#ao3 link in rb

[stellarspecter]

stwg daily prompt 4/10/24: guitar

1.8k, steddie, modern au, guitar teacher eddie/guitar student steve (+ dustin as steve's brother)

so this is literally just me giving eddie my exact job and letting the plot bunnies do as they may. will be up on ao3 in a day or two once i've had time to look it over and think of a title but here it is! divider graphic by @saradika-graphics

“Let’s try that verse again, okay? 5, 6, 7, 8…” 

The little girl in front of Eddie plays with the utmost concentration, her little brow scrunched up as she tries to switch to a D chord. 

“It’s our little triangle, remember? On the — good, exactly,” Eddie nods and keeps strumming. “And to C, slide down to the first fret… 1, 2, 3, to E minor, yep, 1, 2, 3, 4.” The last notes fade into the slightly stale air of the practice room. “Good job! You did a lot better with your chord transitions this time. We’re about out of time for today, but try and practice that verse and chorus at home, okay? And then we’ll see about that bridge next week,” he tells her.

She nods with a big gummy smile. “Okay!” Eddie helps her put her guitar back in its case and walks her back out to the little waiting area they have behind the lessons desk. It’s honestly a little cramped, but before they hired him, he hadn’t even known that Guitar Center offered lessons at all, so it makes sense. He sends the girl off with her parents and a promise to practice every day before he slides behind the desk to check his schedule for his next student.

Usually he has a half hour gap on Wednesdays that he uses to practice for his band or chat with his coworkers, but today there’s a new name on the schedule: Steve Harrington.

“Huh,” he mutters. His manager hadn’t mentioned any new sign-ups to him. Maybe it was from online? With a shrug, he settles in to wait for the guy to show up. It’s 5:57, so he’s still got a few minutes.

After a minute or two of dicking around on his phone, someone calls out, “Hey, Eddie!”

He looks up to find his 6:30 student standing in front of him, an excitable kid named Dustin Henderson. He’s fun to chat with, and Eddie looks forward to his lessons — especially since it’s an opportunity to get yet another young mind hooked on metal. Sure, he’ll play and teach whatever is required, but he’ll never forget his one true love.

“Henderson,” Eddie responds, standing up and leaning against the pillar bracketing the desk. “You know your lesson is in half an hour, right?”

“I know!” He replies, chipper as ever. “I’m after him!” He jerks a thumb back behind him, and Eddie finally notices the most beautiful man he’s ever seen standing behind Dustin.

Dear god. If this is his new student, he’s absolutely fucked.

“Hi,” the man says, extending a hand when it becomes clear Eddie is incapable of forming words. “I’m Steve.”

Eddie forces himself to act normal and grabs his hand, shooting him a smile that he hopes comes off as confident. “Eddie,” he replies. “Munson. I play guitar.”

“I’d sure hope so,” Steve jokes, eyes dancing, and Eddie is fuuuuucked. Completely and absolutely. How is he going to be able to be alone with him in a tiny practice room for a whole half hour? 

“Well, you’re in luck,” Eddie says, kind of operating on autopilot while his brain reboots. “It’s. Guitar Center.” He mentally facepalms and claps his hands together, spinning and walking them back towards the practice rooms. “So, Steve, what brings you here on this fine day? Are you Dustin’s… dad?”

Usually, his mom is the one to drive him and wait in the lobby, but it’s not out of the question that Steve could be his stepdad or something, with their different surnames. He seems around Eddie’s age, but maybe he’s just into milfs or something? 

He can’t be single. The universe is never that kind to Eddie.

Dustin bursts out laughing. “My dad? Dude, he’d had to have had me at like, twelve!”

Eddie flushes. “Well, I don’t know!”

“He’s my brother.” Steve swoops in and saves him from embarrassment. “The Hendersons took me in when I was sixteen, that’s why we have different last names.”

Eddie nods. “Oh, cool. So I assume Dustin got you to take lessons too?”

Steve laughs a little, just when Eddie thought he could finally cope with his unearthly beauty, the dick. “Yeah, he’s dead set on us starting a family band or something. I told him I could just dust off my piano skills, but he insisted. Little twerp.” He goes to ruffle his brother’s hair, and Dustin expertly ducks — clearly a common occurrence in their household.

“Cool,” Eddie says again. “Well, you ready to get started?” 

Steve nods, and Dustin goes to look around the store and mess with the DJ equipment. 

“So, you said you played piano? How long ago was that?” Eddie asks as he ushers him into the practice room.

“Oh, years and years. My parents made me take lessons when I was a kid, stopped in middle school, so it’d have to be… ten years or something now? Eleven? Jesus, I’m getting old,” Steve answers.

Eddie laughs. “Oh, trust me, I get it. Every time I say I’ve been playing guitar for over a decade a little part of me dies.” They share a laugh as they both get situated on their matching stools and guitars on their laps. “So that’s a little bit about me, that I’ve been playing for over a decade. I didn’t go to school for music or anything, but I’m in a metal band in my free time, and I like to think I have a pretty good understanding of music theory and techniques after all this time, so don’t worry, you’re in good hands.” It’s easier than he’d expected to slip into his practiced first lesson spiel, but he’s still hyper-focused on Steve’s reactions, taking in every hint of a smile. “I’m actually self-taught, so I learned basically by just watching YouTube tutorials and spending a lot of time on Ultimate Guitar,” Eddie explains with a wry smile. 

“That’s really cool,” Steve says, impressed. “I could never do that.”

“Well, that’s what I’m here for, right?” It’s a familiar back and forth to Eddie. Maybe he can do this. “I like to run my lessons the same way — instead of learning some random two-measure exercises from a book, we learn songs that you want to learn, and through that we can learn some new chords and strumming patterns and techniques. How does that sound?”

“Perfect,” Steve says. “That was always the worst part of piano lessons. The music was so boring.” His nose wrinkles in distaste.

“Awesome,” Eddie says, and pulls out his phone, already open to his notes app. “So, what kind of music do you want to learn?”

“Uh.” Steve pauses. “I, uh, I listen to a lot of, um, pop? And, like, indie? Kind of just top forty radio type stuff.” 

Eddie nods as he writes that down. “Cool, cool. Any artists or songs in particular? Or just pop as a whole?”

“I dunno,” Steve admits. “I like most of the popular stuff. Oh, there’s this one artist my friend has been getting me into — Chappell Roan?”

“Nice,” Eddie responds, somehow managing to keep from jumping with joy that he might actually have a chance with this guy if he listens to gay people music. 

“You don’t… mind?” Steve asks hesitantly. Eddie looks up at him, confused. “I just mean, you don’t exactly look like you would love all that girly pop music.” He waves a hand at Eddie’s Metallica shirt, ripped jeans, and patch-covered vest. 

