#i love him so much (violently shakes him upside down)

[iluvvaporeon]

did somebody say starlo redesign? no? well too bad!

i decided i kinda hated how i drew him tbh, and my brian was like "yo you should totally redesign him instead of doing your hw" and i was like "omg!!! you're so right!!!" and now here he is!

decided to make his poncho actually accurate, aka shorter in the front, long in the back, because i realized how much of a pain it the ass it was to make it all seem like the same length when doing poses AND because actual cowboy's ponchos are typically shorter on the front/sides compared to the back, in order for better mobility and quicker drawing

i also changed his 4 pointed star tail into a 5 pointed star, bc it made more sense considering he has 5 points n all... also bc i kept seeing ppl do it as well and i was like "omg that's such a good idea why didn't i think of that"

bonus:

pov you're abt to have a showdown

[pastryfication]

Can you pls do an Oscar x driver reader fic where the reader is Landos sister and she has a pretty bad crash at a track and it’s Oscar and Landos reaction to her crash 🩷

this is more than anything i’ve felt before

pairings: oscar piastri x f2 driver!reader, lando norris x sister!reader content warnings: mentions of a crash and ambulance. note: i have such a hard time writing driver reader idk why but i hope you like this!! might be the only driver reader i’ll finish sorry to everyone else who’ve requested it it’s just so difficult for me to get it right.

the day it happens is one of those days where everything feels right—your lines are sharp, your pace is blistering, and every turn brings you closer to victory. you’re in control. you can feel the car, every bump, every shift, every breath you take inside that helmet.

you know lando and oscar are watching from the mclaren garage, their eyes glued to the screens. lando, your older brother, forever protective even when he tries not to be, always torn between pride and worry whenever you race. oscar, your boyfriend, the reigning king of calm on the track but never quite able to mask his nerves when it comes to you.

they’re your constants. you can almost picture lando’s anxious frown and oscar’s quiet focus, hands clasped together as he watches you drive. the media loves to joke about you being the apple of mclaren’s eye, caught between the team’s two golden boys. but those headlines don’t bother you. for you, this is where you belong.

as you approach the next corner, the race intensifies. there’s another driver fighting you for position, pushing you to the edge. you hold your line, confident and unafraid. but in an instant, it all goes wrong. the car beside you swerves just a touch too far, clipping your rear wheel.

everything spins out of control.

the car whips violently, tires screeching as you slam into the barriers. you feel the impact reverberate through your body, the jarring shock of metal against metal. the world around you blurs as the car crumples, and for a moment, everything fades.

———

oscar watches, heart pounding in his chest, as your car smashes into the barriers. the noise of the crash echoes in his ears, drowning out everything else. he doesn’t even hear the commentary, the frantic radio calls, or lando’s shout of your name beside him. all he can see is you, trapped in that twisted wreck, and you’re not moving.

oscar has seen crashes before—hell, he’s been in more than a few—but this is different. this isn’t just another driver, another car. it’s you. the girl who turns his world upside down, the one who’s always been his calm amid the chaos. and now you’re motionless, surrounded by smoke and broken carbon, and he’s never felt so terrified in his life.

beside him, lando’s pushing through the crowd, his face ashen, eyes wide with panic. “we have to get to her,” lando says, but his voice is shaking, the fear cracking through his usually steady tone.

oscar doesn’t move. he’s rooted to the spot, watching the screen like it’s his lifeline, praying for any sign that you’re okay. he feels sick, his stomach churning, every second that you’re not moving like a knife to his chest.

“she’ll be fine,” oscar whispers, more to himself than to lando. but the words sound hollow, and his voice wavers. because he doesn’t know. he doesn’t know if you’re okay, if you’re hurt, if you’re—

“i should’ve been there,” lando mutters, his voice thick with guilt. “i should’ve been able to protect her.”

oscar shakes his head, trying to keep himself together even though he feels like he’s breaking apart. he’s used to being the calm one, the steady presence on and off the track, but now he’s unraveling. it’s not just the crash—it’s the terrifying realization of how deeply you’ve entwined yourself into his heart, how much of his world revolves around you.

he thought he knew what it was to love you, but this feeling—this bone-deep fear, this raw, overwhelming need for you to be okay—is something else entirely. all he can think about is you—the way you laugh when you beat him in a stupid game, the way you scrunch your nose when you’re deep in thought, the way you find his hand after every race, holding on like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

he’s always known he loves you. but this? this is more than love. it’s a kind of need that’s woven into his very being, and it’s terrifying, how much losing you even for a moment rips through him, leaving him hollow.

when the medics reach you, they work fast, extracting you from the mangled car with careful precision. oscar’s eyes are fixed on you, his chest tightening with every second that you’re unresponsive. the ambulance arrives, and they load you onto a stretcher, still no movement, no sign of you waking up.

“please, please, please,” oscar whispers, his voice cracking. he doesn’t care about the cameras capturing every moment of his raw fear. all he cares about is you, and he’s never felt more powerless.

lando’s shoulders slump, his hands shaking as he stares at the ground. he looks at oscar, and for once, they’re not just teammates or rivals—they’re two people who love you, and right now, that’s all that matters.

minutes feel like hours. oscar’s world narrows down to the screen, to the updates that aren’t coming fast enough, to the endless questions that nobody seems to have answers for. finally, lando’s phone buzzes. oscar watches as lando answers, the tension etched into every line of his face.

“she’s awake,” lando says, his voice thick with relief, tears shining in his eyes. “she’s bruised up, but she’s awake. they’re taking her for checks, but she’s okay.”

oscar lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and without thinking, he pulls lando into a hug. they cling to each other, relief and fear and everything else pouring out as they try to steady themselves. it’s messy and raw, but they need it. they need to feel that you’re going to be okay.

oscar pulls back, wiping at his eyes and trying to find the words. he’s never been good at this—at showing how much he cares, at letting himself be vulnerable. but he knows one thing for sure: he’s never letting you go without making sure you know just how deeply he loves you.

as the ambulance speeds away, oscar watches, feeling that familiar surge of love and fear. you’re tough—tougher than anyone gives you credit for—and you’re going to be back. you’re going to be alright.

and when you are, he’s going to be right there, holding onto you just a little bit tighter, because you’re everything to him.

for now, though, all that matters is that you’re still here, still fighting. mclaren’s favourite girl, his heart’s safe place. you’re the reason he races, the reason he loves, and the person he’s willing to hold onto with everything he has.

[sashi-ya]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ エロチックトバー２０２４> MDNI / EXPLICIT CONTENT

A MAN OF GOD 🙏 PRIEST! AIZEN X NUN! READER ＫINKTOBER DAY 11: HUMILIATION

🐙 requested by: Anonymous. Hello! I hope you're doing well! Can you write about humiliation with Aizen and female reader, please? I think it's Aizen's style. They really love each other, but in bed Aizen likes to humiliate her. And can u add domination kink from Aizen's side? ⚠️ tw: mdni. explicit content. Aizen is a priest. Reader is a nun. YES. But please don't take this as a way of disrespecting religion. This is just fiction. HUMILIATION. slapping. shoving things into your mouth. spitting. mouth fuck. choking. 🐙 wc: 1,6k // kinktober 24 masterlist // join the taglist

“Father forgive me for I have sin” ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ “Sister, confess your sins” “I’ve been having blasphemous thoughts about a man. Father Aizen, what should I do?” 

The little window of the confessional slides open; chocolate, sharp eyes appear from such tiny opening. A tuft of hair falls in between the two orbs hidden under transparent glasses, his index rests on one of his temples… Father Aizen looks more like a devil than a man devoted to the sacred. 

“A man you say, sister? How come the devil was so strong to corrupt you? aren’t you a devotee?” he asks. His tone is charged of full judgment, even with disgust. 

You look down to your hands; a rosary tangles on them, carving its beads into your skin. A life dedicated to celibacy, disrupted by complete impurity. 

“I’ve been able to stop myself every time, but the need… the urge, the lust… are eating my mind like a…”

“Like a worm? Have you experienced the need to touch your body, sister?” 

“Yes, a worm. Like a worm eating my brain and my insides, Father Aizen. But I haven’t succumbed to it… yet” 

Aizen remains silent; he hums, letting you know he is thinking of a possible solution… or rather, a punishment. 

You can hear him standing up; Father Aizen is quite a large man, and the creaks of the wooden surfaces let them know he is about to open the door that separates you from him. 

“Sister (Name)” he mutters; your stomach turns upside down, your legs underneath the black long skirt of your nun habit pressing together. 

There it is, the sinful need… father Aizen, it’s you… the man I’m lusting for is no other than you. 

“Stand up, please” he commands, smirking oh so sexily. Why, sir, are you doing this? aren’t you a man of God? 

You obey; instantly. The confessional is by far small, the air becomes scarce, your heart pumps faster, your consciousness requires your flesh to be flagellated. 

Father Aizen’s hand slides through your cheek and into the veil that covers your hair. His fingertips have gone as far as they could reach, breaking rule by rule. 

“I can tell the way your skin reacts to the touch of a man. How warm has become… what have you done, Sister? Are you lying to me? Have you stoop so low to give your body pleasure, hm?” he asks, cornering more and more against the wooden wall of the confessional, so much you can even smell the scent of incense penetrated on the surfaces. 

You try to articulate any words; you haven’t touched your body; you even fought the need to do it while bathing. But now, father Aizen… I’d give it all for you to do it. 

“No, Father! I haven’t!” you deny, shaking your head violently with eyes shut tight. 

“Show me your hands, Sister” he asks, calm but dominant. 

You do, the beads are almost drawing blood from your palms from how tight you are gabbing them. 

Aizen takes a moment to inspect them, and slowly untangles the rosary from your wrists. 

“Open your mouth, Sister”

“Yes, Father Aiz-fpmgh” 

Your can’t keep talking, as he has pushed every rose wood bead in, getting them shoved into your mouth. 

“This mouth has spoken many sinful lies already; you should only speak words of God” he grunts, pushing the rosary more and more inside your mouth. 

Tears run from your eyes and into your cheeks. You try to cough, but it’s almost impossible if you don’t want to choke. Yet your eyes, avid for more, look up at that man with more than hunger… a look proper of a possession. 

Father Aizen smirk grows bigger, he looks at you from above, with disgust and superiority. His hand then reached for your cheeks, pressing them strong and painfully making the beads inside of your mouth to carve into its inner walls. 

“Why are you looking at me like that? You seem to be possessed by some sexual impure demon, you disgusting whore�� he whispers with disdain, close to your lips. 

Your smile -do the best you could do to do it- as you keep looking up at him; yes, disgusting whore… I am, indeed, a disgusting whore for wanting to fuck you, Father Aizen… 

The first slap leaves your ear ringing. The second slap, your cheek on fire. The third, your body against the wall. You have lost balance, literally and internally as well. 

And Father Aizen seems to be just starting with the “exorcism”, because you have no time to stand back up as he forces you to do it by ripping the crucifix hanging from your body. 

He turns the silver chain around until it’s closely tight around your neck; a single twist more and the blood flow from your carotids to your brain will be interrupted. 

“Do you know why we wear this, Sister? Because we don’t sin. Because we owe everything to our God… but now, whore, devil, your God is ME. And you obey and serve ME… isn’t that what you wanted? Do you really thought I didn’t realize you looked at me with eyes of lust?”  Aizen whispers into your ear, making you tremble, and so weak. 

He rips your veil off your head, allowing your hair to fall down your shoulders. Savagely garnishing your face, in such beautiful concupiscence. Oh, by the only existence of your womanhood you are making this man desperate… who’s the sinner here? 

The white collar around your neck gets ripped as well. You always thought but never proved how strong he was. 

Aizen grabs a fistful of your hair, tangling around his wrist for a better grip. Immediately after, you get shoved against the wooden wall, making you put one of your knees on the little seat. 

You only whine; it hurt… but the anticipation, the doubt… what is he gonna do next? 

Aizen pins your chest against the wooden surface, and his back against yours. Inevitably, you can feel the growing hardness of the father against your ass. His sex and the accelerated breathing on your neck, like a true demon attacking you from behind. 

“Now, let’s check how aroused you are…” he whispers; the warmth of his breath reaching your nape makes you feral. 

His hand slides with no delicacy down the long skirt and into your sex. Aizen is pleased to find only panties, absolutely dampened from desire. 

“Hmmm, too wet. You are more than possessed, you might be devil itself… what a disgusting being…” he scoffs, moving your panties to the side and sliding one of his slender fingers in between your folds. 

Covered by your honeys, his index now abandons your sex and reaches your lips. “This is how wet you are, dripping down your legs like a desperate animal...” he says, as he smears your juices all over your mouth and chin. 

“Spit the rosary, bitch” he orders, giving short slaps to your lips and waiting for it with his hand open. 

You do, letting every bead slowly fall from your mouth, imbued in saliva that also falls like drops, into his palm. Up until the last one is out, Aizen enjoys the degrading look on your face, the way you stick your tongue out when you are done and the way he pulls your head backwards from your hair to spit into your mouth right after. 

Instantly after, he turns you so that you sit down that little wooden seat. 

“Spread your legs” he commands, while he takes his belt off and lowers the zipper of his priest pants. 

You do, and with his leather shoes he proceeds to take down your panties. Aizen smirks to your cunt in display, as you instinctively lift one of your legs to spread your cunt even further. 

“What are you doing, whore? Mh? Showing me that impure cunt of yours? I will use all your holes, don’t worry…” he spits, coming closer with this dick in his hand. 

Aizen, before even fucking you, would like to fuck your mouth first. And so, by strongly grabbing your nape, he finally penetrates your lips with a merciless thrust. And then two, three, four. Endless ramming that makes you gag and tear up the more it hits your throat -and even further-. 

He sometimes pinches your nose, going in and not taking his dick out for a couple of minutes to see you turn almost blue from the lack of oxygen… it’s just that the gagging around his gland feels like a religious experience. 

And as that, it feels for you as well, who are also ordered to touch yourself until the point of squirting all over your clothes. 

But Aizen despite telling you he is your God, he is just a man… and his climax ends up with a grunt and smirk, all over your mouth and face, smeared by his hand with great pleasure. 

