos is so bluebelll core its insane and luckiliy violetgrass is a thing! #decarabian #genshin impact #man i really should come up with a fic tag or smth. steel text is usuable for now tho #slight ocs but they are just there for flavor