Eddie shrugs. “Well, maybe, but it’s my job. You wouldn’t believe the amount of Swifties I’ve got, I couldn’t avoid it if I wanted to. And I mean, it is pretty catchy,” he concedes, if only to see Steve smile again. “And,” he continues, “even better, really easy to play.”

“Oh, good,” Steve laughs.

Eddie pockets his phone and reaches for his folder, taking out a sheet of empty chord diagrams. “So usually for a first lesson, we just learn a few basic chords, and then get started with our first full song next week, sound good?”

Steve nods. “Yep.”

“Great.” Eddie sets the sheet on the stand in front of them and pencils in two little dots on the first diagram. “Here’s our first chord. This is called an E minor. You wanna put your first finger on the second string…”

He goes on to teach Steve an E minor chord, then a C chord, then a G chord, and by the time they’re done learning D, Eddie thinks that Steve’s fingers are going to haunt his dreams. He’s not mad about it. Just sad that he won’t be able to see them in person again for a whole week.

They make their way through the lesson, stumbling from one chord to another, but by the end of the thirty minutes, Steve is already doing pretty well with his chord transitions. Eddie’s honestly impressed. He drops him off in the lobby and exchanges him for Dustin, who is bouncing up and down with excitement.

“How was he,” he bursts out as soon as the door is closed.

Eddie snorts. “He was good. Just learned a few chords.”

Dustin waits expectantly. “And?”

“And what?”

“And how was he! Like, was he excited? Did you have a good time? Are you guys gonna be friends now?” 

Eddie rolls his eyes fondly and takes a seat. Technically, he’s not supposed to be actual friends with students, or even talk with them outside of work, but with Dustin and now Steve, they don’t feel like paying customers so much as friends he’s doing a favor for. “He was good. I’m sure he’ll tell you in the car on the way home.”

Dustin groans. “Come on.”

“You come on. You better have been practicing, show me what you’ve been doing.”

With that, Dustin drags himself to his seat, and the lesson goes great from there, both of them distracted from Steve by the intricacies of Stairway to Heaven.

When he brings Dustin out, he’s almost taken off guard by Steve waiting for them. In just half an hour, he’d already forgotten his stunning resemblance to a Greek god. It’s honestly unfair for his memory to do that to him. 

“Hey,” Steve greets them. “Had a good lesson?”

“Obviously,” Dustin scoffs.

“He did great today,” Eddie tells him, “And so did you. Just remember to practice, alright? Gotta build that muscle memory.”

Dustin rolls his eyes, too used to hearing it, but Steve nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, of course. See you next week?”

It’s a simple phrase. He says it every day. It’s a contractual obligation that yes, he will see them next week. But when Steve says it, it feels like a promise. Eddie can’t wait to fulfill it.

“Yeah,” he breathes, mesmerized by the way the fluorescent lights bring out the green in Steve’s eyes. “See you next week.”

Steve smiles and turns to leave, picking his way through the aisles of musical miscellany. Eddie can already hear Dustin interrogating him about his lesson. He leans back against the wall with only one thought in his mind: only seven days until he gets to see Steve Harrington again. 

He’ll be counting every single one.

[sunwarmed-ash]

WIP Thursday/[Sinful Sunday post??]

hey so im gonna be taking time off writing for another job all next week so I'm posting this so you have something to read. DONT WORRY Sinful Sunday will continue, I'll just be busy this sunday and next making that capitalist coin!

This may turn into a fic, it may not. I wrote it right after I finished QAF for the 36th time.

Tags: Angsty steddiegrove, sex work, HIV+ character, violence

"Where do you go at night?"

Steve and Eddie are lying on Steve’s bed smoking weed when Steve asks the question that will inevitably change the course of their relationship, their future, forever. 

"What," Eddie asks, trying and failing for aloof. He thought he had been so careful. 

“You sneak out, every night. Where do you go, when you leave?"

Lying is the only probable next course of action. If he wants to keep Steve in his life that is. The truth will sever everything they once had. 

“Dealing doesn’t exactly fit a normal 9-5," Eddie says. It’s a half-lie. 

"You were selling drugs in Lafayette at 3 in the morning? Do you think I’m stupid," Steve snaps.

Eddie’s entire body flashes hot with the amount of detail in that accusation.  

"What? No! Wait, how did you- hang on, have you been spying on me?"

"Answer the question Eddie!"

Eddie feels cornered, and that’s never a good place for him to be. Because when he feels trapped, he lies, and he can’t stop. He will say anything to cover his ass, even if its just to survive to see another minute. 

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you..."

Steve scoffs at Eddie’s attempt at self ownership. 

"Why can’t you tell me, Eddie? I mean, after everything we’ve been through!”

Eddie bites into his tongue. He wishes it was that easy. God, does he wish it could be that simple...  

“i can't, not with everything baby. I'm sorry.” 

“Why not?” Steve demands and now he’s angry. His eyes are lined with tears and Eddie can feel the beginning of the end coming like an approaching storm. 

“Because you won't love me anymore.” 

It’s the truth. And Eddie hates to even hear the words out loud. Because its gonna hurt so bad to hear it twice. From Steve’s lips. The soundbite will live with him for eternity. 

“Isn't that for me to decide,” Steve objects. 

“You've already decided.” 

Eddie remembers the shit Harrington pulled on Wheeler when she hurt his frail male ego by just existing in the same space as another man. He remembers the hateful way Steve spits the word ‘whore’ because he associates it with his father and all of his sins. It’s how everyone says the word. Like its poison in their mouth. 

Slut. Hooker. Whore. But that's what Eddie is. Until he can find something that pays better. Because he has to eat. He and Wayne won’t survive an Indiana winter without heat. And after Eddie was banished and then half-heartedly rewelcome into a unstable healing community, no one in Hawkins treats him the same. Weed sales have dried up. No one wants to hire him for any job. Not even the mechanic shop down the street that is desperately understaffed and Eddie is overqualified for. So what the hell else is he supposed to do? Wayne just turned 68. He shouldn’t need to work 12 hour shifts just to barely support the kid he didn't ask for in the first place. Eddie never should have been his burden. So this is Eddie’s way of giving back. Pulling his own weight so he didn't feel so much like a goddamn freeloader all the time. But could Steve understand that? Steve wasn’t stupid, but he also wasn’t, lets say as morally flexible as some other people.

"I can't- do this Eddie... If you’re going to lie to me." Steve says and one look into his eyes and Eddie feels what's left of the tie between them sever. 

"I'm not lying," He insists but its a half truth at best. 

"You're not telling me everything, that counts," Steve all but shouts. 

"You don't tell me everything."