“Look at that, covered in cum… are you happy now, whore? You like your God ruining that sinful face of you?” “Ye-yes, Father Aizen…” 

But Aizen wasn’t over, he was just starting with the mass… and a sick, devilishly love was just about to grow stronger… I wonder how far that ungodly acts went unnoticed?  Because Father Aizen has always been a loving, soft, sacred and pure priest… his soft looks, his eyeglasses… who could say he is a corrupted man? A man that considers himself a God instead of serving one? 

Taglist of amazing babes: @awas-posts @missfuriosa @theneighbourhoodferret @cyberdazetragedy @ariesbbytings @animesnowstorm @lenablack9919

[cookiescribble]

Flufftober Day 2: "Left. Other Left!"

A/N: this one was very fun to write, we had a blast writing out their accents. also neither of us speak french, sorry 😅 -mods angel & ghost

Pairing: Gambit x Rogue

Summary: On a trip down to Louisiana, Gambit learns the hard way that there's important duties for a passenger princess, much to Rogue's dismay.

~~~

“CHÉRE, TURN LEFT!” Gambit shouted from the passenger seat of the car as the couple was passing an intersection.

With that, Rogue veered the wheel to the left, turning the car violently in the direction she was told.

“DAMMIT, CHÉRE, YOUR OTHER LEFT!” Gambit threw his hands up in exasperation, gesturing in the opposite direction they were turning.

“DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHICH WAY IS LEFT, YOU SWAMP RAT??” Rogue yelled back at him, starting to pull the car over. “SHOW ME WHICH WAY YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT!”

Gambit proceeded to point in the direction he’d meant. 

“…Remy Etienne LeBeau, that is RIGHT!!!” Rogue sighed incredulously.

“…Is that…not the same as left?” 

Rogue paused to drop her head into her hands. “This is gonna be a long drive if you’re gonna do that the whole time.” 

“Do what the whole time, chére?” Gambit sighed, waving his hand nonchalantly.

“Give me the wrong directions! If you can’t tell right from left, we’re just gonna be going ‘round in circles the whole time!” Rogue made circles in the air between them with her finger to demonstrate.

“But it wouldn’t be too bad if I get to spend more time with you, non?” He flashed her a dazzling grin.

“Not when we end up at the bottom of the ocean! Listen, sugah, I love you ‘n’ all but you gotta be clear with what ya sayin’!” 

“I was clear,” he asserted, a sly smile on his face. “You just didn’t undastand me, that ain’t mah fault.” 

Rogue let out an annoyed groan. “Gambit, I will turn this car around. Or I will throw you out of this car if I have to,” she pointed her finger at him like she was an angry mother.

“Don’t be so harsh, petite, I’m not usually the one behind the wheel.” Gambit shrugged with a simple shake of his head before leaning back in the passenger seat, his arms moving to support his head as his eyes slid closed, “if you hate drivin’ dis much, maybe you should just fly us dere,” he moved slightly to mime flying with his hand.

“You’re a real comedian, ain’tcha? Maybe I should let you take the wheel, then we can see how long it takes us to drive there.” She takes one hand off the steering wheel, pretending to fully let go so he’d dive forward. 

“Mon dieu, chére, you’re gonna put me in an early grave with stunts like dat.” Gambit sighed as he realized that she still had the wheel, letting himself relax back into his seat.

“You’ll be fine, I’m pretty sure we’re almost there anyway,” Rogue chuckled with a quick roll of her eyes, watching the road. “Where does the map say we are?” 

“Uhh…” he fumbled with the map for a moment, squinting as he tried to read, “we’re in… Boswel.” “Boswell…in INDIANA???”

“...No?” “Lemme see this dang thing.” Rogue pulled over again then leaned in to look over his shoulder, before smacking him upside the head. “You idiot, this whole map is upside down!” When Gambit looked confused, she turned the map the right way up, to which he started looking sheepish. “Chére, I have some unfortunate news for ya” he grinned as she sat back in her seat, hearing her groan as she snatched the map from him. “Oh, do ya? I can’t imagine what that might be.” She couldn’t help smiling, the charm he had winning her over even though she was frustrated. “What would you do without me?” 

The car fell into silence as she poured over the map, calculating how long it would take to get from what was most definitely Indiana down to Louisiana, “I’m not sure when we’re gonna make it down to your Pa’s, sugah. We’re pretty far outta the way.” “It’s alright, chére, I’m just havin’ a ball drivin’ with ya.” He grinned as he spoke, taking one of her hands off the map to hold it since she had her gloves on. “It can just be you and me now. We’ll find some place to stay, try this again tomorrow.”

“…alright, but I’m in control of the map next time.” she turned the car back onto the road as she spoke, “I saw a sign for a motel a few miles back, we can stay there for the night.” 

“Sounds good to me, petite, as long as I’m with you,” Gambit replied with a wink.

“Do you have an off switch?” Rogue rolled her eyes playfully.

“Why, would you like to find it, mon amour?” He countered, his voice provocative, a teasing smile on his face.

She just scoffed and brushed him off, driving them to the nearest yet least filthy motel she could find, putting this trek to an end.  When they eventually got back to the mansion a few days later, Rogue told the rest of the X-men the story. Gambit was never in charge of directions after that.

[writing-fanics]

Haru

Chishiya Shuntaro x F!Reader

Chishiya would never forget the day, Haru was born. How is cold, uncaring, and emotionless exterior melted away even more. She didn’t even cry she just looked around the room. Taking in her new surroundings, and her gaze stopped at Chishiya. He could’ve sworn he saw the tiniest and faintest smile form on her face.

She knew immediately who her father is, he held her in his arms. For the first time; and his wife [Y/n] could’ve sworn she saw him him tear up the moment he looked down at his daughter. She was so small, yet her heart already seemed so big. She cooed, looking up at her father curiously.

“Chisi, can I hold our baby please?” [Y/n] asked, and he looked up at his wife. Then back down at Haru, who squirmed in his hold. He placed the baby on his wife’s chest and she smiled, crying tears of joy looking down at the baby.

As she grew, Haru became a force to be reckoned with. She was high of energy, normal for children. She loved running around in the park, and playing at the public playgrounds.

Chishiya and [Y/n], decided to surprise Haru with their first house. Haru had a bigger room, painted a pastel yellow (her favorite color). With different colored butterflies scattered across the room.

She loved it so much, and the moment she saw the backyard and all the space she had to run around. She was ecstatic. Seeing their daughter this happy melted the married couples heart.

But that all changed, once they’d suddenly entered Borderlands.

[Y/n] covered Haru’s mouth with her hand, as a tiny scream escaped her mouth. Her tiny body shaking violently as the gunshots echoed throughout the apartment building.

Chishiya kept watching, as his family stayed hidden. He looked down noticing the tears rolling down, his daughters cheek and wished she wasn’t brought into this upside down version of their world.

She didn’t deserve it, she was too young to understand everything going on. And couldn’t even comprehend the severity of the games. No child, should be experiencing such gruesome and violent acts at their age.

[Y/n] looked up at Chishiya tears rolling down her cheeks, as she held her daughter in her arms. Trying her best too soothe the little girl. As she gripped onto her mothers clothes for dear life. Chishiya handed his wife his headphones, and she placed them over her daughter’s head. Giving her some sort of comfort.

She kissed her daughter on the forehead, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She whispered, with each gunshot that echoed throughout the apartment complex. Haru turned towards her father, who kept his eyes on something on the floor below them. Her mother finger ran through her hair, that was similar to that of her fathers.

Suddenly, she noticed a stuffed grey haired cat plushy on the ground. She reached towards it and picked it up, [Y/n] looked at it curiously.

‘That wasn’t there before?’

But it immediately caught Haru’s eyes, and she quietly played with it. Keeping her entertained, as she blocked out the noises of the gunshots.

[storiesbyrhi]

warnings: smut, sub/dom dynamics, 18+, no beta/literally just typed into tumblr without proof reading

I've this very specific mid-20s, post-the upside down, traumatised eddie thought in my head. you move into the trailer park, and befriend eddie. he's a bit mean, he's grieving wayne's sudden heart attack death, he's got no friends, and gets fucked up a lot. you're not really like that. by no means are you purity on legs. but you're not... whatever he is.

eddie flirts and you love it and it's fun and nice and you think he's someone you could, you know, trust. you spend a lot of time together and you feel special that he does bite at you like he does others.

something bad happens and you call him. he comes over and is so good. the crying and the anxiety don't seem to shake him. he holds you and is all softness and empathy. but then in the days after, he's standoffish. maybe he's even an asshole. so he thinks emotions are unsexy, you think. it got too real.

then you notice he keeps bringing girls home. girls with the same hair as you. girls that kind of dress like you. but you're right fucking there so what the hell, right?

one day you come home and are about to walk the steps into your trailer when he comes out of his, sucking face with yet another you-look-a-like. you can't take it.

you go over and yell at him. what the fuck is wrong with him? what happened? what did you do? what's with all the girls that look like you? what the absolute fuck?

he tries to calm you down but you tell him to fuck off. whatever he's hiding, you see it for a split second. it flashes across his face. you go home fuming. he calls a taxi for the girl.

the next night, his music is so fucking loud nobody can sleep. finally, you can't take it, you barge your way into his trailer and dramatically push the needle off the record. eddies on the couch and he hardly reacts. when you look at him, you realise he's drunk. like... completely out of his mind drunk.

he can't lift himself to sit, so he stops trying. instead he just grins at you.

"fuck you,"

"seeeeeee," he slurs "tha's the fuckin' problem... can't now... can i?"

you don't know what he means. he laughs but it sounds bitter and sad. you go and kneel on the floor next to the couch.

"what the fuck is wrong with you, eddie? what does any of that even mean?"

he kind of looks at you, through you, tries to touch you but you swat his hand away.

"think i'm in love with you,"

"get fucked," you snap

"an' now i can't... can't be in love with and fuck you."

you're angry but you're more curious. it takes a lot of questioning, but you figure it out. he says he doesn't know how to have 'normal sex'. he just wants to ruin people. rail them into the mattress. make them scream so they can't breathe. he's all messed up about it. thinks it's too violent and that he's evil, like everyone says. but now he's seen you vulnerable, and he knows he loves you, he won't do that to you. and that's fucking him up more.

"eddie, there's like... twenty different things wrong with you. but i don't think this has to be one of them."

you leave him with a glass of water and some aspirin. he's not your kid to baby.

a couple days later, you leave a book on the couch outside of his trailer. a kind of sex bible. he needs to learn about boundaries and safe words and aftercare and subspace.

he's knocking on your door too quickly. he's read the book cover to cover twice.

"you do this stuff?" he asks. but you're so sweet? so normal? put together?

you tell him that it's not an all-or-nothing thing. you tell him that life is hard and you've had to be in control of yourself and everything else so much for so long, that sometimes relinquishing control is what you need. you need to be pushed and pulled into that sticky space where you can't think even if you wanted to. you need to be wanted so badly that it's primal and hard and rough.

you tell him that he's actually like, alright. that he's going to be alright. he just needs to figure some shit out.

he sits on your couch and lets you straddle him. you don't want him to use your name, so he lists off titles until one makes your breathing hitch. you do the same for him. you tell him not now, that he can invite you over once he's thought about it more. he needs to be prepared. everything has to be ready, especially the aftercare.

when he does invite you over, he already seems less angry at the world. you watch the evil dead and giggle. then, he takes you to his bed. he's a fast learner. you guide him where he needs it, but he mostly doesn't.

he fucks you like he thought he couldn't. maybe, it's even worse, which is better. you sob for him. you're pliable. you preen and glow and whimper and beg.

he is most nervous about the aftercare, and so it's a little over the top, but it feels like love because it is.

eddie goes to therapy. he's lost a lot. he's been abandoned and misunderstood. he's unlucky. poor. high school dropout. weirdo. freak. but he's also yours and he's gonna be fine.

[purgatory-is-life]

Mechtober prompt 29/day 29-crossover

this one is going to turn into a longfic at some point as well, bc I just think its silly and i love doing crossovers they drive me insane

@mechtober-2024

Mechanical Bats - Reality666Rift999 - The Mechanisms (Band) [Archive of Our Own]

tw; cursing, mentioned murder, mentioned vehicular manslaughter, mentioned physical assault, mentioned crimes, probably more, let me know what I should add!

---

“Cass!” Steph called, causing the black-haired woman to turn towards her. “Where are you going? Tim was gonna drag us all to that show thing?”

“Oh,” Cassandra hummed. “That was tonight?’

“Yep!” Stephanie replied, popping the ‘p’.

Cassandra nodded, taking a moment to think. “I will be there, I’m meeting someone. A friend. I will– hm… They will be there, too.”

“Ah, okay, okay. Be safe? And punch ‘em in the gut if they do anything!”

“They will not. …Would probably enjoy it, too… Hm.” Cass waved, and turned, leaving Stephanie confused in the manor’s foyer as Cass left Wayne Manor.

Stephanie sighed, shaking her head, before turning and heading back further into the manor.

—--

“Good morning my dearest Gunpowder!” Marius grinned as he sat down in his plush seat. This asylum really knew how to treat their doctors!

Tim, on the other hand, looked about ready to blow the place up–which, to be fair, was their normal. They sighed dramatically, sitting upside down on the plastic chair.

“Oh, Marius. I’ve smuggled in only about fifteen pounds of plastic explosives, I’ve found answers to all that Nygma guys’ riddles and he’s run out of things to ask, how do you think? I’m bored! There aren’t even any octokittens around to keep me entertained! This place is so boring!”

“You’ve been here for a week, Gunpowder…”

“And I’m bored! Which crime even was it that got me sent here? There’s at least a dozen to pick from!”

“Uh…” Marius looked through the folder he’d been given. “Aggravated assault and first degree vehicular manslaughter! Damn, they didn’t even pick any of the good ones.”

Tim groaned loudly. “This is stupid! This place is boring! And clearly they don’t give a shit, they hired you of all people!”

“I am perfectly qualified, thank you very much! They do seem to be quite severely understaffed for the amount of criminals here, though.”

“Exactly! We should just break out of here, use those fifteen pounds of explosives and ditch this place to get back to having some fun.”

“Oh!” Marius clapped his hands. “Funny enough, that reminds me! We’re doing a show tonight at Calypso’s, you want to come? If I help you, you won’t even need to worry about using up your explosives just yet, I’ll smuggle some guns in later! The security is tight but, well, has that ever stopped us?”

“Yeah, well, you can just summon things from fuckin’ nowhere, so I think you’re an outlier.”

