#i like nerd dates

[fuctacles]

Making moves the nerd way

"Halloween" for @steddieholidaydrabbles Part II of the previous warm-up but can be read alone

G | 1k | no cw | almost getting together, slightly oblivious Eddie

next up

Eddie was sitting on the kitchen floor, painting empty pizza boxes while Steve was trying to focus on making dinner. Despite the newspapers spread around him, he managed to stain his surroundings with grey paint. 

“How much do you have left?”

"I'm making a graveyard, Steve, not a random burial site with three corpses. It would go faster if you helped me, you know?” 

“Well, do you want to eat? Because I can’t cook pasta and paint tombstones at the same time.”

Eddie grumbles something under his breath. 

“Point taken.”

So they resume their activities, a weird mixtape of Metallica, Queen and Tears for Fears playing in the background. 

“Okay, little Picasso, time to eat," Steve announces eventually.

"Don't call me like I'm a toddler," Eddie scolds him, but the fact that he's peeking over the table while on his knees, eyeing the plate put there, does nothing to help his statement.

Steve smirks at him, at the half-tied mop of hair surrounding his eyes over the counter.

"Wash your hands before eating. Kiddo."

"I'm older than you!" he protests but hops up anyway to do as he was told. It's good Steve reminded him though, he'd probably just throw himself at the spaghetti like a savage, paint stains or not.

They eat and discuss the acceptable damage to Harrington's lawn to prop up the gravestones. Eddie's devastated to hear he can't just put holes in the ground.

"We can prop them up with sticks. Or weigh them down with rocks. We'll figure something out," Steve shrugs and that placates him for the time being. He helps with the dishes but is quickly shooed back to his art station. Steve joins him later, with a hand in his hair.

"How is it going, baby?"

Eddie grumbles, not looking up.

"I know you mean it in like, a kid way, but maybe don't call me that?" he says, double-focusing on the cardboard in front of him.

"Okay, kid, sorry," Steve amends, petting his hair, and scratching his scalp gently. Pretends not to see Eddie fold under the treatment. "Does my little artist need help?"

"Your little artist has been asking for help for the past two days."

Steve snorts, detangling his fingers from the long hair.

"That's fair, sorry. I guess you wore me down," he says, sitting down. "What do I do?"

Eddie finally turns away from his work, considering him.

"You can paint them over," he decides, handing him the grave he's been working on. "I'll cut them up." He grabs a new pizza box for himself, the needed shape already drawn on it with a Sharpie. His scissors follow the outline slowly and jaggedly, struggling with the thick cardboard.

“How many do we need?” Steve asks, dipping the brush in paint. 

“At least ten. I don’t have stuff for more anyway, figures I can just make extra later when I have time and supplies.”

Steve looks around.

“We have like, three,” he observes.

“Well, chop chop then, my little helper.”

Steve sighs and gets to work. 

While he’s happy to indulge Eddie and help him out, he’s been imagining their evening together differently. Getting one-on-one time in their little traumatized family was a rare thing unless you're already an established couple. Or him and Robin, but that's because they work together. Needless to say, it was hard to make a move on someone. Even with something already brewing between them. 

“So, are we putting our enemies’ names on them?” he settles on learning more about Eddie instead. Hopes he doesn’t mind treating his graveyard project like a shared effort, that Steve says ‘we’ instead of ‘you’.

“Oh, I’m totally absolutely putting Vecna on one. Other than that I think I’ll keep them fantasy-themed. Maybe use all the NPCs my Party killed throughout the campaign. I think we’ve seen enough of that in real life.”

“You said it.” Steve mentally kicks himself in the ass. Just his luck to start a topic that goes straight into the trauma of their Upside Down past. How is he supposed to make a move now?

He shuts up and starts painting the cardboard more angrily while Freddie Mercury screams his lungs out in the background. He doesn’t notice when the cardboard cutting ceases. 

Not until their hands brush when they both reach for the paint. He looks up to see most of the boxes cut up and shaped, waiting for paint.

“My hand started to cramp from the scissors. And you looked so peaceful, I wanted to join you,” Eddie explains. Steve watches him bite at his bottom lip, mulling something over. “I’ve always liked working with someone on projects like that. Help out with school play scenography, make Halloween costumes with Wayne…” He shrugs, like it’s not a big deal, but the soft, genuine smile tells Steve otherwise. “So uh, thank you, for letting me do this here. For joining me, too.”

