#gift ficlet

[haleswallows]

DC x DP Dead Tired 'Fake Relationship' plot bunny

Alright, imagine me presenting you with this like a proud cat bringing you the hair tie I just murdered. (Anyone is welcome to add to this - to treat it like a prompt or to expand on it. Just, like, let me know so I can consume it with an unhinged fervor, thank you!)

Tim (no longer forever 17) finds himself in a bit of a situation. One being that he's really fed up with Dick and Barbara and Alfred and even Bruce being nosy. And why are they being nosy?

Because that's their love language. And also, because for some absurd reason Tim cannot discern, Dick got it in his head that Tim is lonely. Which, of course means everyone has accepted the mission to get Tim hitched.

Is it that Tim and Bernard broke up? Is it that Tim has gone stag to every charity gala for the last year? Is it that Bruce finally pulled his head out of his ass and made things work out with Selina? The world may never know.

What Tim does know is he isn't lonely. He's fine. Truly.

Enter Danny Phantom.

The ghost hero is interesting. Tim side eyes the guy pretty hard when he joins the Justice League. For a dead guy, he's pretty cheery and up-beat. Honestly, with all the quips & puns, he could have been a Robin in a past life.

Surprising absolutely no one, Nightwing and Phantom quickly become butt-buddies, joined at the hip, partners in crime. Tim is not jealous, no matter what Dick says. He has his own team, his own cases, CEO work, etc etc etc and even more etc. Great, Dick has a new friend.

Too bad for Tim, one of his cases overlaps with Phantom's 'jurisdiction'. No one will tell Tim what that means. No worries, Tim will find out. He always does.

Red Robin and Phantom team up. It goes... great. No grievous injuries, the case gets solved, Phantom takes the frankly disturbing relic of Red Robin's hands. Tim cares only in-so-far that the thing is out of Gotham and Phantom promises (so-signed by Batman? the actual fuck?) it will be safe and won't return to the human realm.

They're wrapping up in one of Tim's more 'civilian' passing safe-houses. Mostly because it was the closest, and Phantom said something about 'ley lines' and 'easier to open a portal'. Cool, whatever. Tim was going to burn this safe-house soon anyway.

Tim, as always, gets himself into trouble. Chronic Thinking Too Much Disease, they really ought to make a cure for it. He's reflecting, watching Phantom eat Cheerios right out of the box, sitting on the counter, looking like he belongs there. When the fuck did Tim get Cheerios?

There's no denying it. Tim liked working with Phantom. The guy is good in a fight, doesn't rely on his powers too much, and kept up with Tim. Not not physically, but intellectually. And he's shockingly earnest when he isn't being a trash-talking little shit.

So. Tim gets an idea.

"Hey," he says before he's even thoroughly thought it out, "we should date."

Phantom pauses, gloved hand suspended in the middle of shoving another handful of cereal into his mouth, wide eyed and gaping. Attractive.

"Huh?" he says, eloquently.

"Not for real," Tim scrambles to explain. "I mean fake dating. Just hang around some, be a bit performative, nothing out of masks. We can say we're taking things slow and break up. Nightwing keeps trying to set me up with a date. This will get him off my case."

"Oooooh." Phantom resumes inhaling cereal. Why a ghost needs to eat, Tim would like to know, but it's probably rude to ask. Slowly chewing, Phantom seriously thinks it over. "You know, the council has been bugging me too. About dating. This could work out for both of us."

Council? Tim would like to know why a council is interested in Phantom dating. So he asks.

Phantom sighs explosively. Finally, he sets the Cheerios down. "OK, so like, this is need to know basis only. I haven't even disclosed it to the League. And like, Nightwing only knows because he's my friend and the Observants crashed one of our mission and blew the lid."

Pulling a face, Phantom waves an arm in an arc over his head. A crown appears, spinning and shooting off beams of light like an Aurora Borealis.

"I'm the Ghost King. It's a whole thing, no I am not taking questions on it at this time. Well, technically, I'm the Prince of the Infinite Realms because I'm too young to take the throne. So, there's a council and a regent. Whatever, not important!"

Phantom claps, getting himself back on track. "What that means is there's a council and Observants that are really interested in my personal shit. Including who I date. But like, I'm enjoying my brat girl summer and being single right now, not that they care."

Tim blinks. Then blinks again, slotting the new information in place alongside everything he knows about Phantom. That's... something.

"That sounds annoying," Tim says, instead of one of the approximately 23 questions in his head that are quickly spawning more by the second. "Fake dating would solve both of our problems."

Because Tim is a professional, they make a contract. Phantom will remain Red Robin's boyfriend, since they're taking it slow and no secret identities will need to be disclosed. Tim doesn't ask why Phantom would have a secret identity... he's dead? Saves the question for the later.

Red Robin will remain Phantom's totally human badass vigilante boyfriend, since they're taking it slow and Tim won't be required to do anything in any capacity for the Infinite Realms.

Then they set boundaries. Date ideas, what they're comfortable with for PDA, how much they'll have to do to sell it.

"I mean," Phantoms says, again with a mouthful of Cheerios. "Clockwork monitors the timelines, so he definitely already knows what we're doing. And he hasn't intervened yet." When Tim gives him A Look, Phantom helpfully explains, "He only intervenes when I do something stupid enough that'll change the course of the multiverse. So," then shrugs, entirely too nonchalant for Tim's tastes.

"If Clockwork already knows, won't he say something to the council or the Observants?" The very Observants Phantom has guaranteed will pop in on Tim at some point. So Tim feels compelled to ask.

"Nah," Phantom says. He kicks his feet from where he's sitting on the kitchen table now, right at Tim's elbow. "He hates the Observants more than I do. I bet he loves this. He's always down to fuck with them."

Great. That's... great.

Nothing can go wrong, right?

[chimneyz]

It's been a month since Tommy left, Buck was still on his baking spree trying his hardest to not text Tommy. He's only witnessed Tommy bubbling him once but he likes to think Tommy has done it more than just once. Buck gets back home from a long grueling shift and finds a package on his doorstep, Buck wasn't expecting any packages and there was no return address, or any address, whoever this was from had to of dropped it off. Buck stared at it for hours before he opened it, to his surprise it was a porcelain husky (at least he thought it was porcelain) it seemed old and very much loved in a past life. Buck laughed at himself, he has always been compared to a golden retriever by others, but there was one person who said otherwise.

"No, no" Tommy smiled at him one day, "you aren't a golden retriever, you are a husky, fiercely loyal, intelligent, goofy, and yeah a bit of a yapper but loveable nonetheless." 

Buck kept it on the nightstand that was on Tommy's side of the bed. He smiled fondly at the memory.

Two months have passed, Buck was heading home after babysitting Jee-Yun for the night. when he got home another small package awaited him. Buck didn't wait to open it, he couldn't. Inside was a small frame with a press lavender flower inside it. Lavender, it was Buck's favorite, he didn’t think anyone knew besides a few people. 

One night early in their relationship, after an eventful night Buck held Tommy, he was resting on Buck's chest listening to his heartbeat.

"I don't care for roses," Buck muttered.

Tommy shifted to look up at Buck, "What was that sweetheart?"

"I don't care for roses, I don't understand why everyone likes them, they are so, so-"

"Boring."

"Exactly, you get it. Like yeah sure they are pretty but really, roses? You know what is a cool flower though?"

"What that?"

"Lavender," Buck insisted, "Did you know it's part of the mint family? A-And it's been used to help with insomnia since Ancient Greece. It also helps with pain. It is a very versatile flower, unlike roses."

After a moment of silence Buck looks down at Tommy, he stares at Buck with the brightest eyes and a gentle smile.

"What?" Buck chuckled.

"You are just so amazing when you talk facts."

Buck laughed.

The next time Tommy picked up Buck for a fancy night out he gave Buck a bouquet of lavender flowers. Buck was walking on air that night, he could hardly wait to pounce on his boyfriend that night with kisses.

Buck hung up the framed pressed lavender on his wall, he wasn't sure if he told Tommy the meaning behind lavender, it symbolized devotion.

By the third month, Buck was expecting a gift at his doorstep when he went home from a 118 barbecue at Athena and Bobby's new home. A big smile on his face grew as his eyes landed on another small box. Buck wasn't even at his door when he opened the box. A familiar rock rested inside it seemed to be cut in half, but this was not just a regular rock, a geode, white crystals glittered the inside of the rock.