“Well it’s not like I can do that on purpose, that just kind of happens! A surprise, really, that they haven’t thrown me in here with the others because of my violin thing, actually.”

“My guess? They can’t because you don’t have a known criminal record.”

“So far! The game is young, we got here what, a month ago? Much to do! Many crimes to commit! And there’s superheroes, that’s gonna be fun to fuck around with. I think Jonny’s planning to start a war already!”

“Of course he is! It’s Jonny, mate doesn’t know how to do jack shit that doesn’t involve violence and bloodshed.”

“Well… yeah, it is Jonny. He’s violent and chaotic and that’s how we like him!”

“Hm. Usually. Anyway, concert tonight?”

“Right! It’s at about, uh… What kind of clock do they use around here again?”

“Twenty-four hours, generally.”

“Right! So then the concert’s at about 19:30 tonight, so I’ll come break you out around 17:45?”

“Amazing!” Gunpowder clapped excitedly. “Finally some kind of fun!”

“Of course! Now,” Marius grinned, “on to the therapy session!”

Gunpowder stared at Marius, mechanical eyes whirring as they zoomed in and out. “Don’t do this to me, Mari. Please.”

“Well it’s what I was hired to do~” Marius’s grin widened. “So, where were we last session?”

“Ugh…”

—--

Calypso’s was a new bar and grill that seemed to spring up from nowhere, swiftly gaining popularity for its declaration of being a ‘Neutral Zone’, good drinks, and live music. Particularly, the live music.

The music was always performed by an indie band that similarly appeared out of nowhere. With their surprise arrival on the scene, they quickly gained popularity alongside the bar. Their songs were violent and cruel, speaking of endless death and destruction and war as if they were the greatest thrills one could seek. The bassist owned and ran the bar, and the band performed at other small, local bars and venues whenever Calypso’s itself was closed. Overall, besides the violence and bloodshed in their songs, they were largely unassuming.

Except for the fact that the guitarist was arrested and sentenced to five years in Arkham for driving into and killing a pedestrian before beating someone half to death with an unlit scented candle, the bassist was clearly making some kind of name for themself in the criminal underground based on the hushed whispers heard around the city, and Tim was utterly transfixed by them.

Bruce Wayne did not like them, their music was loud, bloody, and confusing and they were almost definitely all criminals. But, Tim liked them, and was dragging everyone to Calypso’s to see the band perform, and Bruce wanted more than anything to support his kids. And that’s how he found himself being dragged to Calypso’s at six in the evening, Tim talking excitedly to Steph while Jason and Dick argued about something. Probably a book, Bruce had stopped paying attention to them a while ago.

Barbara would’ve come, but she didn’t want to and had elected to have a quiet night in the Clock Tower, watching over Gotham in case of an emergency.

Either way, Bruce was using this as a perfect time to properly investigate the band running the bar. Going as Batman would only raise suspicions of the bar owners, show that he was on to whatever it was they were doing under the table; it was risky, and gathering intel would be harder to do if he had to fight off whatever security force worked for the bar.

But when Tim had invited the whole family out to see the band, well. That made things significantly easier.

Entering the bar, the first thing Bruce noticed was the smell. There was, naturally, the thick stench of alcohol wafting through the air, the thick scent of cigarette smoke, but it smelt… A lot more clean. Of all the bars he’d been to, as Batman or as Bruce Wayne, it was probably the one that smelt the nicest and the cleanest.

He wasn’t sure if that was weird or not, but he still noted it.

They weren’t very far into the building when Cassandra walked up to them, waving with a small smile. Stephanie grinned excitedly. “So, where’s your friend?” was the first thing Steph asked. Bruce sighed. Cass didn’t seem phased, though, and simply offered a small smile.

“They will be here,” she said, nodding. “C’mon, I’ve got us a table.”

Tim fell into step with Cass quickly, the two leading the way through the bar while the rest of them followed.

“This is going to be so cool,” Tim said, grinning and snapping his fingers. Cass nodded, that small smile still on her lips.

“It’s going to be very fun.”

“I wonder what they’re going to play? I’ve got a few ideas…” Tim continued to ramble, Cass nodding along while leading them to the booth she’d picked out. Bruce bit his tongue, and let them talk about the band in peace. (Tim rarely smiled so brightly anymore, still a bit upset about Damian’s arrival– he deserved a few things to smile about.)

Bruce surveyed the other patrons, keeping an eye out for anyone familiar or any of his typical rogues. Bruce didn’t see anyone out of the ordinary, and sat down. The booth had a nearly perfect view of the stage, which seemed to be in the process of being set up. There was a booth ahead of them that was closer, but no one was sitting in it yet. There were several menus placed around the table, and Bruce decided to survey it. There were a lot of strange items, ones that he wouldn’t have expected to see at a dingy, brand new bar-and-grill that just popped up. Alongside the standard items– cheeseburgers, nachos, fried pickles, and beer– there were things like steak, old, well-aged wine, and baked alaskas. It was… odd.

“So…” Dick said, tapping his fingers along the table, “you’ve talked a bit about this band, but what exactly are we signing up for?”

Tim just grinned. “Oh you’ll see.”

Dick just rolled his eyes. Bruce glanced around at the other patrons again, and at the stage. A few people had gathered on it. They appeared to be talking about something. One of the people on the stage was tall, wearing a long, pinstriped trench coat, while one of the others was fidgeting with one of the microphone wires in a brown leather vest, and a white shirt, and the other was very stiff and wooden in their movements, wearing a uniform that Bruce assumed was some kind of military uniform that he just wasn’t familiar with. Other than their outfits, nothing stuck out about them as odd, and so Bruce turned away.

Jason was demanding something from Tim, probably more of an explanation, while Steph stared intensely at the menu as if she wasn’t going to order the nachos, like she always did when at a new place that served them. Dick was also observing the menu with intensity, while Cass watched the stage with interest.

“You can’t just bring us here with no explanations and expect us to sit idly by!” Jason proclaimed.

“I can, and I did,” Tim replied. “Besides, out of everyone, I think you’ll like their songs the most. Maybe they’ll appeal to Dick’s inner theatre kid–”

“Hey!”

“–but I think they’ll appeal to you a lot. There’s a lot of bloodshed!”

“I don’t only like violence,” Jason wrinkled his nose. “I don’t even necessarily like violence. It’s just that it’s useful sometimes.”

“Well, there’s a lot of classic literature drawn from, in their songs, too. There.”

Jason looked like he wanted to hop across the table and strangle Tim, but he refrained, which Bruce was thankful for. A waiter stopped by, and asked if they were ready to order something.

Everyone simply got water or sweet tea to drink, and Steph ordered the extra-spicy nachos, Dick got a double-patty cheeseburger, and Cass got mac-and-cheese. The waiter took their orders with a sure nod, and disappeared off somewhere else. Everything was going smoothly, so far. It was calm, and there wasn’t anything odd going on around them. It put Bruce on edge– when everything was too calm, too nice. Something had to go wrong, soon.

Bruce glanced at the stage, and saw several more people having gathered, tuning instruments and getting set up for the show. As he looked over the stage, one of the people up there–the bassist, he assumed from the instrument across their shoulders–glanced at him, directly in his eyes, and grinned. It was only for a moment, but it sent chills down Bruce’s spine, and Bruce tore his eyes away.

Cass turned back to the others, and announced, “The show’s starting soon.”

Tim jumped and turned towards the stage, grinning excitedly.

As everyone’s attention drifted towards the stage, the person in the brown leather vest grabbed a microphone, saying into it, “Test, test. Our audio working alright?” The sound echoed throughout the bar, but it didn’t break or crack in any way. Bruce followed the person’s eyes towards a booth towards the center of the room, where someone was seemingly working their audio. They gave a thumbs up, and the one in the vest turned to the one in the probably-a-military-uniform. “Toy Soldier, test that mic for us.”

“Will do, Old Chap!” The stiff one saluted, and leaned into the microphone to sing a couple of scales.

The band continued doing a few tests, until they were satisfied that everything was working and sounded alright. With those out of the way, the one at the microphone in the center-front stage, nodded and started talking again.

“Right, well, I must say– welcome one and all! Returning patrons and new faces alike! I’m sure you know the drill by now!” They gestured to one of the string players, who started playing a vibrant and energetic tune that was quickly joined in on by the rest of the band.

And with that, they started singing.

“Like whiskey laced with gasoline, We’re deadly when we’re drunk

So shut your face and settle down, You sneering little punk!

‘Cause space is vast, You are small, It’s black and bitter cold

The book is lying open,

There are tales to be told!”

The seemingly lead-singer was grinning wildly, as he sang.

“The fire is burning lower and the Stars are shining bright

We’ve stories grim as pistol lead to tell to you tonight!

So grab yourself a mug of beer, gin or vodka, hold it near

The book is lying open,

There are tales to be told!”

Tim and Cass were clapping along, as was most of the bar.

“Killers, renegades, liars and thieves!” The lead singer called out, “Welcome! For those of you unfamiliar, we are the Mechanisms! The Crew of the Starship Aurora, roaming through the universe in search of adventure, seeking fun, enjoying a good spot of violence here and there, and looking, most of all, for a good story. But also, mostly the violence.” They shrugged and grinned. “Let me introduce to you my Crew! First off, we have Drumbot Brian, our ship’s pilot and–naturally–our drummer!” There was a cheer from the crowd, and the person in a top hat with brass-painted– painted? From where Bruce was sitting, he almost couldn’t tell if Drumbot Brian had face paint on or if he was actually made of brass– smiled and waved, grinning. “There’s Raphaella la Cognizi, our keys player and resident science officer!” The one behind the keyboard jumped slightly, and smiled widely, waving as her mechanical wings fluttered. “And of course, our ship’s quote-un-quote ‘doctor’, Baron Marius von Raum on violin! He’s neither a baron, nor a doctor.” One of the violinists grinned and waved with a black, metal hand, before returning to playing. “My dumbass sister, on viola, Nastya Rasputina!” The woman on the viola flipped the lead singer off, adjusted her glasses, and returned to her playing as well. The crowd still cheered, though. “Our beloved and be-loathed archivist, Ivy Alexandria, on just a truly unfathomable amount of instruments.” The redhead waved, a small smile on their face.

“On harp and lyre, our Navigator Lyfrassir Edda!” The dark skinned person sitting next to a decent sized harp waved as well, their silver hair glowing slightly iridescent under the light, looking at them directly for too long left colorful dark-spots in Bruce’s vision and gave him a headache. And returning from the shortest hiatus ever, our Master-at-Arms and guitarist, Gunpowder Tim makes her daring return!” There was an uproarious cheer throughout the bar, and Gunpowder Tim smiled, giving small bows around the room with a wild grin. Her presence caught Bruce’s eye, as she was the one that was supposed to be in Arkham for manslaughter. He had to make a note to call Gordon, to check on the asylum and make sure no one else had broken out once they were done here… “The Toy Soldier is… here, for some reason, to sing and play the glockenspiel and mandolin. I don’t think I’ll ever understand it.” Jonny gestured to the stiff one, who waved excitedly.

“I’m just happy to be involved here!” The Toy Soldier declared.

“Yes, we’re aware. And of course, everyone give a warm, warm welcome, to our host, the owner of this here bar, our dearest quartermaster and bassist, Ashes O’Reilly!” There was another cheer, and the bassist grinned, though they didn’t react much more than that. “And lastly, though never the least, there’s myself! Your humble narrator, Jonny d’Ville, captain of our amazing starship!”

And then, as if it was some kind of cue that Bruce didn’t get, several people in the bar (including Cass and Tim) and on the stage yelled out, “First Mate!”

Jonny d’Ville sighed dramatically, but there was a subtle smirk on his face. “Really, I should expect this by now, no one ever respects my authority.”

“You don’t really have any,” Ashes said, “here in my bar. Technically.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

They let the music play for a moment, before Jonny began singing again.

The show continued on for a while, playing an album that Tim had excitedly called ‘Once Upon a Time (in Space)’, that didn’t last nearly as long as Bruce was expecting. It was a retelling of several classic fairy tales, set in a sci-fi, war-torn world. And while Bruce definitely wouldn’t call it anything he found particularly interesting, the story was good and the atmosphere was strangely warm. (It was a bonus that Cass and Tim were getting so excited and clapping or cheering along to the music, that they enjoyed it so much.) Their food arrived shortly after the first song, ‘Tales to be Told’, according to Cass, and it was surprisingly good. Especially for a new bar run by someone who didn’t seem to exist a few weeks ago. As the concert wore on and ended, there was a loud cheer, and the band started to put things away.

Ashes put their bass away, and Bruce watched as the possibly-metal man approached them. They had a conversation, before Drumbot Brian rolled his eyes and bowed slightly to them (despite being nearly a foot and a half taller than them), before walking away, and then Ashes turned around and locked eyes with Bruce again, grinning.

They walked over, and Cass grinned as they approached. Tim’s eyes widened, when he saw them approaching. Ashes leaned on the pillar that their booth was attached to, grinning a bit at Cassandra.

“Hey, Cassie,” they said, surveying the table, “so this the surprise you mentioned earlier?”

Cass nodded. “Lucky coincidence,” she said. “I forgot they were coming tonight.”

“Ah.” Ashes grinned. Steph swung her head wildly between the two of them, from Ashes to Cass and back to the bassist.

“Cass? Your friend is the fucking owner?!” Steph asked.

Cass grinned and nodded.

“Yep,” Ashes said, grinning and slipping one of their hands into their pockets. “Ashes O’Reilly, owner of Calypso’s, and a friend of Cassie’s. They/them pronouns, preferably. Nice to meet you all.” Ashes offered a hand to everyone, Tim was still shell shocked, but everyone else was mostly able to shake their hand. Ashes offered their hand to Bruce, and he hesitated, before gripping their hand tightly. Their hand was almost uncomfortably warm.

“Bruce Wayne,” Bruce replied, “nice to meet you as well.”

[miraculousmultifan]

Foreigner's God

This fic was written for the @strangerthingswritersguild's Hozier Project where we each chose a song from Hozier's self-titled album and wrote a one-shot inspired by it. I chose Foreigner's God.

I also crossposted this fic on AO3 which you can read here.

Here are the tags (the fic will be under the cut):

Ship: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Other Characters Mentioned Additional Tags: Presumed Dead Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington Has a Crush on Eddie Munson, Kas!Eddie, Post-Season 4, The Five Stages of Grief, Angst with a Happy Ending, Struggles With Religion, Mentions of Atheism, Ambiguous/Open Ending