And Steve realizes this could be a date, too. He could make a move like this, on his kitchen floor, fingers stained with paint. 

“Of course. I have this weekend off, we could work together some more,” he offers. Then frowns at Eddie’s stunned expression. “What?”

“You want to spend your time off with me, playing with paint?”

“Well, I was hoping you have something more planned. We could work on our costumes, maybe?”

He’s alarmed when Eddie makes a pained noise.

“You’ll take Aragorn from me!”

“What?”

“We’ve been fighting over Lord of the Rings characters for Halloween costumes and if you join us there’s no way Henderson will let me keep him.”

“I don’t need to join in, I’d rather just help you with your costume.”

To this, Eddie turns suspicious.

“Why?” he squints.

“Eddie,” he sighs, staring fondly into his eyes, and grabs his wrist for good measure.

Eddie’s eyes go big like saucers when it hits him.

"Holy shit. Do you want to have a nerd date with me?”

Steve chuckles. 

“I guess I do.”

[zivazivc]

I saw like two people compliment my fem Casey design and I immediately drew this. The power of tags lol

[comradekatara]

okay be honest. if someone as hot as sokka (is constantly established to be by other characters within the text) said these exact words to you, you would also fall in love with them on the spot and/or be overwhelmed with uncontrollable horniness. yue is valid

[gay-robot-boyfriends]

my vilex bs

[secondstar-acorn]

normal oak would be so incredibly jealous of francis farnsworth FLAWLESSLY rizzing up two entire buses of british teens

[shortnotsweet]

all bets are off [1/3]

Lucemond High School AU drabble [part 2], She’s All That (1999)

“Am I a bet? Am I a bet, am I a fucking bet?”

“Yes.” It comes out quietly, which makes it all the worse. Luke would have expected Aemond to sneer and look down his long nose at him like the Hightower side of the family had for most of their lives. Luke wishes he would. It would have made it easier. Aemond’s face reflects no relish, or even satisfaction. Instead, it is pale and unreadable. Fitting, perhaps; as it turns out, Luke had read him wrong this entire time.

“Would you have told me before it was over? Before you humiliated me in public?”

The silence speaks for itself.

“Alright,” he scoffs, “that’s it, then.” The bitterness in his voice has an unfamiliar edge, and it sounds mean even to Luke, but it’s right. That’s how he feels. “You played your little game, you had your fun. I get it. It’s over.”

“No.”

“No?”

“It’s not over.”

“It is if I say it is. I don’t want anything from you, and you—you can shut up about debts, or what I owe you. We don’t have to know each other after this.” It’s true; they don’t have any classes together. They run in the same circles but that’s nothing some convenient maneuvering and strategic avoidance can’t fix. Their sides of the family voluntarily meet up for a miserable dinner once every three months and holidays. Luke can make it work.

Aemond’s remaining eye widens and his mouth thins. His face is readable now, at least; he’s livid. In a second, he lunges forward and grabs ahold of Luke’s wrist, trying to drag him back towards himself, to reel him in like he had all those months ago. Luke digs his heels into the ground instinctively, bracing away from the pressure. Luke used to like how big Aemond’s hands were in comparison to his own—the encompassing warmth, the difference in size—but now his grip tightens and locks like a handcuff, squeezing Luke’s wrist to the point of crushing. It hurts. He’s hurting him. Aemond is older and bigger than Luke, he always has been, and now he presses in like a storm cloud blocking out a clear sky.

“Luke, it wasn’t—it started like that, alright? It was like that in the beginning, but not now. It’s different now, I’m not—just look at me!” There’s something frantic in his words, the way he hovers over Luke like his shadow alone will cage him in. This isn’t the first time Aemond has struck the flight instinct in him, or the urge to fight, but it resonates through Luke’s core nonetheless. There is too much of him near. “I would’t have told you because there’s nothing to tell, not anymore.” Luke cranes his neck to peer over Aemond’s shoulder, searching out the best escape route. “It’s not over. You don’t mean that. We just…this is a rough patch, that’s all. It doesn’t matter how it started, it matters what it is. It’s good now, isn’t it? I’m good for you, I can be whatever you need, I’ll keep you happy. You like me, right? I know you do. I know you like me. Just get in the car, and we’ll talk about this later. Not now. Not like this. Look at me, don’t—don’t be like this. Luke.”

