#eventual comfort

[chaos-mix]

Prince of the Underworld (Part One) - Shigaraki x Reader

Description: you get kidnapped and Shiggy isn’t too happy about it.

Word count: 900ish

Genre: angst

Warnings: violence, cursing (not too much), Shiggy and his scratching habits

~~~~~

The floor tasted like year old rust, but that wasn’t your primary concern. The ache in your bones and the now dislocated left shoulder left your head swooning and the world tilting. Shit. Your stomach churned, twisting at the lack of balance and the hits taken. If you ever got out of this, which you very much doubted at this moment as you spat out clotted blood… you would… ah, so that was the ground, you noted as you saw the blood splatter on the floor. Waiting for your vision to stop blurring, you twist yourself around to find your attacker. Flipping Prince of the Underworld.

“You know, for someone with such a metal name, you sure don’t know how to throw a punch. Want some pointers?” Your mouth muttered. Damn. Let’s not anger him further you thought as you looked up at the hooded man, crystal coated hands coming back down at his sides.

Man… you really should have kept better notes in briefings. You remembered hearing something about him refusing to join LOV and pissing off Shiggy?

He chuckled, coming closer to tower over you. His boot dug into your stomach and he leant down to spit in your face. “Rat.”

You tried to ignore the pain searing through you, trying instead tho look past his figure and down the hallway of whatever dungeon this weird dude has trapped you in. Maybe it was your eyes processing nothing from the impact, or maybe it was the accuracy of his name but… You couldn’t see an exit. Just a tunnel of darkness. What a way to go, you thought. Shit. This was a set up and Shiggy will kill me.

You saw his boot lift. You gasped and tried to prepare for the hit. Survive for him.

The next kick to the right side of your head had you passing out.

~~~~~

Tomura’s hands would stop shaking. They wouldn’t stop scratching. His neck was raw with newly opened wounds but all he could focus on was your face splattered across the TV screen, Kurogiri having brought the tape to Tomura in silence.

His chest constricted, he felt suffocated. He could see a figure standing behind you, dressed in all black and their wile hand lay upon your right shoulder. By the looks of it the hand had to be keep you from falling off the chair.

How dare someone put a hand on something that’s his. His. His. His. You were his alone.

His hands started scratching his neck in fervour at the sight of your head bleeding. Blues and purples littered your face and the exposed part of your chest. They did not belong there. YOU did not belong there. Tomura’s crimson eyes darted across the screen trying to access the room you were trapped in, trying to find any clue as to where you could be. Nothing. It was too dark to see and Shigaraki cursed his weaknesses. He cursed himself for allowing this to happen and desperately searched for his family, the scratching never ceasing. The pressure of the hands ground him to the present. He couldn’t breathe but he could live enough to find you. He would fight for you until his dying breath.

The sound of static and noise reverb snapped Shigi’s attention back to the shadow next to you.

You got splashed with water which stared you slightly awake, your left eye barely opening and your right one staying closed from what Tomura hoped was just exhaustion. He could see you grimace, trying to get the person’s hand off your shoulder. Good girl. He was proud of your perseverance until he saw the hand dig deeply into your shoulder- heard you whimpering his name-

Shigaraki froze. His hand twitching, trying to reach you through the screen, holding back before he dusted it. From anger or longing, he wasn’t sure.

The wicked villain chuckled deeply. “Yes. Tomura caused this. I wouldn’t have went after you if it wasn’t for him” he lifted your jaw to focus your sights on the camera, despite you insistently, yet lopsidedly, shaking your head. “Why don’t you thank him, darling~”

“No… Tomu…” it was all your horse voice could muster. Tears were flowing from your eyes, burning the open cuts on the way down. “Please… Stop.”

All Shigaraki was deadly silent. His mind whirling with hatred. At himself. Asking you to forgive him, to show you that you becoming collateral was the last thing he wanted. He lost his balance and tore through the room in a blind rage, destroying anything and everything in his path. Anything, to get his mind off the sounds of your screams and begs coming from the recording as the bones in your hands were broken, one by one.

You were dead. This was a recording. You were in a ditch somewhere and he would never feel the warmth. The warmth of your hands against his skin. Skin. Your skin bruised.

No. No. No, no, no.

If there’s one thing he knew was that he would tear the world apart for you. So you were alive. You had to be. You had to be alive.

And he had to find you. He had to find you now.

[zutraeumen]

Passionfruit (Julian Slowik x OFC)

Welcome, dear readers! I am not a fan of long introductions so I will keep it short for your sake. This is a self-indulgent fanfic crossover between the John Wick and The Menu fandom where I do not own any other character than my self-imported character Adele Cole. As English is not my mother language, I apologize for any grammar mistakes in advance. Spoiler warning if you aren't familiar with any of those films! Reviews are appreciated but if you don't like it, don't read it.

You can find this work on these platforms: FanFiction, AO3, Wattpad or Quotev.

Passionfruit🍴Masterlist:

Hawthorne Island

The First Course

The Second Course

The Third Course

The Fourth Course

Palate Cleanser

The Sixth Course

The Assassin and the Chef

Final Course

[shiorimakibawrites]

Idea: The Broken Hearts Club (Daredevil)

These are rough brainstorming notes. Suggestions and other feedback would be very welcome.

