#he did it for the fic writers

[fcaruana]

franco revealing he's had car sex on a random tuesday

[krysmcscience]

The Lamb is malicious in a funny way and the Goat is funny in a malicious way. No, I will not elaborate.

Anyway, everyone give thanks to the Lamb for interrupting what was sure to be a very boring and patronizing PSA from their grouchy cat hubby. Truly, they are doing God's work. Granted, the Lamb canonically is God now, so, uh. Mostly they're just doing their own work.

Speaking of their grouchy cat hubby, yes this is absolutely still Narilamb, Narinder is 100% into his goofy-ass spouse always no matter what and we all know it, he just wasn't expecting his brand new adopted kid to share the same single goofy-ass brain cell as the Lamb. :)

[gothamite-rambler]

Giovanni was a (mostly) great dad

Batman: I get it you all resent your fathers-

Zatanna: I don't. I fuckin' love my dad. He taught me magic, always protected me, and one time he threw a party for me and got Sabrina Carpenter to sing at it. My dad's fuckin' awesome!

Jason (sitting next to the magician): Didn't he turn a man into a pile of sludge once?

Zatanna: Oh yeah, the guy was a creep who tried to seduce me when I was 16 and after I made it very clear I was not interested... He turned him into the sludge he was. The guy was a creep and walked after committing a whole lot of messed up crimes. Fuckin' love my dad!

Jason: I- I never had that with my dads!

Batman snuck out of the room before Jason could yell at him.

Zatanna: Come on, Jason. I'm taking you to get ice cream, you need it.

Jason (confused): You're being nice to me?

Zatanna: Dude, duh. You're life was pretty sucky and you deserve at least some ice cream.

Jason (smiling): I do... thanks.

[campbyler]

so crazy that we are getting dogpiled on twitter again for simply (scrolls back through our blog) agreeing that we were treated unfairly. which was brought up by someone whose friends treated us unfairly. got it!

[toxintouch]

hii!! I just read cold spots and it was AMAZING!!! Im not sure if you wanted to continue the fic, but if you don’t mind could you continue with Veres part? I don’t know what you would write about but I just feel like that fic has so much potential to be a little 3 part series or something 🙏

<- Cold Spots TYSM ANON!! I put the Vere End at the beginning for ease of reading. For the sake of folks who would like to read this as a stand-alone... I think u can? With the knowledge that the premise of Cold Spots is that Mhin and MC/Sparrow went ghost hunting. Vere is said to have been responsible for a handful of local ghost stories, so…of course he makes some mischief.🦊 Also MC needs some Winter wear, stat.  A very light Possessive Vere warning in this btw, though perhaps in a roundabout way.  Plausible deniability is so important to him.

You putter around in your room at the Wet Wick as you go about your nightly routine. The occasional cheer or thud from below only accentuates your nervous energy, punctuating your reluctance to settle down and get into bed. You smooth the covers with your bandaged hands and fluff the pillow before extinguishing the lamplight. You tug the bedding up above your shoulders, fighting to get comfortable. As your eyelids finally start to droop, the flicker of a shadow catches your attention.   It dances and sways and bends and grows until suddenly it is right in front of you.  On top of you. Silken, blood red drips down onto your face, a knife gleam smile too close for comfort.  You breathe in a gasp, wondering if you should scream. “Vere, what–” “Shhh,” he coos, pressing a finger lightly to your lips.  His breath is hot against your skin. “I only came to keep you warm, pet.”

Heat Signature

“Poor thing.” Vere purrs.  “Your lips are so cold.”  He leans ever closer, his mouth hot over yours–hovering.  His other hand reaches for your face as well, nails trailing against your cheek in a teasing caress.

You feel even the thought of being cold leave your body, replaced instead by the unusual thrill he commands, that strange enthralling sway.

That heat you’ve come to associate with Vere; sweet tendrils of want that nestle in your bloodstream.

You squirm a little, though you can’t move much with him looming over you.

(You should probably do more to protest his intrusion into your room, you think to yourself, though, the majority of you is–curious, daresay even far too eager to–)

“Whatever trouble did you get up to that left you in such a state?”

At this you scoff, tilting your head back into the pillow and effectively knocking Vere’s finger from your lips.  

“As if you don’t know,” you accuse.

Vere looks entirely unperturbed by you shaking him off, his lithe fingers traveling freely along the newly displayed skin of your throat, making your pulse jump.

Vere chuckles at that, dark and silky.

“Being tight lipped about your adventures, hm?”  He angles your face just so, ensuring you meet his sharp eyes, his nose brushing up against yours.  “Not that it matters.  It so happens I do know what you’ve been up to.  Trespassing in places that don’t belong to you.”

“...It was an abandoned building.  I don’t think it really belonged to anyone.”

“And that’s where you’d be wrong,” Vere says, “everything in this city belongs to someone, darling.  You just don’t know what belongs to who yet.”  He peers down at you with laughter in his expression, though there's a distinct edge to it that you can't quite place.

“So, you're here because that building belongs to you...?”

“Hmm, amongst other things.  However shall I make you apologize to me for this most egregious offense?”  He asks airily, shifting until he’s beside you rather than perched over you, resting his cheek in his hand and letting his eyes slip closed. He's the absolute picture of unbothered leisure.  

(You’re not fooled–he’s simply waiting for you to let your guard down before he pounces.)

You open your mouth to deny any debts on your part (though, if your ghost hunting spot was indeed Vere’s hideout, you really do feel guilty) but Vere cuts you off before you can speak.

“Alas, I suppose it’s not mine anymore.  Within a week it will reek of wet dogs and cheap booze. It's a lost cause now that those drooling reprobates know it's inhabitable.  A pity.  By Eridia's standards it really was divine in its heyday.  Good wine, music, dancing.  There was this portrait artist who would paint the performances…”

His tone remains light as he reminisces.  But the look he pins you with is dangerous: his eyes gleaming bright, his canines bared in an irreverent grin.

“I had such hopes and dreams of reviving the place myself.  Some of the dances were very scandalous.  You never did share with me your stance on dancing, did you?”

You stumble out an approximate answer.  It’s…harmless information to give, isn’t it?

Though, judging by how pleased Vere looks, you wonder if you should have refused to say.  He looks positively wicked as he ponders your answer aloud.  “Oh, I’m sure you’ve got plenty of talents to share.  In another life, perhaps I'd have put you on stage.  Though, I admit.  I find myself partial to a private show.”