Warning: I want to clarify, since I was having some struggles finding the right tag, that there is a lot of discussion about Christianity (namely Steve's relationship with Christianity and faith as well as his own grievances with other Christians and things like "how God chooses who gets a miracle"). My family is Christian, so there's a little bit of my own self-projection with Steve's internal monologue, but this is in no way meant as "Christianity Bashing"

If any of that is something you wouldn't like to read, I suggest you don't continue. This has been your warning! :)

Denial.

Kneeling over the man’s prone form, Steve refuses to believe he is truly dead. They get back to the trailer quickly, so surely there’s still a chance that he could make it. Right?

The Upside Down rattles with earthquakes, but Dustin’s tears are still louder in comparison. The man’s not dead because that would mean he left Dustin to grieve. He wouldn’t do that, so he’s not dead.

Steve dips his head down until his cheek is suspended a thread above his lips, waiting to feel a soft brush of air to prove that he’s still breathing. He wraps his fingers around his wrist like a pathetic excuse for a hand-hold as he tries to find a pulse. He stays like that for much longer than he needs to in the hopes of feeling a puff of breath, a thump of a heartbeat under his skin. 

It will come. It has to. Because he isn’t dead.

Nancy and Robin pull Steve and Dustin away from his body, even as their own bodies shake with sobs. The ground trembles as another earthquake runs rampant through the Upside Down, splitting the ground and spreading cracks through the dirt.

One by one, everyone leaves the Upside Down through the gate in the ceiling of his trailer. Without–

They leave him lying there. They leave him to rot.

Not that he can rot. Because he isn’t dead.

Anger.

Steve used to be a Christian. Back before the Upside Down. Back before he was pushed headfirst into actual hell.

He wasn’t exactly devout. He definitely didn’t follow the “no sex before marriage” rule or anything. But the faith aspect? The belief of a God that created them? An all-powerful, all-knowing, all-loving God? He believed that. He wanted to believe there was someone with the ability to protect them. To look after them.

Then he had to fight a six-foot, slimy, petal-headed monster to protect Jonathan Byers and Nancy Wheeler. The same monster that made Will Byers go missing. The same monster that killed Barb in his pool. Where was God then?

God doesn’t exist. There is no possible way the God that is supposed to love them unconditionally and protect them would create something hell-bent on tearing apart every living being it came across.

Some people might assume the demogorgon, the Upside Down, all of it has to be the work of Satan. Steve knows better. Satan is only supposed to tempt you to sin. His goal is damnation, not death. That’s what he wants. Not vicious, violent creatures that kill innocent people for fun.

So, after Carver comes back from everything alive, surviving the earthquakes and rifts in the ground, and tries to spew bullshit about the kind of people God loves and the kind that he sends to hell, Steve knows he’s wrong. What ever happened to “love thy neighbor?”

While he isn’t a Christian anymore, he knows that Carver is simply twisting the words of the Bible to support his own malicious agenda, venting his grief over Chrissy by directing his rage onto a scapegoat. An easy target that didn’t deserve any of it.

It’s easy for Carver to blame him and call him a Satanist when the jock had a front-row seat to Max floating in the air, her limbs snapping like twigs. For a Christian with no experience with the Upside Down, blaming it on Satan seems like an easy out that requires minimal critical thinking.

But then Carver went from vague comments about sinners to using the Bible to turn Hawkins against him. Calling him a freak, a murderer, a Satanist. They deface his missing posters with devil horns and pentagrams, unable to let his name rest. After everything, they still won’t let him rest.

And Steve is angry. His heart is heavy with the weight, the hate, of Carver’s fucked up beliefs. Why does this jackass get to live when he is dead? Why does Carver get to run his name through the mud when he’s not even around to defend himself?

Carver is so scared of imaginary monsters that he can’t see the real ones that are haunting Hawkins.

He sacrificed himself for a town that hates him. A town that, even now, couldn’t appreciate what he’d done for them. Hawkins never deserved him. Not even the federal government could be bothered to clear his name. It’s much easier for them to hide the truth and paint him as the real villain rather than reveal him as the hero he really was. They’re the cowards. Not him.

Steve hates Hawkins. Steve hates the people who ruined the life of a boy whose biggest “crime” was dressing in edgy clothes, listening to loud music, and playing a nerdy board game. Steve hates the people that made him feel like a coward for trying to protect himself. Steve hates the people who taught him that he would only be redeemable when he was dead.

He hates God for letting it happen.

Steve wants to scream. He wants to kick and bite. Thrash and punch. He wants to shout from the rooftops about how the very man they scorn is the one who saved them all.

He wants to scream the name of a god he no longer believes in. He wants to curse a god that doesn’t exist. The purest expression of his grief, echoing through town.

Bargaining.

Steve would trade the ungrateful citizens of Hawkins if it meant he could have him back.

To the people of Hawkins, he’s just missing. With the lines of open gates, destruction on every corner, overcast sky, and endless ash floating in the air, some of them believe that whatever his agenda was, he had succeeded. They don’t know shit.

They pray to their god for a miracle. For someone to stop the murders. Stop “the devil” from wreaking havoc. As if their god actually had that power. Steve and his friends hadn’t laid down their lives for everyone to shout “miracle!” If they managed to defeat Vecna, Steve didn’t want God getting all the credit for it.

Miracles are bullshit anyway. Why should a god give miracles so sparsely? Why do some people get miracles and others don’t? God shouldn’t play favorites. How does he decide who deserves a miracle? 

Why hadn’t a true hero fit that criteria?

What “lesson” does God teach when he lets innocent children die without stepping in? What “lesson” does he teach his believers when he lets them invoke his name like a waiver as they hurt an innocent boy?

Sometimes Steve thinks that it should have been him instead. It was his fourth year dealing with the Upside Down; his winning streak had run its course. It was about time anyway. It should have been him.

Steve can’t fathom trading anyone else for him. It would either be the shitheads of Hawkins or Steve. Maybe the assholes in Hawkins Lab who released the Upside Down on all of them in the first place. Maybe the fucking feds that used him as a scapegoat instead of owning up to their mistake.

Depression.

Alone in his house, Steve sits on his bed in his room and stares down at the piece of clothing in his lap. He isn’t crying, but it’s a near thing.

Dustin hasn’t called in days, torn up by grief. Mike refuses to look at him, using him as an easy target to place his blame. Lucas is too busy sitting at Max’s bedside to be betrayed by Steve’s failure. Sometimes Erica comes over to sit on the couch with him and show him her dice or talk about My Little Pony, but they never talk about him.

Robin knows something is wrong, of course. They know each other so intrinsically that they don't have to speak to share their thoughts and feelings.

The thing is… Steve doesn’t want to talk about it. If he tried to open up, he’d have to find a way to pry the man’s name from his throat. Robin supports him like always, but he can tell that she’s starting to worry even more than usual.

He wants to cry. He wants to sit there and let himself cry, but he can’t. His eyes are deceptively dry, giving off the impression that he isn’t grieving even when he feels it every day.

Does he even have the right to grieve? Steve barely knew the guy! They’d only spent a week together and he had the audacity to grieve at the same level as someone like Dustin? Steve was being irrational.

Robin and Nancy could have handled Vecna, no problem. Steve never should have assumed being the distraction would be easy. That the distraction team would just hop back through the gate as soon as they played their part. Not when he knew how vicious and determined those bats could be.

The denim vest feels like it’s burning a hole through Steve’s legs. It’s selfish for him to keep it. Surely Wayne needs it more. 

But the two of them had sort of become friends, hadn’t they? They had joked together. They bonded over Dustin’s overconfident attitude. They…

Well, let’s just say Steve had to go through a bit of a bi-crisis in the midst of his mourning.

If Steve could only talk to Robin about this mass of grief, guilt, and what-ifs in his chest—if he could finally say his name—maybe he could finally break down into pieces. Maybe his numb exterior could finally reflect his shattered heart. 

Acceptance.

He’s dead. He’s dead, and he’s never coming back.

He was an ever-present pressure in Steve’s life for one short week before he vanished forever. And Steve can accept that.

They won’t have another opportunity to tease Dustin together. They won’t sit pressed on a couch together, their thighs brushing. He won’t lean too close into Steve’s space and bump their shoulders together. They won’t get the chance to say the things they left unsaid.

And now Steve will never know.

But he can accept that. He can because he has to.  Because they held his funeral. 

You don’t hold funerals for people who aren’t dead. So Steve just has to accept it. The sooner he can, the sooner he can move on.

…

Revival?

Something is in his house.

That’s the first thing Steve registers when he steps up to the front door. The wood by the handle is scratched up with claw marks, and the metal lock is on the ground, pulled out of the door and rendering Steve’s house key obsolete.

Instead of entering the threshold unprotected, Steve scrambles back to his car to grab the nail bat from his trunk. He considers getting his walkie out to ask for help but decides to scope out the situation first. Cautiously, he makes his way through the entryway leaving the door open behind him in case he needs to make a hasty escape.

He expects the house to be destroyed; valuables taken, glass shattered, and dirt smeared all over the linoleum tiles. There’s definitely mud tracked into the house, but the shape of the footprints is like nothing Steve has ever seen. From a distance, they might look like regular feet, but upon closer inspection, Steve notices that the toes seem elongated, the length of the feet bigger than any normal human’s.

Tentatively, Steve follows the footsteps with his bat tightly gripped in his fist. They lead up the stairs to Steve’s bedroom where the door is hanging slightly ajar.

Something is in Steve’s room.

It has long, leathery wings; ragged and tangled hair; sharp, pointed claws; and a thrashing, demonic tail. It moves around the room with shameless wonder, trilling to itself as it sniffs at the comforter on Steve’s bed, the clothes in his closet, and the denim vest on his desk.

The creature stops at the desk, pausing to smell the vest thoroughly, unconsciously giving Steve a view of its side profile. Strange… The monster bears a striking resemblance to–

“Eddie?” Steve breathed, his grip on his bat loosening as his eyes finally blurred with unshed tears. “Is that you?”

The monster whips around to face Steve, its lips pulled up into a snarl as its dark, human-like eyes stare sharp and steady, directly into the emptiest parts of his heart. Without a warning, the creature crowds into Steve’s space and starts sniffing him within an inch of his life. It runs its strangely human-like nose along the crook of Steve’s bared neck while its clawed hands hold Steve’s arms by his sides firmly.

Steve drops the bat, frozen in place. Now that it’s so close, Steve can see the similarities to Eddie in the monster’s face. Those same expressive Bambi eyes. The strong line of his nose. Those same plush-looking lips pulled back to reveal monstrous fangs. Even with the changes, there’s no doubt in Steve’s mind that the creature before him is Eddie.

Then, when Eddie has apparently finished sniffing, he snuffles in Steve’s face, satisfied, and picks him up like he’s made of feathers. With seemingly minimal effort, he places Steve in the center of his bed and fluffs the blankets up around him, swiping his frighteningly long, black tongue up Steve’s cheek in a sopping wet lick.

Steve blushes, unsure how he should be reacting. “Eddie?” he murmurs softly once more, hoping to draw Eddie’s attention to the words leaving his lips.

Eddie chirps, climbing into the bed to join Steve and curling up at his knees. His wings flap, sending a burst of air across Steve’s face before they settle, and he faces Steve with his eyes relaxed and expression open.

With a nervous smile, still not sure what to do with his hands, Steve says, “Do you… recognize me?”

Another chirp and Eddie presses his forehead into Steve’s outstretched palms. 

“Okay,” Steve breathes, letting out a brief sigh of relief. “Can you speak?”

Eddie whimpers, hanging his head low. The sound is broken, raspy as though his vocal cords are struggling to produce the deep sound. Steve feels like he’s losing him all over again.

Mustering all the tender charm he can manage, Steve slowly reaches out to loosely hold one of Eddie’s hands. Eddie picks up his head to watch him, making no move to stop the motion, the only indication of his interest being the little flick of the end of his tail back and forth.

As gently as he can, Steve rubs his thumb against the inside of Eddie’s wrist and softly presses a kiss to his palm. “I’m glad you found me,” he murmurs, hoping that Eddie will understand the sentiment. “I’m glad you’re back.”

There’s no mutual language between the two of them for Steve to express it, and he knows he would only break if he tried to verbally convey it, but his entire being feels like it’s lit up with the broken love he holds in his cracked and shattered heart. Even if he said the words out loud, Eddie wouldn’t be able to respond in kind. 

Just like everyone else, leaving Steve wanting for something no one can give him. 

Steve lays back in his bed to stare up at the ceiling. All his grief is no longer warranted now that Eddie’s back, but despite that, he still feels as though he’s lost something truly important. 

His cheeks are still damp from the brief tears he shed at Eddie’s return, but when he goes to wipe them away, Eddie beats him to it. He raises himself up until he’s propped up on top of Steve and leans down to lick the tears away. It’s a little gross, but Steve appreciates it anyway.

With that task complete, Eddie flops down until his entire body weight is pressing down on Steve, laying on top of him like it’s a normal thing for friends to do. He nuzzles at the crook of Steve's neck and chuffs.

Steve chuckles nervously, a deep flush rising to his cheeks. “You alright there, Eds?” he manages to squeak out.

Instead of moving his head to look up at Steve, Eddie presses his face harder into Steve’s neck as a rumbling sound vibrates from the base of his throat. It sounds strangely like a purr.

Then, to Steve's immense surprise, Eddie raises his head and looks Steve straight in the eye. His eyebrows furrow in intense concentration as he opens his mouth. At first, only a low growl comes out before it slowly morphs as Eddie’s lips form around the word “…S-Steevie.”

Steve blushes a pretty pink. “Yeah. That’s me.”

Eddie snorts, though it reminds Steve more of a dragon huffing smoke from its nose than a laugh. He presses their foreheads together gently and Steve goes still beneath him. “Missed you,” Eddie grits out as though those two words took all of his effort. Then his face splits into a wide grin and he leans down to lick at the tip of Steve’s nose, reminiscent of an excitable puppy.

Heat blooms in Steve’s chest, and he struggles to hold back the warmth that wants to pour out of him from his fingertips. So, instead, he reaches his hand up to brush Eddie’s hair back from his forehead and smiles. “I missed you too,” he murmurs in response, trying to put all of his love into those four words.