Warning: Spoilers for Avengers: Infinity War - Heavy Angst with Eventual Comfort - Smut - Temporary Character Death - Permanent Character Death

The Broken Hearts Club

Matt Murdock / Daredevil x Reader

It is Valentine’s Day and you are feeling morose. Last year, on this day, you had just finished moving in a new place with BOYFRIEND, the sweet doctor you had been dating for a year by that point. You had done it all that – flowers, candy, cards, dinner, and spent the night making love. Then came May and BOYFRIEND, returning from a medical conference in Europe, died when the pilots of his plane were dusted while trying to land the plane. It was not the only loss that terrible day – several LOVED ONES had turned into dust . . . but at least with those, there is a chance (albeit a slim one) that they might come back . . . BOYFRIEND is gone forever.

You have POWERS and training from a MYSTERIOUS PAST but have been living a normal life for years and haven’t exactly maintained those skills. Maybe you hoped that you had put that MYSTERIOUS PAST behind you, that you wouldn’t ever need that training again.

One night, on the way home after work, you stumble across a terrible crime being committed against a teen and you erupted in fury. You didn’t kill the man but you hurt him. It was the first time since the funeral that you had felt something besides soul-deep pain and numbness.

The first vigilante action was impulse but soon you were doing it on purpose. Becoming a vigilante wasn’t the healthiest coping mechanism but neither was drinking yourself into stupor or otherwise spending your waking hours in a fog.

About the only other time you didn’t feel numb was when you encountered Daredevil. He was the only one who understood your rage, the need to do something – to save someone even if you could not save the ones you loved. Not that this means that your interactions were always positive.

Especially in the beginning of your relationship with your fellow vigilante, Daredevil was an asshole. You tried to ignore him but you ended up losing your temper and did your best to kick his ass. You blown some of the dust off your old skills but you aren’t as good as you used to be – and Daredevil is very good with the advantage that his combat skills have not been laying dormant for years. So the fight could have gone better. You didn’t exactly lose that fight but you didn’t win either.

Your relationship got better after something happens and you ended up telling him why you were doing this. Probably not a peaceful conservation since you are both rather hostile to each other at that point. Either you or Daredevil or both is too injured to physically fight so you were verbally arguing.

The reason for Daredevil’s terrible attitude is loss – apparently everyone who mattered to him was dusted and only a couple of months after reconciling with them after some kind of falling out.

You cannot help sympathizing with that but still won’t take his shit. You are hurting too and you manage not to be a complete ass to everyone.

But your encounters are more productive afterward – your fights become more sparring than an actual fights.

Today was never going to a fun day – it was Valentine’s Day and it seemed like everywhere you looked, there were happy couples . . . but then the day got worse. You were looking for something in the kitchen and found a small box hidden in the back of a seldom used cupboard or appliance . . . a box with a ring in it. An engagement ring.

You threw on your vigilante suit and ran out, you couldn’t stand to be there for another minute . . .

You don’t know why your feet brought you to this particular roof – the one above an old gym called Fogwell’s. The place where sometimes you and Daredevil spar. Daredevil is either there or arrives shortly after.

It might start out as more of another spar but the next you know, you were kissing and pulling off all your clothes except for the masks and maybe your shirts to avoid knocking off the masks.

You have sex –it’s rough, intense, but also some of the best sex you’ve ever had . . .

Afterward, you both agree that sex was like the sparring – a way to let off steam. A bit of comfort, a bit of pleasure that both of you desperately need. But you aren’t dating. It is strictly a friends acquaintances with benefits situation.

For a while, it seems like that is going to be the way of things. You meet. Sometimes you spar. Sometimes you have sex. Sometimes you do both. Daredevil is a considerate lover, never solely satisfying himself while ignoring your pleasure.

But there are cracks – moments where you or he flirts. Or shares something personal about yourselves. Moments where the sex turns toward something more tender . . .

Feelings start to develop – feelings that both of you fight against but it’s like gravity. You cannot escape it.

Not entirely sure how your identities get revealed:

(1) You need a lawyer and pick Matt largely at random or because he had represented people like Jessica Jones before.

(2) You are lawyer or a paralegal looking for a new job – Matt was advertising, having realized that he needs help without Foggy or Karen there to help . . .

(3) You both come to the same coffee shop one morning.

Regardless – You know that mouth, that ass, that voice . . . He knows that heartbeat, that voice, he can smell himself on you . . .

[buttsneaks]

I finally got around to posting this to tumblr! This is the longest thing I've written to date and I'm very pleased with it.

This is the Inquisitor!Cal / ISB!Bode AU that's been living rent free in my head for the past few weeks.  The endgame is Bode/Cal softness, but it might be a long road getting there. Buckle up!

CW: mentions of suicide/attempted suicide - It’s brief and not especially graphic, but if that’s a difficult subject for you, proceed with care (or avoid altogether). I trust you’ll do what’s best for you.

[cronchy-baguette]

When all this is over, will you stay with me? For good?