And–as expected–the moment you let your guard down, he's in your space again, crowding you.  Heat and proximity and the softest brush of his lips against yours, light enough to send a thrill down your spine, curiosity and a want so deep it surprises you.

“Well?”  He purrs.  “Care to audition?”

You can't hide behind the excuse of supernatural sway or charm or the thrall of hypnotic sunglo eyes.  It's not Vere's power that controls you. It's your own gnawing desire; starvation and longing that draws you to him despite all sense.

Kissing Vere is heady.  Dizzying.  

Kissing Vere is like being in conversation with Vere–a constant of giving and taking, being chased after and running to keep up.  It’s enticing and alluring and decadent and never quite enough, over too soon even as you feel yourself losing air, the rush of blood and sensation threatening to overwhelm you.

He gives a parting nip to your bottom lip as he pulls away.

Then another one, playful, to your jaw.

When he presses his face into the side of your neck, you expect him to bite again.

What you don’t expect is for him to nuzzle into you, inhaling deeply before heaving a great sigh, his tail flopping lazily to land across you with a thump.

He’s officious as he rearranges the covers, ensuring your arms are tucked carefully away from him before he’s willing to fully settle into the bedding, pulling the blankets up around the both of you like a den.  He hums something low in his chest as he tucks himself up alongside you, long tail curled around your waist. 

It’s rhythmic–

purring.

And it’s…soothing, actually.

The weight of him, the warmth.  The incessant lamplight of the Amaryllis District, shining ever present through your window, is dim–tolerable, even, courtesy of Vere's magnificent shadow manipulations and the blankets sheltering you. 

The constant noise seems to fade away as well, obscured by the sound of purring. “Falling asleep when you have me in your bed, pet?  You really do try your luck…”

[bookinit02]

trying to come to terms with the fact that i told my entire class of grad students AND MY PROFESSOR that i write gay fanfiction for 911 and stranger things. voluntarily. DURING CLASS.

[marlsswrites]

More books and idiots

Ice skating AU, part 9!!

August 11th - words: 696

First part Previous part

Once again, the store was almost empty. It was like this during the day - most people at work or simply wouldn’t waste their time in a bookstore. In Regulus’ opinion, it’s amazing way to spend your day, but according to his friends he’s a bit sad.

It’s not sad, leave him alone.

He likes the store like this, quiet. It finally gave him some time to sit and stew alone with his thoughts. On reflection, that necessarily isn’t a good thing. Once he gets lost in his thoughts, that’s when he starts spiralling, and when he starts spiralling - he literally crashes like a glitchy video game.

“Excuse me?” A sweet familiar voice came from behind him as he turned his head to face James. “What’s this book about?” He held up a paperback copy that Regulus couldn’t quite make out. Squinting his eyes, he snorted when he saw the title.

“Hi James.” Regulus took the book from James’ hands and pointed at the front cover as he crossed his arms. “That’s the bible.”

“Wait really?” He gaped, snatching the book back as their hands touched - it was only a second, shorter than anything really. It was rather pathetic how that one action made Regulus bite back a smile. “I just picked up a random one, I mean well I- oh it actually is. Shit.”

Regulus only started at him while he skipped over his words, a small smirk tucked away in the sweet corners of his lips. “Why did you just pick up a random book?” He queried.

A blank stare along with a hand running through his dark hair, it looked so messy - Regulus wanted to brush his hands through it and weave it through his fingers while he felt the softness at his touch.

“Do you want a re do?” Regulus laughed, failing to hide the smirk that was now present on his face.

James swiftly nodded and slotted the book back onto the shelf. “Uh-uh, yeah.” He snorted bit his bottom lip as his face blossomed into a smile that Regulus could drink up and survive on for the rest of his life.

“Hi, have you got any book recommendations?”

Again, failing to keep a straight face, Regulus looked down at the floor and brushed a black curl behind his ear with a chuckle and looked back at the man in front of him. “I do, what type of things do you like?” He started to walk away from the shelf he was leant on - they were in the cookings section and Regulus doubts that James is here for a cook book. James stayed in tow, following him around as he thought about the question for a moment.

“What do you like?” James asked after a minute.

“Huh?”

“Like- what are your favourites?”

He let out a shocked breath. “Oh, literally so many- uh,”

“I have time.” James spoke with an innocent smile, as if they didn’t turn Regulus into a pathetic puddle on the floor - flushed cheeks and a heart beating so far out of his chest he wouldn’t be surprised if James could hear it.

“Alright.” He shrugged, hopefully looking nonchalant, but in his current state he’s not so sure. “So there’s…”

And that’s how they spent the next hour, talking about books and rifling through the shelves to find ones that he thinks James will love. Normally, people got bored after five minutes of Regulus talking about his interests, but James was the complete opposite. He followed around and seemed to absolutely absorbed in everything Regulus had to say, even offering Regulus more time to go on when he cut himself off.

He knew he could ramble quite a bit when he got into a conversation that he was actually enjoying for once, in most situations he just stops talking and apologies. But not with James, he only frowned and pushed him to carry on talking.

Oh god it is not fair of him to make Regulus feel like this, he wanted to scream, cry, smile, laugh and scream again all at the same time. If he keeps this shit up Regulus doesn’t know how he’s supposed to survive.

Next part

[tennessoui]

it’s like baby gorl there’s no way I, the author who wrote the fic you’re commenting on and who is the intended audience for this comment, am gonna agree with you 😿🙏 some things can just stay on your chest 🙏

[johnslittlespoon]

plsssss can we talk about bucky getting his revenge and edging gale

gale edging john post | yes we cannnnn !! eta: ykw. i need to just turn this into a proper oneshot since this ended up being over 1k words. new wip created </3

john may be a man of little self control, but after that incident, he decides he can be at least a tiny bit patient so he can catch gale off guard with it when he gets his revenge. because the next few times they're fooling around, gale's expecting a retaliation, john can see it in the way he tenses up and glances at his face before he comes like he's waiting for it, but john never follows through with it. he wants gale to let his guard down, and that he does.

so a week or so later when john's kissing him and feeling him up and asks ever so sweetly if he can tie gale's wrists behind his back, gale doesn't think anything of it. john likes to take control occasionally and gale sometimes likes the feeling of not having to worry about making decisions, getting to let john call the shots, and john always puts extra time and effort into the way he touches gale when he's restrained because he likes to watch his darling blondie squirm.