A week before their six-month anniversary Buck and Tommy went hiking. They went hiking as many times as they could, they loved to look at the beauty of Southern California and observe the different critters they came across. On this hike Buck came across a rock, he was convinced that it was a geode inside and had to bring it home, he insisted.

"Do you know how cool it would be, to find crystals inside!" Buck exclaimed.

"Let’s bring it home then, "Tommy smiled fondly, "We can crack it open and see what goodies are inside."

Buck placed the geode on his coffee table as a new centerpiece. He knew that rock was something special.

By the fourth month, Buck couldn’t wait to get home from his shift. He knew there would be another package, his stomach sank as he saw nothing resting by his doorstep, not a single page, note, nothing there was nothing. Tears started to sting his eyes. He thought it was silly, to cry over something like this, he didn't need anything new, but still... pain starting to poke his heart. Buck went into his loft empty-handed, disappointed, and feeling more alone than ever. He got himself in sweats and started to order some takeout, he wasn't in the mood for cooking, not tonight. A knock on the door startled him, his food shouldn't be here, not yet at least. Buck opened the door, he couldn't help gasping. No, it wasn't his food, and it wasn't a package. It was him, Tommy stood at the door with a package in hand.

"Hi," Tommy smiled awkwardly.

"H-Hey Tommy."

"May I come in?"

"Y-Yes," Buck stepped aside gesturing Tommy to enter his loft, "Of course."

Tommy carefully stepped inside, Buck couldn’t help noticing the box was bigger. Tommy looked around the loft his eyes landing eventually on Buck as he closed the door and stepped closer to him.

"I um, I don't know if you know this but I-I have been giving you these gifts for the past few months." Tommy was nervous, he couldn't stay still and tried his hardest to have a smile on, but one that looked manic. he knew his forced smiles could make him look a little crazy.

"Yeah,"  Buck said "I knew it was you since the first package."

"How?"

"You are the only one who said I was more like a husky than a golden retriever."

"Oh," Tommy chuckled nervously, "I um have another one for you." He handed Buck the box and stepped away from him. "I-I have been trying something new since we... you know. I needed to put my energy somewhere but I couldn't stop thinking about you, I guess I didn't stop trying to think about you, I think maybe I didn't want to stop thinking about you..."

Buck opened the package, inside was a navy blue hand-knit sweater, it wasn't perfect and was definitely made by an amateur, but it was nice, thick, and soft. Buck smiled.

"You remembered."

"Yeah."

It was an oddly cold night in LA, Buck hated the cold, he covered himself up with plenty of blankets as he sat on the couch and awaited for Tommy.

With two bowls of soup in his hand, Tommy sat next to Buck on the couch handing him a bowl of homemade chicken noodle. "This was my mom's recipe," Tommy smiled, "On cold days, days where there was snow covering every inch of nature, my mom would make this soup, figured you might like to have it."

"I-I should be used to the cold," Buck complained, "I grew up in Pennsylvania Tommy, I shouldn’t find this cold you know? What I really want on days like these, is a handmade knit sweater, thick and soft, not scratchy, something to really snuggle with. That would make days like these bearable."

Buck now smiled at Tommy, sweater in hand, "You've been knitting?"

"Y-Yeah, I have been building up to it." Tommy rubbed the back of his neck nervously "Look, you can tell me to fuck off or whatever but I have regretted my decision since the minute that door closed behind me. I have been trying to figure out what to say to you, how to not give an excuse but explain. I panicked, I admit what I did was wrong and I will spend every day regretting it, I was scared of you finding out who I really am. You have me on this pedestal and I couldn't handle it, because you would find out who I really am and run. Everyone always runs, and I don't think I can stand another person I love running away from me so I ran, thinking it would hurt less that way. But it didn't, it was as if I ripped my own heart out and crushed it to nothing. And I cannot handle it anymore Evan, you are my moon. my sun, my stars, my everything, the love of my life, and I cannot go any longer without telling you that. If you want me to leave that is fine, I understand how I fucked up, but I just needed to tell you how I feel."

Buck stepped close to Tommy holding his cheek gently in his hand. "Tommy... you are like this sweater." Tommy raised an eyebrow not fully following. "You are not perfect, there are definitely some things to work out, but you are what I need, to hold me close, to keep me warm, to love me. I need you Tommy more than you can ever know. We may not know everything about each other and we are definitely imperfect but that doesn't matter, it doesn't define us. Our love is what defines us Tommy, and I love you."

"Yeah?" Tears started to pool in Tommy's eyes.

"Yeah."

Buck closed the distance between them with a kiss, a passionate gentle kiss. This was Buck's gift to Tommy. This may not be perfect between them but this is what they needed.

[rosyhoneydew]

It happens often enough that it starts to get under his skin.

He and Tommy try to make it out to a date night at least once a week; as frequently as they can, with their schedules, but Buck doesn’t really notice it until the night they go to the Dodgers game. It was a Monday night so the crowd wasn’t too big, and the two of them had the night off. They’d Ubered over to the stadium, grabbed some foil wrapped hotdogs and made their way to their seats. He’s a tactile guy, so they hold hands as much as possible on the way in, and when they sit Buck slings an arm around Tommy, relishes the way Tommy leans into him.

There’d been a woman in the seat next to Tommy. She was pretty, and Buck kept noticing the way her eyes flicked to them, no to Tommy, throughout the game, a blush dusting her cheeks. She likes him, he realized. She wants to make a move on him.

It didn’t really make him jealous surprisingly, but it did make something else burn in his chest. Irritation, maybe. Because he’s not sure how much more obviously together they could’ve been, short of sticking his tongue down his boyfriend’s throat. But when she turned to Tommy and started up a conversation - are you a local? Oh maybe you could show me around sometime! - she looked genuinely shocked, almost admonished, when Tommy had replied, well my boyfriend here is usually the better tour guide.

“Oh I’m so sorry I didn’t realize you were together!”

Then he thought about the last time they went to Nobu, and the aquarium, and grocery shopping at Sprouts.

Will anyone else be joining you gentlemen?

Do you want us to take your photo? Are your girlfriends around?

Here’s my number, a flirtatious hand on Buck’s arm.

In the grand scheme of things, it’s not a big deal. But it grates on Buck’s nerves, the way they have to keep correcting people. When they started dating, he’d readied himself for whatever kind of reaction the public could have to the two of them (they’re in LA, but he knew Tommy had had not so pleasant interactions even here). He hadn’t anticipated that others might not perceive them as a couple at all.

He pouted about it that night, and Tommy smiled sweetly at Buck and reassured him it’s okay. And it is. There are so many other problems they could be worried about. It’s just that Tommy is sweet and hot and Buck wants everyone to know he’s his.

It’s what makes their next trip so perfect. They get a room at a B&B in Provincetown and spend a long weekend on the coast.

It’s like being in another world.

You two are such a lovely couple!

How long have you been together?

Would you two like to see our spa offerings? We have couples massages!

Buck cheerfully jumps in, overeager and so thrilled to gush about their relationship to anyone who asks. He must tell the story of how they met 50 different times throughout the weekend.

Tommy, for his part, smiles while Buck chats away, a light blush on the tops of his cheeks, and a hand on Buck’s thigh.

They leave on a Monday, but the floaty, fluttery feeling the weekend leaves them with lasts much longer than the trip.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles.

12/25/87

Prompt Day 8: Gift | Word Count: 613 | Rating: T | CW: Language | Tags: Post S4, Eddie Munson Lives, Older Steddie, Established Relationship, Reminiscing

It might have looked like it was wrapped by hands that were all thumbs, but at least it was covered, Eddie thinks, looking down at the photo in his hand. That was a long, long time ago. And he likes to think he's gotten at least a little bit better at wrapping gifts since this picture was taken.

He might be fooling himself, though. Steve wraps almost all the gifts they give these days, and there's definitely a reason for that.

He glances at the timestamp in the corner: 12/25/87.

Decades fly by faster than you'd ever expect them to, that's for damn sure. 

Eddie flips to the next one in the stack of photos, and it's just wrapping paper all over the floor from the same Christmas. They were just kids back then. Living in their first apartment, fresh out of Hawkins, probably working four or five jobs between them. They did that a lot in those early years. Passing ships in the night, barely seeing one another.

That usually meant their ends would always meet, though, even if barely at times, and they were together. Even if not exactly in the same room most of the time.