“I’m going home.”

“No. It’s late. You’re going back with me.”

“Let go.”

“Not until you listen.”

“Get off of me,” he snarls, launching himself backwards and ripping out of Aemond’s grasp. “Don’t touch me.” Aemond rears back at this rejection.

“Who else is going to do it? Lonely little Luke, eating lunch alone. Stupid, useless, weak. Can’t play sports, can’t speak in Debate Club, Mommy pays his tuition. He almost wets his pants when someone pulls the fire alarm. Who else is going to touch you, other than me?” Aemond’s mouth curls into a grin; he’s done it before, all sly and cruel. It looks ugly. He never changed, did he? How did Luke never see it before? “You didn’t fuck, didn’t drink at house parties, didn’t go to the beach past bedtime—hell, you probably never rode in a car without buckling the seatbelt. You were so eager for it, and I took you so easily. No one else could do that. No one else can touch you now, not like I can.”

It would have been true five months ago. Poor, common-looking Luke, who blended in with the walls, kept his head down, and startled at car alarms. That Luke was surrounded by gems, by brothers and uncles and friends who excelled at something, who carved names out for themselves. The Luke from five months ago would have balked at this, would have shrunk into himself and cowed to the truth. That Luke thought no one watched him, but he would’ve known if he just looked up. The Luke from now knows what the truth is, for the first time, and it’s nothing that comes out of Aemond’s mouth. Luke knows himself better than he ever has, and knows Aemond like he never wanted to before.

“I don’t think that’ll be any trouble, Uncle. Don’t worry about me,” Luke snorts out without thinking. “If I need someone to give me a ride, it won’t have to be you.” It doesn’t. It won’t. “I can buckle my own seatbelt; better yet, someone else can buckle it for me.” The uncle in question stills.

“Say that again.” He blinks, a curious expression settling over his features. “Say that again.”

“I said, it doesn’t have to be you. Other people will touch me. You’re not the only one around here with a working dick and something to prove. You lost an eye, not an ear. I should’t have to repeat myse—” before he can even finish the sentence, Aemond grabs him again, fingers curling over his shoulders like talons. Luke’s breath stops in his throat. Aemond’s face is so close they could kiss. Instead of leaning into it like he might have a few hours ago, Luke cringes backwards. Never again. The wounded expression on Aemond’s face gives him some satisfaction, but then his mouth morphs into a snarl and Luke would bet anything—his mother’s money, his own life, or whatever Aemond must’ve taken when he made that bet in the first place—that both of his eyes are glowing right now. The prosthetic below the patch shines like a jewel in its socket anyway, but the working eyeball in his head works furiously, searching across Luke’s face for something.

“What did you say, you little shit?” Aemond seethes. “Is there someone else? You have someone else, you were thinking about someone else?” he hisses into Luke’s face and furiously shakes him like a child would a broken toy. “Who is it?” he demands, sounding desperate now. “When? Is it Stark? Aegon? Greyjoy, that waterlogged rat? Daeron? Did one of them touch you—did you let them? Did they kiss you? Tell me, you fucking bastard.” Luke tells him the truth.

“That’s not your business anymore.”

“Not my business? Not—hah, not my business?” He’s so angry he’s spitting. “Of course it’s my business. It always has been. You’ve always—always, there’s never been a time when—you little idiot. Don’t you get it? You’re mi—”

Luke slaps him.

[pennyserenade]

the x files really is so incredible in terms of fans and fandom. fans are so so so essential to the xfiles to the point that they’re literally embedded into the show—their usernames, sometimes their commonly held beliefs about the characters, sometimes jokes they made on forums. maybe it’s because i’ve never been really invested in tv series from the 90s or maybe it’s bc the x files really was that bitch back in the day, but i’ve never before witnessed a fandom so prevalent and everlasting. it’s so cool to witness

[daincrediblegg]

Think it’d be really cute that when Dream has a crush and he’s like tryina flex that he’ll like recite you a shakespearian sonnet or a romantic or gothic poem and when he’s done he’s like “I helped! 🥰” like he’s low-key nerdy about it and super tries to hide it waiting to see if you appreciate it but fucking low-key BEAMS when you do and want to talk analysis of this stuff with him