Eventually, they’ll work on re-introducing Eddie to everyone else and giving him some speech therapy to help with his vocal cords, but for now, Steve is content to just lay there. He has no reason to grieve anymore. Not when he has Eddie back.

[torscrawls]

It's Never Too Late to Learn, Even for a Teacher

Summary: Lancer took a few steps closer, hands raised in front of him in a vain attempt to feel like he was doing something. "Are you okay?" He very obviously wasn't. "What happened?"

"I—" Danny cut himself off. "I got hurt."

OR Lancer has a bloody wake-up call in his classroom before the day has even started.

Words: 4 666

Can be read on AO3!

-

There was someone in the classroom.

This in and of itself wasn't that uncommon, Lancer himself spent more hours than he would really prefer in the bland and badly ventilated rooms, but they were, at least, usually empty before seven in the morning.

It was supposed to be his alone time, his hour of gathering strength before the stampede arrived, and he had counted on getting some of his work done. Now his morning was turned upside down by the sound of a chair being dragged across the floor on the other side of the door.

Lancer pushed down his annoyance at the same time as he pushed open the door, before promptly stopping in the doorway.

He had expected the janitor, a fellow teacher on the hunt for a couple of extra chairs after the attack last week, or maybe even one of the calmer ghosts who would be content with rooting around in an empty classroom at the crack of dawn.

What he wasn't expecting was to see Daniel Fenton sitting slumped over a desk, head on his folded arms, gazing at nothing with vacant and tired eyes, and with quite a big scratch on his forehead that was slowly dripping blood onto the surface of the desk.

 Danny snapped his head up with wide eyes and blood flinging from his chin. He blinked for a few seconds before casually saying, “Oh, Mr. Lancer. I wasn't expecting you to be here so early.”

 Then he straightened up slightly and Lancer caught sight of a very worrying red stain on his shirt, just below his left shoulder. So the forehead wound wasn’t the only injury then, and Danny was just sitting there, not doing anything to try and stop the bleeding, or bleedings.

 Lancer took a few steps closer, hands raised in front of him in a vain attempt to feel like he was doing something. “Are you okay?” He very obviously wasn’t. “What happened?”

 “I—” Danny cut himself off. “I got hurt.”

 “I can see that. Why are you hurt? Why are you here and not at home or—or in the hospital?” Lancer blinked as realization struck. "I should—I should take you to the hospital. Just sit–" 

 "No! Please!" Danny interrupted him as he struggled to his feet, before falling back down with a pained grunt. He followed it up with a very unconvincing, "I—I'm fine." 

 "You're clearly not," Lancer said as he fished for his cellphone with shaking hands.

 “Please don’t call anyone. I promise I’m fine. Nobody–nobody has to know.”

 And that set off enough alarm bells to stop Lancer short. “I have to call your parents and—”

 “No,” Danny cut him off with pleading eyes.

 Lancer knew that the Fentons were a bit… eccentric, that they could be a bit much, but he had never pinged them as violent.

 Okay, that was a lie; Lancer had seen them take down a ghost just last week violently enough to cover half a city block in viscera. What he meant was that he hadn't really pinged them as being violent to humans.

 …At least not knowingly, and especially not against their own family. They were always so vocal about their love for their children. Almost as vocal as they were about their hatred of ghosts.

 The realization that he was an outsider, that he had no way of knowing how they acted behind closed doors, hit him like a slap to the face. He might be Danny’s teacher, but he had no real insight into his life, no real power to help, and Danny had come to school with injuries often enough for it to become unnoteworthy.

 Lancer found that he didn't know what to do in this situation.

 He hadn't really had to face a possible abuse situation before and he could feel all of his training going right out the window as he stared at the bloodied form of his student. He had gotten sadly used to students getting minor injuries during ghost attacks, but nothing like this.

 He was brought out of his spiraling thoughts by Danny clearing his throat and as he looked up he found him leaning back in his chair with a challenging glint in his eyes. “If you're just going to be standing there then I could use some help with this,” Danny said with a gesture at his head. “Please? I can’t really see it myself.”

 Lancer put his phone back in his pocket. “My first aid skills are quite rusty.”

 “That’s okay. I can guide you.”

 Lancer swallowed an instinctual comment about the student becoming the teacher as well as a question about why Danny was proficient enough in first aid to be able to direct someone else.

 He already regretted not calling an ambulance.

 Danny gestured towards his threadbare backpack that sat abandoned a short distance from his feet, slumped over on the floor. “I have a first aid kit in my bag.”

 That made him reconsider his decision not to ask questions. “Why do you have a first aid kit in your bag?”

 Danny shrugged. “For situations like this.”

 Lancer couldn’t really argue against that, could he? So instead of having to face what that implied about Danny’s expectations of a Tuesday morning, Lancer turned his attention to Danny’s bag and shuffled aside what looked like a soup thermos and what he sincerely hoped wasn’t an ecto-gun to find a big first aid kid in the bottom of the bag; it’s sides banged up and surface stained with several worrying splotches, both red and green.

 Lancer straightened back up and found Danny’s eyes trained on him as he made his way back over to where he sat. He dragged a chair up to the desk and sank down in it with the kit in his lap, slowly unzipping it with a feeling of trepidation. As he flipped it open he found it to be worryingly well-stocked.

 He sucked in a deep breath and raised his gaze to his student. No use dragging this out any longer. He had made his decision. “So, show me your forehead.”

 Danny leaned forward and pushed his bangs up to give Lancer a clear view of the wound. It was two ragged lines stretching over his right eye. As if someone had tried to claw his eye out with their bare hands. Lancer pushed the thought aside as he pushed a cotton ball drenched in antiseptic to the wound, doing his utmost to be quick and careful. He hadn’t needed to worry; Danny barely flinched.

 He should have flinched. Lancer felt horrible a split second later, ashamed of his thoughts, but it would have raised far fewer questions if he did flinch.

 After dabbing away the last of the blood, Lancer found himself hesitating over the kit as he tried to decide on what to use to close up the wound. Danny picked up on his hesitation and said, with far too much conviction, “A band aid is fine.”

 It wasn’t—the wound looked like it needed gluing shut at the very least—but Lancer really didn’t want to start his day by having to glue his student’s forehead with their craft glue, so he let it go and simply stuck a couple of butterfly stitches on and decided to try and convince Danny to at least visit the nurse before class.

 Then he leaned back, gestured at Danny’s left arm, and said, “Alright. Show me the other one.”

 Danny blinked up at him with a surprised expression and Lancer couldn’t help but let out a small sigh. “I saw it, so don’t try to hide it.”

 “Heh, well, wouldn’t dream about it,” Danny said as he fiddled with his shirt and now that Lancer looked closer, he could see that it was stained with several green stains in a very familiar nuance.

 Was that how he had gotten hurt? Fighting ghosts? It would explain the ecto-gun in his bag and the injuries, but then… Why didn’t he want his parents to know? Lancer would have thought that they would be excited to have their son join the family business.

 Although, looking down at the beaten and bleeding kid in front of him, Lancer doubted they would take too kindly to the news. At least, he sincerely hoped they wouldn’t.

 He decided to not worry about that particular gray-hair-inducing thought and focus on making sure his student would make it to the start of the school day.

 Danny lifted the arm of the shirt enough to give Lancer free access to the wound on his left arm.

 The newly uncovered skin bore traces of previous injuries with scars and scabs littering the surface; crisscrossing and painting a very worrying picture. Some of the injuries might very well come from the seemingly wild home-life of the Fentons and Danny’s own well-known tendency to get into trouble, but there were so many of them. Lancer himself didn’t have this many scars at Danny’s age, did he? …He was certain he didn’t have this many scars even now.

 And on top of it all, the fresh wound that was revealed was bad, way worse than he felt comfortable treating by himself with his limited knowledge and the supplies at hand. It was longer than his hand and quite deep, even though it looked to have already started to close up and the bleeding was relievingly slow. Maybe it had been some time since he got the injury.

 Lancer pushed the mental image of his student walking around during the night with an openly bleeding wound from his mind as he focused on Danny in front of him and the task at hand. “This might need stitches.”

 It definitely did, but Lancer didn’t dare to bring up the topic of hospitals again, not when Danny had reacted so strongly last time.

 “Yeah, I know,” Danny said with flippant ease. As if getting stitches was an everyday occurrence. Lancer had heard him sound more upset by having to answer a question in class.

 He didn’t know how Danny had planned to deal with a wound that needed stitches in a school classroom less than an hour before class began, by himself, and he found that he was too much of a coward to ask.

 He settled for a slightly dubious, “As long as you know,” and reached for the antiseptic and a clean cotton ball. They would cross that bridge when they came to it. He would do what he could for now to make sure he at least didn’t get an infection before he could convince him to seek real help.

 But then, as he leaned in to clean the wound, his eyes caught on something that didn’t look right. Lancer frowned as he leaned in closer.

 There was something strange about the wound, something… off about the color.

 At first he had the horrifying thought that it might be turning bad already, rotting and festering in front of his eyes, but that wasn’t really what he was looking at. It did have a green tint, yes, but it was brighter, more…. neon.

 Specifically, it was a shade of green that every person in Amity Park was intimately familiar with.

 Ectoplasm. It was ectoplasm.

 Lancer straightened up with wide eyes, brain trying to make sense of what he had seen. “How did you…?” He trailed off, not knowing how to bring it up, how to even begin approaching the subject. How did you tell someone that they had ectoplasm in their blood?

 “Hm?” Danny hummed absentmindedly as he followed Lancer gaze down to his own wound.

 And then he froze.

 Before Lancer knew what was happening, Danny had moved out of the chair and several feet away from him; his wide eyes trained on Lancer’s face with something uncomfortably close to fear.

 Ectoplasm.

 And maybe Danny was fighting ghosts but the ectoplasm wasn’t just on his clothes, it was in his wound. This wasn’t as simple as a teenager picking fights he wasn’t ready for, or putting himself in dangerous situations because of familial pressure.

 Of course it couldn’t be that simple.

 Lancer wasn’t a biologist, but even he knew that blood and ectoplasm didn’t just mix like this, not without something having gone horribly, horribly wrong. And Danny’s reaction was too intense, the fear on his face too real and, most damning of all, there was no hint of surprise.

 He had known about the ectoplasm and the only reason he was scared was because now, Lancer knew too.

 If Danny was more involved with ghosts than simply fighting them; if he had become mixed up with them in a very physical sense, then… He could only imagine how the Fenton parents would take that information.

 Danny’s earlier insistence at him not calling the hospital or his parents suddenly made a lot more sense—a horrible and devastating sense.

 This was… This was too much. He had an injured student in front of him and that needed to be his top priority. He could have a breakdown later.

 “Come back here and sit down. I’m not done.” He had barely started.

 Danny stood silently watching him for what felt like a small eternity; eyes trained on Lancer and posture tense and ready to flee. But he didn’t, instead he slowly walked back over and sank down in the chair. When he spoke, his voice was smaller than Lancer had ever heard it, “You won’t tell them?”

 Lancer had a sinking feeling he knew who them referred to. He sucked in a deep breath and shook his head. “Not unless you want me to.”

 Not that he was completely sure what it wasn’t he wasn’t supposed to tell them, but he had enough self-awareness to recognize a situation in which he didn’t have enough information to make an informed choice. Better to keep Danny calm and do what he could right now to help and not think of the fact that his student might be part—

 “Oh. Thank you?” And Danny sounded so unsure as he said it, so surprised. As if he couldn’t fathom the idea of Lancer just wanting to help him.

 Was the very idea of an adult supporting him so alien to him that it warranted this kind of reaction?

 Lancer felt like crying, like breaking down and cursing all the adults that had failed this boy so far in his life. Including himself. But instead he sucked in a shaky breath, raised the cotton ball back up, and got back to cleaning out his student’s wound.

 He knew he had made the right decision when Danny relaxed in his seat, some of the tension draining from his tired frame. It really shouldn’t have; the pain from the antiseptic alone must have been horrible. Lancer resolutely didn’t think about why his student might have such a high tolerance for pain.

 Silence descended over them as Lancer finished cleaning out the wound and when he was done he found himself once again hesitating over the kit, eyeing the needle with open dread and feeling woefully underqualified for the job in front of him.

 “Weren’t you gonna stitch it?” Danny asked casually. As if it was completely normal to ask someone to stitch up your arm.

 “Weren’t I—” Lancer stared at him, appalled and horrified, “No! Of course I’m not!”

 “Alright,” Danny shrugged before holding out his hand expectantly, “Then hand it over.”

 Lancer hesitated.

 “Don’t worry, I’ve done this before.”

 “For Wuthering Heights’ sake, Daniel. That’s not reassuring.”

 But there was something familiar about the way he had said that, about his courage and his confidence. About his scowl. Lancer had seen this exact expression before, he knew it, but not on Danny, but on—

 “Sorry,” Danny said sheepishly, “but I promise I can do it.” He was still holding out his hand for the kit, apparently fully set on actually stitching up his own wound right then and there in the classroom.

 Lancer shook his head as he focused back on his student in front of him before hesitantly handing him the kit. Danny rooted through it until he victoriously drew out a pack with a sterilized needle and some thread. Some green thread.

 Lancer eyes it warily. “That—that doesn’t look sanitary.”

 “Oh, it’s fine. It’s so I don’t phase out of it,” Danny waved him off with one hand before tearing open the sterilized package and fishing out the needle.

 Lancer frowned. “So that you don’t…?”

 Danny gave a barking laugh as he deftly threaded the needle. “Wow, that’s weird to say out loud. Who knew it would be such a relief to tell someone?”

 “I—” Lancer began, but cut himself off. He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to think.

 Danny didn’t seem to notice Lancer’s increasing panic as he picked up the forceps and used them to grip the needle. “Sorry about last week, by the way. I didn’t mean to wreck the window.” Danny laughed. “Skulker managed to sneak up on me and got me in the back. Don’t tell him this, but it was actually a fairly good trap this time.”