Eddie remembers how happy he was that he could afford to buy gifts for Steve that year, picked out with only a little help from Robin.

"Do you remember this Christmas?" Eddie asks, flashing the photo in Steve's direction. 

Steve pulls his reading glasses up from the chain around his neck. He smiles, "That's the year the heater went out."

Eddie had forgotten about that. Steve banging on the radiators, like he was CC Bloom. A few years later, when they finally watched Beaches at Robin's bequest, which still, fuck her for that, because it made him cry, but as soon as the clanging on the radiators scene happened, Steve looked right at him. A familiar scene thrust right to the forefront of their minds: Steve, wrench in hand, banging with gusto.

He didn't accomplish anything other than annoying the neighbors, but that's okay. It's a good memory, of years gone by. The heat might have never come on, but bundling up was a much more productive endeavor, anyway. 

That Christmas, with no heat to speak of, but presents under the tree, they'd been happy. The two of them, in layers upon layers of clothes, curled up together on that old broke down couch.

They were happy then, and they're happy now. 

They've seen relationships crumble, break, bend, and they've somehow kept on an even keel together. Growing at the same pace, in the same direction. It's luck. A miracle.

Eddie knows that this thing between them could have ended in a million different ways if things had only gone a little differently, here or there. He doesn't think they are destined, or fated. He doesn't think they are soulmates.

But those relationship-ending events never happened, because they worked together to make sure they never would. They wanted to stay together, so here they are.

And Eddie will always be grateful that it all worked out. He nearly died, bitten and bleeding, but he didn't. He was given the gift of more time.

Steve had that wreck ten years later, and the timeline could have diverged again right there. But it didn't. And they were ahead of the curve. They already knew how to recover in each other's presence, how to mend all the broken pieces into something so good that Eddie can hardly stand it at times.

It's been a gift.

The gift of a life together, a full happy existence, with Steve.

And it's the best gift he's ever gotten.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun! 🎁

Notes: The Beaches soundtrack still slaps. I said what I said. I definitely wore out that cassette as a kid. It's right up there with the Dirty Dancing soundtrack for me.

[wormdebut]

SEPTEMBER MICROFIC — WAKE UP CALL

@steddiemicrofic | PROMPT: shower | WORD COUNT: 399 | Rated: E | CW: somnophilia (they’re married, it’s consensual), both praise and also degradation in Edison’s horny little brain.

Of course I would turn a ‘shower’ prompt into somno, why wouldn’t I.

Minors, I swear to god. Back up.

Eddie gets home to a dark house, it’s been months since he’d seen his baby, but it’s 3am, so he can’t fault Steve for heading to bed.

Tour life without him is shit, can’t sleep on the damn bus worth a shit—he’s just grateful he gets to have his angel in his arms again.

——

He lets out a soft laugh as he slides into bed behind his—very naked—husband. Oh he’s such a fucking gift.

Eddie runs his fingers down Steve’s defined back, drags them over his lower back dimples, and Steve just sighs in his sleep.

Thats his baby, always been such a deep sleeper.

His other hand trails down Steve’s abs, he hums as he runs his knuckles over a half hard cock.

Thats his good boy. Always ready for him. He hums into Steve’s neck as he strokes him, drags the fingers on his back over his ridiculously toned ass, and he’s surprised to find that pretty little hole of his baby’s—Eddie’s hole—plugged up.

Perfect slutty angel, planned this. If Steve wanted to be woken up with Eddie’s cock tearing him apart? He can do that.

He’s quick, sliding out of bed to rip off his jeans and snag the lube—waiting—on the side table. He tuts—Stevie, you slut.

Thank god he’s a multi-tasking icon, slicking himself up with one hand, pulling the plug out smoothly with the other. It’s a new one, thick and long, no dissimilar to Eddie’s dick—Awe baby boy really missed him.

Steve stirs as Eddie lines his cock up with that pretty little hole, good.

He places a soft kiss under Steve’s ear, before pushing in, burying himself in his perfect ass in one slick glide.

Steve stirs, perfect sleepy angel, Eddie laugh into his lovers neck, pulling out before pushing back in, hard.

He’s rewarded with a choked off gasp. He smirks into perfect freckled skin, “Good morning baby.”

——

Sometime later Steve is curled up next to him, head on Eddie’s chest, hazy eyes staring up into his own, “I missed you Eds.” His voice is soft, but he’s got a loopy smile on his face—sex drunk. Better be after the multiple orgasms Eddie was more than happy to provide.

“I missed you too baby boy.” Eddie kisses his forehead, before leaning back, grinning. “What do you say, angel, shower and then round—I dunno—four?”

Steve hums, “God I missed you.”

[walkingstackofbooks]

"He's a very gifted young man. I hope you're putting all his talents to good use, Captain."

"We try."

"Well, sometimes you have to push him a little. It took quite a while to talk him into taking up medicine, but he did."

"Yes, and threatening to kick me out did wonders for my anxiety, didn't it?"

The biting sarcasm was out of Julian's mouth before he had a chance to think about what he was saying. So much for Rule Number Two: Never badmouth your father in public. Clearly, he was out of practice at playing happy families.

His words had startled the office into silence; the smiles of just a few seconds ago were now conspicuously absent.

"I'm sorry, Captain, I-I shouldn't have--" he started - though, what he was apologising for, he wasn't quite sure. Being a nuisance, perhaps, for airing his teenage angst rather unprofessionally?

Sisko was grim, tight-lipped as he turned to Jadzia.

"Lieutenant, would you mind finding quarters for our guests? Doctor Bashir hadn't finished going through his argonite report, and I'm eager to get back to it."

It was a thin excuse - thin enough that even Richard Bashir ought to have been able to see through it - but to Julian's surprise, his father made no protest. Nor did his mother, although she stared accusingly at Julian, clutching Richard tightly as they made their exit. It seemed they were just as surprised at the turn of events as Julian himself was.

"Sit down, Doctor," Sisko said kindly, and Julian felt his body move to obey.

[the-broken-pen]

“You’re going to blow out your arms,” the villain observed. They watched as the hero merely grit their teeth, shoving themself through another pull-up. It looked painful, and if the sweat slicking the hero’s brow was any indication, it was.

They waited for the hero to let themself drop from the bar and accept the villain was stronger. But they didn’t.

Three more pull-ups, and the villain stepped in.

“Hero,” they said slowly. “You’re about to tear the ligaments in your arms. You need to stop.”

The hero blew out a shuddering breath. Struggled for purchase, fighting gravity—and let themself drop.

The hero’s hands were bleeding, calluses torn open by the bar. The hero didn’t seem bothered when their own hands shook so much that their blood began to splatter on the gym floor.

For a moment, the villain could only stare at them.

Shit.

They didn’t know how to handle this. They knew the hero was dedicated. They knew the hero was strong, and perpetually trying to be stronger, but they hadn’t thought…

They hadn’t thought the hero would be so willing to tear apart their own body for success.

It was supposed to be fun, the villain thought. They felt a little sick as the hero pressed their palms together to soothe the bleeding, an action that was practiced and familiar. As if they had done this before.

The hero reached for something in their bag, smearing blood on the side, and pulled out a roll of blue electrical tape. The villain didn’t understand why, until the hero tore a strip off and made to wrap their hands with it.

The hero would be the death of them.

They crouched in front of the hero, plucking the electrical tape out of their hands.

“What are you doing with this?”

The hero blinked at the villain like they were the strange one in this situation.

“Wrapping my hands?”

The villain hissed in a breath.

“With electrical tape?”

The hero flushed slightly, looking down at their bloody hands. They looked close to tears.

“It…sticks to skin, really well. And it doesn’t move, either, when you move your hands or wherever else, even if you’re fighting. Plus, blood doesn’t make it come off, at least, not for a while.”

The villain blinked at them.”

“Blood doesn’t make it come off,” the villain repeated, processing. The hero nodded, reaching for the electrical tape. The villain settled it out of reach.

“Not if you wrap it right.”

Dimly, the villain realized that meant the hero had done this enough times to have it down to a science.

“And you couldn’t use a bandaid?” The villain asked incredulously. The hero shrugged a shoulder, then winced at the motion.

Yeah, the hero had absolutely blown out their arms.

“Bandaids move—“

The villain hushed them.

“Be quiet for a second.”