[redeemed-wren]

Thinking about. Stanley Pines. Once summer, not long after Weirdmaggedon. Sitting in his seat, staring at the tv but realising slowly he's not really watching TV, he's listening.

Listening to Soos, taking a tour group around the Shack, his voice confident and happy, eagerly telling tourists all kinds of tall tales. Soos, with his young son strapped to his chest, held close and dear to his heart, always knowing he is loved and wanted by his father.

Listening to Wendy and Melody, laughter turning to deeper conversations in the gift shop as Wendy pours out her latest dating drama and Melody listens sympathetically--not quite a mother, but an older sister figure is all Wendy wants at the moment.

Listening to a distant boom coming from the basement, a cause for some concern that fades quickly as three peals of laughter follow soon after. One deep and familiar, as comforting and close as the sound of a ship's motor and the open sea. One young and high, cracking with adolescent awkwardness. One loud and cackling, a hint of madness never quite leaving it but more settled than it used to be. And Stan figures it's probably time to send someone down to drag Ford, Dipper and McGucket upstairs before they forget what light is and get too nerdy.

Besides it's nearly dinner time, and he's listening to Mabel's steady, unrelenting chatter in the kitchen, punctuated by a few grunts of acknowledgment from Abuelita as they prepare a meal.

And Stan feels a strange, unusual sensation wash over him, something he hasn't felt for over half a lifetime, by a boat on a beach. A sensation of contentment, of security, of peace. And he realises that if he stood up and walked into any one of the rooms in the Shack he would be greeted with smiles and faces lighting up to see him and cheerful cries of his name.

And he looks down at the darned pig sleeping beside his chair and things, with oddly misty eyes, that he spent thirty years trying to find his brother again. And he succeeded--but somehow, he got more than that. He had formed around him, without even realising it, a family.

[vitality-falls]

They deserve a soft moment

Don’t be fooled, this picture is VERY loud. They both have that Old Man Snore™️

[goldengirlgalaxy]

Reverse Clone AU

So, I've seen a couple stories where Danny is Damian's clone. How about we reverse it?

Danny was born Damian Al Ghul, being raised to be an assassin since he could walk. However, he had a good heart, and eventually his mother overstepped around him (maybe she killed one of his favorite caretakers? Maybe he saw her killing someone with a loving family?), causing him to decide to leave the League next time they let him outside.

He was discovered by the Fentons, got adopted, and had his name changed from Damian Al Ghul into Daniel 'Danny' Fenton. Over the years, his time in the League slowly faded from memory, only remembering that one moment that drove him from them.

Talia, meanwhile, tried to create another baby, but found she didn't have any more DNA from Bruce. However, she did have plenty of Damian/Danny's DNA, so she decided to simply clone her son, making sure that this one would never get it in his head to run away. She decided to let the memory of her first son go, completely overriding it with the new Damian, as if he had been the first son and not merely some clone, forcing everyone in the League to keep the fact a secret.

So, things continue on, Danny becomes Phantom, Damian becomes Robin, so on and so forth. Eventually, one of the Batclan stumble upon Danny and take an interest in him once they realize he looks like Damian.

They actually don't think that he's a clone, because he's older than Damian and records show him having a history older than Damian, so they believe that Talia had another child, which Damian is already a little salty about, because it means that his status as the heir of the League and potentially his title as the only blood son of batman are completely meaningless.

Unfortunately, their investigations lead to the League figuring out where Danny is, at which point Talia drops by and decides to reveal in front of everyone that Danny is the original Damian and Damian is a clone meant to take his place.

The only one who takes it well is Danny, who tells everyone to get off his porch before he activates the home defense systems because he does not care for this drama.

[alicornze7]

Silly guys goin' on silly adventures:]

@rorydrawsandwrites's puppeteer au but the only difference is that jax gives consent

My contribution to this wonderful au has been long overdue:')

Rambling in tags ehe (cw: ribbun:p)

Well maybe it's not the only difference

[zutraeumen]

The Final Course

Chef Julian Slowik didn't know what to do with himself. 

He didn't know how to feel about his ruined Menu, and about the two guests who made it so.

There was no time to waste on unnecessary thoughts other than salvage what was left and finish it. Although looking at the corpses of his avid followers, he regretted that not all made it to the journey with him. They deserved to feel liberated too.

Alas, death was nothing. He was the Chef, the Man. He worked with death every day. Death was his business. How could he call himself a chef if he didn't experience death? Two cooks tip the barrel on its side. A vicious liquid poured out across the floor. 

Resigned to their fate, the diners didn't even bother lifting their feet. By now some even felt as if they deserved it. 

Servers have begun draping thick sheets of marshmallow strung together with candy floss over the diners. 

The staff continued to hustle, creating elaborate, Jackson Pollock splatters and swirls of melted chocolate and graham crackers crumbled atop the tables. 

Slowik stood still as an owl and thought. He looked around his restaurant. The ferocious beauty of his food. The havoc he had caused. The totality of his life. And somehow he knew this wasn't the perfect ending to his menu. He shook his head, dismayed.

It was time for him to be done with it, "So. Before our final course, there is the matter of the bill." 

Servers placed checks on the tables, along with little Hawthorn gift bags. 