john has him sit in his lap facing him, letting gale lean against his shoulder to take the pressure off his legs while john works him open on his fingers, already riled up from the pretty gasps gale's making against his neck but reigning himself in because he's gonna need to have some self control for once.

he sweet–talks gale through it, telling him how good he sounds, how well he's doing as he sinks down on his cock, guiding him with hands on his hips so he doesn't unbalance himself without the use of his own hands where they're tied behind his back with a belt. he stays still at first, letting gale ride him slowly, keeping his hands loosely on his waist while praising him and talking him into that foggy needy headspace until gale's thighs are trembling and john takes pity on him (and frankly is so hard he doesn't have the patience to keep his own hips still anymore).

so he runs his hands down from gale's waist to his ass to hold him in place while he rolls his hips up into him, watching the way gale's eyebrows pinch and his pretty lips fall open in a silent oh as john angles himself in a way gale couldn't with his own movements. lets his mouth run as he slowly picks up his pace, all the coos of "so pretty", "you're taking me so well", "you feel so fucking good", loving how reactive gale is to every word and every thrust.

he moves his hands to gale's hips to get a better grip, can tell gale's getting close because he gets noisier, losing his filter and letting out breathy little "fuck"s and "john"s, head rolling back on his shoulders to bare his neck, rocking his hips down to meet john every time he fucks up into him. and then just as he gets the warning of "close", he pulls gale down by his hips to bury himself deep in him and stops moving completely.

the whine of desperation that tears out of gale's throat when he lifts his head has john knocking his skull back against the wall, cock twitching hard enough inside gale that he's sure the blond can feel it. he watches gale's biceps flex when he instinctively tries to get his hands free, feels his hips try to squirm out of his hands to keep moving, but he keeps him pinned firmly down, dizzy at the way he clenches down around him.

a plaintive "john" pulls a groan from him, but he composes himself, lifts his gaze back up to gale's face and lets the corners of his lips quirk up, purrs out a "yeah, sweetheart? something wrong?"

laughs at the way gale cusses him out, a rare sight of his little spitfire with a mouth on him, though the effect is a lot closer to being hissed at by a kitty than actually being convinced to move. john lets him run his mouth, murmurs a "cute" once gale's done, and then promptly hammers his hips up into him just once, swearing under his breath at the way it punches an open–mouthed moan from gale. rocks his hips up into him a few times before going back to a quick and rough pace, the sound of skin on skin getting both of them flushed.

it only takes a minute before gale's hips are twitching into his hands and whispered pleas are falling from his mouth and john thinks he's never had to use as much self restraint in his life as he does when he forces himself to stop moving again, once again yanking gale down against him, holding him still in his lap.

gale really fights it this time, enough so that it's a merciful distraction for john from how close he himself is (trust his idea to backfire as he ends up edging himself along with gale, he thinks) when he has to use proper strength to keep him in place. any blood that might've still been lurking around his brain rushes south the moment he sees gale's eyes getting shiny with frustration, cheeks all pink and lips red and flushed from biting down on them.

"not so fun, is it?" john taunts, but his voice comes out a bit more raspy than he would've liked, evident how much the stop and start is getting to him too. it's probably karma, because he knows he's being more mean than gale was to him, but he can't help it; those blue eyes look so pretty when tears are threatening to spill over when he's desperate and needy like this.

gale wriggles in his lap the best he can, still furiously chasing his orgasm, head finally falling back in frustration before he lifts it again, looking john in the eyes, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth and letting it go. he whines quietly and whimpers out the sweetest "please, johnny," almost crying in his impatience, and fuck.

john doesn't mean for his hips to twitch up at that, but they do, hard. gale sobs out a broken sound at the way john's cock hits just where he needs it to in his accidental movement, and gale spills over his stomach completely untouched, just like that. john swears and drives his hips up into him in an attempt to quickly amend his slip up, moaning loud at the wrecked noises that immediately start bubbling up out of gale as he fucks him through his orgasm.

he tips over the edge himself from the desperate sounds the blond starts to make as he crosses the line into overstimulation, feeling gale's hips jerk frantically in his hands, fighting to get away from the incessant rhythm of his cock inside him as john shudders through his own orgasm, fingers digging into gale's sides.

he slows down to a gentle grind of his hips when gale collapses against his chest, face pressed to his neck, shivering at the slow drag inside him and whining pitifully when john eventually pulls out, settling him down on his thighs while he reaches around to undo the belt and free his hands. his heart bursts at the way gale instantly wraps his arms around him, clinging to him as they both catch their breath, john petting his hair and showering him with praise.

he eventually huffs out a laugh, murmuring a "sorry buck. payback's a bitch, but that was an accident, i swear." gale groans against him in complaint, lightly nipping at his shoulder in retaliation, too tired to fight back, but john's sure he'll pay for it eventually.

it's confirmed with the "better watch your back, darling" that he gets when they're both pulling their clothes back on, but to john, that sounds less like a threat and more like a good time, and he shoots gale a crooked grin to let him know as much.

[sunsetsandsunshine]

Knock knock~ Hey I saw how you wanted some tickle requests for rise, how bout something like lee!Mikey and ler!Donnie. Maybe Mikey Is being Mikey and Donnie wrecks him with tickles?

~ 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 𝚟𝚜. 𝙳𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚎’𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 ~

💜🐢🧡 𝙵𝚒𝚌 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢: @rice-cake-teen10 💜🐢🧡

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙰𝙹𝚂𝙷𝙳𝚈𝚆𝙹𝚂𝙷 𝙷𝙸 𝙼𝙾𝙾𝚃𝙸𝙴 🫶🏾💖💕✨!!! 𝙸 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 (𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚍) 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚜𝚘 𝙸’𝚖 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 🫠💔. 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚆𝙰𝚈𝚈𝚈𝚈 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔 𝚋𝚞𝚞𝚞𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚘𝚋𝚟𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗. 𝙸 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 💞˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊·̩̩̥͙

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝙵𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 𝟸,𝟷𝟷𝟷

𝙻𝚎𝚎: 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 🐢🧡

𝙻𝚎𝚛: 𝙳𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚎 🐢💜

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝙷𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 (𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢’𝚜) 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝. 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚢’𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖, 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚞𝚙 𝚝𝚘 𝟸𝟺/𝟽! 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢’𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚗𝚘 𝚎𝚗𝚍. 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢. 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚎𝚝’𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚎…