The hero, wisely, went quiet.

The villain rubbed a hand over their face, then studied the hero for a moment. They took one of the hero’s hands into their own, studying the damage.

“Why did you do this to yourself,” the villain murmured.

“What do you mean, why,” the hero snapped. “It’s my job.”

“Your job is to save people,” the villain corrected. “Not destroy yourself.”

“I’m not destroying myself—“

“You are.”

“Shut up—“

“Hero.”

“I need to be better,” the hero snapped. Their voice rang out across the gym, echoing into the rafters, and they both froze. After a moment, the hero spoke again, voice soft. “I need to be better.”

They said it like they needed the villain to understand. The villain wondered who they were really saying it to—the villain, or themself.

“Better than who?”

“Everyone.” It was hushed, like a secret.

The villain watched them, waiting.

The hero took a shaky breath

“My whole thing is being the best. I have always been the best. That’s the only reason I matter. If I’m not strong enough, then I am nothing, so I need. to be. better.”

The hero had started crying, very quietly, like they were afraid to take up too much space.

The villain was not equipped to handle gifted kid burnout.

“There’s more to you than just being a good athlete,” the villain said hesitantly, and the hero shook their head.

“No. There isn’t.”

“Hero.”

“Can you give me back my electrical tape?” They hiccuped to contain a sob.

“No,” the villain said firmly, and then the hero really was sobbing.

“You don’t understand—“

The villain didn’t. Not really. They had never been the kind of talented that the hero was.

They wondered now if maybe that was a blessing.

“I don’t,” the villain agreed. “But I do understand that you’ve saved half the city, and you give everything you have to give, and you always do your best.”

“But I-“

“No.” The villain stopped them. “You are doing your best.” They tipped the hero’s chin up until they met the villain’s eyes. “And it is enough.”

The hero froze, eyes darting over the villain’s face. They wondered if anyone had ever said that to the hero, if whatever mentor they had was giving them anything other than orders to be stronger. Be better. Be more.

The villain had some new targets to take care of, it would seem.

For now, though, they had to take care of hero.

“We’re going to go wrap your hands,” they said softly. “And then we’re going to take care of your arms, and you’re going to take a nap.”

The hero nodded, watching them like they were some kind of good, selfless person.

“And if I ever catch you using electrical tape again, so help me, I will put you six feet under.”

That startled a laugh out of the hero, and they let the villain guide them to their feet.

“Fine.”

The villain turned to them. “Okay?”

Are you going to be alright?

The hero seemed to understand.

“Okay,” the hero agreed.

Yes.

And so, it was.

[bright-and-burning]

got an insane amount of kitchen gear that i’ve needed that also fits my kitchen’s aesthetic (YELLOW TEA KETTLE!!! VINTAGE YELLOW AND ORANGE RECIPE CARD HOLDER!!! some other things too that i was so hype about but that r less yellow and pink lol). and my mom found a note from my long-passed grandma (who was my favorite person in the entire world) from my very first christmas that went with a gift so i of course bawled my eyes out

[steddieas-shegoes]

didn't even need a plan

THIS IS A BIG BIG HAPPY BIRTHDAY FOR @messessentialist WHO I HAVE HAD IN MY LIFE FOR TWO MINUTES AND IF ANYTHING HAPPENED TO HER I WOULD DIE. Short Queens rise up (on a stepladder because that's what we need to reach things)!!! I am kissin you on the mouth rn.

Rated T | 1,315 words | tags: meddling, good uncle Wayne, secret established relationship

“How do they not see it?” Dustin asked, turning away from the scene in front of them to look at Wayne.

“I don’t know, son. Sometimes smart people are dumb,” Wayne shrugged.

Their plan was in place for weeks: get Steve and Eddie in the trailer alone together, cut the power, and hope they don’t leave.

Step one was easy. All they had to do was lie to Steve about Dustin needing a ride.

Step two was a little more difficult, but only because they forgot the trailer next door was on the same breaker. Wayne bribed the owners with enough cash to go get dinner somewhere, glad that they didn’t even ask for an explanation when money was being shoved into their hands.

Step three was the problem.

Steve and Eddie hung out all the time. The problem was they never hung out alone.

Dustin watched as they walked from the living room to the kitchen, then Eddie walked down the hall to his room before rejoining Steve by the couch.

“It’s just us I think,” Eddie said.

Dustin had rigged the walkie talkie so it stayed on, his own sitting between him and Wayne on the lowest possible volume so they could hear.

“So not Upside Down, then,” Steve said, sounding relieved.

“Nope, just good old fashioned unreliable power,” Eddie sighed. “We could probably try to flip the breaker. Maybe it was just a short.”

“Yeah. Maybe we give it a few minutes first?”

Dustin smacked at Wayne’s arm, smiling.

“They’re gonna sit down!” Dustin whispered excitedly.

“Calm down. Could be that nothin’ happens,” Wayne whispered back, though he could feel his own hopes rising.

It was hard to see them through the window, but they could see shadows moving to sit on the couch.

“Something will happen. There’s no way it won’t. They almost kissed yesterday and that was with all of us around,” Dustin insisted.

“That’s what you keep sayin’,” Wayne squinted to watch.

“I really can’t believe Dustin didn’t radio to let me know he found another ride,” Steve didn’t sound angry, but he definitely didn’t sound happy.

“I didn’t even know he needed a ride.”

“Do you know who picked him up?”

“Shit,” Dustin said.

“Didn’t think that through did ya?” Wayne asked, smirk audible.

“Nah, he just left. Didn’t really question it. He does a lot of crazy shit,” Eddie explained.

“Right.”

A minute of somewhat awkward silence followed and then someone slapped their knees.

“I’ll go check the breaker? It’s the one right outside to the left?” Steve asked.

“Uh-huh.”

“Dammit,” Wayne said, slowly moving away from the window and sitting down against the side of the trailer.

“Maybe he won’t be able to figure it out,” Dustin said, joining him on the ground.

“He’s definitely gonna figure it out. He’s a smart guy.”

“Who? Steve?”

Wayne looked over at Dustin, brows furrowed.

“Yeah, Steve. Why’re you surprised?”

Dustin shrugged.

“Gonna be honest, it doesn’t sound like you think much of Steve’s intelligence, son.”

Dustin’s eyes widened.

“It’s not that! He just isn’t usually quick to fix stuff.”

Wayne’s brow raised, waiting for Dustin to realize how that sounded.

They were interrupted by Eddie’s voice on the walkie.

“No luck?”

“Nope. Maybe we should try to call someone at one of the neighbor’s?” Steve responded, the sound of him sitting back on the couch barely audible.

“Maybe in a bit. Kind of nice just sitting here,” Eddie said.

“Yeah. Kinda tired,” Steve admitted, the sound of cloth shifting on the couch.

Wayne stood and looked through the window, small smile taking over his face before he sat back down.

“What is it?” Dustin asked, just a bit louder than he probably should have.

“Might get what we wanted after all,” Wayne replied with a smirk.

“Really?”

“Take a look,” Wayne waved up at the window.

Dustin looked in, barely containing a childish squeal when he saw what was happening.

Steve was leaning his head on Eddie’s shoulder, Eddie’s arm around him, running his fingers up and down his bicep, rings glinting off the little bit of light shining through the window.

“Wayne’s out for the night if you wanna stick around,” Eddie said, softer than he had been all night, softer than he’d been to anyone else maybe ever.

“Are you asking if I’ll stay the night, Eds?” Steve’s voice filtered through the walkie, a bit crackly as if he was barely speaking above a whisper.

Dustin turned to Wayne, eyes comically wide.

Wayne just shook his head.

He had an idea of where this was going.

“Yeah, sweetheart. Been too long,” Eddie just managed to say before Wayne snapped the walkie off.

“Why’d you do that?” Dustin hissed.

“Because we’ve been played and you’re too young to be listening to what’s about to happen,” Wayne said as he stood up. “C’mon, I’ll drive ya home.”

“What?! No! We had a plan!”

“We didn’t even need the plan, bud. C’mon.”

Dustin crossed his arms over his chest and started to argue when the window above them opened and Eddie spoke.

“Mind turning on the power before you go?” He asked, teeth bright white in the darkness surrounding them as he grinned.

“How did you know we were out here?” Dustin asked.

“I could hear the echo of the walkie. Plus, you think Steve didn’t already see you when he walked outside?”