"We're on a no-tip system, so gratuity is included. Please enjoy your gift bags. A few goodies in there -- a booklet of our local suppliers, some house-made granola, one of Doug Verrek's fingers, and a copy of tonight's menu.

Lillian Bloom reached for her wallet until Ted stopped her, "No, this is on the magazine," He noticed that Lillian was almost about to cry, "I know."

"No, it's just - I just realized I'll never get to write about this."

Richard reached for his wallet with his one good hand and gave it to Anne.

"Can you take out my Amex?" He looked at her, "Anne?"

"I don't want an apology, Richard."

The man looked at his wife solemnly, glowing with shame and subsequent regret, "Happy Anniversary."

Each tech bro tossed in a credit card -- they're going Dutch.

The movie star put down his card.

"I am your friend," Felicity reacted with a sniff.

The movie star smiled at his only friend, "Told you you weren't leaving." 

"Again, thank you all for dining with us tonight. You represent the ruin of my art, and my life, but now you get to be a part of it. A part of what I hope is my masterpiece." 

With Chef's prompting, the guests slowly begin to clap. The movie star couldn't help but give it up sincerely for himself and for a fellow artist. The cooks applauded as well.

"And now, our final dessert course is a playful twist on a comfort food classic..."

"The S'more: the most offensive assault on the human palate ever contrived. Unethically sourced chocolate and gelatinized sugar water imprisoned by industrial-grade graham cracker. It's everything wrong with us and yet we associate it with innocence. Childhood. Mom and Dad.

Chef looked at his mother, who was passed out at her table. 

"But what transforms this fucking monstrosity is fire. The purifying flame. It nourishes us, warms us, re-invents us, forges and destroys us. We must embrace the flame." 

There were tears gathering in the eyes of our diners. They know what's happening and some even began praying. Slowik grabbed a handful of hot coal straight from the grill, not even registering how it burned his palm, and slowly made his way into the centre of the dining room.  

"Please --" Anne begged shakingly.

But was she pleading for him to stop... or to continue?

"We must be cleansed. Made clean. Like martyrs or heretics, we can be subsumed and made anew."

Tears well in Chef Slowik's eyes. He paused, taking a deep breath. He had somehow found... release.

The chef tossed it in the flammable pool. A watery curtain of blue flame billowed across the floor. A warm, metamorphic glow illuminated the faces of our diners. Despite everything that had gone wrong, Chef Slowik was prepared to perish from this world that had grown so inhospitable to him, smiling face in the firelight.

There were screams of torture around him but it was as if the man ascended to Heaven already. 

That was until the Devil came knocking on the door.

And dragged him hastily out of the restaurant.

[auspicioustidings]

Very enamoured with Ghost getting teased because he's looking bigger recently. He always been a hefty chunk of hunk, but he's definitely putting on a bigger layer of fat. Eventually and without any warning he invites the team to his flat for dinner and they're all a bit flabbergasted because he's never seen them outwith work.

They meet his bird and it is immediately apparent why their LT put on some pounds. Soap is pretty sure he is going to need rolled out of there. Ghost's bird is an excellent host and a phenomenal cook and baker and honestly not at all what any of them would think Ghost would ever go for. She's just so wholesome, so gentle and kind and nurturing. And it almost makes Price tear up because now when Soap teases Ghost about being bigger all he can think is how happy his LT is, how comfortable and warm a home he has waiting for him.

[a-b-riddle]

check tags for warnings

In the mood to write angst. Imagine you’re the conscientious observer who accidentally sees how your team talks about you behind your back.

Your morals were… complicated. You didn’t believe in killing anyone. Your faith told you that killing someone is wrong and even if it’s to save your life, handling a gun is something that doesn’t sit well with you. You’ve been to gun ranges. Mandatory for your position in the military that you have basic fire arm knowledge. But having something in your hands that could so easily take a life made you uneasy.

You were pescatarian, but tried to limit meat. Cried anytime you saw chickens in those trucks heading toward their demise. You fed stray cats around your house back home. You tried to be kind and cherished life in all most of its forms. The exception being garlic butter shrimp that was too good to give up and anytime of bug resembling a cock roach. And yes, palmetto bugs were still cock roaches.

And wasps.

Fuck wasps.

At the same time, you were pro-choice. Initially, you were pro-choice for other women, but you didn’t think you would have the strength to get an abortion. It wasn’t until you were holding your friend’s hand as she got her D&C that your views on your own body autonomy changed. It didn’t have to be medical to be necessary.

But you still refused to hold a weapon. Which is why even though you were a very talented medic, you were always judged for not carrying any sort of defense while in the field.

But no one on base would dare say anything to you about it. At least not to your face…

You got stuck instructing a training seminar when your phone continued to buzz in your back pocket. But even with the consistent messages, you didn’t falter by showing the newest members how to give basic first aid until health could arrive.

Nearly two hours later, you finally fish your phone out to see what’s going on.

Dozens of text messages in a group chat between you, Captain Price, Johnny, Kyle and Simon. You had gotten close to them over the last few months. You were halfway through your contract and were already dreading leaving knowing they were staying behind until the job is done.