 Lancer felt his hands twitch where they were laying uselessly in his lap. Last week Phantom had come crashing through his window in the middle of History, sending the class into chaos and two students to the nurse.

 The students had been fine, merely shocked, but he distinctly remembered Phantom having several bleeding wounds and a shoulder that had looked to be very dislocated, and despite the unease the sight at seeing someone who looked like a kid being so injured had instilled in him, Lancer had looked the other way and felt thankful when the ghost in question had immediately flown out of the room and into what looked like a blazing gunfight.

 Danny hadn’t come back to class afterwards.

 Lancer had given him a detention.

 And now Danny was implying that he and Phantom were—

 That—that wasn’t possible, was it…?

 Then again, it wasn’t that long ago that he had scoffed at the thought of ghosts being real, so really, how big of a leap was this?

 If he hadn’t already been sitting down, he knew that his knees would have given out as he found himself blurting out, “You’re Phantom.”

 “Yeah? I know, that’s what—” Then he looked up at Lancer and his smile froze on his face as his eyes widened. The forceps slipped out of Danny’s hand, slipped through his hand and landed on the table with a metallic clatter. “Oh, shit. You didn’t—”

 Lancer stared back, his mind a mess of realizations and immediate denials. His student couldn’t be—Daniel couldn’t be—

 The boy in question was still sitting frozen in front of him with his now empty hand spasming once, twice, before closing into a fist, and as Lancer watched him he was fairly certain that he wasn’t even breathing, and Of Mice and Men, that was as good as a confirmation, wasn’t it?

 Daniel Fenton was Phantom. Somehow. Impossibly.

 Horribly.

 And despite it all, despite all the emotions warring for purchase in his mind, Lancer found himself thinking about a lonely boy hiding in his classroom to treat his own wounds in secret.

 “I–I still won’t. Tell anyone,” Lancer said and was surprised to find that he meant it.

 Danny kept his eyes trained on Lancer in silence for a few seconds before he gave a small and shaky nod. The absurdity of someone with as much power as Phantom looking at Lancer as if he could pose a real threat was almost enough to set him off laughing. Instead he found himself blinking away tears.

 Danny picked the forceps back up and started getting to work with movements that were much too steady for what they were doing; sowing his skin shut with practiced efficiency.

 Lancer was left reeling in his seat. If he had thought that he was unprepared for handling a possible abuse case, then he was doubly so when it came to handling whatever this was. None of the pamphlets he had read or the courses he had taken had mentioned how to interact with a student who was a ghost.

 Oh Frankenstein. One of his students was dead.

 He had died and Lancer hadn’t noticed. Lancer couldn’t think of a single instance when he had noticed anything special. The ghosts had just shown up one day and… And hadn’t Phantom been there from day one?

 And his parents and all their promises and public declarations of catching their own son and doing all manners of horrible things to him.

 They couldn’t know. They couldn’t.

 But that also meant that Danny had even less adults in his life that could help him if things went south. Lancer looked at his bloodied student sitting in front of him. Well more south than it already had, he thought wearily as he watched Danny finish off the last stitch with a self-satisfied smile.

 Did… did anyone else know?

 The thought was horrifying in a way Lancer couldn’t articulate and he found that he was too afraid, too cowardly, to ask it out loud. He didn’t want to know the answer, he wasn't ready for the consequences.

 He leaned over and took out a roll of bandages. “Let me wrap that up.”

 Danny shook his head. “It’s fine. It will heal soon enough.”

 And the surety with which he said that spoke of experience. Lancer swallowed hard. “Let me. Please.”

 Danny hesitated for another second with his eyes fixed on Lancer, before he gave a small nod and held out his arm. “Alright. Thanks.”

 The wound was already looking smaller, less irritated. As if it was a couple of days old. 

Lancer passed the gauze around and around Danny’s arm until he had covered the wound completely, finishing it off with two bandage clips and a light pat.

 During the whole thing, Danny’s expression had fluctuated wildly between suspicion, incredulity, and awe, and the arm beneath Lancer’s hands remained tense. But it did remain there and Lancer decided to count it as a win as he sent Danny a small and hopefully encouraging smile, hoping it didn’t come out as strained as it felt. He cast a quick look over his shoulder and tensed when he saw the time. “People will be arriving soon.”

 It was bizarre to realize that students would soon be arriving as if nothing had happened, as if Lancer’s whole world hadn’t been upended before he had even had his mid-morning coffee.

 “Oh. Right,” Danny said with a nod, inspecting the bandage with critical eyes before getting to his feet. “I’m just gonna go change.”

 Lancer blinked in surprise, looked down at the bloodied cotton balls on the table, the blood staining the table itself, the open first aid kit, and then back at Danny. “...You’re staying here? In school?”

 “Why wouldn’t I?” Danny looked at him with confusion written all over his face. “I’m already behind, I can’t risk missing more.” Then he frowned. “You’re not gonna give me detention, are you?”

 Why was that the first thing he worried about?

 And what was Lancer supposed to say to that? He knew fully well that Danny was behind in school and that he had had more detentions than most; he had been the one delivering a large number of them.

 He had also been the one berating the boy in front of him when he didn’t turn in schoolwork on time, when he fell asleep in class, when he left the classroom suddenly, and when he handed in an obviously rushed homework. A homework that, more often than he would like to think about, had been covered in splotches of green and red as well as obvious burns; things he had just assumed to be a result from his parents’ lab and whatever crazy experiments they were performing down there, but that now made him sick to his stomach to think about.

 Why had he just assumed that everything was okay? Why hadn’t he at least asked?

 And all of those sudden and unexplained departures from the classroom… They hadn’t been random at all, had they? Lancer had a sneaking suspicion that they all lined up perfectly with a sighting of a certain teenaged ghostly hero.

 Lancer shook his head and ignored the way his voice shook slightly as he said, “No, I won’t give you detention.”

 Danny looked surprised for a split second before he slowly nodded, eyes still cautious. “Thanks. I’ll just—Yeah. Sorry about the mess.” Then he proceeded to messily swipe all of the first aid supplies scattered across his desk into the kit, zipping it closed, throwing it into his bag, and walking out of the classroom as fast as his slight limp allowed. He cast a last glance over his shoulder at Lancer, hand reaching up to grab at his left arm before turning and almost running out of the room.

 Lancer’s eyes swept the classroom and landed on the splatter of blood staining the desk Danny had occupied. He managed to get his numb hands to move and grabbed some paper towels to wipe it off, scrubbing until he was absolutely sure it was gone. When he heard the sound of the first students milling about in the corridor outside, he shakily walked over to the front of the classroom and sank down in his own chair, staring down at his papers with unseeing eyes.

 As the first few students started filtering into the room he desperately tried to scrape enough of his brain back together to remember what the class was supposed to be about. It was… hard. It felt like another person had prepared the lesson plan. He didn’t know how he was supposed to pretend that everything was fine.

A few minutes later, Lancer spotted Danny coming back inside; clad in a clean shirt and unbloodied pants as he walked casually next to Sam and Tucker, their heads close together as they whispered and cast furtive glances in Lancer's direction.

 Lancer leaned back in his chair as he felt the tightness in his stomach ease slightly.

 At least Lancer wasn’t alone. At least Danny wasn't alone.

 But that also meant that two more of his students were more involved with ghosts and violence and death than he would have liked and the trios constant closeness took on a new and sadder meaning with this new knowledge. A more isolated one.

 He couldn't imagine what carrying such a secret for so long would feel like. 

 He guessed he was about to find out.

 And he had to admit; Danny was frighteningly good at pretending at normalcy. Or, even worse; this was his normal and it was just that Lancer now knew the truth, knew what lurked underneath. If Lancer hadn’t seen Danny just ten minutes earlier, he would have no idea he was even hurt.

 It was as if it had never happened.

 And Lancer wouldn’t be the one to spill Danny’s secrets after he’d worked so hard to keep them. That didn’t mean that he would turn a blind eye any longer, though. He knew now, and he couldn’t change that.

 He made a mental note to ask Danny to stay after class, not for detention or for telling him off, but so that they could make up a study plan together and make sure that he had a plan on how to still pass his classes. It was the least he could do.

 So Lancer gathered his notes and didn’t make any indication that he had seen anything out of the ordinary that morning, but when Danny nodded off not even twenty minutes later, he also didn’t call him out on it.

[luv4byers]

nightmares - w.b.

heyyy! i'm literally listening to revolting children from roald dahl's matilda please don't come at me its an amazing song. i'm also really sick. i stole the van script and put little chips of it in here <333

warnings: will having a nightmare, mentions of death, and my bad writing

pairing: will byers x male reader

word count: 809

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

it's been a full week. it was all over, and we were sort of alright. after everything that happened, everyones still recovering from it. max is brain dead, her bones are broken, and she's blind. but her heart still beats, thanks to el. poor lucas thinks its his fault. dustin is still sad about eddie's sacrifice, but at least robin was able to take vickie for herself.

but what also worried me was will. jonathan would tell me how will would wake up in a cold sweat, scared that the beasts of the upside down would come back to cause harm to us, especially after dealing with his connections to the upside down.

but, will was visiting hawkins, and he was staying at my place for the night. ms. byers and my mom were best friends, because they graduated together and worked at the same place for a while.

and that's when i met will.

ms. byers, jonathan, and will would come very often to visit us. it was one of the best things that ever happened to me, because will and i grew up to be best friends. we grew up together.

we went through the tragedies of the upside down, getting bullied at school, and dark stormy nights together.

and gosh, i was happy to see him again, without having to deal with the upside down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

jonathan, ms byers and will already arrived at our house. "ah joyce! i missed having you just around the corner, and having you at work." my mom said. "and make yourselves at home!".

i hugged will, jonathan, ms. byers, el, and hopper.

"will! i missed you! you'll be staying the night in my room, you can drop your stuff there." we climbed up the steps to my room. "my mom's still setting things up- and talking up a tornado with your mom, it's like they haven't seen each other in several years. it'll take a while, so you can go and change. i bet you had a long day"

"alright y/n, thanks!" he picked up his duffle bag, and entered the bathroom.

he came out of the bathroom. "y/n, sorry to ask, but i forgot to pack a t shirt. i have a sweater but it's a bit warm, do you mind if i borrow one of your shirts?"

"yeah, of course you can."

"thanks y/n."

he straight up pulled his sweater off, and wore my shirt. i had no idea why my face was heating up.

i mentally cursed myself for looking at my best friend like that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

we had dinner alongside a great conversation. ms. byers and hopper were gonna occupy the guest bedroom, and ms. wheeler offered to take el and jonathan for the night.

i pulled out my sleeping bag for tonight, and reassured will i was okay sleeping with a sleeping bag.

"are you completely sure you don't wanna sleep on the bed? i mean it's your bed, not mine, so you should sleep on it." will mentioned.

"it's fine, you're the guest here will. besides, it's one night. the sleeping bag won't murder me in my sleep." i responded.

"fine y/n. there's space if you change your mind."

"goodnight, will."

"'night y/n."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

i couldn't sleep, due to so many questions flooding my mind, such as:

was it wrong to love my best friend like this?

why did he mesmerize me so much?

but what if it was one-sided? will could choose anyone he wants.

stupid, stupid, stupid.

and i heard will's breathing get heavier, and heavier, until he stirs violently.

"will? will! will, wake up." i whispered loudly.

i shook him gently, which was enough to wake him. "will, are you okay?"

i feel dumb. of course he wasn't okay. "y-yeah i'm fine." i didn't believe him.

"you're not fine. i know it. just take your time, and it's fine if you don't feel like telling me."

i sat on the bed, right next to him, and hugged him. he was shaking. his breathing was unsteady. so i gently whispered in his ear,

"breathe in for 5 seconds, breathe out for 5 seconds. until you start to feel more steady."

i held his hand and he followed, and his breathing became more steady, and he stopped shaking.

"i'm sorry y/n, i've been dealing with this for a while already and i should be able to deal with it myself." he apologized, and for something that he can't control.

"don't apologize will. with experiences like that, it's hard to get it out. no one's gonna hurt you. as long as i'm here, i won't let anything hurt you."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"just get on the damn bed and sleep." will whisper-shouted

"fine.." i was spooning will, and fell asleep.

one thing's for sure,

that was one of the best rests i've ever had.

[a-strangers-thoughtss]

It was cold, so cold.

He really liked it cold.

The cold had become a staple of life in the Apocalypse, but this was so much worse. The world was cold because Mike was staring off into space, unmoving and Will was the only other person anywhere near him. There was no music, the radios were broken into hundreds of small pieces, and he was alone.

There was no way out of this.

Mike was going to die.

And it would be all his fault.

“Mike, Mike wake up, please.” He shook the boy in front of him, his voice was getting higher, more desperate.

“Mike, please, please wake up. I can’t loose you. I can’t do this on my own.” Tears were falling from his eyes now, memories of Vecna, the mind flayer, and every other horrible monster he’d witnessed flashing behind his eyes.

“Don’t leave me. Please. We need you, I need you.” His voice was cracking, words coming out more jumped and broken.

“MIKE! MIKE! Please, you’re the heart. You’re my heart. I can’t, I can’t live without you.” He was screaming, body shaking, wracked with violent sobs.

“I love you!”

The snot and steady stream of tears grew even stronger as Mike lifted off the ground. And there he was, that one faithful day where their lives where flipped upside down.

The demogogorgan chasing him, none of the phones working. Then standing in the shed, gun cocked, watching as the lock on the door slowly opened.

He was just a scared child again.

But then he remembered something.

He started to hum the first song that came into his head, the song he had used to soothe himself as a child in the upsideown.

“Darling, you got to let me know,“