[hanzajesthanza]

dressed elegantly. this will never leave my head. the implications of this.

because geralt and his company, they saddled up, left beauclair, travelled through mountains and frozen blizzards and downpours and muddy sod for two to three months. you need to pack outfits for that. you need to plan your gear.

what was the rest of the company wearing? what did they pack for this long journey? they packed practically, dressed warmly for the frozen journey of january, february, march. geralt wore a wolf-skin cloak, a scarf, a shawl… milva wore a fox-fur kalpak, angoulême wore a hat with a pompom and a sheepskin coat. cahir’s dress isn’t mentioned, but he must have been dressed similarly, because he rubs his hands briskly together and were he not dressed warmly he otherwise would have frozen to death. regis’ dress isn’t mentioned, but it is mentioned that he’s immune to the freezing temperature. so, i mean, it doesn’t matter what he’s wearing in this scene, maybe a regular outfit.

but at stygga. dressed elegantly.

so you’re telling me that. regis packed his things in preparation for their flight from beauclair, went to his quarters after geralt explained to him the satisfactory reasons they were leaving, and went,

“alright, time to prepare for this long and dangerous journey that will conclude in a great clash between our forces and the kidnappers of ciri. the end of our quest. the final journey. and a dangerous road awaits us, with snow still blocking the passes, frost and white all around. a grand fight and conflict awaits us. what gear should i prepare, what should i wear for this expedition, what kinds of clothing should i pack.”

and then he went:

“you know, i want to look fucking good ✨ when we get there 💅🏻🦇”

imagine the final preparation before they approach castle stygga. geralt sees the castle hewn out of the cliffside, effortlessly noticing every detail from far away, seeing like an eagle with his mutated eyes. and like an eagle, compelled to swoop down and snatch vilgefortz like a fish. ordering the company forward, declaring they’ve made it. this is the moment they have all been waiting for. everyone has been waiting such a long time for this. they prepared everything.

they wait until midnight. angoulême eagerly unsheathes and whets her long sabre, swings her axe around with predatory glee. cahir fits the plate armor and winged officer’s helmet he scavenged from a small nilfgaardian dispatch that they ran into extorting caravista for tax. milva tightens the same worn, polished leather bracer that she’s always had on her left arm, and mutters as she fixes her spiralled arrow fletchings over boiling water. geralt, with nothing left to do, paces and breathes, wondering where the hell regis has gone.

just then, regis walks out from behind an outcropping of rock, eyes glinting with cat-like light, in his “elegant” outfit, absolutely slaying that shit, and all his friends look at him absently like. “what the hell are you wearing. where the fuck did you get that. you packed that? you planned your outfit for the final battle, you planned this outfit in advance three months ago?” to which he counters, “well, three months isn’t very long at all,” and they’re like, “this is the preparation you made? we thought you left to do some secret vampire rituals or whatever. or to reckon with yourself for the severe violence we’re about to inflict.” and he’s like “no, i just wanted to make sure i was dressed nicely for the occasion”

[perpetualexistence]

A Small Matter of Planning

Alenoah Week Day 1: Proposal / First Date

Alejandro and Noah have finally decided they want to try out dating. They'd spent the past year starting off as friends, then rivals as Noah found out Alejandro's true colors, then back to friends with crushes on each other until others finally pushed them along to consider dating.

So now they just have to settle on where they want to have their first date. There's just one small, minor detail that makes planning somewhat difficult.

Noah's the size of Alejandro's hand.

This isn't anything new to them. Humans and tinies have been living with each other rather peacefully for quite a while now. There's infrastructure in place to help tinies get around without fear of getting stepped on.

Still, when it comes to relationships, there aren't many mixed-height couples. Partially because of the logistics. Partially because of conservative biases that no one talks about, but everyone knows exists.

As a result, despite talk of inclusion, most places are suited for either humans-only or tinies-only. Wawanakwa High is one of the few schools that isn't segregated, which is how Alejandro and Noah have gotten to know each other.

Combine this with the fact that Alejandro's a romantic and Noah isn't, and you have a recipe for planning for a first date to be a logistical nightmare.

Going to a cafe?

"The only cafe that'd serve both of us is across town. Plus, I don't want to deal with the stares."

Going to a new bookstore?

"It's not a date when it's something you'd do already. Let me treat you you stubborn perezosito."