You open it, your phone taking you to the first unread message.

Cpt.: Hows the arm healing up?

Soap: Fine. Hen did a good job of keeping the sutures nice and even. Should barely scar.

Gaz: Wouldn’t have a scar if she just fucking carried.

Soap: You think she honestly would even know what to do with a gun if you gave her one Garrick 😂

Ghost: Still think she’s a liability. Someone who won’t raise arms against an enemy isn’t meant to be on the team.

Cpt: Already tried. Laswell says we need the numbers. As long as she does her job there’s nothing I can do. We can’t be down a medic and it’s either her or nothing.

You shook as you continued reading the conversation.

Liability. Coward. It went on and on about how weak you were. Why couldn’t you just carry a small pistol instead of expecting everyone else to keep you safe.

It then switched to your personality. No one should be that happy. Annoying. A yapper. Couldn’t get a word in most of the time.

On and on they went until you realized they spoke so freely because they didn’t realize you were in this group chat. What did they say when you weren’t around?

You felt like a fool having extending more than just trying to be a civil coworker, but a friend. Taking on tasks that weren’t your responsibility simply to help them.

Getting a floral arrangement delivered for Johnny’s sister after she had given birth. Talking on the phone to the nursing home where Price’s mother resided trying to sort out her insurance. Taking priority Kyle when he was injured after falling out of a plane (both times) over your other patients. And always having the electric kettled going in the morning so Simon could have his tea without waiting too long.

You were helpful. Just because you had one boundary didn’t mean their words held any merit. But still you couldn’t help the deep feeling of just… betrayal? Rejection? You weren’t sure there was a word fitting enough to sum up how utterly stupid you felt.

Maybe they were right. This wasn’t a civilian setting. This wasn’t just life and death for your patients, but for you. You were out in the field with no form of protection except from others.

You weren’t abandoning your morals. You couldn’t. Not when every fiber of your being told you to remain steadfast. There was only one solution.

You didn’t have much to pack. Uniform was issued to you. Your stethoscope and some other tools came out of your own pocket. Your laptop, phone, charges. You packed all your lounging clothes and miraculously everything fit into a military duffle. Which wasn’t actually anything impressive given how big those things are.

You were confident in your decision even if it made you feel like a failure.

As you stood outside the office door you returned back to the group chat. One by one you proceeded to block all of them. You knew when you left the group they would know that the notification would pop up and they either wouldn’t give a shit that you finally knew what the actually thought of you or they tried messaging you to make amends to cover their asses. You weren’t sure which was worse.

Once you had blocked the last one, you left and knocked on the door that you had been idling in front of. A faint ‘come in’ was granted before you walked through.

“Hey, Kate.” You greeted. “Can we talk?”

[braisedhoney]

doodling the doc as simply as possible

[sp0o0kylights]

Bullshit.

The word rings obnoxiously in Steve’s ears as he pushes his way out back, not wanting to be anymore of a talking piece at this party than he already was.

He’d just wanted Nancy to stop drinking, take a second, pace herself…

Steve swipes furiously at his eyes, and then curses when it nearly causes him to run into Chrissy Cunnginham, who’s perched in a chair tucked away from the patio door.

“Sorry, sorry.” He apologizes, trying not to sound like he’s upset, trying to keep his cool--only for her to look up and away, brushing off her own tears.

“Oh.” Steve says, a little laugh bubbling out of him. “You too huh?”

Thankfully she correctly interprets that he's not laughing at her, and adds her own giggle to the mix, the sound gentle even if pitched in upset.

"Boy problems?" Steve asks her, sinking down to the vacant chair on Chrissy's right.

She nods, clasping her hands together in her lap.

"Girl problems?" She asks back, and he grimaces a smile.

They sit for a minute, Steve pulling out a cigarette and offering it to her before lighting up. Chrissy shakes her head, and though her nose curls a little at the smoke she doesn’t say anything.

Neither of them do, staring at the few people bringing the party outside in the way only drunk teenagers can.

"Can I tell you something?" Chrissy says finally, as Steve continues to struggle to keep himself breathing evenly (and not spiraling. He still has to go back and try and escort Nancy home, and he needs to keep his temper when he does it.)

She licks her lips. "I keep trying to break up with Jason, but he won't let me."

It takes a second for the words to register, but when they do he leans himself towards chrissy in concern. “What do you mean, he won’t let you?”

“He’s not--it’s not…”She trails off, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. “He talks me out of it is all.”

She’s downplaying it, and Steve’s concern grows tenfold. “Does he argue with you or just…tells you no or something?”

"It's complicated." Chrissy says, refusing to look at him. "He has this vision for me, for us."

Steve watches as she worries at a hangnail.

Feels the need to reach out and take her hand, but keeps his own hands to himself.

If Steve has learned anything, it's that not everyone wants to be touched as much as he does.

"He keeps telling me I'm just being anxious. That I should trust him, and I do, he just expects me to always do what he says? And more and more lately I--"

She huddles down into the little cat costume she's wearing, pulling the thin black sweater around her. "I want different things than he does."

Steve wonders vaguely if Nancy wants different things.

Or a different person entirely.