(𝙰/𝙽: 𝙳𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚐𝚞𝚢! 𝚃*𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚔/𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚜 𝙳𝙽𝙸!!! 𝙾𝚑 𝚖𝚢 𝚐𝚘𝚜𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚛𝚢𝚑𝚢𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚖𝚖𝚊 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢 𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚙𝚑𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚠—)

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚜: @shut-up-jo @someone1348 @saturnzskyzz @savemeafruitjuice @saturnzskyzz

@my-l0v3r-v3rse @titters-and-tingles @cedarrthefluffylee

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐…𝚞𝚑 𝚜𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎’𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 🫠👍🏾

𝚃𝚆: 𝚂𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐— 𝚢𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚞𝚜𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚕𝚕𝚕 🤩🫶🏾

*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙻𝙰𝚂𝚃 𝙵𝙸𝙲 𝚁𝙴𝚀𝚄𝙴𝚂𝚃 𝚆𝙾𝙾𝙿 𝚆𝙾𝙾𝙾𝙾𝙿!!! 𝙴𝙽𝙹𝙾𝚈 𝚈’𝙰𝙻𝙻!!!˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

“Donnnnniieeeee!” Mikey whined loudly, bursting into his older brother’s room completelyunannounced, basically breaking off the hinges of the door just to get inside. 

The scientist in question fought back the irritated groan that was bubbling in his throat as his brother walked in, continuing to type on his computer as the box turtle inched closer and closer towards him. “Michaeeeelllll.” Donnie replied without looking up from his device, his monotone voice not quitematching the same enthusiasm as his sibling’s when the youngest called his name— but close! 

To an extent, anyway.

“What is it that you require, Michael?” The purple loving turtle asked, “I’m quite busy right now.” 

The youngest turtle bit back a groan, crossing his arms and raising one of his eye ridges disapprovingly, “Busy doing what? All I see is you typing on your computer like you work a nine to five.” 

“Dealing with you is like working a nine to five.”The taller turtle retorted, “But anyways, while you’re here, I would very much appreciate it if you looked over my coding for one of my inventions.” The elder went into a file and as a result, a handful of numbers and signs showed up on the screen. 

The box turtle squinted his eyes as if he was nearsighted; looking closer at the codings to try and decipher what the actual hell his brother was expecting him to look for.

“Yes, yes. I know.” The scientist huffed, “It’s very traumatizing to look at. Trust me…I would know, I made the darn thing.” 

“It looks like your face. That’s traumatizing enough.” The youngest grinned smugly.

“…I don’t even know why I try…” The second oldest grumbled, “Okay, now off with thee. I have work to do.” Donatello said as he lightly pushed the youngest away from him so he could leave him to his work. But Mikey stood his ground firmly, going up to his older brother and sitting on his lap, making sure that he slouched just the right amount so that Donnie couldn’t see the device screen.

The elder sighed at the behavior, trying his best to get his younger brother off of him but every time he at least attempted to, the youngest would just put more of his body weight onto him. “Audible groan…gehet off of meehee!” Donnie whined in defeat as Mikey grinned triumphantly. 

“Nah. Your pretty comfy. It’s like sitting on a sofa.” 

“You’re built like a sofa, you goon! Now get off of me!” Donatello huffed, pushing on his little brother’s shell in one last attempt to get this orange life draining leech away from his precious body. 

“Ihi aham giving you fihive seconds to gehet off.” 

“Ohor whahat? Yohou gonna shohow meehee more coding?” 

Donnie raised an amused brow, resting his hands at the youngest’s sides but not quite moving his fingers yet. The art loving teen squeaked in surprise at the new sensation at his sides, immediately hugging his middles protectively, “D-Dohohon’t!” 

“One…two…”

Donnie held Mikey’s sides with his hands.

“Three…four…”

He rolled his eyes fondly, pinching the younger’s sides softly as he started to tickle him.

“Five.”

The orange banded teen giggled immediately, squirming in his older brother’s lap ever so slightly, “Stahap ihit!” He squeaked, holding onto his brother’s wrists as the softshell couldn’t help but lightly chuckle at the gesture. 

“Do you reallllly want me to stop or are you just saying that?” The elder smirked, “You could’ve gotten out of my lap but you chose not to.” 

The artist loving teen blushed slightly at the question, “Dohonnie weehee ahahare nahat doing thihis right nohow!”

“I’m just asking you a simple question, little brother. I don’t understand the difficulty with you failing to answer it…” The purple banded teen hummed as he dug his hands into the other’s underarms, “Yes or no?”

The art loving turtle screamed, kicking his legs in the air and shaking his head back and forth. “YeHES! Freeheeaking *squeak* stahaHAP!” 

“Oh, so yes? So you do want me to continue tickling you?” Donatello grinned at his choice of wordplay. The youngest’s laughter raised an octave as he squirmed and tried to slip away from his brother’s tickly grasp and fingers. 

The taller turtle quickly typed in his wristwatch, his spider arms coming out of his battle-shell and holding the other’s wrists, pulling his arms away so he couldn’t hug his middles nor squirm away. 

Mikey gulped comically, squirming in his brother’s lap still. “N-NAHA— *squeak* noho! JuhUST NOHOHOH!”

“Ohhhhh. I understand now. So you don’t want me to stop tickling you?” 

“STAHAP TWIHISTING MYHY WOHORDS!” 

“I’m not!” The young genius grinned, “I’m just asking you to clarify!”

The smaller turtle squealed loudly, attempting to pull his wrists free from the spider arms but all his attempts ending in vain as his older brother just continued to tickle him.

“So just clarifying…you want me to continue tickling you?” 

“DEEHEEHEE!!!”

“What~? I’m just asking if you want me to tickle you. That you perhaps came in here with the intention of getting tickled by yours truly—“

“STAH— *squeal* *squeak* STAHAP STAHAP STAHAP!!!”

Donnie couldn’t help but chuckle at his brother’s frantic giggles, stopping his tickling attack but wiggling his fingers directly above the other turtle’s ribs, causing the younger’s heart to drop in anticipation as he squirmed like he’s never squirmed before. 

The softshell poked the smaller turtle’s ribs teasingly a couple times, “You gonna get off of me now~?”

“IHI CAHA— *squeal* IHI CAHAN’T— *squeak*!!!” The younger teen cried out. Michelangelo was completely lost in his own laughter wonderland, still trying to at least get UP from his older brother’s lap. But with the softshell’s spider arms holding his wrists away from him, it made it even harder. 

And the fact that he was completely laughing his shell off didn’t help either. 

AND the fact that Donnie was making some dumb game out of this wasn’t helping either.