He referring to whatever the hell went on between Hargrove and him two years ago. Eddie and Steve arent the only people different after an apocalypse. Their previous heated rivalry has all but burned out. So has Hargroves own personal brand of anger. They move around each other like chess pieces, always conscious of the others movement to limit interactions at school. But after school? Eddie’s seen Billy’s camero parked at Harrington’s more than it's parked in the trailer park. 

"That's different Eddie,” Steve huffs, scoffs as he pushes his hair back. “and you know it."

"How, how is it different Steve?" Eddie’s never brought it up before tonight. Eddie’s never been one for exclusivity, why the hell should he expect Steve to be?

"It doesn't involve you, or us. This does."

"Right,” Eddie scoffs, “Well, for argument's sake, it is safer for you not to know. For both of us."

Steve is silent for three beats too long.

Here it comes. 

Eddie can’t look at him. His face goes numb before the words can hit his ears. 

"Then you have my answer Eddie.”

It still hits him like a slap in the face. Steve’s done with him. And it hurts so much more than he anticipated it would. 

Eddie knew it was only a matter of time. He knew what Steve wanted in the end, and it was still someone more like Wheeler. A sweetheart. A family. Nothing Eddie can guarantee. Eddie doesn’t have much to say in his defense. So he doesn’t. 

"I'm sorry Eddie,” Steve, obviously uncomfortable in the silence, speaks again. “This is just, too much for me right now.”

"Okay,” comes out of Eddie’s numb mouth, even if it's the complete opposite. 

Eddie knew a clean break now would eventually be better than enduring their relationship fizzling out slowly. But it doesn't mean the inevitable failure of one more relationship doesn't hurt.

-two months later-

“Munson?”

Eddie blinks, of all the people to find him, here, he didn't think it would be Californian transplant, and fellow trailer trash bad boy Billy Hargrove from Hawkins. He just wants to disappear into the pavement. 

Eddie’s feet move to sprint, but Billy’s lighting reflexes catch him before he can. 

“Where the hell are you going now, Eddie?”

Eddie rips away from him. He hates the way his name sounds out loud. He hadn’t felt like ‘Eddie’ in weeks. He’s barely felt like anything. More like Nothing and no one. A nameless face in a sea of sex workers, businessmen, and bar patrons that he cycled through every day. 

“It’s none of your damn business,” Eddie spits, though it doesn't have much venom. He doesn't have the energy. He's sick, he’s cold, and he’s so fucking tired. He still has two more clients he can’t blow off tonight if he wants to have a prayer at ever getting unburied under his last hospital bill. Billy Hargrove and Hawkins and all that past shit is his lowest priority.  

“People are worried man,” Billy says, stopping Eddie from taking more than a step away. “Wayne especially. Don't you give a shit about him?”

Now Eddie is pissed, because who the fuck did Billy Hargrove think he was, telling him about what he should do? Talking to him about Wayne. As if he understood a goddamn thing about their lives! His anger flairs up his cough that only aggravates the pneumonia-scarred tissue and then Eddie’s coughing so hard it nearly knocks him over. 

When Billy moves close to ‘help’ Eddie slaps him off. 

“Everything I’m doing is for him! You don’t fucking know shit, Billy! How could you, you're just a kid!”

And while Billy was 17 and Eddie was 6 months into his 23rd lap around the earth, he felt so much older. His tragic sequence of life events had aged him decades. He’d be lucky to make it to 24 at this rate. 

Billy watches him curiously, putting together pieces Eddie doesnt mean him to. 

“Why did you take off Eddie?” 

“Why do you care?” Eddie doesn’t really think it's concern he sees in Billy's features. 

“Wayne doesn't have anyone else. You scared the shit out of him when you left.”

“Oh and what, you two are bffs now,” Eddie asks bitterly. 

Billy shrugged. 

“We've been spending a lot of time together, yeah.”

Eddie scoffs wetly. Fantastic. Now even Wayne has his own Eddie replacement. A better, nicer son. If Wayne didn’t need him anymore, well, he didn’t have any more ties back to Hawkins. He should be relieved, but instead he just feels empty. Forgotten. Unwanted. Billy had said people missed him, but the only name he offered up was Wayne’s.  

Eddie sniffs up the tears threatening to spill and reaches into his jacket. He takes out the seven hundred dollars and change he’s managed to squirrel away after his last AZT prescription refill and holds it out to Billy. 

“What is this?” Billy looks at the wad like its poisoned, and well, he's not entirely wrong, it's certainly dirty money. But its still green. And that’s all the world runs on. And speaking of money, the man he was currently scheduled to suck off is honking at him from across the parking lot, eyeing Billy with violent intent. Eddie needed to move quick before this escalated. 

“I’m not coming back. T-To Hawkins, I mean. I can’t, so I need you to give this to Wayne for me. Can I trust you to get it to him?”

Billy finally takes the money, counts it, and then his jaw drops. 

“There’s over seven hundred dollars here Eddie.”

“I know,” Eddie sighs dejectedly. “It should have been more but,” but you got stupid and believed some pretty, coked-up twink instead of following your gut. And now you get to live with the weight of that decision, forever… “It doesn’t matter. Just, please make sure he gets it. It should cover the next few payments on the trailer.”

Billy looks at him for a long time. 

“What the hell have you been doing Munson?”

Eddie scoffs before the car horn across the street blares loud, startling him right out of his skin. 

“Nothing you want to know about. Just please make sure he gets it, and knows, I’m sorry. For all of it.”

Billy’s eyes lower suspiciously. 

“Why does this sound like a goodbye?”

Eddie shrugs.

“Because it has to be.” Eddie can’t feel anything below his neck anymore. The honk is starting up again. He’s really pushing his luck now. 

“Eddie, come on,” Hargrove begs and why does it sound like he’s actually pleading? Billy’s never had a nice word to say to him or Steve. And now he’s gone for what, a few weeks, and his enemy wants to become best friends? He doesn’t understand this plotline. He’s ready to get out of it. 

“I’m gotta go, Billy. Please, look out for Wayne.”

Eddie leaves the very next minute and sprints across the street, just narrowly avoiding being hit by the semi that blasts his horn.

[amelias-zelda-calamity-quintet]

Figuring out how to talk about original legend fic is super hard cause I don't feel comfortable, like, using other game tags cause it wouldn't be accurate even if it would make my stuff more visible, so then I have to summarize Mark of a Hero on its own as a story, which is the bane of my existence. Elevator pitch? How? I just got a bunch of what ifs! I guess here's a few of those:

Zelda but what if it had the energy of a D&D game

Zelda but what if the quest started 10 years late

Zelda but what if it was epic/comedic (as genres, not epically comedic, I wish) fantasy

Zelda but what if Zelda proved why she's got the Triforce of Wisdom and it wasn't just because of emotional intelligence

Zelda but what if Link missed every quest starter cue his whole life

What if Link didn't have to do the quest alone

What if they started the quest as adults

What if she hates him the first time they meet

What if this was all supposed to be an act not an actual legend

What if the world was more than just Hyrule

What if the world had opinions about Hyrule

What if the world had opinions about the legends themselves

What if we talked about the cultural impact of the legends in the worldbuilding instead having to put in back in in post

What if we got to have characters the games just can't have for tech limitation reasons

What if we had the conversation Nintendo must be avoiding by always killing Link's parents

What if this man is just doing his best

What if they got to grow up before the world was thrown on their shoulders

What if we told this new story, this new Link, this new Zelda, this new Hyrule, this new legend

Please read MoaH.