Mikes eyes rolled back In his head.

“Should I stay, or should I go?”

There was young Mike, and his awkward little hug when Will was in the hospital after his first time in the upsideown.

“If you say that you are mine,“

Confessing that asking Will to be his friend was the best thing he’s ever done.

“I'll be here till the end of time.”

Will felt it, he felt the stab of pain that Vecna was feeling, he knew something was happening. He knew Mike was fighting.

“So you got to let me know, should I stay, or should I go?”

Mike faltered, suspended in mid air.

“Crazy together, you said crazy together.

He fell straight down. Will caught him as best as he could.

His eyes closed and reopened, focusing.

“Together.”

Will clutched Mike to his chest, sobbing into his shoulder. All Mike could do was grab Wills neck and whisper

“it’s ok. I’m here, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

[corroded-hellfire]

Hi Amy! I’ve been loving all of your Eddie fics! Especially ones with Wayne interactions 😭💖 could I request one of Wayne helping Eddie cope with life after the Upside Down? Like comforting him from a nightmare or something? 🥺💖

Hi!! Thank you so much for this request, it is so sweet. Wayne deserves all the love and hype 💝

Words: 900+

Crickets, loud trucks, and the occasional thunderstorm are the only noises that ever ring out in the night in Forest Hills Trailer Park. But the terrified scream coming from down the hall jerks Wayne out of his sleep and has him grabbing the closest thing to him, which happens to be a mug filled with cold coffee. Abandoning the cup, letting it tip over and drool its dark substance over the couch, Wayne rushes down the hall. The door isn’t fully closed, so it whips open at his insistent shove, banging against the wall behind it.

Eddie is sitting up straight in bed, face as white as death, and his chest is heaving violently as clammy sweat breaks out across his hairline. His hands are clutching the stained sheets, shaking with the pressure he’s exerting on them. The neckline of his gray t-shirt is dark with sweat and it isn’t the first time Wayne’s noticed that Eddie now sleeps in a shirt, not even wanting his pink and jagged scars to be exposed when he’s alone in his room.

“What’s wrong?” Wayne asks, though he already knows the answer. He wants Eddie to keep some of his pride, knowing his nephew gets embarrassed about having nightmares at his age, even after all he’s been through.

“Nothing,” Eddie says. His eyes are wide and his tone is breathy.

Wayne sighs and takes a few steps closer to the bed. He sits down at the bottom corner and his hand hangs in the air for a moment before he brings it down to pat Eddie’s leg under the blanket.

“I know, boy,” he says. “I can’t imagine what you see when you close your eyes. But you know what? That’s the only place those horrors exist now. In your dreams.”

Eddie nods, but it’s clear that he’s not comforted. His breathing is slowly returning to normal, but his face is still paper white.

Wayne lets out a soft chuckle and Eddie drags his eyes over to him.

“I remember when I was a kid, my little sister - your aunt Ruth - would have nightmares. Shit, your dad and I would tease her about them all the time. She said she’d dream about seeing weird lights in the sky, and she’d be running from a spaceship or something like that. So your dad and I would wait until our folks went to bed, then we’d barge into her room and start panicking because we saw lights out our window. ‘Course we didn’t, but it’d always wake her up and she’d dive under her bed faster than you could say Jack Robinson.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Wayne can see Eddie’s grip on the sheets loosen and the color is starting to return to his cheeks.

“It was funny until one night, your dad and I are fast asleep. Then there’s this loud banging outside our window. I woke up first, and boy I tell you, I squealed like a pig when I saw these flashing lights out in the air. It woke your dad up and he started screaming right along with me. Your grandpa rushes in to see what’s wrong, telling us to quit yelling or else. When I pointed to the lights outside, they weren’t there anymore. We were told to get back to sleep and if dad had to come back in again, we’d get a whoopin.”

Eddie leans back against his headboard and rests his hands on his chest. His body is calmed down, though Wayne doubts he’s relaxed enough to get back to sleep yet.

“Did you ever figure out what the lights were?” Eddie asks.

“Oh yeah,” Wayne says with a laugh. “After your grandpa went back to bed, your dad and I snuck outside, me carrying a baseball bat, and him his BB gun. We were walking down the driveway when Ruth pops up out of the bed of our dad’s old truck. She’s laughing something fierce, and even harder when she sees how bad she scared us. She had a string of Christmas lights with her, that she took from the garage, and ran an extension cord all the way from the house, just to outside our window. A lot of plotting for a little girl, but it sure did work. We never teased her about her nightmares again.”

Eddie lets out a small chuckle and it’s music to Wayne’s ears.

“So, Aunt Ruth just climbed up on top of Gramp’s truck with some lights and scared the hell out of you?”

“She sure as shit did.”

A smile breaks out on Eddie’s face, though it’s a small one, and he tilts his head to look up at the ceiling.

“Sounds like you were dicks to her,” Eddie says.

“That was our job as big brothers. But we would’ve beat someone to a pulp if they tried to tease her.”

Eddie takes a deep breath and nods his head a few times. Wayne isn’t comfortable leaving Eddie alone yet, but he doesn’t want to seem like he’s smothering the boy either.

“Since we’re up, you want to watch a movie?” Wayne asks. “Been a while since I let you pick one.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Eddie slips out from under his covers and stands up from the bed. He scratches the back of his neck heads out of the room. Wayne follows behind him, clapping him on the shoulder as they walk into the dark hallway.

“Can we watch Aliens?” There’s a smirk on Eddie’s face and Wayne’s gladder than he’s ever been to see that mischievous glimmer in his eye.

“I may be an old man, but I can still kick your ass, son.”

[tickle-page]

If it's alright, could I request a Camp Camp fic? Lee!Max and Ler!David, maybe Max is being a bigger shit than usual, and David gets fed up?

Ticklish Max

A/N: AGH!! You are an angle sent from above!!!! I can’t believe I got an ask to do Camp Camp! I won’t let you down.

Summary: Max is being a little shit to the rest of the campers, until David puts him in his place.

“Oh, come ON! What the fuck are you doing, Houdini? Even tweedle me sticks over there,” Max yelled while point at Nerris, “got you beat on the magic scale, and all she’s capable of is winning quests.”

“I’m trying my best here-“ Harrison got interrupted by Nerris laughing.

“Hahahaha! He said I’m better at magic than yo-“

“I don’t know why you’re laughing, Nerris, you practically beg people to join your quests, when Harrison just has to shoot a rabbit out of a hat for people to be interested.”

“Ha!” The magician laughed at his shorter rival, just agging on the beast until she breaks… and she did.

“What are you staring at, Space kid?!” Max turned around to be facing a boy with a helmet on. Which only made him run away and cry.

“Oh, and Preston~. Don’t think I didn’t notice your terrible acting skills. We’re you trying to direct Romeo and Juliet, or your love life. Pick a new skit, Shakespeare.”

“I don’t like how-“ Preston was interrupted by Max focusing his attention to Nurf.

“Nurf, I wouldn’t be the one fighting kids, when I’m named after a toy gun. Does Nerf guns ring a bell?”

“Why you little-“

“What the fuck were you trying to do on that ramp? Skateboard? Or surf?! What was your arms doing? Why were they flailing around like that?”

“Dude, what’s your damage?” Ered leaned on her skateboard.

“I think Max is on his man period.” Niki whispered to Neil.

That brought the attention to Max, “I don’t want to here shit from you, when everybody calls you ‘girl version of Neil’!”

“Woah, Max.” Neil backed up his best friend, “I thought we were your best friends, why u gotta target Niki?”

“Shut it, Neil. I was gonna come after you next, but your whole ‘science fest’ already beat me to it.”

“Ok, Max, maybe you should take a deep breath, and-“ David rubbed Max’s shoulders, just to be interrupted by him.

“No, David! I don’t need your shitty counseling, I’m perfectly ok by myself.”

Then David remembered something he enjoys and Max hates… tickling. He especially hates it when he gets tickled in front of people, so maybe this will be a life lesson learned. Only one way to find out, David bent down to Max’s level, and squeezed both his sides once as a warning tickle.

“GaH!!! David! Would you fucking quit with the tickling?! You know how much I hate it!!!” Then Max quickly shut himself up as he realized he was yelling because he could hear silent sniggering coming from behind him. “What the hell do you guys want?!”

“Yohou’re ticklish?” Neil laughed.

“Oh, don’t start with this bullshit, you people are just as ticklish as me!”

“No they aren’t, Max~ Remember the time-“

“That’s enough, David! I’m going back to my tent!” As Max tried to walk away, he was stopped by David. “WHAT!”

“I think we need to turn that frown upside down! What do you guys think?” David asked the campers, and they obviously agreed. I would too, honestly.

David pinned his 10 year old body to the ground, and he’s not giving up the fight. “GWEN!! Would you help me?!”

“Sorry, Max. You brought this upon yourself, now I’m gonna finish reading my reptilian romance. Oohoho~”

“YOU MOTHERFUCKING BITCH!!” Max began to shake violently when David’s long fingers wriggled down, grazing his clothed stomach. Max looked down, only to bring his head back up, with anxiety giggles. “SHIHIHIT, DAVID!! Stop, this is so embarrassing!!!”

“How else will you learn your lesson?”

“Let’s reconsider on that stupid counseling gig you asked me to join. Anything but this!! Please!!”

“Woah… did Max just say please? This is great, David.” Niki jumped up and down.

“No, this is NOT great!!!! GaH! Stahhap, David! I’m not joking!!” Max giggled out when David squeezed up and down his sides to his ribs. Max didn’t let this slide, for he kept randomly punching the air around him, trying to knock off his attacker’s hands. “DaVID!!”

“What, Maxwell? Can’t finish what you dished up? Don’t like getting ti-ti-tickled?~” David raised Max’s hoodie, and skittered his blunt nails on the latter’s torso. God it tickled for the lee.

“Dahahahavid!! Stahahahap!!” Max started kicking his legs, not really getting far since he had a whole pound elephant (in Max’s POV) on top of his waist. David had the upper hand in this situation, and Max didn’t like it.

Niki. “Wow, Max, you’re so ticklish!”

Neil. “Hahaha, yeah. Hahaha!”

Nurf. “Now I know what I can use against Max when he pisses me off.”

Ered. “Ha! Look who’s flailing their arms now.”

Preston. ‘Omgomgomgomg, he’s so cute~’ (not a ship)!

Harrison. “Umm… Should I be here for this?”

Nerris. “Oooo~”

Space Kid. “Guess you’ll learn your lesson now.”

“Alright! I’ve lehehearned my lehehehsson!! Dahahahvid, Stahahhap, cut it ohohout!” Max couldn’t really move his arms any more because David had them currently pinned to the ground.

David continued to trace lines on Max’s exposed stomach, making him giggle and squirm. Of course, nothing too major that’ll get him to laugh by traces to his poor belly. David won’t stop until he finds the spot that’ll make him lose it, he already knows the spot because he always tickles the poor boy. David used his free hand and scratched inside of Max’s navel. He jolted up wards, and barked out a laugh. “DAhahhahaVID!! DAVID!! STAHAHAHAP!! STOP IT, YOU BAHAH-BAHAHAHS-BASTARD!!” He gritted his teeth, trying to stop any more embarrassing laughs to explicit out of his mouth, but that became inevitable when David moved his hand under Max’s hoodie towards his bare armpit, and traced up and down, teasingly and slowly. “NOHOHOHO!! NOT THERE!!” Max had a voice crack, which was humiliating on his part, but to everyone else they started laughing at it.

“Ohohohokay, okay, David, stahahahp! STOP!!”

“Not until I show these lovely audience where your weak spot is~ yk, there~?” David gave a quick squeeze to Max’s knee, and continued his assault on his neck.

“GaH! NO!! Plehehehase!! David, let. Me. GO!!” Max began to struggle, about to lose hope bc he was so inferior to him.

David then brought one of his hands down and rapidly squeezed his knee. This… this was torture.

“DAHAHAHHAHAVID!! AHAHAHAHAHHAHA ST- AHAHAHAHAGHA!! PLEASE, GAH!!” Max became a wheezy mess on the floor, and his laughter went on death row as he became more loud and vulnerable. Niki and Neil, still being Max’s best friends, went to check up on him because they didn’t want him dieing.

“Ummm, David? I think it’s time to stop… Max looks like he’s about to die.”

“No he’s not, Neil. He’s perfectly ok. See? He’s laughing therefore he enjoys it.”

“IHIHIHI DON’T ENJOY SHIHIHIT!!” Max started crying… yes, crying. He turned his head away from his peers, trying to wipe his eyes on his shoulder with David still tickling his knee, bc Max didn’t want everyone knowing he was crying due to tickling, but the one tickling him did notice. “Max…? Are you ok?” David got off of him. Max rolled over on to his stomach, still facing away from the campers, as he started whimpering silently trying to not make everyone listen to his pleas.

David reached over and touched Max’s shoulder, “Max? Did I go too far-?”

Max pushed him away, “YES!! Yes you did!! I told you to stop many times, and what did you do?! You continued!! Making me look weak and a fool infront of everyone. And I started to trust you more… look where that lead me?! Begging and pleading for you to leave me alone!!! God Damnit, I’m fucking out of here.” With that, Max left to go into his tent, with Niki and Neil hot on his trail.

David was sad and worried for the little one, but he knew that all Max needs is some fresh air and aloneness.

[ghostenluvs]

secrets in stone

Chapter 2.1: the first of many such occasions

more shorter bits between major plot events! i love writing these i might just make an animatic bout some of these. :3

warnings: drowning, child endangerment, [not for very long and not violently]

The monkeys had been told to watch the kid.

And it was going great.

They’d already gotten to do so much more cool stuff than usual! Like the monkeys mostly let him practice doing somersaults without watching him like a hawk the whole time, so when he fell sideways instead there wasn’t someone right in front of him to see it.

And he learned stuff from them, too!

Like how the monkeys would hang upside down on treebranches!

He didn’t have a tail, but he had feets and hands and he could make do with that for now. He’d seen his gege change shapes all the time, so he could figure out how to do that later. Tails looked fun to have, and he wanted to be able to get back at the bigger monkey for all the times he picked them up with his tail and held them upside down.

One of these days… I'll be the one to flip HIM upside down. It’s gonna be so great.

But right now he didn’t have a tail, and he had a mission.

He slowly clambered up a tree that bent over lower to the ground than the others. [technically the ground underneath this tree was a pond, but whatever. Water is just wiggly ground anyways.] He used the many knots of the base of the tree to climb up onto the main sideways branch.

There were two younger monkeys in the leaves on the end of the big branch, one hung upside down by their tail.

He waved at the upside down monkey, and sat down on the branch, making sure his knees hooked securely-ish on the branch.

Deep breath in.. and-

He flips upside down, making eye contact with themself in the water below. 

“Yes! Take that, not having a tail! Wheee!” they celebrate, flailing their arms about in triumph.

The momentum sends him a bit too far backwards though, as his legs unhook from the rough bark and he plummets for all of 0.5 seconds into the pond.

The splash hurts his eyes and he sinks like a stone. The water is colder than he thought it would be. He flails continually under the surface the way he’d seen the other monkeys doing, but to no avail. 