“Don’t sound so smug, Ed,” Wayne laughed.

“What exactly was the grand plan?” Eddie crossed his arms over the sill. “Hope we got bored enough to make out on the couch? Maybe if we thought it was dark enough, we wouldn’t think about who we were kissing?”

“Yes!” Dustin exclaimed, though Wayne remained completely silent.

“And you didn’t think that we do that with the lights on already? Like, for months?”

Dustin sputtered out his best attempt at words, but failed miserably.

“You broke him,” Steve said from behind Eddie, smiling over his shoulder at Dustin and Wayne.

“So. Months?” Wayne asked as Dustin continued muttering incoherently to himself.

“Officially only two. But we first kissed when I was still in the hospital,” Eddie admitted, turning his head to place a kiss on Steve’s cheek.

“But. But. That was five months ago!” Dustin was pacing, kicking up dirt under his feet as he tried to figure out the timing of everything and how he could have missed the most obvious signs. “You’re never even alone that much!”

“We find ways,” Eddie said.

“I work a lot of nights still,” Wayne said to Dustin. “Why didn’t ya say anything?”

“We just wanted something for ourselves for a bit. We’re in this for the long haul and if everyone knew, we’d never find peace to just be together,” Steve said.

“But-”

“Alright, son, let’s get the power on and I’ll take ya home. These two probably want some privacy,” Wayne interrupted, squeezing his shoulder once to get his attention.

Dustin sighed.

“Fine. But you have to tell everyone soon. I can’t keep this a secret for that long.”

“Sure thing, bud,” Steve agreed before turning away from the window.

“You sure you can take him home?” Eddie asked Wayne.

“That’s the only part of the plan that’s workin’ so far, so yeah,” Wayne laughed.

Eddie nodded and waved before closing the window and following Steve.

Wayne walked over to the breaker box and flipped the switch, turning to Dustin and waving him over.

“C’mon. Don’t think we wanna be here in the next five minutes.”

“Gross. They’re like…my dads or something. That’s disgusting,” Dustin gagged as he walked to Wayne’s truck.

“Yeah, well. Maybe you’ll get a new sibling.”

“That isn’t how science works.”

“Yeah, well. We got a whole other world under our feet, kid. I think science is far out of our understanding.”

Dustin didn’t respond.

He didn’t want to even consider Wayne being right.

[merlyn-bane]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi Characters: CC-2224 | Cody, Obi-Wan Kenobi Additional Tags: Ficlet, Early Clone Wars, CC-2224 | Cody is a Captain, Cody's Pre-212th Days, CC-2224 | Cody is a Little Shit, Obi-Wan Kenobi is a Little Shit, Sassy CC-2224 Cody, Pest Obi-Wan Kenobi, When you're a workaholic but your bf's venator is parked close to yours for once, so you gotta take a lil break to let him fuck you on your desk, Established CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anal Sex, Top Obi-Wan Kenobi, Bottom CC-2224 | Cody, Mace Windu's Book Club Summary:

The Negotiator is posted close to the Endurance for once, and Captain Cody of the 91st makes an only slightly reluctant break in his datawork to 'catch up' with his Jedi boyfriend.

A little gift/apology for @lttrsfrmlnrrgby, here’s that desk sex you asked for 😘😘

[forlorn-crows]

𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒉𝒚 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒅𝒂𝒚 5: 𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒔

words: 911 pairing(s): mountain + hank the raccoon/juniper the cat catch up on the hank lore [here] and [here] and [here]

✿

A thumbtack. An acorn. A loose ribbon. A big lilypad snatched from the lake. Pebbles, flowers, and petrified chips. Even a lost earring without its twin, the worn gold star glinting from where it’s buried in the pile of random trash and trinkets.

Mountain stares. The only reason he noticed it at all was because he had to scoot out the storage cabinet to get to the stone planters. He sets down the tower of pots he was shuffling from one end of the greenhouse to the other and wipes his hands on his apron. Curiosity reels him in; he squats down to inspect the squirreled-away pile of things at closer proximity. 

The little stash is actually quite unique. Hardly any duplicate objects besides the pebbles—even the dried blooms differ from each other. Mountain pokes around some of the objects with his finger, rummaging for the more buried items. A broken plastic bubble wand. A scrunchie. Part of a grucifix. A cork. Even a guitar pick. And . . . are those . . ?

“My glasses?!” Mountain frees them from the pile and stares at everything open-mouthed. He’s been looking for them for weeks; swore he left them in here, just on the bench, but when he had come back the next day they were gone. He had come to terms with having to get a new pair (though he quite liked these ones)—and yet, here they are.

There’s a rustling behind him, and when a round little body toddles up to him, the puzzle pieces click into place.

“Hank,” the earth ghoul accuses. He dangles the pair of readers in front of the raccoon’s twitching nose. “Why’d you steal my glasses, dude?”

Hank chitters and whips his fluffy tail back and forth, ears pinning back to his head. 

Mountain sighs and offers him a scritch under the chin. Too cute to stay mad. “I’ve been blindly potting flowers for many days, little one,” he scolds, albeit with a kinder tone. 

The animal squawks and pushes past Mountain’s legs to his trinket stash. He whines when he sees the state of it, all scattered about and disorganized.

“Well you can’t blame me for wanting to look,” the earth ghoul defends himself. “You’re not stealing from other people, are you?”

Hank screeches at the accusation.

“Sorry, sorry. Just me then, hm?” He gets screeched at again and bapped in the shin with Hank’s tail. 

Lucifer give him strength, he’s arguing with a raccoon. “Okay, let’s just say you found them, then.”

Hank is pleased with this answer. He chirps and begins to re-arrange his items. 

“Why do you have all this anyway? I mean, I’m a lover of a good trinket myself, but you aren’t exactly the collecting type of species . . . also I’m not sure that all of these things count as trinkets.”

The animal gives him the best side-eye a raccoon can muster.

“Hank, there’s a dead bumblebee in here.”

If a raccoon could roll its eyes and lift its chin indignantly, Hank would do that. Instead, he chitters what can only be a string of small mammalian passive aggressive statements. 

“There’s no need for such language.”

Hiss. Chirp chirp. 

Mountain rubs at the bridge of his nose. “I’m not saying you can’t��listen. Little one. My darling. Little. Creature.” He emphasizes each word with a sigh, chopping his pressed-together palms down as punctuation. Hank stops fussing with his objects and looks at the earth ghoul with those black little orbs. “Could we, perhaps, just find a better place for them? Put them somewhere I’m not going to accidentally crush them with an old armoire, yeah?” 

The animal screes happily, bouncing over to the earth ghoul and standing up with his little hands outstretched. Mountain snorts and picks him up, rising back up to his feet and flipping him over to rub his belly. 

“Why do you have to be so cute?” he asks, playfully pinching under Hank’s chin. The raccoon only kicks up a scratchy purr in response, swatting at Mountain’s wrists weakly. Mountain bounces him like a baby for a few moments before setting him down again, glancing around for something to use for his friend’s treasures. 

“Hm. I think there’s an old basket or . . . something around here,” he mumbles. He taps his hands on his apron as he scans the rows of tables and shelves. No . . . no . . . no. Suddenly, Mountain stops. Scrunches his face up and turns back towards Hank fully confused.

“Why are you hoarding things anyway?”

As if to answer his question, Juniper squeezes her way through the back door. Mountain had put a kitty door in it for her and Hank—though, Hank still prefers to force himself through the gap in the opposite corner of the green house where the windows have bowed out throughout the years. 

The white cat offers a mrrow in greeting, striding up to the both of them with an unbothered, graceful aire. Hank chitters excitedly and bounds over to his pile of trinkets, quickly selecting a mystery bauble between his thin little paws. He shoves it in his mouth and runs over to her side, chirping in greeting and dropping the object at her feet.

A close-to-fresh dandelion. Juniper mrrp’s at the gift and leans down to inspect it, the buttercup yellow petals tickling her nose. She seems pleased with the gift and rubs her cheek affectionately against Hank's with a purr. Two little unlikely lovebirds.

“Ah. Should have guessed that’s who those were for . . .”

𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈 ✿

[phoebepheebsphibs]

DM Mikey Housetraining Days: Gifts

Title: Gifts Prompt: Turtles with feral behavior (2012, 2003, or Rise) Fandom:  ROTTMNT Word Count: 4024  Author: PhoebePheebsPhibs Rating:  Gen Characters:  Michelangelo/Insticnt, Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello Warning: TW Mikey brings dead animals as gifts like a cat, and unalives a cat Summary: Mikey's animal instincts confuse him sometimes... Today's confusion circles around him showing affection to his brothers by providing for them. However, they seem to have a problem with his "gifts"... Notes: Expanded off of an idea posted on Tumblr, based on the prompt "Feral" for TMNT Write Fight by Boots/Wiggles/Thatficgal

@boots-with-the-fur-club @tmnt-write-fight

Story posted on AO3 <-

Mikey wonders what will please his brothers.

He did everything he did in the labs that would earn him some form of praise.

He has been very quiet all day, and didn't make a peep unless the family tried to engage a conversation with him.

He ate all his food (which wasn't hard since it was so much more delicious than the slop the labs fed him), and ate it quickly to save time. He also ate with his mouth closed, per Donnie's request. And he tried eating with the silverware or his hands rather than scarfing it down with just his face, per Leo's request. And he also made sure to ask for seconds if he wanted any instead of licking the plate clean, per Raph's request.

And whenever they have asked him to do something, he did it immediately and without question. Donnie needed another scan? He was in his labs like that. Raph said they needed to work off some of that excess energy? Mikey did the exercises they given to him from the labs until Raph told him it was enough. Leo wanted Mikey to try a puzzle or practice some of his sign language? Mikey did just that.

But these things didn't please them. Not in the way Mikey wanted...

Sure, they were happy for his sake that he did these things, but Mikey wanted to make his brothers happy! He wanted them to be happy, and he wanted it to be because of something he'd done. 

A 'thank you' he could give them...

A gift...?

Yes! A gift! He could give them gifts! But what kinds of gifts?

Mikey recalls in the lab how the evil humans would praise him when he killed a mutant in combat. And some animalistic instinct within him reminds him that animals will hunt for their families and bring food for them. Mikey could do that! He was great at doing that in the labs!

He just needs to find something to hunt...

.

.

.

Raphael wakes up to a terrible smell. He opens his eyes and lifts his head --

-- and finds a dead rat on his stomach.

He almost screams at the sight, gasping and swallowing his air before he notices Mikey sitting by the bed, eyes wide and grin even wider as he watches Raph intently, waiting for a response.

...Is this a prank?

No, Mikey looks to excited and innocent for it to be a prank.

Besides, this would be a sick and sadistic prank, one Mikey could never be capable of doing. Not even now, after everything he's been through.

Raph swallows as he glances back and forth between the rodent on his stomach and Mikey, who patiently waits for validation.

"...Mikey?"

The little boy chirps at him with a nod.

"...What is this?"

'Gift', Mikey signs.

"O-oh," Raph says, chuckling weakly. "Did you... did you get it all by yourself?"

Mikey nods proudly.

Raph manages a tiny smile.

"And you... wanted to give it to me... as a gift?"

Mikey nods again, smiling widely.

"Thank you, Mikey," Raph says gently. "That was... very thoughtful of you."

Mikey churrs ecstatically and dances around the room before running out.

Raph waits until he's sure Mikey's out of earshot before he runs to the nearest trash bin and vomits profusely into it. He gently lifts the dead rat by the tail and bags him up before tearfully taking him away to dispose of him properly.

.

.

.

 Leo sits in the kitchen, eating his lunch in peace. That is, until Mikey suddenly saunters inside and drops a dead possum at his feet.

Leo doesn't even realize what it is at first, mistaking it for one of Raph's fuzzier plushies before the smell hits him and he realizes what it actually is.

He chokes on his food, jumping up and away in terror before gagging at the sight and smell.

Mikey looks... calm, if not slightly confused. He sits on the floor, tail wagging with innocence as he waits for validation or praise for a job well done.

Leo asks what Mikey is doing.

'Gift for Leo,' answers Mikey.

Leo asks where it came from.

'Tunnels,' answers Mikey.

Leo thanks him, still standing on the table and refusing to get back down on the floor. But he definitely lets Mikey know he... 'appreciates' the thought.

Mikey squeals with excitement before skipping away on all fours.

Leo grabs his katanas and discreetly (if not unceremoniously) portals the possum away.

.

.

.

Donnie had only been in the bathroom for three minutes. But it was enough time for Mikey to leave behind a special surprise for him.

Left on the seat of his special edition purple gaming chair, Donatello finds a rotting varmint.

It takes hours for him to recover, and he is nonverbal for the rest of the day as he tries to recuperate.

.

.

.

The group discuss what to do about Mikey's antics, unsure why he keeps doing this... or where he keeps finding all these animals.

"It's not cool, he has to understand that!" Raph refutes. "He can't just keep bringing dead things to us!"

"It's highly unhygienic," Donnie grumbles, wearing gloves and a mask after the previous day's events. "My lab is utterly contaminated.

"But there has to be a reason why he's doing this, right?" Leo wonders. "I mean, what's he trying to do?"

"He said it was 'a gift'," Raph recalls.

"He told me that, too," Leo realizes. "But... we never asked him to do that. Is he trying to provide for us? Like, going hunting for us?"

"It could be," Donnie sighs. "But his behaviour is reminding me of a cat that brings dead birds to its owners."

"But again, why??" Leo reiterates. "Why does he want to give us these things as gifts?? Why not give us something non-gory and un-deceased?"

Before anyone can respond, Mikey trills out a call for the trio.

They meet him at the lair entrance, only to find him dragging a half-dead cat into the home.

Raph goes entirely pale as he hears the poor feral creature whining and meowing as it weakly struggles against its captor.

"Uh... Mikey...?" Leo greets nervously. "Whatchya got there?"

'Creature' Mikey signs, holding the tail in his teeth. 'Found in tunnels!'

"Y-yeah, I uh... I see that... Mikey, is this another 'gift'?"

Mikey nods, smiling proudly and sitting straight with his chest puffed out.

"Mikey... y-you can't just... We're honored you thought to get us these gifts, but... uh..."

Leo fumbles over his words continuously, trying to find the words.

Mikey is confused; don't they like the gifts??

Is something wrong? What's wrong??

What did Mikey do wrong?

In the labs, they always were happy when Mikey killed for them but --

I have an idea, Instinct whispers. Let me try something...

Mikey lets Instinct take over for a moment. His eyes close and he shudders. His brothers seem to recognize that Mikey is no longer Mikey for the moment.

Instinct/Mikey takes the still yowling cat and wraps his claws around it.

He smiles at his brothers.

And then twists the neck with an audible snap.

The room erupts into screaming and shouting. Raph starts sobbing over the poor cat. Leo loses his mind scolding Mikey/Instinct. Donnie is passed out on the floor.

Instinct relents almost immediately upon the realization that his plan did not work, and when Mikey awakes he is completely bombarded with everyone's reactions and a dead cat at his feet.

He understands instantly what Instinct did. But he does not understand why Blue and Red and Purple are so mad, sad, scared...?

Isn't this what Mikey was made for? Isn't this what the labs trained him to do? Isn't this what he's good for -- hunting, hurting, killing?

Mikey chirps in distressed confusion. He takes a step forward, stepping closer to the unalived cat on the floor in front of him. Blue runs forward and grabs Mikey, scooping him up under the shoulders and rushing him away from the room.

Mikey gets the sense that he didn't take him out of the room just to make him feel better.

Blue drops him off in his bedroom and spends the next fifteen minutes scolding him, telling him it's not cool to do that, he can't hurt things like that, much less kill them! He tells him how terrible it was to do that, how poor Red is traumatized and Purple might need some kind of therapy or a new dose of anxiety meds or something to help his nerves, and how he's probably never going to leave his lab again. He tells him how disgusting that was, how cruel, and how disappointed he is in him --

Blue only stops when he sees Mikey start to cry, his expression a mixture of dumbfounded bewilderment and the devastation of crushed hopes and dreams. Blue sighs and says that they'll talk later. He leaves Mikey alone.

Alone to think, alone to wonder, alone to wallow and suffer as his thoughts tell him just how big of a screw-up he truly is...

.

.

.

The next day they have to sit Mikey down for a talk.

He refused to leave his room, hiding under his desk all night instead of sleeping in his hammock out of guilt. He even refused to come out for supper. Leo brought out a plate of food for him after the fourth attempt to get him to leave his solitary, hoping that maybe he would eat in his room, if not with them.