[wild-moss-art]

A claude collab with @bees-and-sunshine and @hydrangeatattoo 💖

[scintillating-galaxias]

the question

what is the difference between a machine and an angel?

ask gabriel, judge of hell, and he'll say, soul.

what is the difference between a machine and an angel?

ask gabriel, apostate of hate, and he may not answer you.

for machine and angel are not so different. both are creatures with metal skin to hide and hold their fleshy, bloody selves. organs churn, gorgeous tunica externa, media, interna of rubber and flesh, twist and wind like rope choking the throat of the nonbelievers, endothelium, venous valve of copper direct precious blood to power the chassis, the body, of life. both must fight to keep their life from spilling out onto the floor. to lose, even once, is death. both yield weapons to do it. both think, move, kill. the better question then, is this:

what happens to an angel who loses its soul?

[five-nights-at-artsys]

the joy of creative services

[or: a phantom's attempt at one last message.]

[cw for brief descriptions of violent/graphic injury!]

Even now, his throat aches.

He can feel the blood pouring down his neck, and throat, slowly choking and choking and choking—

He has to say something.

Just one last message, before he goes.

(That's how ghosts work, right? Maybe that's why he's stuck here! He just needs to leave the next guy a post-mortem message! Certainly it isn't because of—)

But all that came out was a garbled mess of static.

He cuts himself off.

He tries again.

Cuts himself off again.

And then try, and try again until something close to comprehensible comes out.

But it never did.

[mainenorth]

Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Category:

Gen

Fandoms:

Transformers - All Media TypesTransformers: Rescue BotsTransformers: Prime

Relationships:

Heatwave & Optimus PrimeBlades & Boulder & Chase & Heatwave (Transformers)

Characters:

Heatwave (Transformers)Blades (Transformers)Boulder (Transformers)Chase (Transformers)Optimus Prime

Additional Tags:

Canon-Typical ViolenceMaybe OOCNot Beta ReadHeatwave-centriccanine poetryCanine Symbolism

Language:

English

Series:

← Previous Work Part 2 of cain

Stats:

Published:

2023-12-07

Words:

931

[astrowarr]

the ghosts we knew

double life/life series scar & grian character study

summary:

"To love is to burn," Scar suggests. "That's what it is for you?" "Yeah," he whispers. And then, "Perhaps a bit like falling, too. Falling and burning and… dying, probably." The words are horrifically grim, even to Grian's ears, even with added context. Context like this: loving is falling, but sometimes it means falling in a different way. Sometimes, it's falling like I didn't mind the gap, like a bouquet of wild lilacs and poppies cultivated by scarred hands. Grian doesn't say this, but love hurts a lot like Scar. — Knee deep in their soul bond, Grian and Scar have a lot left unsaid.

word count: 3,044

warnings: none

a/n: character study is the love of my life and i be STUDYING. set in early double life, written with romantic intentions. rbs appreciated for exposure !

ao3 link again

[the-dye-stained-socialite]

@fallenlondonficswap @thedeafprophet a little gift for Prophet as part of the group gift exchange! Alex's Insomnia. Alex/Fires, general rating, 758 words, insomnia and fluff

As Alex stepped into his apartment, the reflective silver of his mirror rippled, then settled once more into solid glass. His tail was left behind in reflection, his ears returned to human shape, and the almost-warmth of the Cosmogone Sun faded behind him. The persistent sense of bone-deep exhaustion, forcibly held back by a stubborn awakeness, did not. It had, in fact, been tormenting him for days. Nights. An unpleasant period of time.The irony of one who guided and guarded dreamers being unable to sleep was not lost on him.

Maybe it would be easier if it weren't so bloody cold, he thought. Alex sighed, and removed his spectacles, moving through the door and into his bedroom.It was so much harder to fall asleep when it was cold, and winter in the Neath had a special way of leeching the heat from one's bones. Lacre had only begun to appear just last week, and the temperature plummeted with it.

When he entered, it seemed as though his bedroom was somehow multiple degrees colder than the rest of his apartment. Maybe it was the outside walls? Maybe it was the thin pane windows? Or maybe it was the lack of… ugh, no. He was not going to think of that. Instead, he'd light the Firesplace.

Between nightmares, wounds, and the cold, sleep had become a rare luxury. The closest thing he could usually get nowadays was a trip into Parabola to help others get a restful night. In the Is though, he would normally attempt to exhaust himself by planning out further heists, but all of those plans had been finished a night ago. Besides, he had neither mind nor energy to spend on that tonight. So to a different, warmer solution it was.

Alex set his glasses on his nightstand. Searched around for his matches. Searched around for tinder. Found an unanswered invitation to a long-past party (a whole 1899 ago) and figured it would do. He rubbed at an eye idly. His head felt like it was full of wool.

He didn't remember lighting the fire, nor laying down on his rug, but when his attention snapped back to the present, there he was. Sideways, curled up under his cloak, and staring at the fire for long it had burned afterimages onto his retinas.

But what had gotten his attention?

"Alexander, what are you doing?"

Huh, he really was tired if he had managed to miss the enormous Master of coal shoving itself into his room. That was actually rather concerning. Maybe he should set up-

"I repeat, what are you doing?" It leaned down to tower over him, gaze alone radiating more heat than his pitiful fireplace would.

Alex was conscious enough to suppress a whimper, but not conscious enough to not have needed to in the first place. Surely his exhaustion showed? "I'm trying-" He paused to shift upwards on an arm, "to get to sleep. It was nearly working before you broke into my home."

Impressively, he managed to miss exactly what happened next. He could have sworn Fires had scooped him up in a tangled cocoon of cloaks, compared him to a cat, and carried him over to his bed, but he wasn't certain. Regardless, Fire's greatest annoyance found himself laying on top of it. Furthermore, it had apparently unbuttoned its cloak, revealing a bright orange ruff, and the softest chest fur he had ever felt. Alex was immediately enamored, and stuffed his hands as far deep into that fur as was physically possible.

Oh, and it was incredibly warm, and the fur kept him so pleasantly insulated. It reminded him of a freshly baked pastry. Heat soaked into his every muscle and joint, soothing and relaxing him. Fires laughed a quiet chuckle when Alex began to knead its ruff. He was too close to be self conscious. It was incredibly hard to resist when he was melting into sleep.