If there was one thing you needed to know about the youngest, it was that Mikey could not take the anticipation. At all.

Like, at. ALL.

And Donnie was just being pure Disney villain evil about it too. Which automatically made absolutely everything ten times worse…

Wait. Hold on a second…

What were even some purple Disney villain’s that Donnie resembled anyway?

Because at the end of the day the second oldest was a villain (no one just has uranium just casually stored in their room…), but Mikey just had to find out which villain. 

The Evil queen? Nah. Too princessy. 

Ursula? Nope. Too sea witchy. 

Maleficent? No. Too emo (even for Donnie). 

Dr. Facilier? …yes actually. 

Donnie and Dr. Facilier don’t have similar goals per se but they definitely do look similar. And they dance the same to. They boogie down like they’re wet noodles just coming out of a boiling pot. 

The box turtle isn’t usually known for throwing people under the bus…but somewhere, somehow, his purple cladded older brother was definitely on the watch list. 

Now…what was Mikey doing?

Oh, yeah! Getting absolutely murdered by his older brother. Fantastic.  

“Someone’s a little ticklish, huh?” The elder commented as the box turtle’s laughter kept ranging from a squeaky door to a door mouse. 

“GYAHAH— *squeak* WAHA— EEEEHEHAHA!!!”

“Don’t worry, take your time.” The scientist giggled back.

“PLEHEASE!! DAHA— *squeak*!!! IHI CAHAN’T MOOHOOHOOVE!”

“So what I’m hearing is that you’re not going to get up from my lap?”

Mikey screeched, hitting his brother’s plastron with his shell and carapace, “IHI PHYSICAHALLY CAHAHANNOT MOOHOOVE YOHOU FUHUCKIN—!!!” 

“I can give you until the count of ten. I’m adding an extra five seconds just because I’m so nice.”

“YOHOU AHARE NOHOWHERE NEAR NIHICE—“

“One…”

“WAHAIT WAHAHAIT!!!”

“Two…”

“DOHOH— *squeal* DEEHEE!”

“Three…”

“SHIHIHIT!!!”

“Four…”

“PLEHEHA— *squeal* MYHY GAHAHASH!”

“Five…”

“JUHUST GEHET OHOHON WIHITH IHIHIT!” 

“Six…”

“DOHOHONNIE!!”

“Seven…”

“I WIHILL KIHILL YOHOU IN YOHOUR SLEEHEEHEEP!”

“I’d like to see you try. Anyways, eight…”

“EEEEEEE!!!”

“Nine…”

“GOHODDAMIHIT!”

“Ten~!”

Mikey braced himself both physically and mentally as Donnie said that dreadful double digit number. He rested the back of his head on his older brother’s shoulder, closing his eyes and pursing his lips to prepare from the attack. 

But as the smaller mutant kept waiting and waiting…the tickles never came. The youngest hesitantly opened one eye as he saw his older brother’s fingers still wiggling right directly over his ribs. 

All the while, the elder just smirked evilly. The box turtle grumbled through his stifled giggles, looking up so he could glare fully at his brother.

Dr. Facilier looking ass…

“Here it comes…” The young genius said with anticipation, “Annnnny moment…”

The box turtle broke eye contact, just shutting his eyes tight as he could do absolutely nothing but wait for his brother to do the inevitable. “You must be absolutely dying knowing it’s coming…” Donnie commented as Mikey just about screamed, not being able to hold the dam that was holding his laughs in any longer.

The softshell smiled at the cackles, tracing his fingers on his younger brother’s stomach, “I’m just sointrigued to find out what would happen if I just..” He trailed off, randomly poking right below the art loving turtle’s ribs. 

The taller mutant just absolutely loved putting his brother’s on anticipatory rollercoaster’s when tickling them (as you can see).

“I could stay here alllllll day…” The elder mused, “My hands are riiiiiight here, Angleo~!”

“Fuhuhuck yohou…” Mikey giggled through gritted teeth, trying not to give his older brother an ounce of laughter whatsoever…but that ship has already sailed and went to a new ocean by now.  

“Oh, wow. Cussing me out now, hm?” The purple banded turtle questioned in disbelief as he landed a couple last pokes to Mikey’s lower ribs,  “NONONOHO NOHOHO! OHOMIGAHAHASH IHI’M SAHAHARRY!!!” The youngest immediately gave in and apologized, his laughs raising a higher octave than a flute ever possibly could as he descended into loud cackles. 

“Really? Your 'sahaharry?'”

“YEHES *squeal* YEHEHEHES!!!”

The elder hummed in acknowledgment, scribbling his nails all over his baby brother’s ribs. Happy tears appeared in the younger’s eyes as he could really do nothing but just laugh at this point in time. 

The youngest could barely even speak anymore, his giggles and squeals nearly drowning out his words, “STAHAH IHI C— *squeal* IHIHIT’S SOHO BAHAHAD!!! DEEHEE COHOME OHOHAHAN!” 

“Amused laugh. Angelo, please. I’m barely tickling you.” Donnie said as he now kneaded Mikey’s lowest rib. In result, the younger immediately jolted backwards, catching the older teen completely off guard. 

“OMIGOSH!!!” Donnie yelled in panic, his metal and meat fingers both stopping the tickling onslaught towards Mikey as he hugged him fully now. The scientist and the artist both fell down on the tile floor with the chair; the young geniuses battle-shell breaking their fall. 

There was a slight pause of silence before both of the brother’s broke into a large fit of laughter. Michelangelo stood, helping his brother up as they both continued to laugh.

“Thahat wahas…oho my gohosh…” The softshell snickered, wiping a tear from his eye as he put the chair back to where it originally was. “Yohou lihiterally jumped uhus into tomorrow…” He commented. 

Michelangelo panted heavily and let out soft giggles as he tried to catch his breath. The box turtle’s face was burning from how hard he’d been laughing but also because of how flustered he was due to the situation. 

Mikey shrugged, “Whahat cahan I say? I’m aha mahahaster ahat acrobatics.” 

Donatello raised a brow teasingly, facing his younger brother, “Oho, so you can do acrobatics but you can’t dance?” 

“Okahay, now you juhust ruined thehehe moment.” 

The purple banded turtle just chuckled, closing his laptop and putting it to charge on the desk. The smaller turtle grinned, going next to Donnie, “Sohoooo! Does thahat mean yohou like meehee mohore thahahan your computer and coding~?”