With neither of them agreeing on more traditional first dates, they decide to try catering it towards something they can both agree with. Something that lets them both use their minds.

Doing an escape room? "We'd have to do one for humans. You'd have to carry me around because there's no way I'm scurrying around for clues."

Going to a game store? "The only ones with the good board games are ones for tinies. I will not degrade either of us with a party game."

It's pretty frustrating for both of them. They do want to make this work, but nothing about their relationship is simple. Still, neither of them wants to give this up. Alejandro because he's never one to back down for a challenge, and having an equal who makes him actually want to learn empathy is most certainly worth it. Noah because he never really feels motivated to do much of anything, but Alejandro makes him want to try, so like hell he's giving that up.

They take a break from planning and just hang out like they normally would. Meaning that they're hanging out when together, but both doing intense research on what to do for a first date. Alejandro actually brings himself to ask for help by texting Carlos, who's more than happy to help him bounce ideas back. Noah, knowing nothing of romance nor knowing anyone else who knows about romance, googles 'ideas for first dates' in incognito mode and double checks that nothing has been saved by the time he's done checking.

Eventually, the two do come across an interesting idea. The bookstore Noah was arguing for has a trivia night every Thursday. It doesn't require anything physical, which is great for Noah. There will be food, which Alejandro will pay for so he can still be romantic. And it allows them both to show off how better they are than everyone else work together rather than compete with each other for once.

It goes off without a hitch! They get a few odd looks. It's hard to say whether it's because of the size difference, how young they are, or the fact that they enter as a duo when most other teams have at least four people.

That quickly changes as they start destroying the competition. Everyone else is practically competing for second place.

Their victory comes as a surprise to no one. Regulars of all sizes immediately make their way towards the two begging for the teens to join their teams. Some of them do genuinely mean well and are excited to have new blood at trivia night. Others want to try to take advantages of the two. Alejandro happily jumps at the chance to deal with all of them.

Meanwhile Noah sneaks away to go collect their prizes (and not have to deal with the swarm of people). The prizes are relatively small since it is a weekly event. $25 gift cards to the bookstore. Or, if they do plan on becoming regulars, they can each start a tab. Noah takes one glance at his social butterfly of a boyfriend and tells the host that yeah, they'll start a tab.

So their date idea ends up becoming a new weekly tradition. The other regulars happily accept them among their ranks. They find a team that they will join on occasion, though for the most part they stick with being a duo. Once in a blue moon they'll even go onto separate teams. It's a perfect excuse for competitive, flirtatious banter.

Either way, it's still a delightful date night.

[carmineline]

academy era jim “stack of books with legs” kirk:

spock:

[kakusu-shipping]

Tried making a Guzma Selfship Moodboard at @scarvesandsunflowers suggestion. It ended less our relationship dynamic and more... Guzma stewing on his crush on me.

[azaisya]

Unfinished art nouveau study I was doing of one of the npcs in my game! Her name is Lyria and she’s the third child of the emperor and she’s your high school mean girl

[hiroshotreplica]

drawing yarrwhal and kayoss made me think about them more. i think kayoss' name is kayden. then yarrwhal just doesnt tell anyone what his is. i think theyd have a really solid friendship. maybe yarrwhal can crush on him too.. as a bonus..

[tin-can-iron-man]

Has there ever been a time in comics where Bruce Wayne ended up protecting his secret identity by simply...pretending to be the biggest fan of Batman ever? Like I know that he tends to be pro-batman as Bruce and comics tend to push the "he's just so good at this stuff if he ever is caught he can typically talk his way out of an accusation even with evidence" but I think it would be really funny if like. Someone saw something and Bruce was straight up like. Oh yeah I'm a major fanboy. Of course I have a replica of the batmobile I joyride around Gotham in! I can afford to make an exact cosmetic replica! Do you wanna see my secret nerd basement where I've got all my collectibles including my tailor made Batman costume? And people are just like...no, Bruce, we do not want to see...that. Someone accuses him of being batman and he pretends to be THRILLED like "you think my stuff looks that legit? I'm glad, these costumes cost a fortune!" Meanwhile Dick or Tim or someone is watching this from afar and trying so damn hard not to laugh.

[thealogie]

I love and support you all having fun with your Taylor Swift televised hangout sessions or whatever but please don’t let her trick you into forgetting that football is the devil’s sport