"Get some rest, little Lyon."

And finally, surrounded by softness and heat, the Silverer managed his first night of sleep that week.

Fires would not stay until morning. It would leave an hour before the workday would begin, and several hours before Alex would awaken, finding himself wrapped in blankets. But it would stay until well past him entering deep sleep, original intentions for its visit long discarded.

They could argue another day.

[riverblujay]

okay i am deep in the naddop tag on tumblr so sorry if this is referencing an old old post but i just needed to say that sex-positive ace trans hardwon also lives rent free in my head and i love him so much

tyyyyyy bestie <3 me the fuck too

that post is like. not even a week old lol ur good (and even if it WAS older than that, i would still always want to talk sex-positive ace trans hardwon 🥺🥺🥺)

[lunar-lattice]

He Followed You Home

So I saw a post from @raccoon-in-a-dumpster (original post) and I was so intensely inspired that I just had to write something! (In fact, the idea kept me up for a whole hour past i meant to)

The timeline for this isn't too important so don't think tooo hard on it. What you need to know is FNAF1 has happened (though Michael had nothing to do with it) but Sister Location hasn't (because it felt important Michael look...human).

Michael's taken a seasonal job at Fazbear's Fright where the owner swears up and down that he's still looking for a working, real animatronic for it. He expects nothing of it. However, the next day a banging at his door wakes him up. Someone followed him home. Someone he never thought he'd see again.

Michael wasn’t quite sure why he let the old animatronic into his home. He didn’t really know why he did a lot of things nowadays. Maybe he was curious. Maybe he felt bad for it. Maybe he didn’t want it to get rained on. Maybe he was just lonely.

It was a dreary Saturday morning. Clouds gathered overhead and thunder grumbled somewhere in the distance, promising rain that hadn’t fallen yet. Mike hadn’t been home that long. He had picked up a night guard job at a horror attraction called Fazbear’s Fright. It was a seasonal job but jobs in Hurricane weren’t really in abundance and well, he was nostalgic.

It seemed like it was going to be easy sailing. Just watch over the place and make sure no one got in. ‘Or out!’, Logan, the owner, joked with him before admitting he hadn’t yet found an actual working animatronic for the attraction. He had a few leads but Mike, cynical as ever, doubted they’d go anywhere.

He was awoken only a few hours into his sleep by a loud banging at his front door and a sharp, electric keening. He jolted up out of a dead sleep, still groggy, head swiveling to find the intruder. None to be found but the noise still persisting, his confusion morphed into fear. What was that? Wary, he retrieved the metal bat he kept beside his bed and went to investigate.

The noise only seemed to get more frantic. Michael could count how many people might visit him on one hand and even all those seemed unlikely. He lived a quiet, unassuming life and that’s how he liked it.

He made it to the front door and peered out the peephole.

Fredbear’s face stared back.

He stumbled back with a swear. What was this?! Karma come to collect after so damn long?!

Did it maybe follow him from the attraction? Logan swore up and down he hadn’t found a functioning animatronic quite yet. So either he was lying or...he didn’t know what he had.

Michael dared to look again. From what he could see, Fredbear had really seen better days. His face was no longer brilliant gold but a sickly green-yellow. Only one of his eyes shone in a single, almost ghostly, blue hue. Despite all the years that had gone by, his muzzle still had a faint brown discoloration.

He knew he probably shouldn’t let the animatronic in but…

...he looked so sad.

Fredbear keened again and scratched at the door. Michael’s icy heart melted and he sighed, “What am I doing.”

He raised his voice and lowered his bat, “I’m going to open the door. No funny business, alright?”

Fredbear made a happy chirp, which was agreement enough for Michael. He opened the door and the animatronic lurched inside, looking all around the entryway then at him. Fredbear, even with all the decay, still towered over him and Michael had to will himself not to visibly panic. Up close, he could see the extent of his wear. There was only half of his foam covering remaining over a rusted endoskeleton. As he moved, the metal grinded against itself in a low, pained groan.

The animatronic tilted his head and then did something curious: he reached out and touched Michael’s face.

Michael flinched and Fredbear did so in turn, as if he had been burned. He chittered anxiously, pulling his hand back. “It’s alright, it’s alright,” Mike murmured but still took a step back.

Fredbear lowered his head, looking the part of a sad, depressed kid. Mike hissed through his teeth and ushered him in, “Um, come in, come in.”

He led the animatronic into the living room, babbling as he did, “This is my home. Um, well, it’s my father’s home but no one’s really seen him for a while and I’m his next-of-kin so. I guess that does make it my home.”

He stopped in the middle of the living room. He really was lonely, wasn’t he?

Fredbear seemed to have forgotten the incident and was investigating the living room, circling the couch then stopping in front of the TV and entertainment center. His joints screeched as he bent over to look at the DVDs and VHS tapes and Mike made a note to go look for some oil. Probably out back in the workshop.

Suddenly, Fredbear made a noise, a sort of strangled keen. Mike wandered over to see what he was looking at.

Arranged neatly in order was Evan’s collection of Fredbear and Friends tapes. Michael asked, “You...want me to put one in?”

Frantically, Fredbear shook his head then whined again. Michael frowned, “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

That struck some chord inside the animatronic who bowed its head. It was almost...contemplative. A very human emotion to assign to a machine. Then, without more of that, Fredbear rose and went wandering down the hall. Michael followed.

They went past Lizzie’s room, which had been closed since...she passed. Then his own childhood room, which he had been sleeping in. Finally, they stopped at Evan’s at the end of the hall. Like Lizzie’s, it hadn’t really been opened since his passing. Fredbear opened the door, much more gently than one would expect from an animatronic of his size, and went inside. He stopped in the middle of the room, between the bed and the closet and just...stood there.

Michael lingered in the doorway, “This is...was my brother’s room. Dad left it like this and I really didn’t feel like I should mess with it either.”

Fredbear wandered around, ears raised in what seemed to be happiness. He stopped in front of the bed where a quartet of plushies sat. Bonnie, Chica, Freddy and even Foxy was there. Last time Mike had seen the fox plush it was after he had decapitated it in his youth. He couldn’t even remember why he did that. But now it looked like someone had sewn him back together. He imagined it was probably his father, in a quiet moment of grief he kept privy to everyone.

There was a glaring omission and Fredbear noticed it. He made a series of clicks, pointing to each plushie then the empty space beside. Michael furrowed his eyebrows, “Ev had a Fredbear plush too but dunno where it went.”

He tried to think back but it really had been a long time ago and the stress of his teenage years had chewed a lot of his memories up. Maybe his father had taken it somewhere. Maybe he had ended up putting it in Evan’s casket, so the pair would never be apart again.