Donatello shrugged, trying to look uninterested, “Eh. I suppose so.” 

“Awe, c’mon. You lohooove me.” 

“I tolerate you. To an extent, anyway.” 

“Wow. Thanks so much. I feel sooooo special.” Mikey deadpanned, putting a hand to his chest as Donnie hugged him. “As you should.” The elder said, glancing at his wrist-watch. “Hm. We should probably get some snacky-snacks…it’s around 1 p.m.” He stated, trying to walk to the exit/entrance but was stopped due to the result of the youngest still hugging him. 

Donatello sighed fondly, peering down to the teen in question, “Your not going to let go of me, are you?” 

“Nooope!” 

“Figured.” The scientist huffed softly, shaking his head. 

“Now let’s go to the kitchen!”Michelangelo beamed, him and Donnie shimmy-ing out of the purple room and into the hallway, on their way to find some 'snacky-snacks' to eat for lunch. 

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙵𝙸𝙽˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙ 

(𝙿.𝚂.: 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐!!!)

[souenkun]

Pokémon Masters EX spoilers ahead!

Kabu likes to play TAG with his pokemon... and he's shown to have a much softer side beneath his strictness in pokemas too... he's so grandpa-shaped to me 😭💖

[strangersteddierthings]

Porcelain Steve - Part 7

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five🦇Part Six🦇Part Seven🦇Part Eight🦇Part Nine

((TW for this part; period typical slurs and internalized homophobia. Read the tags before clicking readmore if you want the details))

Steve has been a porcelain doll for seven weeks when disaster strikes.

"What is that," Jeff says, because even though the words are in an order which would suggest that it's a question, the tone of voice Jeff uses decidedly is not questioning.

"What is whaaa-AH! Nothing! It's nothing!" Eddie, who was torso deep into his closet throwing things around to find his backup amp cord, turns to look at what Jeff was talking about, and is now launching himself across his room to stand between Jeff and Porcelain Steve. Porcelain Steve, who Eddie had lain on his bed, propped slightly on a pillow, headphones carefully perched on his little head, hooked to a cassette player currently playing the first hour of last week's Top 40 countdown that Eddie had taped for him (all three hours of it, leaving out the chatter of the radio show host. He'd had to use two tapes to get it all).

"Nothing sure looks a lot like a doll in headphones, Munson," Jeff has an amazing poker face but Eddie's certain he can see a bit of judgement underneath the carefully blank expression Jeff is wearing.

"I don't know what you're talking abo- hey! Hey, no, no, don't!" Eddie tries to bodily block Jeff when he moves forward and the two end up wrestling, a match that Eddie almost wins, if not for the hazard that is his messy room. He gets Jeff walked almost to the door before he steps wrong on something, ankle rolling and sending him down sideways. He clutches at Jeff but can't make purchase and Jeff, the bastard, does fuck-all to try and catch him. Instead, Jeff leaps out of arm's length, then lunges onto the bed as Eddie collapses to his floor.

Eddie frantically tries to stand and, in his haste, ends up with his feet tangled in a pile of dirty laundry and that sends him crashing down again, this time forward onto his hands and knees, so he gives up on standing and crawls the few short feet to the bed, finally looking up to see that the damage has been done.

Jeff has picked up Steve, holding him inches from his own face, eyes squinted in suspicion. Eddie is frozen, horrified and afraid, and can't bring himself to do anything as Jeff examines Steve closely, turning him around, poking his torso, flipping him upside down to examine his shoes more thoroughly. It's only when Jeff reached for the shirt, pinching the hem of it between two fingers that Eddie kicks back into action.

He lunges up, one knee on the bed, leaning over to grab Steve and yank him from Jeff's grip. His first instinct is to throw Steve over his shoulder, out of sight out of mind mentality, but as soon as he does, he realizes his mistake and twists, lunging to catch Steve in midair. He does manage to catch Steve, but it sends him bouncing off his dresser and almost back to the floor before he manager to regain his balance, where he proceeds to cradle Steve to his chest, which is heaving from the adrenaline, wrestling match, and subsequent dive after Steve.

Jeff is giving him a concerned look but something else piques his interest; Jeff reaches over and picks up the headphones, holding them up to one ear. His face goes through every emotion a human could possibly experience in less than fifteen seconds as he listens to whatever track was at the forty-ish minute mark on the Top 40 countdown.

Slowly, Jeff lowers the headphones, letting them drop to the bed before he gives Eddie a new, more judgmental, yet infinitely more concerned, look. "Eddie. What. The fuck."

Honestly, he's not sure there's anything he can say in response.

"Why- I don't... are you okay, man?" Jeff sounds both scared for Eddie, and scared of him, at the same time.

"I'm fine," Eddie manages to squeak out.

"Eddie," Jeff says seriously, "this is not fine. This is- this is insane behavior. You know that, right?"

"I've no idea what you mean," Eddie doesn't even know what he's defending himself from but his default response to anything is to defend himself. He grips Steve tightly around the torso with one hand and then moves both his hands to be behind his back so Jeff will stop staring at Steve.

"I mean this fuckin' insane shrine you have dedicated to Steve fucking Harrington. How did you even get a doll that looks like him. Did you- did you make that?"

Fuck. Holy fuck. What can he say to defend himself here? Is there a single way for him to come out of this not sounding deranged? If he agrees, let's Jeff's drawn conclusion be the truth, then that's all but confirmation to Steve about his big fat crush, so when Steve's back to being Steve he'll never look at Eddie again. Jeff might think he needs mental help, but he'll be here for Eddie. If he tries to deny the accusation, then he'll need an explanation. He'll have to tell Jeff something that make him seem less like a creepy stalker, but what? He can't tell the truth, not without letting everyone know he's going to tell Jeff. There's a whole other secret he'd have to let out to even have a chance of Jeff believing him.

Jeff must take his silence for acceptance or guilt, because he's speaking again. "I.... man, this is not healthy. Please tell me you aren't, like, hoarding a lock of his hair or his clothes or something."

Involuntarily, damningly, his eyes dart to the closet, where several of Steve's sweaters hang from when he'd borrowed them and never returned them. And it's not like Steve doesn't have several of Eddie's own articles of clothing, like his battle vest and a few shirts. But Jeff doesn't know they easily, willingly, swap clothes, so his eyes go wide and dart towards the closet, as if he can pick out which pieces belong to Steve on sight.

Actually, he probably can.

"This really isn't what it looks like," Eddie says because he has to say something. Being silent is too incriminating.