He knows you’re not supposed to open your mouth underwater, but they slip on a stone in the sand and they gasp.

This is bad. He thinks, tears welling up and escaping into the water around him.

—

Macaque has been keeping tabs on the goings on of flower fruit mountain more lately, keeping a metaphorical and literal ear out for anything that sounds like wukong trying something stupid.

He might also be a little bit curious about the kid, sue him.

He’s sort of zoning out, as he places his macaroni spirals in the boiling water. The sounds of various locales filtering in and out of his attention.

Then he hears something that could not possibly be good.

“Wheee-ACK-!” *splash.*

From FFM.

Of course it is.

When the splashing continues for a moment without signs of wukong interrupting, he drops through his shadow to check it out covertly.

He weaves around trees and cliffs, quickly reaching the origin of the noises, he pops his head out of the shadows of a bent tree.

Of course this kid would fall into water, of all things.

He takes a second to entertain the thought of being a horrible person like usual, making eye contact with a monkey on the aforementioned tree and deciding resolutely against it.

He pops fully out of the shadows and into the water, not even up to his waist, grabbing the child under the shoulders and bringing them up to safety.

The kid is coughing immediately, and also crying. Heck. 

How do you calm down a half drowned, soaked kid? Oh crap right-

He adjusts his hold on them, patting their back hard to get the remaining water out. They hadn’t been in there too long right? Just like ten-fifteen seconds? Ish???

They cough out what seems to be the last of the pondwater, immediately clinging onto his torso for dear life, still shaking and hiccupping.

Ok, this is no longer my territory. This kid is Wukong's problem. Wait- where is wukong? Shouldn’t he be here? He cannot seriously expect this kid not to die stupidly if left alone right?

He makes his way out of the chilly pond, shaking himself off a little before dropping back into the shadows, holding the child securely to himself. [not that the kid wasn’t doing half that work on their own.]

He deposits them both outside wukong’s shabby ramshackle cabin, walking up the stairs resolutely and proceeding to kick the door clean off with one foot, face in a very intentionally unimpressed glare.

Wukong yelps and falls out of the rafters. Like a startled ferret.

He spots macaque holding the newly-aware-of-mortality child and immediately straightens up from his spot on his back on the floor.

“WHAT- *ahem* What are you doing here? What- why do you have him?! You-”

Macaque puts a hand up, glaring still. Wukong shuts up for the moment.

“I’m gonna stop you there, were you aware that your kid was outside alone? Because if you were, I'm gonna consider giving magic CPS a call.”

“Eugh… well- there is a good reason. But first, why is he soaking wet?! What happened to him, did you punt him through the waterfall or something?!”

Once more, the unimpressed glare.

“He was alone outside, and he fell into a pond. I, merciful paragon of ethics that I am, made sure they don’t drown for you. You’re welcome. Don’t leave a baby alone outside. You peachbrained dipstick.”

“Oh.”

Wukong buffered for a second.

“Well in my defence I told the monkeys to watch him.”

“They watched him, all right. Watched him inhale a fishtank.”

Macaque semi-pried the shivering kid off himself, holding him out to the king, who stepped forward and took him, looking him over for injuries and holding them close.

“Now why, pray tell, would you leave them outside, alone-ish, next to a pond, on the edge of a mountain? I wanna see you talk your way out of this hole.”

“Well, i may or may not have… slightly misplaced a flamethrower somewhere around here and didn’t want him getting his little hands on that just yet, but yeah i see that the pond might have been maybe not the 100% best option but it’s where the most monkeys were when i put them down there.”

“A flamethrower? Seriously? Why is that even near your shack thing?”

“Well it’s one cave, there’s going to be some misplacement of stuff in the wrong places sometimes.”

“Well if you’re misplacing flamethrowers into your silverware drawers little what’s-their-name here is gonna have a rough childhood.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know, mr paragon of annoyance, that little what’s-their-name here’s childhood is going amazingly. Wonderfully, swimmingly even.”

Macaque raises an eyebrow.

“Okay so not that last one then, but still great. Isn’t it bud?” he gestures to the kid, who has been silent this whole conversation.

“I’m cold.” he whines.

“Fair enough.” wukong moves quickly to grab a blanket from the couch and wraps the kid in it like a bona-fide soaked toddler burrito, setting them on the couch and turning back to macaque.

“You should probably check the kid for a cold or something, I dunno what mortals do with cold water. I’m going home. Tell what’s-his-name not to do it again.”

He turns to leave, before stopping in the doorframe and turning back.

“What is this kid’s name, anyways, ‘little what’s-their-name’ is too many syllables.”

Wukong blinks.

“What?”

He blinks again, looking towards the kid again, seeming to realize something.

“What, you don’t trust the paragon of not letting babies drown to know the kid’s name? Wow.”

Wukong clears his throat.

“Yep, yeah that. I mean, you’re not planning on attending his kindergarten graduation or anything so I don't see why you’d need to know that.” he says quickly, crossing his arms.

I’m too tired for whatever he’s doing here. I just wanna go home and eat stupid processed pasta.

“Okay, yeah, you enjoy whatever it is you’re doing after this. And you know you can find the dumb flamethrower with your gold vision right?”

Wukong blinks.

“Ugh.”

Macaque drops through the shadows to go back to his dojo.

He pops back out of the ground in front of his oven, looks to check the timer-

That he forgot to set. Dangit.

Upon further inspection, the pasta is mush now. Oh well.

Guess I'm ordering noodles.

—

Wukong leans over the couch, watching the newly dried off kid as they downed their hot chocolate.

How on earth did he forget to name the dang baby?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[theshireisburning-so-mordoritis]

19, 20, and 8 for the fanfic asks!! <33

Hi! Thank you so much!! 💚💚

8. What project(s) are you currently working on?

There's quite a few because I have absolutely zero restraint when it comes to starting new wips lol

1. Best friends to lovers, hurt/comfort with Eddie where the reader goes back into the upside down after him and almost dies protecting him. There's an emotional reunion in the hospital and then lots of softness in the healing together that comes after along with the confessions.

2. A one bed fic with Steve where the older kids are staying at a cabin by the lake and Steve and the reader end up sharing a bed for the whole stay, getting closer and closer each night and finding it harder to ignore their feelings for the other person

3. A little fluffy drabble of Eddie taking care of his girl when she's had a bad day

4. An enemies to lovers with Steve where the reader kisses steve to avoid someone else at a party and steve can't let it go

5. Fake dating with Eddie where he asks his best friend to help him prepare for his date to the dance and things get confusing feelings wise

6. An affair fic with Steve where he visits the girl who used to be his best friend but hasn't seen in years and even though she's with someone else and engaged it doesn't stop old feelings from resurfacing

I feel like those are terrible explanations, I'm awful at describing my own fics 😂

19. Give us a small teaser from one of your WIPs.

Here's a bit of an angsty snipped from the Eddie hurt/comfort wip

The effort it took to lift your chin felt herculean, head lolling, too heavy as you tried to glance out to the treeline, past the blurring swarm to where Steve and the girls had disappeared what felt like an age ago. 

It was a delusional hope that you would see them running towards you, a hope against hope that you’d hear shouts of your name and know that everything was going to be okay, that they’d make it in time. 

But neither the bats nor the upside down itself were falling around you and that meant that Vecna hadn't fallen yet either.

It meant that somewhere out there your friends were still fighting and all you could do as you closed your eyes and steeled yourself was pray that they made it out okay. That they wouldn’t blame themselves when they realised you wouldn't follow.

With a breath that hurt to take, you curled yourself tighter around the boy beneath you, placing the shield where it would cover both your heads and hoped that your grip was locked tight enough that it would still hold when your consciousness faded. Sniffling as you brushed your lips to his forehead in a promise that you were still with him, an apology for refusing to leave when he told you to.

A goodbye.

You pressed your own forehead against the very place you kissed straight after, whispered a quiet, honey-soft, ‘I love you, Eddie’ as your lids grew heavy and the numbness became a blanket that settled like a comforting warmth over your cold, aching limbs. 

And when your head fell into his neck and didn’t move again, you missed the way the sky flared violently. Lightning spearing bright and jagged through the red and the ground shaking beneath where you and Eddie lay, as one by one, the bats fell. 

20. What’s a favourite title for a fic you’ve written?

I don't actually think I have one, I tend to really struggle with titles and change my mind constantly. Or maybe I have one that isn't for a fic itself but one of the chapters and that's Lay Me Bare, I'm Yours which is chapter 10 in my Oberyn Martell series. I think I just loved writing that chapter so I have a soft spot for anything to do with it

SEND ME WRITER ASKS

[casasupernovas]

so many harry potter fans completely erase snape's past and write it over to make him a snobby rich kid who speaks like he's a 40 year old count and i think it is so interesting.

because it proves to me that the reality of snape being a kid living in a poverty stricken and abusive household on spinner's end makes you all uncomfortable.

i sure know it made me uncomfortable to re-read the books for the first time and see all the comments about his greasy hair and sallow skin with the new knowledge that these were markers of his poor upbringing. we've heard the saying how being poor never really goes away. snape keeping these two markers as an adult is the author's way of doing it. he's an adult with a better income now but he never quite shakes off spinner's end.

he also stays there as an adult as a way to punish himself, if the front room described as a 'padded cell" is any indicator. he can't move on and he won't allow himself to, and dumbledore won't allow it either. it is he who twists the knife with harry's eyes and tells him this is the only thing he can do to prove he truly loved lily. despite you know, dumbledore apparently not believing this due to his shock at snape's patronus 17 years later.

both times in snape's past when he butts heads with petunia is because she insults his background, something he cannot control. she calls him the 'snape boy' from spinner's end, a clearly 'turn up my nose' moment. harry goes through most books referring to snape as 'snape' because snape is a bully and therefore does not have harry's respect. many times adults correct him to say professor. and his first name isn't said often. so this puts a distance to him, almost others him to this 2D character. but 'snape' is an actual person, with feelings and a past, present and future. so severus snape doesn't take kindly to people insulting his family which is why he claps back at petunia.

we also know snape is a muggle name, his muggle father tobias' name. we only find out in book 6 that snape is a half blood. because what wizarding family do you know with the name 'snape'. and prince isn't part of the sacred 28 either. when harry breaks into snape's memories accidentally in occlumency, seeing those three quick snapshots of his life, it's the first time snape starts to become a real person to harry.

moreover, 8 year old snape is described as dirty, unwashed, wearing clothes that are so mismatched it looks deliberate. he hasn't got clothes of his own, wearing an adults jacket and a woman's smock. snape's family either cannot afford to properly clothe or wash their child or they simply don't care too. when petunia insults him again, this time instead of his father she goes for his mother, as she points out snape wearing his mother's blouse, we get another example of underage magic as he causes a tree branch to fall on her.

now despite this, we know it is likely snape really did want to cause her harm due to her insult. snape already is shown to have poor social skills and snaps rather quickly at any point of animosity, but he was also raised in an abusive household. his father whipped him, and shouted at his mother and god knows what else. makes sense that an 8 year old responds to tension with either insults or violence, mirroring his home. snape is also very reluctant to talk about his homelife at all, ending the conversation very pointedly with "he doesn't like anything much." so it's not surprising that a child raised in this kind of environment would respond violently. even worse, he does it without really realising what he has done considering he looked confused when petunia and lily ran away.

on platform 9 and 3/4, snape is eager to get out of his muggle clothes and when put next to james potter, the stark difference between someone who has been loved and adored and someone who hasn't is explicitly put in the books. and lastly when snape calls lily a mudblood after being yanked upside down exposing dirty underwear, lily points that out. her way of saying 'don't you dare say you are better than me - im filthy? how about you wash your clothes.'

all in all, i think the fans write over this backstory because people do not want to give snape any sympathy. he's not the right kind of sympathetic character. he's an unpleasant adult who made terrible decisions. therefore his tragedy doesn't count. it's much easier to hate him when in your head, snape is a rich, snobby supremacist, rather than a penniless, neglected and woefully misguided teenager.

odd that peope can understand the impact of certain characters childhoods like sirius, regulus, draco or harry and how it affected their actions as teens and later adults...

but not snape.

in fact, snape is probably the poorest character in the entire series apart from maybe voldemort, although the orphanage didn't seem underfunded or anything. fans characterise lupin as poor but there is little evidence for him being poor as a child, more as an adult. i've seen people say this was because of the fact that his father worked at the ministry and arthur weasley worked there and he is not rich but the weasley's are poor because there are 7 of them living on one income. and we can assume lupin's muggle mother worked. if anything, lupin's childhood was comfortable but became unstable due to them constantly moving after he was bitten.

and that's pretty much it, we don't know too much about anyone else. the dursleys are middle class as are hemrione's dentist parents and while the weasley's are poor, they are not poverty stricken - ron never goes hungry. snape also never really adresses his muggle past either. he doesnt bring it up ever. for all his 'life is unfair', he never speaks about that part of his life, choosing to solely reference the marauders. and the two main bullies, james and sirius both being rich kids bullying the poor boy is not lost on me. especially when they constantly reference his greasy hair all the time.

poverty greatly affects a person well into adulthood and we see with snape; it never really goes away. sure he's well spoken now, and doesn't wear mismatched muggle clothing but the remnants are still there. in fact, one of the reasons he hates harry intially is because he thinks the boy has been pampered. quite unlike his upbringing. so i think it's telling how many people refuse to acknowledge its very existence or the how it shaped snape as a person.

because i think it all makes you feel really uncomfortable. why else would you ignore or completely erase it?