Fredbear made a disappointed whirr as he gathered the plushies. He went next to the toy box and put them down before he began to rummage inside. Michael couldn’t help but smile. He didn’t think Evan would mind very much. At least he hoped so.

A thought came to his mind and, determined to follow it, he said, “Are you going to be fine by yourself?”

Fredbear turned to him then nodded. He went back to setting up some sort of town with the blocks.

Michael disappeared into the attic for fifteen minutes and returned, standing at the doorway. “Hey, kiddo,” he greeted, landing on the term of endearment rather than call the animatronic by its name.

In the time he had been gone, Fredbear’s town had grown and he appeared to be playing out a story with the plushies. Michael held out two new plushies, a dusty but otherwise new Fredbear and Spring Bonnie, “We still had a bunch in the attic. Fredbear’s not the same and his hat’s not the right color but um. You have the whole set now!”

Fredbear accepted the plushies, looking from one to the other. Fredbear was set with the others in the town but Spring Bonnie was tossed dismissively onto the bed where she rolled off between the bed and the wall. “Huh,” Michael wondered but decided to look no deeper into it. Maybe he just didn’t like Spring Bonnie and it amused him to imagine how huffy his father would get about that.

The silence of the room was broken by his stomach growling. Michael blushed, his cheeks flushing red. Fredbear chittered in amusement and made a gesture, shooing him out the door. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll make breakfast. If you need me, the kitchen’s right off the living room. You’ll see me.”

Once in the kitchen, Michael got a chance to ask himself what the hell was he doing? Fredbear, the animatronic who haunted his nightmares for years, shows up and he just lets him in? Treats him like a kid, acts like nothing was weird about this? He hung his head.

The house was lonely enough when it was just him and his father but now that William had disappeared, it felt like a mausoleum. Everywhere Michael looked was memories of a time long past. He couldn’t bear to go into his siblings’ rooms (at least, before today) or even his father’s. He mostly stuck to the living room and his own room, but those still stung with the pain of memory.

He wasn’t going to deny himself this little scrap of happiness that had wandered into his home. Even if he wanted to, Fredbear seemed too happy for him to. He didn’t really understand why but decided maybe it didn’t matter. And if this was all some ploy for the animatronic to kill him...well, that would just be karma, right?

He had just finished breakfast, a giant plate of scrambled eggs and bacon, when Fredbear came back in. Clutched between his hands was a piece of paper and, excitedly, he offered it to him.

Michael took it and it felt like a vice had closed on his heart. In messy but careful strokes, Fredbear had drawn a little yellow bear in a striped sweater and a fox in a tank top. The pair stood outside a house that looked like the one they were inside. A giant red heart was between the two. Unbidden, tears welled up in his eyes and he couldn’t choke back the ragged sob that tore through his chest.

Fredbear chittered quietly, sadly and he turned to him. Through his tears, he assured, “No, no, it’s alright! We’ll...we’ll put it on the fridge. Just like Mom would’ve.”

He crossed the kitchen, hands shaking as he held the drawing like it was sacred. He carefully pinned it front and center on the fridge. How did Fredbear know?

A thought came unbidden to his mind and, as fast as it appeared, he dismissed it! There was no way! He couldn’t still be around! Pained, he imagined stuffing the notion into a box and latching it shut. He couldn’t have consigned his brother to such a fate!

He wiped his eyes then turned, finding Fredbear had moved his plate to the table and was trying, very carefully, to lower himself into the chair. It protested but, miraculously, held. Michael smiled through the last of his tears and joined him at the table, “I’d make you something but...you really can’t eat, I guess.”

As if he made a joke, Fredbear chittered again and he smiled, wider this time.

After breakfast, Fredbear led him back out to the living room by the hand. He stopped in front of the VHS tapes again and looked at them. He picked one out and offered it to him. “You want to watch one, after all?” Mike asked and, determined, the bear nodded.

While he made sure the VHS player still worked and put in the tape, Fredbear left to retrieve his plushies and the blanket off Evan’s bed. He came back and sat in front of the couch, gesturing for Mike to drape the blanket over his shoulders. Just like…

He did all the animatronic wanted and, once the tape played through the theme, he settled on the couch. It really did feel like a lazy Saturday morning back in the early 80s. The house was pleasantly cool, the Saturday morning cartoons were playing and he had no worries in the world. Fredbear was clicking happily as he watched. Maybe for once, in a very long time, he did something right.

He settled his head against the pillow, listening to the TV until he nodded off.

Evan watched through the first episode before turning to see his brother’s reaction. Michael was sleeping, curled up into a ball with his arms around himself. He was cold. As quietly as he could, he rose and pulled the red quilt off the back of the couch and over his brother. Then, for good measure, he took Foxy and tucked him between his arms.

Michael was so different now. Obviously, he was much older now and looked painfully like their father but, if Evan looked, there were differences. Just like their youth, his hair was grown out into a messy mullet. When his eyes were open, they were silver-blue, like a mix of both their parents’ eyes.

He was kinder now too. And sadder. And lonelier.

Michael hadn’t realized yet who he was. Evan wondered if he even had an idea and, if he did, if he was even willing to face it.

If only his voice box wasn’t as damaged as it was! He needed to communicate with him, with more than mechanical sounds and pantomiming. He had so many questions to ask and so much to tell but...he really just wanted him to know who he was first and foremost.

Evan missed his brother. It’s why he wasn’t mad, not anymore. What point was there to hold a grudge when all he wanted to do was see his brother again? It was like a wish come true seeing his brother led through the halls of that rundown building. He had almost thought it wasn’t him until he saw his eyes. Even with how sad his brother was, they weren’t their father’s steely silver. They sparkled with life.

He let the second half of the tape play as he mulled over his dilemma. Trying to contact him through dreams was too risky. He was rusty with it and the last thing he wanted to do was accidentally scare him.

The tape ended when it came to him. There was a way. A way that was so surefire, he knew it would work.

It was late afternoon when Michael awoke. He was covered up with a blanket and the Foxy plush was tucked in his arms. The tape has ended, lighting the room up with a blue hue as it bid him to rewind it. Fredbear wasn’t in the living room anymore and he had left his blanket and plushies. “Kiddo?” he asked into the empty air.

Fredbear was where he expected him, back in Evan’s room. When he entered, the bear excitedly waved him over and gestured for him to sit beside him. Still groggy and a bit confused, he followed suit, “What’s up? Wanna show me something?”

Fredbear nodded and laid a drawing in front of him. It was a drawing of Evan and himself, smiling in front of their house. He tapped Evan then presented a second drawing.