"That's not fair to you." Steve says, leaning forward and lowering his own voice. "He can't keep you in a relationship you don't want to be in."

A hard thing for him to say, after the bathroom conversation but this is different.

‘Please, let this be different.’ He thinks, before pushing the thought aside.

"He can't force you to do what he wants just because he wants it, or thinks its best. He should be listening to you and what you want too. Relationships are about…compromise right?” It’s what he’s heard anyway, though most of the time “compromise” means “letting the other person get what they want.”

Which is what he thought he’d been doing for Nancy all this time.

“I can help you if you want. Be your," Steve poorly mimes waving a pom pom. "cheer support."

Chrissy looks at him, eyes still wet. "You would?"

"Of course.” He says, before scooting just a smidgen closer. “Might have to ask you to return the favor though. Nancy said some things tonight and I could really use a second--”

A loud curse makes them both startle, interrupting Steve.

Together, they look around before another noise, like bark being scraped, draws both their attention to the large oak that stands in the backyard.”

"Is…is that Eddie Munson?" Chrissy asks.

"I think so."

Chrissy squints a little, as if not quite believing what she's seeing. "Is…he stuck in a tree?"

Steve finds himself staring in his own disbelief, hands moving to his hips as he watches Munsons wriggling, cursing form.

"I think so." He repeats with a shake of his head.

Eddie's foot slips off a branch, once, twice.

"Hey--" Steve calls out in warning, but unfortunately it comes too late.

The branch under his foot gives away with a startling crack! as another branch shreds Munson's jacket as his full weight caches on it.

"Oh!" Chrissy gasps, hand flying to her mouth as Eddie falls right onto his ass with a yelp.

"You good man?" Steve asks, rising from his chair, hesitant to go over but needing to make sure the idiot hasn't cracked his skull open.

Chrissy has no such qualms, popping up to run over to Munson.

"You're bleeding." She tells him worriedly, dropping to her knees to get a better look.

"Well shit." Munson says with a wonky grin. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for?” Chrissy asks, as Steve’s newly honed babysitting instincts kick in and drive him to get up and look at Munson’s injury himself.

Chrissy carefully strokes the older teen’s hair out of his face, as Steve bends down to check his head and neck.

"You hurt anywhere?" He asks, spotting the scratch that had Chrissy worried.

It’s on his forehead--the guy must have knocked his face against the tree when he fell. Head injuries always bleed a ton but this one's well contained to a small scrape.

Probably not a concern, though Steve looks at his pupils anyways.

"Nah, I’m pine. I didn't mean to drop in on you guys.” He waves a hand behind him before dropping his voice to a dramatic whisper. “I knew I shouldn’t have trusted that tree, it was pretty shady.”

Steve, long trained by Dustin, narrows his eyes. "Are you making puns right now?"

"Maybe?" Munson hedges, looking delighted to have been called out.

“Uh huh.” Steve puts his hands back on his hips, straightening up from where he’d crouched down. “Your head okay? You remember your name and shit?”

“Edward Edwardian Munson, present and ready for duty!” He gives a mock salute, before dropping Chrissy a wink. “If the duty is drinking and playing games that is.”

“Your middle name cannot be Edwardian.” Chrissy laughs.

"It is!" He defends, at the same time Steve says,

“It's not "

“Oh?” Munson challenges, as if this entire situation isn’t ridiculous. “Then what is my middle name, Sir Steven?”

“No idea, but I know it’s not that.”

Munson blows a raspberry at him. “Well then, maybe you should mind your own beeswax."

"Like you were doing? Up in the tree right above us?" Steve banters back.

The playful look dies a little, Munson beginning the painful process of standing after one falls.

"For the record, I absolutely was not eavesdropping, you guys just happened to be under the tree I climbed and I was there first. " He says it rapidly, like he's used to being accused of such things, and is heading off as many problems as he can.

Steve just ignores it, opting instead to hold his hands out. One to Chrissy and one to Eddie.

Watches surprise cross the older teens face, even as he waits for Chrissy to get up before accepting Steve's hand.

"Why were you up a tree? The family dog run you up there?" Steve grunts as he pulls the metalhead up.

"Funny." Munson quipped sarcastically. "But no. I was up there for reasons."

'Reasons.' Steve mouths, and has to fight himself to keep from grinning.

"Even though I was there first, I did happen to hear some things." He looks at Chrissy, voice turning serious. "If you need any help getting things through Carver's thick skull I'd love to lend a hand."

"You would cheer for me too?"

"Oh absolutely. I'd make a far better cheerleader than Harrington here." He shoots a grin towards Steve to take the edge off the words, before doing a far more enthusiastic mimicry of the cheerleaders pom pom routine.

"But I know how much Carver hates the word no. If you break up with him and he gives you shit after, I'm happy to step in."

Steve hadn't actually thought about that yet, but given what he knew of Jason it makes sense.

He could easily see Chrissy worrying about Jason harassing her after the break up.

"Thank you. Both of you." She sniffs. "Eddie, are you sure you're okay?"

"Right as rain!" Munson gives a rather theatrical thumbs up. "I'll let you in on a family secret, we Munson's have rubber bones."