"I don't think you're aware of what this looks like," Jeff says, wiggling himself off of Eddie's bed to stand at the foot of it. "Of all the boys in Hawkins.... I knew you liked Steve but this is.... creepy. That doll looks so much like him that I recognized it. Does Steve know you're in love with him, or is this like a way to process your crush without having to-"

"Jeff!" Eddie yells, mortified. He can feel his whole face heat up, knows he must be bright red. Because Jeff just said, out loud and for Steve to hear, the thing that Eddie very much hasn't even said out loud to himself, even if he knows how he feels deep down.

Jeff must know he's overstepped some invisible boundary he wasn't even aware of because his face immediately shows regret. He takes a step forward and Eddie takes a step back.

Immediately, Jeff stops his forward momentum. "Shit, I'm sorry, Eddie. I'm sorry."

When Eddie answers, his voice sounds like he's been eating gravel, "Just, can you go wait in the living room? I'll be right out, and we can talk, or whatever, but can you just..."

A nod, and then Jeff is gone, closing the door behind him.

With shaking hands, Eddie brings Steve back to the front of him. Looks down at him. He's not even aware he's crying until he watches his tears mark Steve's tiny polo. He can't keep holding Steve. Can't keep looking at him. Not when- not when his best friend just outed him in the worst way possible. And Eddie can't even be upset or hurt about it because Jeff didn't know. He's teased Eddie about his crushes before, and in the safety of his own room, there was no reason for Jeff to have to watch what he was saying.

Even knowing that Steve is okay with Robin, loves her anyway, without the ability to confirm that Steve doesn't hate him right now, Eddie's going to freak out. But he can't. Jeff is waiting in the living room, and the band is waiting back at Gareth's. This was just- they were supposed to just grab the amp cable and get back, a fifteen-minute job at most, and now.

Now Eddie is staring down at Steve, willing himself to not have a panic attack.

"I'm sorry, Steve. I'm so sorry. You shouldn't have heard it like that, it s-should have come from me. It should- you-I'm sorry," Eddie gently underhand throws Steve onto the center of the bed. He lands face up and Eddie sinks to the floor because he can't stand anymore, and he can't really breath.

Steve knows Eddie's a fucking faggot now, and that he wants Steve, and there's no way he'll get to keep the friendship they had before this. There's no universe in which Steve isn't creeped out by this information. There has never been an instance where a straight boy found out about his crush on them and didn't abandon him. Not always cruelly, he'll admit. He's had friends that learned and just... slid from his life with no words and no fuss. Eddie just never spoke to them again because they never came back around, but they also never outed him.

That's what will happen with him and Steve. He'll quit inviting Eddie around, or calling when he's bored, and eventually it will get to the point that Eddie only sees him at BBQ's that Joyce drags him to.

Fuck. FUCK!

He's not sure how long he's on the floor but eventually, he finds the will to get back up and resume digging through his closet to find the amp cord. It doesn't take long, he was ridiculously close to finding it earlier, it seems.

Before leaving his room, he picks back up the cassette player and headphones. Silence comes from them, so he pops the tape out before flipping it to the B side and popping it back in. He puts the headphones around Steve's head again and presses play, doing his best to not actually look at Steve. He'll just have another breakdown if he does.

He trudges out of his room, closing the door behind himself before taking the short walk to the living room, where Jeff waiting on the couch, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled under his chin, eyes faraway as he stares towards the wall in front of him.

"Hey," Eddie says, to get his attention.

"Hey," Jeff says, sitting up straight and turning towards Eddie. "I'm sorry. Whatever I did, I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing? I'm the fucking psycho here," he sighs, leaning sideways against the kitchen counter, arms folded across his chest, hand clutching at the amp cord just for something to ground him.

"Forget that, whatever I did, or said, or whatever, you were- when you yelled my name. You looked terrified. Of me," Jeff almost whispers the last sentence, and if not for the stark silence in the trailer, Eddie wouldn't have heard.

"Not of you, Jeff," Eddie whispers back, but his voice doesn't stay quiet because 'quiet' isn't a thing Eddie does easily or often. "Of... of myself, and these- of how I feel- I'm a goddamned faggot and now that Ste- when Steve finds out I'll lose him! Like I've lost every fucking person who ever even suspected I was a fuckin' queer!"

Silence stretches between them, enough to make Eddie fidget, dropping his crossed arms to twist the amp cord about anxiously with both his hands.

"Look, man, I don't know what's, like, the appropriate thing to say so I'm just going for the honest thing. You got me. You'll never lose me. And all those other assholes that you think you lost? You're wrong. They lost you. And if Steve Harrington is gonna be another one of those, then you aren't losing him. 'Cause he was never really in your corner to begin with."

If this were anyone else, with the exception of his uncle, he would be able to hold it together better. But it's Jeff. His best friend. Who never believed Eddie committed unspeakable horrors over Spring Break last year. Who didn't question the strange, new friends he suddenly had afterwards; who accepted as the only explanation a softly spoken 'they saved me' and that was enough. Who had said 'ok, cool' in response to Eddie telling him he was gay, years ago now, and continued trying to find out if Eddie had a secret relationship, switching girlfriend for boyfriend like it wasn't a big deal (Eddie did not have a secret relationship; his good mood that week was the result of snooping for his birthday present and finding the guitar hidden under his uncle bed).

It's Jeff. So, Eddie does the most metal, manly thing he can and bursts into tears, blindly reaching for Jeff and pulling him off the couch so he can bear hug him and sob into his shirt.

"There, there, you big baby," Jeff rubs his back soothingly, "let it out. Then pull your sorry ass together, because Gareth and Brian are going to think we died in a car crash on the way here if we take much longer."

"Ah, fuck," Eddie manager to say around the sniffling he's trying to get control of, "you're right."

"You good, though?"

"Uh, I will be."

Jeff nods and steps back. "How about this. We go to practice, and then you can come to my place tonight and we can like, hangout and talk. If that's what you want."

He's already nodding as he says, "yeah. That would be good. I- uh, I have something to do after practice, but yeah, after that I'll come over."

Eddie tosses the amp cable to Jeff after they climb into the van and head off.

Halfway there, Jeff says, "you know Gareth and Brian are in your corner, too. If you ever feel like telling them one day."

"One day," Eddie agrees, "but today has already been... a lot."

Practice goes well, with some ribbing for their tardiness allowed. If Gareth and Brian notice Eddie's been crying recently, they keep it to themselves. Which is good, because Eddie cannot handle one more thing today.