This one was of himself, older (evidenced by how taller he was and the fact he was dressed differently) and of Fredbear in front of the same house. Fredbear arranged it so it was directly below the first drawing, so the two pairs lined up perfectly. He tapped the teenager him then dragged his finger down to the older him. He repeated the gesture between Evan and Fredbear.

Michael stared. Fredbear repeated the gesture, slowly this time, clicking as he did.

There was no way...but yet…

He looked at the pair of drawings then at the bear, his brother, and croaked, “Evan…?"

Evan clicked happily and nodded. This time, Michael couldn’t stop himself from full-on sobbing, “Oh, Evan!”

It felt absurd but he couldn’t stop himself from throwing himself at the animatronic, hugging him as tightly as he can and muttering apology over apology. He could apologize a thousand times and a thousand more and it still wouldn’t have felt like enough. Evan whirred at him, so softly it could have been a comforting purr, and returned the embrace.

Finally, after what felt like forever, Michael pulled away. He sniffled, “Evan, oh my god, I’m so sorry. I never meant for you to get hurt. I never meant for you to end up like this!” he gestured to him.

Evan made a waving gesture, like he was asking him to not worry. Still, Michael continued babbling, “I’ll make this better, alright! Your brother’s gonna fix it, no matter what! We’ll get you cleaned up even! I think maybe Uncle Henry will understand, if I explain what’s happening, I don’t think he’s mad at me even though we haven’t talked in a while. I never really got all the animatronic business but I bet I can learn and make you comfortable and—“

He was cut off by Evan laying his hand over his mouth and chittering sternly at him. “Right,” Michael imagined pulling himself back, “One step at a time. So...what first?”

His brother made a show of thinking then pantomimed putting a VHS into the player. Michael laughed, “More Fredbear and Friends?”

Evan nodded so he agreed, “That sounds perfect.”

[lake-archive]

It is writing related... Bare with me...

Wherever you are because I don't know if you see this... BUT THANK YOU SO MUCH HAVING READ THIS MADE MY DAY! THIS HAS TO BE THE BIGGEST PRASE I HAVE EVER RECIEVED! Thank you so, so much! It really means the world to me hearing that! Especially having it compared to a book... This has to be the biggest compliment I've gotten!

I dunno where else to respond to this! Just... Thank you so so much! Hearing this about my fic means so much to me, you can't even imagine!

If you are curious what this fic is, here is the link:

Or the Wattpad alternative, if you prefer reading on there!

I'd appreciate it if you checked it out and maybe share it around if you end up liking it! I want to get it a bit more out there myself! I apologize if I advertise it too much though... I just really want this one to get out there!

[girlcalledwhatsername]

have you ever like. wondered what ao3 is doing with that money. every few months they ask for donations and get double that and yet the site is still exactly the same as it's been for Years, it's still in beta and like. they're not doing anything to get rid of the racist shit on there.

The OTW has its financial records public and easily accessible you can actually go and see what they are doing with that money. It's not like. Some super well kept secret you actually literally can see where the money is going. Keeping servers up takes money, having legal aid takes money, ao3 is a massive site with more content on it than most educational sites and libraries like jstor and stuff and they have dismal budget compared to those sites. This is all information you can find easily, like. Probably even just on the ao3 tag on this same site. Probably in some slightly older reblog tagged ao3 in my own blog. That money isn't as much as people seem to believe it is, for maintaining a site of that scale.

And ao3 is not going to get rid of things, that's the point of an archive. Ao3 isn't removing racist fic for the same reason that your local library isn't removing racist homophobic misogynistic classics. An archive cannot afford to censor anything because it will always put the power of deciding what gets censored in the hands of a governing body and no individual or state can be given that right. That being said, this is exactly why ao3 is working to provide an option to block users. I don't want to be reading racist ableist misogynistic fic any more than you do m8, but i understand that a volunteer run site where no one gets paid and they scrape by on a small budget to maintain the servers will have limitations to how quickly new stuff can be added to the site. A block function would enable readers to be able to filter out users who write fic objectionable to them and allow writers to block people saying objectionable shit to them directly. Like the op of the post I reblogged earlier today said, it should still not be something that enables writers to block out readers from reading fic completely because the option to warn people in the bookmarks about racist fic needs to be there.

I really think what people cannot understand despite so many discussions on it is that ao3 serves the same purpose as the libraries in your towns, your schools, your universities, and it has social features on top. Ao3 cannot censor stuff for the same reasons that these libraries can't. And as much as I hate some literature considered 'classics' that have violent misogyny and racism in it, i would also stand against libraries banning them or the government insisting that libraries get rid of them. I will always stand against censorship and that's the mission OTW has too. You cannot speak for me and possibly know how much rage some of those books or fics fill me with to the point that they do spoil my entire day and are often horribly triggering because racism/ableism doesn't get tagged when someone is just being a bigot and is probably not expected even of dead dove content oftentimes. I still cannot stand for censorship in any way. No one should have that power. The way ahead is clearly a blocking feature + putting the warning you need/think might help others in your bookmarks. Much like how in literary circles we warn our friends when there's triggering content or bigotry in books that we have to read for our course or that we otherwise decide to engage with and discuss. That's what I do with racist classics instead of hoping they'll get banned.

I love to imagine a world where everything that hurts me simply ceases to exist! I love to imagine never having to see a film playing somewhere with misogynistic shit in it!

But i do not agree with actual censorship of it. As a matter of my political beliefs. This is one of the foundational principles of my leftist thought for me and if it isn't for you then what we have here is not a disagreement about ao3 but one of a political nature. You are entitled to especially curated spaces that do ban certain kinds of content, but an archive is not that, and I don't go to sites that do ban works because I disagree with that on a political level.

Ao3 introducing a block feature will help this along but I refuse to demand any works being taken down. There is always going to be room for improvement, but there are also limitations to volunteer run organizations and I'm too old to be putting the onus of perfection on people working for free. The financial records aren't a boogeyman. This isn't a conspiracy of "oh but did you ever think what actually happens behind the curtains?? I shudder to think the horrors, what must be happening there??" This isn't that because anyone who wants to know can know what OTW does with every penny of that money and you would know it too if you spent more time actually looking for answers to the questions you have instead of fearmongering about hypothetical scams. Volunteers are more overworked than people assume and shit costs more to run than people assume. There's an accountant who did a breakdown of the financial records of OTW as well if you want, idk, search OTW on my oh and scroll down or something. Clearly you are very very worried about these financial records, I'm sure such an effort will be well worth your time for how it will put your mind to rest.

And for fuck's sake do not ever think you can use my identity as a queer disabled poc to somehow push me enough with emotionally charged arguments to ever politically agree with censorship of any kind. When you stand up for everyone to have rights you end up defending the rights of bigots as well and that sucks and i hate it and it sucks enough without fellow "leftists" trying to guilt me into agreeing with ceding ground to right wing rhetorics and practices. Because that's also what the OTW is putting up with. In defending against censorship you end up defending works and authors who are absolutely despicable and that's still better than ceding ground to an ideology where a special select group of people get to decide what stays and what goes.