She gives him another giggle for his efforts, and even Steve can’t fully cover his

Munson, the ass, notices.

“Well call me the court jester, I got both the King and Queen to smile!” He cheers.

Steve rolls his eyes, but doesn't deny it.

"Chrissy!?" Someone barks, loud in the otherwise quiet backyard.

"Speak of the devil." Eddie drops his voice dramatically as Jason strides out of the house.

"I've been looking for you." He chides, two of his friends following close behind.

They're younger members of the basketball team, ones Steve's brain sluggishly attempts to remember.

"Are your knees dirty?" Jason asks Chrissy, disgust tinting his voice as he slowly looks from her to Munson next to her.

His eyes narrow, expression almost offronted.

"You heathen." Jason snarls, stepping forward with a fist clenched.

It was a move right of the sitcoms Steve swore he didn't watch, and it looked just as cheesy in real life as it did on screen.

"Calm down." Steve speaks up, hands going to his hips.

Jason's head jerks as he registers him, so focused on Munson that Steve slipped his notice entirely.

"Harrington?" He asks, as if Steve could be mistaken for anyone else here.

Steve gives him jazz hands in return.

"What are you doing out here?" Jason speaks only to Steve, whole body angling towards him like he's the only person who matters.

It's something Steve's dad does, if there's a businessman he considers to be an equal in the room. Zoning in on them, so he can subtly work in ways to make them feel inferior.

It's narcissism at its core (or so says his mother, when she's blitzed out on too many glasses of wine.)

"Talking to people." Steve deadpans. "If you're looking for beer, you walked past it."

Jason entire face pinches, like he just stepped in dog shit. "No one just talks to Munson."

It's a stupid thing to say, and whatever Hason was trying to imply with it wasn't appreciated.

"Well mark me as the first." Steve's hip cocks, voice frosting over.

Surprise washes across Munson's face, though he remains silent as Steve deals with Jason.

Probably a smart move, given how Jason seems to be eager for a fight.

"Whatever it is you're doing, you can leave Chrissy out of it." He says, and god his voice even sounds like Steve's dad.

"Chrissy," Steve says, with an eyebrow raise he knows looks judgemental, "can speak for herself."

He turns to face her, inviting her to the conversation, in the same way he'd always wished someone would invite his mother to speak against his father.

Watches as the cheerleader bites her lip, trying hard to hide the tears that have sprung to her eyes--but proves that she's stronger than Steve's mother ever was.

She steps forward, taking the opportunity offered to her with a steadying breath. "Jason--"

"You can explain it to me later." Her boyfriend waves her off, like she was a waitress offering water and not his partner.

Uncaring entirely that she's clearly upset.

That she wants to talk.

Munson has come to stand on Chrissy's other side, gone still in a way Steve's never seen him do.

It's downright weird for a guy who's normally always moving, and Steve knows it's defensive.

He's feeling a little defensive himself right now, though he doesn't want to particularly untangle why.

"Jason, listen to me." Chrissy tries again.

In his preffery vision, Steve spots a flash of familiar color. Turns his head automatically, seeking it out--and sees Jonathan hustling Nancy across the room.

The younger man is trying to balance Nancy while opening the front door, and for a second Steve almost beelines for them, except--

Except.

Nancy's whole body moves in what Steve intimately knows is an exhale, leaning her head in the crook of Jonathan's shoulder.

One arm wraps around his waist, as Jonathan finally gets the door open, and Steve watches with a stunned sort of horror as his girlfriend presses a kiss to Jonathan's shoulder.

It's fine.

He's fine.

Nancy was just--drunk. Seeking comfort. She didn't know what she was doing. She didn't mean it like that, she didn't--

"Oh shit Harrington." Jason drawls, a lazy sort of taunt. "I think Byers just stole your girlfriend."

Steve's head snaps back to him, the emotions he was attempting to box up flying to the front of his brain like dogs who slipped their leash.

"Never thought a priss like Nancy would be easy like that, but then, you never were the kind of guy to inspire loyalty." Jason continues, clearly ignoring his own girlfriend and all Steve can see is red.

Munson sucks air between his teeth next to him, nervously eyeing Steve while Chrissy's eyes have gone wide with shock and growing anger.

"Jason!" She admonishes, but he's not even looking towards her.

That too sharp smile is all for Steve.

He thinks of Nancy, the way she'd been so angry with him but so gentle with Jonathan.

He thinks of the monster he faced down in the Byers house, the terror that had shrank down to that same adrenaline soaked focus he had on the basketball court.

He thinks of this asshole Junior in front of him.

Making Chrissy cry just because she'd been kind enough to try to help Eddie, and accept Eddie's kindness in return when the weirdo tried to help her and Steve both.

Steve taps his foot, then switches his stance.

'Plant your feet.' Hargroves voice snarls in his memory and Steve wouldn't be surprised if the asshole abandons the keg long enough to come watch this.

Have his turn at heckling, just because he can.

Steve plants his feet anyway.

"You know what Carver?" He says, hands dropping from his hips.

Jason's face curves into a smile. "What?" He says, tone smarmy.

"You're full of shit."