He didn't.

Leo finds the plate cold and the food stale when he comes in to check on Mikey in morning.

And Mikey asleep under his dresser drawers. He'd never left his hiding place.

Okay, they really need to talk about this.

Leo calls a meeting with his brothers and discusses the previous events that have happened. They talk about how to handle it, what to say, what to avoid...

Sometime in the late morning, Leo comes back into Mikey's room. He's awake now; Leo sees his tail slip back under the dresser when he walks back in.

"Miguel? You okay?"

No answer.

"Look, if you're still upset from last night --"

Soft whimpers emanate from underneath the dresser...

"-- I'm sorry I yelled. I should have been more delicate, or kinder... you didn't understand what you did wrong, right?"

No answer.

"Mikey?"

Mikey's hands slowly creep out and sign the word 'no'.

"That's what I thought. Hey, can you come out for a few minutes? We just wanna talk and explain it to you."

Mikey whimpers again, claws retreating back under the drawers.

"Hey, we just want to help make sure you understand! Okay? Nobody's going to yell, I promise."

Mikey pauses. He pokes his head out, eyes red-rimmed and nose dripping snot from a night of ongoing crying.

'Promise?' he signs.

"I promise. We only want to help."

Mikey swallows. He exhales. He tenderly pulls himself out from under the dresser. His claws scrape across the metal floor as he does. Leo kneels beside him to help. Mikey flinches, and Leo pulls back a second before going right back in to help. He won't allow Mikey to be afraid of him, he'll prove that part wrong. Although, he is mentally kicking himself for having blown up so much the night before. He could have handled it better... but in his defense, his baby brother just executed a stray cat for no reason in front of an audience.

Leo gingerly assists his baby brother out from his hiding place and then leads him out into the living room, where Raphael and Donatello are watching a Lou Jitsu rerun as they wait. The heads turn when they hear them come in, and Mikey freezes in place. But Raphael smiles and pats a spot on the couch beside him, urging him to join, promising that it will be okay. Mikey slinks over and climbs onto the couch, sitting so close to Raph that he almost sits on top of him, resting his head and torso against the eldest's thigh.

"Okay. So, we're here today to talk about Mikey's... uh... 'gifts'," Leo starts, standing up and facing the group. "Now, the thing is, we understand that Mikey is trying to show affection, but, uh..."

"We want him to stop with the dead things," Donnie grimaces.

Raph smacks Donnie upside the head, silently shush-scolding him.

"Okay, yes, well --" Leo stutters, keeping a nervous eye on Mikey, who anxiously curls into himself on Raph's leg. "Mikey, we want to make sure you understand why un-aliving animals is... not good."

Mikey blinks and looks between the three brothers as they watch him. He signs 'Why?' at them.

"Well, you see Mikey, it's cruel to hurt little critters," Raph explains as he strokes the little brother's shell. "It's mean. It isn't nice. You know that, right?"

Mikey nods.

"So then... why do you do it?"

'Gifts' he signs.

"But why dead things?" Leo reiterates. "Especially when you know that isn't good??"

Mikey's face scrunches up, his brow furrows.

'...Don't know,' he signs. 'Mikey just felt like that would be good gift. What is word... feeling? Thought?'

"Instinct?" Raph asks. "The voice in your head told you to do that?"

'No,' Mikey shakes his head. 'Well, not the whole time. Instinct wanted to hurt the cat for you. But Mikey wanted to get the rest. Knew it was good gift!'

"You say you 'knew' it was a good gift?" Donnie questions. "But you just said you knew it was cruel... Oh, waaaaaait, I think I get it now!"

Donatello stands up and looks curiously at Micheal, scratching his chin as he forms a theory.

"Angelo, you say that you had a feeling that knew that hunting animals for us would be a good gift? It was an instinct, but not the Instinct voice in your head, more like your own thoughts?"

Mikey nods quickly, grateful that someone seems to understand.

"I think I understand. It's another side-effect of the mutations. Mikey's animal traits mixed with his spotty memory have caused him to rely on the primal urges that are related to his genetic donors. Pack animals such as monkeys and cats bring gifts of food to other members of their clans to show affection or even to teach them how to hunt. Mikey is mutated with both feline and simian DNA, if you recall."

Leo's eyes widen.

"So, Mikey didn't actually know it was wrong to do that?"

"Likely not. I'm sure he felt uneasy about it, but assumed that it was a standard familial bonding experience. In essense, didn't know any better."

"But why'd he kill a cat in front of us?" Raph asks, subconsciously pulling Mikey closer.

"...I'm not entirely sure," Donnie shrugs. "It's possible he wanted to show off his hunting skills for us. As an 'added gesture'. He said that doing that was Instinct's idea, and from what I recall of his explanation of the alternate persona, Instinct is more of a hunter and a fighter than anything."

Raph sighs and pats Mikey's head.

"Okay, so now that we know why Mikey does this, we need to find a way to help him understand not to do it anymore," Leo inputs. "...How do we do that?"

'No like gifts?' Mikey signs.

"Well... we do like getting gifts," Raph tries to explain. "But there are some things that do not make good gifts. Dead rodents and animals from the sewers do not make very good gifts."

'Why?'

"Wow, did not think I'd need to be explaining this. Firstly, they smell bad. Secondly, they carry disease and bacteria and stuff. Third -- and this is very important that you understand this -- it is wrong to just kill a creature. You shouldn't do that anymore. It's animal cruelty, got it?"

Mikey nods slowly. He seems to understand it. There's a look on his face like he might be questioning something inside of himself... Whoever told him that it was good to do this was wrong... But he gets the point in the end and nods once more, prompting them to go on.

"So you can't go hunting in the sewers anymore, 'kay?" Leo reiterates. "You don't need to hunt for us."

'Even if gift is already dead?' Mikey asks.

"YES," Leo says, trying not to gag at the thought that Mikey probably found one of his previous gifts already deceased and thought it would make a good present for them. "NO HUNTING ANYTHING ANYMORE. IT'S NOT NECESSARY. AND UNSANITARY. UNDERSTAND?"

Mikey wags his head nervously. Raph takes his hand and gently squeezes it.

"Mikey, we aren't mad --" Raph has to pause so he can discreetly smack Donnie upside the head again when he makes an audible huff at the statement, "we were just really concerned, and we wanted to make sure that we fixed the issue. You aren't in trouble, we just need you to understand that this is serious."

'No angry? No hate Mikey?'

"Never," Raph promises, leaning down to give the little brother a smooch on the head to prove his point.

Mikey makes a sound that seems to be a cross between a chuckle and a purr.

"And I am sorry I made you so scared last night," Leo apologizes again. "I'll try not to blow up in the future. Do you forgive me?"

Mikey nods. Though he looks puzzled by something...

'So, if no hunting... what gifts does Mikey give?'

"I, uh... well, I guess anything that didn't have a heartbeat?" Leo shrugs. "I mean, you used to make us drawings as gifts. One time for me and Dee's birthday, you baked a whole cake for us. And, well, we can't really go out shopping yet, but you can look in stores and stuff for gift ideas. Like comics or action figures, or Raph loves stuffed animals. NOT REAL ONES, just to reiterate! Does... does that help?"

Mikey smiles softly and nods.

.

.

.

The next morning, Raph wakes up to a half-eaten sandwich on his bed.

Leo finds a slobbered-on teddy bear of Mikey’s outside his room.

Donnie receives a crudely drawn picture of him and Mikey on his chair.

Well… it’s the thought that counts!

[riality-check]

The daggers aren't supposed to exist. 

They're stuff of myth, urban legends that don't usually make it past middle school lunchrooms, whispered around tables amidst gasps and giggles. The daggers don't exist because they shouldn't exist; their function violates nature in the eyes of the most zealous and makes even the most progressive person deeply uncomfortable. 

The daggers aren't supposed to exist. Eddie has one in his hand. 

He doesn't know where he got it from. Maybe it was a gift, or maybe he found it somewhere. Every time he thinks about it too hard, his head feels like it's swimming. 

It's not his mother's. Hers had a smooth brown handle and a straight blade. Eddie's has a black handle and a jagged blade. Never mind the fact that hers disappeared from her hand after it was used, as the daggers are wont to do. 

Eddie hasn't used it. His string is hardly ever visible, so it's not an inconvenience. If he doesn't think about it, he doesn't have to deal with it, and he doesn't have to use the dagger. 