A promise to meet up with Jeff later and Eddie's back home.

Back to where he left Steve, who will be laying in silence on his bed because it's been well over two hours since he and Jeff left, and the tape only held an hours' worth of music on each side. Back to the nightmare of not knowing if Steve hates him now, or if Eddie's, and this is the most likely scenario, being a bit overdramatic.

His uncle is home, so he greets him, asks after his day, gets told dinner is Fend For Yourself Night (which just means leftovers or a TV dinner), and gets asked about Steve. Because of course he does.

"You sure he went on a vacation willingly with those parents of his, and he ain't actually kidnapped and trapped somewhere?"

That's a little bit too true. If only Wayne knew. "Well, no. I'm not sure. All I know is what he said when he left."

Wayne gives him a look. One Eddie is used to seeing, that says 'I know more than you think but I'm waiting for you to tell me' and Eddie's a little afraid of what Wayne thinks he knows. So, instead of prying that box open, Eddie just says he's tired and goes to his room.

Steve is exactly where Eddie left him.

Suddenly, without reason or logic, Eddie is angry. He's so pissed at Steve for being gone for this long. For having transformed in the first place. For not being able to assure him they'll still be friends, regardless of Eddie's stupid crush.

He snatches Steve off the bed, hand clamping around one of Steve's arms and his torso so he can hold him up with one hand. Steve's face, permanently stuck into a blank expression, looks back. Even knowing that Steve sees and hears through this thing, Eddie's so angry at the doll. If Steve hadn't been turned into this stupid thing, if Eddie wasn't so helplessly in love with him, this wouldn't have happened. Eddie could have taken his own time telling Steve, instead of hearing his deepest secret spilled easily from Jeff's lips. Instead of this not knowing what Steve is thinking, or how he feels. Is he recoiling in disgust at the fact Eddie's making him look at his face? Or is Eddie being awarded the same kindness as Robin, a quiet acceptance that won't change their friendship?

Eddie doesn't know that answer and he hates it.

He's so angry with himself because he should know better. He's forcing his own insecurities onto Steve, about acceptance and caring, when nothing Steve's done since they've become friends is prove that he'll always be Eddie's friend and not even the apocalypse could change that.

"I'm going to hang out with Jeff, so you're gonna be alone a bit longer. Or maybe I should drop you off at Robin's when I go," Eddie goes to toss Steve back on the bed when something pinches his palm. It's a startling sharp pain, quick to fade, but it's surprising enough for Eddie to let go.

Eddie watches, horrified, as he falls to the floor. He twists in the air, landing with a dull thump and cracking sound on his left arm before falling onto his back.

"Shit. Shit! Fuck, Steve, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to," Eddie is crouched, already in the process of reaching for Steve when he freezes.

There is a crack on Steve's left arm, a line that starts above his elbow on the inside of his arm and runs down and across his arm to his hand, where Steve's pinky finger is gone. Looking slightly to the side, Eddie can see the small porcelain piece that Steve is missing laying on the ground next to him. Eddie's own hand is hovering in the air above Steve, shaking.

This can't be- how did- Eddie wracks his brain. Was the crack there already? Did Eddie cause the crack when he bounced off his dresser earlier? When did it happen? Does that fucking matter when it's Eddie who broke a piece off him? If Steve didn't hate him before, he's got to now. Eddie doesn't have time to panic about this, he's got to- El. El can talk to Steve. Find out if he's okay. What if breaking him-

Eddie launches himself up and to his dresser, grabbing at the Walkie up there. He pulls the antenna up, clicks it on and tries not to actually shout as he says, "Code Red! Code fucking Red!" He lets off the talk button, counts to seven in his head, enough time, he reasons, for someone to respond before he repeats the process. "Code Red!! Code Red!"

He repeats this process for three minutes with no response. Where the fuck is everyone!? How is he supposed to- Oh! The phone!

He tears down the hall and to the phone. He must look a right state, because Wayne looks very concerned and is halfway to standing up when Eddie gets to the phone beside him. He yanks the phone up and dials the number for the Byers-Hopper household, holding up a shaking finger to Wayne, a silent plea to give him a moment.

It rings and rings and rings before the answering machine kicks in. Eddie presses down on the disconnect button before dialing the Wheelers' number next.

"Hello?"

"Mike! Code Red! Where the fuck is everyone and why aren't they answering!?"

"What?"

"Code Red! Where's Nancy. Put Nancy on."

"Dude, slow down, what's-"

"I broke St-it. I broke it and someone needs to get El here now. Code Red does not mean ask questions, Mike! It means Code. Fucking. Red."

"Shit, shit, right! I'll get Nancy and we'll get everyone- just- we'll be there soon."

Eddie slams the phone down and has to meet his uncle's eye now.

"Eddie. What is goin' on?"

Eddie inhales a breath and can feel his lower lip quivering. "It's- can we talk about it later? I promise I'm not the one hurt, or in trouble, or- it's not me, ok. I just-"

"Yer shakin' like a leaf boy. What's got you so spooked?"

Eddie just shakes his head and flees back to his room, slamming the door shut between him and his uncle. He can't bring himself to cross the room to Steve. He slides himself down the door to sit on the floor, pulling his knees up to hug.

"I'm so sorry, Steve. I'm sorry."

[burning-omen]

MORE FICS WERE MERLIN HOLDS RESENTMENT AGAINST ARTHUR FOR WILL’S DEATH MOOORRRREEEE

[valcaine]

Can we see art/sketches of philza lowkey being terrifying?

woe, a sorta old crow man doodle upon ye,

Haven’t really had the energy to draw things recently as my ass ended up in the hospital and it just. Killed Everything I had left in me so apologies for any absence, I hope to get in the drive of making emduo art again. I have Things™️ planned, it is mostly a matter of me gaining the motivation again to finish them lmao

if anyone is interested. please do commission me!

[perihelion-crew-lounge]

"would he say that??"

Maybe not in canon, but consider if there are circumstances in your fic-verse that would have influenced him to say that. did he grow in a way the canon character didnt? did he get worse in some way? is it an au? are there ocs or other characters that could have taught him things that would have made him say that?

also, just write your fic, who cares, do what makes your weird little fandom heart happy - just dont hurt anyone irl - writing is hard enough without being paralyzed with fear about what a character would or wouldnt say in canon

[idlesuperstar]

My. Sounds like a love story.