Hand cocking back of its own accord, Steve puts every bit of himself into his punch.

Feels it reverberate up his arm as his knuckles connect to Jason's cheek.

It's going to hurt later, but right now all he can do is stand over Jason as the asshole's head snaps sideways, legs staggering him backwards until he's falling into his friends.

Chrissy gasps, Jason's boys chanting variations of 'Oh shit!'

Steve just glares him down.

The junior wipes his bloodied mouth, letting his friends push him up before shrugging them off.

"You're going to regret that." Jason snarls, and Steve squares up a second time, expecting to be rushed, when the sharp snickt! of a switchblade freezes them both.

"I think we're done here." Munson says, knife in hand.

The blade he holds is stained a deep, russet red. Crusty flakes fall off it, drifting gently down to the patio floor.

Jason's eyes boggle at it for a moment before he stands up straight.

"Now it makes sense. You're weak, Harrington, letting the Freak get his claws into you." Jason spits bloodstained saliva down at Eddie's feet. "No wonder Coach wants Billy as co-captain!"

Steve just scoffs.

"Chrissy!" Carver barks, making the poor girl jump. "Come here, we're leaving!"

Trembling, but stepping closer to Steve, she shakes her head.

"Chrissy." Jason orders again, and has the audacity to point to his feet, like a man commanding his dog.

"No." Chrissy says it quietly at first, voice a little shaky, before she seems to realize it.

She stands taller, repeats herself in a stronger voice. "No, Jason. We're done."

Jason stares at her, hard. "Chrissy, your mother told me to bring you home. So I'm going to take you home and get you away from this--demon and his lackey!"

It doesn't sound loving.

It sounds like a threat.

He steps forward, hand out to grab her arm and Steve tenses, shifting to step in front of Chrissy.

Eddie beats him there.

The word demon seems to awaken something in him, because his face is now grinning theatrically, voice dipping low in pitch.

"You heard her, Carver. She said no, and even I respect a lady's wish. So run along now," he walks two fingers in the air, from the hand not waving the knife around. "before I decide to make you and her both one of mine, just as I did Harrington!"

Jason actually crosses himself, before making one last attempt for Chrissy.

"That monster is dangerous. if you don't come with me, I'll have to alert your parents." He locks eyes with her. "For the good of your soul."

Steve snorts at that crock of shit, but Eddie lunges forward, slashing the knife in the air.

It's nowhere near Jason, but the guy leaps a foot back anyway.

"Begone!" Eddie booms, and that's all it takes for Jason and his cronies to huff and puff and stride away.

He keeps his arms in the air for a few beats more, before dropping them when it's clear Jason won't be back.

"So I'm yours, huh?" Steve drawls, as Eddie finally puts his hands down and turns to face them.

The guys scary face drops into something almost excited, and Steve can practically see the adrenaline crackling through him.

"Hey it worked. Carver's a religious nut, he goes running anytime you even hint at Satan." Eddie shrugs, grinning wildly. "Put on a little show and poof! Him and his flying monkeys melt away!"

He mimes melting and Steve stares at him for it, until he hears Chrissy laughing next to him.

Eddie grins at her and Steve is hit with the realization that it was for her benefit. To make her feel better about her psycho ex.

Something fond and familiar winds through his chest as the other boy bows.

He refuses to put a name to it.

"Did you paint your knife?" He asks instead, rubbing the hand he hit Jason with.

"What?" Eddie asks, startled out of his court jester act.

Steve nods to his hand holding the switchblade. "That's not blood, it's way too red."

"Ah." Eddie turns the grin back on, and this time it's for Steve. "Yeah, it's uh. Modeling paint. Not like Carver would know the difference."

Unspoken was the fact that he hadn't thought Steve would.

Prior to last year, he'd have been right.

Drunken cheering erupts into wild yells inside, breaking whatever spell the three of them were under.

Hargrove's voice is the loudest among them, and the dude is definitely wasted.

Steve has a feeling Hargrove also knows the difference between paint and blood, rendering Munson's knife trick useless if the dick tried to start something.

"Do you want a ride home, Chrissy?" He asks quietly.

"If it's not a bother." She says, wiping tears shed refused to let fall from her eyes.

Chrissy Cunningham was a lot stronger than people gave her credit for.

"Come on, Munson, I think it's time we all make our exit." Steve says, finding himself weirdly unwilling to leave the older teen behind.

Eddie could hold his own, but given how badly things were playing out Steve figured it was best if they all just called it a day.

"Yeah lemme just…" Munson puts his blade away, fumbling at his pockets for a moment before turning and snatching up a metal lunchbox.

"There! After you, my liege." He says, before opening the lunchbox to make it talk.

"My lady." He makes it say, pitching his voice high.

Chrissy breaks into giggles again and Steve rolls his eyes, but he claps his good hand on Eddie's shoulder as he walks past.

Eddie smiles at him, this one a bit softer than the others, eyes sparkling and Steve chooses not to read into that either.

The three of them walk together, Eddie splitting off to his van after Chrissy thanks him.

Part Two

[mecachrome]

(evolution of) lando + oscar's competence

[assassin-artist]

what ive learned so far