Good fucking day to you

[amelias-zelda-calamity-quintet]

If there are any questions about why I link my Wattpad before my AO3 when I know Tumblr has a preference for one over the other, I have two reasons. One, it's cause that's where my fanbase is presently. I started on Wattpad and I am only now joining AO3 for dual uploads. Basically all of the people following me on this blog as of writing this came here from my Wattpad, and I'm super grateful for the community I've built around that. They deserve some credit for putting up with my hiatuses.

Two is to give myself some credit on my fics' quality. Since I am so new to AO3 and I bulk imported a bunch of two of my fics, I haven't had time for a lot of people to find me on AO3. And I know kudos/hits work different from votes/reads, but like. One of these does make me look a little better.

Whichever platform you prefer, I hope you'll give Goddess of Secrecy or Mark of a Hero a read. There are definitely some people who like them, and I hope you to do too.

(Also my view on Wattpad shows chapters I have queued in the total, there are not more chapters out of MoaH on Wattpad than there are on AO3. That is not the case for GoS, it's getting chapters to AO3 as it's getting edited)

[wild-moss-art]

My DMCL exchange piece!! A wrestling au

[boycow69]

name spoilers for parti 3! meme + a short 1k word fic (based on said meme)

By the time they made it to Wellgrove, the sun had long set. Partitio was practically jumping out his skin with excitement. He’d managed to convince his friends to push the final stretch all at once, even if it meant arriving later than the stars. His friends had all stopped to discuss who wanted to get a room and who wanted to get a drink, but not Partitio. He had no time to wonder, as he knew exactly where he wanted to be.

Partitio ran ahead of his companions to the tavern, ignoring Castti’s call. He burst in, nearly knocking down a barmaid in his haste. He apologized quickly and darted around her, using his height to search for one man in particular. Once he spotted him, he broke into a wide grin.

“Alrond!” Partitio called, waving wildly to garner his attention. He started to push his way past the throng of people to reach him.

Alrond looked over to where he was being called, surprise evident on his face before he broke into a delighted grin.

“Partitio! You did not say you were coming!”

They met each other in the middle, sharing an embrace and a deep kiss.

“I wanted ta surprise ya!” Partitio said once they parted.

“Well, surprise me you have,” Alrond agreed, wrapping his arms around Partitio’s neck.

They kissed again, swaying a bit as they embraced in the middle of the crowded tavern before they were interrupted by a polite cough.

Temenos was standing behind them, a smirk and raised brow showing his amusement while Agnea wolf-whistled behind him. Partitio flushed and shooed them both off, though they laughed all the while.

When he turned back to Alrond he looked just as amused, but dragged him off to their own corner of the tavern to talk a little more privately. He pushed Partitio into a chair and sprawled over his lap, draping his arms around his neck once more.

“How are you? Has the road been kind?”

Partitio wrapped his hands around Alrond’s waist and nodded.

“Kind enough. Hey, I actually found a lil thing for ya!”

Alrond raised a brow at him.

“And how much was it?”

“Cost nothin’! Saved this lil ol’ ladies sheep and she just handed it over in thanks.”

Partitio reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a silver necklace. It was a thin chain with a pendant of pure onyx so dark it felt as if you could fall in and never reappear. Simple, yet beautiful.

Alrond reached out, taking the stone in his hand with wonder in his eyes. It was no bigger than a river pebble but shaped perfectly into a rounded teardrop. Partito knew that if he had bought it, he’d have payed a pretty price for it.

He let Alrond inspect the pendant and called for two pints. They were brought swiftly and just as he was handing over the leaves for them (and was trying to be sneaky about it), Alrond piped in.

“On my tab, please.”

Partitio sighed.

“Alrond please, I can pay for this.”

“On my tab,” he repeated, smacking away Partitio’s hand from where he was still trying to pawn off the money.

“It’s like twenty leaves for a pint, why will you not let me pay for anything?”

“Because there is no need. Why do you insist on spending unnecessary money? I thought you were a merchant? Aren’t merchants supposed to know when not to invest?”

“Are you sayin’ ya ain’t a worthy investment?”

“No, of course I am. What I’m saying you need to know not to waste money,” Alrond rolled his eyes as he spoke.

“It’s not a waste if it’s on you.”

Alrond blushed lightly but held firm.

“Partitio I am not going to fight with you over this. Again.”

“Then stop fightin’.”

“Partitio-“ Alrond’s arms slipped from his neck so he could cross them over his chest and leaned back.

Partitio pulled him closer instead so that they were nose to nose. Alrond’s eyes widened, arms now pinned between their chests and firm hands around his waist preventing him from wiggling out of his grasp.

“Alrond. How am I mean ta buy ya a ring one day if ya won’t let me spend nothin’ on ya?” Partitio huffed, eyes hard.

Alrond blushed brighter. His mouth dropped open, lips fluttering around words that tried forming but his brain unable to push them forward.

“Wh- That’s! You can’t possibly mean that. You- ugh! You are unfair,” Alrond whined, dropping his head down to rest against Partitio’s shoulder.

“How can you say such a thing and mean it so truly? We’ve barely been together a year.”

“And I’ve known ya fer years longer.”

“Are you saying you’ve loved me all those years?”

“I’ve loved ya some way, yeah. But I love ya like I do now because o’ that time. Ya mean a lot ta me, Alrond. I do plan on marryin’ ya one day. And I’mma buy ya the most expensive damn ring I can get.”

Alrond lifted his head again, scowling, ready to protest, but Partitio kept talking.

“Because I love you. Because ya mean more than money ever could ta me, and because ya deserve it. Ya can’t stop me, neither. If ya got a problem with it then I guess ya’ll just have’ta say no when I ask ya.”

Alrond still scowled, but it had softened.

“Of course I’m worth it,” he huffed, kissing Partitio squarely, “And I would never say no.”

Partitio grinned.

“Guess ya’ll just have’ta live with it, then.”

Alrond smiled.

“Live with you, you mean.”

Partitio laughed, his grip on Alrond loosening so he could lean back and laugh, honest and happy.

“Yeah. Guess that’s true.”

Alrond smiled fondly, planting his hands in Partitio’s hair and removing the hat from his head. He kissed him again, slow and deep, and placed the hat on his own head.

When they pulled back Partitio had a dazed look on his face, as he usually does when Alrond kisses him like that. Alrond, for his part, was far less flustered and had a rather mischievous grin.

“Why don’t you take me home, cowboy, and show me just how much I’m worth?”

Partitio tugged him down for another quick kiss, a smile on his face.

“I can do that.”