Win-win. 

Eddie cuts the bedsheet after Dustin goes through the gate. The kid yells and yells and yells but Eddie ignores him. He thinks, and that red string comes into view, tied around his finger and heading... 

Not through the gate like he expected. 

It goes through the walls of the trailer, into the Upside Down- 

Shit. 

It's fine. Eddie can do it. Eddie has to do it, even if he knows who his soulmate is. 

He hopes Dustin isn't watching. Watching might hurt just as much. Eddie would know.

He raises the dagger, takes a deep breath, and cuts the string. 

There was no possible way he could have prepared for the pain. 

It shoots through every cell in his body, trillions of tiny voices screaming at him in outrage, in pain, in despair for what he just did. He keels over, his voice joining them, and curls in on himself, trying to find relief. 

There isn't any. 

Especially when the sound of Steve screaming with him hurts more than anything in his body physically could.

When Eddie can breathe without gasping, he stands. He looks at the dagger, looks at the way its blade is stained red even though Eddie isn't bleeding. Not in any way he can see.

He still wants to throw up from the pain.

He spots the remains of the string on the floor of the trailer, watches them snap up to his finger, wrap around it, and turn black like a fresh tattoo. 

Like his soulmate died. 

In that same instant, the dagger disappears from his hand. 

It doesn't matter. He has to fight the bats. He has to make cutting that string mean something. He has to find a way to fix this. 

And he knows he'll die trying. That’s the point.

Now with a part 2!

[gregorovitch-adler]

La Valentía Desafiante

Gus was back home after yet another failed business meeting. He went to the living room and sank in the couch.

Max was in the bedroom, changing out of his formal clothes.

It seemed as though no matter how hard he and Max tried, they would never be able to convince any drug dealer in town about switching their product to meth from cocaine -- no matter how much potential meth had for the drug business. Least of all someone like Don Eladio.

What's more, Don Eladio and his minions had started to question Gus' relationship with Max.

None of those people had said anything directly to either of them, but Gus was not oblivious to the change in body language and the unspoken things left out of their conversations.

He was certainly not oblivious to the partly amused, partly disgusted looks those people would exchange among themselves every time Gus and Max decided to sit close together during the meetings. That was just one example among many.

Gus sighed in resignation and looked around himself in that dimly lit room.

His eyes fell on the Christmas tree by the fireplace, which he and Max had decorated together a few days ago. Gus could not help smiling at it despite his sour mood.

It was Christmas Eve today. Gus' gift for Max was kept safely in one of the drawers beneath the TV.

Although Gus had already planned a nice surprise for Max tomorrow—not just a gift, but also an elaborate date night—he still wanted to do more.

He was tired of being made to feel submissive, like he was beneath the people he would sometimes have important meetings with. He was tired of not being seen as an equal.

Gus did not want to be a passenger in the car on his own journey through life.

He looked down at the ring he used to wear on his right hand. It was given to Gus by his dad when he was a teenager.

The ring did not have much of a monetary value, but it had been passed down to him as a generational property.

It had a gray band with an artificial blue stone in the center.

Gus had an idea. He would give this ring to Max tomorrow when exchanging gifts with him.

He would give it to Max as a promise ring—a promise of marriage in the future, or at the very least, a promise of a lifetime of togetherness.

That would be his way to set his foot down and take back the driver's seat in his life.

What a perfect gift, both to Max and to himself!

Gus allowed a small smile to play across his lips, feeling very giddy all of a sudden.

Could it be Christmas Day already?

**

Prompts: Christmas tree and The Perfect Gift by @fluff-cember

Tags: @lisbeth-kk @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes @jamielovesjam @totallysilvergirl @peanitbear @gaylilsherlock @topsyturvy-turtely @calaisreno , etc.

[running2reanimation]

@azzyiyay / @avagiftexchange

I was your Secret Gifter this year! These are for the prompts: Fanart of Second Coming and Grapeduo fluff!

I saw you post your sticksona and thought she was really cute so I had to draw her too! Happy holidays!

[queerofthedagger]

hii oh my god so i have an idea for the ficlet thing: hob taking dream along with him to go grocery shopping <33

Thanks for the prompt! <3 Funnily enough, I've been thinking SO much about Hob just, taking Dream to do the most random stuff? And then I started writing it, and it kind of turned out completely different from what I was aiming for - I hope you'll like it anyway though 😄

Admissions in Fluorescence

The thing is, Hob doesn‘t think it through, not one bit.

Dream has taken to come by the New Inn whenever he so pleases. Hob loves it, of course; enough so that whenever he spares it more than a fleeting thought, his chest threatens to burst with it.

The thing is, his life kind of goes on regardless—papers that have to be graded, business for the Inn to keep up with, patrons and employees that want a quick word here and there.

It’s not really a problem. After the first month or three, Dream seemed content to sit back and watch, to let Hob conduct his life and be a silent, comforting witness in the background.

Hob likes it; he likes it a little more than he should, probably, but then, that isn’t exactly news.

The thing is, he becomes so used to Dream being part of his everyday life that on a bright, bitterly cold day in January, he doesn’t think twice when Dream appears on his doorstep just as Hob is about to leave.

“Come on, I have to get groceries, but you can help me carry stuff.”

Dream blinks once, twice, and then seems to resign himself to his fate.

It takes until they step into Sainsbury for Hob to consider that this… might not have been his greatest idea. Dream is so out of place, it is almost painful to look at.

“Have you ever been grocery shopping?” Hob asks, all casual, as he bites down on a grin.

Dream hums, taking in the rows upon rows of food and other goods. “Not as such, no; occasionally, people dream of it, of course.”

“Of course,” Hob echoes. “Well, always a first time for everything.”

Grocery shopping; he has taken the King of Dreams and Nightmares to go grocery shopping.

“Right,” he mutters. Down the aisle, a toddler is screaming as its mother looks harried, and Hob winces in sympathy.

He looks back at Dream just in time to see his fingers twitch. The child trails off into sleep.

“Did you just…”

Dream raises a brow at him. “His mother was stressed. He was stressed. I do not see the issue.”

Before Hob can come up with an answer to that, a voice behind them says, “Uncle Dream?”

This, Hob thinks as he turns, is turning out to be one of the weirdest days he had in a while.

“Rose,” Dream says, his mouth curling into a smile. “I did not expect to see you here.”

The young woman—Rose—glances between Dream and Hob, her expression less bewildered than Dream in a supermarket should warrant, really.

“Likewise,” she says, but she is mostly squinting at Hob. “Is that…?”

“My friend, Hob Gadling.”

“The history professor,” she says brightly, offering Hob her hand. Beneath the words and the smile, about a hundred things swing along that Hob promptly chooses to ignore.

“Nice to meet you,” he gets out. She glances between him and Dream again, her smile amused and knowing but kind.

“As much as I return the sentiment, I’m afraid I’ll have to leave you to your shopping,” she says, dark eyes sparkling. Her accent is distinctively American, Hob notes through the confusion and the feeling of being caught red-handed. “I’ll see you on Sunday, Uncle Dream—do bring your friend, if you like!”

She is gone before either of them can answer, only the softly humming cheese counter bearing witness to the sudden awkwardness.

Hob clears his throat. “I wasn’t aware that you had a niece.”

“It is a long story,” Dream says; Hob knows he doesn’t blush, but as he glances at him, he thinks it might be a close thing.

“So,” he says. Something bubbles within his chest, bright and giddy and perhaps a little too reckless.

Definitely too reckless for a Sainsbury on a Tuesday afternoon.

“So,” Dream echoes; the anomaly of this alone is enough to make the giddiness spill over.

“You have a niece. You have a niece who knows about me.”

Dream takes a careful, visible breath before he turns towards Hob. His eyes are very dark, despite the glaring fluorescence above them. “Do not tease me, Hob Gadling; not about this.”

In theory, there would be a lot of room to interpret that statement one way or another. In practice, they have spent enough time around each other that Hob can read the admission in the lines around Dream’s mouth.

He slips his hand into Dream’s and tugs him back down the aisle, his own smile threatening to split his face.

“Alright,” he says, easy. “Let’s get out of here; I can always do the groceries tomorrow.”

Dream doesn’t protest; he squeezes Hob’s hand, though, and Hob vows to find Rose some absolutely phenomenal gift of gratitude.